by J. S. Bangs
“You all stay here,” Navran said. “The door is guarded. None of you leave without an escort. Thudra doesn’t leave at all.”
Thudra looked at Navran and attempted to affect his usual sneer, but the surprise and gladness beneath it made his glare less effective. “Are you fattening us with kindness before you kill us?”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“Don’t you understand anything?” Thudra went on. “Don’t you know how many ways this could backfire on you?”
“I’ve been warned. I’ll be ready.” He moved toward the door, where a pair of guards were already waiting. “I would miss our games of jaha if you died.”
Sarmadi turned and looked at him. Her face was wet with tears. “Why?” she asked. “Why are you doing this?”
Navran hesitated a moment. “Pity,” he said quietly. He met her stare and said more loudly, “That is how it is with kings.”
Mandhi
“Ah, Mandhi,” the Prince Imperial’s ambassador Amitu said as he entered the room adjacent to Mandhi’s chamber. He was tall and thin, with a narrow mustache and a balding scalp, and he greeted Mandhi with a boisterous grin. Mandhi rose and bowed, and the ambassador pressed her hand in his.
“A great pleasure to see you, Amitu-kha,” Mandhi said sweetly. “When I came to Davrakhanda I did not anticipate that I would chance to meet with a speaker of the Emperor’s household.”
“Nor did I anticipate this moment,” Amitu said. “The events of Virnas are known only as a rumor here in the north, and I am so delighted to chance to meet the sister of newly seated king of Virnas.”
Well, then. They had both as good as announced their intent to milk the other for knowledge; but it was nice to have the purpose of the meeting acknowledged. Mandhi bowed her head and gestured to the table in the center of the room. The table was set with a white cotton cloth and cushions on either side, and the smell of coriander, garlic, and oil from the kitchen at the end of the hall wafted through the doorway.
“Shall we sit?” she said. “Dinner will be served shortly.”
“Wonderful, wonderful,” Amitu said. He sat cross-legged atop the cushion in the Moon posture, and the servant who had followed him through the door took up a position mutely behind him.
Mandhi sat on her own cushion and glanced back at Aryaji, sitting on a cushion in the corner. Moments like this made Mandhi glad that Sadja had provided her with a maid; if she was going to dine with the king and his guests, it would be awkward if she had no servant of her own.
“Who prepares the meal?” Amitu asks.
“An Uluriya cook from the city. Phauram, I believe is his name.”
“And the food is….” Amitu hesitated, his hand grasping at the air over his shoulder as if to find the words there. “That is, I’m told that the Uluriya will only eat dishes specially prepared.”
Mandhi smiled at this gently. “The kitchen must be purified, and the one who prepares it clean. That’s why I insisted we meet in these halls, which have been purified, and eat the food of my cook. But as for ingredients, you’ll find that our palate is much the same as yours. Unless you don’t eat fish.”
“Of course, of course,” Amitu said. “One always appreciates the fish in Davrakhanda.”
“Perhaps,” Mandhi said, “if the Prince Imperial or his household were ever to visit Virnas you might eat at a table prepared by Paidacha, the cook for Navran-dar. He’s renowned throughout the south.”
“Is he?” Amitu said politely. “There are cooks in the Moon Palace—”
“Oh, I’m sure that the Prince Imperial and his household eat well.”
“Yet not so well that Praudhu-dar is determined to bring them with him to Majasravi.”
“Oh?” Mandhi said, raising her eyebrow. “Does the Prince Imperial intend to return to Majasravi soon?”
A maid entered bearing a tea tray. She set cups before Mandhi and Amitu and filled them with strong black tea, adding a spoonful of cane syrup to Amitu’s cup at his request. She bowed and backed out of the room. Amitu lifted his cup to his lips and blew.
He sipped before responding. “Praudhu-dar will, of course, take the Seven-Stepped Throne after his father.”
“I imagine he must,” Mandhi said. “But when? Has he left Gumadha?”
“Not yet,” Amitu said. “Not as far as I know.”
“Has something delayed him? Navran-dar of Virnas would greet him as Emperor, once he has entered the Ushpanditya.”
