by S. C. Emmett
“Of course.” He would never have admitted it, of course, but his liver swelled within him at the thought of being useful, especially to a lady. She wasn’t like the other court dames, certainly, even pretty Su Junha, who didn’t even deign to glance at him though he was a prince. “I still think I should ride for Kai. Are you sending a Golden? I can—”
“That matter is attended to.” Lady Komor straightened Takshin’s sleeve, gently as a noblewoman with a leashed frillbird, and let her hand drop. “Time is short, my lord Third Prince.”
“Too many people know of this,” Takshin hissed. “Mind you do not open your lips, Jinjin.”
“Pft. I keep all sorts of secrets, Taktak. Lady Komor.” He managed a bow in her direction, and was gratified at hers in return. A few moments later they were gone, and Jin stood in the shadows for a moment, thinking.
It was good someone was riding for Kai. He would want to be here for the funeral. And…Takyeo was wounded. It must be bad, for both Takshin and the lady to be so grave. Jin understood assassins— he was, after all, a prince, and there were those who wished to remove such creatures for their own ends.
But for Takshin and Lady Komor to be so secretive, while Takyeo was hurt…
It occurred to Jin, not for the first time but with sudden sharp clarity, that the assassins might not have been hired by a noble family with ambitions or a commoner with a grudge against his betters. It was a horrible, hideous idea, but perhaps one of his brothers had done something…
Well, something downright unfamilial.
The shadow of that thought had earlier driven him outside the Palace as a reflex, for he did his best thinking while moving stealthily at night, every nerve alive and aware. Yet its implications had robbed him of any enjoyment in sohju, and now it robbed him of the will to move from his hiding-place for a few more moments while he considered things he had never been given much reason to think about before.
He was very young, certainly. As the baby of the family, he did not have much to fear. Unless…unless something happened to Takyeo. Something not merely dangerous, but permanent.
If Father could die, Garan Jin realized, his eldest brother could, too. Why, anyone could. Even Sabwone. Even his mother.
Even his own young, and heretofore presumably immortal, self.
Finally, cold though the night’s warmth made scaling the Palace walls a sweaty proposition, Sixth Prince Jin glanced about him guiltily, and went upon his way.
CEASE SUCH ACCOUNTING
The little longtail-cub was correct; a moment’s work to crack a dozing guard’s head with a dagger-hilt and they were free to ease through the postern of the North Gate, but a few bowlengths in the distance lanterns gleamed and a soft warm breeze freighted with the smell of rich black earth sighing during its sleep carried men’s voices to Takshin, Komor Yala, and the Tooth. Lady Komor had not remarked upon the nobleman’s estate he led her to or its stable, beyond giving the defaced pillars before the princely home a curious glance.
One day he would tell her why he had ordered those characters rubbed out. Perhaps when she was brought to the door of that very residence in a red-and-gold palanquin, accompanied by celebrants and wailers, beating gongs and all a bride’s paraphernalia. But not now.
She rubbed the Tooth’s nose; the large, cob-headed grey bred for Palace guards and princely mounts was usually deeply mistrustful but apparently liked her enough to suffer it. Of course, she was Khir, and their horse-goddess was profligate with the rider’s gift. The Tooth was war-trained, and would do what he could to keep his small rider in the saddle.
“I should go instead,” Takshin said again, without any real hope of it occurring.
“You are needed here, to guard the Crown Prince.” With her hair pulled back, high-braided down each side of her head, Yala looked much younger. There was the shade of the girl she must have been, and he wondered if she had been a merry child. “I shall reach the Head General, or die trying.”
Do not say such things. “You are not allowed to die, little lure.” Takshin’s hands ached. He leaned back upon his heels, trying to ignore the cold blade in his guts at such a prospect. He wanted to touch her shoulder, smooth her half-cloak’s darkness over the lovely curve, but instead he turned away and made certain the saddle-girth was tightened properly. “He is a warhorse, and will fight should they seek to pull you from the saddle.”
