Saemon stood on the balcony at the great hall of the imperial palace, the Jade Cradle. Walls of jade glittering with swirls and flecks of gold designs painted by local artisans surrounded him. The hall’s thick wooden double doors, so heavy that they required several servants to move them, were open, spilling sunlight into the room. Saemon’s angular face and spotted skin betrayed his age—or wisdom as many would say. Thin lips. Penetrating eyes. Broad shoulders. Even the dark hair that fell to his shoulders testified to a man of strength that towered over all who approached him.

Next to Saemon, Isao swallowed so loudly the Emperor could hear.

Isao stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes trained forward. Although similar to his father, he had more narrow shoulders. A smaller frame. Shiny black eyes rife with intelligence, not ruthfulness. Not in the same way.

“Be calm, my son,” Saemon said. “Your life, and the lives of all those you serve, will be well served by this decision.”

Sounds of movement from outside preceded the arrival of the Nari caravan as the horses, carriages, and carriers disentangled from it. Members of the Clan wound their way through the numerous guards and servants who accompanied the convoy.

The chief steward stood at the doorway as the first of the Nari Clan stepped forward.

Saemon caught a brief glimpse of movement, saw a swatch of red hair, and murmured, “Ah. Here comes the White Fox himself.”

“Sheng, Danjuro of the Nari Clan has arrived,” the steward said.

Danjuro, ruler of the Nari Clan, strode into the great hall with sure steps. His deep blue eyes, the color of the ocean, held an intelligent expression. Slim and tall, he carried himself with an air of surprising authority.

Saemon felt a moment of certainty: This marriage had been the right thing. An alliance with a Clan with a strong ruler would cement the power of the Empire.

“Sheng Saemon.”

“Gunag Danjuro.”

Both Clan rulers bent at the waist, bowing in a show of due respect for the other. When Saemon straightened, he met Danjuro’s sure gaze.

“You are most welcome, Nari Clan. We look forward to the celebration of our alliance and the marriage of our Clans.”

Danjuro turned to Isao, who immediately bowed. Danjuro hesitated for a mere breath, then returned the bow. Isao sucked in a low breath at the rare display of honor, then smiled.

Saemon relaxed. Isao would make him proud, he thought.

“It is an honor to meet you, Gunag Danjuro,” Saemon said, glancing over Danjuro’s wiry shoulder. “We have long anticipated your arrival.”

“May I present my family and people?”

“It would be our pleasure.”

“My wife, Yishi Milwan.”

A woman in an elegant wrap made of deep red fabric swirled with lines of brown and blue stepped forward. She held up a creamy hand with flawless skin. Her hair, perfectly coiffed at the back of her head, shone in the glittering light.

“Sheng Saemon,” she murmured, bowing. “It is a pleasure to meet you and unite our Clans.”

“Nishu Yishi, it is our pleasure.”

Yishi’s eyes immediately went to Isao. Her eyes studied him with all the awareness of a hawk.

Of course. A mother was a mother no matter the politics, Saemon thought.

When a glimmer of warmth entered her eyes and a gentle smile formed on her lips, Saemon knew that Isao had passed the initial greeting with Ren’s parents.

“And now the most important person of all,” Danjuro said, stepping to the side with a sweep of his arm. “My daughter, Ren.”

The girl – so young as to barely be considered a woman – shuffled forward. She had fair features and soft-looking skin. Her long strands of red hair were tugged into an elegant braid wound with delicate flowers. Her eyes, so expressive, seemed filled with sadness.

A frown tugged at Saemon’s lips, but he didn’t let it go.

Ren bowed, her elegant silk wrap shuffling over her waifish body, and murmured, “It is an honor, Sheng Saemon.”

He inclined his head. “Ren. Welcome to the imperial palace.”

She attempted to hide her concern behind a brave face, but her entire body trembled when she turned to Isao.

The two regarded each other for a long pause before she bowed to him as well, her lips pressed into white lines. “It is an honor, Isao, to finally meet you.”

Isao bowed in response, nearly stumbling over his words. “Thank you, Ren, for coming.”

Saemon watched Isao’s expressive eyes, wondering what was hidden in their suddenly murky – clearly startled – depths. He brushed the concern off to attend to the business at hand as Danjuro brought his daughter, Yuna, forward. She bowed and then stood off to the side in silence.

Once he finished introducing the family members, Danjuro brought forward the rest of his party, including the Chancellor of the Nari Clan, Bramen Qin. By the time the introductions had finished, the names of those present seemed to swirl in the air, hanging as if by clouds.

“The Hiwan Clan welcomes the people of the nine-tailed fox and are pleased to have you here under such happy circumstances. The servants will see you to your prepared rooms for a rest from your travels. You will be summoned for a meal this afternoon. Please, let us know if you have any questions or need anything before then.”

The Nari Clan split off into small groups. Danjuro left with his wife, and Yuna by herself. Ren’s maid stood with her Nishu, eyes cast down.

Ren hesitated, looking to Isao, who stiffened at his father’s side. He relaxed when she didn’t say anything.

“Ren,” Isao finally said. “I look forward to getting to know you better this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Sheng Isao. Sheng Saemon.”

With a delicate little bow, she drifted out of the room, led by the head stewardess of the imperial palace.

The room cleared, leaving Isao and Saemon standing together alone. Isao opened his mouth to say something, but Saemon cut him off.

“A beautiful wife. At least you have that.”

