Jedao searched the first room, then grew bolder and tried the rest of the suite. There were six rooms, not seven, which made him frown. Surely the heptarchate still insisted on sevens for everything? Lots of objets d’art, too; no people to question. And no sign of Ruo.
A dresser occupied one wall of the bedroom, as luxurious as the rest of the furniture. Only the top drawer contained anything. Unfortunately, the anything was a Kel uniform. At least, Jedao presumed it was a Kel uniform, black with gold braid, the correct colors. He searched for pins or medals, turned the pockets inside out, anything to tell him more about the uniform’s owner. No luck, although the double bands on the cuffs indicated that it belonged to a high officer. The style looked odd, too. The left panel of the coat wrapped around, and instead of buttons it had toggles, with hook-and-eye fasteners to keep the whole affair closed.
Next to the uniform, tucked in a corner, rested a pair of silken black half-gloves. That suggested the uniform belonged to someone seconded to the Kel, rather than an actual Kel soldier.
“All right,” Jedao said, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach, “this isn’t funny anymore. You can come out now, Ruo.”
No response.
Jedao considered the possibility that someone had forgotten their uniform by accident. He picked up the shirt and unfolded it again. Then the pants. They looked like they would fit him rather well—wait a second. He narrowed his eyes at his arms, then his legs, then considered his torso. When had he put on all this muscle? Not that he was complaining, exactly, but the last he’d checked he’d been rather slimmer.
He was starting to think that Ruo didn’t have anything to do with this after all. At least, he couldn’t think of any reason Ruo would pass up an overnight muscle-enhancing treatment. In that case, what the fuck was going on?
Even if the uniform would fit him, Jedao knew better than to put it on. Too bad he didn’t have other clothes. But being shot for impersonating an officer didn’t sound fun.
The door opened. Ruo? Jedao thought; but no.
A man came in, pale and tall and extraordinarily beautiful. His amber-flecked eyes with their smoky lashes were emphasized by silver-dark eyeshadow. While the man wore Nirai black-and-silver, Jedao had never imagined one in clothes with such decadent ruffles, to say nothing of the lace that drowned his wrists.
Jedao’s new theory involved Nirai experimentation that he didn’t recall agreeing to. Of course, in the heptarchate they didn’t need to ask your permission. He backed up two steps.
The Nirai’s gaze swept right to Jedao’s hands, which were in plain sight and not doing anything threatening. The Nirai’s eyebrows shot up. “I hate to break it to you,” he said, ignoring Jedao’s hostile body language, “but you’re going to start panics going around with naked hands.” He had a low, cultured voice, as beautiful as the rest of him. “I advise you to put on the gloves, although those will start panics, too. Still, it’s the better of two bad alternatives. And you ought to get dressed.”
Was the man a guest instructor? And if so, why wasn’t he wearing insignia to indicate it? “Excuse me,” Jedao said. “I’d rather not go around in Kel drag. If there are civilian clothes somewhere, I’ll put those on instead. Who are you, anyway?”
“My name’s Nirai Kujen,” the man said. He strode forward until he’d backed Jedao into a corner. “Tell me your name.”
That seemed harmless enough. “Garach Jedao Shkan.”
Kujen frowned. “Interesting... that far back, hmm? Well, it’s close enough for my purposes. Do you know why you’re here?”
“Look,” Jedao said, starting to be more irritated than frightened, “who are you and what is your authority anyway?” Granted that he was only a Shuos cadet, but even a cadet should be afforded some small protection from interference by random members of other factions.
Kujen laughed softly. “Look at my shadow and tell me what you see.”
Jedao had taken it for an ordinary shadow. As he examined it more closely, though, he saw that it was made of the shapes of fluttering captive moths. The longer he stared at it, the more he saw the darkness giving way to a vast crevasse of gears and cams and silver chrysalises from which more moths flew free. He raised his head and waited for an answer to the question he couldn’t figure out how to formulate.
“Yes,” Kujen said. “I’m the Nirai hexarch.”
Jedao revised his speech mode to the most formal one. “Hexarch? Not heptarch?” The name didn’t sound familiar. He scrabbled in his memory for the names of any of the heptarchs and could only remember Khiaz, who led the Shuos. What kind of experiments had they been running on him anyway to mess up his knowledge of basics?
“It’s complicated. Anyway, you’re here to lead an army.”
That made even less sense. The Nirai faction dealt in technology, including weapons, but they weren’t soldiers; that was the realm of the Kel. Besides which—“I’m not a soldier,” Jedao said. Not yet, anyway. Besides which, didn’t you have to serve for years and years to get from grunt to general?
Except he had a soldier’s body, and he’d listened for gunfire first thing.
Kujen’s mouth quirked at whatever he saw on Jedao’s face. “A real army,” Kujen said, “not a simulated one. Potentially against the hexarchate’s best generals.”
Jedao was going to have to start asking questions and hope that some of the answers started making sense. “‘Hexarchate’?” he asked. “Which faction blew up?”
“The Liozh, if you must know. The situation grew complicated very rapidly. The two major successor states are the Protectorate, which styles itself the heir to the old hexarchate, and the Compact, which was founded by radicals. Plus any number of independent systems trying to avoid getting swallowed by them or by foreign powers. I’ll show you the map, if you like. You’re to conquer the pieces so we can put the realm back together.”
Jedao stared Kujen down, difficult because of the height difference, to say nothing of the distractingly pretty eyes. He was already certain that Kujen had to be leaving out great swathes of detail. “How in the name of fox and hound did all of that happen?”
“You don’t remember?” A hint of dismay touched Kujen’s voice.
“Clearly not,” Jedao said, and felt the cold plunge of fear.
“I am in urgent need of a general,” Kujen said. “You’re available.”
Uh-oh. “Do you want to lose, Nirai-zho?” Jedao said. “I’m not a general.” So why had he gone for cover in this decidedly unthreatening setting? Admittedly, he imagined most generals spent time on their asses far from the front lines. “Playing games doesn’t prepare you to wage war.”
This must be a test for rabid megalomania.
“Well, get dressed anyway, and I’ll show you what you’re up against,” Kujen said. “And use my name. No one uses that honorific anymore.”
Jedao stared at him in desperation, wondering what to do. It was taboo to wear another faction’s colors. Spies did it in the line of duty, but that didn’t make it a good idea for him. On the other hand, defying a heptarch—hexarch—also struck him as a lousy idea.
“You earned the right to wear that uniform,” Kujen said. “Do it.”
Time to counterattack. “What’s a Nirai doing messing around with military affairs anyway?” Jedao demanded. Maybe that would distract Kujen from the uniform.
“I’m the last legitimate hexarch standing,” Kujen said. “The Protectorate is under the influence of an upstart Kel. The Compact, despite their pretensions of democracy, is under the sway of another upstart Kel. As I said, it’s complicated. And I’m sorry to inform you that the Shuos hexarch turned traitor and joined the Compact.”