Coin of Kings (The Powers of Amur Book 2)

by J. S. Bangs

  “Now, about the other matter which we had discussed,” Sadja said. “Have you given it more thought?”

  “I have,” Amitu said, “and it seems profitable. I sent an earlier version of your proposal to Gumadha, and the Prince’s response at that time was favorable. If you can provide us with aid in retaking Majasravi, then I suspect the marriage would be a happy conclusion for all involved.”

  “Excellent,” Sadja said. “And the Princess Basadi-dar? Where is she now?”

  “In the Moon Palace in Gumadha, unless Praudhu-dar has lost his mind and released her.”

  “Released her?” Sadja asked. This was a surprising development.

  Amitu sighed. He walked across the balcony and leaned against the railing. “For your trust, I suppose you deserve to hear about this ahead of time. The Princess Basadi needs a strong hand, or else she’ll… stray.”

  “Interesting,” Sadja said in a tone of grave disappointment.

  “Two years ago, the Prince confined her to one wing of the Moon Palace and surrounded her with nothing but old women and eunuchs. Not even the male soldiers were allowed to guard her. In the year previous, three different khadir’s sons had been found in her chambers and thrown out. Three!” His expression indicated a vast annoyance and mild embarrassment. “The Prince locked her away, lest she… acquire a condition which would negatively impact her desirability for marriage.”

  “And you assert that there was not in fact any such condition which the Prince covered up?”

  “There was not,” Amitu said. “I swear it.”

  Sadja breathed deeply and drummed his fingers on the stone railing of the balcony. A few childish dalliances could be overlooked when marrying the Emperor’s daughter. A bastard could not. He had to trust that Amitu was telling the truth—and that Amitu knew the truth. This was not a position which he liked to be in.

  “I’m relieved to hear that the Prince Imperial exercised such prudence with Princess Basadi,” he said cautiously. “Many parents would have let their youngest daughter do as she wished.”

  Amitu smiled mildly. “Praudhu-dar was determined to get some good out of her yet. In any case, you won’t have any difficulties with her if you can keep her secluded and sated. Do you foresee any problems with that?”

  “Sated,” said Sadja amused. “I’m not so old as to have problems with that.”

  Amitu chuckled. “Well, you know how it can be with a young woman that has a fire in her. I’ll send a message to Gumadha with everything we’ve talked about. Hopefully they’ll reach Praudhu-dar before he leaves for Majasravi.”

  “And with Am’s favor, we’ll have a wedding in the Ushpanditya.”

  “With Am’s favor,” Amitu said. He bowed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Sadja-dar, I’ll go to compose my message to the Prince.”

  “A final question,” Sadja said, raising a hand to stop Amitu’s retreat. “What was the outcome of your meeting with Mandhi a few days ago?”

  He had a copy of Mandhi’s letter to Navran-dar in his room, and he had sent congratulations to Aryaji and her guardian for Aryaji’s betrothal. But he wished to hear Amitu’s version of the story. The ambassador smiled at Sadja mildly.

  “There is little to tell, Sadja-dar. It was not a meeting to decide great things. Mandhi described how Navran-dar took the throne of Virnas, and made a few requests from the King of Virnas to the Emperor. For when Praudhu-dar shall be Emperor, of course.”

  “Of course,” Sadja said. “I’m relieved to hear that the Prince Imperial has received a full account of the events in Virnas. He should know his vassals well.”

  “He should,” Amitu said. “Especially when they are so remarkable. Is there anything else?”

  Sadja shook his head. Amitu-kha’s reticence to say more was an answer of its own. “Send my greetings to the Prince Imperial, and tell him that I anticipate a wedding in the Ushpanditya.”

  Sadja nodded to dismiss the ambassador. He smiled to himself and turned to watch the sea.

  A wedding in the Ushpanditya, yes, but he didn’t expect that the Prince Imperial would live to see it. If the messages he had sent to Majasravi accomplished their intent, then crushing the prince would be as easy as crushing a pomegranate pip between his fingers. He wouldn’t even have to stain his hands red.

