Coin of Kings (The Powers of Amur Book 2)

by J. S. Bangs

  Josi spoke up, the first time that she had done so since dinner had started. “Adjan, you have to help out Navran. Or send someone.”

  Amashi hushed her daughter. Josi gave her mother a glare.

  Veshta cleared his throat loudly. “My lord and king, I’m deeply moved by your honor and your trust in me, and I most certainly seek to aid the Heir of Manjur and the King of Virnas in any way that I can.”

  Mandhi groaned inwardly. This florid introduction was Veshta’s way of softening a refusal.

  Veshta went on. “The stars are well upon our business in dyes, you understand. I called Adjan here from Uskhanda not merely for the blessings of the reign of the Heir, which are considerable, but for the need to have someone who maintains contact with our suppliers while I occupy myself with the aspects of production. Not to give him away—”

  “Oh, Veshta,” Josi said with some annoyance. “If you’re too busy to let Adjan work for the Heir, just say so.”

  Veshta closed his mouth and pressed his lips together.

  “For shame, Josi,” Amashi said. “Let your brother speak.”

  “I let him speak long enough, Mother,” Josi said.

  Amashi threw her hands up in consternation. “And in front of the Heir!”

  “Yes, in front of the Heir,” Josi said. Her eyes slipped from Amashi to Navran for a second, then she glanced down. “I mean, my lord and king, that I hope you would—oh, forget it. Adjan, you should just send—”

  “No,” Adjan said with heavy finality.

  There was a moment of fraught silence between Josi, Adjan, and Amashi. Mandhi was not entirely sure what had happened, but an unspoken bitterness seemed to hang between Josi and Adjan.

  Navran spoke quietly. “If you know anyone….”

  “Of course, my lord and king,” Veshta said quickly, dispelling the silence. “I will ask. There are other honorable Uluriya men in the city, who know silver and writing.”

  He nodded to himself and trailed off. The uncomfortable silence threatened to reassert itself, but Sadja cleared his throat.

  “Navran and Mandhi,” he said, “you know that my militia and I are preparing to return to Davrakhanda. There are some final preparations before we have to pack out of Virnas, which we should talk about after the meal. I don’t want to bore our guests,” he said, gesturing to the rest of the table.

  “Do you know for sure when you’re leaving?” Mandhi said.

  “No more than ten days,” Sadja said. “I received a report from Davrakhanda today, pointing out how important it is that I return. You understand that a king must not be away from his city for too long.”

  “Too soon,” Navran said. He was staring at his tea in consternation.

  Mandhi concurred. Sadja was the only one that had actual experience with rule. They’d be hard pressed to handle the city in his absence.

  “On the contrary, Navran-dar,” Sadja replied. “You have a militia and most of your ministers. You have the total loyalty of the Uluriya, more than a third of the city. There are many kings who take their thrones with less than that.”

  Navran looked at Sadja, gripping the cup of tea tightly in his hand. The chill in his eyes showed both defiance and desperation. “Ah.”

  Mandhi turned the topic of conversation back to trivialities, and they managed to escape the meal without further tension. When the moon rose, Veshta and his family finally took leave of the palace, receiving Navran’s promise that they would be invited again.

  “Come with me to my quarters,” Sadja said to them as soon as Veshta’s party disappeared. “Navran-dar and Mandhi both.”

  They marched toward the north wing of the palace where Sadja had his residence. The moon was just past full, and the shadows of the high, sparse clouds moved across the courtyard. There seemed to be extra members of Sadja’s militia guarding the approach to Sadja’s quarters, more than Mandhi had seen before. She tensed in alarm.

  “What is this about, Sadja-dar?” she said.

  “I want to propose an exchange,” he said as they passed beneath an arched doorway into the palace. Soldiers stepped together to close off the doorway behind them. Navran looked back and pursed his lips.