With a click of his boots on the marble floors, Saemon cut across the room, headed for his personal quarters.

* * *

For Saemon, the day passed quickly, lost in attending to the business of the upcoming wedding. Saemon answered questions from the servants, attended to the needs of the Nari Clan while they rested in their rooms, and hoped that Isao would hold his tongue.

More Clans drifted into the imperial palace. Tieng Shorguz, also known as the Beast from the Uma Clan, arrived in the late morning. He was garbed in leather pants, and carried a satchel on his back filled with an impressive collection of hunting knives. He boasted the weathered appearance of a man used to being outdoors.

Gavan Jenzud followed shortly after, his small, beady eyes seeming to absorb the goings-on in the palace all at once. A slight hump on his back made him appear shorter than he was.

Saemon met him in the hall. “Ah, the Old Strategist is here,” Saemon murmured. “It is good to see the Horalu Clan represented by such a man.”

Gavan simply smiled, tapped his nose once, and followed the steward to his prepared room.

When it was time, Saemon told the steward to escort the guests into the dining hall for the promised evening meal. Then he watched from the top of the table as the two families quietly interacted.

Although they sat across from each other, neither Ren nor Isao spoke to each other. Ren picked at her rice wrapped in coconut leaves, pushed aside the leeks boiled in broth, and smiled quietly whenever addressed. At the far end of the table, Tanzer Balkan, a wealthy merchant from Lubeng, managed to keep Isao from remaining completely silent.

“So, Saemon,” Kenzo Ameya started, leaning back in his chair.

Next to Kenzo sat his third wife, a dark-skinned woman named Shima Abdel from the southern continent. Kenzo’s second son, Nobu Ameya, the honorable Captain of the second fleet of the Ameyan navy, sat next to her.

Saemon blinked away his thoughts, catching Kenzo’s black eyes with his own.

“You have turned out a beautiful feast. And this turnout? Unexpectedly diverse,” observed Kenzo.

“I am pleased.”

“Are you prepared for the wedding tomorrow?”

“We have been fully prepared for many days now.”

“Congratulations. Ren seems to be . . . an appropriate girl for this sort of thing.”

Saemon read into what he did not say. ‘Appropriate’ meaning meek. Submissive. Perhaps a little bit frightened. There would be little, if any, resistance from her.

Saemon simply inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“It seems they let anyone come to these things,” Kenzo said in an unexpectedly derisive tone.

Saemon glanced over his left shoulder as Gavan stepped up, the descent of twilight making his stature appear smaller than ever. With the main door closed, shadows began to fall, cloaking the interior in darkness. The Horalu Strategist looked to Kenzo, who curled his upper lip over his teeth.

“Ah,” Kenzo muttered with venom. “You survived the trip.”

Gavan grinned. “I’m a great deal heartier than I may appear.”

“So it would seem.”

Saemon straightened, glancing between the two bristling men before addressing both. “It would seem that the Horalus and the Ameyas still have not seen a conclusion to the fight over the Strait of Rinku. Disappointing.”

“Is it?” Kenzo asked coolly, not taking his eyes from Gavan. “It seems straightforward enough to me.”

Gavan tapped the side of his nose. “And yet not to anyone else.” He shuffled away, working toward the opposite side of the room.

This direction brought him near Minela, a weaver from the southern continent whose talent with tailoring could no doubt help Gavan with the troublesome problem of making shirts to cover his hump.

Kenzo faced forward again, his lips pressed tightly together.

Saemon stood, goblet in hand, and looked to Isao, whose eyes flickered to his. The room fell into almost immediate silence with the standing of the Hiwan ruler.

Within moments, Saemon felt the weight of the crowd’s gaze on him. He quickly skimmed the audience, catching the eye of the newest arrival: Umon Hikari, one of many wise custodians over the Great Library of Grantha in the Sunsan nation, who slipped into a seat at the far end of the table, a book under his arm.

“Thank you for coming to the Hiwan Clan for tomorrow’s grand event,” Saemon greeted the gathering. “Your presence is most welcome. Isao and Ren, now is your time to make a toast and your final wish under the stars before your new life begins.”

Ren’s face blanched white, but Isao immediately stood, drawing the attention to him. He lifted his goblet and drew in a long breath.

“Ren,” he said, holding the goblet out toward her. “To our new life together.”

As one, the clans drank to his words.

Ren blinked, swallowed, and slowly stood. Next to her, Yishi whispered something. Ren held up her goblet, poorly concealing her sudden fear.

“Isao,” she murmured so quietly Saemon could barely make it out. “To us.”

Isao answered with a lift of his goblet and drained the rest of his wine. Those at the table reciprocated. Ren sipped delicately at hers.

Saemon claimed the attention of the room again when he straightened back up, eyeing the empty plates and half-full goblets on the table.

“Guests,” he said, spreading his arms. “Sleep well this evening, for tomorrow we celebrate! Ren and Isao, enjoy the festive atmosphere, and in two nights, as tradition demands, you will also share your bed.”

A low murmur of excitement rippled through the room as Saemon set his goblet back on the table.

Kenzo’s wife and son stood and, with Kenzo promising to follow soon after, followed a steward to their rooms in the palace. The Nari Clan moved down into the palace corridors, wandering off to their resting places. The rest of the visiting Clans moved toward the courtyard outside, the quiet buzz of their chatter drifting with them.

Saemon sat back with a contented sigh, pleased with his work.