  Navran

  Navran lay his hands on the head of the ram. He was acutely aware of the eyes of the other saghada on him, to say nothing of the three hundred Uluriya watching the sacrifice. He took a deep breath. Manjur’s ring was on his finger. He could do this. He was fine.

  His hands only shook a little. The ram squirmed under his grip. He began the prayer, speaking loudly and clearly in saghada dialect:

  Ulaur has bound up the devouring serpent as Manjur has bound up the sacrifice. Ulaur has laid waste to the unclean as Manjur has laid down the law which leads to purity and the good. Ulaur has cleansed the earth with a falling star as Manjur takes up the heavenly iron of promise. We listen—

  His mind was suddenly blank. His tongue was dry. The goat-pissed saghada dialect was so difficult. He could barely remember how to pronounce it when he had Bhudman to prompt him. He swallowed and tried again: We listen…

  Nothing.

  One of the other saghada glared at him and whispered loudly, “We listen, we rejoice.”

  That broke the dam. Heart pounding, he continued: We listen, we rejoice, we are attentive, for Manjur’s Heir is with us, and with him we offer to Ulaur the sacrifice which is pure, the sacrifice which is undefiled, the sacrifice which cleanses. We do not offer our dhaur to the faithless Powers, but to the One Incorruptible, the light imperishable, the word unspoken, the fire of ages.

  He had gotten to the end. A tremendous feeling of relief coursed through him. The saghada standing on his left immediately began to recite the second stanza of the prayer, giving Navran a moment to gather his thoughts and concentrate. He glanced out at the gathered crowd.

  This many people would never have fit into the crypt of the Ruin. Too bad—a smaller venue would mean that fewer people would have seen him flub. But as usual his comfort didn’t matter. People wanted to see him in his role as Heir. Old, rich Uluriya families and new converts. They couldn’t all crowd into the Ruin. So they had converted this hall of the palace into a bhilami, the sacred space for the new moon sacrifice.

  The crowd filled it to the brim. It was good that he couldn’t make out individual faces among them.

  One of the saghada nudged him, and he took up the silver-handled knife that lay on the table next to the ram. This part was easy. He had gutted plenty of goats growing up. He waited for the cue, a brief pause in the litany being droned by the assisting saghada, then he put the knife to the ram’s throat.

  The beast squirmed. An old instinct took over, and he angled the edge of the knife into the flesh and drew it up and away with a quick slash. For a moment the beating of the ram’s heart sent a spray of blood across the altar and down the steps of the dais, splattering the ground before the feet of the foremost people in the crowd.

  In the moment of stunned silence that followed, he realized what he had done wrong.

  This wasn’t slaughtering yearlings for the khadir. The ram was sacred, the blood was holy—and he had spread it all over the floor.

  A mutter of dismay filled the whole hall. Behind him, Jhuma rushed up and took the knife from his hands.

  “Let me handle this,” he hissed, and he turned toward the crowd.

  Navran’s cheeks grew hot. Sacred blood was on his hand and sleeve. He looked at his hand. Could he wash it? With what?

  The other saghada mixed the blood with water, and he took a sip of the mixture from the silver cup when it was offered—slightly bitter, the blood barely perceptible in the cup. They further mixed the blood and water with milk, then spread through the hall sprinkling the tincture with tied bundles of dry ephedra stems.

  Navran watched in silence from the rear of the dais. The gathered Uluriya bowed and let the blessed ti
ncture sprinkle their panshas, then slowly began to trickle out of the bhilami through the rear doors.

  Navran straightened. He was done here, and he needed to change his clothes and get back to the business of being a king as well as a saghada. But he only got one step before he saw Bhudman and Jhuma approaching him. His gut twisted.

  Jhuma began. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  Bhudman lay a hand on Jhuma’s forearm. “Jhuma, be patient. He is still the Heir and your king.”

  Jhuma clenched his teeth together and whispered. “I thought you were teaching him.”

  Navran folded his arms and looked from Jhuma to Bhudman. Bhudman sighed and said, “I am teaching him. I didn’t think….”

  “That’s how we butcher a ram in Idirja,” Navran said feebly.