“You have told me that twice.” She smiled, but the worry-line was deep-graven between her eyebrows. “I have the map, and dried meat and fruit, and my yue.”
Takshin lost the battle with himself; his left hand curved around her waist and he pulled her close. He rested his chin atop her head, and for a moment, with her slenderness fitted against him, the restless fury retreated fully instead of just accepting a cage in his liver. “Stay to the side of the road. Be wary, and swift. Strike to kill, if you must.”
“You sound like my brother.” She did not seek to pull away, though. “I shall protect my honor, never fear.”
It is not your honor I worry for. And brotherly was the last thing he felt, though it would give him an advantage in advancing his true cause. “When you reach Kai, do as he commands.” The very idea choked him, but she was safest thus. At least Kai was…honorable. “I will come to you, if it goes ill here.”
“You must stay with the Emperor, Takshin. To the very end.” Now she freed herself from his grasp, but gently. “I will help him for my princess’s sake, but you are his brother.”
It was useless to tell her that he saw death sitting upon his eldest brother’s face, and had already turned his head-meat to the question of what would happen after Takyeo succumbed. Again, his self-control failed. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. Her skin was just as soft as in his dreams, and the fire spilling through him from that contact just as sweet.
Startled, she drew away, nearer the Tooth, who flicked an ear at the strangeness of humans. “Third Prince—”
“It is Takshin. You will address me thus.” Takshin laced his fingers. She did not need to, but she put her boot in the cradle, and he lifted her to the saddle with a little more force than necessary. “Be careful.”
“And you, Third Prince.”
It hurt. “Yala.”
“Takshin.” This time she smiled before pulling muffling cloth up, settling it over mouth and nose to keep both free of dust. She gathered the reins, and the Tooth, sensing something even more untoward than tonight’s disruption of routine, tensed. “I owe you a debt, for this.”
Would she never cease such accounting? “There is no debt,” he replied, thickly.
She must have smiled again, for the corners of her pale eyes crinkled. Yala touched her heels to the warhorse’s sides, her knees clamping home, and even in the dark he could see her sinking into the saddle. A bright, fierce pain pierced him from crown to sole as he watched her hold the Tooth to a trot, hopping from grassy verge to the Road’s paved surface. Excited, eager to be gone, the Tooth flicked his tail, and when Yala’s back stiffened the horse lunged forth into a canter. She melded with the motion, all fluid grace, her cape wrapped close, and Takshin’s breath refused to seat itself properly in his chest as he ran for the wooden wayfarer’s shed looming indistinct to the right. It was a moment’s effort to spring to the top of the wood-pile, then he gained the roof. The bow he had retrieved from his estate in the Noble District unlimbered, an arrow nocked with habitual ease, and his breath came tearing-hard as he cast a dark-adapted glance over the battlefield.
There is no debt. What an idiot he was. He should indebt her, to keep her close. And she thought him brotherly. He might have laughed fit to scream at the thought, were he alone and without fear of being overheard.
Torches glittered. A cry went up, and he drew to his ear. Let fly, and pulled another arrow free. Again, aiming for the shadows clustering before a grey warhorse cantering upon the road’s pale sleeve. Lanternlight danced and spun, and the idiots had built a bonfire as well.
&nbs
p; They were fine targets for one used to hunting Shan bandits and long-ears under a wan half-moon, indeed.
She leaned over the horse’s neck, making herself as small as possible, and Takshin let another arrow fly. One of the shadows reaching for her fell, and another arrow whistled before he was conscious of drawing. He rained death from the sky to protect a fleeing mirage.
Half a dozen men were upon the Road. None lived, struck down as a grey horse passed.
Takshin finally lowered his bow. He had the remaining hours of darkness to clear a few more of the bastards from other roads spinning away from Zhaon-An, then he had to return to Takyeo. Banh could not gainsay an assassin, and had other duties to attend to once day rose.
If she was grateful, he could…no, he wanted her freely, of her own will.
