Lord of Lies

October 487 I.C., Odin

Yang’s journey back to Odin would have been a lot worse if he hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with Hilde and Count Mariendorf on the ansible, once they were safe on Phezzan. He and Kircheis breathed a mutual sigh of relief to see them both safe and as well as could be expected. Yang apologized deeply for not freeing Hilde and the count from Lord Castrop’s ship earlier. Although Yang had chased his ship as far as he could, right until the entrance to the Phezzan corridor, and had tried to tell Castrop about the sabotage on his vessel to get him to abandon it, Castrop had paid no attention to his bluff— though it was in no way a bluff.

So, although the prevailing feeling was relief— everyone he cared about had gotten out safely— a cloud of worry and guilt hung over Yang on his way back home. It wasn’t just the fact that he worried his relationship with Count Mariendorf might be permanently strained. He felt bad for the news he had received from Muller on Phezzan, that Castrop was dead. This seemed like Yang’s fault, and a pointless loss of life. He had warned Muller about the sabotage, but, of course, Muller had his own duties, which involved stopping Castrop, now a traitor, from fleeing to the Alliance.

Yang also wasn’t sure what to expect upon his arrival back home— his letter to the Kaiser had surely been received, but Yang had heard nothing in response, which seemed like a worrying sign. At the very least, if he was going to be arrested for going against the Kaiser’s will, it seemed like it would happen on the ground. No warship had been dispatched to shoot him down, though he made his route quite public, following all the usual rules about the movements of military ships within the Empire, which would have made him very easy to hunt down en route.

But when he arrived back at Odin, he settled his ship back into Braunschweig’s fleet hangars without incident. And when Yang stepped out of the spaceport and into the chill October air, there were no police waiting for him, or any other kind of trouble. No trouble, except for Magdalena, who met him at the doors, sitting alone in her convertible right outside. Although it was well into autumn, she had the roof down— she liked the feeling of wind in her hair more than she hated the cold, and she was dressed in a sleek fur coat to compensate.

“If it isn’t the talk of the town!” she called, to get his attention, not like she needed to do anything to capture his attention.

Kircheis, who had followed Yang out, beat a swift retreat back into the spaceport, and Yang watched him go dolefully, then climbed into Magdalena’s car.

“I could have given a ride to your little lackey,” she said, looking affronted. “Does Herr Kircheis not trust my driving skills?”

“I think he just wanted to give us space,” Yang said.

“Aww.” Magdalena revved her car and pulled out into the street. “He’s such a considerate young man.”

“I didn’t realize you were going to meet me here.”

“And what kind of a fiancee would I be if I didn’t?” she asked. “It’s not like I have much else going on.”

“Is that so?” Yang asked, and Magdalena just laughed.

“Usually, I’d say it’s boring around here without you, but you have this unique talent of making things interesting even when you’re half the galaxy away.”

“To be honest, I expected to be met at the spaceport by MPs coming to arrest me,” Yang said. “If that’s the kind of ‘interesting’ that you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure it’s one and the same.” Even though she was driving, whipping around corners a little too quickly, Magdalena reached across the car to fish in her purse for something. It was heavy envelope, which she handed to Yang.

“What’s this?” he asked, though he could tell from the seal exactly who the letter was from.

“The Kaiser wants an audience with you,” she said. “That’s your invite.”

“Do you know what for?” The letter in his hands felt like a live bomb, and he pried it open but didn’t look at it.

“Not a clue,” Magdalena said. “But since I thought you were out of His Majesty’s good graces, I’m pleased that you’ve somehow found your way back into them.”

“I don’t know how I could have. Did Princess Amarie say something to him?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible. I like the princess, but I’m not exactly her bosom friend, however much I’d like to be. So I’m not aware of all her activities.”

“She probably would have told you if she was intervening on my behalf.” Yang sighed and looked out at the road. “I just want things to be simple, you know.”

“They never will be. What does the letter say?”

Yang finally looked at it, reading it slowly. “It’s a formal audience, in front of the whole court. Next week.” He laughed bitterly. “I could really do without that. Before, when the Kaiser wanted to speak to me, it was always private. Nobody in the court likes me, so there’s no reason for him to show me off in front of them if he’s happy with me. He probably wants to make a point about Braunschweig stepping out of line…”

The possibilities tumbled around in his head, and most of them were pretty unpleasant. The fact that it was an invitation made him think he wasn’t in any personal danger, but he was sure it was about to be a political mess. He flipped the thick card over in his hands— this probably hadn’t actually come from the Kaiser, but from Marquis Lichetenlade, the prime minister. Yang could practically feel the political chastizing that he and Duke Braunschweig were about to be subjected to.

“Dress nicely,” Magdalena said. “That’s my advice.”

“I’ll wear my dress uniform.”

She shook her head.

“Has anything else been happening while I’ve been gone?” Yang asked, struggling to change the subject. Magdalena was only too happy to comply.

“I’ve been working very hard on planning our wedding,” she said. “I made some selections for the menu and the decorations. I’m sure you’ll love them.”

“You have excellent taste, Maggie— I don’t think I’ll have any criticisms.”

She laughed at him for that. “You wouldn’t know good taste if it bit you. But I’ll be grateful that you’re correctly choosing not to question my choices.”

“Am I in any danger of getting bitten by good taste?”

Luckily, they were at a stop light, so when Magdalena leaned over to nip at Yang’s earlobe, she didn’t send the car swerving off the road.

November 487 I.C., Odin

Yang had been to Neue Sanssouci many times, so many that he had lost count, so it wasn’t unfamiliarity that was making him nervous as he waited in the formal hall for the audience with the Kaiser. He had even been to these audiences before, tagging along after Duke Braunschweig a couple times, so he was familiar with the procedure. Every party who had some stake in the business of the day was gathered in the great hall, waiting for the Kaiser to come in and give his judgements or favors or, more rarely, punishments to those he needed to speak to. Lately, because of the Kaiser’s declining health, this duty had often been performed by the prime minister, instead. As Yang stood in the hall, shuffling nervously on his toes, he expected that it would be Lictenlade’s dour figure who emerged from the heavy doors at the end of the room.