“I’ll bring his greetings to the Prince Imperial the next time I see him,” Amitu said cautiously. “But he is delayed by… the Prince must prepare before attempting to enter the Ushpanditya.”
Attempting to enter. Evidently the Prince anticipated resistance. She wondered if Sadja was the cause of it. “Preparations are always necessary,” she said. “Alas, in Virnas we hear so little of what happens in Majasravi. Especially now that Navran-dar has taken the throne, and must put the kingdom in order.”
“With Navran-dar on the throne how, precisely, has Thudra-kha been disposed of?” Amitu asked.
Thudra-kha, she noted. Those in Virnas who spoke of Thudra had disposed of the honorific entirely, but it seemed the imperial messenger was reluctant to strip Thudra of his title. It was Praudhu’s father who had appointed Thudra’s line to the throne; she would have to speak carefully.
“Navran-dar holds Thudra-kha captive,” she said. “But he is treated honorably. Navran-dar has been merciful.”
“Ah,” Amitu said, and Mandhi was unable to discern whether his tone meant approval.
A servant at the door rang a bronze gong, and dinner was served. Garlicky fried fish atop a bed of saffron rice spiced with coriander and dried figs, with flakes of dried seaweed sprinkled atop. Dried seaweed was a peculiarity of Davrakhanda that Mandhi was not yet accustomed to, but Amitu didn’t blink at it.
Paidacha would have done better, she thought as she tasted it. But for a less spoiled palate, a perfectly fine meal. They ate a few minutes in silence.
“Tell me,” Mandhi said, “is the Prince Imperial relieved to be rid of Ruyam? He kept Praudhu-dar’s father captive….”
“The mad thikratta,” Amitu said with what seemed like wholly genuine revulsion. He made a sign to ward off evil. “A curse upon Amur and the line of Kupshira.”
“I see your opinion is similar to that of the Uluriya.”
“What other opinion could we have?” He scowled and shoveled a pinch of rice into his mouth with a corner of roti.
“Then you must be glad that Navran-dar has eliminated him.”
“Glad to be rid of him, at least,” Amitu said. “We thank Navran-dar and Sadja-dar both.”
“Sadja-dar eliminated Thudra-kha, but Navran-dar destroyed the thikratta.” If the imperial house had any fondness for the house of Thudra, she would rather let Sadja take the credit for his downfall. But Ruyam was Navran’s prize.
“Is that so?” Amitu said. “The stories that we’ve heard have been so contradictory.”
“I was present for all the events,” Mandhi said. “If you’ll allow me—”
“By all means, dear Mandhi, I await your telling.”
The story, as she told it, was carefully edited. She gave Sadja the credit for the trickery which drew Thudra out of Virnas and allowed the Uluriya to seize the gates. The subsequent battle for control of the city she ascribed to Navran and Sadja together, but the final act of courage which brought Ruyam down was given entirely to Navran’s credit. As it should be.
She made no mention of the old discord between her and Navran, nor of the fact that Navran was not truly her brother. No need to give the Prince Imperial leverage to split the house of the Heir.
Amitu listened attentively, his expression inscrutable, until Mandhi reached the end. When Mandhi finished Amitu leaned forward and murmured appreciatively.
“More interesting than I had thought. Sadja-dar hadn’t told me the half of it.”
“He hadn’t?” Mandhi asked gently.
“But my time with him is limited,” Amitu said with a hint of unhappiness. “One wishes he would be more accommodating to the ambassador of the future Emperor.”
“I hope that I have been accommodating enough as representative of Navran-dar.”
Amitu smiled mildly. “The food has been more than acceptable. I needn’t have worried.”
Mandhi hesitated before continuing. “While I have the ear of the Prince Imperial’s emissary, there is a request that we would make of the Emperor when he is enthroned.”
“Of course,” Amitu said mildly. “The Emperor delights in the requests of his vassals.”
“The first request does not come from the King of Virnas but from the Heir of Manjur, if you understand the distinction,” Mandhi said with a slight bow of her head. “We would like the Emperor to lift the interdicts against the Uluriya and to assure us that he will not persecute us any further.”
