The Wolf of Oren-yaro

by K. S. Villoso

  To find myself alone in a stranger’s house without the loyalty of a single man or woman?

  I wondered whether Governor Gon Zheshan was responsible. He had certainly been a little too interested in Jin-Sayeng’s affairs than he ought to have been. Yet he was in that meeting room with us—had spent hours debating his cause—and I thought I had seen his face white with fright at the sight of the assassin. Perhaps I had only imagined it? Perhaps he had scheduled the attack so he would be there to see it through, and he had just been caught by surprise over Arro’s death. Anything was possible at this point.

  There was also Deputy Qun, who had been less than truthful to me since I’d met him. It was under his roof that I lost that one guard, under his roof where I received the letter informing me our meeting would be at The Silver Goose instead. That, and his wife’s cryptic words, made him just as much of a suspect as Gon Zheshan. I had made the mistake of relying on him without cause, because he was an official and I had assumed when I came here that someone was going to stick to politics the way I had planned to.

  If Rayyel was alive, which of them had him? He was too valuable a prisoner—he had to be alive. Perhaps they had asked the assassin to dispose only of me, because Rai was easier to manipulate. If only the fool man had not been so stubborn, we would have…

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Khine’s voice cut through the haze of my thoughts like a blade. I swallowed, noticing he was offering me a cup of tea.

  “It’s too late for tea,” I said, giving him my best smile.

  “That blood. You’re worried it was your husband.” He sat cross-legged beside me.

  There was no sense in hiding that part. I nodded. “There’s no way to tell for sure, is there?”

  “Would that I were a dog and could tell with one whiff.” He spoke so ruefully that I couldn’t help but grin. The sight of that made him smile. “If someone had died there, the city watch will know,” he added. “We can make the trip there in the morning.”

  “The city watch…” I began. I tried to find a sufficient excuse. “You said Ziori has paid men there. That means Lo Bahn would, too. If they see me…”

  “I can go alone.”

  “You would do that?”

  He thrust the cup of tea into my hands. “If it will help ease your worries.”

  I looked at the green liquid. He had not added milk this time. I took a sip and felt heat rush into my body. “You’ve already done so much for me,” I said in a low voice. “I wouldn’t know how to repay you.” I watched his eyes as I spoke, remembering my father’s lessons. That one—see how he lights up when he talks about this land he does not care about. He will fight harder than the others over it, so I will speak in favour of him keeping it. Look at people when you speak to them, Beloved Princess—listen to what they do not say.

  But Khine’s eyes lacked this light. Not expressionless, no—there was warmth in them, the sort I have not really seen in my whole life…not even in Rayyel, whom I had loved for so long. I knew I wasn’t supposed to trust people this fast; I had already made that mistake with Qun and Ziori and the others. I shouldn’t make it again.

  “If you insist…” he said.

  “I wasn’t.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough. But I was just going to ask about your husband. I had guessed a fair number of things from what you’re not telling me, and I’d hate to be presumptuous.”

  “All right,” I said, running my finger around the rim of the tea cup. “Tell me what you think so far.”

  “You had been apart from your husband for five years before we met that first time.”

  I was surprised he remembered. “I told you as much. Go on.”

  “You were to meet him at The Silver Goose. There, you had another argument, and he threw you out, but not before things became physical. You er…you stuck a knife in him? And now you’re afraid he’s dead?”

  I saw his eyes glance towards my hands. “I see. You’re scared of presuming that I’ll stick a knife in you, too.”

  He grinned. “One can’t be too careful these days. I’ve been knifed by women before.”

  I nodded, as if this was perfectly normal conversation. “Were you, perhaps, being inappropriate?”

  “Gods, no! There’s just some very violent people in these parts.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If you did knife him, it’s…well, it’s understandable.”

  “The bruises, you mean?” I shook my head. “I told you before. It’s not what you think.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. I’ve heard that story often enough. He’s good enough most of the time, when he isn’t drinking.” His face darkened.

