NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS RETROACTIVE. Long story short I started part three and realized this chapter belonged in part two so I'm adding it now. I'm sorry for any confusion this may cause. This is a work in progress and a VERY rough draft so I appreciate everyone bearing with me while I try to make it better. Part three will start in earnest next update

- Swpoet

"This is your office," Tyro says, throwing open a heavy door and revealing a cramped little room two-thirds filled up by a huge wooden desk. The rest of the room is taken up in two utilitarian chairs and a small bookshelf, empty. The walls are bare save for one that's broken up by a large window. There are no curtains.

"My office?" I ask, perplexed. "I get an office?" It's the day after Xalzan and my strange offer of employment and my head is still a little fuzzy from all the Y'chora I drank.

"Yes," he answers. "You get an office. All the aides have one and the Ambassador was clear you're to be treated no different from the rest of them. I mean besides them working in the council building and you working here in the manor."

"And the small fact that the High Council knows they exist," I add.

"Yes, and that," Tyro assents with a chuckle. "But still, the office is yours. It was a bit dusty because it hasn't been used in years but Galia fixed it up pretty nicely, I think. It's clean, at least, and there's space for work."

"It's nice," I say, really meaning it. I never expected to be given an office, to be taken so seriously.

I walk through the door and sit down behind the desk, putting my arms up on the arm rests. The wooden chair creaks beneath me, but overall the desk is comfortable. I imagine working here with ease.

Then something sitting on the window sill catches my eye. It's a shock of orange against the wood and white of the room, a bright faced desert lily infusing the otherwise Spartan space with color and life. I smile in delight, reaching forward from my chair to stroke its delicate petals.

"What is this doing here?" I ask. "Did you bring it in?"

Tyro shakes his head. "No, not me. The ambassador asked Avamir to pot it and bring it inside this morning."

"The ambassador?" I ask, shocked. "He thought of this?"

Tyro nods. "I know you wouldn't expect it first meeting him, but he's a considerate man. I figure he wanted to brighten up the space."

"Well, it certainly does that," I say, dropping my hand. "It's beautiful. If you see him before I do please thank him for me."

"Of course," Tyro says. I smile again, filled with warmth by the jaunty little flower.

"But enough about that plant," Tyro says. "There's work to do."

He sits down opposite me and begins to explain the details of my new job. Thankfully, none of it is very complex work. Just a lot of transcribing and filing, with some proofreading thrown in. My desk is well stocked with quills and knives for trimming them, with inkwells and parchment and blotting paper. I finger the implements covetously, finding myself more and more enamored with the prospect of work.

"For your first act as aide, sort and file all of these," he says, picking up a large box filled to the brim with papers and placing it on my desk with a loud thud. "Good luck."

It's five hours before I'm finished. It's not the most interesting work I've ever done, but it keeps my hands and mind busy. Besides, I'm used to boring tasks. I grew up attending state meetings and listening to my great aunts argue about silk prices for hours on end.

Staring at print for so long might make my eyes sore and my head ache, but it makes me feel useful. There's solace in that. It forces back the tide of hopelessness that seems to ebb and flow over me, as if pushed and pulled by the moon. By the time dinner comes I'm exhausted, but for the first time in a long time, fairly content.

__________

After dinner Irei invites me to his office. When I enter the room he's sitting at his desk, half obscured by three tall piles of paperwork standing like sentinels around him. He's holding a cup of what smells like Y'xala, the rising steam making his face look slightly hazy.

"How was your first day?" he asks, putting down the paper he's holding and looking up at me with kind black eyes. "Do you want to gouge your eyes out yet?"

"No, not yet," I laugh, taking the seat opposite him. "It was fine. It was, well, it was good. I enjoyed it. It's a blessing to have something useful to do."

Irei chuckles. "That's the first time I've heard someone call clerical work a blessing, Shira."

"It's no game of Xalzan," I reply with a slight smile, "but it's something. Lately I feel like there are too many hours in the day and it's a fight just to fill them." My smile wavers slightly when I think I might have said too much.

