by S. C. Emmett
“Are we growing up?” Gamnae looked across the garden’s shimmer, and a strange thing had happened to her voice. It didn’t seem to work quite in its usual manner. “I don’t think I like it, if we are.”
“Well, soon you’ll have a husband and be out of the Kaeje.” Jin said it lightly, but a frown still creased his brow. “Maybe you’ll go to Khir and Lady Komor will go with you.”
“Maybe.” Gamnae wasn’t certain she liked the idea of marriage, but on the other hand, what else did grown-up princesses do? And the prospect of leaving the Kaeje was terrifying and compelling in equal measure. Imagining a morning without Mother’s moods or Kurin’s edged mockery was almost beyond Gamnae’s power. “Maybe I’ll make Father send you too.”
“What, to marry a Khir princess? They don’t have any more, the Crown Princess was the only one.” His frown deepened and his fingers moved once, a habitual tapping motion as if he felt a hilt under them. It was strangely reminiscent of Zakkar Kai, whom he had spent more than one summer attempting to imitate. “I’m glad I’m the youngest. Nobody cares enough to try to assassinate me.”
“Or me,” she agreed, loyally. Her hands were sweating freely now, tucked properly in her sleeves, and she longed for crushed fruit or tepid tea. “Have I made you late, Jin?”
He shook his head, but his thoughtful scowl didn’t disappear. All in all, Garan Jin was unwonted serious this morning. “Nobody would dare assassinate you anyway. I’d kill anyone who tried.”
Now that was new, and though comforting, also somewhat frightening. “You would?”
“I’m your brother, Gamnae.” He moved as if to poke her again but halted, another new thing. He had never been so restrained before. “Of course I would. Now, go write to Lady Komor, and have some tea. You look pale.”
He was bossy, but she went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek anyway. “My favorite brother.”
He had just begun shaving though he did not really need it, and his skin had lost some of its child-softness. “That’s something else you’ve never said before.”
“Because you’ve been a terrible longtail.” She accepted his arm, shaking out her other sleeve to make it fall properly. “Come, walk me to the garden entrance.”
“I’ll be even later.” But he did not take his arm away. “Gamnae?”
Her chin dropped slightly, her jatajatas making their grown-up sound, slow taps marking off smaller moments than a water-clock’s. “Hm?”
“I’m glad you told me.” His profile smoothed, and he guided her around a small depression in the paving. “Be careful, and once you find out what Kurin wants, tell me.”
It was an unexpected relief. At least she was not alone in this small matter. “So we can decide what to do?”
“Yes.” His frown returned, and now he looked very much like Father indeed. “Kai says it’s all tactics, in life. Everything.”
Well, of course Kai was a general, he would see war everywhere. “He’s being sent North. At least, that’s the gossip.”
“I know.” Jin sounded dismayed at the prospect. “I don’t like him being sent away.”
“Neither do I.” Especially with Takyeo so grieving. Her skirts made a soft subtle music, and she was glad she wasn’t a boy. Being sent away to fight sounded unappetizing at best. “Do you think Ah-Yeo will retreat to the countryside?”
“I think he’d like to.” Jin gave her a sidelong glance, but without his usual mischief. Sober and thoughtful, he looked much older now, and instead of Father or Sabi, he resembled his mother. The First Concubine had never been ill-tempered with Gamnae, but her languid reserve— and the First Queen’s disdain— precluded any closeness. Not like Second Concubine Kanbina, who always had time for a visiting child. “But no, Gamnae. I don’t think he’ll manage it. He always does what Father wants.”
“Is Father going to die?” she whispered, surprised at her own daring.
“I…” He glanced at her again, probably meaning to give her a brusque, polite of course not, and his shoulders stiffened. His own reply was equally soft. “Mother thinks so.”
Gamnae’s own mother thought so too, and her barely concealed satisfaction at the prospect turned Gamnae’s middle into a mass of snakes. Her liver was perhaps too small, Gamnae reflected. Courage was a man’s game, and she had none of it. “I hate growing up.”
