"Not an uncommon name."
"He is the son of your son Shandor," Chorian said. "What?"
"Majesty!" the boy said, and I thought he would cry. I thought I would, also. He dropped down before me and began kissing the hem of my garment in a disgusting way. I had to pluck at his hair to pull him up and away.
"Don't," I said. "Let me look at you, boy."
Not much Rom in him, no. Except in the eyes. Shandor's eyes, bright and fierce. My eyes. I felt a little shiver go running down my back. I drew him close to me and held him, and kissed him in the Rom way.
Chorian said, "He was found on Galgala, in Shandor's camp. They shipped him here just before the starships stopped running, but there was no time to bring him before you until now."
"Yakoub," I said, trying out the name. It is not all that common, that name. It has an ancient heritage, yes. But there are very few of us today. He was smiling and crying at once. Named for me. What, I wondered did that tell me about Shandor? A handsome boy in his way. Fifteerl years old, maybe? Maybe younger. Shandor's son by that GaJe woman of his. A poshrat, a half-breed. Well, no matter. I was starting to feel half Gajo myself, now that I was their emperor. It was time to put aside some of the old prejudices. This boy united both the races in himself. Good. With my own name stuck to him. Good. I wondered how much Shandor there was in him. Shandor's energy and cunning, maybe, but none of Shandor's vileness, eh? One could hope. I smiled. "Come with me, Yakoub. And you, you Polarca. Julien. Chorian. I need some fresh air."
Out under the stars. That burning smell was starting to fade, now: it was days since the fighting had ended, and most of the fires were out. The sky was ablaze with light.
I looked up, searching for Romany Star.
"Can you see it?" I asked. "It should be there, somewhere off to the north, eh?" I narrowed my eyes, squinting, peering. Frowning. As I looked I said very quietly, "I went there, you know. While I was off ghosting. I went all the way back, and shook hands with the king. The last king of Romany Star, and what a great man he was!" They were all staring at me. "You don't believe me? Well, no matter. No matter. I was there. I said I wouldn't let myself die until I had been to Romany Star, and I have kept my vow." Odd that I couldn't find it up there, though, after having seen it almost every night of my life. That great red blazing thing. Where was it? More trouble with my eyes, maybe? "Do you see it?" I said. "Polarca? Chorian?"
They didn't seem to see it either. We stood there in the darkness, peering, frowning, squinting. I could hear the song of Mulesko Chirilko, rich and strange in the night.
"I was there on the last day," I told them. "As the swelling of the sun began. And I said to the king that we would be back, that I would lead the return. That much I promised him. As I have promised myself all my life. As I promised you."
Polarca said, "Could we be looking in the wrong place, Yakoub?" "It's usually-right-there," I said. "Ah, holy saints and demons!" "What do you see?" Chorian asked.
"There," I said. "I see it now. Not red any more. There it is, that bright star there. The blue one, do you see? That's Romany Star. Changing. Swelling. The third swelling of the sun has started, do you see?"
"I don't see the one you mean," said Chorian.
"There. There." I pointed, and he stared, and Polarca stared. And my grandson stared. They didn't seem to see. I tried to guide them, describing the pattern of the constellations all around. It was unmistakable now. The great blue star shining where the red one had been. The third swelling was under way at last; and after that it would be safe for us to go back. Then I would send my people in ships, hundreds of ships, thousands of ships. How long would that be, before it was safe? Ten years? A hundred? Well, I would find out. I would ask the imperial astronomers tomorrow.
What if they said five hundred years? Well, no matter. No matter. Someone else would lead the return, I suppose. Chorian? I would like that, if it were Chorian. Or this young Yakoub, maybe. Or maybe his grandson. That would be all right. I had kept my vow. I had lived long enough to see Romany Star with my own eyes. And to set us upon the path that would take us home.
And now? There is work to do, for the king, for the emperor. Great tasks await, and I will do them, for I am the man for the tasks. I knew that all along. And now you know that too, for I have told you my story, which now is finished, though my work is not. What is still to come, we will see. This is my story, and I have told it. Chapite! A Romany word, which storytellers use, when they have come to the end of their tale. Chapite! It is true! It is all true!