If I have, the ambassador takes no notice. "Speaking of Xalzan," he says, "I saw Eadas Sev today. The poor man could hardly look at me. Kept mumbling that I'd hustled him." He shakes his head. "I told him it wasn't his fault if a pretty face distracted him from his game."

I blush, and wonder at it. It isn't the first time I've been called pretty, not by far. Still, the way he says it so offhandedly, like it's a fact instead of a compliment, causes me to color.

"Shira," Irei says, eyes twinkling, "I do believe you've turned the color of Jusu berries again."

"Oh," I reply meekly, raising a hand to my burning cheeks. "It- it's not my fault, I've always been easy to blush."

"Well, I'll be sure not to pay you any more compliments," he laughs. "No, I take that back. I'll keep paying you compliments because that shade is quite becoming on you. Very modest, very Shikkan."

"I don't enjoy being made fun of," I quip, coloring an even deeper red.

"But you're so easy to make fun of, little prince!"

"I am not!" I argue, hating how much I sound like a petulant child. "And if I am, it's impolite to take advantage of the fact."

"Well, I never claimed to be polite," the ambassador says, his eyes dancing. "Now, what do you have to say to that?"

I say nothing, staring at his laughing face with a mixture of amusement and confusion. Where is the somber man I met my first night here? Where is the stony face, the hard eyes? He was different last night, sentimental and nostalgic, but not this gay. Never this gay.

"I ask what you have in your cup," I retort, eyeing the glass suspiciously. "It smells like Y'xala but you laugh like it's liquor."

The ambassador chuckles. "I will not lie; I may have poured some Marberry wine into the drink. It's been a long day."

"Well, aren't you going to offer me any?" I ask boldly. Something in his face makes me feel like it's okay to be bold.

"Here," he says laughingly, pouring me a glass and passing it over the desk. "Enjoy."

I take a sip and grimace. "This is strong."

"Like I said, it's been a long day," the ambassador sighs. "Debate, debate, endless debate. The Grand Councilors bicker like school children over the proposed Shikkan trade deal. Oh, and they're pressuring me to produce a budget for the embassy by next week, and my staff needs at least two."

"They haven't rejected the trade deal yet?" I ask incredulously. "The Council can't honesty be considering trading with that homicidal maniac!"

The ambassador shrugs. "It wouldn't be the first time we traded with homicidal maniacs. The queen of Raclen is as bad as they come but we still let her ships sail our waters. Oh, and don't get me started on the Elders of Firio."

I feel my hands clenching around the glass I hold. "To support that regime would be- would be unconscionable!"

Irei sighs. "It might be economically necessary, Shira."

"Economically necessary," I scoff. "How can you talk about economic necessity when they murdered my entire family in cold blood? Children, Irei, they murdered children! Not to mention the fact that they're supported by the Shao Asha, the most violent populists anyone has ever seen!"
The ambassador sighs. "Now, don't get upset-"

"How can I not get upset?" I ask sharply. "Every country that recognizes Sholu's regime strengthens it. Makes it more than a passing revolutionary fancy and gives it a chance to be an actual government!"

"I understand how you see it," he says calmly, "really, I do. And if I were you, I'd probably see it the same way. But the Grand Councilors simply won't care about the morality of revolution if they think the regime stable and the trade good. There's always murder and upheaval going on somewhere, and if we turned away every imperfect country, we'd never make any coin."

"Coin," I sneer. "That's wonderful. It's all about coin here, never mind conscience."

"It's all about coin everywhere," the ambassador amends, "except where it's about sex. But it's about coin half the time even then."

I sigh, realizing there's no use to argue. Even if I could convince him, it wouldn't change anything. It's the Grand Councilors who control this decision.

"Don't look so despondent," Irei says, offering a well-meaning smile as he reaches forward to refill my cup, adding a little more Marberry wine than is strictly necessary. "Nothing is decided yet."

"It will be soon," I say, taking a long drink. "They can't keep the delegation waiting forever."

"No," Irei agrees, "they can't."

I lean back and close my eyes for a moment, feeling the hopelessness long hours of work pushed away creeping slowly back. The familiar drowning feeling is lapping at the edges of my consciousness, beckoning me forward.

"Shira," the ambassador says, interrupting my thoughts, "you look like you're about to cry."