  “My husband. He’s not…he would never lift a hand against me. For one thing, I would’ve never let him get away with it.” I looked down at my tea. “He’s a good man. For all his faults.”

  “So you say.”

  “When we were young…” I pulled my knees up, a wistful smile on my face. “Oh, all the other girls were madly in love with him. He was so stern and serious, but also handsome and thoughtful—the sort of man who opened doors for you not so you could praise him for being chivalrous but because he got there first and it was the right thing to do.”

  “Sounds like he was quite a prince,” Khine said.

  I looked at him, wondering if it was an innocent comment. Or was it a slip of the tongue, and Khine knew more about me than he let on? “He…was,” I said, keeping my eyes low in case they gave my suspicions away. “A rare sort. I didn’t like him the first time I met him, you understand. I thought he was too dull, too stuck-up. If men were swords, then he was the plain, unadorned one with the wooden hilt and a straight blade.”

  “That’s an interesting image.”

  “And he loved books. So, so much. You ever wanted to jab someone in the eye with a finger just because he would rather read than pay attention to you?”

  I saw Khine’s eyes dance towards the bookshelf, with his own little collection of books. “The bastard,” he said, after a moment.

  I laughed. “And the things he liked to talk about—economy and law and history. Oh, but you could fall asleep and wake up and he would still be talking about the perils of the lower classes and what that meant for the future of the nation’s children, if it means they’re going to choose to sail to foreign countries rather than staying at home and working on a trade that would better benefit the land.” I smiled at Khine when I paused for breath.

  “He sounds like a passionate man. A merchant, your husband?”

  “You could say that,” I said. I took another sip. “I didn’t like him, not at first. But I grew to love him. Yes. I loved him. I still do. You asked me that before. I’ve never—I’ve never had to say it out loud. Not to anyone. Not to him. We were an arranged marriage, my husband and me. Our parents had promised us to each other since the day I was born.”

  “The critical folly of arranged marriages,” Khine said. “A scholar from the capital said that, once. I believe he had other things in mind, but seeing as to how talk of economy bores you…”

  “No, I love it. Do go on,” I drawled.

  He snorted. “In my mind, the biggest folly is that marriages from the beginning are as business-like a transaction as you can get. Arranged marriages are even worse. At worst, you decide that love doesn’t play a part in it. At best, you take the love for granted—assume it is a given because married people are supposed to love each other anyway. You’ve never told him? Ever?”

  “Where is this going?” I grumbled over the rim of my tea cup.

  “Nowhere important,” he said. “You ever wondered if he needed to hear it?”

  “Weren’t you just telling me about how you’d hate to be presumptuous?”

  “I get curious. I’m working on it, believe me.”

  I drew my shoulders into a shrug. “I guess I never did,” I found myself saying. “I mean, why would he? It was our duty. For the good of our families…”

&
nbsp; “So does he think you hate him, then?”

  “He couldn’t. I married him. I gave him a son. I did everything required of me.”

  Khine held out a hand. “It’s not my intention to upset you. I apologize.”

  “I’m not upset,” I snapped.

  He gave me a look.

  “Yes, I heard my own voice. Let’s leave it at that.” I took a deep breath. “If he’s dead…”

  “There is no sense worrying until you know for sure. We will find out in the morning,” Khine said. His voice softened. “You should rest. You’ve been on that leg the whole day. Up the ladder, now. I’ll be down here.”

  I almost didn’t want to listen—I was sure that the tea was going to keep me up another hour, at least. But I nodded and went up the ladder, and to my surprise I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  This time, I dreamt of my wedding day: of Rayyel in his pearly-white robes, his thin beard trimmed, his hair combed and tied neatly beneath a black, silken headband. He had said the words perfectly, had declared he would honour and protect me to the end of my days. I had thought at the time that a girl could die happy, marrying such a man.