  Jhuma threw his hands up in exasperation. “But we aren’t in some star-forsaken backwater village. You can’t just splatter sacred blood all over the floor, like, like—”

  “It’s my fault,” Bhudman said, laying a hand on Jhuma’s shoulder. “I did not teach him our way of making the cut, to ensure that no blood is spilled except into the sanctified vessels. I have been concerned with teaching him to read, both the common script and the secret script of the saghada. And remember, Jhumitu, how long were you an apprentice before you led your first sacrifice?”

  “I will study harder,” Navran said. “I’ll learn how.”

  “Learn?” Jhuma said. “Do you think that’s all? You spilled the sacred blood. Do you know what that means?”

  “No,” Navran said dryly.

  Bhudman answered with a sigh. “The place where the blood is spilled is rendered holy. We will dig up the floor to a depth of two feet, blessing it with the rite of removal of a sacred thing. Then we will mix the dirt with pure water and sprinkle it above the holy altar. Otherwise that place would remain holy forever and no one could step on it.”

  “Maybe,” Navran snapped, “I should just cover it with gold and put a fence around it. Be easier for you.”

  “No, no,” Jhuma said with exasperation. “Silver, silver is the metal sanctified to Ulaur. Have you learned nothing?”

  “I was joking.”

  Jhuma closed his mouth. Bhudman bowed his head and gestured to Navran. “You should go. You have other responsibilities.”

  “I do,” Navran said, fuming. Not that he could blame Jhuma for his sharp tongue. “Goodbye, my brothers.”

  He went back to the room where his valet was waiting to help him change. The boy was Uluriya and presumably knew what to do with a sleeve wet from the sacred cup. A few minutes later Navran emerged into the palace courtyard in a black mood.

  As soon as he came out from beneath the portico, a servant approached him. “Navran-dar, the khadir Aksham-kha and Magani-kha await to dine with you. The table will be set soon.”

  Oh, dear. He had forgotten that he was supposed to dine with them—two khadir of an especially toadying type who had recently converted. He wanted little less than to sit down to eat with them. A miserable continuation to a miserable morning.

  His eyes scanned the courtyard and alit upon Veshta and his family standing near the far wall. A snap decision, possibly a bad one.

  “Tell them I can’t meet,” he announced to the page. “Something else has come up. Something important for Virnas.”

  He turned away from the servant and strode across the courtyard, ignoring the bows offered him. He came up to Veshta’s little group. They were all there: Veshta, Srithi, Adjan, Dhanmi, Amashi, and Josi. A murmur of surprise passed through them as he approached, and they all bowed.

  “Navran-dar,” Veshta said, “the stars upon you. What brings you to us?”

  “Josi dines with me today at lunch,” he said. Navran looked at Josi, whose eyes widened for a moment in surprise, then she gave him a demure smile.

  “What?” Veshta said. “Is something the matter?”

  “Nothing that her presence won’t solve,” Navran said. Perhaps that was too direct. He didn’t care.

  “I would be happy to accompany as a chaperone,” Amashi offered.

  “Unnecessary,” Navran said. “My guard is with me. No other chaperone.”

  Amashi looked put out.

  “Mother,” Josi said quietly, “I’ve been coming to the palace every days for weeks to do the work of the Purse. This is no different.”

  Amashi frowned and kneaded her hands, but said nothing. Josi turned to Navran with a direct stare that seemed almost to be a dare. “We’ll be discussing the finances of the kingdom, won’t we?”

  “Yes,” Navran said.

  Josi looked to Veshta and Amashi.

  “Well, yes,” Amashi said with some reluctance. Veshta gave a jolly nod.

  Josi broke away from the group and came to Navran’s side. They strolled away silently until they were nearly at the entrance into the palace.

  “So,” Josi said. “What is this really about?”

  “The finances of the kingdom,” Navran said flatly.

  “Oh,” Josi said with disappointment.

  “I should name you the King’s Purse. For good. You’ve done the work for weeks now. You deserve it.”

  “Thank you,” Josi said dryly. “And you needed all of the noon meal to convey that?”

  “Also, I enjoy being with you.”

  “Oh,” Josi said, more cheerily. “In that case, well, here I am.”

  They passed through the filigreed archway into the cool, shadowy interior of the palace and made their way to the dining room. The smell of roasted lamb, cumin, and cinnamon poured out of the nearby kitchens.

