Chapter 73: Birthborne Duty
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No content warning this time! ^_^ Aside from the usual *ssholery from Hwan Sun lol


“Unless you have come to confirm your attendance to Escarra's soiree, you have no business here.”

First Lord Hwan Sun sips at medicinal tea as he pens a missive. Zev stands to his right as usual, keenly observing his lord drink the bitter concoction. There’s a hint of concern in his face that mars an otherwise expressionless mien.

Jun steadies himself with a few quiet breaths. His racing heart, wrought by rage and panic alike, eventually slows to a tolerable pace.

He thinks in this moment of Rin. The potency of his hatred that twisted his face as he watched Slummers be dragged off by Silverswords. The way his cheeks drained of colour, leaving behind the white fire of his wrath, near corporeal in its palpability, lashing and thrashing like a wild beast in its dying throes. The silent demand as he pinned Jun with his single eye, and the ensuing promise the lord made in return.

This is his responsibility. This is his birthborne duty.

“Silverswords have been arresting Slummers without just cause.” Jun’s tone is brusque, his glare unwavering. He straightens his spine, drawing himself up until he’s positively towering over the older man. “Call them off. They do not belong in the Slums.”

“Is this how you address a minister of the imperial court?” Hwan Sun pauses mid-scrawl, and glances up at his son. “If one is to make a request, one must show a minimal level of decorum.”

A rain wrapped gust slams into the windows, pelting against the glass like a million tiny bullets. A haunted howl pushes through unseen cracks. Not even the crackling fire can keep away the chill of the encroaching autumn.

From the corner of his eyes, Jun is almost convinced that he sees the shadowed figure of his mother. Watching him silently.

“You have never been interested in the Slums before. Now you send every Silversword into the district and arrest innocent people - for what reason?”

“On the contrary, the Slums are under my jurisdiction. Naturally I have interest in the land that I govern.”

“Are you ridding of it?” Jun places a hand on his father’s desk, placing it directly atop the missive.

Hwan Sun calmly sets down his pen and leans back in his wingback chair. He brings the tea to his lips, but doesn’t drink. Zev frowns, though he dares not interrupt the tense conversation.

“That would be an exercise in futility,” the Governor sighs, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “If I were to rid of the Slums, where would the displaced go? I do not have such insidious machinations as you may be want to believe.”

“Then do away with my assumption, if it is so unsound.”

“You are aware of the current situation with the Otsuki rebels.”

“Of course.” There’s a flicker of alarm in Jun’s face as he realises where this may be going. “But those that being targeted are not affiliated with the rebels.”

“How are you so certain?”

“I know these people. I have spoken with them. Worked with them. All they are concerned about is survival. They cannot afford to dally in politics, let alone a full scale rebellion.”

“You do not believe that they would not be enticed?”

“Even if they were enticed, that does not warrant arrest. These people have not acted against the crown!”

Sun huffs and sets down his cup, eyes mere flint as he regards his defiant son. “We receive reports of suspected rebel activity or sentiment, which means we are legally bound to investigate each and every one. Do you suggest we allow the Otsukis to continue their illegal activities, unhampered?”

“There is a middle ground, father–”

There is no compromise I am willing to make for traitors!” Sun barks, slamming his fist down onto his desk.

Jun is momentarily stunned into silence, goldens flinched wide.

The older man releases a shallow breath and downs the rest of his tea, trying to calm his prickling ire. His waning health has thinned his temper and he has become increasingly prone to outbursts. Due to his instability, he has been unable to attend to his usual duties as Governor. The situation would be under control if Jun had continued to work with him – but now, he seems to have grown a backbone.

Sun approves of this latest development in his soft-hearted son, but he has little use for a defiant pup with his head in the clouds. And Sun knows exactly who has given this pup his sharp bite.

“My orders come directly from the Blue Plains.” The Governor steeples his fingers as he gives Jun a heavy-lidded glare. “I cannot defy the Mother’s will. And I have no wish to. You are fighting a battle that you have already lost.”

Jun pulses his jaw, working through response after biting response, until he settles on the least caustic. “What is the point of fighting terrorism, if you become a terrorist yourself?”

“A temporary terror, for the security of the future. I do not fear playing the villain.”

