Eventually, the tunnel opened up into something more pleasant: a small pond, lit by sunlight seeping through a crevasse in the ceiling. Leafy vines with tiny, blue flowers crept along the walls. I turned to Ong, who was busy humming to himself. We stopped in front of a wall with a wooden lever sticking out. He pulled on the lever. A door swung out from behind the vines, revealing a corridor with brick walls.
“After you,” he said. He was the most polite official I had met in a while. But perhaps my perception was dulled after my experiences with Governor Zheshan and Deputy Qun.
We reached a courtyard. There were no windows anywhere that I could see, which made me feel as if I was inside a stone box with the lid open. There were more ponds here, held inside intricate structures decorated by rectangular statues that were supposed to represent something about the nature of the human soul, or so the signs indicated. It all flew by me, although I’m sure an Ikessar would happily spend weeks analyzing such concepts. Water trickled from some of them, which looked pleasing, at least.
“Let me guess,” I said, when I caught Ong looking at me. “More mage-work?”
“Our mages have perfected it into an art form,” he said.
“What about the fish? Did they make those, too?”
“I don’t ahh…think that’s possible.” He scratched his chin, wondering whether I was insulting him or not.
I tried to appease him with a small smile. “Forgive my candour. We’re ignorant about such things in Jin-Sayeng, you understand.”
He nodded. “So I’ve heard.”
“Enlighten me. I didn’t hear much about mages in Anzhao City.”
“It’s because Anzhao is so provincial,” Ong explained. “Mages are sanctioned by the Zarojo Empire, hand-picked by the Esteemed Emperor himself. Prince Yuebek’s interests in Zorheng allowed us to use his connections. Many of his closest friends have what the Dageians would call an affinity to the agan fabric—mages, walkers between this world and Sheyor’r on the other side.”
“As I said, we don’t know much about the agan in Jin-Sayeng.”
“Your warlords are stubborn, and temperamental.”
“They prefer to stick with what works. It’s a sensible approach. The agan has done more harm for my nation than good.” At any other time, the idea that I would find myself defending our warlords would’ve made me laugh my fool head off.
“It is precisely your lack of understanding, and your lack of a formal body of mages, that makes it such a dangerous thing,” Ong said. “Were you aware that many of your dragonriders of old did, in fact, have this affinity to the agan? It is common knowledge here in Ziri-nar-Orxiaro.”
“Never say that in front of the other warlords. You’d have your head rolling around their feet before you could finish talking.”
He giggled nervously. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“As it happens, I’ve heard about it. That our dragon-towers were built explicitly to channel agan, because dragons are both attracted and can be controlled through it. I don’t know. We don’t ride dragons anymore. When the occasional afflicted child is discovered, they are taken to the temples, and the priests or priestesses will have them sent to the Kag or Dageis or out here, where they have a better chance at life.”
“I’ve heard…”
“I know what you’ve heard,” I said. “That we throw them to the fishes. If the practice is done, I’ve never condoned it.” Inwardly, I wondered if that was true. It was not something I had looked into over the last five years. Between warlords debating about rice and land and grazing rights, family inheritances, road maintenance (particularly who should pay for them), and the balance of power in Jin-Sayeng, I simply hadn’t had the time.
“Here in Ziri-nar-Orxiaro, of course, we don’t have such…” I saw him linger between the word superstitions and stupidity. “Practices,” he finally decided. “The use and study of the agan is widely accepted. We have not perfected it as Dageis has, but Emperor Yunan has allocated a healthy amount of funds for the mages that, in time, we may catch up—even exceed—their prowess. We have an airship route, do you know? Powered by the agan, drawn by skilled mages forming part of its crew. It’s the first of its kind in the empire. It starts in An Mozhi and goes all the way to the southern coastal cities.”
“You sound like you idolize Dageis.”
“Idolize is such a crude word. They inspire us. Of course, there are a lot of things we do better. Our systems, our government…we think their idea of an Elected Emperor is extremely…shall we say…risky?”