  “Stars above,” Josi said. “Is that the cooking of the legendary Paidacha again? I haven’t tasted it since our first meal here.”

  “Yes,” Navran said. “You don’t eat here when you work?”

  “No. You haven’t invited me to eat with you at the palace before,” Josi said with a little glint in her eye. “You cruelly kept Paidacha’s gifts to yourself.”

  “I’m sorry,” Navran said.

  They entered the dining room, a long narrow chamber open to the garden on one side, providing a vantage over the pomegranates and pools of lotus petals. A pair of Navran’s personal guards watched the far door, bowing to Navran as he entered. Word of Navran’s change of plans had evidently reached the kitchen staff, for only two mats were laid out at the low table, one for Navran in the center position, and one to his right. Navran arranged himself with his legs crossed atop the raised cushion, and gestured for Josi to sit.

  “I miss having someone to talk to,” Navran said as Josi arranged herself at the table. “Since Mandhi left.”

  “Your guards aren’t great conversation?” Josi asked, casting a glance toward the pair standing impassively at the door. “But when I see you you’re always talking to someone, it seems.”

  “Dastha is a friend,” Navran said. “But the khadir aren’t. And Mandhi was different.”

  “You two were close?”

  Navran breathed deeply. How could he answer that? Their relationship was more complex than he knew how to explain. “She hated me once,” he said. “But no longer. She wouldn’t lie to me. She told me exactly when I was being an idiot.”

  Josi laughed and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I’m supposed to say, ‘You’re never an idiot, my lord and king.’”

  Navran gave her a fierce glare. “Now you’re lying to me.”

  “I see that this is serious business, filling Mandhi’s shoes,” Josi said. “I’ll have to work up to it.”

  Navran laughed. “You’ve started well. Tell me the truth. Did I embarrass myself today?”

  “Oh, so we’re starting with easy questions,” Josi said in mock-seriousness. “It was… pretty bad.”

  “How much will it cost to fix?”

  “Are you asking me as the King’s Purse, or as Mandhi’s replacement?” Josi said with a coy grin. “We might have different calculations to make.”

  “As
the Purse,” Navran said. “Mandhi would say it cost everything, payable in my dignity.”

  Josi laughed again. Navran smiled, enjoying the warmth he felt in his belly. Listening to Josi laugh was one of the more enjoyable things he had done since becoming king.

  “Well, as your Purse,” Josi said, “I’ll have to look at the books. And consult with the saghada to see what their recommended action is. I don’t have the Law of Ghuptashya committed to memory, you know.”

  “Neither do I,” Navran said. “As we found out. But Bhudman told me.”

  They were interrupted by the entrance of two service girls bearing the platters with Paidacha’s meal. The cooking was Paidacha’s usual divine fare, lamb roasted with cumin and garlic, yellow rice, plums in pomegranate juice and cinnamon, and roti baked to perfection. They both fell into silence for several minutes eating. Josi made quite noises of amazement and appreciation.

  “Is it always this good?” Josi asked.

  “Yes,” Navran said. “Always.”

  “The stars upon your cook. Every time I’ve eaten here he’s outdone the last meal I ate. How did Thudra get this man?”

  “He didn’t. I did. Paidacha owned a guesthouse in Jaitha. Came here when Ruyam burned it.” He left out the fact that Paidacha had betrayed Navran into Ruyam’s hands. No need to dwell on the man’s sins.

  Josi said, scooping up a mouthful of rice with her roti. “Well hired.”

  “Speaking of hires,” Navran said, “how is Vaija?”

  Josi raised a finger to indicate that Navran should wait until she was done chewing. When she had swallowed her rice and roti she said, “Vaija does wonderfully. He squeezes the silver until milk comes out. I’m incredibly proud of him.”

  This was good news. “His loyalty? You were worried about it earlier.”

  Josi took another bite of lamb and plum. When she had swallowed she said, “You, I’m not going to stop eating just because you keep asking me questions.” Her eyes glittered with a playful smile. “His loyalty seems to be solid. As you said, Vaija seems relieved to be working for someone who actually cares how much they spend.”