Reunion of the 479 Mafia

February 480 I.C., Odin

The bar that they met in was in the center of the capital, and, as far as Yang knew, neither he nor Reuenthal had ever been there before; it was just conveniently located near the hotel Reuenthal was staying in. The place was dim, smoky, and loud, but at least it was warm inside. Outside, a nasty sleet had begun to fall, making Yang’s walk from the train station viscerally unpleasant. He was glad to find a booth to sit down in, and he kept anxiously alternating between checking his phone and glancing towards the entrance to see when Reuenthal would arrive.

Reuenthal somehow managed to see Yang before Yang saw Reuenthal, and he slid into the booth across from him, startling Yang enough that he dropped his phone onto the table, where it bounced and then slid to the floor.

“I suppose I’d be disappointed if you somehow learned to be graceful in the eight months I’d been gone,” Reuenthal said, a smile audible in his voice.

Yang had to duck under the table to get his phone before he could answer. “I can’t believe that’s how long it’s been,” he said when he finally came back to the surface, his hair flopping into his face.

Reuenthal looked as put together as he always did, somehow unaffected by the nasty weather outside. He seemed pleased and relaxed, which was more than Yang could say for himself. He assumed that Reuenthal had been reading through the lines of his letters, so he must know about what had happened at El Facil, really, but there was so much that he had not said.

They ordered some beers, and raised their glasses to each other when they arrived.

“You don’t look that much different,” Reuenthal said. “Aside from that extra stripe on your shoulder.”

“Hah, yeah,” Yang rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s really… I shouldn’t have gotten it.”

“Did you think I would be jealous that you were promoted before I was?” Reuenthal asked, raising his eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Yang said. “You haven’t enjoyed me beating you in the past.”

“Oh?”

“I recall right before our freshman year ended, you--”

“You think me comparable to a cadet? You wound me, Leigh,” Reuenthal said.

“Anyway, I didn’t really deserve it. Half of it was Rear Admiral Merkatz thinking I was better suited to command than I actually was, and the other half is just an excuse to get rid of me.”

“I see.”

“I’m sure you’ll get promoted soon, too. It’s not like people stay sub-lieutenants for very long.”

“I don’t feel like I need the reassurance, but thank you for giving it,” Reuenthal said, smiling. “You seem very on edge about it.”

“Perceptive.”

“It doesn’t take a mind reader when you’re practically pulling your hair off the back of your head,” Reuenthal said. “I’ve missed your bad habits, I suppose.”

Yang looked at him. “I would say the same, except I’m not aware of any bad habits of yours. Perhaps I’ve missed your good influence upon me.”

Reuenthal smiled a little. “Had I been with you at El Facil, would you have made the same choices?”

“I don’t know what circumstances would have led to us being there together,” Yang said.

“I’m just trying to find out if I’m actually a good influence on you.”

“Oh.” Yang said. He took a sip of his beer. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure which way you would like me to answer that question.”

“Is it unfair of me to ask?”

“Unfair? I don’t know. Maybe it’s impossible to answer.” There was a moment of silence between them. “I have missed you,” Yang finally said.

“Likewise.” Reuenthal smiled a little, then took a sip of his beer.

“What are you doing back on Odin so early?”

“The Teutonic had trouble with its stardrive, so we ended up limping back to port,” Reuenthal said. “Since she’ll need to be in drydock for repairs for the next month or so, everyone’s leave schedule was rearranged. I’m a free man until they call me back.”

“So you’re on Odin for the foreseeable future?”

“If you can only see a month out, then yes.”

“You said you were staying in a hotel?”

“Yes.”

“You should come stay with me,” Yang offered. “No point in wasting your money on a month in a hotel room.”

“How generous of you to offer.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I’ll consider it,” Reuenthal said.

Yang rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you’re dependent on my charity. I’m just offering because that is what friends do.”

“Friends,” Reuenthal said. “That’s true.” He tilted his glass in his hand, the beer catching the dim light. “But it would be much easier for me to entertain friends of my own in a hotel than in your house.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Do you see Mittermeyer often?” Reuenthal asked.

“About once a week or so,” Yang said. “It’s not exactly easy for him to get to the city, and it’s not easy for me to get out to the IOA either, so not as often as I’d like. But more than I would if I was in space, anyway.”

“And how is he?”

“Have you talked to him?”

“I asked if he would like to meet me tonight, and he said he had an exam that he was studying for.”

Yang nodded and didn’t quite meet Reuenthal’s eyes, which Reuenthal noticed.

“You’re not very good at pretending that nothing’s wrong,” Reuenthal said. “It’s a great weakness of yours that will probably get you killed.”

“You should talk to him,” Yang said. “That’s all.”

“You could answer my previous question asking how he is.”

“I don’t even know,” Yang said. “He hasn’t had an easy year.”

“Why not?”

“Look, Reuenthal, this really isn’t business of his that I should go airing to you. He would prefer to talk to you himself.”

“Is he avoiding me?”