The little lord narrows his eyes. There’s a distinct feeling of deja vu. “There is a woman, named Ga Ram, who runs a vegetable stall in the Slums. She has three young children. I ask that you hear my entreaty for her immediate release. Those children will not survive without their mother.”

Hwan Sun raises a brow. “What is this woman to you?”

“A friend. And one I know whose only priority is her family.”

“I suppose you have an offer.”

Jun nods and eases back onto his heels, widening the space between them. He brings his hands together behind his back, his form suddenly stiff and militant. “I will attend Viscount Escarra’s soiree, as well as other such functions in your stead as Governor.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of Sun’s mouth. “Until Reshun.”

The little lord gives a short nod. “I know you have been unwell as of late. And your duties as you transition to your new role has doubled. Thus, I may be inclined to assist you. Should you assist me in turn.”

“You dare negotiate with me?”

“As you have taught me, yes.”

Sun nods, humming lightly with mirth. He flicks a few fingers in a dismissive wave. “Zev. Go and have this Ga Ram released immediately.”

“At once, my lord.” The manservant gives his lord a sharp bow and promptly exits the office.

When he passes Jun, Zev gives him a rare smile that transforms his impassive features into something more lively, colourful, and wholly unrecognisable.

Jun watches the Westerner leave, curiosity abound.

“Consider this the last favour I give you - as father to his son.” Hwan Sun’s tone takes on a severity that effectively steals Jun’s confidence. It’s a tone he only ever hears his father use when he’s in the Blue Plains, negotiating difficult deals or debate.

In a way, this is his acknowledgement of Jun’s competence as future Governor. They are no longer father and son, but minister and governor. Never before has Jun felt further from Sun, and yet, strangely closer. He feels compelled to give the man the full breadth of decorum.

Jun bows in response, hands at his side, spine ramrod straight. “I am grateful for your consideration, my lord.”

“Do what you must with the Slummers you hold so dear, as long as you ensure you fulfil your obligations.”

“When I return from Reshun–”

“I will step away, as promised.”

Jun smiles, though it fails to reach his eyes. “Then I foresee no issues.”

He leaves the office a little colder as a man. The world around him, a little harder to traverse. He wonders when he will ever be able to breathe freely again. And then, as he steps into the Slums, and seeing the eerily quiet main street, he decides that it matters not.

***

Viscount Escarra is a large man with an even larger personality. He is one that loathes to be ignored and every aspect of this man screams his neurosis. To be ignored, for Jorge Escarra, is to be forgettable, and to be forgotten is to be decimated worse than organic death.

And so, to call this event a ‘soiree’ would be immensely minimising. The party sprawls across the acre of green cradled by the mansions of his estate. Countless white clothed tabled groan under the most wild and dangerous delicacies. A full orchestra plays sweeping accompaniment to chatter and the clinking of glasses. Several guests have taken to the green for a Northern dance, the style restrained and calculated. It’s rather mundane, truly, compared to dances from the West or South. But also not dissimilar to the East. Exotic beasts brought in from all four territories roam amongst the guests, chained securely to their robust handlers who all wield amped up cattle prods. It’s a strange scene of both the familiar and the not, jarring and captivating all upon arrival.

“Did you hear? That beast over there was found during an expedition to the Unknown Lands.”

“I recognise it from my studies. It is an elephant, the largest land mammal to have survived the Last Cycle.”

“What a monstrousity!”

“I rather fancy it, don’t you?”

“I shudder to think what would happen should it rampage.”

“Oh, Escarra is ever so good with beasts. Have you seen the tiger he keeps in his main house? It is practically a domesticated feline. Baffling, really.”

“One of these days, he’ll be devoured in his sleep.”

“What a thing to say!”

“Young master, your robes are askew.” Mira leads Jun to one of the food tables and subtly straightens out his rich navy robes. She fixes his hair which had been slicked back for the event, and takes a moment to study him from top to bottom. A smile flitters before disappearing behind her stoicism. “You look very handsome,” she says, softly. There’s a tender hint to her words.

Warmed, Jun reaches out and grasps his maidservant’s shoulder. “Thank you, Mira. But it is you who outshines all today. I cannot remember the last I saw you outside of a suit.”

