Karl Schroeder - Ashes of Candesce - Book Five of Virga

"It's not that," she shouted. "I just can't--oh, hell." He heard her thumping, slightly ungraceful footsteps, and then the door flung open. "I don't know what to wear," she said in a defeated tone.

"May I?" She ducked aside and he entered the gigantic bedroom they'd given her. It was so new its ceiling was only half-painted, with scenes of some epic battle in recent Virgan history. Garish, he thought.

"I know how you feel," he said, spreading his arms to show off his dress uniform. "I was going to wear my clothes from Brink, but they don't fit me anymore."

At that she smiled and ran her eyes over his uniform, which emphasized his broad shoulders. Leal herself was in loose pants tied up with a drawstring, and a plain white shirt. Laid out on her gargantuan four-poster bed were six complete outfits, ranging from a golden gown (with, of course, ankle ties for freefall modesty) to a severe black pantsuit. Keir stood over them and rubbed his chin half-consciously. He'd had to start shaving lately, and the process had a reassuring familiarity to it; but he'd never been shaved by another man before, as he had this morning by the footman they'd assigned to him.

"I have to dress to impress," she said. "The question is, how?"

He pointed to the gown. "Too extreme. The rule here is, there'll always be a prettier woman in the room. But looks is all they have. You don't want to look pretty, you want to look important ."

She scowled in annoyance. "When in my life am I going to get another chance to be pretty?"

He stepped up and took her hands. "When we've won, and the whole world comes to celebrate."

She just stood there, smiling up at him, until he stepped back and said, "Today, you're here to dominate, and frighten. Think Venera Fanning."

"But she always looks good!"

"The two goals are not incompatible." He looked at the outfits again. "Which of these would Venera choose?"

She bit her knuckle, concentrating. "Not ... any of them. But it's all they gave me!"

"May I suggest we mix and match." He tapped the suit. "Too severe. But the trousers work." Next to it was a black top with corresponding harem pants. "The pants here are too much. But the top is off-the-shoulder, and the contradictions will be quite impressive." He handed her the black top and suit pants, and she stepped behind the screen to haul them on.

"Well..." She stood in front of the mirror, obviously pleased. "But it's not quite there."

"Gotta put your hair back and tie it off. Did they give you hairpins?" She nodded to the dressing table. He came back with two large red wooden pins and, stepping behind her, began tugging her hair into shape.

"You've done this before," she said.

"Apparently," he said past the pins between his teeth.

He was peripherally aware that she was watching him in the mirror, her face serious now. "Keir," she said at last, "where is it going to stop?"

"What?"

"This ... transformation. These changes in you."

He paused. "I don't know. All I know is I feel better. More myself."

"And your memories? Are they coming back?"

"Y-yes. And no. I know that I did more than just de-index myself. That's a scry thing, it doesn't affect your biological memories. Since I got here, I haven't had scry to lean on, so I've had to access that natural memory system just to function. So I'm getting better at it. But ... some things are just gone ."

"Sita?"

He shook his head. "I remember her better every day. No. It's a period when I was in Brink. Something happened. I think I ... found out something. And it scared me, or something. So much that I wiped it from scry and my natural memory, and de-indexed and neotenized myself. It was a kind of suicide, really."

He'd said this dispassionately, but his hands were shaking a little as he finished adjusting Leal's hair. "There," he said, moving his hands to her shoulders. "Done."

"Yes." She was nodding. "I like it." The overall look was severe, but the top bared her shoulders and a plunge of skin between her breasts. Her hair was tightly drawn back, the two pins making a red X behind her head.

"Does it make you feel confident? Sharpen your eyebrows, and we're ready." He turned to the door, but didn't make it a meter before she'd grabbed his arm and hauled him back. She kissed him strongly, and his whole act of competence fell apart.

When they disengaged, he wobbled back a bit and she arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, it seems to work," she said.

"Let's go."

* * *

THE SPIN-GALE OFthe city of Aurora whispered in the corners as Keir and Leal made their through the Slipstream ambassadorial mission. The building was marble, conspicuously made of stone in a city that was otherwise metal-poor. They heard adding machines and typewriters clattering in the side offices, and pageboys and -girls raced past carrying envelopes of various sizes.

An honor guard was waiting patiently by the bridge to the presidential palace. The red-and-gold-suited soldiers all saluted as they strolled up, and Keir grinned at Leal. She looked decidedly uncomfortable at the attention. "We're not even going outside," she whispered to him as they set out across the columned, covered bridge.

"Oh, just enjoy it." He was determined to wipe away the memories that had assailed him this morning, and made a point of looking out at the city as they walked. There was little to see, though; the way was obscured by thick forest.

The bridge connected to Aerie's new presidential palace, which was a fantasy in wrought iron, asteroidal pallasite, and glass. Beams of sunlight wheeled with majestic stateliness through corridors with polished floors and high arched ceilings. Workers were still buffing and painting here, too.

"Atten-shun!" The honor guard stopped as one, and saluted. Another group was approaching from the left, this second knot of Slipstream soldiers surrounding Admiral Chaison Fanning and Lacerta, the Home Guard officer who'd been stranded in Aethyr with Hayden Griffin. Despite their fresh dress uniforms, both appeared grim and tired.

"Any word on Venera?" Keir murmured to Leal, who shook her head. "Good morning, Admiral."

Fanning nodded impassively. The two groups merged and began to make their way to the front of the palace. Officials and support staff were everywhere now, scurrying to and fro, pushing tables, consulting over clipboards. It was some sort of organized chaos, and all done without scry. Keir was impressed.

Antaea Argyre waited alone at an intersection where white sunlight flooded in from the right. She wasn't the warrior today but the author, in a brocade jacket over a white blouse, dark knee-length trousers, and flats. There were no weapons belted at her hips.

She bowed, and the honor guard accepted her inside of it. She glanced up at Fanning, but no one spoke as they traversed the short sunlit hall to stand at the top of a broad, balconied level from which a vast, wide sweep of stairs led down to gardens.

Here, the front half of the palace became a single chamber walled by glass and supported by vaulting girders of iron. This part of the building was shaped somewhat like the inverted front of a ship, and the steps before them faced the prow. Sunlight poured in through the glass as if it wasn't there, flooding the trees and flower beds below. Outside, the forested city curved up on either side, and ahead rose and rose, to arch finally overhead in turquoise glory, its sweeping shape framed by two godlike wings of cloud.

One figure stood silhouetted at the top of the steps. Hayden Griffin was looking out over the new city, in the light of the sun he had built. There were plenty of other people traversing the steps, but all gave him a wide berth. Some paused behind him, to look back at him in awe.

His return from Aethyr had caused a frenzy of adulation in Aerie. They'd practically rioted in the streets, and even now, people were perched on buildings and in trees outside the palace, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. He'd responded to all of this with acute embarrassment, and had been hiding in his room.