Evan said nothing. Waiting her out.
“Franklin was hurt,” Jenna continued. Finally, she turned away from the window, stepped to one side of the glass and leaned against the wall. “Missile shrapnel penetrated the Regulator’s hatch. We pulled him out and sent him to the infirmary. They needed a gunner, so I pulled on his jacket and helped out.”
“That’s where you were needed,” Evan said. He rubbed a hand up over his head, pushing back tangles of sweat-matted hair. “So you saw the main push?”
“Wasn’t much of one.” Jenna brushed it off with a shrug. “Condor. Couple of Double-V Rangers. One Koshi. Our hoverbikes pinned the armor against the wall, and we drove the Koshi back out with the Pack Hunter supported by armor and some late-arriving Infiltrators. After the Condor went up in flames, the Rangers surrendered.”
She rocked herself forward, stepped back to the window. She left enough room for Evan to join her, which he did. “He’s out there, isn’t he?”
From her room, Evan stared out over the lower buildings and the north grounds. Salvage crews were busy removing the burned-out shells of ruined vehicles and loading up anything worth saving on JI 100 recovery vehicles. “Yeah, Mark is out there somewhere.”
“Mark? Mark is back on campus. He brought in about a hundred displaced residents from Chang-an.” She must have sensed his surprise. “They headed our way only because they didn’t know where else to go. Mark told them we’d get them food and a place to sleep. I was talking about Mai Uhn Wa. I heard that he’s been gone since early this morning.”
Ah, Mai. “Mai is out there somewhere, yes.” Evan stared at the distant rooftops and higher buildings in the YiCha suburbs. A three-story building burned about two kilometers away, but it looked like it might be under control. No heavy fires had been set locally, for which he was thankful. Distant Chang-an was not quite so fortunate by all reports, suffering widespread damage in several commercial and industrial districts. Was that where Mai had disappeared to? Taking some of the Ijori Dè Guāng cells to join in the madness? Testing, and training, his future Warrior House.
“I’m glad Mark’s all right,” he offered her. And he was. Above all else, Mark was still Evan’s friend. It would have been much easier if Evan could hate him.
Jenna nodded. “Me, too. And I’m glad you made it back in. But now David and Hahn are out there, and who knows what will happen?”
She stepped into him then, resting her head back against his shoulder. Her braided hair smelled of sweat and smoke. The heat of her skin burned against his arm. It was nothing meaningful, Evan told himself, just a friend needing someone to lean against, but suddenly the room seemed a whole lot smaller. He drew an arm around her, offering her comfort.
“Evan, when we began this… when you began this… did you expect this? All of this?”
He looked at the orange flames licking up into a dusky gray sky, smoke feeding the haze. Another skyrocket burst over Yiling—green sparks that glittered like emeralds. He saw their Pack Hunter jog across the open grounds to the north, chewing up turf and cracking walks as it passed near the Guardian. A pair of Saxon APCs followed. A new patrol.
“No,” he said truthfully. “I didn’t.” In fact, Evan still expected much worse.
As if reading his unspoken thoughts, Jenna nodded. “How much longer?”
“A couple of days,” he said automatically. “After their attempts today, they’ll wait until some kind of order is restored.”
Which gave him enough time, he hoped, to work something of his own out with Mai Uhn Wa. There was still so much between them, good and bad. One of them had to bend. After hearing Mai’s plans for the resurrection of House Ijori, Evan had known who that must be. And maybe he had what Mai needed to bring it off.
Or, more to the point, the Cult of Liao did.
At another window, across Yiling and the sprawling suburbs of Chang-an, two others also stood at a window. They looked out over the desperation and anger that had seized the capital city and, to a lesser extent, the entire world of Liao.
Anna Lu Pohl’s private residence took up the entire third floor in the east wing of the Governor’s Palace. She had rooms for all occasions, from solitary meals and casual meetings to banquets and balls. Her private office had hardwood floors covered in Persian-style rugs, a golden teak desk, and a wall-size curio-filled with a jade collection owned by the Liao people, but conveniently displayed for their Governor when not on tour. A gas fire glowed behind ceramic logs in the fireplace, warming the room.
Having retired from twenty straight hours on her feet, the Governor had long since kicked her shoes into the corner and loosened the robes that hung down from her mantle. Underneath she wore a smart but comfortable dress suit, rumpled and dark with sweat stains under the arms.
“One hell of a way to start the New Year,” she said to Gerald Tsung as more fireworks bled across the night sky. She toasted the display, downed the last of her plum wine and set the glass on the windowsill.
Tsung continued to look over the two-story-high walls and into some distant streets of Chang-an. Governor Pohl left him there, having seen enough. The riots showed no sign of burning themselves out. Riots. Plural. Chang-an was not a homogenous city. Chang-an was a walled-off palace and several forums buildings. Chang-an was the rural stretch to the east, where single-family farms competed with larger combines, and then the suburb of Erisa beyond that. Chang-an was Yiling and Sua and the industrial sector of Gahn where the fires were under control now, though sixty percent of the factories were little better than gutted husks and charred grounds. Chang-an was the military reserve near Lianyungang, it was the gem of Beilù, and it was the voice of Liao.
And Chang-an was dying.
“Nothing more from Hunnan or Thei?” she asked, naming the next two largest cities on Liao’s northern continent.
“Mandrinn Klein has moved no forces in response to your request. Lord Governor Hidic also sent Mandrissa Erin Ji orders, and she has refused to answer either until ‘the competing Governors of Liao reach some level of accord.’” He reported as if on automatic pilot, coloring nothing with his own feelings or opinions.
“And what do you think?”
With a direct request, “Klein is scared. Erin Ji, I’m certain, has thrown in with the Cult of Liao. She has never been very stable.”
Anna bypassed her desk for a red velvet sofa, easing onto the overstuffed cushion and pulling her legs up for comfort. All of the district nobles were holding fast and stubborn. They did not want the madness infecting Chang-an to spread into their own cities—not any worse than was already happening. So Qinghai and its surrounding provinces were on their own.
“Maybe they are right to do so,” she said out loud.
“You are, Governor,” Tsung said simply, as if that explained all. “They have no right to refuse you.”
“Thank you, Gerald. Let us hope they see that as well, and soon.” She dismissed him with a tight smile that never reached her eyes. “I will not be sleeping tonight. Come for me if you hear any news.” Her aide bowed his way from the room, leaving her to solitude and her own thoughts.
And again, they returned to the idea that her insubordinate nobles might have the right of it. The nobility derived its power from the people, much as her own office did. Without land, without the fealty of those who worked it, they had no more authority than a man who stood on a wooden crate at the corner and preached his cause.
What did the people truly want? What was best for them? For the first time in her career, Anna Lu Pohl was not certain. She had come to power on Liao courting the populace’s indecision, supporting The Republic and at the same time encouraging a resident’s right to value his or her Capellan heritage. Like any good politician, she managed to walk that line found between any two opposing camps. What had surprised her, then, was how wide that divide stretched. So many people were not at all certain whom they should be or what they wanted.