The Dragon of Jin-Sayeng

by K. S. Villoso

  Jinsein politics worked in harmony with Jinsein decorum. Respect for elders is always appreciated, no matter what the situation or the context. Respect for one’s matriarchs is upheld to the point that a warlord’s grandmother could walk into a meeting and drag him out by his ear, and no one would think twice about it. They would berate him in private, perhaps, for bringing the old woman along in the first place, but one didn’t question her right to punish her grandson as she saw fit. And while loyalty to your warlord was praiseworthy, loyalty to clan, to family, was universally understood by royal and commoner alike.

  So what people saw in that moment was a daughter-in-law accepting her mother-in-law publicly for the first time. An appeasement coming from me, when everyone knew she was the one who failed to appear at my wedding, she who wouldn’t recognize me or my son. They all watched, waiting to see how she would react, if she would accept the gesture.

  Ryia retracted her hand with a quick incline of her head. From the swiftness of it, I could tell she knew what I was doing. It didn’t seem like she cared. “Talyien aren dar Orenar,” she said, dropping the words like they were steel knives. “Your father named you in defiance of me. I came here with my son for your betrothal, believing Yeshin’s intentions pure. And then he announced your name in front of the warlords, the first time I ever heard of it. Talyien. Named for Warlord Tal, hero of the Oren-yaro, the man your people use as an example of why the Ikessar Dragonlords should’ve never been given this land.”

  I would have expected such directness from an Oren-yaro—not from an Ikessar. “Have I offended you, Beloved Princess?” I asked. I glanced at the crowd, enjoying the effect of this elaborate show. “Perhaps I should excuse myself. If I have displeased you in any way—”

  “You’ve a golden tongue, Yeshin’s child,” Ryia replied. “So like him. A ruthless murderer on one hand, a charming courtier on the other. You look surprised. You think everyone is as easily fooled by this show as my gullible son? You are too much like your false-faced father.”

  “One thing at a time, Beloved Princess,” Rai spoke up, though his voice remained subdued. It was clear that he didn’t want to confront her. “This trial concerns Prince Thanh. We will worry about the rest later.” He didn’t look at me now, either.

  An official came to lead me to a corner of the great room. It was a significant distance from the rest of them, as if they were afraid that I was capable of decapitating someone with my bare hands. Well—maybe it was a good day to find out they weren’t wrong. I sank into the cushion, imagining myself adrift in a sea of sharks. I reminded myself to be careful. One slip, and then who would pay the price? I didn’t want to find out.

  The trial began. I had every intention of listening to all the details, to commit to my memories the reaction of all the members of the council the way I used to in all my years in this court as queen. Who remained sincere, sympathetic to my cause? Which ones were treacherous bastards? Such insight was valuable for a ruler. The wisest know how to play the game even with the odds stacked against them.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead, I looked at Rai, at my husband and how he listened stern-faced, straight as an arrow, to the accusations he himself had thrown out to draw attention from me. Or so he claimed. I tried to remember how I had once loved him so much that I would’ve thrown myself into the ocean for him. Why? Because I thought my father had told me to. His command. Marry your prince. Become queen. He had drilled them into me as far back as my earliest memories. Marry your prince. Become queen. Bring peace to the land. I did it all, and more.

  Ears ringing, the crowd seemed to fall away, the garbled arguments receding to the back of my mind. A memory surfaced. I was chasing a puppy down the hall, hoping to catch it before it piddled on the imported Zarojo rugs.

  “Tali.”

  My father’s voice. I hurled myself after the pup with renewed speed, and it dashed underneath the stairs, disappearing into the shadows. I turned around. My father had crossed the room and was now sitting on the bottom of the dais, his elbow on his knee.

  “Come to me, my heart.”

  Like a chastised pup myself, I slithered towards him, flooded with shame. I really wasn’t supposed to be letting the dogs loose from the kennels in the first place. I sat beside him. He stared at me for a moment before reaching out to pick me up and place me on his lap.

  “How old are you now?” he asked. “Remind an old man.”