But, Garan Takshin realized, listening to the hoofbeats fading on a cruel-sharp autumn wind, it did not matter. He already had the lady’s regard in some small fashion, and she did not dislike him.
A desperate man took what he could, willing or no.
NO WAITING GAZE
Rhythm of canter and jolt of hoof-fall, thunk-thunk-thunk , weightless, thunk-thunk-thunk. The grey was eager; Yala let the first flush of speed pass and reined him, her knees and slight weight a single straw upon a river’s surface. Placed correctly, even a grassblade could change the course of the mighty, mythical Yantuan deep in Ch’han’s heart.
She could only hope she was so dropped, at the correct junction.
The night wore on; they bypassed towns and rode through ungated villages, each a symbol upon Mrong Banh’s map firmly held before her mind’s eye. Walking to cool, cantering when urgency grew, it was not until dawn painted the eastern horizon that the realization struck her.
For the first time in her life, Komor Yala was completely alone.
Not only that, but another man had been within arm’s length of her, had even pressed his lips to her forehead. Like any mistreated creature, Garan Takshin gave his affection in spates if he could be induced to trust at all.
He reminded her so very much of Baiyan, though her brother had hardly been ill-treated. They were both given to fierce gestures when the strict control they held themselves to was fractionally loosened. She could not countenance another reason for his behavior, could she?
It was much safer to reminisce of her damoi.
Thinking of her brother and fierce, extravagant gestures led her to yet another quandary: Ashani Daoyan. It beggared belief that he had arrived in Zhaon-An at all. He had not spoken much of Mahara before they were interrupted— perhaps because the grief was too fresh, though they had never met. Ashani Zlorih had not wished for his daughter to know her bastard brother, fearing the contamination of her honor.
Now Yala wondered about her own. Was it quite unstained? She did not think she had acted incorrectly…and yet the kiss upon her forehead burned quite differently from Zakkar Kai’s soft touch. Garan Takshin’s fingers had pressed just short of pain, and his arms around her did not feel at all brotherly.
It would pain her to lose the Third Prince’s regard, she admitted. Surely there were other reasons for his behavior.
Perhaps it was only that he was unused to anyone showing loyalty to his beloved Takyeo. It certainly seemed that Garan Tamuron’s first son, without a royal mother to shield him, needed aid— and he had the gift of inspiring loyalty through kindness.
Dao would see it was impossible to lever her from the palace, and even more impossible for her to return to Khir in his company. If she could have induced him to ride for Zakkar Kai— but explaining why a mere merchant would risk such a thing was beyond her power in the short time they possessed, and in any case sending the Great Rider’s son to Khir’s greatest enemy was folly of the highest order.
Her heart ached for Dao, arriving in a foreign city to find out his sister had been murdered. Though Daoyan lacked nothing in the way of luxury or training while growing up, with his brothers wary and his father distant he was always so alone.
Still, it was madness for him to have left the Great Keep, and that the lunacy had endured for long enough to bring him to Zhaon-An was a troubling sign indeed. Perhaps this ride, bruising and dangerous as it was, would give her some solution; she would have much time for uninterrupted thought.
It was strange to be without even a servant, no waiting gaze to weigh upon her decorum, no possible chance of gossip, nothing but the road and the strengthening daylight. Glimmers showed behind the fields on either side, peasants well underway on the day’s work of tilling, sowing, reaping, repairing, laboring to bring forth the rai that made all else possible.
Just after the sun showed a thin crimson nail-paring upon the eastron horizon she turned slightly off the road, working parallel to its ribboned length behind a screen of summer-crowding saplings the peasants used for thin, flexible poles. There were several dusty footpaths where those who did not quite wish to be seen or pay a toll edged along, and she saw nobody for a long while though hoofbeats resounded beyond the screen and there was an occasional grinding of cart-wheels. Before the heat rose too high she found a small, secluded glade some ways from the road, picketed the horse— Takshin had not thought to tell her his name— and chewed a bit of dried meat and leathery dried umju, washed down with clear water from a nearby, almost-overgrown rill. Later in summer it would probably be a swamp-dried hole, but now it was a welcome coolness.