There were a great number of other people in attendance, though Yang doubted that most of them had anything to do with his summons. The Kaiser had many diverse pieces of business to attend to in these forums. But it made the room crowded, and the looks that Yang received from many of the nobles standing across from him were unpleasant in the extreme. Yang wondered if this was just the normal looks, or if these ones were now tinged with something else— fear, maybe. Having gone to single handedly attack Lord Castrop’s planet, what was stopping Yang from going after any other noble?

Duke Braunschweig had received an invitation to this audience, as had Count Mariendorf, and, strangely, Magdalena. Yang imagined that, since they were all associated with him, they had been invited to witness whatever Lichtenlade had to say. Count Mariendorf brought Hilde with him, but Hilde had been very disappointed to find that Duke Braunschweig had not brought his own daughter to tag along. So, she was standing with Magdalena, waiting for the whole show to start.

Yang had only gotten to say a few words in greeting to the count, and he wasn’t sure if he had been forgiven yet. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven, of course, but he had to think that getting yelled at by the crown might earn him some sympathy on that front.

Braunschweig was not in a pleasant mood. Yang could tell from the way that Braunschweig coldly looked around, but he kept a smile on his face for the rest of the court. At least there weren’t any members of the Littenheim clan in attendance, which prevented Braunschweig’s mood from getting out of hand.

Yang steered clear of the duke, which was easy enough, because Braunschweig usually wanted nothing to do with him at public social events. This suited them both well. But all of this meant that Yang was standing by himself, just watching as everyone who needed to speak to the Kaiser filed in. If Magdalena hadn’t been so absorbed in chatting with Hilde, she would have come over and smacked Yang’s hands away from his hair. He kept running his fingers through it, his usual nervous habit, and while it had been combed smooth to match the neat appearance of his dress uniform when he arrived, it was now quite floppy and out of sorts.

As the appointed time approached, the room ceased to be a casual social gathering, and everyone took up their final positions in the room, lined up along the carpet, looking expectantly towards the front. A minute or so before the clock struck, one last guest walked in: Fleet Admiral Muckenburger. He ended up in a position directly across from Yang, people shuffling positions to give him room.

The great doors swung open. Unsurprisingly, it was Lichtenlade who walked in, accompanied by secretaries and guards. Yang felt the kind of relief that came with a bad premonition finally coming true, and his shoulders slumped. Fleet Admiral Muckenburger’s eyes followed Yang’s changed posture, and his lips twitched in an almost invisible frown. Yang averted his eyes, and tried to stand up straighter.

The business of the day, which Lichtenlade began to address without any fanfare whatsoever, was extensive, and in the long first section, none of it had anything to do with Yang. He almost completely tuned it out, but anxiety made him listen for his own name. He idly wondered what Muckenburger was here for, because so far none of the petitions that Lichtenlade heard and addressed had anything to do with the military. Muckenburger, too, seemed to be in his own thoughts, not reacting to any of the business passing before him as he stood perfectly at attention and looked straight ahead.

The minutes dragged on. After some time, Lichtenlade fell silent, having perhaps addressed everyone in the room, aside from Yang. He made a signal to some of the guards, and they turned and opened the heavy doors at the end of the room once again. Lichtenlade stepped back, and Kaiser Friedrich walked out. The whole room’s tenor changed completely, everyone shifted (aside from Muckenburger), even if they had the good grace not to gasp.

It had only been about a year since Yang had last seen the Kaiser in person, but he looked much worse than he had at Count Marbach’s funeral. He had lost a significant amount of weight, and his face seemed like his skin revealed every contour of his skull. The Kaiser wasn’t even that old, so it seemed clear to Yang that he was suffering from some sort of illness, and possibly had been for quite some time. Either his decline was progressing more rapidly than it had been, or he had given up efforts to disguise it, or a combination.

The sight of him in this state made Yang feel very strange. He was the Kaiser of the Galactic Empire, an institution that Yang despised on principle. He was a lecherous old man, one who wielded too much power that he had no right to. But his ill health meant that billions of people were about to be plunged into a civil war, which was a tragedy that Yang wished he could prevent, even by keeping the Kaiser alive. And, beyond all that, beyond every political consideration: Friedrich had always been unduly kind to Hank von Leigh. The sadness that Yang felt, gazing at the Kaiser, was, at least in part, a personal one.

He wondered, sparing a glance around the rest of the room, if there was a single other person who felt the same. Not Lichtenlade, not Muckenburger, not Count Mariendorf or Magdalena, and certainly not Duke Braunschweig. Perhaps Yang was the only one who bothered to see Friedrich as he was— a sad and lonely old man. It was Friedrich’s fault, Yang supposed, for clinging so completely to the power that kept him from being cared for as a person, but it still was a lonely existence, to be nothing more than a vessel for power, empty of all human spirit, in everyone’s eyes.

Yang shook himself out of his contemplation as the Kaiser sat down on his chair at the head of the room, and everyone held their breath, waiting for him to speak.

“Count Mariendorf,” he said, stretching out his hand.

Everyone, including Yang, was surprised by this summons, but the count stepped out before the Kaiser and knelt. “Your Majesty.”

“Count Mariendorf, I sent you as an agent of the crown to bring Maximillian von Castrop before me. I am told that you were taken hostage, and you have suffered as the crown’s agent.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I apologize for failing to bring him before you.”

The Kaiser waved his hand. “He is dead, it makes little difference now.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You were freed from your captivity by an agent of Duke Braunschweig, is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Captain von Leigh was responsible for it.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Your Majesty, it was at my daughter’s request that Duke Braunschweig lent his strength to free me,” he said. “It was not meant as an insult to the crown.”