"I'm fine," I answer quickly, shaking my head as if I might push the despair from it.

Irei looks at me doubtfully.

"Really, I'm fine," I say, offering a small smile. "It was just a momentary reverie."

"Well then," he says, pulling something out of a drawer and putting it on the desk in front of me. "If you're fine, you won't mind playing a game of cards with me."

"What game?" I ask. "Xalzan?"

The ambassador shakes his head. "No, you'll beat me in five minutes if we play Xalzan. How about Cat's Coffin?"

"I don't know it."

"That's fine," he says, shuffling the cards and beginning to deal, "I'll teach you."

__________

The ambassador tells me the Shikkan trade deal has been accepted two days later. We're playing cards in his office again, a quick game of Godspeed after dinner. My hands tighten around the cards enough to bend them, but I say nothing.

He watches me carefully, like I might explode in a fit of rage or dissolve in a torrent of tears at any moment. And part of me wants to. But I've never been one for public displays of emotion, or grand scenes. That was always O'otani. So I keep my empty sinking feeling, my rising grief, close to my chest and tell him, "it's your turn."

He startles a little. "Did you just hear me, Shira?" He asks. "I said they'd accepted the deal. Kama will trade with the new Shikkah."

"I heard you," I snap. "But it's your turn."

He doesn't move to play. "We can finish the game later. You should take some time..."

"Time for what?" I ask. "Time to cry like a child? Time to rage at things I can never hope to control? Forgive me, Ambassador, but I've done enough of both to be sick of them. I can't change this any more than I can change the color of the sky. Now play, alright? It's your turn."

He eyes me doubtfully but does as I say, laying down the Talisman card on top of my ninth of crows. "I win the set" he murmurs, reaching forward to take the pair into his hand.

I grimace and play another card, the third of thorns, trying to focus on the wood grain of the table in front of me as my eyes mist over with a fine veil of tears. I blink them away stubbornly, fighting to push all thoughts of the trade deal from my mind and focus on the game.

I reach forward and lay down two matching pairs of crows. I should smile, it's a good play, but my hands are shaking slightly and the cards are almost falling from their fan.

The ambassador puts down his card carefully, his face a mask. It's a God card, I realize with a grimace, watching his lips as he pronounces "Godspeed." He looks at me seriously. "I win the round."

"And the game," I mutter, laying down my hand. "Well played." I move to get up, hoping my legs won't shake as I stand, knowing I need to get away from him quickly before the calm façade I'm clinging to melts away. "I should be going, it's late," I mutter, moving towards to door.

"Shira, wait," Irei calls out. I flinch, but stop and turn to face him.

"Yes?" I ask thickly, my vision blurring again as the damned tears come back. "What?"
"Sit down," he says with a sigh. "You shouldn't be alone right now."

"I'm fine," I mumble, not daring to wipe my eyes as a single tear falls slowly down my cheek. I just hope he doesn't see it.

"You're shaking and pale."

"Of course I'm shaking!" I can't help but snap. "This trade deal legitimizes Sholu in the eyes of the world. My country has fallen apart and the chances of my family ever regaining power have dwindled close to zero. How could I be anything but pale? How could I stop myself from shaking?"

"By sitting down and having a glass of Marberry wine," he says, beckoning to the seat. "You might as well do it now, because I'm not going to let you go."

I sigh and do as he says, taking a glass when it's held out to me resignedly.

"You know Marberry wine doesn't cure everything," I mumble before taking a drink.

"Of course I do," Irei chuckles, "but it cures a great deal. And it's especially good for heartache."

He's right. The racing warmth of the drink braces me, helps still my shaking and counter the cold creeping into my limbs. It also takes the sharp edge away from my emotion, transforming the raw pang into a dull ache. I can bear it better that way.

"I have developed a taste of wine since coming to Kama," I remark after my third glass, my voice somewhat slurred. "I nev-never cared for it much in Shikkah but now I quite like it. It's really a lovely drink, isn't it?" I hiccup, interrupting myself. "I think I need more, though."

"No, you don't," the ambassador says, moving the bottle away from my grasping hand. "You've had enough. Too much, probably, for someone your size. It's not my fault, though. I forgot how damned small you were."

