The Last Night of the First Year of Oscar von Reuenthal's Life

December 475 I.C., Odin

Leigh and Reuenthal were sitting in Joseph's, the closest bar to campus, and while theoretically they had come to celebrate finishing the end of semester exams, the atmosphere was less celebratory and more studious. Reuenthal had stolen a blank copy of the strategic theory exam that they had just left, a thick booklet crammed with maps and diagrams, and he had spread it out on the table for them to pore over.

Bittenfeld had come with them to the bar, happy to partake in "celebration", but as soon as Reuenthal started pulling out paper after paper, he had rolled his eyes and found some juniors to challenge at darts. Reuenthal couldn't say he minded his absence, as it let him and Leigh take up the whole booth with their analysis.

Leigh always sat funny. Today, he was sideways in the booth, his right elbow supporting his whole upper body as he twisted onto the table, his legs crossed and his feet up on the cracked leather booth. He always seemed dangerously close to knocking over the beer by his hand, but he never quite did.

"I think you were thinking of this too much like an SW game," Leigh was saying. He tapped a pen idly on the sheaf of papers. "You need to broaden your idea of what 'winning' looks like here."

"Oh?" Reuenthal asked. It was somewhat rare that they discussed tactics so openly. Usually they just read each other's papers and tried to silently understand what their friend was thinking, and, in Reuenthal's case, how to use that to beat Leigh.

"Sure, you could put absolutely everything you have into holding the planet, but I don't think that needs to be your goal."

Reuenthal frowned. "It's what you're stationed there to do."

Leigh nodded. "But what is a planet except for a place where people live? It's better to evacuate the civilian population first--"

"What if there's too many to evacuate?"

"There's not," Leigh said. "This is a tiny border planet, which is why it was targeted in the first place. This would never happen around Odin, or wherever else with more than a million or so inhabitants."

"So you want to just evacuate?"

Leigh made a contemplative noise. "Not necessarily."

"What do you propose, then?"

"Evacuate first, just to prevent loss of life. Have your forces put up a good fight, stall, try to wear down the enemy, but as soon as you start taking big hits, retreat."

"Okay," Reuenthal said. "I can understand that is preferable to losing most of your forces, but it still looks like a loss."

"It would be, in an SW game, if you cut the time there with the retreat. But you don't have to." Leigh drew a long, looping shape on the paper in front of them. "Let them get comfortable. You still have most of your force. Now, they want to hold the planet, and can't easily retreat. You have better positioning and can wear them down. Especially if you can wait for reinforcements."

Reuenthal nodded. "That's not what they're looking to hear, though."

"Let them fail me, then," Leigh said. "I don't care." He picked up his beer and drank.

An, "I care," was on the verge of coming out of Reuenthal's mouth when he saw someone deeply unpleasant approaching. Ansbach strode up to their booth. He was perhaps already drunk, because he usually wasn't so eager to annoy Reuenthal.

"The calculus exam grades were posted," Ansbach said. "It's good to know that you'll be flunking out sooner, rather than later, Leigh."

"Oh, how badly did I do?" Leigh asked, not really looking at Ansbach. His tone was curious and mild, as though Ansbach (or one of Ansbach’s friends) hadn't once tried to murder him in cold blood.

Ansbach glanced at Reuenthal, surprised by Leigh's indifference, as if expecting Reuenthal to also have an opinion on the exchange. Reuenthal glared coldly at him. "Bottom ten percent," Ansbach said after a second. "Pretty pathetic showing."

"Did I pass?" Leigh asked. "I hope I don't have to retake it."

In order to preempt Ansbach's answer, Reuenthal took out his phone and scrolled to the latest exam grade postings. "Yes," he said. "You passed."

"Oh, good," Leigh said. "That's fine, then."

Ansbach looked disgusted, his lip curling up into a sneer. "Deitch will have your spot," he said.

Leigh shrugged. "He can have it."

"No, he won't," Reuenthal said. "Not until he can win in the practicum."

Ansbach ignored Reuenthal. "Everyone's looking for an excuse to get rid of you, you know. Flunking math is going to get you kicked out."

"Let them look," Leigh said. He spread his hands. "If I've stuck around thus far, I don't think--"

"Barely,"Ansbach said. "You're lucky. But you won't always be." And he glanced at Reuenthal again.

"Are you implying something, Ansbach?" Reuenthal asked. "Because if you don't want to become unlucky yourself, I'd advise you keep your mouth shut."

"I don't understand why you're letting him drag you down."