“Count Mariendorf, if I had sent my fleets to Planet Castrop, do you believe that they would have succeeded in freeing you?”

This put the count in a very awkward position, and from his place on the floor, his eyes flicked around the room. “I’m not a military man, Your Majesty. And Lord Castrop was a fickle and vindictive person— I don’t know what he would have done if a whole fleet had arrived at his doorstep. I couldn’t speak of hypotheticals like that.”

“Very well.” The Kaiser looked at him for a long second. “This duty was performed for the crown, but it was your loyalty to Duke Braunschweig which saved you, was it not?”

“Your Majesty, if I may speak plainly—”

“You may.”

“I am very grateful to Duke Braunschweig for loaning me his aid. I will owe him a debt for my entire life. But I do not doubt that, had Duke Braunschweig refused to loan my daughter a ship and crew, my daughter would have found some other way to try to free me.”

“And Captain von Leigh?”

The count hestated. He was clearly trying to protect Yang— Hilde was relatively untouchable as a political figure, since she had very little power and there would be no point in punishing her, so it was easy to say that she would have done something, true as it was. Yang was a different story— for him to be Duke Braunschweig’s agent was one thing, for him to act independently was another. Yang wasn’t sure which was preferable, in the eyes of the crown. But Count Mariendorf was an honest man. “Yes, Your Majesty. Captain von Leigh would have, as well.”

“He must value your friendship very highly.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I understand that this has been a difficult ordeal for you, on the crown’s business,” the Kaiser said. “If you wish to be released from your duties to the crown, I release you.”

“No, Your Majesty,” the count said. “I prefer to put this incident behind me. So long as Your Majesty has use of my services, I am happy to provide them.”

“So long as I have use of them,” the Kaiser said, with a dark half-laugh. “Very well. That is all, Count Mariendorf.”

The count stood, and with some relief, went back to his spot. Hilde’s eyes were wide, and when her father returned to her side, she put her hand on his arm, and whispered something in his ear.

“Captain von Leigh,” the Kaiser said.

Yang resisted the urge to sigh, and instead walked over to the spot where Count Mariendorf had just been kneeling. He didn’t have a choice, so he knelt to receive whatever chastising he was about to get. He didn’t think there had been a time when he had knelt for the Kaiser before. It was giving him a new appreciation for the fine gold details woven into the rug before him.

“I read your letter, Captain von Leigh,” the Kaiser said.

“I’m glad that it made it to you, Your Majesty.”

“You were very presumptuous in it.”

“I know, Your Majesty.”

“Count Mariendorf believes that you would go to great lengths for your friends. Is this true?”

“How can I deny that, Your Majesty?” It was Yang’s turn to laugh, even though he shouldn’t have, and he lifted his head to look around at the court. “There’s a half dozen people in this room who would tell you that I have behaved unreasonably for my friends at every opportunity.”

“Who would say that?”

“The Mariendorf family, Baroness Westpfale, Duke Braunschweig... Even Fleet Admiral Mucken—” He cut himself off when he felt the fleet admiral’s cold stare on him.

“Is that true, Muckenburger?” the Kaiser asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the fleet admiral said, without leaving his spot.

“I see.” The Kaiser stared at Yang for a second. “In your letter, you wondered if there had ever been any friendship between us. If there had been, what would you expect me to do for you, Captain Leigh?”

“Your Majesty, I was being presumptuous.”

“Answer the question.”

“Nothing, Your Majesty,” Yang said. “I wouldn’t ever ask you for anything for my own sake.”

“No, you asked to be punished in Duke Braunschweig’s stead. Did he order you to say that?”

“No, Your Majesty. I asked that because it was my decision to destroy the Necklace, to chase Lord Castrop, and everything else. It was my responsibility, and shouldn’t fall to anyone else.”

“And you asked for the crown to give special care to Lord Castrop’s people.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Yang lifted his head to look at the Kaiser. “Not for my own sake— but those people deserve more than Lord Castrop was allowing them. I hope that you will consider it.”

“I have considered it, Captain.”

“And?” He regretted the question as soon as he asked it, but, even kneeling, Yang couldn’t help but speak his mind when it came to things like that.

“Has there been friendship between us, Captain Leigh?”

“Your Majesty, how can I answer that question?”

“Every question I’ve ever asked you, you’ve answered honestly. I would hope that you would answer this one in the same way.”

“Your Majesty, it’s not for me to decide. The gap between us— in station, in life, in everything— is too large. If Your Majesty wishes to consider me a friend, then I am honored by that consideration. If Your Majesty considers me to be a humble servant, then this is what I am.” He paused, then continued. “Someone who I care about very deeply told me once that it is difficult to be someone’s subordinate and their friend at the same time. I believe he was correct to say so.”

The Kaiser’s silence stretched on, making Yang deeply uncomfortable. Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath.

“You’re marrying Baroness Westpfale?”

Yang was startled by the complete non-sequitur, but the Kaiser’s voice was calm, so Yang answered. “In the spring, Your Majesty.”

“I regret that I will be unable to attend.”

“Oh, I— I wasn’t really expecting you to, to be honest.”

The Kaiser ignored this. “I should give you your wedding gift now. There won’t be a better time for it.”

“Your Majesty, I—”

“Come here, Captain Leigh,” the Kaiser said. He held out his hand to one of the assistants standing by, and that man handed him a silver capped scroll, which he unrolled. Yang stepped forward, already completely off balance. He had no idea what was going on. Everyone’s eyes were upon him.

