Fonda Lee - Jade War

“I’m mortified by the idea that you remember me as a ten-year-old.”

Maro laughed—a surprisingly rich, pleasant sound. “I’m relieved you don’t remember me as an awkward teenager at the bottom of the Academy pecking order, or there’s no chance you would be having dinner with me now. I know we haven’t known each other all that long, but… I think you’re wonderful.” Color rose in Maro’s face and he briefly turned his attention to straightening his napkin. “You’re beautiful and intelligent, forward-thinking, and open-minded. I think it’s a great thing that you’ve become the Weather Man of No Peak. Anyone like me can talk about change, but you can actually make it happen.”

Shae did not know how to respond. Maro’s words put a flush of warmth in her chest, but she was not sure she deserved his unreserved confidence. The clans were still at war, the KJA suspended, smuggling was on the rise. The Oortokon crisis was drawing in Espenia and Ygutan, and as Maro himself had said, Kekon was bound to be affected by any regional conflict between the major powers. She felt unprepared to handle so many threats to the clan and the country, and already her decisions had made her enemies. “It’s not that simple. The clan is a big, old ship that’s hard to steer.” Shae heard herself repeating Woon’s words to her from yesterday. “Even as Weather Man, I’m not sure if I can make enough of a difference.”

Maro tilted his chin down, eyebrows raised in a skeptical expression that Shae imagined he used on students who provided a poor explanation for turning in their term papers late. “Your grandfather—let the gods recognize him—helped the country to open up and become prosperous after the Many Nations War. The Green Bone clans might be the most traditional Kekonese cultural institutions, but progress has come out of them before.” He took both of Shae’s hands in his own and gazed at her with an utmost seriousness that made it hard for her to meet his eyes without her face growing hot. “You were the youngest in your class at the Academy, but you beat out everyone else in the rankings, even your own older brother. I’ve heard people say that you lead the clan as much as he does now. You were born and trained for your role. Who could possibly make a difference, if not you?” When he had strong opinions about a subject, Maro was an undeniably convincing rhetorician, and despite her recent bouts of self-doubt, Shae could not help but smile and wish to believe everything he said.

As the waiter cleared their finished dishes, the Lantern Man chef and owner of the Golyaani Kitchen came out of the kitchen and over to their table to pay her respects. She was a short, round-faced Tuni woman who must’ve been born or raised in Janloon because she spoke Kekonese flawlessly. “Kaul-jen,” she said, touching clasped hands to her forehead and saluting deeply, “it’s an honor for my humble establishment to serve you. Was the food to your taste tonight?” Shae assured her that it had been a superb meal. Maro took out his wallet to pay the bill and was promptly admonished, “No, no, there’s no charge; you’re a guest of the Weather Man and we’re a loyal No Peak business.”

Shae rose to leave, but Maro remained seated. “I insist on paying,” he said, looking not at the owner but at Shae. “I’m not part of the clan so the restaurant doesn’t owe me anything, and even though I know you could eat at any number of places without charge any night of the week, I would like to buy you dinner. It’s a small thing, but please let me pay for the meal.”

The restaurateur looked questioningly at Shae, who hesitated. If she accepted the gallant, if awkward gesture, she would’ve visited the Golyaani Kitchen not as the Weather Man of No Peak patronizing a clan business with a guest, but as Maro’s companion. Already, she could imagine the rumors and questions that would begin to travel through the more gossipy circles of the clan.

There was something so artlessly charming about Maro’s request, however, a genuine earnest desire to go through the motions of courting her, that she couldn’t say no. She nodded to the Lantern Man owner of the Golyaani Kitchen and smiled at her date, sitting back down to let him settle the bill. “Thank you, Maro.”

Outside, the concrete was damp with the typical drizzly Northern Sweat of monsoon season, but the moisture had cleared away the smog and Janloon smelled uncommonly fresh. They walked arm in arm down the sidewalk, talking, Shae nostalgically pointing out small things about her old neighborhood: the bookstore with the parrot in the window, the food stall that sold paper cones of sweet roasted nuts, the new neon theater signs that had appeared since she’d moved away. They stopped outside the window of a record shop, and Shae was impressed to see a selection of vinyl soundtracks from Espenian film musicals, several of which she’d watched during her time as a student in Windton. She’d developed a fondness for them; they were always full of costumes and laughable melodrama.

Maro put an arm around her waist. She liked the feel of it, the soft pressure against her hips. “Have I mentioned that you’re not what I expected?” he said.

“What do you mean?” Shae leaned into his side. Letting Maro pay for dinner had stripped her guard; she felt warm from drink and food and company. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed such a leisurely evening and been so pleasantly distracted from clan war and business.

“When people hear the name Kaul, they think war hero , or jade prodigy , or heir to the great Green Bone clan dynasty ,” Maro said. “Not shameless fan of silly romantic musicals .”

“There’s nothing wrong with silly romantic musicals,” Shae protested.

“Of course not,” Maro said with mock seriousness. “I’m not going to argue such an important issue with you. Not when you could kill me with your little finger.”

“Now why would I do that and ruin a perfectly nice evening?” she teased.

Maro’s smile faded and his expression turned hesitant. Their banter had been meant in good humor, but had nevertheless highlighted the one inescapable disparity between them. As they continued walking down the street, Maro fell silent for an uncomfortable minute. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked. When Shae nodded, he confessed, “I’ve never been in a duel. I was challenged once, over some stupid drunken argument, but managed to delay it and not show up the next day. That’s why I have no more and no less green than I graduated with from the Academy.” Maro paused on the sidewalk and turned toward her, his face shadowed under the streetlight, his expression uncertain. “I don’t think of myself as a coward, but… I’m not a clan loyalist, and winning jade has never been important to me.”

If either of Shae’s brothers had ever run from a fair duel, their grandfather would’ve whipped them for the disgrace. Of course, that had never been necessary; Hilo was more likely to be beaten for causing too many needless duels than anything else. In most other parts in the world, dueling (if two men firing pistols at each other from across a field could even be calling dueling) had gone out of fashion or been made illegal long ago, but in Kekon, winning contests was still the most prestigious way of earning jade, and jade was inextricably tied to social status. Dueling was simply expected of a Green Bone man and was a common way of settling disputes even among non–Green Bones.

“I never expected I’d fall for a woman as green as you, a Kaul no less. I think at least half the motivation for men to wear jade is to impress women, and it’s obvious I don’t have a chance in that regard.” Maro gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh. He took a step closer, narrowing the space between them, and lowered his face. “But I have. Fallen for you. Even though I realize I might not be the sort of person who’s acceptable to your family.”