“I don’t doubt that he does have some kind of exam to study for,” Yang said. “If you think he would have come out here anyway, or had you meet him at Joseph’s, if he was feeling better, then yeah, sure.” Yang scowled a little.

“I’m certain that the answer to this question is no, but forgive me for making sure. You’re not involved, are you?”

Yang choked on the sip of beer he was in the middle of taking. “No.” He coughed a little, then wiped his mouth on a napkin.

“For once, I’m glad that you’re a terrible liar.”

“You can trust me to be honest, for whatever that’s worth.”

“I believe your word is worth a great deal,” Reuenthal said.

A silence fell between them once again. There was a tension that Yang had forgotten existed between them, and he would have said that he hated it, except for the fact that he enjoyed spending time with Reuenthal, tension or no. “How have you been?” he finally asked. “I haven’t heard anything from you about what far-patrol is like, or being the security officer.”

“It’s been boring,” Reuenthal said. “Spending months just creeping around the other side of the galaxy, hoping that the ship doesn’t get detected, sending out reconaissance probes…” Reuenthal brushed a piece of hair off his forehead. “Some would describe it as stressful but unexciting.”

“But not you?”

“I take it in stride,” Reuenthal said. “I don’t prefer it as an assignment, but Captain Hetling is an easy man to work with, so I will probably serve out another tour with him before asking to be reassigned.”

Yang nodded. “I’m glad that you haven’t had any problems.”

Some of his own problems must have shown through in his voice, because Reunthal asked, “Unlike yourself, I presume?”

He leaned sideways on the wall of the booth and pulled his knees up to his chest before answering. “I don’t even know if I would describe it as ‘problems’, exactly.”

“Oh?”

“I think my commanding officer is insane, maybe.”

“That sounds thrilling.”

“I assume you did eventually read the message that Mittermeyer sent you, back in November?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Bronner pretended to be an MP to go bother him. He is obsessed with theatrics, in a literal sense.”

“Every man has his passions,” Reuenthal said.

“Sure. But it makes him into essentially a compulsive liar. Just today--” Yang was getting slightly worked up. He stopped and shook his head and took another sip of beer.

“What happened today?” Reuenthal asked.

“I need to never set foot in Neue Sanssouci again. Every time I go there, I feel like something ridiculous happens.”

“You’re making me curious.”

“I dictated policy to Fleet Admiral Muckenburger, had a lovely lunch with Princess Amarie von Goldenbaum, and then spoke cordially with the Kaiser in the palace,” Yang said, waving his hand.

Reuenthal was silent for a moment. “And what did you actually do at Neue Sanssouci today?”

“Oh, no, all of that actually happened.”

“I see.”

Yang explained his day, though he had to go back in time to first describe his ideas about Iserlohn. He told Reuenthal all about how Bronner had tricked him, his embarrassment in front of Muckenburger, and getting pulled into the ridiculous lunch with Magdalena von Westpfale. Reuenthal silently listened, watching Yang grow more and more agitated as he spoke. While he was describing it, they both got another round of beers from the waitress.

“I think you can calm down,” Reuenthal said.

“Can I?”

“I vaguely recall that at one point Wahlen said that you should try to take advantage of these kinds of opportunities. Perhaps ingratiating yourself with the nobility is a good thing.”

“I wish we could trade places,” Yang said. “I think you’d be far better at playing this role than I would.”

“I somehow doubt it,” Reuenthal said. “You’ve fallen into at least part of this situation because you have a particular air about you.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that,” Yang said, and took a long drink from his beer. He was suddenly realizing that he desperately wanted to be drunk.

“I think people are struck by your honesty and your… what’s the best word for it… general guilelessness. Even when you’re trying to lie.” Reuenthal stopped and shrugged. “People seem to trust you, even though they shouldn’t. Maybe Bronner thinks he can turn you into a clever pawn.”

“I have no idea why anyone trusts me.”

“If I could put forward a theory?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe the fact that you’re obviously an outsider is an advantage. People see that and assume that there’s little going on beneath the surface. They’re not seeing the whole of you. And once someone thinks they’ve seen the issue, they’re far less likely to look for others.”

“Like Iserlohn,” Yang muttered into his beer.

“What?”

“Iserlohn. It’s a distraction from other options.”

“Oh, right, I had almost forgotten that was your opinion.”

“It’s only gotten stronger since going there in person.”

“I see.” Reuenthal studied him for a moment. “I have to ask, though. How did Baroness Westpfale know you in the first place?”

Yang tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I met her at a party.”

“Oh?”

“Count Mariendorf asked me to be Hilde’s escort, which I shouldn’t have agreed to. You know I don’t like parties.”

“But unfortunately, you would do anything for Hildegarde Mariendorf.”

“I can’t help it,” Yang said. “She’s very sweet.”

“I understand. So, you went to a party.”

“And Hilde demanded that she speak to me, which she did, and she decided that she wanted me to…” He threw up his hands. “I don’t even understand what she wanted from me. To make her mother angry, I suppose? I don’t know why.”