“Captain Hank von Leigh, over the years I have known you, you have rendered service to the crown many times. Today you have destroyed the power of the traitor Maximillian von Castrop, and rescued the crown’s servant, Count Mariendorf. You have displayed great honesty, courage, and care for the people of the Empire. To that end, I, Kaiser Friedrich IV, grant to you the title of Lord. To you, I give all the forfeit property belonging to the traitor. And to you, I entrust the lands and people of Planet Castrop, as you so eloquently argued for the crown’s protection for them. You understand well the rights and responsibilities that this gives to you. Use them wisely.”

This was the last thing that Yang had expected or wanted, and he felt dizzy and ill. “Your Majesty—” was all he could say. He wanted to protest the gift, to reject it, but he couldn’t even form the words.

The Kaiser was holding out the silver capped scroll towards Yang, waiting for Yang to take it. “Is the gap between us small enough, now, Lord Leigh?”

The honest and true answer was that no matter how high Yang was raised, the gap could not be closed. For there to be no gap, there would have to be no power between them, or between anyone, for that matter. But, because there was a gap, because the Kaiser had power over him, had something that he wanted Yang— Leigh— to say, Yang lied.

“Yes, Your Majesty. It is. Thank you.” He took the scroll, gripping it so tightly with his left hand that the paper dented beneath his fingernails.

The Kaiser nodded, then waved his hand to dismiss Yang. Without another word the Kaiser stood and walked slowly back out of the room, followed by all the guards and Lichtenlade.

As soon as the door shut behind him, the room, which had been dead silent, erupted into chaos. Every noble in the room seemed to have something to say, either to Yang or at him, or about him. Magdalena, who had been grinning widely, realized that the sentiment in the room was approaching dangerous, and tried to step towards Yang, along with the Mariendorfs. But it was Fleet Admiral Muckenburger who got to Yang first.

“Captain Leigh, if I may speak with you for a moment?” Muckenburger asked.

Yang had only a split second to choose between a rock and a hard place, but it was Muckenburger’s use of his rank which convinced him. Yang nodded, and Muckenburger parted the crowd with his authoritative stride and glares, and led Yang out through the nearest side door. It was quieter in the hallway, and luckily, no one followed them. Muckenburger didn’t bother bringing Yang to his office— once they were safely away from the crowd, in one of the dark, wood paneled hallways, he turned towards Yang, who had been following rather meekly at his heels.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, Captain Leigh,” Muckenburger said.

“Yes, sir.” Yang ran his hand through his hair, forgetting military discipline for the moment. Muckenburger’s eyes were disapproving, but he said nothing. “What is it that you needed?” Yang asked.

“I don’t need anything, at the moment, Leigh, but I wanted to make something very clear to you.”

“Is this about— I swear I—”

“No,” Muckenburger said. “I don’t care one bit about court politics.” Yang remembered that Muckenburger was actually a count, but he had never once heard anyone refer to him that way. He hardly even acted like a noble— in Yang’s eyes he had always been some kind of embodiment of the fleet itself, and nothing else. Even if the fleet tended towards being aristocratic in nature, Muckenburger at least tried not to let that stand in his way.

“That makes two of us, sir.”

Muckenburger barked out a laugh. “No, it does not.”

Yang winced. “What was it that you needed to tell me, sir?”

Muckenburger stared at him, meeting his eyes, and Yang wanted to flinch away. “My duty, Captain, now and until I am no longer serving in the Imperial Fleet, is to protect this nation from disaster.”

“Yes, sir. I know that.”

“And you also understand that a fight between noble families will make this nation unacceptably weak.”

“What are you saying, sir?”

“I am saying that the first line of defense for this nation is Iserlohn Fortress. You are a competent man, Captain Leigh. I already knew that. But if you were attempting to send a message with the Artemis Necklace—”

“No, sir, I wasn’t.”

“A message was received nonetheless.”

“Yes, sir,” Yang said.

“You want to describe your motives as selflessness, and friendship. But I know that you could have found some way to remove Castrop without touching a single link of that Necklace. You decided on a show— maybe even on Duke Braunschwieg’s orders. Am I wrong, Leigh?”

“I chose the path I thought would lead to the least loss of life,” Yang said.

“If that is true, then let me warn you that your current path will not achieve the same result.”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.” Yang’s heart was sinking into his stomach.

“You might be able to take down Iserlohn Fortress,” Muckenburger said. “I can see what you’re doing, and I don’t doubt that you’ll succeed, if you have the right resources in play. You have the talent, if nothing else, and you don’t need to keep proving it to me.”

Yang stayed totally silent— there was nothing he could say— but the blood drained from his face.

“But let me remind you, Captain: it will be me that you will need to pass through, because protecting that fortress is protecting this Empire, regardless of who her leader is.”

“I don’t want to be your enemy, sir,” Yang said.

“Good day, Captain Leigh,” Muckenburger said, and with that, he strode off down the hallway. Yang didn’t chase after him.

Luckily, Yang’s disappearance from the crowd had allowed the crowd to disperse, and so Yang was able to peek back around a corner and find Magdalena waiting for him, leaning against the wall, the picture of relaxation, even if he knew her well enough by now to guess that this was probably as much of a carefully controlled persona as anything else.

“And you thought this would go badly!” Magdalena said.

Yang shoved the silver scroll into her hands. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Although Magdalena acted nothing but thrilled about Yang’s change in fortunes, Yang couldn’t bring himself to share her enthusiasm. When she sent him back to his apartment, leaving him alone with his thoughts for the first time that day, Yang could do nothing but pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, occasionally interrupting his tracks around the room to go run over to his desk and scribble a passing thought down on a scrap of paper.

He had no desire to rule, or inherit, or participate in the structure of Imperial society. It was a cruel joke that the Kaiser was playing on him, and the Kaiser had to know that. Friedrich had always appreciated Yang for his complete lack of enthusiasm in the palace’s power games: he wasn’t a crawling status seeker; he was nobody, and wanted to stay nobody. Friedrich probably was amused at Yang’s expense, even if the gift, and talk of friendship, had been genuine. He probably thought that giving Yang status of his own would be a way to protect him after his death, moreso than just being married to Magdalena.