Mira glances down at her cornflower blue robes in the Yatoro regional style like Jun’s. She shifts uncomfortably in her geta slippers. “I can hardly walk,” she says, mournfully. “These shoes are most impractical. And the skirt of my robes restrict movement in my legs to a detriment. I am not at my maximum capability.”

“Relax, Mira,” Jun chuckles, picking up a glass of champagne and handing it over to the fidgeting woman. “This is a soiree, not an ambush. There are more guards than guests here. And you are here as my companion, not my maidservant – so please, enjoy yourself for once, will you?”

Mira purses her lips, protests teeming behind them like a horde of restless bees. But she eventually nods sharply and takes the glass, downing the fizzy golden liquid in one shot.

“The beloved scion of the House of Hwan. You bless me with your presence on this day!”

The host himself approaches with a hearty grin, his arms sweeping out to the sides as if he were to embrace the lad. He’s a rotund fellow with a heavyset figure that forces his gait to a waddle. The man is incredibly tall nonetheless, even towering over his Northern guests who are naturally inclined to be so. Upon his form, he wears bright patchwork colours of his suit (and the ruffles are endless), and a dramatic top hat that sits angled to the side as if it were ill-fitted. The viscount is by no means an ugly fellow - despite the flamboyance of his visage, he has a vigorous beauty to him. If the vibrancy of life itself were to manifest as a man, it would be Viscount Jorge Escarra.

“Lord Escarra,” Jun bows to the Southerner, a polite smile perched upon his lips. “It is a pleasure to see you again. I must thank you for your kind invitation.”

“Ahhh.” The large man twirls the end of his greying moustache thoughtfully. “How long has it been?”

“It must have been many years, my lord, for you have shrunk since last we met.”

Escarra chuckles heartily and claps a hand against Jun’s upper arm. “It’s the diet Constance has put me on. All lean meats and vegetables and only a dram of liquor! Tell me Jun, how is a man supposed to survive on such a diet?”

“Very well, I am sure,” Jun says, smile turning stiff. “The Viscountess is only thinking of your health, my lord.”

“She is trying to kill me, I tell you! I am an old man! What use do I have for a young man’s figure, hm?”

Jun lets out a restrained laugh. “You already cut a dashing figure, my lord.”

“Too right, too right! How have you been faring, my boy? How is your father? I heard that he has taken ill. He works too hard that man! I always tell him, Hwan Sun, you must cease toiling away at your desk and enjoy life for all its riches. Because before you know it, it will have passed you by.”

“Wise words, my lord. The Governor has indeed taken ill, but it is nothing serious. He simply does not wish to give you the chill and thus has sent me in his place. He does apologise–”

“Oh, away with the stiff formalities, Jun. I’ve known you from when you were this high!” The viscount indicates his knee and gives the youth a fond look. “And now, you are a man. Soon to be Governor. Your father must be proud.”

Jun pauses, the smile vanishing from his face. “Have you met my companion?” he says abruptly, gesturing to the tense woman at his side. “Lord Escarra, this is Mira. Mira, Lord Escarra.”

Mira gives a prompt bow to the viscount, remaining stone-faced. “Lord Escarra.”

“It is a pleasure, I’m sure,” Escarra dips his head in greeting, noting the woman’s expression with interest. “Are you and the young lord…?” He flicks his finger between her and Jun, eyebrows rising in question.

Mira blinks at the older man, unfathoming his meaning. “Are we what, my lord?”

“Well, I did not believe you to be Jun’s type, so it is rather surprising.” Escarra chuckles, lifting a flute of champagne from the table. “Forgive me. My assumptions are usually correct, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Mira and Jun glance at each other, startled. They both turn red simultaneously, before erupting into scattered words of protest.

“Oh, no my lord, you have it wrong–”

“Young master and I are not in any form of–”

“Mira is my maidservant and friend, not at all, ah, intimate or–”

“He is but a child, my lord.”

“And she is also my swordsma-- well, come now Mira, I am soon to be twenty-one–”

“A child. A mere child. I would much rather practice abstinence than even think of young master in such a way. It is nauseating–”

“That is rather harsh, Mira.”

“--and he is the wrong gender–”

“I am engaged to wed, Lord Escarra, so know that at least one person does not find me nauseating.”