“When we used to play our game, you were so much better at determining people’s reasoning and strategies.”

“It’s completely different,” Yang said. “I can’t understand her, no matter how much I learn, or see her, or think about her.”

“And do you spend much time thinking about her and seeing her?”

“Seeing her? Maybe cumulatively an hour and a half of my life. Thinking about her? I wish I didn’t have to.”

“You sound like she has an outsized influence on you.”

Yang didn’t say anything for a long moment, and took a drink from his beer, finishing his glass. He hoped the waitress would come around soon with more. He was still far too sober for this conversation, but it was happening anyway. “At this party, she seemed to have decided that I had some kind of interest in her, or something.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know!”

It was at this point that the waitress came around with another round of beers. They had gone through their first slowly, their second quickly, and Yang was looking to beat that previous record with their third.

“It’s not like it’s illegal to have an interest in a woman,” Reuenthal said.

Yang scowled.

“So, what happened?”

“She dragged me into her library and kissed me, I don’t know.”

“What is there not to know?” Reuenthal asked. Yang couldn’t quite look at him, but he could hear the odd tone in his voice.

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” Yang said.

“It’s not as though you could keep it much of a secret.”

“Maybe I will, next time.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Some of the air seemed to go out of Yang. “You’re right.”

“I’ll take that as a victory.”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to win.”

“Nothing,” Reuenthal said. “Absolutely nothing.” After a moment, he said, “Did you enjoy it, at least?”

“I don’t know. No? Yes?” He was flustered now. “If you’re trying to find out if it’s serious, I guess I can at least answer that, no. She thinks I’m a charity case, or a tool, or something, but I don’t think she intends for this to go anywhere.”

“But do you?”

“I would be very stupid if I did. And I think the further it goes, the worse my life will get.” Yang shrugged, feeling miserable.

“I see.”

“I think you see something,” Yang said. “I have no idea if you’re seeing the truth or not.”

“Didn’t you tell me once that there wasn’t any such thing?”

“Yeah, probably. I keep saying that.”

“It is an odd opinion that only you seem to hold.”

Yang shook his head and was silent.

“We seem to have gone from one strange topic to another,” Reuenthal said. He finished his third glass of beer. “Shall we talk about something less fraught for a while?”

“Please,” Yang said.

Reuenthal tilted his head and looked at him. “Tell me about how the Mariendorfs are doing, then.”

Yang did, relieved. Though the tension didn’t go away, it eased a little, and the more drunk he got, the easier it was to smile and laugh with Reuenthal, who also seemed to be amused by him.

“I have work tomorrow,” Yang finally managed to say, through the haze of being thoroughly plastered.

“So?” Reuenthal asked.

“I should go home.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know what the alternative is.”

Reuenthal looked like he was about to say something else, but he said, “Drink until they kick us out.”

“And then I would be in the same place, but with a worse headache in the morning,” Yang said. He was dizzy, as he stood, and he fished around blearily in his pocket for his charge card to pay their tab.

“I’ll get it,” Reuenthal said, standing and going to the bar to pay before Yang could protest. The bar was emptier now-- it was quite late for a weeknight.

The pair walked outside together. The nasty sleet had stopped while they were inside, but it had been replaced by a biting wind. Yang struggled to put his gloves on, and Reuenthal reached across the distance between them and fixed Yang’s collar, which had somehow gotten turned wrong. “Thanks,” Yang muttered.

“See you this weekend?” Reuenthal asked.

“Sure,” Yang said. “Just text me.”

“I will.”

“I’m glad you’re back on Odin.”

“I am glad to see you.”

“Yeah.” They were standing out on the street, each one reluctant to leave. Reuenthal finally put his hand on Yang’s arm, a gesture that started gentle, then turned into a bit of a shove.

“Saturday, then.”

“Yeah.” Yang started walking, stumbling a little, towards the train station. He kept glancing back over his shoulder, and Reuenthal eventually turned and headed back towards his hotel.

That Saturday was one of those days in February that trick everyone into thinking that spring had arrived ahead of schedule. It was so nice out that when Yang woke up (late), he texted Reuenthal and asked if he would rather meet somewhere outside, rather than-- well, Yang didn’t know where they had been planning to meet. A bar, probably. Though it seemed like a dangerous proposition to spend an entire day in a bar.

Reuenthal agreed, and so rather than going to the center of the capital, Yang took the bus to the closest nature reserve, a place a bit outside the city limits whose main attraction was a long walk around a lake.

The parking lot where Yang got off the bus was full of geese, and they hissed at Yang when he tried to apologetically edge his way through them.

“Don’t disturb the wildlife,” a familiar voice yelled at him from across the parking lot. Yang glanced up, which was a mistake, because it gave a chance for one of the geese to get a little too close for comfort, spreading its wings and hissing at him. Yang stumbled forward out of its range, then jogged the rest of the way towards Mittermeyer, who was sitting on a bench, clearly waiting for him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Yang said.