“You have elected officials,” I pointed out.
“Minor government officials, elected by respected individuals, not the common people. A citizen of Dageis has too much power—they can buy themselves into society without anyone batting an eye. Ziri-nar-Orxiaro’s government is like a system of pulleys. An interconnected system that doesn’t allow any one of us, even the Esteemed Emperor, too much power.”
“That is how Jin-Sayeng is structured, too.” I caught a look of amusement on his face. “Are you going to say not quite, Governor Ong?”
“Pardon me. I did not mean to offend.”
“Speak your mind. It is a sorry day when a ruler decides to hear nothing else but her own words.”
“Your nation…your warlords have too much power. Yes, it makes it difficult for a single one to wrest control of the entire nation. But it also makes it difficult to get anything done. You know this, I think.” He gave me an awkward sort of bow. “It is only an opinion. There are many solutions to such a problem as yours, but it is not one I am qualified to address. In any case, the other cities find it unfair that we have such valuable imperial resources such as mages at our beck and call, but it is only natural for Prince Yuebek to want beauty in his surroundings, don’t you think? Zorheng City has been his home for far too long, now. Ah!”
We had reached the end of the courtyard. A group of guards were standing along a long flight of stone steps. I saw a figure hurtle down from the top of the landing with such speed that I thought a basilisk or some other beast had appeared behind me.
But the figure had his hands on my arm before I could snap out of my stupor. A pale face, fringed by oiled black hair and a thin, curling beard, appeared. “Queen Talyien!” the man said with the eagerness and excitement of a small child. “You came! You actually came!”
I gave Ong a glance. He was on his knees, forehead pressed on the ground, hands outstretched. I turned back to the man. “Prince Yuebek,” I said. I wondered if I should bow. It was difficult to with his fingers firmly clutching my sleeve. I managed an awkward nod.
“You must’ve had a terrible journey,” Yuebek said. “Absolutely terrible. Those roads…I don’t even travel there anymore. I keep telling Ong to get it fixed. Ong! Why haven’t those roads been cleared of bandits yet?”
“We don’t have enough guards to spare,” Ong said, without lifting his head.
“Excuses, excuses,” Yuebek said, clicking his tongue. “That’s all he does, you see? It’s why he doesn’t have a son. Weak man like that…” He jeered at Ong, who remained prostrate, before turning back to me. “Come, now. I will show you how the Empire treats its royalty. Music!” He snapped his fingers at the crowd.
The faint sound of a lute began to play.
Yuebek turned to me with an eager smile, which I felt obligated to return. He held his arm out. After a moment’s hesitation, I took it. He wrapped it around his elbow and gleefully led me up the stairs.
Chapter Fifteen
The Fifth Son
The prophet Kibouri once said that Jin-Sayeng’s royals would be her downfall.
He said a great deal of many things, actually, most of which Warlord Yeshin thought were bullshit. But I always found his texts which dissected the structure of the Jin-Sayeng royal clans interesting. He had gone on a two hundred page tirade on the Oren-yaro, for instance: criticizing our ideals and calling them too difficult, too rigid, and arguing that the common people would find i
t difficult to relate to us and thus, forever separate our will and theirs.
There is a great deal to be said for perspective, even if coming from a man whose insolence would make you want to throw him off a cliff.
Being inside Prince Yuebek’s palace in Zorheng reminded me of home, and Kibouri’s texts, simply because of the contrast. In Jin-Sayeng, respect was expected for the royal clans, especially heads and heirs, but not mindless grovelling. Walk into a room with a dozen warlords and you’d be lucky to get out in less than an hour without an argument. Even as Queen, every decision I made was questioned, weighed, analyzed, prodded. I couldn’t even have my breakfast tea without at least one person remarking about something I said.
When Prince Yuebek and I entered the main hall, all I could see were the backs of people’s heads as they dropped and remained, unmoving, on the ground. The lute music faded behind us. As the guards outside pushed the doors shut, I heard nothing but the clicking of Yuebek’s clogs on the marble floor.