  I still do.

  ~~~

  I woke up to the sound of chatter downstairs. When I opened my eyes, I saw a ginger cat—a tomcat, I guessed by the thick scruff of fur around his neck and the mass of scars along his nose—sitting with his paws on my belly.

  The sight of him made me miss the dozen or so cats we kept in Oka Shto to keep the rats at bay. I greeted him groggily, and he responded with a quick meow and purring deep enough to penetrate the darkness. I wondered how he had come in, and then noticed a small window above the bed. It was held shut by a small hook, which explained why I had not seen it the night before. There was a crack in the corner where the cat must have wedged himself through.

  I stood on the mattress to push the window open while the cat weaved a circle through my legs, allowing a wave of muggy, after-rain air in to the room. I had been expecting daylight and tried to contain my disappointment. We had left Jin-Sayeng at the end of summer, and the turn of monsoon must’ve happened just as soon as we arrived in Anzhao City. The rains were heavier here than back home. Arro had once told me that the mass of forest-covered mountains that sheltered the empire’s western coastline had something to do with it—something about pushing at the air, or making the clouds thicker…I don’t remember. Rayyel probably would.

  Thinking about Rai reminded me of last night. Before the heart-crushing anxiety would begin again, I forced myself down the ladder. My leg felt better, although there was still a twinge of pain with every step I took.

  A woman was dusting the windows in the common room. She turned to me as soon as I stepped off the ladder. “Oh, hello,” she said. “You’re finally awake. We thought you’d sleep the whole day, to be honest.”

  The tomcat greeted her first, bounding past me to direct his purrs towards her like a faithless lover. She laughed. “You’ve made Olliver’s acquaintance, at least.”

  “Olliver?” I had not expected to hear a Kag name out here in the empire. The Zarojo detested the Kags—so much that Dragonlord Reshiro’s response to the empire’s attacks on Jin-Sayeng was to attempt to open trade with the people both our nations once swore against.

  “Khine read it from a book,” the woman said.

  “I thought Kag texts were banned here.”

  The woman smiled. She had a round face, sharpened by well-placed angles from her brows and an admirably pointed nose. Her skin had the pallor of someone who spent plenty of time indoors. “It’s interesting you would say that. He told me you were a little strange.”

  “Be nice, Inzali,” another woman called out from the kitchen. She popped her head through the doorway. “Please forgive our sister. She was raised by stray dogs.”

  “I’d have better family members if that were true,” Inzali retorted.

  The other woman waved a ladle at me. “I’m Thao. That’s Inzali. Khine told us about you. Said you fell into Manshi Ziori’s scheme. I don’t blame you. I can’t even count the number of complaints about her over the years…”

  “Thao,” Inzali said in a low voice. “I can smell burnt rice.”

  “Stray monkeys,” Thao said, glaring at her before disappearing behind the wall.

  I turned to Inzali. “You were saying, about the Kag texts?”

  “What? God, you are a strange one. No, they’re not banned. Frowned upon, I guess you’d say. The empire is too powerful to use the word ban for nations as small as the Kags’, or the Jins’.” She pressed her lips together, like someone who was used to offending people and didn’t particularly care one way or another. I immediately liked her. I was getting tired of people either fawning over me or downright ignoring me, and the sound of someone’s opinion—sarcastic though it was—was refreshing.

  “This Jin does not blame you,” I said, emphasizing the shorthand term for our people that would’ve been downright offensive under different circumstances. “We have to share land with the Kag, and saw the folly in our ways soon enough.”

  “Not without difficulties,” she said. “Didn’t you assassinate a king just for extending friendship to the Kags?”

  I took a seat beside the folded blankets Khine must’ve used last night. “There were many reasons why Dragonlord Reshiro Ikessar was assassinated. Contrary to popular opinion, it wasn’t because he opened our borders to the Kags, but because of the way he went about it and the many laws he violated in order to pass his whims. We still don’t know, exactly, who killed him. It wasn’t surprising, considering what he had to do to keep his throne during the merchants’ upheaval. I…”