Leigh laughed aloud, an incongruous sound for the vicious tone of the conversation. Both Reuenthal and Ansbach looked at him, startled. Leigh took a sip of his beer, then gestured at Reuenthal. "If I was dragging him down, he wouldn't be first."

"There are more ways of having status than just class rank," Ansbach said. "And being involved with you--" Ansbach narrowed his eyes, then turned and walked away. Reuenthal glared at him as he left, wanting to punch the man.

Leigh seemed unaffected and continued to placidly drink his beer. "Calm down," he said to Reuenthal. "He's not going to do anything."

Reuenthal scowled. "If he does, he's dead."

Leigh pursed his lips. "Not worth it, you know." He finished his beer.

"It wouldn't be?" Reuenthal asked. He lowered his voice. "You could have died."

"And if I had?" Leigh's face was contemplative. "Reuenthal, you…" He trailed off for a second, trying to put things into words. "In the future, you know, you're going to go far. You'll have real power to shape the world. Don't throw that away here, even if something happened."

"I don't subscribe to the fantasy of the best revenge being living well."

"I'm not talking about that," Leigh said. "I mean someday, in twenty years, you're going to have power, if you don't throw your life away on--" he hesitated-- "something stupid. You and I, we both want…" Leigh shook his head. "All I'm saying is that you have chances that I don't, so you need to use them. Don't waste your life on a schoolyard spat, or on petty revenge."

"You could have power, too," Reuenthal said.

Leigh chuckled and finished his beer. "No, I doubt it. The world is full of people like Ansbach, and I think--" again, that hesitation-- "there probably will be a time when I step a little too far out of line." He smiled at Reuenthal. "But let's not worry about it."

Reuenthal couldn't help but frown at that. He looked across the bar at Ansbach, who was ordering a drink and ignoring him. "Shall we go?" Reuenthal asked.

"Of course," Leigh said. He started gathering all their papers as Reuenthal went to pay the tab.

It was snowing and dark when they headed out of the bar, Leigh needing to focus quite hard on avoiding ice patches in front of them. They walked in silence for a little while, but then Reuenthal said, “You should want power, too, Leigh.”

Leigh laughed. “Wanting things you can’t have is only going to give you a headache. Besides, I’m not interested in power.”

“Why not?”

Snow was settling softly in Leigh’s black hair, glittering white as they passed underneath the streetlights. Reuenthal wanted nothing more in that moment than to run his hands through Leigh’s hair, warm and soft. “I don’t have the right kind of ambition,” Leigh said. “You know that.”

“Having the wrong kind of ambition doesn’t preclude you from gaining power. It shouldn’t anyway. Not if you’re careful,” Reuenthal said. “You said that I could.”

Leigh nodded. “It’s different between us, though. Nobody suspects…” He shrugged. “I’m already half a traitor in their minds, while you’re the savior of the freshman class. Respectable. It’s different.”

“You could prove them wrong,” Reuenthal said. “You should.”

“It seems unlikely,” Leigh said. “Besides, I don’t need or want power. I don’t think I’d like having it.”

Reuenthal was silent for a moment. “Having power would mean no one could make you do things against your nature.”

“You sound like my dad.”

“Really?”

“He always said that having money would mean you don’t have to listen to other people,” Leigh said with a laugh. “It’s probably true, to an extent.”

“You’ve changed the subject.”

“No,” Leigh said. He looked up into the sky, and snowflakes landed on his eyelashes. “I just think that the pursuit of power is the kind of thing that ruins people.”

“Do you think it would ruin me?” Reuenthal asked. “If that’s your only reason?”

“I trust you,” Leigh said. He closed his eyes. “Maybe that’s dangerous.”

“And what do you trust me to do?” They were about to round a street corner and bring themselves back into view of the IOA, so Reuenthal stopped and waited for Leigh’s answer while they were still nearly invisible in the darkness on the empty street.

Leigh was quiet. “It’s not something you can say. I think you will know what you have to do. When it comes to it.”

The snow was curling around them through the air, and their breath was rising in clouds. Reuenthal did reach out then and brush some of the snow off of Leigh’s hair. Leigh shivered. “I suppose we’ll find out, when that time comes,” Reuenthal said, his voice very low.

Leigh nodded, and Reunthal started walking again, rounding the corner back onto campus.

When they made it back to the freshman dorms, Leigh started to turn towards the lounge, but Reuenthal gestured for him to follow him instead to his room.

