Cloths of Heaven
(i)
There was a golden age in the corridors of Atzara even as war was spoken of in deep corners. The ladies of the Mask were often more flustered than usual and there was a sense of apathy about the Seraglio but it was clear to everyone that the Nemesis was in love.
He ordered festivals on an ad hoc basis just to show off his new love in the fabulous fabrics he ordered from all over his empire. He dressed him in jewels and lived for his small smiles.
The festival of Atzara was the highlight of the year in which the Nemesis threw a golden ring from the edge of the pier to renew the marriage of Atzara and the sea.
Aya watched the crowd from the Seraglio watching over Yuki who had caught a fever. He didn't understand this patriotism that the people displayed for the Nemesis, he would kill him, it was that simple. He didn't think he would survive it, but he had done what he had done to avenge Inabayama but in his head the festival outside the palace was the festival of flowers in Inabayama where the streets were lined with rose petals and the maidens of the city danced through the streets to the music that played. He remembered the sweet crushed ice and watching as Aya danced the day away in shoes made of satin and her silvery laughter.
But Aya was dead and the Nemesis had crushed Inabayama, the endless towers had been pulled down and the fields sown with salt.
He raised his head letting out the breath he had been holding slowly to calm himself, and looked at Yuki, sprawled on the bed with a cool cloth over his eyes. “I'll keep an eye on him,” Hel said from the doorway, “if you want to catch the rest of the festival,” her voice was soft, and fond, “I think Chloe would like that.”
Aya shook his head, Ran would have jumped at the opportunity but Aya couldn't be that close to the Nemesis without trying to kill him, and in such crowds it wouldn't work. He wouldn't get close to him.
The part of him that burned for revenge wanted to use Chloe to get to the Nemesis but Chloe was sweet and good, proud and beautiful and Aya, though he might want to deny it, probably loved him, he wouldn't betray Chloe. He would find another way.
“It's not too late to join them, you know, and Free can get you through the worst of the crowds.” Hel served the Nemesis, he reminded himself coldly, and it served his interests to keep his nobles happy.
“I think Free is enjoying the quiet time.” Aya said, referring to the seven foot tall man that sat outside his door making castles with his cards and glaring at any one who came too close, except the ladies of the mask and Mihorogi, who Aya discovered should have worn a mask for the work she did in the Seraglio.
Hel laughed, “he cut down a terrible intruder to the Seraglio yesterday,” she said with a mocking smile, “cut him down in two with The masked lady,” she said referring to the card with which he had bisected the intruder, “the poor bluebottle never knew what hit him.” Aya offered her a dry laugh, “very few men are even allowed in the Seraglio and Free is making sure that that is upheld, even to unknowing insects.” Then she sat down in the chair and faced him, “truth be told, I think Free killed that fly for something to do, he just trails along behind you and Chloe and plays with his cards, has he read your fortune yet?” Aya shook his head, “then you're the only one in the entire Seraglio.” She continued, “go for a ride, go do something, I'll look after Yuki, even if you don't want to enjoy the festival, you are Chloe's favourite, you can come and go as you wish, why don't you go shopping, before Free rebuilds Atzara in cards.”
He understood a dismissal when he heard one. “Besides, you're too pale, you need some sun.” She said tilting her head with a smile, “Mihorogi said that you dropping your pants is like the moon coming out, and our Chloe is as golden as the sun, a little sun won't do you any harm.”
Aya rolled his eyes giving in to the order, “I'll get Free, but make sure he drinks plenty of fluids.”
Hel's expression softened behind the mask, “you want us all to think that you're heartless,” she said, “but you're not, and we know that, and that is why we love you, Aya.”
Aya's expression became hard at that, “I'm not worthy of your love,” he said, “I'd rather you hated me.” He sighed, “I'm not that kind of person, Hel, I don't deserve to be loved.”
Hel didn't have an answer for that, so she said nothing.
(ii)
The streets of Atzara were bustling with crowds and Aya, who was tall, was overshadowed by Free, who wore the simple black livery of the Nemesis, and although Aya wore a veil over his hair, by order of the Ladies of the Mask, and everyone cleared out of their way. They were both quiet by nature so the walk was made in silence, up the hill to the Cathedral of Falling stars and the small tearoom that faced it. According to Schon it was the best tearoom in the city.
He sat down at one of the tables with Free facing him, barely fitting under the table, he was tall and thin with a shock of white hair and three perpendicular black tattoos on his cheeks. It seemed he was known about the town. “Why do they call you Free?” Aya asked as they waited for their tea, the window of the small tearoom overlooked the sea, where it beat upon the rocks below in a steady rhythm and explosion of froth.
“It is a title,” Free answered, his voice deep and rumbling, then there was a silence, and Aya realised he would need to press for more answer than that.
“Where does it come from? I mean, it's very unusual.”
“My ancestor, when he was taken as Janissary it was the only thing he would give his name as, he became a respected bodyguard but when they asked him who he was he would answer “Free,” so as each of us has grown we become Free.” The voice was a steady rumble and Aya suspected it was the most he had heard him speak. Then he leant forward, he was sat like a goblin, his knees almost beside his ears as he tried to fit on the chair, “If we are being so honest with each other, why are you Aya? it is not your name, that much is clear.”
“What makes you say that?” Aya asked, calmly, moving the whisk in his hands in a way that betrayed his anxiety.
