Jade War

CHAPTER 7 The Weather Man’s Persuasion

Jan Royal University, situated on the western edge of Janloon, is the oldest academic institution on Kekon, having withstood periods of war and occupation over the span of its distinguished three-hundred-year history. Some of the weathered stone buildings that Shae walked past dated all the way back to the unification of the island at the end of the Warring Sisters period. Others, like the Foreign Studies Department building, were gleaming modern structures of steel and glass and concrete. Shae entered through the double doors and slipped into the back of the lecture hall, taking an empty seat in the last row. The class was already in progress; Maro was writing on the blackboard and did not see her come in, but when he turned back around to face the class, his eyes found her and a small smile tugged briefly at his mouth before he addressed the students paying attention to him. “Last week, we discussed the aftermath of the Many Nations War and how the economic and political collapse of the Tun Empire, followed by decades of civil conflict and reform, allowed Ygutan to fill the power vacuum left on the Orius continent. We’ll be shifting our focus for the rest of this term to the postwar policies of the Republic of Espenia with regards to Shotar and Kekon, and how that is directly related to current events.”

Shae was interested in the lecture, and Tau Maro was an engaging speaker—organized, knowledgeable, and enthusiastic about the material—but Shae could not keep her mind from returning to the prior day’s phone conversation with Ree Tura. She was surprised when the hour was over, and disappointed that she’d been unable to pay better attention. Maro wrote a closing question on the blackboard. “Your assignment this week is to write three pages on the following topic: How does the recent ratification of the Pact of Friendship and Mutual Noninterference between Tun and Ygutan affect Kekon?”

When the students had gathered their belongings and dispersed from the lecture hall, Shae rose from her seat and walked to the front of the room. “I hope you didn’t mind me coming early to watch,” she said. “You’re a very good teacher.”

Maro finished erasing the blackboard, then glanced around at the empty seats before leaning in to plant a kiss on the corner of Shae’s mouth. His short beard tickled her cheek, and she caught a whiff of aftershave mingled with the scent of the chalk dusting the lapels and shoulders of the brown suede jacket he wore over a white shirt. “I don’t mind at all,” he said. “You look nice. Where are we going for dinner?”

Spring rains had washed the campus sidewalks clean and made the wide lawns green and lush. Students on bicycles streamed past them as they left the university grounds. Shae did not have a car and driver waiting; she’d taken a taxi straight from the office on Ship Street, pausing only to refresh her makeup and exchange her blazer for a sequined red shawl. She began to hail another cab, but Maro said, “At this time on a Fifthday, it’ll be faster to take the subway. You don’t mind, do you?” She assured him she did not.

Standing on the subway platform, talking casually about the lecture, the university campus, and the recent weather, Shae felt some of the tension from her work week slowly unknotting. She rested her eyes on Maro, on his reassuringly unhurried demeanor as he allowed the first, overly crowded train to pass and waited for the next. Maro’s short beard made him look older and more serious than he truly was, but he had a soft mouth and watchful eyes, and large, handsome hands. He was the most pleasant surprise that had happened to Shae all year. She had not been looking for a relationship. Sometimes she thought about Jerald with nostalgia and wished for companionship, but she had little room for any sort of social life outside of No Peak responsibilities. With her grandfather’s death and funeral, and recent demands at the Weather Man’s office, she hadn’t seen Maro in over a month. “I’m sorry that it’s been so long since we got together,” she said.

Maro shook his head. “I know things can’t have been easy for you lately. I’ve been thinking about you but didn’t want to intrude, knowing there was already so much public attention on your family.” He hesitated, then slipped his hand into hers and gave it a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re able to get away tonight.”

They went to the Golyaani Kitchen, an upscale dining spot in North Sotto, not far from the apartment where Shae used to live when she’d first moved back to Janloon. She’d been wanting to take Maro there for some time. The waiter showed them to a corner booth where Shae ordered a cocktail and Maro chose a midrange Shotarian whiskey and a glass of water. “So. How are you doing these days?” he asked her.

“Better than I was. I miss my grandfather… but he wasn’t really himself in the last year of his life. He used to be such a force of nature.” Shae stirred her cocktail pensively. “I like to think that he’s awaiting the Return in the afterlife with my father and my brother, and they’re all much happier and more peaceful now.” She paused to take a long sip of her drink, determined not to be melancholy on what ought to be a lighthearted evening. She reached across the table and laid her hand over Maro’s large one; his jade aura was like a light blanket, full of interesting wrinkles and pleasant to touch. “How’re things at work?”