We reached the center of the hall. Yuebek released my arm and looked around, a look of annoyance on his face. “Is this how we greet our guest?” he said. “The Queen of Jin-Sayeng? Liven things up a little!”
He snapped both his fingers. People scattered; I noticed most avoided looking straight at Yuebek. He turned to me, grinning from ear-to-ear. “I can’t recall the last time we entertained someone of importance in these halls,” he said. “Ong, Governor Ong, he has the most droll visitors. Isn’t that right, Ong?”
“A necessity in my service to your esteemed father, Esteemed Prince,” Ong said from behind us.
I heard music again, this time an ensemble of three or four different instruments and the shrill, singing voice of a young girl. Yuebek’s face broke into a grin. “That’s more like it!” he said. “Now, you must be hungry. You’ve not tried Zarojo cuisine until you’ve eaten in Zorheng. I made sure to hire the best cook in the Empire—a native Herey, can you believe it? From my father’s palace! Come!” He took my arm again, even when I instinctively tried to shrink back. Subtlety was not this man’s style.
The fanfare—singing girl and all—followed us all the way to the dining hall. There was a long table, with giant, plush chairs. Yuebek seated me right next to him, never once taking his hands off me. A servant greeted us almost immediately with plum wine and tureens of cream-coloured soup.
“Really, Esteemed Prince, this is all too much…” I began, intending to be polite.
His face suddenly twisted into a frown. “Is it?”
I drew back, unsure of how to respond to the sudden hostility. He gave a short bark of laughter. “Perhaps it is!” he cried out. He turned around and pointed at the girl. “Cut her tongue out.”
I heard the indrawn breaths of almost everyone in the room. The girl broke off from her singing and fell silent. She was pale as a sheet.
Yuebek broke into a giggling fit, slamming his hands on the table. “A joke. A joke! You people are too serious. But really,” he added, tightening his jaw, “take her away. Find someone better.”
Two guards came for the girl. Yuebek turned to the musicians. “Why did you stop?”
The music started again, like a funeral song.
I realized that Yuebek had, during the whole exchange, forgotten about touching me. I dropped my hands under the table, wondering if he would notice. He didn’t—his attention was now occupied by the arrival of a mound of steaming crayfish on a large tray.
“Fresh from the river!” he exclaimed. He clapped his hands and turned to me. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“No,” I lied. We had crayfish often enough from the River Agos, but I was starting to realize that honesty was the worst approach with this man. “Zorheng continues to amaze me. Governor Ong was just telling me about all the work your mages have done for your city. It is quite remarkable, Esteemed Prince.”
He seemed pleased with my response. For the next little while, he did not attempt conversation as we ate. That table was large enough to have seated an entire army, but we were alone—I didn’t notice Governor Ong anywhere. In the back of my mind, I remembered Arro telling me that Yuebek was married to Ong’s daughter. Yet I had not seen her anywhere and no one, so far, had thought to mention her.
The entire situation was so unsettling that I couldn’t do much except pick at my food. When Yuebek was finished eating, the servants came, swooping away the empty shells and bringing in large bowls of water for us to clean our hands in. “I assume you know why I came here,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel. I dropped them back down to my sides, hoping he wouldn’t try to grab them again.
Yuebek looked surprised. “You didn’t come here to see Zorheng?”
“I…of course, I did, Esteemed Prince,” I said. I fished for the proper words. “I had wanted to see it since we first arrived in Anzhao City. I had heard such great things from those who would speak about it. Most seem too in awe to tell me much.” I wondered if he would pick up on the thin insult.
He didn’t. He broke into a wide grin. “Good! Good. It is a marvel, you know. A city forgotten by my father, run into ruins by such officials as Ong, but when I arrived, I set them straight, showed them the error of their ways. I made this all happen. I…the rice cakes!” He clapped his hands as the tray of desserts arrived. “You must try the rice cakes! They’ve been working so hard in the kitchens.”
