The Grass King’s Concubine

by Kari Sperring

  Without looking up, Shirai said, “Be still, Jien-kai. Fretting solves nothing.”

  “There’s neglect. Everywhere, neglect.” Sujien reached the end of the court once again and turned in a snap of robes. “Liyan neglects his banner, fidgeting about in his workshop. This one,” and he gestured toward Tsai, “neglects her banner for pretty clothes and sweet words from the Grass King, and you…”

  “Yes?” said Shirai, mildly. Julana shuddered yet again, then stiffened up, lest Sujien sense the tiny motion.

  It seemed he did not, this time at least. He glared at Shirai and said, “You do nothing about it.”

  “What would you have me do?” Shirai asked. “Liyan has the Grass King’s permission to do as he does. And Tsai…”

  “The Grass King should think more of his court than of himself,” Sujien said. He stopped and turned to face Shirai. “I have told him so. He laughed.”

  “Better laughter than anger.”

  “Hah.” Sujien pulled a knife from his belt and looked at it. Julana fought off another shiver. “We have our place, our nature. It should be sufficient.” He weighed the knife in his palm a moment, then threw it, neat-handed, across the court. It caught in the wooden frame of a door and stood there, quivering. In her hiding place, Julana shuddered. Sujien stalked over to retrieve his knife, examining the mark it had left. He said, “If the Grass King won’t act…” Julana flattened herself as far as she might. Perhaps the dampness that still clung to her would hide her. Perhaps that tiny taste of Marcellan’s blood would shield her.

  Perhaps Sujien would notice that she smelled partly human and grow even angrier. Her feet urged flight. Her heart hammered to follow them. She could not, not yet. She had to listen. To protect Marcellan. To learn if the Cadre knew about Liyan and the printing press.

  Shirai said, “It’s not for us to decide, Jien-kai.”

  “Someone should.”

  “Then someone will.” Shirai set his jerkin down and placed his hands on his knees. “Or it will settle by itself. Let it be.”

  Sujien returned to the far side of the courtyard and threw the knife again. It lodged in the frame no more than a hair’s breadth from his previous mark. Julana started and found herself half-turned around and about to run before thought caught up with her. She stopped, half certain the motion would have betrayed her, awaiting discovery and punishment.

  Shirai said, “Perhaps we should put in a target for you.” Carefully, Julana turned. They had not heard her after all. She slunk back to her listening post, belly to the floor.

  “My door suffices.” But this time Sujien did not retrieve his knife. He folded his arms across his chest and stood there, frowning at his companions. “I don’t like these changes. This clock. It makes me uneasy.” Julana’s breath caught.

  Everything made Sujien uneasy. There were marks and scars and memories the length and breadth of the Rice Palace in testimony to that. But Shirai chose to hold his tongue on that subject. He said only, “The Grass King has made his decision. We wait and see. It is not for you to question that. Liyan will finish this whatever-it-is and find another obsession. He always does.” Julana let out the breath in a long, soft sigh. Shirai continued, “And as for Tsai…”

  “The rice is singing,” Tsai said, as if woken by her name, causing Julana to jump yet again. No one heeded. Tsai gazed up at the roof, her eyes wide and unfocused. “All out under the blue heavens, all across the soil. It sinks its roots, it opens its leaves. The waters tickle it and tease, and it sings for them. The rice sings, and the words take flight. Like the clock. They sing, they call, they run, and I hear them.”

  Over her, Sujien’s eyes met Shirai’s, all under Julana’s own sharp gaze. Lost in her fugue, Tsai paid no heed to any of them.

  “Tsai,” Shirai said, “will continue to be Tsai.” Whatever that meant. Had there been a time when it had been easier to persuade Tsai to focus, to step away from her element into clarity and activity for longer periods of time? Julana did not know. Tsai was too prone to change, too restless and shiftless and faithless for the twins to be anything but wary where she was concerned.