  “Five,” I said, holding out the exact number of fingers.

  He chuckled. “Only yesterday you could fit in the crook of my arm.”

  “Soon I can ride Whitewind!”

  “If she’s still around by then. I’m afraid the old thing won’t last very long.”

  “She rode with you to war, didn’t she, Papa? Did she fight off the enemy, too, like a true wolf of Oren-yaro?”

  “Even if she is just a horse.” Yeshin gave a snort before gazing down at me thoughtfully. “I may not live long enough to see you ride any other horses, either. Or rule as queen.”

  “Why not, Papa?”

  He clicked his tongue. “I’m old, too, child.”

  “You’re not old.”

  “You don’t say?”

  I reached up to squeeze his cheeks and look into his eyes. They were dark, as dark as mine, though the whites were streaked with blood and the edges rimmed with sagging yellowed flesh. But the fire in them was unmistakable. “Well,” I told him, wrinkling my nose. “Not that old.”

  “But what I would give to see that day.” He embraced me, his hand on my head as he pressed me to his chest. “What I would give to see the land bow to you, Ikessars and all. You are the Dragonlord we’ve all been waiting for.”

  I opened my eyes to flickering shadows and solemn figures, and the bare stone walls of the hall—no tapestries for this occasion, none that would suggest disrespect to the Ikessar clan. It was Rayyel’s turn to talk. He cleared his throat and straightened his robe before he got to his feet. “We have presented the evidence to the council,” he began. “Lady Talyien’s relationship with her guardsman Agos was discovered by the innkeeper himself, information that he later relayed to his family. It has been verified that Lady Talyien was indeed in town the night she broke her vows.”

  For some curious reason, the words didn’t seem to affect me. Nor did they elicit the usual response in my head: You broke yours, too, you bastard. In light of everything, they were just words now, nothing more. I wondered at how Rayyel could say them so effortlessly. If I didn’t know better—that is, if I didn’t know that he was the kind of man who forced his emotions behind a steel cage—I would’ve sworn he was manipulating the crowd. It was just the sort of thing Yeshin would’ve loved.

  You were wrong about him, too, old man, I found myself thinking. He could have made a good king—if you had chosen to support him instead of continuing to pit us against each other. You talk about peace and prosperity, but all that ever really mattered were your petty grudges. All I had to do was look at Princess Ryia to know how deep those wounds still ran. My father had killed her sisters, while her brother had caused my own brothers’ deaths. An endless circle of hate, like a dog snapping after its own tail. We never stood a chance.

  Another announcement, this time from a servant standing by the door. I sat up as Belfang strode in, dragging a small boy across the floor. I bolted from my seat as I recognized Agos’s eldest son. “This is a step too far, council!” I called. “Have we sunk so deep into the mire that we would hurt a child to prove a point?”

  “You would protest,” Ryia remarked, her voice echoing through the hall. “Were you not aware that silence best proves your case here, Lady Talyien?” The officials murmured in agreement.

  She looked at me with the same sort of expression a cat gives a mouse before it dashes out of its hole. I realized I was the very reason that Princess Ryia stayed in the Citadel all these years. Her absence from court threw doubt on my capabilities; if she could not be seen even just acknowledging me
, then I must be the one lacking. And now with my name tarnished beyond repair, she was certain everything would fall into their favour. The Ikessars could seize control of the nation once again. I had made enough mistakes—all I needed was one more. I bristled. She may have been confident in my defeat, but did she really think I would roll over and wag my tail for her?

  “The gods can spit on this charade for all I care. If you think I’m going to sit here and watch you hurt an innocent child, then you really must’ve forgotten whose daughter I am. Since you people wouldn’t let me have a sword, how would you feel about a fist in your gullet?”

  In the shocked silence that followed, I heard Ozo begin to laugh.

  “My lady,” Rai said. “Please sit down.”

  “I’m done with this,” I replied. “You decrepits have stretched my patience thin.” I approached Belfang, who seemed to recall the circumstances around the last time we had seen each other in the Shimesu temple in Phurywa. He shrunk back, revealing a small sword in his hand.