The fact that the Kaiser’s generosity probably was real only made it feel worse. He seemed to genuinely believe that Yang was capable of running a planet. To hear Magdalena say it, Yang was barely capable of dressing himself in the morning. Why should he have power over a million other people?

He knew that these whining thoughts were born out of a helpless bitterness, and completely unproductive for it, but that didn’t stop him from having them. He’d reach the end of his room in his pacing, have some other aspect of the situation occur to him (“And another thing!”) and turn angrily on his heel to complain to an imaginary audience on his way across the floor in the other direction.

Yang exhausted himself with this, but it was at least better that he got it out of his system by the time he reported for work the next day, trying to slink back into his office like nothing had changed. Luckily, Braunschweig was always cloistered in his manor, and while the other officers had some gossip that filtered through into Yang’s ears, no one bothered him about it directly. Perhaps that was the kind of thing that new status granted him.

Even Kircheis said nothing, until he came up to Yang’s office to ask about a delivery of supplies intended for Cahokia. He got through his business quickly, but Yang’s constant distracted glances out the window made him finally ask, “Are you alright, sir?”

“Are you, Kircheis?” Yang asked. He smiled at Kircheis, who, in his endless patience, did not seem to mind Yang’s latest attempt to slip back into his teacher persona to free himself from thinking about his own troubles.

“I’m fine, sir.” He sounded fine, but then he hesitated and added, “Hilde told me that she met Reinhard on Phezzan.”

Yang nodded. “So I’m told.”

“Did that have anything to do with you, sir?”

“Do you want me to apologize for using your friend like that?”

“No, sir, of course not.” He looked away.

“I told Muller to do whatever he could to help,” Yang said. “I knew that would probably involve your friend, as they have some sort of working relationship, there on Phezzan.” He tilted his head to study Kircheis. “Your friend seems like a good man.”

This made Kircheis smile, a seemingly involuntary expression of happiness that brightened his whole countenance. “Hilde said he has a reputation for freeing captives.”

“I’d love to meet him, someday.”

“Someday.”

“We’ll sue for peace sooner, rather than later, if I have anything to do with it,” Yang said. He thought about Muckenburger’s warning, frowning.

“I hope so, sir.”

“I’m glad you agree with me, at least.”

“Hilde said the same thing, so that makes three.”

Yang laughed. “I can always count on her.” But then he sighed and glanced out the window again.

“Really, sir, are you alright?”

“Just distracted, Kircheis,” Yang said. “I wish I hadn’t had a new set of responsibilities dropped on my lap.”

“May I ask what you are going to do about, er, your holdings?”

“You can ask. I don’t have a good answer.” He shuffled some objects around on his desk and pulled out a notebook, in which he had been jotting down his thoughts all morning. “I suppose— I mean, there’s only one moral thing to do, I’ll put all of the money into a trust for the people there, and I’ll, I don’t know…” He scratched the back of his head. “Rule of law, er, maybe I can get the people there to choose someone to manage the land… I don’t know.”

“You sound like a republican, sir,” Kircheis said, but he was smiling, teasing Yang.

“Oh, don’t let anybody hear you say that, Kircheis,” he said with a laugh. A sudden, funny thought came to him. “Your friend, Herr Bufholtz— does he want to work for me? I’d trust him to administer things fairly.” He was only half joking, and Kircheis actually seemed to consider it for a moment.

“I don’t think he’d enjoy it very much, sir.”

“Well, I’m not enjoying it either, Kircheis!” But Yang laughed. “You know— that does give me a good idea, though. I should ask Fraulein Hilde if she’d like to assist me. She’s going to take over her father’s estate, someday. I think she knows what would be necessary.”

“You could ask her.”

“I think I will,” Yang said, making his decision. “I really should go see the Mariendorfs.”

Although Yang had professed his desire to go visit the Mariendorfs with nothing but an honest heart and good intentions, he procrastinated. He felt, still, perhaps always, like a child who knew they had done something wrong. It was the same feeling that had kept him away from Count Mariendorf after he returned home in disgrace from El Facil.

So, he waited until Magdalena really snapped at him one day after dinner, while they sat in her living room. She kept asking Yang questions about what his plans were, and she grew more and more frustrated by his complete lack of answers.

“Hank, if you don’t want to let me manage your property for you, which I am more than capable of doing, you need to figure out what you’re doing with it. And if you won’t take advice from me, gods know you have plenty of other people to take advice from.” She shook her head, and poked him in the chest. “Stop acting like a little baby about it. It’s like you’re some sort of third rate son who’s sad about inheriting because that means you have to do work now.”

“That’s exactly what I am,” Yang whined. “When my father died, it was a great mercy that he didn’t leave me with anything that I had to be responsible for.”

“No, wait, I changed my mind,” Magdalena said, scowling. “That’s not who you’re acting like.”

“Who, then?” Yang asked. He covered his eyes with his arm, leaning back on the couch.

“You’re reminding me very much of your very silly friend, Oskar.”

Yang lifted his arm to peek at Magdalena, who had real anger in her voice. “Leave him out of it.”

“Woe is me, I’ve inherited something,” Magdalena taunted. And then, in a weirdly accurate impression of Reuenthal’s venomous tone, she said, “Money I have no use for, and a land I never wanted.”

“What do you want me to say?” Yang asked. “I don’t understand why you care.”

“Augh!” She got up from the couch and stomped across the room. “You have to stop pretending like you can live in a different world than the rest of us!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever pretended to live in a different world,” Yang said. “I’m well aware of what life is like, Maggie.” His left hand was resting on his lap, and, out of old memory, he ran his fingers over the scar on his thigh. It wasn’t large, but the raised bump was detectable even through the fabric of his pants.