  Very like Sujien, although that was another thing that was better not mentioned. Sujien was quick to anger or to judge, harsh on those who failed his standards, strict in his expectations. He did not like change. It stirred him in dark places. But in one way he was very unlike Tsai. He was easier to predict. That made dealing with him easier, though not safer. Never safer. And his next sentence was obvious, even to Julana.

  “You could,” said Sujien to Shirai, “do something yourself. You lead us.”

  Shirai looked down. Perhaps he hid a smile. He said, “I could. But about what? I cannot command the Grass King. He has chosen to let Liyan’s clock stand. He has chosen to let Tsai do as she does. We are his servants, Jien-kai.”

  “Even so,” Sujien said, “you could choose to keep Liyan busy. Tsai, too.”

  “And the Grass King can choose to countermand me.”

  “You can,” Sujien looked around him and Julana shivered anew, “you can say something.”

  Shirai rose. “I can. I did. But I can’t ensure I’m heard.” He stretched, slowly, enjoying the slow uncoiling of the knots along his neck and down his spine. “I talk to you, after all.”

  “But…” said Sujien, and stopped. He said, “Unfair, Shirai-kai.” In her hiding place, amusement rippled up Julana’s spine, easing the tense muscles.

  Shirai finished his stretch and gathered up his tunic. “It will be well, Mo-Jien. Have faith in that.”

  “Faith,” said Sujien, and made the word a curse. “Faith is for humans.” He looked up, then, straight at where Julana hid. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I sometimes think the human taint is spreading. That’s undesirable. Liyan pays too much attention to the captive. And this,” and he spread an arm out as if to encompass everything that angered him, “this ensues.” As if to add to his annoyance, the clock sounded another of its fractions. Sujien said, “The Grass King should make a decision on the captive.”

  “He has chosen to confine him, for now.”

  “Why?” Sujien recommenced his pacing. “Why not something more? I don’t see what purpose letting him remain here serves.”

  “It pleases the Grass King.”

  “Yes, but…”

  From her resting place, Tsai said, “Human feet tread heavily. The waters feel it. Grass King wants to learn it.”

  “He said so?” Sujien asked. Julana, too, leaned forward, eager to hear the answer. Tsai said nothing. Sujien went on, “He said that to you?” And then, “Tsai-kai, attend!”

  “He said…” Tsai sat, slowly, her long hair falling damply around her shoulders, down to her waist, “he said, he said…” She laughed, stretching up her arms, “He said something, this or that. I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember?” Sujien took a step toward her, one fist clenched.

  “Peace,” said Shirai. Sujien ignored him. More loudly, Shirai said, “Cadre, hold your place.” Sujien stopped where he was and glared. Shirai shook his head. “There’s no purpose in quarreling. The Grass King decides as he will, and we obey. That’s all.”

  “You could mention it,” Sujien said.

  “I could. But I see no point in doing so.”

  “But it’s not right.” Sujien dropped his shoulders. “There’s no point talking to either of you about it, anyway.” Sheathing his daggers, he stalked into his rooms. The beaded curtain clattered and swung in his wake.

  Shirai looked after him for a moment, frowning. Then he looked across at Tsai, and the frown deepened. Softly, he said, “Though sometimes learning can be too…sudden. A little caution can go a very long way, if some people are careful about what they do.”

  He was not speaking to Tsai. That was clear even to Julana. And Sujien was no longer listening. Julana took the hint and fled.

  29

  The Courtyard

  of Contemplation

  “EXPLAIN,” AUDE
SAID. HER FEET STUNG. She ignored them, ignored the pain from her many cuts, kept her chin up, watching the two Cadre. There was a low ache in her abdomen. She ignored that too. “You drag me here, you hold me here, you blame me and accuse me and expect me to solve your problems. But I don’t even know what those are, let alone what they have to do with me.” Behind her back, she clutched the dagger. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of all this.” With her left hand she gestured at the chamber, at the litter of shattered and crushed crystals. “None of this has anything to do with me.”