For all that they spent most of their time together, Leigh hadn’t been in Reuenthal’s room before. He didn’t hesitate at all at the doorway, though, and just wandered in when Reuenthal held the door open, looking around with his usual open expression. Reuenthal kept his room clean, with just a few pieces of art on the walls, and a selection of trinkets on the hutch above his desk: a piece of driftwood he had collected from a school trip to the coast, a huge chunk of copper and pyrite rock that Count Mariendorf had given him, and a small bronze cast figure of a kneeling archer that he had acquired when his paternal grandfather died.

Leigh was looking at one of the prints on the wall, studying it. The painting showed a young man, maybe in his twenties, seated in front of drapes decorated with the Goldenbaum crest. He was sitting casually on an elaborate throne, and he had a weird expression on his face, a knowing half-smile. Hidden among the drapes, almost invisible, was the hand and forearm of someone else, obscured from view.

“Why do you have a picture of Kaiser Kaspar on your wall?” Leigh asked. His tone was confused and curious.

There certainly was a reason for it, and Reuenthal was somewhat surprised that Leigh wasn’t picking up on it. But if Leigh didn’t already know, Reuenthal couldn’t exactly explain that Kaiser Kaspar was a homosexual. It would defeat the purpose. “It’s a nice picture. Am I not allowed to have a favorite kaiser?”

Leigh laughed. “I suppose, as favorites go, you could do worse. He abdicated before he could cause any trouble. That’s about the best we can hope for.”

Reuenthal just shook his head, his weird smile matching the painting’s. Leigh gave up on looking at the picture, deciding he wouldn’t find any meaning in it, and sat on top of Reuenthal’s desk. Reuenthal looked askance at this, and Leigh said, “I won’t knock anything down, I promise.”

So Reuenthal sat on his bed.

“I can’t believe it’s already been a semester,” Leigh said. “You’re going home for winter break, right?”

“I suppose,” Reuenthal said, lips pursed. Leigh tilted his head, giving Reuenthal the space to elaborate, but Reuenthal chose not to. “Are you?”

“What?”

“Going home. To Phezzan.”

“Oh, no,” Leigh said.

“Your father isn’t going to be near the planet?”

Leigh looked away, letting out a huff of breath that might have been a humorless laugh. “No, I mean, he’s dead. I guess I thought you knew that.”

“I’m sorry,” Reuenthal said.

“It’s okay,” Leigh said. “I mean, it’s not, but there’s nothing that can be done about it, so…”

“When did he die?”

“April.”

“Oh,” Reuenthal said. “Just before you came here, then.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t have, if he didn’t—“ Leigh shook his head. “It’s so stupid. All of it.”

“What do you mean?”

Leigh held out his hands, as though he was weighing something. “I wish he was alive. I almost wish I was somewhere else, studying history, maybe. He would have paid for me to go to—“ A weird moment of hesitation again— “Phezzan National University. But he’s dead, and now I’m here. And I’m not— I’m glad to be here.” He laughed a little. “I can’t believe— he gave me permission to study history, instead of business or art, and this isn’t really any of those things. I mean, it’s history, but it’s more…”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thanks,” Leigh said, looking up at Reuenthal and meeting his eyes. “It’s funny that he wanted me to be a businessman, or an artist, and I wanted to be an academic, but I’m going to be a soldier.” He shook his head. “Weird.”

“You’re well suited to it.”

“Yeah, I never would have expected that. Did you ever think you would be doing something different?”

Reuenthal shrugged. “If I hadn’t gotten into the IOA, I would have enlisted.”

“Hunh. Why?”

Reuenthal shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay.” Leigh picked up on his desire to not say anything about the subject. “Do you live far from here?”

“Outside the capital,” Reuenthal said. “Not too far.”

“Oh, good,” Leigh said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Maybe I could visit you over break.”

“No,” Reuenthal said, and his tone must have been a little harsh, because Leigh blinked in surprise, shifting on the desk. “I’ll be busy,” Reuenthal lied. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I guess I’ll have a chance to get caught up on schoolwork. Do some reading.”

“You seem to be adept at entertaining yourself,” Reuenthal said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Or I might just hibernate all break. Like a bear.”

Reuenthal chuckled. “Maybe. ”

They talked about other things, then, and time got away from them. It was the sudden release from their class schedule, and relief of being free from any looming exams that allowed them this freedom. Later, Reuenthal wouldn’t have been able to say what exactly they talked about— history, maybe, and tactics, probably, and books that both of them had read, or other mundane matters. It wasn’t the details that were important, but the feeling that the conversation could go on so naturally, and forever.

They talked long into the night, and longer, neither of them aware of the time until the first rays of sun began to shine through the narrow window, glinting off the snow on the ground outside.

“Jeeze,” Leigh said, rubbing his head. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Early,” Reuenthal corrected.