  Blinding fury replaced my irritation. I grabbed the boy, wrenching Belfang’s hand loose from his wrist. I reached for the sword. Only then did I recognize it as Thanh’s—the same sword he received as a present on his last nameday. There was caked blood on the bottom edge.

  “Lady Talyien,” Belfang said, holding the sword as far away from me as possible. “A moment of patience. It took me days to locate something of your son’s that we could use for the spell.”

  “That blood…” I began.

  “A training accident just a few days before. They assured me at the barracks.”

  “Since when did he start training?”

  “I can answer that for you, Lady Talyien,” Ozo said, coming up towards the center of the hall. “Your boy had yet to learn how to hold a blade. We needed to start somewhere. I can confirm the blood is his.”

  “Why would you even care about Thanh? You took advantage of this whole thing to seize Oren-yaro from us!”

  “He’s your father’s grandchild,” Ozo said. “I needed to do right by him, no matter what his mother has done. But now we’re here. Listen to the Ikessar brat. Hand the boy over and let’s finish this before the night is out.”

  “I’ve seen what Belfang can do to his victims,” I said. “Zarojo witchcraft, you would’ve all called it once. I can understand the Ikessars accepting it. You, Lord Ozo? I didn’t realize the Oren-yaro have sunk so low.”

  It was a trap, meant to force Ozo to reveal everything, and he knew it. His lips turned upwards. But he didn’t fall for it. Yeshin’s general against Yeshin’s daughter—we were both trained by the man far too well. While I was waiting for his reply, he turned and jabbed a knife right above the boy’s elbow. Agos’s son screamed. “Stop crying, you snot-nosed little shit,” Ozo snarled, holding the bleeding arm up towards Belfang while blood gathered between his fingers. The priest wiped it all up with a piece of cloth. It took half a second, and then Ozo flung the boy back towards me. I placed my arms around him as Belfang began to draw the runes for the spell, with Thanh’s sword in one hand and the blood-soaked cloth in the other.

  The boy’s sobs died down as he stared at his wound with fascination. I could see Agos’s stamp on him, plain as day—the eyes, the forehead, the lips. “What’s your name?” I whispered.

  “Kisig,” he croaked out. “Are they going to kill me?”

  “Not unless they kill me first,” I reassured him.

  He gave a soft smile. Agos’s, too, without a shadow of a doubt. Strange how well we leave these ghosts of ourselves in our children. How much of myself had I unwittingly foisted on Thanh? And my father? How much of him did I still carry? I was once convinced I was nothing like my father—the very implication was an insult to my ears. Now I wasn’t sure. Something about Ryia’s accusations lingered like a dead rat’s stench. There was one thing I knew for sure: The child in my arms was nothing like my own.

  Belfang dropped the cloth into the spell on the floor he’d created. I glanced behind me and watched as it burst into flames. I knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.

  “The ward didn’t respond. The boy does not share the prince’s blood.”

  There was an outcry, followed by others, until half of the crowd was arguing and the other half was clamouring for order.

  I stopped listening to them as I held the boy in the same spot where I cradled his dead father seven days before. Thanh was Rayyel’s. Somewhere deep inside, before those events in Ziri-nar-Orxiaro upended my world, before he left us, I always knew.

  So why were there tears in my eyes?

  CHAPTER SIX

  HARD TRUTHS

  I didn’t know how long I knelt there. My legs felt like a thousand ants gnawed on them, and the boy was looking at me in concern as he wondered, perhaps, if I’d grown as mad as the rest of that court. I could feel the breeze on my arms, the sweat under my nose. Behind the hollow silence, sandals clicked on wooden floors and wind chimes tinkled between the susurration of souls convinced they were going to be rid of me.

  “Beloved Queen.”

  The words were dropped in unison. They must’ve come to yet another consensus while my back was turned. So quick on their heels, this council. Well—a good majority of them represented the Ikessars. I supposed they had to save face somehow.