“Me too, Naenae.” He patted her hand, and they had reached the garden’s trellised entrance. “At least we’re doing it together?”
“At least that,” she agreed. It should not have made her feel quite so relieved, but it did, and she sent him to the drillyard with yet another kiss upon his shaven cheek before turning her steps reluctantly for the Kaeje to write a letter or two.
SOME LITTLE BLOODSHED
The man was not quite a caged beast trapped in Zhaon’s largest city, but it was close. This tavern in the foreigners’ quarter was reasonably clean, and any post came promptly, for the owner— a round-bellied mud-eyed Khir commoner whose gaze bespoke some quasi-noble ancestor— was punctilious and proper in paying the accepted bribes to city officials, including those responsible for the circulation of paper through the country’s veins.
The merchant he was impersonating had two rooms— an antechamber and a sleeping-closet, though he used them but infrequently in order to confuse his trail— and it was the first time in his life he was largely at his own pleasure. He was finding he rather liked it. Even the prospect of earning his silver by a display of bladesmanship or in other, darker ways had much to recommend it, accompanied as it was by a sense of complete and utter freedom. It was perhaps how a hawk felt when the jesses fell free and a never truly tame creature bolted for the wide blue sky.
Four days after he had brushed his careful, tempting missive the reply had finally come upon respectable pressed-paper with a subtle scent caught in its weave. Ceduan and jaelo, tiptoeing into a sensitive noble nose as he held it close and inhaled. Even breaking the seal felt like an intimacy, after so long.
Her reply was courteous but not overly so. The lady, being of delicate nerves, was unable to leave her home. She did, however, feel her responsibility to fellow countrymen keenly, and consequently invited the merchant to appear with a small sample of his wares. The date and time were delineated carefully, the location something called the Artisan’s Home inside the palace complex of Zhaon-An. Enclosed was a pass for a merchant, two servants, and a bundle of goods to enter the palace complex; the seal was large, crimson, and quite official-looking, the snow-pard device of the Crown Prince. Of course, she would still be part of that household. When mourning was done, perhaps some other accommodation would be made for a lone foreign lady-in-waiting.
Or perhaps he could work a trick like a wandering exorcist making paper flowers vanish, singing a chant to chase away ill fortune— and spiriting away a lady upon horseback, vanishing into the night.
Would she be grateful for such an event? Would she be pleased to see him?
He scanned the letter again. It was cautious, giving nothing away— did she think him still trapped in Khir, put to plow like a plodding ox? He had been as explicit as he dared. No doubt she would be prepared to meet a merchant with icy formality, to receive a sealed communication from a childhood friend, and perhaps to entrust a letter in return.
Perhaps she would even attempt a plea for rescue, if he was lucky.
Imagining her face when she recognized him was a thorny pleasure. He reread the letter, looked over the pass again, and smiled, lifting the paper to his nose once more. Outside, the streets of Zhaon-An heaved and muttered under a pall of golden summer dust.
Ceduan. Jaelo. Though it was unlikely, he thought he detected a faint thread of her, too— in the close confines of a theater box, with her brother present and watchful, at least he could still inhale the scent of a black-haired girl with wide pale eyes and a fluttering fan, a slight smile playing about her lips as a farce rollicked across the stage between acts of a suitably impressive or tragic play.
He
r letters, at least the ones arriving before he left their shared homeland, had been careful too, and he could glimpse between beautiful brushwork strokes a vivid restless bird trapped in a cage of honor, duty, obligation. How many missives were accumulating since she could not know he had left Khir as well? It was like a song, letters flying wide while their intended recipient was close enough to touch.
To see that hunter take wing, to possibly lure her to his wrist, was more than Ashani Daoyan ever thought he would achieve. Perhaps it was his honorless mother’s passion burning in his veins, or perhaps it was simply that she had never treated him as a bastard or a prince, simply as a nobleman’s son.