I took a purple-coloured one, sprinkled with a kind of white cheese, and nibbled politely. “As I was saying, Esteemed Prince, visiting you had been in the agenda. But I needed to speak with my husband, Lord Rayyel, first. I believe you’re aware of how that turned out.”
“I am,” Yuebek said distractedly. He dabbed a handkerchief over his lips. “A travesty. Such a thing would’ve never happened in Zorheng City.”
I glanced at the guards standing behind him. “I can believe it.”
“But let’s leave the past in the past, shall we?” He pushed the dessert tray away and pointed at a servant. “Bring more wine. Make sure the lady gets her fill.”
I grimaced, but didn’t protest when a servant bent over to refill my drink. “It’s delicious, isn’t it?” Yuebek asked. “We only get the best in Zorheng. We have our wine delivered straight from Lay Weng Shio, where they have the sweetest plums. Why else would my father have wanted it for the empire when he first took over the throne? It is such a dull little nation otherwise—so rustic, so unrefined. A little like your Jin-Sayeng, almost, at least before you decided to rub elbows with us. Now, about your husband.” He shifted in his seat, turning so that his entire body faced me. “I believe you were discussing terms concerning his abdication?”
I blinked. “No, Esteemed Prince.”
“So you were trying to reunite with him? Bring him back to face his responsibilities?” The contempt was clear in his voice.
“I had hoped…we would make a decision for the betterment of our nation,” I replied. “Regardless of events, I wanted to move forward. The last thing Jin-Sayeng needs is its rulers rising against each other once more.”
“A wise thought,” Yuebek said. “But flawed. What does your husband bring to the table?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“The purpose of a marriage is to unite two parties. Power to power, royal blood to royal blood. What is strong can only be made stronger with the addition of something of value. Entire empires have been built because of this. Can you imagine trying to carve out a nation like Ziri-nar-Orxiaro from the ground up? Our lives are finite. So what did marrying your husband bring? I’ve heard he has no army, that his clan number less than fifty—minor families with muddied blood. I’ve heard his mother has cloistered herself inside this temple she calls the Citadel to make it sound more important than what it really is—a stinking hovel in the middle of the mountains. That she bathes in goat’s blood and makes love to all her priests under the moonlight.” He smiled. His eyes were very dark, almost black. Before I could frame a proper response, he turned to h
is servant.
“Ong,” Yuebek said. “Where’s Ong?”
“I will fetch him at once, Esteemed Prince.”
“He shouldn’t have disappeared in the first place!” Yuebek fumed. The servant fled, like a whipped dog.
“Our betrothal brought peace to the land,” I said, when Yuebek turned back to me. “The people hold the Ikessars with high regard.”
“The common people? Who cares about what the common people think?” Yuebek laughed. “Oh, my father will say, mind you, that the common people keeps the world turning. But common people need to be led. Their opinions are often misguided. I’ve studied your politics. The Ikessars represent the least threat to the warlords. All of you—you Oren-yaro included—know that as soon as one of you are able to gain the resources, you can easily dispose of them and seize control of the entire nation. Isn’t that what your father tried to do?”
“His hand was forced,” I said. “The land was in peril. In those days, we had no king.”
“You had a regent. Your father killed him.”
“An unworthy man. The Ikessars were starting to dabble in the forbidden arts.” I took a deep breath. “But I am not here to argue politics with you, Esteemed Prince. My husband is in trouble. I’ve been told he’s in Governor Gon Zheshan’s dungeons. What Zheshan wants with him, I don’t know, but…”
“Let him rot there,” Yuebek said. He looked up just as Governor Ong arrived. There was more sweat on him than back in the boat, although the air in the dining hall was reasonably cool. Yuebek greeted him with disdain. “There you are, you lazy fart. Get my collection.”
“Esteemed Prince?”
“In my room. Do I need to repeat myself? Have you gone deaf?”
Ong shuffled away. “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I said, trying not to let the whole exchange distract me. “I will be courting civil war, otherwise.”
The Wolf of Oren-yaro Page 22