“--and I kindly request that you refrain from making anymore baseless assumptions–”

“My apologies, my apologies,” the viscount chortles, patting the air to calm the flustered duo. “It seems as though my eye needs some fine tuning. But you say that you are engaged, Jun? This is news to me! Why was I not invited to the engagement party, hm?”

“There was no party, my lord. Otherwise you would of course be first on the invite list.”

“That is an odd decision,” Escarra frowns, twirling the end of his moustache with both hands now. “Why the privacy? And who is the lucky lady?” He leans forward eagerly, eyes sparking in keen interest.

“I am not intending to obscure the fact of my engagement. However, it has not been officially recognised.”

“Oh? Is it scandalous?” The viscount is practically salivating, his penchant for gossip even stronger than that for food and good drink. “How surprising, Jun! For a man so virtuous as you to be embroiled in a secret affair–”

“There is no secret affair, my lord,” Jun huffs amusedly. “I have simply fallen for someone below my station. It is rare, but it has happened before. It is hardly scandalous.”

“Hm…” Escarra seems a tad disappointed. “Yes, I have seen it happen before. It appears that the apple does not fall far from the tree.”

Jun narrows his eyes slightly, smile frozen. “...It appears that way.”

“Quite right. Quite right.” Escarra gives the lad’s arm a friendly pat, oblivious to Jun’s discomfort. “Now, I do have some business I wish to raise with your father.”

“I will do my best in his stead, my lord.”

“Then hear me on this, Jun. I understand that the war effort is paramount for all, including men like me. But this tariff your father has imposed is affecting my endeavours in the silk trade. Echana silk is well-sought but this tariff means I’m shelling out twice the original value just to import, and that’s on top of the costs for security. You can see my conundrum, here, no?”

“I do understand, my lord. However, the rebels do have a stronghold in the West. Perhaps, you might consider looking elsewhere for sourcing silk?”

“I want Echana silk, Jun. And so do the people.”

A twitch starts up in Jun’s cheek. “Of course, Echana silk is priority.”

“Indeed! And not to mention that Constance has developed a taste for it. She won’t have anything else these days. Every robe, every scarf and shawl and garment must be Echana silk!”

“If there is high demand for the silk, my lord, then you have the power to determine the value. You are the biggest importer of the product so this would be within your purview.”

“And what of the imitation silk? It has flooded the market with subpar products and none have an eye discerning enough to brand what is authentic anymore.”

“I was not aware that imitation silk is an issue.”

“I keep telling your father to stop these fraudsters, but he takes no heed!”

“Then, perhaps I may be able to help you in that regard. The economic effects of counterfeit goods are deeply damaging and must be promptly addressed.”

“What do you propose?”

Jun brings his hand to his jaw, rubbing it in thought. “What differentiates Echana silk from regular silk is the weight, thickness, and feel, however the average consumer may not possess the skills to test authenticity. So we should have the experts do it in their stead.”

“Interesting. You are speaking of introducing a new regulation?”

“We could make it a policy that all Echana silk must undergo authentication before it hits the market. Vendors must obtain an official license to sell the silk. Consumers would in turn be confident in purchasing from approved vendors, and vendors would be assured that the market is unaffected by counterfeit goods.”

“This is a big endeavour,” Escarra hums, tugging at the side of his moustache. He seems pleased by the proffered solution however, his eyes twinkling as he regards the austere youth. “This will have to be Empire-wide and new standards of practice must be implemented. You will receive a lot of push back.”

“It is a worthy cause. I will personally appeal to the court at the next assembly I am called to."

“And the tariff?”

“That decision would rest upon Second Lady Tahli Razad, thus I hesitate to promise you a satisfying outcome, my lord.”

“Ah, it matters not. If you can ensure that you cut out the imitation silk, then I will be virtually uncontested in the East.”

Jun gives a short nod, his polite smile verging on a grimace. More than ever, he’s aware of the pettiness of High District concerns. Silk, profit, tariffs. Idle gossip and abused, exotic animals. These people consume dangerous delicacies for the very thrill of it!

He takes a healthy sip of his champagne and winces at the bitter taste.

Bonjour, mon seigneur!” A familiar voice pierces through the ambience of the party.

Jun whips around in alarm, goldens wide, and there, there, he sees the ostentatious white suit and the bleached hair, let loose and flowing.

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