  I noticed Inzali wasn’t so much listening to me as she was looking at me with clear interest. I blinked back, suddenly self-conscious. Five years without him, and I was still speaking too much like Rayyel sometimes. I didn’t know whether to be amused or horrified. “This is boring you, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all,” Inzali said. “But it’s clear why my brother would go out of his way to help you.”

  “Your brother is a kind man.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Inzali snorted. “Too kind, really. The stray rabble he picks up.” She craned her head towards Olliver, who had wandered over to the kitchen to bother Thao with his yowls.

  “That’s how we ended up with Inzali, you know,” Thao said, peeking out again. “Garbage dump, up by the Eanhe River. Do you want some tea?”

  “I would love some,” I said.

  “No milk in mine,” Inzali added.

  “You don’t deserve any,” Thao snapped at her. “Insulting our guest like our mother didn’t teach you any manners.” She returned to her cooking.

  “Where is Khine?” I asked.

  “He had to run errands. I think he’s dropping by the city watch on the way back,” Inzali said. I had forgotten that he had promised to ask around about The Silver Goose and felt relieved that he remembered.

  My eyes wandered over to the bookshelf. Now that Khine was not around, I was suddenly less self-conscious about attempting to read the Zirano script on the titles. I found the one I was looking for. “Texts of the Undying,” I mouthed. I turned back to Inzali. “Is Khine a physician?”

  “He would be now, if not for his soft heart and even softer head,” Inzali grumbled.

  “Inzali—” Thao barked from the kitchen.

  “Are we not telling people that now?” Inzali asked. “Because the last time I checked, everyone in Shang Azi knew already.”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “So I’m just getting ahead of it, see?” She shook her head. “Thao thinks it’s a shame, a taint on our family, and that the less said about it, the better. I think the less we talk about it, the easier it is for Khine to pretend it’s not a problem. He was studying to be a physician. Our mother scraped for years to send him to Anzhao City. He came and settled here before us—had managed to get into Kayingshe Academy, under Tashi Reng Hzi himsel
f, if you can believe it. He had one year left. That same year, Cho and Thao found work and left our home in the village of Phurywa.”

  “I’ve not heard of Phurywa,” I said. “That’s nowhere near these parts, is it?”

  “It’s at the southern tip of the empire. We had to take a ship.”

  “I was wondering why your names sounded different.”

  “Phurywa is part of Lay Weng Shio, which the Empire of Ziri-nar-Orxiaro occupied some few years ago,” Inzali said. She narrowed her eyes. “But as I was saying…”

  I inclined my head to the side. “Please, go on.”

  “Cho and Thao followed him to Anzhao City. I had to stay in Phurywa for a few more months because I was tutoring the mayor’s son. If I had been able to leave early…” She snorted. “Cho fell in with a bad crowd. Gambling. Khine stepped in to pay it off. He shouldn’t have.”

  “They would’ve killed Cho,” Thao said.

  Inzali bristled. “They wouldn’t dare. Does a dead goose lay golden eggs?”

  “You’re assuming that people from Shang Azi are as smart as you. Or have brains at all. I’ve seen some of those idiots smoke rat poison to get bleary,” Thao said, stepping through the doorway with two cups of tea. She handed one to me. “A family shame, like Inzali said. We spoiled our brother, I think.”

  “You and Khine both,” Inzali said. “A clout on the head or two would’ve fixed him. Now it’s too late.”

  “He was the youngest,” Thao said. She resembled Khine—darker than Inzali, thinner and smaller. You could see the muscle underneath her brawny arms. “Our father died before he was born, and he looked like him so much we couldn’t help ourselves.”

  “You couldn’t help yourselves,” Inzali snorted. She sniffed her tea. “And so now look where we are. That debt has not yet been paid, and in the meantime, we find ourselves stuck here, unable to leave without the fear of Lo Bahn’s wrath over our heads.”