“You didn’t think to invite me,” Mittermeyer said with a smile. “How rude.”

“Well, I didn’t know if you wanted…” Yang shrugged. “Wait, how did you even get here so fast?” He glanced at his watch. “Saturday physicals only let out half an hour ago.”

Mittermeyer flushed and looked at anything other than Yang, taking great interest in the geese strutting around behind him. “Well, I missed them.”

It was at this moment that Yang noticed the prominent bruise poking up over the edge of Mittermeyer’s collar. Yang raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever gotten a demerit for missing physicals in your life?”

“No,” Mittermeyer said. “I feel pretty bad about it, to be honest.”

“Well, first time for everything,” Yang shrugged. “And don’t feel bad. I missed physicals… like… constantly.”

“I’m well aware. The fact that you didn’t get kicked out is some kind of miracle.”

“Miracle Leigh, that’s me.” Yang rubbed the back of his head. “Where is Reuenthal, by the way?”

Mittermeyer jerked his head towards the visitors’ center. “Bathroom.”

“So, are you feeling better about your problem?”

“I don’t know.” It had perhaps been the wrong question to ask, because Mittermeyer tensed up a little. Yang sat down on the bench next to him. “I told you that I think differently when I’m by myself.”

“That’s true,” Yang said. “But are you happier?”

Mittermeyer looked towards the visitors’ center. “Yeah. That’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Well, you seem slightly unhappy now.”

“It’s all so stupid,” Mittermeyer said. “I wish it didn’t make me happy, because then I wouldn’t have to have this problem.”

“That makes very little sense.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me. I don’t have a horse in this race.”

“You don’t?”

“Mittermeyer, seriously?”

Mittermeyer glanced over at him. “I know you wouldn’t.” He sighed.

“I’m not lying when I say that I just want you to be happy.”

“You seem fundamentally incapable of lying well, so I am aware that that is-- You know what, nevermind.”

“Thanks for not continuing to insult me,” Yang said mildly. He wasn’t that offended. “Did you actually talk to Reuenthal?”

Mittermeyer shrugged a little sheepishly. “I mean, kinda.”

“Great.” It was flatly delivered, and Yang scuffed the cold ground with his foot, sending some pebbles skittering out from under the bench and onto the asphalt. “Does he understand where you’re coming from?”

“How would I know?”

It was at this point that Reuenthal emerged from the visitors’ center and strode over to where they sat on the bench. “It shocks me that you, of all people, picked an outdoor venue.”

“I like spending time outdoors,” Yang said.

“You like laying on the warm grass and reading a book, which is not exactly the same as a winter hike.”

Yang laughed and stood. “I don’t think that it’s a severe enough path to be called a hike, nor is it that cold. I just figured that you would appreciate a change of scenery, since you’ve been on a ship for the past eight months.”

“You’re not wrong,” Reuenthal said. “I almost wish that I could have kept to the original leave schedule, so that the weather would be nicer.”

“Almost?” Yang asked.

Reuenthal glanced at Mittermeyer, a rather smug expression on his face. “Well, there are other things more important and pleasant than the weather.”

Mittermeyer smiled, possibly despite himself, and also stood up from the bench. “Shall we get going?”

“If we stand still too long we might freeze,” Reuenthal said. They headed down the parking lot, circumnavigating the geese, towards the trail.

The lake was still frozen around the edges, and the path cut through thick growths of bare trees, which the wind occasionally gusted through, causing their dry branches to creak and rattle against each other. The day was sunny and clear, but the lack of greenery still made the scene appear a little grey.

Although the trio started out right next to each other, it didn’t take very long for Reuenthal and Mittermeyer to get ahead of Yang, who wasn’t compelled to rush. He was happy to watch them, or he was happy to pretend to be happy for them, which was the same. They were essentially the only people in the park, and they would have been able to hear other people coming far down the path, so Reuenthal felt comfortable enough to slide his arm rather posessively around Mittermeyer’s back, his hand ending up in Mittermeyer’s jacket pocket. They spoke quietly enough that Yang could only hear snatches of their conversation, and occasional laughter from Mittermeyer. They both seemed more relaxed than they had been apart, and Yang decided that it did actually make him glad to see them both happy. It was almost as though the past few months hadn’t happened, and they had slipped right back into the old rhythms of life that they had been so comfortable with.

He tried not to let himself get too far down the trap of thinking that this was unchanging. After all, in a little while, they would finish their solitary walk around the park. In a few weeks, Reuenthal would be back in space. In a few months, Mittermeyer would graduate and end up who-knows-where. It was all in a state of flux, and trying to hold on to this one moment like it could say anything about the future was, Yang knew, a mistake. But even though he knew it, he couldn’t help it.