“Because you call out the name in your sleep.” Free answered, “Chloe asked me for some more information on you but I will not betray your confidence.” Free's eyes were an almost acid green and fixed on Aya, “I ask only for my own curiosity.”
“Your loyalty is to Chloe.” Aya said, trying to avoid the subject at hand, which was clearly making him uncomfortable.
“No,” Free said, “I am Free.” And that was all the answer he would give.
The lady bringing them tea interrupted any further conversation, “not at the festival, a pair of pretty boys like you, why all the young girls are down watching his lordship, he's a good man, his lordship.” Aya never failed to be astounded by the level to which the people of Atzara loved the Nemesis, did they not know the horrors he was capable of? “Of course with his lordship looking his very best I can see why such handsome young men would want to be away, why I've heard,” she leant in close to whisper it, “that he's got himself a young man.” Free did not lose his composure one bit, he remained stony faced but there was something in his gaze which struck Aya as being amused by that remark. “But I'm not one to gossip, now I'll get you some pastries to go with your tea and leave you two alone, I imagine you've got a lot to talk about.”
They shared their tea in silence.
The city of Atzara was built around a small and well-protected cove, which sheltered a small harbour; it was, in Aya's opinion a bit of an exaggeration to call it a city. It was a citadel certainly, but could fit into a corner of Eressea. It was three streets that stretched from the beach to the citadel, which spiralled up around a hill to a tower from which they could defend the harbour. (1)
The street vendors took advantage of two of the streets leading up to the stairs of the citadel where most of the nobles lived, in contrast the palace was up a hill on the opposite side of the hill, a sprawling mass of walls and gates with fretwork screens that overlooked the cove.
Aya supposed in another time and place he might have loved Atzara. Instead he found himself in a place that represented all he had lost with sandstone and banners, with people dressed for festival and trying to press worthless souvenirs in his hands in exchange for money, but backing off as Free glared at them. There were things in Atzara that the past few months had shown him he could love, but instead he found numbness in his chest that sometimes ached and sometimes he felt nothing.
He felt a concern for Yuki that was almost, but not quite, what he felt for Omi, but Michel, had wormed his way into Aya's affections with a no prisoner's attitude, which was something to behold. He had even found himself sitting by Yuki's bed, into which Michel had ingratiated himself much the way Omi had once done to Naoe, reading them the tales of the valour of Sir Alaric just as he had once before. But Michel was not Naoe, and Yuki was not Omi, and despite himself Aya couldn't do any more than be concerned for them.
Chloe was another matter however.
Chloe was a dandy. He spent hours on his clothes. He drank water from crystal goblets just because he could. Beautiful tapestries surrounded him. He wore an obscene amount of bracelets on his right arm, all chinking slightly when Chloe touched him. His clothes were silk and cut differently from everyone else in the entire palace. He tended a rose garden. He teased both Yuki and Michel with jokes they were too young to understand and accepted Free's wry comments with a golden smile.
Everything about Chloe was golden and summer.
When Aya had seen him the previous night for a light and rather intimate supper he had been wearing black silk shot through with a white pinstripe and leather gloves embossed with roses that stopped just short of his wrists. He had been wearing a smile like a crown as he watched Aya eat the oysters he had ordered for them, and the thick rich red wine.
Chloe made things complicated.
Chloe would take the brunt of harbouring Aya once he killed the Nemesis, Aya would die in the attempt he knew that. It was Chloe who had sent Free to protect him. It was Chloe who had preserved Aya's position in the Seraglio.
It was Chloe that he didn't want to leave behind.
Death would make things simple again, he was the last of Inabayama, the last of the Fujimiya, and he would die avenging it.
“You seem deep in thought.” Free said calmly, he seemed to have two modes of expression, calm and wry.
“I was just thinking,” Aya said quietly back, one of the things he liked about Free was that he knew when to be quiet and when to ask questions so he didn't press the matter.
When everything was solved, Chloe would be the one to be blamed. Aya was not happy with that. He was trying to think of an alternative, but one would not present itself. He would kill the Nemesis, his own death mattered little to him.
“Free,” he said quietly, “could we buy some paper and pens, I want to write a letter.”
Before, when he had been Ran, when things were confused he wrote to the Lady Redgrove, she would understand, even if the letter was burned in the fireplace of the Seraglio, as it would be, but she would make sense of the avalanche of emotions, she would understand why he had to do what he had to do, even though he would die, Yuki would probably be executed, publicly and terribly, in a way that would have made Farfarello proud. He wanted to send him away, to send him to Eressea, to Crawford who would protect him, but he couldn't. Yuki was a janissary- a slave. He wanted to write to Crawford and tell him he was sorry, but he couldn't. He hadn't wanted to betray Crawford but everything happened so quickly with Chloe, so inevitably.
“You're frowning.” Free said from his side as he guided him into the paper shop. “Is there something you'd like to share?”
“No,” Aya said, “There's nothing.” And then the numbness descended like a mist over him.
He bought ink that was scented with lavender oil, paper woven with silk threads, a leather bound journal that reminded him of the books that Lady Redgrove had once sent him.
He would ask Mihorogi to send them to Eressea, Lady Redgrove had once stood up to Crawford, she would explain everything, she would understand.
Author's Notes:
1. I based this on the real life town of Calvi in Corsica, which I loved and I think Chloe would like as much as I did. So you can go to Atzara if you like, I have photos.
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