Birds sang as she settled her back against a spreading two-year lyong tree bearing full leaf, mellifluous shade rustling like a well-kept garden. Had they missed her at the palace? Hopefully not, if Anh was quick and Lady Kue could keep Hansei Liyue and Su Junha busy with other matters.
It was so strange. She did not have to keep her feelings submerged and her face a pleasing blankness; there were no letters to worry over or sewing to fret at her fingertips, no tea to order or etiquette to remember. The leisure might have been pleasant if she did not feel so exposed.
No father, no brother, no husband, no servant, no other noble lady to watch— did she truly exist, sitting under this lyong with hot, grainy eyes, her only company a grazing beast?
At least the horse saw her, but he paid no more attention than to his own tail. And quite a fine tail it was. He was a little ungainly, true, but she could see why Takshin had chosen such a mount— there was speed and strength in his lines, functionality instead of slender-legged but impractical beauty.
Perhaps the Third Prince felt the same way about her. It would be a relief, but a pang passed through her at the thought.
Yala finished chewing, rested her forehead upon her knees, and fell into a light doze. She would stiffen and climbing back into the saddle would be a misery, but she dared not move again until dusk. In a short while she would lead the horse to the rill and let him drink, then picket him securely.
Come twilight, there would be hard riding.
LOVELY GIRL
There was much to be done, even if her mistress was gone. The important thing was that nobody learn of her absence. Anh hurried down the sloping passageway, her head full of secret pressure, counting upon her fingers to make certain she remembered. The torment of possibly overlooking something critical when so much depended upon one tiny kaburei would keep her from sleeping tonight, she was sure.
There was a nobleman approaching, bright cloth glimpsed from the corner of her eye pushing her to the side and into a reflexive bow before she realized only someone of very high station would be wearing silk and bowed yet more deeply. When he halted, she wondered briefly at the event, but then he spoke, and a thin cool finger of dread slid down her spine.
It was one of the princes, for his robe was not merely lined but entirely silk, and unbleached besides. She did not dare to glance at his face, and his tone was slightly familiar. “And who is this lovely girl?”
There was no help for it, she had to answer. “Anh, Your Highness.” Heat filled her cheeks— why on earth would such a person wish to speak to her?
There was n
othing good in being noticed by Fifth Prince Garan Sensheo. The kaburei gossiped among themselves, of course, and they painted him as an exacting master who was not exactly careful where his sudo landed. His steward was a thin-mouthed creeping fellow who frequented the baths and had the habit of pinching some of the attendants, and his housekeeper, a round matron with a collection of iron hairpins, punished any infraction real or imagined. To be given to his household was almost as bad as being selected by that old dry stick Yona to serve in the First Queen’s.
Almost.
“Your Highness.” He mimicked her address. “You know who I am, of course.”
“Glorious Fifth Prince Garan Sensheo.” That was the proper address, was it not? The new Emperor had not been acclaimed and the succession had not been reordered, but if she had erred…Her hands shook, cold and damp. All her humors were contracting into her liver, and she wasn’t sure if the bravery stored there was enough to carry her through this.
“And she is intelligent, too. Tell me, lovely girl, whose kaburei are you?” It was a song currently popular among the bathing attendants, both in Zhaon-An and the Palace itself. He even lilted it; he was said to have a fine singing voice.
“Lady Komor Yala’s, Glorious Fifth Prince.” Anh longed to run away, but that was the worst possible move. Open disobedience was treason, and her lady was not here to ameliorate any penalties.
“Ah, the Khir girl.” As if he did not know very well who Anh’s lady was. “And are you serving her well? We would hate to have a Zhaon kaburei shame us before a guest.”
Dull hatred bloomed deep under Anh’s liver, and she did her best to bury it. Her face was set in hard mud, the accommodating smile of a peasant girl well used to indignity. “I serve well, Glorious Fifth Prince.”
