613 - A crime against Arko

The next moment I got Skorsas alone I asked him how he’d known to say what he had.

“We all did that for each other in the Mezem,” he told me. “The boys, I mean… well, sometimes the fighters, too. I didn’t see that with her back then; I just thought she was angry because she wasn’t free. But a lot of us came from bad homes, and Iska always had wisdom for us, and we helped each other.”

I had to push my mouth closed yet again. The Mezem, a place of healing, whose lore would help my marriage—who could have imagined?

From then on, we threw ourselves entirely and with untrammeled joy into alesinafien and wedding plans, though I sometimes had to tear myself away to be Imperator. Skorsas and Niku showed no more sign of being interested in each other sexually than before, but the tension being gone made the Imperial section a place of pure joy, and I realized I’d been wanting sex between them for my own reassurance too much, forgetting what my mother had said. I now came to the full understanding of how their having the love of friends for each other was the crucial thing. I could feel a thousand years old on the Crystal Throne; learning things like this was a sharp reminder that I was still young.

In the alesinas ritual, one man must be supofras and the other alesinas (I had thought they were both alesinae, but Kall and Skorsas quickly enlightened me that the word has a double meaning). We were planning in one of the fancily-named Imperial section parlours. When I asked what the two words meant in this context they were baffled that I didn’t instinctively understand, and unable to articulate it themselves, both at once. When Skorsas finally said, “For the ceremony the alesinas one-ups the supofras even if they’re both the same caste; does that explain it?”

“Ah,” I said. “Superior and inferior. So…” I looked from one to the other. “How are we… you? …going to decide which is which?” They were both the same caste; Kall had been raised higher and was older; but Skorsas was far richer and had the more commanding nature, at least in matters peaceful. “Or why don’t we do it one way one time, and the other the second time?”

“What other time?” said Skorsas.

“I mean do a double ritual... and you change places.” They both looked at me as if I’d grown a second and third nose out of my cheeks. “That way each gets to be superior,” I added.

“Shefenkas,” Skorsas said, precisely like a parent to a particularly obtuse child. “Don’t you understand how it is with us Arkans? We are happy to recognize our superiors! We know some people are greater than others, and do not resent that, or feel it as insult to our honour!” I glanced at Kall; his face was in total agreement.

“All right,” I said. “The egalitarian ignoramus will stand aside; it is your ritual and so must be as you wish.”

Skorsas went right on, as if I’d never interrupted, about procuring the oysters and ring-pastries, whatever they were, decorations and guest-favours and so forth. I wondered when they’d mention who’d officiate; turns out that an alesinafiet, having started as an informal rite, has no priest, just witnesses, and it isn’t even necessary to have parents there, though we would.

“Turns out there’s a very fine waist-curtain in storage, probably used by Imperators—you don’t mind do you, Shefenkas? I didn’t think so—lots of gold thread but not too much white, we just have to wash the dust out of it,” said Skorsas. “I’m having an outfit made to match your armour, Kall… if only we were doing it publicly, it would be the talk of—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said. “Did I hear that right? Armour? Wherever we do it, I think we’ll be well enough guarded that we don’t need to worry about an alesinas being attacked.”

“No no, he’s supofras,” Skorsas corrected sniffingly.

“Oh, so you already decided that.” They both looked at me as if to say, ‘It wouldn’t be obvious to a three-year-old?’ They hadn’t even discussed it, that not being necessary. “But… armour?”

“Sheng, don’t you look at the paintings in this place?” said Kall. “Fighting Aitzas and solas always gear up for their weddings, and it’s the same for alesinafiets.” Yes, I had seen at least one painting of an Imperial wedding with the Imperator armed to the teeth; I’d thought it was a barbaric custom as archaic and quaint as the style of the painting itself, which was a few centuries old.

“But it’s not a battle, it’s a wedding. It’s about love, not comba—oh kyash, Skorsas, don’t tell me you’re planning to make me wear my armour when I marry Niku!”

He looked at me speechless, his face a mix of horror and indignation. “How else to show your willingness to defend the bride?” Kall asked, baffled, into the silence.

“Well, I’m pretty sure the guests aren’t about to attack her,” I said. “We won’t invite anyone who would. Should she be wearing her axes to show she will defend me?”

“Jewel of the World!” Skorsas finally collected himself enough to snap. “The wedding is not a half-month away! The armourer is on the final polishing by now! You can’t say you won’t wear it!”

“Armourer? Final polishing? It’s wing-silk… Skorsas, that sounds like you’ve had another set made, tell me you haven’t!”

He threw his hands over his face, like a general who’s seeing his brilliant plan made hash of in the field by moronic soldiers. “Yes! I have! Come here!” He grabbed my wrist, jumped up and dragged me out the door and through some number of marble corridors to a great painting, framed in the most ornate gilding and sun-lit through mirror-skylights: the wedding of Ilesias the Great. I’d glanced at it before as I blew by. “Patterned on that!” he said, stabbing out his finger like a gloved blade to point at the groom, who was spectacularly armoured in white and gold with touches of green in the oddly-irregular paisley I’d seen men wearing in other wedding paintings. “If you refuse to wear it you will be committing a crime against Arko!”

“Not to mention against Skorsas,” Kall said drily, and yet seriously.

I raised the ivy branch of surrender. “I will wear it.”

“And Chirel, since Minis stole the Imperial sword… the dark shoulder-strap crossing your chest ruins the lines of the cuirass somewhat, but if you let me apply a little gilding—”

“No.” Some lines I will not cross.

AN: Gentle Beloved Readers Ravenous Hordes: six months of patron status--that's a $24 value--is available to he or she who will dare to write song lyrics to precise specifications! See this comment thread on post 564.