After a while, Mittermeyer turned back towards Yang and told him to stop being so slow, apparently realizing that it was a little rude to have let Yang fall so far behind them. Yang smiled and jogged to catch up. He hadn’t wanted to intrude, but he was happy to be reinvited to the conversation, talking broadly about his and Reuenthal’s work, and how Mittermeyer’s last year of school was going. It was pleasant talk, and it pushed some of the worries and fear that he had been holding onto out of his mind.

March 480 I.C., Odin

Bronner came over to Yang’s desk one day and tossed an envelope in front of him. The envelope was thick cream stock, and it was ripped completely open on the top.

“I have no idea why I am receiving your correspondence, Leigh,” Bronner said, sounding annoyed.

Yang picked up the envelope and flipped it over to read the address. It had “Hank von Leigh ℅ Commodore Bronner” and then Bronner’s home address written on it. The sender was, unsurprisingly, Baroness Magdalena Westpfale.

“You didn’t have to open it, sir.”

“If it’s coming to my house, I’m opening it. You can give the baroness your address, so she doesn’t have to use me as a glorified postman.”

“Well, thank you for doing your duty regardless.”

“Neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night,” Bronner quoted, then left, calling over his shoulder, “Enjoy your party.”

Yang scowled down at the envelope in his hands, then pulled out the lavish invitation to Magdalena’s birthday party. The invitation was standard, naming a time and place (a country estate, not her house close to the capital, Yang noted) but Magdalena had scribbled a personal note along the bottom, in handwriting that somehow managed to be both the pristine kind ground into her by, Yang was sure, years of finishing school, and the sloppy kind of Magdalena projecting her devil-may-care attitude into whatever she did.

Hank,

I threatened to invite you, and I’m making good on my threats. Don’t bother bringing a gift (I don’t trust you to know my taste). Feel free to bring a friend or two, though. The more the merrier.

By the way, just in case you’re wondering, I actually want you to come. And, no, my mother won’t be there to torture, so don’t worry about THAT.

Your friend,

Maggie

Yang could not interpret that at all. Through the rest of his workday, the letter sat on his desk and haunted him. Eventually, he texted Reuenthal and Mittermeyer, asking if they had any desire to go. Yang couldn’t see a way to get out, but since Magdalena had said that he could bring friends, it would be nice to at least have some pleasant company. She was probably just trying to balance out the gender ratio of her party.

It took some cajoling, but Mittermeyer and Reuenthal both eventually agreed to attend. Yang had bet that a night out with free alcohol was worth the moderate social pain of attending a party full of people they didn’t know. At the very worst, Yang figured that the three of them could find a corner to stand around in and amuse themselves. It would be better than Yang being there alone. He thanked the other two for taking pity on him.

The party was on a Friday night, and it was, unfortunately, the last Friday before Reuenthal would be returning to his ship. The three met up at the capital train station, since none of them had a car. Reuenthal and Yang were dressed in their dress uniforms, but Mittermeyer was wearing civilian clothes, a nice red suit with a white cravate. Yang was surprised; he hadn’t seen Mittermeyer in anything other than his uniform in a long time.

“Didn’t want to look like a cadet?” Yang asked as they sat across from each other on the train ride.

“Reuenthal suggested it,” Mittermeyer said, flushing a little and looking out the window at the dark scenery rushing past.

“There are worse things to be than a cadet,” Reuenthal said, leaning back in his seat. “But not very many.”

“We went to the Mariendorfs’ party in our cadet uniforms,” Yang pointed out.

“The Mariendorfs have far different standards,” Reuenthal said.

“Great,” Yang muttered.

“You were the one who dined with Princess Amarie,” Reuenthal said. “Just because you lack an appropriate understanding of social class, does not mean that social class ceases to exist.”

Yang glanced at Mittermeyer, who was frowning a little. “I guess I’m glad that I invited you, so you can tell me all the many different ways that I’m embarrassing myself,” Yang said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Reunthal said. “You said the Baroness keeps you around for her amusement. She probably finds it funny to see you act graceless.”

“What’s put you in a mood?” Yang asked.

Reuenthal did not change his expression. “I’m perfectly happy,” he said, which was clearly a lie.

“None of us are particularly well suited to a party full of real nobility,” Mittermeyer said. “My family is common as mud.” Unspoken was that Yang was obviously foreign, and Reuenthal had been disgraced from his family, on both sides of the line, as far as Yang could tell.

Maybe Yang shouldn’t have invited them. “You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”

“And abandon you to the wolves?” Mittermeyer asked. “I’d rather not.”

“Thanks,” Yang said. “I do appreciate it.”

“You should try to be in a better mood,” Mittermeyer said to Reuenthal. “There are worse ways to spend a Friday night.”

“But there are better ones, too,” Reuenthal said. He smiled slightly at Mittermeyer.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving on Tuesday,” Mittermeyer said.

“It’s the way things go. When I get back, I’m sure Leigh and I will be the same rank again.”

“And order will have been restored to the universe,” Yang said.

“You’re just taking your rightful place as first,” Mittermeyer said.

Yang shook his head. “It seems so stupid to care about all that, now.”