“Good thing we don’t have physicals.”

“Would you go to them if we did?”

Leigh laughed, which turned into a yawn. “Only if you made me.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t, though,” Leigh said. He stood and stretched. “I’m gonna go take a nap. I probably won’t wake up until noon.”

There was a moment before Leigh reached for the door that Reuenthal considered asking him to stay, but Leigh did seem like he was ready to fall asleep, so Reuenthal let the moment pass.

“See you at lunch, then?” Reuenthal asked.

“If I sleep through it, no, but dinner, for sure,” Leigh said with a smile. He met Reuenthal’s eyes. He had such nice eyes, Reuenthal thought. “You should get some sleep, too.”

“I will,” Reuenthal said.

After Leigh left, Reuenthal did try to sleep, but the sudden quiet of his dorm room disturbed him, and he couldn’t get Leigh’s face out of his mind.

Winter break was too long, Reuenthal decided. He had been dreading it, and now that it had arrived, he hated it.

His return home was anticlimactic. He hadn’t even told his father that he would be returning home, and he took a taxi so that he wouldn’t have to ask for a ride. His father must have noted his presence that first night, through seeing Reuenthal’s shoes in the hallway, or his coat on the hook in the closet. They didn’t speak to each other, though, and Reuenthal stayed in his room for as long as possible, only emerging for absolute necessities.

The first time his father spoke to him was on the third night, when Reuenthal could no longer ignore how hungry he was, having run out of food he had brought home with him.

He crept down to the kitchen, then looked through the nearly barren cupboards and fridge to find anything he could bring back up to his room. There was a dusty can of creamed corn in one cupboard, and Reuenthal decided that was better than nothing. There were some crackers, too, and a bag of apples in the fridge that Reuenthal was sure had been there since the summer, but still looked unrotted, so he took two, tucking them into his pockets. He was searching for the can opener when he heard his father’s footsteps behind him. Reuenthal very deliberately shut the drawer he was looking through before turning.

His father looked the same as he always had, dull blue eyes recessed in his face, and thin, pinched lips. “School made you too good to speak to me?” his father asked.

“No, sir,” Reuenthal said.

“You aren’t back here because they kicked you out, are you?”

“No, sir. It’s the winter solstice.”

“Oh. Right.” His father glanced at the calendar on the kitchen wall. It must have just been out of habit, because it was several months out of date. “Today?”

“This Saturday.”

“Oh.”

His father opened the fridge and pulled out a can of beer. He held it up, questioningly, then looked at Reuenthal, who shrugged. His father tossed it at him, and Reuenthal caught it. If his father was in a good mood, Reuenthal didn’t trust it to last, but it was better than the alternative.

“We’ll go visit your mother, then,” his father said. Reuenthal nodded. That was the tradition. He hadn’t really expected it not to continue.

His father stared at him for a long second, then shook his head and got another beer out of the fridge before turning and walking away.

Reuenthal didn’t let himself relax until he was back in his room, and he ate his cold can of corn and drank his beer as silently as possible.

Reuenthal and his father only ever went to temple a few times a year, like most people. The religion of the Empire didn’t require that much devotion from its followers, and so while the temples were packed on the solstices and equinoxes, and on a few other major holidays dedicated to specific gods, there wasn’t much impetus for people to attend services regularly. But this was the winter solstice on Odin, so the local temple was filled.

Reuenthal and his father were both dressed in black suits, and his father carried a bottle of wine and the heavy ceremonial coins they had exchanged earlier as sacrifices. Technically, the day of the solstice was a fast day, from sunup to sundown, and though Reuenthal hadn’t eaten, it wasn’t for religious reasons; it was just because there wasn’t any food in the house. His father had spent the day drinking, but was mostly sober now. He had driven them here, in any event, not turning on the autopilot of the car because he didn’t like it.

The sun was turning the sky a blistering red, and though it was frigid outside, the inside of the temple was sweltering hot. A bonfire was roaring at the front of the temple in the massive firepit beneath the statues of the gods, and the whole room was packed shoulder to shoulder with people. A heady combination of incense, woodsmoke, and sweat filled the air.

Just like he had when he had been a small child who might have wandered off and been lost in the crowd, Reuenthal’s father kept a grip on Reuenthal’s upper arm, his fingers digging into his skin, even with the fabric of his coat in the way.

The service itself was mostly boring, except for the sacrifice. Apparently, someone at the temple responsible for reading the portents had decided that a deer would be the most appropriate animal to sacrifice, though in past winters he had seen lambs and calves.