“You’re still acting like you can do whatever you want, and ignore the things you’re expected to do. It’s not a gift— it’s a leash, Hank. You do what you’re supposed to, and hope nobody decides to strangle you with it.”

“I promise that I’ll deal with it,” Yang said. “I know why the Kaiser gave it to me— I’m not trying to pretend I don’t.”

She stomped over to the windows, looking out over her garden, light from the house barely casting a glow over the frost-crisp lawn and the bare, tangled bushes. “Fine,” she said. “As long as you understand.” She didn’t sound happy at all.

Yang got up and went over to her, seeing her scowling reflection in the glass. He noticed that she was twisting her engagement ring around her finger. “Are you really unhappy with me?”

“I can’t believe I’m marrying some stupid lord,” she muttered. “You were more fun when you were nobody.”

The delivery was so quintessentially Maggie— something like a complete truth announced in a tone that no one could doubt was a joke. He understood the issue, then. He wanted to assure her that if she didn’t want to get married, they didn’t have to, Kaiser’s wedding gift or no, but that wouldn’t have helped. No matter what he said, she would double down.

“I’m still the same person I’ve always been,” Yang said. “Being called ‘Lord Leigh’ doesn’t change who I am.”

“And who is that, Hank?” she asked.

He should have told her his real name— it wouldn’t have cost him anything. But he didn’t. And since he didn’t have that to say, he didn’t have anything to give her. A hole the light falls into , he thought, looking at his dark reflection in the window.

“Nevermind,” she said, when he was silent for a moment too long. She seemed to have recovered herself a little bit, and she flipped a switch in her persona, smiling a courtly smile and turning to touch his arm delicately. “I’m being difficult again.You should tell me off when I start being unreasonable.”

“You’re not being unreasonable,” he said. “I think you’re right.”

Yang went to the Mariendorf house the next day. Hilde was away, staying late for the day at her university, so it was just the count who was there to speak to him, at least when he arrived. According to her father, she was supposed to be back soon, but Yang had no idea what ‘soon’ meant. And, besides, it was probably for the best that he could speak with the count alone. Hilde would jump far too quickly to Yang’s defense, had she been there.

They sat down in the library, on plush chairs next to each other, and the count gave them both glasses of whiskey before they said anything much. Yang looked down into his glass.

“You seem very unhappy, Hank,” Franz said.

Yang looked up at him. “I came to apologize to you, sir,” he said. “I shouldn’t try to pretend that I haven’t.”

“Yes, I expected that you would, at some point.” Franz looked out the window. The first snows of the winter were drifting down: sparse flakes that melted immediately when they touched the windowpane. “Hilde has told me over and over not to blame you for putting her in danger.”

“She’s far too generous to me. I knew when I set out that… you might never forgive me for putting her in danger. And I knew I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Why did you, then?”

This was a difficult question to answer. “She demanded to go,” Yang said. “I know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth.” He looked down into his hands. “A good friend of mine recently made me think about… what it means to be responsible for other people— as a leader, I mean. Sometimes people value what they can accomplish, what they can do for other people, more than they value their safety. If I refuse to respect that, then…” He took a sip from his glass not wanting to say anymore. But Count Mariendorf was silent, and waited for him to continue. “I know that I should feel it’s more relevant to soldiers than to your daughter, but Hilde wouldn’t have forgiven me if I hadn’t let her her participate. And she had already asked the Braunschweigs before I had even put together a plan that didn’t involve her. I was going to ask the duke to loan me to whatever fleet Muckenburger was going to send— to see if there was anything I could do. But…”

“She’s not a soldier,” Franz said.

“No, sir. I know.”

It took a moment for Franz to say anything more. “Her mother would have never let her do half as much as I’ve allowed. It makes me feel like a failure as a father. I’ve done something wrong in failing to protect her, in letting her think that she should run off into danger.”

“I don’t think so, sir. She would never want anyone else as a father.”

“Oh, I know,” he said. He closed his eyes, in pain, maybe. “That’s what makes it so difficult. She wouldn’t want anyone other than you as a teacher, either.”

“I’m not her teacher anymore.”

“As a friend, then.”

“She thinks too highly of me.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Franz said. “I think her estimation is accurate. She’s always been a very good judge of character.” He finished his glass of whiskey. “I’m sure that’s why she knew she could manipulate you into letting her go.”

“Was it manipulation, sir? She asked directly.”

“A blunt instrument is still a tool,” he said. “I keep asking myself— would I be as angry, if she were my son?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Is it fair to her?”

“That you might treat her differently if she was a boy— a man?”

The count looked at him sidelong. “You’re right, of course.”

“Sir?”

“She is an adult. I should stop looking at her like she’s a child.”

“I’m sure it’s difficult to not see her that way. She’ll always be your daughter.”

This made the count smile. “Yes, that’s also true.”

“That’s why I don’t really expect your forgiveness, or deserve it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hank.”

Yang nodded and looked down into his glass again.

“I love you like a son,” he said. “And I’m grateful to have you in my life. If Hilde had gone off on her own, rather than with your help, I’m certain— Well. I’ve forgiven you.”

“Thank you, sir.” His throat felt raw saying it, and he was sure the count could hear that in his tone.

“Well,” Franz said, false cheer in his voice, “that aside, how are you getting on with the land the Kaiser granted you? It was a very generous gift.”

Yang winced. “I don’t really know, sir. It’s not a gift I particularly wanted, or think myself well suited to receive.”

“I am in complete agreement with the Kaiser that you will be a far cry better for the people on that planet than Castrop was. You’re a good and honest man— those are important qualities in a lord.”

Yang frowned. “I suppose.”

“What does that mean, ‘you suppose’?”

He glanced at the count with a wry and half ashamed smile. The count was vaguely aware of Yang’s political bent, if only from his association with Martin via Kircheis, but probably didn’t ever think about what that meant in practical terms. “It doesn’t feel right for me to be a lord, sir. I never wanted that kind of power over people. I feel like I should find some way to let the place govern itself. I’ve put the money in a trust for them already— I don’t need the money. It should go pretty far towards improving their standard of living.”