"I'm fine!" I protest for the second time tonight. "Give me some more, Irei."

He shakes his head. "No more for you, little prince."

"Don't call me that," I slur, frowning at him. "I'm not a prince. I was once, but now I'm not. They took it from me."

"I know."

"It was horrible," I repeat. "It was like the end of the world. Afterwards it seemed like everything had stopped moving, forever. I thought I had stopped moving."

"That's the power of great tragedy."

"I thought that was the worst of it, for a while," I say. "The feeling that time itself had ended. But now I realize the worst thing is that time hasn't stopped." I take another drink, dribbling a few ruby droplets onto my collar. "The world goes on even though for me, it stopped turning. New powers are born. Trade continues. The sun rises and sets and most of the world looks on the greatest tragedy of my life as nothing more than- than a political talking point!"

I wipe my eyes and shake my head. "It all seems too horrible sometimes, ambassador. Everything seems so ugly and twisted up lately, I don't know what to do with it. And I feel like an ugly, twisted up thing too."

"You're not ugly, for one thing," he says, trying to make me smile.

"That's not what I mean," I exclaim, wiping my eyes again. The tears are brimming over and spilling down my cheeks. "Damn it!" I mutter, cursing myself. "Damn it, I promised myself I wouldn't cry in front of you again. Oh, I'm a pathetic mess, aren't I?"

"No," Irei says kindly. "You're not pathetic. You're just sad, and a little drunk."

"I'm not a little drunk," I protest

"Yes, you are," he says. "Come over and lay down on my couch, alright? It will make you feel better."

"Alright," I say, closing my eyes for a moment. I let him take my arm and help lift me from my seat.

When I lay down on the leather couch I sink into it wonderfully, swallowed up by the cushions. "I like your couch," I mutter, snuggling down. "It's comfortable."

"Good," Irei murmurs. "Now get some rest, Shira. It will all seem better in the morning."

"But what if it doesn't?" I ask, pushing myself up a bit so I can look at him. "What if each country accepts Sholu as legitimate and my mother can't raise an army and there's nothing left to me but exile and this- this sinking hollow feeling?"

"It will get better," he repeats. "You might never get your title back, but you still have a full life in front of you."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I ask after a pause. "When I'm nothing but a weak, weepy mess?"

"I told you," he says simply. "We're bound by tragedy. I understand you, Shira. That is why I am kind."

"But-" I start.

"Sleep," he says, tossing me a thick woven blanket. "I promise you, it will all seem better in the morning."

_________

And he's right: when light streams in through my windows, and birds call raucously outside, and I stretch away eight good hours of sleep, I do feel better. Nothing seems as final as it did the night before, and I'm able to work without tears clouding my eyes or despair ripping my mind to tatters.

Life at the manor gradually begins to fall into a routine. I spend the mornings sowing seeds with Avamir, the days bent over paperwork with a pen in hand, and the nights sitting with the ambassador playing cards. I perfect my Xalzan, and besides that, become quite good at Cat's Coffin, Falka, Wayfairer, and Widow's Matches. The ambassador seems to enjoy teaching me, smiling when I pick up the rules or master a particularly difficult stratagem. He even seems satisfied when I begin beating him, only switching the game when I can hold my own four out of five hands.

"We'll make a proper card shark out of you, Shira," he says with a laugh. "Eadas Sev won't be able to hold a candle to your skill one of these days."

We talk while we play, sometimes about simple things like the notes of a council session I'm transcribing or the newest flowers blooming out in the garden, sometimes about the things that haunt our past and make our souls ache. Sometimes we're gay and bright, laughing over full glasses of Marberry wine, but often we're quiet and grave.

A strange kinship springs up between us, conceived that night at Imiko's and watered each time we sit on opposite sides of his great oak desk. He understands the strange moods of my grief, my hopelessness, my despair, and somehow seems to accept all of them without reproaching me as weak or childish. I never imagined it might be possible after how hostile he was that first night, but over the next month I come to call Irei Nara my friend.

Which is why, when he comes to me as a friend, with a crumpled piece of paper in his hand and a grave look in his eye, I stop my work and listen.