Dinner was more relaxed than Shae had anticipated. The food had turned out fine—quite good, even, no doubt thanks to Kyanla’s help. Hilo was perfectly casual and disarming in the way that he could be when he wished, and Shae was grateful for her sister-in-law’s presence because Wen kept the conversation going by warmly asking Maro about his teaching work and his published papers on postcolonial Kekon-Shotar relations. Maro had recently returned from a two-week trip to Leyolo City, where he’d given a series of guest lectures at the Imperial University and conducted some research at the national archives. Shae knew his frequent professional trips were also covert opportunities for him to visit the Shotarian side of his family.
The only truly awkward moment of the evening came about inadvertently, when Wen asked Maro, with genuine interest, “Maro-jen, since you’re a respected advisor to the Royal Council, would you ever consider pursuing a career in politics yourself?”
Maro took a sip of hoji before answering. “The thought has crossed my mind,” he admitted. The long-standing prohibition against Green Bones holding political office meant that he would have to voluntarily give up his jade to run for the Royal Council, a hardship that dissuaded the vast majority of Academy graduates from government ambitions. “I enjoy teaching and research, but I also want to make more of a difference in national policy.”
“Maro’s been getting involved in nonprofit work, addressing humanitarian issues related to the war in Oortoko,” Shae mentioned.
“That’s very admirable,” Wen said with a smile. “And the fact that you speak Kekonese, Espenian, and Shotarian—that must be quite an advantage in your career.”
Hilo refilled their guest’s hoji cup and said, encouragingly, “With Chancellor Son retiring next year, we could use more No Peak councilmen in Wisdom Hall.”
Maro did not respond right away; he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I don’t have plans to run for public office any time soon, but if I did, I would do so as an independent.” He glanced at Shae and then at the Pillar. “I know it would be more difficult to win without the backing of one of the major clans, but I’m not a tribute-paying Lantern Man and I don’t come from an established Green Bone family. I wouldn’t feel comfortable accepting the clan’s support and creating the appearance that my relationship with Shae is motivated by personal political gain.” He placed a hand on Shae’s arm but continued speaking to Hilo. “The biggest reason, though, is that I think it’s important there be more voices in government that aren’t clan affiliated.”
Hilo’s eyebrows rose, very slightly. Shae’s eyes jumped between her brother and her boyfriend. The contrast between Hilo and Maro was stark. Hilo sat relaxed in his chair, one elbow resting on the table, taking up space in his usual casual manner. Maro sat upright and intent, seemingly older, warier, more deliberate in posture and speech. “Independents can be bought or cowed,” Hilo said, in a perfectly neutral voice. “Does having them in the Royal Council really make any difference?”
“If there were enough of them, it would,” Maro insisted. “There are things the clans accept as sacrosanct, that perhaps ought to be more closely examined for how well they actually serve society. SN1 prohibition, clean-bladed dueling, the Kekon Jade Alliance.”
Wen made an attempt to derail the impending collision by saying, brightly, “Hilo often complains about all the reading he has to do for the KJA meetings, and how slow and boring they are.”
“They’re also economically inefficient,” Maro went on, failing to take the conversational escape Wen offered him. “There’s a case to be made that jade ought to be treated like any other resource, with supply and demand dictated by the open market.”
Hilo snorted. “Then the foreigners would try to buy up every pebble.”
“Is that objectively such a bad thing?” Maro asked, as if prodding a student’s thesis argument. “The KJA constricts the global supply of jade, which artificially inflates prices and funnels capital into the illegal secondary market instead of adding to our own GDP. With the availability of SN1, we’re moving rapidly toward a time when jade is less and less exclusive to Kekonese.” When Maro warmed to a subject, he spoke faster, his voice taking on a tone of academic discourse. “Our economy is developing and diversifying; we have other industries and resources. Our fastest-growing exports are manufactured goods, textiles, and metals. So why do we continue to treat jade as far more important than the others, something that has to be regulated by a national cartel and defended with violence? Only because of our deep-seated historical and religious biases.”
Hilo looked at him in a funny way. Unlike Shae, he was not used to Maro’s habit of challenging accepted beliefs for the sake of robust debate. For a moment, Shae could sense her brother assessing Maro coldly: What kind of a Green Bone, what kind of Kekonese man, would devalue jade and all that it represented, in front of the Pillar of the clan, no less?
“Maro’s good at playing devil’s advocate,” Shae said quickly but firmly, putting a hand on Maro’s arm in affection and restraint. “Which is why he’s thought of so highly as a teacher, for always challenging his students. He could argue you into believing a black cat was white, or a white cat black.”
Hilo gave them a thin smile. “That doesn’t change the color of the cat, though.”
The confidence in Maro’s manner faltered. Shae glimpsed embarrassed resentment color his face. She had forgotten how quickly Hilo could put other men in their place—with a glance or a word, and without even trying—and she was furious at her brother in that instant. Scholars might be respected, but Kekonese parents prayed to have at least one son bring honor to the family as a Green Bone warrior. All of Maro’s degrees were mere paper next to the jade of a man like Kaul Hilo, and for a fleeting moment, Shae could see the reminder of that fact stamped across his stiff expression.
Maro forced a smile. “I do argue too much, even outside the classroom. Shae is patient with me, but sometimes I have to remember that not everyone appreciates it.”
Perceiving either the man’s discomfort or Shae’s anger, Hilo’s manner changed immediately; he waved off Maro’s explanation and said with a short laugh, “Shae, patient? I’ve never seen it. You must bring out a better side of her.” He sat forward and clapped Maro on the shoulder in a lighthearted way. “Don’t take anything I said as a criticism; I’ve never had patience for politics myself, but I’m sure you would succeed in it no matter what, and I’m glad my sister’s found someone who’s a match for her in brains and strong opinions.”
Wen asked, “Do the two of you have any plans for Boat Day this year? We’re going to take our boys to the harborfront for the ship sinking. We haven’t been to see it in years.”
The momentary tension dissipated, and conversation veered back into lighter territory as they finished their meals and lingered to enjoy tea. Maro gracefully took leave of their company before the hour grew too late. He saluted Hilo again, less formally this time, and thanked him for spending time with them this evening. At the door, he turned to Shae with a relieved and rueful expression, as if to say, Well, that wasn’t so bad—we survived, didn’t we? then gave her a kiss on the mouth. “Will I see you sometime soon?” he asked in a lowered voice.
“Soon,” she promised him.
Wen said she needed to return to the main house to nurse Ru and put him to bed but told her husband he didn’t need to hurry. “Let’s have tea together next week, if you have the time, sister,” she said, embracing Shae on the way out. “Fourthday or Fifthday would be best; I have a class on Secondday and I’m going to the bathhouse on Thirdday. It’s been weeks since my last massage.”