  “Queen again,” I said bitterly, wiping my face. “Bastards, the whole lot of you.” I slowly got up, my joints creaking. I felt like I had aged twenty years. “Someone come here and take this child back to his mother. Where is Namra?”

  “My queen.” The priestess pushed past the officials, reaching for Kisig’s hand.

  “Make sure the fool priest didn’t curse him.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, my queen. But yes—we will make sure the boy is unharmed.”

  “Get Khine to look at the wound. We’ve done too much to that family. Give the boy and his mother everything they need to get the hell out of here. Everything, Namra.”

  She bowed.

  I turned to face the court as queen for the first time in months. Anger bubbled beneath the surface of my skin. I wanted them all executed, tortured, sent away in pieces inside little barrels. Did the Zarojo pay good money for pickled councillors—the doubting, traitorous, easily bribed kind?

  I heard footsteps. Ryia walked towards me, sword drawn. It trailed along the ground, cutting a long line through the soil. There was murder in her eyes. With no way to defend myself, I was at her mercy. Perhaps I could overpower the old woman, but I knew nothing about her prowess with the sword. She’d survived my father. An enemy like that can’t be taken lightly.

  “Beloved Princess!” Rayyel called.

  She stopped—not, I imagined, because her son asked her to, but because it gave her satisfaction to see me unnerved. “Infidelity is still a sin,” she said. “The gods demand penance.”

  I met her gaze. “Do you want a duel?”

  “You’ve barely just gotten your crown back, Queen Talyien. Is your first act to kill me? Don’t think Jin-Sayeng doesn’t know how the Oren-yaro prefer to rule.” The bitch was baiting me.

  “Bite me,” I snarled, refusing the challenge. I turned to Ozo, and she let me walk past her towards him. He froze for a moment before dropping to his knees, saving me the trouble of having to order soldiers to do it for him. I wasn’t sure if they’d obey me, anyway. “Send out a search party to find Kaggawa and Thanh.”

  “I already have, Beloved Queen,” he replied. His eyes remained downcast.

  “Presumptuous son of a bitch. Any reports?”

  “Sources believe he has taken the prince straight to the Sougen. There are rebels making their rounds. They’ve made it difficult to get clear information. We’ve lost at least two scouts. I need time to hear back from the other riders.”

  “At least you’re not fully incompetent. Remember to drag my throne back here yourself before you vacate Oka Shto.” I turned back to the other officials. “Are we finished with this show? Don’t y
ou all have families waiting for you? Lands to rule? Rooster fights to bet on?”

  Ryia began to clap her hands. “Well done, Queen Talyien,” she said. “Well done. You truly are your father’s daughter.”

  Some of the officials grumbled in agreement, but I could barely discern it. The energy in the great hall had changed—I could tell they wanted to leave before I decided to retaliate. I was willing to bet that most would be gone from Oren-yaro by nightfall.

  The only exception was Rai. He remained quiet, staring at the ceiling, arms folded over his belly—still looking every bit like the scholar of our youth. To the untrained eye, he looked almost calm, unaffected by what had just transpired. I knew better.

  “Go back to whatever hell spawned all of you,” I told everyone that remained in the hall. “I will speak with Lord Rayyel alone.”

  “Dragonlord Rayyel,” Ryia corrected. “Your anger makes you forget your manners.”

  “Lord Rayyel,” I repeated. “And he will remain so until he gets that crown formally placed on his head. I invite you to make the arrangements. We had dancers at the one he missed—let’s have jugglers next time. Or how about flowers? I hear you Ikessars are fond of pretty things.”

  She smiled. “You proved your bastard has no relation to the boy. Good. But that is one guardsman, and rumour has it you’ve had many.”

  “Then get the priest to check again. I’m sure my dear husband won’t be opposed to what you just put a little boy through.”

  Rai heard and got up.

  “Not one step,” Ryia snapped. Rai stopped in his tracks.

  “There was only one accusation, and it’s been disproven,” Ozo broke in. “If there are more…”

  “I will find more,” Ryia said.

  Belfang approached us, hands held out. “I’m afraid we’re all out of your son’s blood. The spell consumed all of it.”