“Yeah, it is,” Mittermeyer said.

When they arrived at the train station, they hailed a taxi to bring them to the party’s location. The taxi took them up a steep, thickly forested hill. It was dark out already, so the pine trees seemed to close in around the car’s headlights. Light finally broke through the foliage, spilling onto the road out from a house, smaller than Yang had expected but still clearly the country home of someone with money.

Yang looked around as they walked up to the house, taking in the rustic aesthetic of the architecture, the other cars parked along the driveway, and the sound of music coming out distantly through the house. He wondered if he would have to ring the bell or something, but the door of the house was just propped open. It seemed odd-- from the other parties that Yang had attended, there was usually a servant or someone waiting around to greet guests as they arrived.

Reuenthal simply strode through the open door, walking past Yang who was hesitating as though unsure if he should cross the threshold. Mittermeyer shrugged and followed Reuenthal in.

They walked towards the source of the music. It wasn’t the dance music that would have been heard at a more formal party, and it was definitely a recording rather than a live band. Yang thought he recognized some Phezzani song.

The main room of the house where the party seemed to be was dark and full of people, none of whom Yang recognized, talking loudly over the music. There was a table set up with a wide variety of alcohol and a less wide variety of food, and Reuenthal immediately went over to it and got them all drinks. While he was doing that, Yang was scanning the room for Magdalena.

She always managed to approach him from the angle he was least expecting, though, and while Reuenthal was passing him a glass she found him and sidled up beside him.

“Who’s tall, dark, and handsome that you’ve brought with you, Hank?” Magdalena asked. Yang was so startled that he jumped. She was wearing a purple dress, one that was significantly slinkier than the ball gown that he had seen her in at the winter solstice party. She still had her matching fan, though, and she tapped Yang’s arm with it.

Reuenthal laughed. “Baroness Westpfale, I presume?”

“Maggie to my friends,” she said.

Yang recovered some of his senses. “Magdalena, these are my friends, Oskar von Reuenthal and Wolfgang Mittermeyer.”

“Oh, aren’t you cute,” she said to Mittermeyer. “Isn’t this fun?”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Mittermeyer said. He was understandably cautious, since Yang had described his interactions with Magdalena in full, but Magdalena seemed to have no actual interest in causing anything other than mild embarrassment.

“Are you in the fleet?” she asked.

“Er, not yet,” Mittermeyer said. “Still a cadet.”

“Perfect,” Magdalena said, though Yang had no idea what she meant by that comment.

“We all went to school together,” Yang clarified. “Mittermeyer is one year below Reuenthal and I.”

“And he’s the only one who got the memo about the dress code,” Magdalena said. “You two look too stiff.”

“Sorry,” Yang said. “Oh, I brought this for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrapped package.

“You shouldn’t have,” Magdalena said. “In fact, I told you not to.”

“Well, it felt rude to come without a gift,” Yang said, rubbing the back of his head. “It is your birthday.”

Reuenthal was watching this interaction with an inscrutable expression. “What did he get you? I’m curious.”

Magdalena raised an eyebrow at Reuenthal, then delicately peeled back the wrapping of the package, revealing a book. In the dim light, she squinted to read the title. “ History of Phezzani Textiles and Fashions , Barnett.” She flipped through it to look at the various plate illustrations, and Yang felt a little pleased that she lingered over a few of them. “Thanks, Hank,” she said. “I can see you’re trying to educate me, though I’m sure it won’t work.”

“You’re right that I wasn’t sure what your tastes were. But I figured…” He shrugged.

“You succeeded in getting me a gift I might like, and in making your friend jealous,” she said with a nod and small smile at Reuenthal, who frowned down at her.

“Jealous?” Mittermeyer asked.

“I think not,” Reuenthal said.

Magdalena tapped her own nose with her fan. “Perhaps.” She half turned. “Ingrid! Come here, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she called across the room.

A woman who was loitering by herself over by the windows looked up. She was wearing a much more conservative dress than Magdalena was, and she appeared to be a year or so younger. She had curly red hair and a delicate, freckled face. She smiled at Magdalena as she came over, and Magdalena wrapped her arm around Ingrid’s shoulders, fingers trailing over her bare upper arm in a way that Yang could not help but notice.

“Ingrid, this is Hank von Leigh, who I told you about, and his friends, Oskar von Reuenthal and Wolfgang Mittermeyer. Hank, Oskar, Wolf, this is Ingrid von Roscher, but really, soon to be Ingrid von Goldenbaum. She’s betrothed to Prince Ludwig.”

“Oh?” Reuenthal asked. “Pleasure, my lady.” He offered her his hand, and then when she gave him hers, he lifted it and kissed her fingers. Yang involuntarily glanced at Mittermeyer, who had a vaguely annoyed though still neutrally pleasant smile on his face.

“Good thing the prince isn’t here to see you do that ,” Magdalena said, which caused Ingrid to giggle.

“Am I not allowed to be a gentleman?” Reuenthal asked.