  Sadja’s chamber was brightly lit with a myriad of oil lamps, with a number of tired-looking women and anxious soldiers waiting around the edges. In the center of the room, sitting on a cushion, was a boy of about twelve years whom Mandhi had never seen before. He had gangly arms and a sullen expression, but he sat rigidly in the Palm posture, suggesting a good education. Bhargasa stood behind the boy with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  Sadja moved to next to Bhargasa and rested a hand on the boy’s head. “Navran-dar, Mandhi. This is Sundasha-kha. My nephew. He is the son of my brother-in-law Ashturma-kha, who acts as my regent in Davrakhanda while I am away. Until I marry and father a son, this is my heir. Sundasha-kha, greet the king of Virnas.”

  The boy performed a full prostration, pressing his forehead into the ground before Navran, then rising to kiss Navran’s hand. Navran accepted the obeisance mutely, never taking his eyes off of Sadja. The unease in Mandhi’s gut grew stronger.

  When Sundasha resumed his place on the cushion, Navran said, “Why is he here?”

  Sadja put on an expression of bland innocence. “He’ll be staying with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Mandhi will be coming with me to Davrakhanda.”

  A laugh of indignation escaped Mandhi’s lips. “What? I’m not going anywhere.”

  Sadja looked at her with compassion, an expression which she immediately distrusted. “I’m afraid that I insist on it as a condition of our alliance. The custom is age-old, going back to the days of the Seven Kingdoms. Two kingdoms in alliance exchange heirs. Should you betray me, you’ll forfeit the life of your heir. Should I betray you, the same happens to me.”

  “No need,” Navran said. “I’m not betraying anyone.”

  “Do I know that?” Sadja said. “And how do you know that I won’t betray you?”

  Navran ground his teeth together. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers for a moment, then said quickly, “That is our alliance? Untrusting men using the women and children to keep each other in check?”

  “Untrusting,” Sadja said. He folded his hands and began to pace slowly behind Sundasha, who sat motionless on the cushion. “You use the word as if it were a personal flaw and not a necessary trait of a king. Let me be blunt, Navran-dar: though I have no reason to doubt your honor when you say that you would not betray me, I cannot simply trust you. I don’t have that luxury. And you should not trust me.”

  As he said these last words he grabbed Navran’s shoulder and pulled him close. He pressed his forehead against Navran’s and spoke softly, eye to eye. “Do you understand? For men in our position, trust without surety is a way to get your head removed from your shoulders.”

  Mandhi shivered. If she had any trust for Sadja beforehand, it had dissipated now.

  Sadja let go of Navran’s shoulder and returned to pacing. “And we do trust each other in this exchange. You trust me to protect Mandhi and the Heir she carries. And I trust you with the life of Sundasha-kha. Sunitu,” he said, addressing the boy with a familiar nickname, “do you trust Navran-dar to care for you?”

  The boy’s expression had been stoic and impassive up to this point, but at Sadja’s question the mask melted, and his lips and eyes dropped into fearful uncertainty.

  “I trust you, Sadja-dar,” he said, though his voice caught. “If you send me here, I’ll be safe.”

  The poor child. But the potter’s wheel in Mandhi’s mind spun. If they didn’t acquiesce, then this was a stalemate. They needed Sadja’s support and this way they would have it, but on Sadja’s conditions. Conditional support was better than nothing at all.

  Navran looked at Sadja and shook his head. “No.”

  “Yes,” Mandhi said. Navran had the stubbornness to resist Sadja until the sun came up and blood was drawn. It was up to
her to break it. Her blood seethed, but her mind was clear. “Sadja-dar is right. The custom is old—I’ve read it in the histories—and we have no reason to suspect Sadja of treachery.”

  “This isn’t treachery?” Navran said.

  “It’s necessary,” Sadja said. “It’s customary. Your sentiment doesn’t enter into it.”

  Everyone was silent for a few breaths.

  “For how long?” Mandhi said quietly.

  Sadja shrugged. “I don’t know. Until we mutually agree that it isn’t necessary. My position in the north isn’t yet secure, which is why I’m leaving Virnas in haste, but after the empire has stabilized, perhaps this gesture will no longer be necessary.”

  Navran lifted his chin. “And if I refuse?”

  “Will you?” Sadja raised his chin and looked up at Navran with a gaze of defiance. “My militia still holds your gates and guards your palace.”