“Really?” Amitu said. He took a flake of fish and chewed it slowly. “I would have thought you were mollified once Ruyam was eliminated.”
“But the edicts of Aidasa-daridarya, whom we remember with fear and trembling, are still written. Ruyam did not issue new laws; he merely enforced the old edicts against the Uluriya and the thikratta which the later Emperors had let lay fallow.”
“That is so,” Amitu said. “I cannot speak for the Emperor, of course, but I will lay your request at his feet. Praudhu-dar has never shown an interest in eliminating the Uluriya, so I suspect he’ll be inclined to agree. And the other thing?”
“From the King of Virnas. Will the Emperor officially recognize Navran-dar and the line of Manjur as the rightful kings of Virnas?”
“Will Navran-dar make obeisance to the Emperor as his vassal?” Amitu snapped off.
Mandhi took the last swallow of her tea. She set the cup down and ran her finger over the rim. “Of course, when things in Virnas have settled enough for Navran-dar to travel to Majasravi.”
Amitu murmured. “I will lay this request at the feet of Praudhu-dar as well—but I’ll tell you that this is more difficult.”
“My lord Amitu-kha, the Emperors have seldom concerned themselves with the interior politics of their vassal kingdoms.”
“Which is precisely why the Emperor is unlikely to do anything as rash as naming the Heir of Manjur to the throne of Virnas,” Amitu said with annoyance.
“But the Heir of Manjur is already on the throne of Virnas.”
“Navran-dar is the king of Virnas,” Amitu corrected her. “We will have to see whether the Heirs of Manjur remain there or not.”
Mandhi fell silent. She could press, but doing so would probably not endear her to Amitu and the Prince Imperial. So she smiled at Amitu, lay her hands quietly in her lap, and said, “I’ll send my word to Navran-dar of Virnas. He’ll be delighted to hear that I’ve laid these requests before you.”
Amitu smiled, perfectly ambiguous and opaque.
Dinner wrapped up quickly and amicably, with a multitude of mutual assurances that all was friendly and correct between Navran-dar and Praudhu-dar, and that the King of Virnas and Prince Imperial were sure to be fast allies. When finally Amitu left, Mandhi returned to her chamber with Aryaji and collapsed onto the bed.
“Are you well?” Aryaji asked. She knelt in the corner of the room and folded her hands in her lap.
“Perfectly,” Mandhi answered. “But I have to think. I have to send a message to Navran-dar.”
“I could get you more tea—”
“I don’t want any tea. I want a sheet of paper and a stylus. And a safe way to send a message to Navran-dar without Sadja-dar reading it.”
“Oh,” Aryaji said. “I could get you the stylus.”
“No, no,” Mandhi said. “Actually—you’ve given me an idea.”
Aryaji stared at Mandhi in incomprehension.
“I’m going to write to Navran about what we discussed with Amitu-kha. But I also have to tell him that your marriage has been arranged.”
Aryaji squeaked. “But my marriage—”
“I know. It’s a trap. I suspect that Sadja-dar will read any message I send out, but I want to know for sure. If he mentions or does anything in reference to your marriage, I’ll know.”
“I see,” Aryaji said. “Do I have to give the message to him?”
“No, you just send it to Navran-dar.”
“And if Sadja-dar doesn’t intercept it? Then he’ll think I’m getting married.”
Mandhi laughed. “I think that the misapprehensions of Navran-dar in Virnas regarding your marriage may be repaired after the fact, if need be.”
Aryaji rose from her place. “I’ll get a paper and stylus.”
“We should keep a writing set here in the room,” Mandhi said. “There are a lot of letters I might write. And Aryaji?”
“Yes?”
“When are we visiting your aunt and the other Uluriya women?”
“In three days,” Aryaji said.
Mandhi smiled and rested her head on the cushion. She would look forward to a conversation that wasn’t a duel.