“The usual,” Maro replied, letting her change the subject. “I’m teaching three classes this semester. And I’m still trying to get my foreign studies trips funded. The bureaucracy in academia never ceases to astound me.” A sigh of wry resignation. “With events in Shotar being in the news so much, I’ve also been called to Wisdom Hall a lot lately.”

When Shae had first met Maro at a Kaul Dushuron Academy alumni event six months ago, she’d determined immediately that he would be a valuable acquaintance. As Weather Man, she needed to be current in her knowledge of international relations and trade. At age thirty-three, Tau Marosun was one of the youngest faculty members in the Foreign Studies Department at Jan Royal University and a political advisor to the Royal Council. The fact that the accomplished young professor was attractive was a noteworthy but secondary consideration. She asked Maro to sit down with her over dinner a few weeks later, hoping to build a professional relationship and gather additional names from his network of experts in the field. They’d talked for four hours, beginning with his academic areas of expertise but soon ranging into everything from Janloon’s restaurant scene, to foreign films, to budget traveling.

Afterward, Maro had shyly asked if he might see her again.

The Golyaani Kitchen served upscale traditional Tuni food alongside a large and varied drink menu, and on a Fifthday evening, the surrounding tables were occupied by the young professionals who populated the North Sotto district. Hanging pot lamps illuminated the stylish brick hearth, black tabletops, and shelves of decorative rustic bottles filled with dried spices. Their meal arrived: smoked liver sausage, spiced eggplant stew over rice, quail baked in a clay pot. Shae was pleased when Maro exclaimed appreciatively over the dishes and complimented her selections. She watched him ladle the eggplant stew onto both of their plates. Maro did everything with a certain subtle deliberation: outlining the topics of his lecture before the beginning of class, pausing before speaking, taking the time to smell whiskey before drinking it. He was completely unlike Jerald. Shae’s previous boyfriend had been athletic and exuberant, vigorous in bed, a funny, charming, ultimately shallow and insensitive young Espenian military officer. Maro was intelligent and opinionated, but unpretentious, valuing thoughtful conversation and new experiences. He was also unlike most Green Bone men Shae was accustomed to; he wore two jade studs pierced conservatively through his left ear, but he had never been a Finger in the clan. Indeed, he seemed to have little interest in clan affairs, asking after them only insofar as they were important to Shae and to the extent that they related to national politics and world issues.

“What’s the Royal Council been asking you?” Shae asked.

“Exactly the sort of thing I ask my students,” Maro said, a touch ironically. “But in far greater detail than a three-page report.” Shae recalled the question he’d written on the blackboard at the end of class: How does the recent ratification of the Pact of Friendship and Mutual Noninterference between Tun and Ygutan affect Kekon?

“So how would you answer your own essay question?” she asked him.

Maro took a bite of quail, chewing and swallowing before replying. “I would say that Kekon is going to be in an unprecedentedly difficult position. The Tun-Ygutan pact isn’t surprising. Tun has too many of its own problems to oppose Ygutan, and the Ygutanians are content to leave their largest border undisturbed so they can concentrate on attaining control of the entire Origas Gulf. That’s entirely unacceptable to Shotar and to Espenia. The ROE is bound to commit more military resources to the region, and to Kekon in particular.”

Shae nodded. “We’ll be caught between the Espenosphere and the Ygut Coalition.” Kekon was officially allied with the Republic of Espenia and hosted the largest Espenian naval base in the region on Euman Island. The Kekonese, however, generally did not care for the Espenians more than any other foreigners. They were geographically closer to the continent of Orius than that of Spenius, and they had such a long enmity with Shotar that it was hard to imagine the two countries being on the same side simply because they both had alliances with the ROE. Shae’s mind returned to the vexing conversation she’d had with Ree Tura. The world outside of Kekon was exerting forces that derailed even a blood feud between the Green Bone clans.

“It’s a politically charged situation,” Maro agreed, “but maybe an opportunity as well, for our country to play a bigger role on the world stage.” He took a sip of his drink; when he set the glass down, he said, “For most of our history, we’ve been an insular, tribal, and isolationist island, trusting in jade and Green Bones to keep us safe. But all that’s been changing. Jade brought the world to our doorstep, and now we have to take part in that world.”