The world was wider than either of them had ever expected. He did not think, after enduring this vile place, she would demur at leaving. And of course, if she accepted his help…
It was too sweet a prospect to be contemplated for more than a few moments. More pressing was the need to make sure he did not bring other admirers to his lady’s door, for he suspected he was being hunted.
It was no change. He had been hunted all his life.
Ashani Daoyan smiled for the first time in days, and rested his boots upon the table. Servants would not be hard to find, and a bundle of small tempting trinkets either. Money was of little consequence at the moment, and in the future, well. He could write, he had a sword; many a fortune was built upon much less.
The world was wide and Yala would come with him. She had to. The world was not as they told close-confined noble girls, and he could see why— who wanted an unchaste wife? And after all, who did she have to rely upon here in Zhaon? He even had a silver signet ring she would recognize, and her father’s semi-blessing. What Khir nobleman would not want an acknowledged son of the Great Rider for his daughter? Daoyan could very easily lead her to believe whatever was necessary, a small matter they would laugh about later as they used to poke restrained fun at a particularly sentimental play.
By the time Yala thought to protest, she would already be his. His intentions were honorable indeed; the old way of taking a war-bride upon your saddle was still a legal marriage and she had been raised to be a dutiful, honorable wife. He would not repeat his royal father’s mistake.
What Ashani Daoyan took, he would keep.
Smiling, the letter held just under his sharp nose, the once-bastard son of an honorless noblewoman, now the legitimized Crown Prince of Khir, lowered his eyelids and contemplated his eventual freedom as well as the one piece to make it complete. Yes, everything was going well.
And all it had cost was some little bloodshed.
DISPOSED OF
The Emperor has spoken.” Kai clasped his hands behind his back, looking out onto a Jonwa dry-garden. It was early yet; the sun had not lifted above the Palace’s eastron walls. He was not in leather armor nor in a prince’s house-robe; instead, he wore the padded tunic and trousers that would sit under the half-armor and provide their own faint protection from edges and bolts. His feet were under-wrapped for polite cleanliness instead of slippered; they would be thrust into boots when he left the Jonwa. “There is some urgency; I cannot delay another day.”
Yala’s hands clasped each other tightly as well, inside her wide, pale sleeves. She had rather thought he would accompany her to the table for tea, but instead he stood at the partition to deliver ill news. Perhaps he thought she would be in an ill temper, hearing of his departure.
“Of course,” she murmured, glad to be on her own slippered feet to face such tidings and doubly glad she had arisen early, unwilling to lie abed and sweat. “There are rumors everywhere.” Some of them even had the stamp of truth, but untangling which was a task she must lay aside at the moment.
“The bridges over the two rivers have been taken, the ford at Khua-An is watched, and Khir patrols ride the borderlands. There have been a few clashes already. No crossing of the border may be expected in the near future, I am sure.” He gazed steadily at the succulents, deep-set eyes glittering. “I cannot tell what you would wish to know, Yala, so I often refrain from saying much at all. I think it unlikely you will be sent home.”
“Yes.” It was hardly a surprise…and yet, her heart was uneasy within its cage of ribs. She studied his profile, her tight-clenched fingers aching. “When exactly do you leave?”
“Between now and midday. I shall be within a few days’ courier-ride of Zhaon-An; letters will reach me swiftly.”
“I shall write.” Her throat was dry, her fingers numb. After tossing and turning upon her maiden’s bed across the hall from her princess’s sealed, empty room, sweating the night through, she was even more exhausted than when she had dismissed Anh and laid herself under a sheet. Some among the Zhaon slept naked, but no Khir girl would ever dream of such a thing, no matter the heat.
Still, Yala had thought somewhat longingly upon the prospect, and more than once.
“I depend upon you to do so.” His knuckles were white, and his shoulders swelled as if he pulled against himself, an ox straining at the yoke. “Perhaps I should go to the Emperor now, Yala? You have not heard from your father, of course, but…do you think him likely to deny you some safety?”