“Most certainly not,” Magdalena said. “There are no gentlemen allowed at my parties. Only scoundrels, scamps, rapscallions, blackguards, and the like.”

Yang snorted at that. “You’ll fit right in then, Reuenthal.”

“And so will you,” Reuenthal said smoothly, stepping back.

“But poor Herr Mittermeyer,” Ingrid said, “neither of you have said that he isn’t a gentleman. Should he be cast out?”

“Mittermeyer is the best of us, it’s true,” Reuenthal said, glancing at him with a slight smile that Mittermeyer couldn’t help but return. “I’ve tried to corrupt him with my evil ways, but he’s having very little of it, unfortunately.” Reuenthal was amused, playing a game with the language again, though Mittermeyer looked at Yang somewhat helplessly.

“Did you corrupt Hank with your evil ways as well?” Magdalena asked. It seemed to be a pointed question.

“No,” Reuenthal said. “He was like this when I found him.”

Magdalena laughed. “I can imagine.”

“Can you?” Yang asked.

“Of course. I have a very vivid imagination.” She leaned heavily on Ingrid’s shoulder. “Shall we go bother someone else, darling?”

“If you must,” Ingrid said, clearly long suffering.

“Thank you again for the gift, Hank,” Magdalena said. “I’m sure it will make stimulating bedtime reading.”

“You don’t have to tease me,” Yang said, but by that point, Magdalena was already wandering off with Ingrid in tow, stepping away lightly to the beat of the music.

“What a strange woman,” Mittermeyer said when she had left.

“She’s something,” Yang said, rubbing the back of his head. “I have no idea what she wants from me.”

“I believe she really does just find you funny,” Reuenthal said.

After Magdalena wandered away, there was no one else who wanted to talk to them, which suited them fine. The three of them found a seat on two couches facing each other, with Yang on one side and Mittermeyer and Reuenthal on the other. Yang sank down into the cushions pretty far, and Reuenthal kicked his long legs up on the coffee table in front of him. There was plenty of alcohol, and the atmosphere at the party was relaxed, even though all of the guests were nobles. It probably helped that most of the guests were Magdalena’s age. It was quite possible that Yang and Reuenthal were the oldest people in the building. A few girls came over towards them, as though to talk to one of them, but Reuenthal and Mittermeyer were generally so deep in conversation that they walked away without intruding.

The alcohol was readily available, and that meant that they drank it.

At one point, Yang was getting himself another beer, and Magdalena found him again. She pulled him away from the drink table, and Yang glanced back at Mittermeyer and Reuenthal, neither of whom were looking at him. Yang followed Magdalena away, down a hallway. They ended up in a brightly lit kitchen. Magdalena hopped up onto the kitchen island, sitting with her hands on the edge of the marble countertop.

“You’re not about to jump me, are you?” Yang asked.

“No,” she said, swinging her legs. “I just wanted to talk.”

“About?”

“You and your friends,” she said.

Immediately, Yang was defensive. He crossed his arms a little. “What about us?”

“What in the world made you decide to bring your ex and his new guy here together?”

Yang was thrown completely off guard by everything that Magdalena was saying. “What?”

Magdalena raised an eyebrow. “Don’t try to deny it.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do,” she said. “Did you want to make him jealous? I could help you with that, if you wanted. I guess it’s only fair.”

“No!” Yang stepped back a little, worried that the forward-leaning Magdalena would decide to make a real move.

“Then what did you bring him here for?”

“Reuenthal is my friend!” Yang hissed. “And I don’t appreciate the insinuations that you’re making.”

“Did I somehow read this wrong?” Magdalena asked. She lifted her fan that was trapped underneath her hand and tapped her chin with it. “I don’t think so.”

“You most certainly did.”

“They’re not being very subtle out there,” she said.

Yang squinted at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re not very good at lying.”

Yang frowned. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, I swear. I’m just curious.”

“You wanted me to come to your party, you said I could invite friends, so I invited my friends. That’s it. That’s all there is to the story.”

“You know I don’t care, right? I’m more capable of keeping secrets than anybody else in the world.”

“I don’t think that’s true. And if it were true, we would not be having this conversation, because you would understand the value of discretion, and of not starting rumors that could ruin two or three people’s careers.”

“I keep telling you that I understand a lot more than you think,” Magdalena said. “You can trust me, you know.”

Yang shook his head. “I think you have misunderstood what it takes for me to trust someone. If you were just-- Nevermind.” He was too drunk to be having this conversation.

“If I was just what?”

“If it was just me-- that’s different,” Yang said. “I’m not going to let you talk about Reuenthal and Mittermeyer.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Loyal to him, are you?”

“Stop,” Yang said. “Please.”

“Alright, alright, fine.” She hopped down off the counter. “Don’t tell me anything. That’s your business, I guess.” She sounded disappointed, but Yang wasn’t going to fall for whatever act this was. She left the kitchen without him, and Yang got a drink of water from the sink. Maybe he should try to sober up. Maybe he should switch places with Reuenthal on the couch.