Shae thought about her cousin, now in Espenia. She’d been certain she was doing the right thing, convincing Hilo to send Anden to study abroad. No Peak was in need of more people who had lived and worked outside of Kekon, who understood the rapidly changing world that Maro spoke of. Anden had not believed her, though, had blamed her, even. Shae paused in her meal and settled her gaze on Maro. “I can’t help but wonder,” she said with a smile, “how someone ends up as a leading professor of foreign studies after graduating from a hidebound Green Bone clan institution like Kaul Du Academy.”

Maro grimaced as he leaned in. “I almost didn’t,” he admitted. “Graduate, that is. I struggled with the jade disciplines and wanted to drop out as a year-five, but that wasn’t an option. I’m the only boy in my family.” It was an enduring belief among Kekonese that every family of quality had jade in it. An only son would be expected to receive a martial education and wear green. Maro pursed his lips thoughtfully, then finished the whiskey in his glass. “Looking back now, I’m glad I went through the training. I think I’m a stronger person because of it. But at the time, it was hard. Fortunately, my academic grades pulled me through, but I was never really cut out to be a Green Bone. Not like certain people who graduate Rank One.” He gave Shae a teasing prod with his elbow. “I remember you from back then. I was a year-four when you came in as a year-one. You don’t remember me, do you?”

Shae was embarrassed to admit that she did not. “That’s okay, I wouldn’t expect you to,” Maro said. “I was a bookworm and didn’t make much of an impression at the time. Everyone knew who you were, though. You and your brother being in the same class, it was hard to miss you.”

“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.”

Shae pictured what Hilo’s reaction would be to hearing a Green Bone confess that he’d never fought to earn or defend his jade—skepticism, astonishment, disdain—and she was seized by an abrupt surge of proud and protective affection for Maro. “I think it’s the opposite of cowardice to be true to who you are,” she said. She leaned forward and kissed him.

The heat of their mouths collided. Shae shivered as she felt Maro’s jade aura ripple with pleasant surprise and then hum with sparking lust. Answering desire rose and tugged at Shae’s navel, shockingly strong and insistent. It had been a long time since she’d taken a man to bed—not since she’d split with Jerald and returned to Kekon two years ago. She clutched the lapels of Maro’s jacket and rose onto the balls of her feet, kissing him harder, more insistently. Maro wrapped a hand around the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, and curled the other arm around her waist, tugging her body closer to his own. Arousal lit between them.

Shae pulled away with a sucking gasp, suddenly struck by the worry that they would be seen. Here in No Peak territory, the clan’s Fingers and informers were always nearby; word might reach Hilo by midnight that the Weather Man had been seen kissing a strange man on the street corner. “A taxi,” she whispered urgently, and stepped to the curb to hail the nearest one.

In the back seat of the cab, she draped her legs over his, and Maro bent his head down to hers; his mouth moved eagerly over her jaw and ear. “Do you want to go to your place?” The Weather Man’s house was still under renovation, and Shae didn’t want to bring Maro into the main house, where she might have to introduce him to her brother. “No,” she said, sliding her hands under his jacket, feeling the heat and musculature of his back. “Let’s go to yours.”

Maro lived in a four-story walk-up apartment in a historical part of Sotto Village populated by art studios, curio shops, and tattoo parlors, interspersed here and there with new eateries and buttressed by infill housing. The cab let them off in front of the building, and they ran up the stairs holding on to each other. On the landing, they fell to kissing once again. Maro tried twice to fit his office key into his apartment door before he cursed and laughed and finally succeeded in letting them in. The inside of the apartment was spacious, and tidier than she’d expected, clearly the home of an intellectual bachelor, undecorated but full of shelves for books, magazines, and videocassettes. Shae did not pause to pay attention to any of it beyond a cursory glance; they staggered into the single bedroom and pulled off each other’s clothes, dropping them to the floor. She pressed one hand to the small of Maro’s back and cupped his scrotum with the other. Her nipples rubbed against his chest; the slight scratchiness of his hair against her intensely sensitive skin made her quiver, as did the pulse of their jade auras, mingling and coalescing together like melding body heat.

They sank toward the bed. Shae pushed Maro’s hand between her legs as she stroked and fondled him, then shifted down to take him in her mouth. He tasted good—clean, but with that indescribable masculine odor. When he started gasping and thrusting, she pulled away. “Do you have a—” she began, but Maro handed her a condom so quickly that she broke out laughing. She opened the packet and unrolled it over him, feeling him shiver with anticipation.