Franz was silent for a long time.

“I assume you don’t approve, sir.”

“No, Hank, I do not.”

“I just— why should I be allowed to dictate the way that a million people live their lives?” Yang asked, spreading his hands.

It took a second for Franz to compose his answer. “It’s because you are a good man, that it is your responsibility. You are intelligent, and capable, and fair. You cannot abdicate your responsibility, pass it off to the crowd, because you don’t like the burden that it places on you. Someone has to make decisions, someone has to carry that weight. It’s a duty of care, Hank. You can’t hand it off to someone who might not be able to carry it. Certainly, there are few people I would say are more capable than you, and I doubt there are many living on that planet.”

“It’s not really about capability, sir,” Yang said.

“It’s not?”

“I’m a soldier, sir. I know I couldn’t go into a battle and ask the soldiers to vote on what we should do.”

“This is no different, then.”

“No, it is.” Yang tugged at the hair on the back of his head. “People should have the ability to decide how to live their lives.”

“It’s not like you’re decreeing what everyone should eat for breakfast,” the count said.

“No, but I would decide the law, and how the law is enforced, and if I were a petty tyrant I could kill people for petty offenses. Castrop certainly did. He shouldn’t have had that power— and not just because he was a bad ruler, but because no one should have that power.”

“I see,” the count said, though he sounded like he didn’t agree whatsoever. “But that doesn’t change the facts. You still are the lord, and you are responsible.”

“I know,” Yang said. “I actually also came here to ask Hilde something.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sure as your heir, she’s had more of an education on running an estate than I’ve had.”

“What did you want to ask her?”

“If she wants the position of administering it for me,” Yang said. “I figured she would enjoy the work, and it would give her some experience— she’ll want that for when she’s in charge of the Mariendorf lands.”

The count considered it. “You can ask her. I have no real objections, but I suspect that she’ll say no.”

“Why?”

“She’s busier than you think she is.”

“With school?”

“No. It seems like she failed to mention something to you.”

“What?”

“In exchange for Duke Braunschweig’s help, she’s agreed to become Lady Elizabeth’s personal advisor. I expect that is going to take up quite a lot of her attention.”

This thought ticked around in Yang’s brain. “And you approve of that?”

“You don’t?”

“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove.”

“What do you think of it, then?”

“I think Lady Elizabeth is a complicated young woman, and being that close to power will be dangerous for Hilde. But if she wants that, then it’s her choice.”

“Yes, it is.”

“And what do you think of it?”

“I don’t know,” Franz said. “I understand Duke Braunschweig, but I keep feeling like I’m completely out of touch with the younger generation. Maybe the world is changing, or maybe I’m just getting old.”

“You’re not that old, sir.”

Franz laughed. “What will you do, if Hilde says no?”

Yang sighed. “I will write up as comprehensive a directive as I can, and have the man Maggie recommends administer it for me,” he said. “She’s offered to take care of everything.”

“Usually it’s the other way around, when a couple gets married,” Franz said. “But I’m glad that you have been blessed with a competent future wife.”

“She covers up my glaring weaknesses pretty well,” Yang said. He thought about their argument of the night before, the image of Maggie twisting the ruby engagement ring around her finger. He reached to refill his glass of whiskey, and the count didn’t object. “She’s too good for me.”

On Monday, Yang made his way to the Braunschweig manor. It was ostensibly a trip to discuss with Duke Braunschweig what supplies they needed to put on Cahokia, as well as various bases around the Empire, but Yang also wanted to see Elizabeth. He had a strange feeling about Hilde’s new position, and so he wanted to see what Elizabeth had to say.

Unfortunately, when he arrived at the Braunschweig house, she was nowhere to be seen. The butler said that she was out with her mother, and he led Yang to Braunschweig’s office, where another, even less pleasant, surprise was waiting for him.

Ansbach had returned from Cahokia, and he was standing behind Braunschweig, in his old spot at his shoulder.

The look that Braunschweig gave Yang as he came into the office was a mixed one— distaste and calculation all at once. He waved at Yang to sit down in the chair before his desk, which Yang did. Ansbach looked straight ahead, not looking at Yang. This already made Yang deeply uncomfortable— the feeling of the room had changed, and it probably wasn’t just the fact that Ansbach had been away from Odin for so long.

Yang tried to ignore the discomfort that crawled along his back, and he put a smile on his face. “Good morning, Duke Braunschweig. And I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon, Captain Ansbach,” Yang said.

“I asked him to return when you left for your little errand on planet Castrop,” Braunschweig said. “It took some time for him to wrap up his business there and come back.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you again,” Yang said, at least trying to come off genuine. They had parted on better terms than they had ever been on, so he hoped that would continue.

“I’m honored, Lord Leigh,” Ansbach said. He stared straight ahead, and his voice didn’t have even the slightest quiver of sarcasm in it. This, perhaps more than anything else, made Yang feel sick.

Braunschweig laughed. “I’m certain this was something you never expected, Ansbach.”

“No, my lord.”

“I didn’t either,” Yang said, rubbing the back of his head.

“I think you’re lucky, Leigh,” Braunschweig said. “I’m very happy for you, of course, but there are many people in the court who don’t feel half as pleased as I do. If you didn’t have my protection, the Kaiser’s generosity might have been deadly.” The threat could barely even be considered veiled.

“I think the Kaiser was trying to protect me, sir,” Yang said. “He has a different view of things, looking down on the rest of us, than we do looking up at him, though.”

“How astute.”

“I’m glad that you aren’t upset by it.”