The deer, a doe, was obviously terrified, alternating between straining at its bonds and standing frozen in place, eyes wide. They glittered in the firelight, deep black with specks of gold as embers floated up and glinted. Reuenthal was transfixed as the deer was dragged up to the altar and held down by willing hands.

He was lightheaded with hunger and with heat, and he felt like the deer was looking right at him, lifting its head to try to escape.

He was reminded of Leigh, of course, as the knife came down. Leigh, helpless. Leigh, bleeding out in the forest. Leigh, with wide, dark eyes. He wondered if his father could feel the way he tensed up next to him.

When the deer was dead, everyone went up to the altar to give their sacrifices. The ceremonial coins were tossed into the fire; the bottles of wine were placed in front of whichever god they were being offered to. Reuenthal’s father usually just chose Odin, and Reuenthal followed behind him.

They passed by the altar. The deer’s throat was cut, and its head was thrown back, eyes open still, but dull now. Its blood trickled across the white stone. Almost without thinking, Reuenthal reached out and dragged a finger through the blood as he walked past. No one seemed to notice him doing this. Reuenthal clenched his hand into a fist, hiding the blood in his palm.

After the sacrifices had been given, Reuenthal and his father walked out of the temple, and, as usual, took the long path around the back, out towards the graveyard where Reuenthal’s mother was buried. She was buried in the von Reuenthal family plot, though Reuenthal didn’t know why. He suspected that his maternal grandfather probably would have preferred she be buried in the von Marbach family plot, though maybe not. Maybe having her here made both his father and his grandfather miserable, for different reasons.

The grave itself was fairly simple, a plain white slab, carved with both his mother’s name and his father’s, though his father’s side had yet to be carved with a date of death.

He and his father stared at the grave for a little while, the moon rising over the bare tops of the trees, providing more light than what was spilling out from the temple’s windows.

“This is your fault, you know,” his father said.

“I know, sir,” Reuenthal said.

“If you hadn’t been born—“

“I know, sir.” Reuenthal clenched his fists tighter in his pockets, nails digging into his palms.

“How old are you?” his father asked. Reuenthal wasn’t sure how he had forgotten.

“Seventeen, sir,” Reuenthal said.

“Hunh.” It was unclear why this answer stymied his father. “You look just like her, you know.”

“You’ve said that, sir.”

“You don’t think it’s true?”

“I don’t remember well enough to say.” This was a lie. He knew perfectly well that he looked like his mother.

His father nodded and didn’t say anything else. Distantly, Reuenthal could hear the sounds of everyone else leaving the temple, heading home to where feasts and parties awaited them, but he and his father just stood there in the cold and bitter wind for what seemed like an eternity.

When they got home, his father locked himself in the library, and Reuenthal went into the bathroom. He flipped on the overhead light and stared at his own reflection in the mirror. He covered up one eye with his hand, then the other.

It was funny. He had always hated his dark eye, an uncommon trait among the light-eyed people of the Empire, and something that marked him as not belonging to his father. But he covered his blue eye, and his dark eye was almost the same color as Leigh’s. A different shape, but a similar tone. He covered up his black eye, and he looked like his mother. Back and forth, he covered and uncovered them.

The relative peace of the von Reuenthal household did not last all winter break. Eventually, Reuenthal did something— he couldn’t even remember what— that had caused his father to hit him. Reuenthal had been wondering if his father would, and again if he would just stand there and take it, and the answer to those questions turned out to be yes. It wasn’t as though a semester away at school had changed anything meaningful about him. Any respect he had there was temporary, and when that was stripped away, only the bitter core of him remained.

There was one point when Reuenthal stood up to his father, though. His father had brought in the mail, which was odd, since he usually didn’t, and while he was sorting through the stack above the recycle bin, Reuenthal noticed a larger, more decorative envelope.

“That’s addressed to me,” Reuenthal said, right as his father was about to toss it.

“So?” his father said.

“So I’d appreciate if you gave it to me, sir.”

His father squinted at the envelope. He was probably a little hungover. “It’s from Count Mariendorf.”

“But it’s addressed to me.”

“I told you not to associate with them.”

“I would like to read the letter, sir.”

His father hesitated a moment, then tossed the envelope at him. It bounced off Reuenthal’s hand as he tried to catch it and fell to the floor. He picked it up, then turned to go, but his father said, “Well?”

Reuenthal decided it wasn’t worth fighting over. He stood there and opened the envelope, pulling out the heavy card with an invitation written on it in fancy golden script. “The count has invited me to his New Year’s party,” Reuenthal said.