“Get me close with your mouth first,” she whispered, and pressed his shoulders down toward her hips. He went to work eagerly, and not without skill, and when Shae felt as if every muscle in her body was strained on the utmost verge of clenching, she drew her legs up in open invitation. She gasped aloud as he entered her, grabbing his ass in encouragement. She tried to hold back, to draw out the delicious climb, but several hard thrusts sent her careening over the edge, spasming and shuddering, her legs locked around his waist as the waves of her climax rolled through her and into him, spurring Maro into a wild abandon. In minutes, his jade aura spiked as he crested. Maro cried out, head thrown back, spine arching above her.

They collapsed together. Maro kissed her shoulder and rolled aside, arms wrapped around her. “Thank you,” he murmured into the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

When Shae awoke the next morning, she felt completely alert and clearheaded, as if the sex had swept through her system like a long overdue cleansing typhoon. Maro was still asleep. As she gazed at his long frame stretched out on the sheets, it occurred to her that he was a beautiful sight but also remarkably naked. Lying next to him in all of her jade—choker, bracelets, earrings, anklets—she felt almost improperly overdressed. It had never even occurred to her to remove them.

She thought about staying where she was, sleeping in, making love again, walking out into Sotto Village for brunch. Instead, she got up stealthily, wiped herself down with a towel from the bathroom, then retrieved her strewn clothes and put them on. Dim sunlight framed the drawn curtains in Maro’s room, and by their light she noticed things that she hadn’t the night before. Travel photos and prints of antique maps on the walls. An orange cat sunning itself on the windowsill. On the dresser, a framed photograph of two little girls—perhaps six and four years old.

“My nieces,” Maro said, answering her unspoken question in a sleep-thickened voice from the bed behind her. “It’s a photo from last year, though. I have more recent pictures, but I haven’t put them in frames.”

Shae sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on his leg. “I had a wonderful time.”

Maro reached out a hand and took her by the wrist. “Do you have to go so soon?”

She nodded and stood up reluctantly. “I have to sway the Pillar.”

Shae found her brother in the training hall behind the Kaul house, finishing up a morning practice session with Master Aido. She could Perceive his heartbeat, his breath and exertion, before she slid open the door. Tightly blindfolded and relying only on his sense of Perception, Hilo was weaving and slashing, the talon knife in his hand a blur as it scored the hard leather guards protecting Aido’s torso, arms, and neck. The master moved astonishingly fast for a man with gray hair, his own knife darting out now and again to test Hilo’s Steel.

Aido had been a faculty member at Wie Lon Temple School many years ago, before he had a personal falling out with the grandmaster and left to become a private trainer in the jade disciplines. Like jade-wearing physicians, teachers were not beholden to any one clan; Aido used to coach Green Bones in both the major clans, but these days, he limited his client base primarily to the upper echelons of No Peak, to avoid potential conflicts of interest. There was a good living to be made as a trainer; Green Bones who intended to advance on the Horn’s side of the clan paid handsomely to continue developing their prowess after graduation, and even those without strong martial ambitions were advised to at least be diligent about maintaining their abilities, lest they end up weak and slow, potential targets for others. It was easy to slide backward in one’s jade proficiency, in the same way that it was easy to gain weight—slowly and insidiously.

The kitchen timer on the counter rang. “Much better,” said Master Aido, lowering his arms. “Your knife work is confident again and you’re not slowing yourself down by over-Steeling.” Hilo did not look satisfied; he tore off the blindfold and stalked to the water cooler. “Kaul Shae-jen,” Aido said, nodding to Shae in greeting as he passed her on the way out. “You should call to get an appointment on my calendar as well. My month is filling up fast.”

“I’ll be sure to do that, Aido-jen,” Shae said.

Hilo finished draining his paper cup of water and tossed it into the trash bin. Wiping a towel over his neck, he glanced at Shae standing by the door, then turned away from her and leaned his hands heavily on the counter, a pall of gloom over him. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same.”

It had taken Hilo many long months to recover from his injuries last year, and despite all the urgent demands on the Pillar’s time and attention, he seemed obsessed with building himself back into fighting shape. Shae knew that he had at least two other coaches on retainer besides Master Aido. She suspected that her brother’s preoccupation with his martial fitness was a way for him to avoid the parts of the Pillar’s job that were uninteresting or difficult for him. His fighting prowess as a Green Bone—that was one thing he could understand and control.