What safety can there be, for me? It was an unpleasant thought indeed. “I am under the Crown Prince’s protection.” It was a diplomatic answer, even if her throat bore an obstruction while giving it. “I will be safe as a folded robe in a cabinet, and you will not be forced to worry for me while you perform your duties.”
“I would ask your feelings, to carry something with me.” His chin dropped as he glared at the garden, and for once, Zakkar Kai wore a frown instead of the usual set expression of faint amusement that was its own armor. “You must think of yourself, too, Yala. I am not so bad, am I?”
“You may carry my assurance like a feather upon your helm, Zakkar Kai. Were I free to choose, you would already have my entirely plain assent.” There, it was said. Perhaps too boldly; she had not meant to sound so sharp. “I regret I cannot give more at this moment.”
What Khir noblewoman could say more when her father had not spoken? And yet she longed to tell him more. You are honorable, you are kind, and I long to rest against you— perhaps a novel’s bold heroine could say such a thing, but she could not.
He half-turned from the dry-garden and regarded her, and his expression now held such patent shock Yala almost lifted her sleeve to hide a smile. It was not meet to be grinning in mourning, especially before her daily visit to the white tombs.
Anh alone would accompany her upon that duty now.
“Well?” she added. “I rather think you should say something to that, at least.”
“I am afraid to.” He leaned toward her, his toes planted but the rest of him like a babu stem under heavy wind. “For then you will tell me I am mistaken or have misheard, and I will be embarrassed as well as caught out.”
It did not seem possible that he would fear such a thing. A small, still easing crept into Yala’s chest, loosening her liver and her pounding heart at once. “Caught out?”
“I have tried not to appear overly enamored of you, Lady Komor.” His admission, paired with a shadow of a wry smile and a slightly tilted head, interfered even more with her treacherous heart’s rhythm.
“And I of you. And we have succeeded roundly; I thought us natural enemies, besides.” A Khir woman and Zhaon’s Head General; and now she worried what her father would say. Would he understand necessity, or think her a traitor? The question of just how to delicately hint at the news that she had been offered for and would accept if given permission was one she had rarely thought upon. “My last letters have received no answer,” she remarked, turning her gaze again to the garden so she was not tempted to gawk at a man who had grown almost-beautiful. “Perhaps the border will reopen, since events are moving so quickly.”
“Some merchants are still crossing.” Zakkar Kai stayed as he was, though the floor creaked slightly as his weight shifted a fraction. “I will do all I can.”
She suspected he wo
uld, indeed. Small comfort that Khir had been defeated by a man who, were he born in her country’s stony embrace, would make any father proud— even her own. Komori Dasho would indeed have liked him, Yala thought.
Thinking of Kai meeting her father was amusing, and it distracted her from other, darker imaginings. Her father was not elderly, of course, but he was older, and had no son to rely upon or daughter to fuss over his comforts now. It would not occur to him to take his ease or shift some of the burden of being clan-head onto a junior branch, and his reply to her gentle remonstrances or hints to take another wife had ever been silence. Spring had been coming but winter had not relaxed its grasp completely when Yala left home, and the shifting of seasons brought illness and upset to every household.
She smoothed the insides of her sleeves, pale raw silk nubby against her fingertips. And now her wrists had relaxed, and her shoulders were not quite so tense. “I am grateful for your aid, Head General of Zhaon.”
“Will you address me by title when we are married?” Amusement colored his tone, and she suspected his dark eyes were dancing.
“If you like.” Her cheeks were rather warm, but there was a breath of moving air from the garden. Dawn meant the bellows of the sky were readying for their work, and the inhale was almost pleasant compared to what she knew afternoon would bring. “But I thought to ask you something else and I must soon, since you are not accompanying me this morning.”
“I can.” He shifted again, regarding the garden as she did. Perhaps it was easier to speak if they were not staring at each other’s faces. “If it would please you, my lady.”
“To be asked, or to accompany me?” Oh, it was soothing to speak to one you knew would take your words in the best possible way, and doubly soothing to feel as if she was not quite so…
Well, not quite so alone.
“Both, as it pleases you.”