His father made a derisive noise. “Of course.”

“I’m going to go to it, sir,” Reuenthal said.

“Are you?” His father seemed surprised, and maybe it was the surprise that prevented him from being outright angry. Still, he had to say next, “If you leave to go see them, I don’t want you back here.”

“I’ll go back to school,” Reuenthal said. Wanting to check if his father was disowning him, which would be a whole different set of complications, he tagged on, “Until summer.”

“Good.”

“Alright, sir.”

His father snorted again, then turned away, shuffling in slippers down the hallway into the library, where he closed the door hard enough to make the whole house rattle.

Reuenthal texted Leigh, inviting him to the Mariendorfs’ party. Leigh was hesitant, but Reuenthal was insistent, and he gave in after a few texts back and forth.

Reuenthal stole his father’s car on New Year’s Eve, and drove it back to the IOA, keeping the windows rolled down the whole time, so that his fingers were frozen numb to the steering wheel by the time he arrived.

It was already evening, and Reuenthal didn’t even stop by his own room before making his way to Leigh’s. He was already dressed in his dress uniform, and he rapped on Leigh’s door.

“I’m coming,” Leigh yelled, muffled.

It took another moment before the door swung open. Reuenthal’s expression softened slightly when he saw Leigh, and before he even said anything, he reached out and brushed a piece of lint off of Leigh’s shoulder. Leigh smiled at him.

“You ready?” Reuenthal asked.

“Sure.”

Even though they hadn’t seen each other in weeks, it felt to Reuenthal like they fell back into their usual way of existence with no hesitation. Leigh spent most of the ride telling Reuenthal about the books he had spent the break reading, holed up nearly alone in the dorms. Reuenthal appreciated this, since he certainly didn’t feel like recounting any of his own break to Leigh.

The Mariendorf estate was beautiful, as usual, well lit and sparkling in the snow. The pine trees swayed in a light wind. Reuenthal parked the car deftly in the front driveway, along with so many of the other guests’. Leigh seemed a little nervous, but there was really no reason to be. Reuenthal put his hand on his arm for a moment, and Leigh looked over at him, grateful, though Reuenthal looked straight ahead as they walked up the steps to the front door.

The butler let them in, then directed them to the main hall, where they were greeted by Countess Mariendorf.

Her face brightened when she saw Reuenthal, though he could see the confusion in her eyes when she looked at Leigh. Still, she was too graceful of a woman to make a scene at her own party, even if she disapproved of Reuenthal’s choice in friends. He wasn’t sure how much generosity he should ascribe to the countess on that score.

“Oskar! I’m so glad you could make it! Who is your friend?”

“Countess Mariendorf, this is my classmate, Hank von Leigh. Herr von Leigh, this is Countess Mariendorf.”

She smiled, then, hiding any misgivings so thoroughly that they may as well have never existed. “Any friend of Oskar’s is a friend of mine, I’m sure.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Leigh said, shaking hands with the countess. He looked as though he wanted to escape. Reuenthal touched his arm again, which was perhaps a mistake, because he could feel the countess’s eyes on the movement.

“I’ve known Oskar since he was this big,” she said to Leigh, holding her hands apart to demonstrate how large Reuenthal had been when he was an infant. Leigh did smile at that. “Please, come in, enjoy the party. My husband is around somewhere. I’m sure he’d love to meet Oskar’s friends, and Hilde will be so glad to see you, too.”

“I will keep an eye out for them both,” Reuenthal said, and then he steered Leigh into the ballroom, away from the countess, who was flitting away to entertain some other guests.

The ballroom itself was magnificent, decked out in streamers and adorned with candles. Reuenthal and Leigh, wearing only their cadet dress uniforms, were the least fancy of the guests. Although the Mariendorfs’ New Year’s party was not the most prestigious party that one could be attending on this night, it was probably one of the more pleasant ones, and the guests were still taking the opportunity to show off.

“How do you know the countess?” Leigh asked as they walked further in, towards the food tables.

“She was friends with my mother, and kept a kind of interest in me when I was a child,” Reuenthal said. He had thought that was obvious, but he didn’t want to say anything else about it.

“Oh,” Leigh said. “Which one is the count?”

Reuenthal nodded at Franz von Mariendorf, who was standing talking to a group of other men. “Over there. He’s fine.”

“High praise.” It probably was. “And who is Hilde?”

“Hildegarde von Mariendorf. Probably the youngest person at the party. I think she’s six.”

“Hunh.”

Neither of them were particularly adept party guests, so they ended up standing around for a while, Reuenthal getting them both glasses of wine to sip on. They were perfectly content to talk only to each other, enjoying the food and watching the other guests.