* * *
Mandhi was arrayed atop an overstuffed cushion in the common room of Aryaji’s mother’s house, with a tray of tea and toasted rice balls beside her, and a small crowd of eager listeners gathered around to hear her story as if she were a famed minstrel. The women sat nearest to Mandhi, plying her with treats and tea, while behind them a crowd of Uluriya men filled in the tiled room, reaching to the doorway. Three more listeners leaned in through the window. It was an unusual feeling to have so many people hanging on her words. But then, she had an unusual story.
Aryaji sat next to Mandhi, and she offered Mandhi a sip of tea as Mandhi paused.
Mandhi waved it aside. “I’m fine, Aryaji. This is nearly the end, anyway.” She took a deep breath. “When we emerged from the tunnels beneath Virnas, it was raining. A gift from Ulaur to put out Ruyam’s fires. Navran was badly injured, but I carried him into a bed and tended his wounds. Sadja went immediately to ensure that his militia could still hold the city, while Veshta went to the Uluriya to tell them the news.
“It was… truth be told I can barely remember the first few days after Ruyam’s fall. I spent the time with Navran-dar, tending his burns and healing his wounds. It took a long time. He was still walking with a cane when I left him.”
“And why did you leave him?” someone broke in. It was Nakhur, Aryaji’s uncle and guardian, whom Mandhi had met the day before. He wore the white gown of a saghada.
“I’ll get to that,” she said. “Sadja-dar took much of the leadership of the city at first. He marched out and made some sort of deal with the Red Men, and he captured Thudra and his militia. Once Thudra was in the dungeon and the old militia swore fealty to Navran-dar, there was little remaining threat to Navran-dar’s rule. So at that point, Sadja felt that he needed a captive.”
“A captive?” Nakhur asked.
“A custom that goes back to the time of the Seven Kingdoms,” Mandhi said, repeating the explanation that Sadja had given her over and over during their time on the boat. “Two kings in alliance would trade heirs. So Sadja’s heir Sundasha-kha is down in Virnas, and I am here in Davrakhanda.”
“The stars among men,” murmured Kidri, Aryaji’s aunt and Mandhi’s midwife. It relieved a little of the difficulty of remembering so many new names. The midwife knelt on a green rug to Mandhi’s right, and she kept her hand on Mandhi’s knee with maternal affection. “I would call Sadja-dar a scoundrel, but he brought you to us here in Davrakhanda. I will be honored to bring the next Heir into the world.” She bowed to Mandhi and kissed the back of her hand.
Mandhi blushed. “I still have two months. I appreciate your care.”
“Well, you’ve astounded all of us,” Nakhur said. “The restoration of the Heir in Virnas in our lifetime. A gift unlooked-for. Mandhi, will you come visit us often here? It may be more comfortable in Sadja-dar’s palace, but we all hope to see you more often…”
“Be careful,” barked an elderly man in the back of the room, standing with his arms folded. “There’s lots of Kaleksha on the streets here.”
Mandhi swallowed. She hadn’t omitted Taleg from the story—it would be impossible to explain her pregnancy without him—but she had changed his name and obscured his ancestry. Only Aryaji knew, and Mandhi had sworn her to secrecy. The child’s parentage would be obvious once it was born, but she didn’t quite feel up to scandalizing the whole gathered crowd.
“What is wrong with the Kaleksha?” she asked mildly.
Kidri made a noise of irritation in her throat. “Uncouth people, and dangerous. In Virnas you probably see them rarely, no? So you wouldn’t know.”
“They sometimes attack us,” Nakhur added. “The other day one of our sailors was beaten when he disturbed a group of them down by the docks.” He shook his head vigorously. “Stay away from the Kaleksha.”
“But,” Mandhi said, “don’t our traders work with them? I know that Veshta has boats with Kaleksha crew.”
Nakhur’s expression soured. “We take on Kaleksha sailors, because we have to. They’re the best and most numerous. And the boats that cross the sea to Kalignas must have at least one Kaleksha crewman, because the harbormasters in Kalignas don’t let us put in otherwise. But any trader would rather hire good Uluriya men.”
Good thing she hadn’t revealed immediately that Taleg was Kaleksha. “I’ll remember your warning,” she said. She sipped her teacup and found that it was cold, and Aryaji took it and hurriedly refilled it from a fresh pot.