  “And yet,” said Sujien, “the winds called me to you. I felt you long ago and called you. The earth tasted you and knew you. The water senses you.”

  “Bilge,” Aude said. She met his eyes and held them. Let him stare. If she must be naked before him, then she would show him neither fear nor shame. “That could mean anything.”

  “It means,” Sujien said, “what I said.” He took a step toward her, and Shirai put out a hand.

  “Hold, Jien-kai.”

  Sujien glared, but he stopped where he was. Shirai looked at him a moment longer, then said, “I don’t know if it can be explained. Or at least I don’t know if we can understand each other.”

  “Then you might as well let me go.”

  “No,” Sujien said.

  Shirai ignored him. Crossing to one of the alcoves, he bent and gathered up a heavy brocade gown. Shining bones dropped from it as he lifted it, clattered and spun across the floor. Returning, he held it out to Aude. “Here.”

  She took it and wrapped it around herself, careless of the blood that streaked her body. There was no sash, but strings fastened it around her waist, and a gold button closed the front across her chest. It hung on her, cut for someone taller and wider. She rolled the sleeves back, keeping the dagger in her right hand. She said, a little stiffly, “Thank you.”

  “There are better places to talk,” Shirai said, “and you’re hurt. Your injuries should be tended.”

  And while her cuts and bruises were salved, the chance of an explanation would be somehow swept away. That much she was sure of. She longed for Jehan. He would know what to do. She must make do by herself. She said, “It’s not serious. It can wait.”

  “Even so,” Shirai looked about him. “This room…this is not the right place. It…The memories it holds are unhelpful.”

  It had tried to trap her, to ensorcell her, if a room could do such things. At her feet, the floor was sticky with her blood. And the bones…She refused to look at them, lest her glance betray fear, betray her to her captors. She drew herself up in the outsize gown and said, “Very well. We’ll go somewhere more comfortable.”

  Sujien gave her a disapproving look, but he said nothing as Shirai led them past the basin, through the antechamber, and out through a side door into a small room lined with divans and cushions. She helped herself to a corner seat, curling her legs up under her. Thin smears of blood marked her progress. Following her into the room, Sujien smiled. Gesturing to the floor, he said, “You see—the palace cleaves to you.”

  “I see,” said Aude, “that my feet are injured. And your palace is dangerous.” No need to tell them more. She kept her hand from her gut, where pain gnawed, low and dull.

  His smile widened. “I told you before: this place isn’t safe for your kind.”

  “Then perhaps you should let me go.”

  There was a short silence. Shirai took a flask and a square of linen from an inner pocket. “If you’re willing to let me see where you’re hurt, I can treat your injuries for you.”

  Aude hesitated. Of the entire Cadre, Shirai had been the most consistently kind to her. And yet it could impede flight, if she needed to run. If he touched her, would he sense the pain in her gut? He stood waiting for her; behind him, Sujien paced up and down the small room, his braid flicking angrily each time he turned. She said, “It’s not that bad.”

  “Bad enough to mention.” Sujien’s tone was cold. Clearly, he did not intend to let go of the subject.

  She set her lips and put out a foot. They could not read her mind. She must trust they would not read her body, either. Shirai’s hands on her flesh were firm and gentle, though the liquid from the flask stung. She sat silent, staring at the wall opposite. Shirai finished cleaning both of her feet and bound them with the linen. Sitting back on his heels, he said, “When you explore, it’s cleaner to do so using the corridors.”

  “I don’t know how they fit together. I don’t have a map.” Over his head, Aude glowered at Sujien. “Even though I’m somehow supposed to find the solution to your problem.”

  “Ah.” Shirai, too, looked across at Sujien. “I’m not sure that that’s your responsibility.” Aude sat on a sudden, childish urge to stick out her tongue. Shirai continued, “I think we may have made a mistake.”