Of course, though, the count had to come over and talk to them. Probably this was on his wife’s urging, though Reuenthal hadn’t been paying close attention to the count’s movements through the large room.

“Good evening, Herr von Reuenthal, Herr von Leigh,” Mariendorf said.

“Good evening. I see the countess told you about my friend.”

“Of course.” Mariendorf was smiling, much more broadly than his wife had.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Leigh said, fumbling with his wine glass to shake hands with the count.

“Where are you from, Herr von Leigh?” Mariendorf asked. He seemed genuinely curious, without any malice in his tone.

“Phezzan, sir.”

“Beautiful planet, Phezzan. Expensive to live there, though. You two just know each other from the Academy, right?”

“Leigh is number two in the class,” Reuenthal supplied, trying to provide legitimacy to their friendship, in case the count wanted some justification.

“Oh? Congratulations.”

Leigh awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “I have several more years to try to keep that rank. We’ll see if that happens.” He paused, then glanced at Reuenthal and said, “Besides, Reuenthal is number one.”

Mariendorf made a funny expression for a fraction of a second before covering it up. Of course, he already knew that Reuenthal was first in the class. “You scamp,” he said. “You should have led with that. Congratulations to you, as well.” He winked and clapped Reuenthal on the shoulder. “I look forward to your successful career.”

“I hope that I live up to your expectations.”

His voice took on a bit of a different tone, then, and he glanced over to the side, where Reuenthal could see the countess watching this interaction like a hawk. “Do you ever get out much, at the Academy? Or do they keep you locked down in study?”

“Sometimes,” Reuenthal said. He understood where this was going immediately. The count, at least, seemed just as much playing the role as Reuenthal knew he would have to.

“Any girls ever come to visit?”

“Not in particular,” Reuenthal replied.

“Well then!” the count said with an obviously manufactured cheerfulness. “There’s plenty of eligible young ladies here tonight. Why don’t you both have some fun? There’s no need to be shy. Lots of women love a handsome cadet.”

“Of course, sir,” Reuenthal said.

The count turned and called to two young women who were chatting with their friends on the edge of the party. Reuenthal suspected they were students from the school where the countess taught music.

The two women came over, and the count performed the introductions. Reuenthal wasn’t really paying attention to that, but he gave the requisite social bow to the woman in front of him, and when she offered her hand, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the back of her fingers. He could feel Leigh watching him, mimicking at least the bow, with an odd expression on his face. Reuenthal felt something at that.

He offered his arm to his dancing partner and led her out onto the dance floor. The band at the front was playing something suitably jaunty, and Reuenthal danced with her, catching glimpses of Leigh fumbling with his own partner. Reuenthal put Leigh out of his mind, or tried to, thinking about the woman in front of him, and how to move his feet to the music, and how to follow the social rules that the countess wanted him to follow at her party.

Reuenthal danced for a long time. He could do it forever, if he needed to. It was just like anything else in that respect. It seemed like every girl approximately his age at this party took a turn with him, which may have been every girl in the senior class at the countess’ school. Reuenthal didn’t know. The countess would have disapproved of him trying to take one of these girls back to his dorm with him, or even out to his car. He didn’t want that, anyway, so it was a relief that it was forbidden and not expected.

As Reuenthal danced, he would occasionally turn to see Leigh, watching him from the sidelines. It seemed that Leigh’s eyes almost never left him, and he didn’t dance with any girl after the first, except for a brief bit with Hildegarde von Mariendorf, who didn’t count. Although Leigh was probably miserable, the sight of him watching Reuenthal with open jealousy on his face did please him.

Finally, as the clock was approaching midnight, Reuenthal excused himself from his last dance partner and went to find Leigh, getting fresh glasses of wine from the table and passing one off to him.

“Having a good time?” Reuenthal asked, amusement and a half-apology coexisting in his voice.

“I haven’t found anyone so unpleasant as you had led me to believe, and the food is good,” Leigh whispered. Count Mariendorf was at the front of the room, giving some sort of little speech.

Everyone at the party counted down. “Fünf! Vier! Drei! Zwei! Eins! Happy New Year!” There was a wild burst of cheering.

Reuenthal raised his glass and knocked it heavily on Leigh’s. “Prosit!”

“Prosit,” Leigh replied, then drank, his face flushed.

Up at the front, the band struck up in Auld Lang Syne. “I’ll raise a cup of kindness yet for auld lang syne…” Reuenthal hummed under his breath.