  Navran’s hands formed into fists. Mandhi stepped forward and touched his arm. “No need to fight each other here. I’ll go. If you will, you may consider me your spy in Davrakhanda, keeping an eye on Sadja-dar.”

  She meant it as a joke, but Sadja did not seem to take it as such. He nodded in complete seriousness and said, “You already see the advantages. There are reasons why the custom has survived so long.”

  Navran’s eyes burned with desperation. The burns on his face reddened, and his hands trembled inside their silken gloves. She remembered the pain that he must feel, half-healed feet holding up a half-broken body.

  “Mandhi,” he whispered. “Don’t do this. I need you.”

  I know, she thought. But she couldn’t say it; her duty with Navran was always to point him to what he had to do, and in this case their choice was clear.

  “You don’t need me,” she said. “You must stand on your own.”

  He leaned forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t. I need—”

  She pushed his hand away. He grimaced in pain and rocked for a moment. “You don’t need me,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

  He closed his eyes and dropped his head. Mandhi took a deep breath.

  I only lack someone to keep an eye on Navran, she thought. She folded her hands and fixed Sadja with a gaze of silk-covered bronze. “We agree. You must give me time to prepare.”

  “A few more days. The same as the rest of my men have.”

  She bowed her head to him. “As you wish, Sadja-dar. Am I free to return to my chamber, now?”

  “Of course you’re free. You aren’t a prisoner, here or in Davrakhanda.”

  She smiled at him, with more silk and less bronze. “Of course. Come, Navran-dar. We have a lot to do.”

  Navran turned on his heel and marched from the room ahead of Mandhi, passing through the gauntlet of Sadja’s guards in silence. Once they were beyond the soldiers’ hearing and into the lamp-lit dim of the inner palace, Navran stopped. The passage was empty even of servants. The lamplight threw stark shadows across his face, scored with lines of worry. Navran leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, and looked at Mandhi with a fierce, desperate expression.

  “Mandhi. What will I do without you?”

  Sometimes the right answer was to lie.

  “You’ll be fine,” she said. “You know what you’re doing.”

  Navran

  Mandhi is gone.

  He kept saying the words to himself in his mind, hoping that they would cease to be true, or at least he would come to understand them. Three days ago he had stood atop the east gate and watched her go, marching out with Sadja and Bhargasa at the head of a column of soldiers which trailed down the road like smoke. They would go to Uskhanda, and from there sail to Davrakhanda—nearly as far away from Virnas as she could get and remain within Amur. The star-iron ring felt especially heavy on his finger that day.

  He sighed and looked aside at Dastha. “Are we ready?”

  Dastha nodded. A half-dozen of Navran’s personal guards were to escort him today, on his first attempt to do one of those tasks which Mandhi had handled so well for him beforehand. She had done her best to prepare Navran over the last eight days, taking long meals and walks with him as she impressed upon him everything she knew and had exploited as his advisor: the names of the powerful saghada in Virnas, the names of notable khadir families which had sought conversion, the notable khadir families which had not sought conversion, and the state of the civil service as they had discovered it.

  How strange that he had come to depend so thoroughly on a person who had tried to have him killed.

  Today’s task was to visit Veshta and beg for help. It should be easy. So easy that he and Mandhi had agreed he should do it first thing after she left, as a way to ease into more difficult situations. So he stood in the palace courtyard, dressed in blue silk and leaning on a silver-inlaid cane, grinding his teeth against the pain of his half-healed burns. He looked like a proper king, surrounded by Dastha and his personal guard in white-and-silver livery. It should impress anyone who saw him. He hoped.

  Dastha and the other guards were looking at him. Waiting, he realized. He was supposed to give the order. Right. Because Sadja was not here to give orders, nor even to prompt Navran to do so. “We go,” he said. Dastha repeated his command in a loud voice, and the little group marched out with Dastha at Navran’s side.

  The men marched too quickly. The burns on his legs and feet throbbed, and even leaning heavily on the cane he couldn’t keep up. Dastha noticed and slowed his pace to match Navran’s stride.

  “How are you healing, my lord and king?” he asked quietly.

