A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy (the reading list .txt) 📕

that fashion in the North is depressed due to the lack of cultural engagement from the Ruk. Considering you are the only Ruk here, I figured you might have something to comment?” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, smiling.

I glared at him while my mind performed backflips in search of an adequate response. “Well, I uh. I’m not sure that I—”

“Well, I’m no Ruk,” Lira interrupted, “but it seems to me a people already disposed of a homeland would hardly jump at the chance to dress in the colors of their conquerors. That is saying nothing for their economic inability to afford such a luxury.”

I placed my hand on her knee and mouthed, “Thank you.”

“Assimilation only begins when you embrace the culture; in this, adopting the style of dress is every bit important as adopting the language. History tells us that accomplishing both is the most prescient way of achieving that assimilation. Don’t you agree?” Decia replied.

I rolled my eyes—both at her notion of cultural assimilation and her attempt to draw from history to support it.

“Talk like us, dress like us?” Lira mused. “I do believe history tells us the end of that line was an ‘or else.’ ” She took a sip of her wine. “If assimilation was a prerequisite to commerce, I could see your argument being made, but since the occupation, Belen has only grown in its economic relevance to the Empire. While this is well documented and championed as a victory for the Cause, I argue that while Belen has prospered under Cyllian authority, the Ruk have not. You say there is a link between that and the people’s lack of cultural acquiescence. I say you are a fool. Belen and its people prospered before the war; both can prosper again regardless of how they choose to dress.”

The table grew quiet enough to hear the murmurings from the surrounding tables. Ama grinned behind her wine glass.

Lira smiled. “I’m sorry, Decia, dear. I didn’t mean to infer that you are a fool, only the notion that the Ruk are anything but a people dispossessed of opportunity is foolish. You say assimilation may hold that key, but that is much like critiquing a painting from a hundred yards away.”

Decia raised her palms in submission, but I could see the rage behind her copper eyes. “No offense taken. Somedays, it’s just days like this that I wish I had something to wear that didn’t travel North with me.”

Crylwin chuckled as he put his arm around her, doing his best to contain the situation. I had no such intentions.

“Huh,” Lira scoffed. “I’m certain there isn’t a Ruk in Belen that wouldn’t wish for a problem so trivial as what gown to wear.”

Crylwin eyed me, pleadingly. I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and smiled.

Crylwin cleared his throat. “Well, perhaps another topic would be—”

“Look at tonight, for example,” Lira continued. “Here, we celebrate a man and his ascension into our society, all but ignoring his true accomplishment.”

“Yes, his stars,” Decia replied. “Sorry, I missed the—”

“Not his stars,” Lira interrupted. “That is an achievement but not the achievement.”

“Alright then, Lira. Do tell,” Decia said with a wave of her arm.

“He is your equal,” Lira said, pointing across the table to where Monroe and Crylwin sat.

Monroe turned to her, seemingly engaged in the conversation for the first time.

“But it is only through your decree that any outside of this table honor that. They will love him in their love of novelty and unique things. He is unique, a curiosity to earn their attention for a cycle. They would dress him and paint him as you have, adorning him with stars and clothing and titles, but he will still wear gloves when he shakes their hands.”

This time I squeezed her leg, seeing now the need to extinguish her fire before it engulfed the entire hall. She ignored my warning.

Monroe held her stare but said nothing.

“Yes, well, is that not achievement enough?” said Decia, “We celebrate the man despite—”

“No!” Lira said. “You celebrate his status, his new name; you don’t celebrate the man.”

Lira took my hand in hers and placed it on the table. The polished copper on my ring reflected the lamplight.

“He stole my heart,” she said softly. “And he did that not despite, but because of who he is.” She gestured to the room. “And he did that without all of this.”

“Well,” Ama said, smiling. “That is perhaps the most romantic thing I have heard in an age. Come here, you lovely, and let this old lady give you a squeeze.”

“His crowning achievement is you? Well, you certainly hold a high opinion of yourself,” Decia said.

Crylwin squeezed his arm around her shoulder.

“I’m not a prize, you simple girl,” Lira spat. “His achievement is being your equal despite your blessing.”

Decia glared daggers. Lira took my hand to her lips and kissed.

Ama laughed. “Gods be good such fire, if I only had a few more daughters like you, I would marry all my boys off.”

Decia scoffed. Slid her table back from the chair and stood.

“Oh, Decia dear, I didn’t mean to…”

“My lord,” Decia said, curtseying slightly to Monroe before walking away from the table.

Crylwin was in the process of standing when Ama held her hand out. “Sorry, my boy, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine, Ama,” Crylwin replied, “twice offended, thrice scorned, that one.” He sighed. “I better go after her.”

Monroe grabbed his arm as he was rounding the table. “Check on Penir first, that will give her time to have a proper fit. Then handle it.”

Crylwin nodded as he left, and the table grew quiet once more.

“Well,” Monroe said with a grin, “should you ever have need of a job, Lira, let me know. I don’t think I’ve been lectured like that since Venticle.”

“You Easterners and your politics,” Patricia said, adding something of substance to the conversation for the first time.

Selene nodded. “Too much word. Waste of tongue.”

With that, Monroe summoned Richard, issuing some final direction before departing for