The Power and the Glory

Book 4 Chapter X: A Tangled Web

I agreed the situation was sticky. Indeed, offhand it was difficult to see how it could have been more glutinous. -- P. G. Wodehouse, Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit

Lian had feared many things in his life. Mostly they had been things that might happen to him if people found out what he was and what he'd done. Lately they'd been things that might happen to Zi Yao. But even when he was afraid he always had a plan of what to do if his fears came true.

He'd never planned for this. He'd thought that if he faced trouble from any of his family, it would be from Abihira. Not from someone who had known him before and personally witnessed his rampage.

Aunt Jiarlúr turned as white as chalk. "Abihira," she said quietly, in a voice that shook despite her best efforts, "come over here."

Abihira didn't move. "Listen, aunt, I can explain everything."

Lian kept his face blank while he screamed internally. Don't try to explain! Don't let her know you know who I am!

It would only end badly for Abi if she gave their family any reason to suspect she was in league with him. She was already in trouble; no need to make it worse. Lian wanted to say something -- to tell Abi to go away, or to tell Jiarlúr that Abi didn't know his real identity. Maybe even to pretend he didn't recognise her and he was a random stranger who just happened to look exactly like her exiled nephew. But his voice refused to work.

"Abihira, this is not a joke. Get away from that thing this minute!"

Abi still refused to move. "Don't call him a thing! He's a doctor. He works here. His name's Lian and he's a friend of Mirio's."

Jiarlúr made a choking sound as if she was having difficulty breathing. Abi's words finally jarred Lian out of his state of frozen shock. He quickly went over his cover story. His name was Vieraneth Dimeniesilru, he was a shopkeeper's son from the city of Kashurë on the western coast and spoke the Tholvad dialect, he was just over three thousand years old, and he had never been anywhere near Eldrin in his life. Contrast that with Prince Imrahil Mihasrinsilru, who by now would be almost six thousand years old and who spoke the Eldrin-Savidar dialect. No, even if she investigated she would find nothing to prove he was really her nephew. That thought gave him the courage to look her in the eye and pretend he didn't recognise her.

"It's an honour to meet you, your Highness," he said politely in Saoridhian, bowing to her. After so many years of wandering all over the planet, the galaxy and beyond he knew his accent had changed beyond recognition, but he still took the trouble to use the most western Saoridhian accent he could manage[1].

Jiarlúr stared at him, her mouth a grim line. Lian didn't believe for a minute she was really deceived. But as long as he put enough doubt in her mind, she couldn't go to either King Shi Zheng or Empress Raivíth. What would she say, anyway? "There's a doctor here who looks like my nephew. Yes, I know we all believe my nephew is dead, and the doctor's age and background doesn't match up at all." She'd be laughed out of the palace. Nor could she accuse him of being Imrahil in front of Abi, who as far as Jiarlúr knew also had no reason to believe her long-dead brother might still be alive. She'd have to explain the whole sorry saga, and it would sound even less convincing than when he told it.

Her thoughts ran along similar lines, judging by her increasingly dour expression. She looked sharply at Abi and tried another tack. "Why are you talking to a doctor? Are you ill?"

Abi didn't hesitate before answering. On the one hand this made her answer more convincing. On the other, as became painfully clear a few seconds later, it meant she didn't think before speaking. "I'm not talking to him because he's a doctor. He's engaged to Mirio."