  Navran was breathing hard, leaning heavily on the cane. “Fine,” he said. But why was he lying? “Walking hurts like stepping on thorns.”

  “I can tell,” Dastha said. Damn. Navran thought he was hiding it better than that. Dastha went on, “But the men admire you for it.”

  “Admire me?”

  “You faced down the mad thikratta and won a kingdom by passing through his fire. The soldiers like someone with battle scars. Like you’re an old veteran with an ear missing.”

  “Will that hold the kingdom together?” Navran asked.

  “I dunno. We like it. That’s all.” He looked downcast.

  Ah, Navran had been too harsh with his response. “It helps,” Navran said. “Can’t rule without an army.”

  Dastha smiled.

  The walk to Veshta’s was not long. At the door, Habdana was waiting for them and led them into the antechamber immediately. “Veshta will see you inside,” he said as the soldiers sat down on the cushions against the wall.

  “Bring tea for my men,” Navran said, then passed quickly through the men’s ablution chamber, splashed himself with water and muttered the appropriate prayers, and entered into the inner courtyard.

  “Ah, Navran-dar!” said Veshta loudly as he stepped into the sunlight. “Come, sit down.”

  Two stools waited next to the pool in the center of the courtyard. Navran started toward them, hobbling on his cane, but Veshta darted up and took Navran’s hand to help him the rest of the way.

  “Thank you,” Navran said with a groan as he settled onto the cushion.

  “Don’t thank me,” Veshta said. “I should have had Habdana stay to help you in. Where is the boy anyway?”

  “I told him to get tea for my guard.”

  “Oh yes, tea. Josi should be here in a moment with ours.”

  It took him a moment to remember which of the newcomers was Josi. Ah, yes: Veshta’s younger sister, pretty and pleasingly plump, but most memorable for the way she had vexed her mother Amashi at dinner. Navran had spent enough time in Veshta’s household to appreciate anyone who stood up to Amashi.

  “How is the household?” he asked.

  Veshta took on a grave expression. “Mandhi is missed already, as I’m sure you know. Srithi cries for the loss of her friend every day. It’s good that Josi and Dhanmi are here to provide Srithi with some female companionship. Still, the household is fuller than it’s b
een in a while, and I like it. When I was growing up here it seemed like there were two dozen people here, as well as an uncountable number of aunts and uncles who lived in the vicinity. But my siblings have taken our business to various parts, except that Adjan has returned—ah, here’s Josi.”

  Josi came in from the kitchen, bearing a lacquered tea tray laden with a steaming clay pot and two smaller ceramic cups. The bun of her hair was done messily, as the last time Navran had seen her, with frizzy strands drifting down both sides of her face. She bit the corner of her lip. She glanced up at him—she had such large, round eyes—but seeing Navran’s stare she immediately glanced aside.

  Josi set the tray on the edge of the pool and picked up the first cup. “Tea, Navran-dar? Oh, dear.” Her hand shook as she offered it to Navran, and the empty cup slipped. Navran’s hand darted out and caught it before it could shatter against the tiles. The sudden movement prompted a flare of pain, but he bit down on the cry in his throat.

  “Good thing I have a quick hand,” he said, proffering the cup to Josi.

  “You see why I wasn’t often asked to serve tea as a girl,” Josi said blushing. “I’m so sorry, my lord and king.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Navran said. “We didn’t break it.”

  Josi smiled, and taking the tea pot in both hands filled Navran’s cup. “There,” she said. “At least I can pour tea without breaking anything.”

  “You have one left,” Navran said, gesturing to Veshta.

  “She won’t be nervous serving me,” Veshta said. “I’m just her brother, not the king of Virnas.”

  “No,” she said giving Veshta an impish smile. “Though I might pour hot tea in your lap again.”

  Veshta burst out laughing. He took the cup from Josi and said to Navran, “That’s an old family tale. Josi was a little girl, about Kidri’s age, and we had fought earlier that day. A child’s quarrel. I don’t even recall what it was. Anyway, that evening my aunt Uparthi is visiting with my cousins, and our mother sends Josi in to bring us some tea. So when Josi gets to me I say something to her—”