When he returned to his friends and sat down, he could see what Magdalena meant about them not being subtle. They weren’t touching, exactly, except for their knees, but the couch was far wider than the space they were taking up, and they were turned towards each other, leaning forward and moving in tiny, synchronized ways. Yang tried not to look at it too closely.

“Where did you go?” Mittermeyer asked.

“Getting some water in the kitchen,” Yang said. “I’m too drunk.”

“No such thing,” Reuenthal said.

“I think at least one of us should be functional. You can keep drinking if you want.”

“I think I will,” Reuenthal said, and raised his glass. “Prosit, Hank von Leigh.”

Yang sighed and raised his cup of water. “Prosit.”

His conversation with Magdalena had put him on edge, and as Mittermeyer and Reuenthal became drunker, Yang became more sober, which was not an ideal match. The music felt too loud, now, and Yang was beginning to remember why he hated parties. He kept glancing at his watch, wondering when would be an acceptable time to drag Reuenthal and Mittermeyer out.

“You guys want to go soon?” Yang asked. “We should get going so we can make the last train.”

“Mmm,” said Mittermeyer, which was probably a yes. Reuenthal wasn’t really paying attention to anything anymore.

“Great,” Yang said. “I’m gonna go outside and call a taxi.”

“Okay,” Mittermeyer said, then leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes.

Yang stood up, and then immediately realized that he needed to pee. Well, he would do that, and then he would call the taxi. He could still feel the alcohol inside of him, and he swayed a little on his walk through the house, trying to dodge the other guests in the dark room. There was the hallway, and he walked down it, trying to determine which of the closed doors was the bathroom. One had a sign taped on it that said “Bathroom”, written in marker in Magdalena’s handwriting, but when Yang tried the door, he found it locked. This was unfortunate. Yang theorized that in a house this large, there was definitely more than one bathroom. He saw the stairs a little down the hall, and decided he would try to find the upstairs bathroom.

The upstairs was dark and quiet. His steps made almost no sound on the carpeted floors, especially with the muted throbbing of the music from downstairs. He almost felt like he was trespassing, but his need to pee was so urgent that he pressed on regardless. He tried a few of the closed doors, found a linen closet, an empty bedroom, but no bathroom. He continued a little further down the hallway.

Yang tried the next door. When it swung open, he blinked in surprise, finding Magdalena and her friend-- the one she had introduced them to, the one who was betrothed to the prince, the one whose name Yang could not remember… He stood there for an instant, trying and failing to remember her name, before he realized that there was a larger problem here. Magdalena was on the bed, straddling the other girl’s waist, her hands tangled in her bright red hair. She turned immediately when she heard the door open, and she glared at Yang, who tried to back away and shut the door.

“Who is it?” Ingrid-- that was her name!-- asked, shoving Magdalena off of her and sitting up.

Magdalena scrambled off the bed and towards Yang. He tried to stumble backwards, but she grabbed his collar and pulled him forward into the room. He was waving his hands and trying to escape, but she didn’t let him go until they were inside with the door shut. Ingrid was staring at this with more confusion than fear, and more fear than hostility. Magdalena seemed fairly upset, though.

“What the hell are you doing here, Hank?”

“I was looking for your bathroom, can I please use your bathroom?”

“Gods above, Leigh,” Magdalena said. “Over there.” She pointed to a door in the corner of the room, then pushed Yang towards it. He practically ran, though inside it was just a ensuite bath with no alternate exits. At least it was a bathroom that he could use.

When he came out, Magdalena was sitting on the bed, facing the bathroom as though ready to put him on trial. Although she was fully dressed, Ingrid had the blankets of the bed pulled up around her.

“So, you were saying something about discretion earlier?” Magdalena asked, hands on her hips.

“Yeah,” Yang said.

“You’re not going to say anything to anyone, yes?”

“I won’t,” Yang said. “I promise.”

“Because I am fully capable of ruining your life completely, you understand?”

“You wouldn’t even have to work that hard,” Yang grumbled, then realized that he was being stupid. He flushed a little. This poor choice of words actually seemed to relax Magdalena, and some of the tension went out of her shoulders. Ingrid giggled a little, still clearly nervous and looking to Magdalena for reassurance and direction.

“Great. Glad we understand each other.”

“Can I go?” Yang asked. “Sorry, I want to call a taxi and go home.”

“Not enjoying my party, Hank?” Magdalena asked, with a slightly strange smile.

“You aren’t either, because you’ve abandoned it completely.”

“Nobody cares about that,” she said. “Fine. Go home. I’ll see you some other time.”

“Must you?”

“I thought we were friends,” Magdalena pouted.

“I have no idea what this is,” Yang said. “If this is how you make friends, I would hate to be your enemy.”

“Great.” She smirked a little. “Get out, then. And shut the door behind you.”

Yang shook his head and left, not needing any more encouragement.