January 476 I.C., Odin

Reuenthal was more sober than Leigh when they left the party, though since the countess pressed a bottle of wine into his hands at the door as a thank you for coming, he doubted he would be by the time the night was over. Leigh was drunk— Reuenthal could see it in the flush of his cheeks, and Reuenthal kept his hand on Leigh’s elbow as they walked to the car. Leigh didn’t really seem to notice.

They mostly rode in silence on the way back, Leigh staring out the window, and Reuenthal just watching the road ahead. He engaged the car’s automatic steering, but he kept his hands on the wheel in case he wanted to override it.

Back at the IOA, they made their way from the parking lot to the dorms, Leigh stumbling a little bit in the snow drifts that covered the path. When they reached the building, Reuenthal followed Leigh to his dorm room, and when Leigh had difficulty getting the key in the lock, Reuenthal took it and opened the door. Leigh had been leaning on the door, so the both of them almost fell inwards. Reuenthal kicked the door shut behind himself, not waiting for an invitation, and sat down on Leigh’s unmade bed. Leigh climbed on top of his own desk, his usual perch, sitting criss cross, elbows on his knees.

“Happy New Year,” Reuenthal said. “Shall we have our own toast?” Reuenthal held up the bottle of wine.

“What are we toasting to?” Leigh asked.

Reuenthal hastily looked around in the general mess of Leigh’s bedroom for cups, but found nothing except for Leigh’s thermos, which had seen better days. It was also full of the remains of old tea, which Reuenthal shook out as best he could. He pried the cork out of the wine bottle with his pocket knife, and generously poured himself a large drink, and Leigh a small one, so that they could be more equivalently drunk.

He raised the thermos while Leigh raised the detached cup. “To the future!” Reuenthal said. “Prosit!”

He drank.

There was still plenty to toast to, and plenty more wine for him to get through, so he kept coming up with more things to say. It entertained him.

“To the class of 479! Prosit!”

“To Wednesday’s practicum! Prosit!”

“To victory!”

His toasts became slightly sillier, but Leigh kept raising his cup, so Reuenthal kept talking. He kept his eyes on Leigh,watching his face, listening to him agree with Reuenthal’s toasts, seeing how his throat moved as he swallowed sips of wine. Reuenthal raised the thermos again.

“To Hank von Leigh,” he said.

Leigh froze and shook his head. “Don’t toast to that,” he said, a sudden urgency in his voice.

“Why not?” Reuenthal asked, leaning forward on the bed, feeling drunk and dizzy now.

“That’s not even my name,” Leigh said, then started laughing, an uncontrollable sound. "You knew that, right? That’s not even my name.”

No, Reuenthal had not known that. Not at all.

Reuenthal stood. His voice was low and quiet when he asked, “Who am I toasting to, then? I need to know.”

“Yang Wen-li,” Yang said, a rush of air going out of him all at once. He looked up at Reuenthal with those wide, dark eyes of his, fiddling with the cup in his hands.

“Then prosit, Yang Wen-li,” Reuenthal said.

“Prosit,” Yang replied. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Yang started to raise his cup to his lips again, but Reuenthal put his hand on Yang’s arm and pushed it down. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as Reuenthal leaned forward towards Yang. His eyes were so wide, and his lips were slightly parted. Reuenthal could feel his breath, smelling like wine, as he leaned in to kiss him.

But then Yang leaned back away from him, unbalanced himself from his precarious position on the desk, and fell off backwards. His head smashed into the wall mirror, shattering it into hundreds of pieces, and the remaining wine in his cup splashed all over the discarded school papers on the floor.

Reuenthal felt nauseous and horrible, knowing he had just destroyed something precious. He jumped backwards as Yang fell, then shook himself all over. He stared at Yang for a second, trying to figure out what he should do. He settled on the most neutral thing he could think of, an “Are you okay?” and “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

But even that was almost too much, and it wasn’t like Yang was moving, laying there on the floor among the wreckage of the mirror and all the garbage in his room. Even though it suddenly felt wrong to do so, Reuenthal knew he couldn’t just leave Yang like this, so he crouched down, at each moment deciding to touch, and then not to touch, and then to touch Yang. He finally got his hands underneath Yang’s arm and pulled him up and away from the mirror. Yang didn’t resist, but also didn’t help.

Finally, Reuenthal got him onto his bed, fixing his legs so that they weren’t dangling over the sides. Yang had his eyes closed, maybe pretending to sleep, maybe just not wanting to look at Reuenthal. Reuenthal dragged the comforter up over him, then grabbed the half-empty wine bottle from the floor and almost ran out of Yang’s room.