Юн Ли - Raven Stratagem

“You look like you think the food’s rigged to blow,” Tseya remarked. “Alas, I’m only mediocre at demolitions, which was a great disappointment to my instructors. Do sit down, there’s no sense going hungry while we size each other up.”

“Of course, Agent.”

“You needn’t be so formal. I do have a name.” She smiled with her eyes.

He stopped himself from protesting just in time, and sat down.

“I assume you’ve been warned not to play jeng-zai.”

It wasn’t as though he’d be admitting to a weakness she hadn’t already guessed. “I avoid it, yes,” Brezan said. “I once joined General Khiruev and some of the other staff officers for a game. She cleaned us all out despite drawing consistently terrible hands.”

Tseya poured tea first for him, then for herself. She didn’t make a ceremony of the act. In response to his blink of surprise, she made a moue. “Has it never occurred to you, General—”

His turn. “Just Brezan, please.”

“—Brezan, then. Has it never occurred to you that not all Andan are equally enamored of the rules of etiquette? Sometimes I just want to drink the damn tea.”

If this was a ploy to gain sympathy, it was working admirably. “I’m afraid the only significant contact I’ve had with your people has been during official functions,” Brezan said.

“And I’m sure you found those occasions charming,” Tseya murmured. She picked up a piece of something in dark sauce with her chopsticks, chewed, swallowed. “Shall I taste everything to prove there’s no poison?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Brezan said, besides which it wouldn’t prove anything anyway. He began eating. The dark sauce was mildly sweet, with a hint of lemongrass and maybe fish sauce. As for the meat, he couldn’t identify it. But it was likable enough. He’d have to ask for the recipe later.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Tseya said after a while. Brezan had finished most of his rice and she was only a quarter of the way through her bowl. “I can’t imagine it was easy for you to be separated from your comrades this way.”

Explaining to her what he thought of Kel Command’s decision to make Jedao immortal was tempting, but a bad idea. “I ought to be grateful,” he said, feeling anything but. Sitting here with an Andan only reminded him how much he missed high table. “I’m given to understand that Jedao hasn’t blown up the swarm, at least.” He’d had some time to catch up on reports before the rendezvous.

“He’s a Shuos,” Tseya said, “which means he’s like an Andan, except with worse public relations.”

Brezan nearly choked on a vegetable. Old joke, except the context.

“If he hasn’t destroyed the swarm, it’s because he has some use for it. And unfortunately, there’s only one use for swarms.” She sighed. “If he were blowing up our stations indiscriminately, I would be less worried. But no, he’s fighting off an invasion. This can’t be anything other than a ploy for the populace’s sympathy.”

“He’s a mass murderer,” Brezan protested.

“You’re a Kel,” Tseya said, “so you’d see it from a Kel point of view. The Shuos have it in for him too, not unsurprisingly. To everyone else, especially the masses who have no faction affiliation and are busy trying to avoid being noticed by people like us, he’s more like a storybook figure come to life than a threat. Hellspin Fortress was several generations ago. A lot of people simply don’t care anymore, or anyway, they don’t care enough. I mean, think about the bombing that took out Hexarch Nirai Havrekaz 373 years ago. Even if you knew about it”—Brezan shook his head—”would you get worked up about it?”

Brezan thought it over. “I was happier before you made that point,” he said finally, “but you’re right.” It made their mission all the more important. They had to stop Jedao. They had to stop the Hafn. And, as a bonus, they had to stop Jedao from stopping the Hafn and making a hero of himself.

They ate in silence again. Brezan made himself slow down. He wasn’t used to taking meals at leisure. His oldest father, once Kel, hadn’t believed in lingering over meals. By the time Brezan was old enough to have memories, said father had retired from active service, but Kel habits died hard.

“I know why Kel Command sent you,” Tseya said as a servitor brought small cakes to the table. The slices were festooned with slices of fruit, pale green and orange and luscious red, arranged in the shapes of flowers. “So it appears I have you at a disadvantage. I don’t believe you know anything about me. Of course, there are a lot of people in the hexarchate.”

Brezan tried a small bite of one of the cakes. Its sweetness was balanced by the tartness of the fruits. He hoped he didn’t grow too fond of it because sooner or later he would have to go back to eating sensible Kel food. Maybe he could ask for the recipe to this one too, assuming it wasn’t a faction secret. “If you’re concerned with my ability to carry out my orders—”

“What I’m trying to say is that we’ll work better together if you know what my stake is, and why they picked me instead of someone else.” An undercurrent shadowed Tseya’s voice, not exactly bitterness, but close.

“Tseya,” Brezan said, wondering where this was heading, “you don’t owe me an explanation.”

She caught his eye before he understood what was going on, and smiled. It was an impersonal smile, not a warm or pretty one, and it made him afraid. He couldn’t look away. But then, he had already known that Andan enthrallment worked like that. He just hadn’t expected her to blow the ability, whose effectiveness diminished with repeated use against a given target, so soon. Naive of him. Her eyes were still brown, not dark blue, rose-blue. Once they changed, he would be hers for as long as she could sustain the enthrallment.

Then Tseya broke eye contact. Brezan breathed again. He shoved his hands under the table so he could clench them to stop their shaking. She might know, but she wouldn’t see. That would have to do.

“Perhaps I don’t owe you explanations,” Tseya said, “but we’re going to have to rely on each other. You need to know that I won’t compel you into doing anything that’s contrary to your duty. I need to know that a crashhawk will follow orders. I’ve got it easier, frankly. Kel Command aside, I think you really are loyal.”

Brezan wasn’t sure he liked being summed up so neatly. Now that the shock had worn off, he was starting to be angry.

“It was an empty threat.” Tseya’s hand closed on the teacup, paused there.

“Do tell,” Brezan said.

“I can’t enthrall you.”

Her mouth was all straight lines. She didn’t like admitting this to him. But why send a defective Andan? He knew they existed, the way crashhawks existed. He had heard that they lasted about as long.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Tseya said. “The issue isn’t the faction ability as such. It’s operating fine. But my name used to be Andan Nezhe. The issue is that I’m disgraced and you’re not.”

It didn’t take Brezan long to work out what she meant, even if the name meant nothing to him. “Never heard of you.”

Her eyes lit with some private cynical amusement. “Well, that’s refreshing. You’ll have to take it on faith that I made some powerful enemies among the Andan.”

“So Jedao won’t pose any problems for you.”

“That’s right.”

Formation instinct triggered on rank. Enthrallment triggered instead on social status. Or, as Brezan’s middle father had explained to him when he was little, “This is how they keep baby Andan from running around forcing their social superiors to hand over critical investments.” An Andan could only enthrall someone lower in the pecking order.