  “No!” Sujien came to a sudden halt at one end of the room. He turned, glaring. “No mistake. You saw it. The courtiers know her. The waters know her. She just has to…She just has to do what’s necessary.”

  Shirai held up a hand. “I’ve touched her blood, Jien-kai. All I sense is human.”

  “Yes, but what kind of human?” Sujien came closer. “She tastes right, Shirai-kai. She tastes like the ones who were there before. The ones those ferret creatures bribed, trying to help the captive.”

  Aude sat forward. The ones who were there before. Her predecessors? Her ancestors, who had held the lands around the Woven House? She opened her mouth to ask, but Shirai spoke ahead of her. “That’s your belief only. There’s no proof.”

  “The captive incited Liyan and made trouble, so we punished him and exiled his supporters. And they did something in WorldAbove, something he taught them, something that insinuated itself in here. Look,” and he gestured at the walls. “Human things, everywhere. They don’t belong.” Aude looked at the walls, plastered in peach and cream and taupe, and patterned with swirls of vines and rich bundles of wheat, with the small warm creatures that love the cornfields—mice and hares and birds—and the figures of men reaping. Sujien went on, “Humans don’t belong here. Their business is nothing of ours. The captive did this, somehow, with his machines and his books. He changed us. He stole our water.”

  “Perhaps.” Shirai lowered his hand again. “But the trouble here began before the ferret twins were exiled.”

  “Caused by the captive. Marcellan.” Sujien almost spat the name.

  Marcellan again, that name out of legend. The captive, with his machines and his books. Marcellan had…what? Known her ancestors? No, that wasn’t what Sujien was saying. Marcellan’s friends had used her ancestors in some way? She stared down into her lap. The Woven House and its office shelves of old parchment, its records of three coppers here and two there…If this was a question of Marcellan—if such a thing was possible and she was not simply insane—then none of those records could be anything like old enough. A hundred and fifty years or so, not more. And the Woven House itself was probably not much older. It was stories she needed, not accounts and ledgers. Her family had only the one story, of the witch bargain, and only Nurse believed it. We came from the steppe, supposedly, and that’s why your great-grandfather insisted we always keep those lands out there. A few houses and some old water rights and some useless fields, but he was sentimental. Her uncle’s voice, long ago. Her great-grandfather had been the one to make the family’s real money, with his ships and his skill at predicting the desires and fads of the aristocracy. He had chosen the family name, too, Pèlerin des Puiz.

  Pèlerin des Puiz. Despite herself, despite everything, she felt laughter bubbling up. She put a hand to her mouth, holding it back, shook her head.

  Sujien said, “What?”

  “Nothing.” Speaking was a mistake. Her amusement escaped her. Laughing, she said, “Nothing…that matters…Just a pun.”

  Sujien made a noise of disgust. But Shirai said, “Words are seldom ‘just’ anything, here. They matter, however they’re used.”

  It was nothing to do with
this place. It was her great-grandfather’s sentiment, nothing more. But somehow she did not say that. Shirai’s face showed no frivolity. She swallowed the last of her giggles and said, “It’s my name, my family name, I mean. Pèlerin des Puiz, pilgrim of the wells. My great-grandfather chose it when he bought our family house in the Silver City. But…” Her voice petered out. Both the Cadre were staring at her, eyes intent. She said, “What?”

  “Why that name?” Shirai asked.

  “I…” She wasn’t sure. Had her uncle ever talked about that? She frowned, trying to remember. “His family—my family—are supposed to have come from the steppe. A long time ago, I mean. He couldn’t remember that, nor could his grandfather, but he thought it was important. I don’t know why, maybe it made him feel different from the other merchants.” Water and rice. “My uncle said there was a farm, or something. They had water rights, and that meant they made more money than their neighbors. But that would have been hundreds and hundreds of years ago, if it’s true at all. And I must have had lots of other people as ancestors too.”