“You don’t need to be the best talon knife fighter anymore,” she said. “You have men to fight for you.”

“Strong men don’t fight for weak men.” Hilo walked past her to the door. “Have you had breakfast?”

At the patio table, Kyanla brought them bowls of steamed eggs in broth and a plate of pastries. Shae told Hilo about her conversation with Ree Tura and Ayt’s proposal for a formal meeting. “They want to discuss the terms of a truce.”

“A truce.” Her brother made a face. “That bitch has got some nerve.”

Shae took a bread roll and broke it in half. She called to mind Maro’s words from last night, the confidence he’d tried to instill in her. You lead the clan as much as your brother does. You can make a difference. “I think we should agree,” she said.

To her surprise, Hilo did not react immediately. He chewed quietly for several seconds, then said, “Why?”

“I think you know why, Hilo. We’re at an impasse. Tar kicked off another bout of back-and-forth bloodshed, but it’s already petering out. The press coverage has been particularly harsh because everyone knows that by this point, the fighting is pointless. A year and half of open war has sapped both our clans; neither of us is strong enough to win.”

“Ayt tried her damnedest to finish us off last year and failed,” Hilo growled. “Now she comes crawling to us hoping for a truce? Why should we let up when we have the advantage?”

“We don’t have an advantage,” Shae said. “We don’t have the resources or manpower to control the entire city even if we did take down the Mountain. You said it yourself: This war is a boon for criminals and smugglers, and the situation will only get worse so long as the clans keep losing people on both sides. How much longer do you expect we can keep grinding it out for street territory?”

She’d made her point too argumentatively; Hilo gave her a dark look and said, “From what I hear, maybe longer than you can hold on to the office on Ship Street.” Shae grimaced but didn’t look away.

Hilo rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m not stupid, Shae,” he said less harshly. “I do look at those reports you put on my desk, once in a while. Jade mining’s halted, tourism’s down, our war expenses are high, people are upset—I get it. But do you believe for one second that Ayt’s suddenly become a different person, that she’s willing to live peacefully from now on?”

Shae wrapped her fingers around the warm bowl of broth. It wasn’t hard to recall the Mountain Pillar’s words to her last year, the utter certainty with which she promised the destruction of No Peak. “No,” Shae said. “Ayt’s staked everything on her vision of one-clan rule.”

“Then no truce will last,” Hilo said. “The Mountain will only use it as an opportunity to build up their strength, to hit us in a worse way later.”

Shae nodded slowly. “It goes both ways, Hilo,” she said. “We need to build up our own strength, to plan a longer game. We can negotiate now and not forget they’re the enemy.”

Hilo slumped back in his chair with a snort of disgust. “People have the brains of chickens. A year ago, the public was on our side, blaming the Mountain for hoarding jade and starting the war. Now they want to forget it all, give Ayt the keys to the KJA again, and have us hold hands nicely.”

“Most people aren’t Green Bones,” Shae reminded him. “It’s not personal for them. They’re worried about the slowing economy, about crime and smuggling, and especially about the separatist crisis in Oortoko turning into a war between the Espenians and the Ygutanians, right here in the East Amaric. We’re going to have the two largest military forces on the planet surrounding our small island, the world’s only source of jade.” Shae studied her brother’s glum expression and added, “That’s why people don’t care about clan grievances anymore. They don’t just want us to stop fighting; they want us to cooperate to defend national interests. If we don’t, we may be dooming the clans and the country. That’s why we have to agree to meet with the Mountain.” In a quieter voice, “You know it’s what Lan would want us to do.”

“Lan wanted a lot of things that he didn’t get.” Hilo fell silent and stared out across the courtyard. The mornings were warm now, the springtime garden burgeoning with peonies and azaleas in pink and white. Shae waited; she and Hilo had sat out here many times over the past year—in discussion, fierce argument, or silence—and she’d come to recognize the particular feel of his jade aura when she’d finally said something to convince him. Pushing Hilo too hard with factual arguments would only make him irritable and defensive; he needed a genuine and personal reason to justify his choices.

“I have to discuss it with Kehn,” Hilo said at last. He ate the rest of his bread roll in two quick bites and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Tell Ree that we’ll talk. Set a time for after I get back from the Uwiwa Islands.”