“Why would I possibly be upset?” Braunschweig asked. He wasn’t a very good liar. “You’ve been telling me for months that I should court more rich and powerful allies into my court, and here you’ve just landed in my lap.” He smiled. “And, of course, I’m pleased that the Kaiser didn’t see fit to punish you. I would have hated to lose a talented officer on a jaunt like that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Speaking of that,” Braunschweig said. “I’m promoting you.” He opened one of his desk drawers and handed Yang an envelope. “Congratulations, Commodore.”

“Really?” Yang asked, alarmed. “What for?”

“Services to the crown,” Braunschweig said in a flat voice. “After the Kaiser was so pleased with your performance with the Artemis Necklace, how could I not reward it?”

No, Yang decided, he was just still afraid of his father-in-law, worried that if the Kaiser’s favorite wasn’t treated well under Braunschweig’s care, the Kaiser still had power to do something about it. Yang idly wondered what that might be— would the Kaiser raise him still higher? The idea made Yang’s head spin. And he didn’t want to be a flag officer, either. Especially not for no reason.

Yang’s panicked, roving gaze landed on Ansbach, who was very deliberately not looking at Yang. The sudden injustice of it all struck him, and he was compelled to open his mouth.

“Will Captain Ansbach be promoted as well?” Yang asked.

The silence that descended on Braunschweig’s office was even worse than the silence of the tomb.

“I just think— I mean— he’s been a captain for longer than I have been, and he just spent so long on the front, and getting Cahokia set up was… important.” He trailed off and rubbed his head. “It just seems fair, sir.”

“I’ll consider it.” Braunschweig said, in the flattest, dullest voice imaginable. “What was it that you wanted to discuss about Cahokia?”

Relieved to change the subject, Yang pulled out the papers he had prepared for requisitions.

The meeting proceeded as normally as it could, though Yang never approached feeling comfortable. It ended unexpectedly, when Braunschweig got a phone call from one of his relatives, and dismissed both Yang and Asbach from his office.

Anbach immediately strode off down the hallway, without saying a single word to Yang. He was certainly aware that Yang followed him, down the steps into the servants’ hall in the basement of the building, but he said nothing. The only time he stopped was to open a rickety set of drawers in the hallway, from which he pulled out a couple things that Yang couldn’t see. He stuck them in his pockets, and then marched out of the house. The door to the outside nearly slammed shut in Yang’s face when Ansbach went out, letting it shut behind him. Yang caught it just before it could hit his nose.

Outside, Ansbach was standing in the light dusting of snow on the ground, a cigarette pinched between his lips as he tried to shield it from the wind and light it.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Yang said. He sat down on the stone step, looking up at Ansbach as he curled his arms around his knees.

“The servants hall isn’t a place for someone of your station, Lord.”

“Please, don’t,” Yang said.

“Don’t smoke, Lord?” he asked. “I’ll put it out for you.” He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and looked at it. He hadn’t actually lit it yet— Yang had interrupted him before he could win his battle with the winter wind.

“Ansbach—”

“What?”

“I didn’t want this,” Yang said. “I didn’t ask for it.”

Ansbach was silent.

“I was really hoping you, at least, wouldn’t treat me any differently.”

“I will treat you as is befitting to your station and rank, Lord.” Yang was sure that Ansbach was aware of just how miserable this was making Yang, and was doing it on purpose, but that couldn’t be the whole story. But it was effective as a tactic, and if Yang had been a more aggressive person, he would have yelled. But instead, his shoulders just slumped further and further, and he leaned his chin on his arms.

“I never wanted to be above anyone,” Yang said. “Not even when we were back in school. Those fucking class ranks— it was all so stupid. They had to make a game out of putting students at each other’s throats. I’m honestly surprised that I was the only one who ever almost got killed over it.”

Ansbach lit his cigarette.

“I guess I was an easy target. Weak, or foreign, or both.”

There was silence.

“I forgive you for that, by the way,” Yang said. “You probably already knew that. But I guess I should say it.”

Ansbach’s cigarette was half gone before he said anything. “Why did you tell the duke to promote me?”

Yang tugged at his hair. “It’s not fair to you if he doesn’t.”

“Life’s not fair.”

“And you need to be the voice of reason around here.” He sighed. “We’re in the same boat—”

“We are not, Lord.”

“You know we are,” Yang said. He scuffed at the snowy ground with his toe. “Forget the title. You know it doesn’t actually mean anything to Braunschweig except as some sort of threat from the Kaiser. If he thinks I’m not useful to him anymore, or if he decides he can’t stand me, the title won’t mean anything. We’re not his family. We don’t have—” He waved his hand, broadly encompassing everything he knew Ansbach already understood. “We’re always going to be on the outside.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?”

“Do about it? There’s nothing that anybody can do about it.” Not while the Empire remained as it was, anyway. But that wasn’t a conversation he could have with Ansbach.

“Then why—”

“We don’t have to be friends,” Yang said. “I know you hate me. But we can work together as equals. And that’s easier if you’re a commodore.”

“Fine. We’ll see if he listens to you.”

“He trusts you. There isn’t any reason for him not to promote you. He just probably hadn’t thought about it yet.”

“If you say so.”

“Why does he trust you so much, by the way?”

“He doesn’t trust me. He just doesn’t think about not trusting me.”

“He does— he thought you were the right person to watch over me.”

Ansbach rolled his eyes, and dropped the stub of his cigarette. He ground the glowing ember into the snow with his heel.

“And what’s the difference between those two things, anyway?” Yang asked.

“A world of difference.”

“Explain it to me?”

“I was a hall boy, in his country estate on Westerland,” Ansbach said. “My mother begged him to sponsor me to go to school. But the boy who blacks your boots never stops being just another part of the scenery.”

“Oh,” Yang said.

“I suppose you won’t tell me where you come from, Lord.” Ansbach had lost his flat tone, and was openly mocking on the title. It was a significant improvement.

“Phezzan,” Yang lied. But he smiled at Ansbach, who shook his head and stepped past him to go back inside.