by S. C. Emmett
His wife bit at her soft lower lip as she arranged his banquet-robe upon the gilded stand. The brazier underneath was dead and dark now, its purpose fulfilled until the next robe was readied. “I should not have let her take my cloak.”
“You did what you must.” He rubbed at his temples, massaging the persistent ache. “Let me loosen your robe, too.”
A wan smile was his reward. She settled his robe more firmly, a coil of freshening incense ready in the brass bowl underneath. “I wish to retire, my husband. But first, let me—”
A soft knock at the dressing-room door brought her around in a tight circle, her robe’s heavy scarlet-and-silver skirt flaring. “Enter,” Takyeo said, and Steward Keh glided in catfoot. Takyeo had to stoop so the man could attempt whispering his news, and let out a long breath when Keh finished, steeling himself. Ah. “Take him to my study.”
When the door closed, he faced Mahara, who clasped her soft, pretty hands. “Is it…” She swallowed, hard, and a tear tracked down her soft cheek.
She had borne herself with admirable grace, this warrior princess of Khir.
“Zakkar Kai has returned.” Takyeo only hoped he had some measure of good news. “I will see him in my study, and—”
Mahara’s ear-drops swung as she shook her head. Her elaborate braids were still in place, and though her eyes were ringed with weariness she was still wanly beautiful. “May I go with you? To hear what… if… if Yala…”
“Are you certain you wish to?” He should protect her, keep her from hoping for too much. “It is after the third watch; you must rest.”
“I can have no rest until I know if she is well. Or dead.” Her chin set, and a quite unwonted flicker was in her pale gaze. She was, after all, the same woman with the presence of mind to lunge for a paring-knife to face an assassin with. The Khir kept their women in bowers and kitchens, probably so they did not take matters into their own hands and rule.
She was a surprise, this woman. A rare, pleasant surprise, and Takyeo’s chest ached for what she would have to endure. Heaven was kind; if he was to take his father’s burden, at least she would not be a Yulehi Gamwone, more dangerous as ally than enemy.
But Heaven’s kindness did not extend very far; he had proof of that fact his entire life. He would have to do what he could to cover the celestial lack, and shield his wife from as much as he could.
“Very well,” he said. “Come. We will be brief.”
LOOSE ENDS
The dawn watch was cried from the walls of Zhaon-An; grey turned to stinging, throbbing red in the east and the night retreating into corners, drains, underhangs. Mist rose from wet stone and tiled roof.
The Shining Moon teahouse, its doors wide open but the criers squatting upon the step instead of hurrying patrons inside, was full of subtle noise. Merchants ready for the East Road stretched and yawned, drinking strong sweet hukai53 to balance their humors for the day; mercenaries ready to accompany them and fight off bandits tossed dice without any real enthusiasm, probably still tasting sohju from the night before. Heavily veiled courtesans settled in a quiet corner behind a screen, steam rising through thin fine masking-fabric as they held their cups under its long flow, the gilt upon their hairpins glittering. A few rich men, soused from the Left Market’s sinks or fending off hangovers, ordered pickled eggfruit and strong, unripe unlau, said to be a cure for the dragon of constipation nipping at an overindulger’s temples and eyes.
Among them, a man in sober brown—neither merchant nor noble, but not a beggar either, safely anonymous—sipped bitter khiralau morning-tea. He was expecting a trio bearing a gift, since the masked idiot had been under strict orders to relieve Huo Banh of the burden of breathing as soon as possible.
A man who had betrayed once would do so again, and it made sense to tidy up loose ends. The rest could be basket-woven in due time.
What the impresario did not expect, as he sat at the teahouse’s balcony overlooking the crowded street, was a lean panther-stepping noble in Shan costume of unrelieved black, threading through the thin morning crowd and heading straight for the most flea-bitten of the East Road hostels at the edge of the Yuin’s seethe.
The impresario noted the way the crowd parted for the walker, and also the wrapped swordhilt riding the walker’s back. A gleam upon the left hand was perhaps a seal or signet; it would keep him from being accosted too directly.
The impresario tensed, watching as this strange visitor did not hesitate but plunged directly through the knot of gamblers in their preening finery clustered before a low black door. They did not challenge him, those loud, burly brawlers, but rather averted their gazes and laughed, uneasily.
Interesting.
Some time later, the man in Shan black left the nameless inn, his scarred jaw set and his eyes burning coals. By that time, the Shining Moon was full of morning custom and several merchants had already left with their retinues of bawling beast and heavy wagon, mercenaries upon apathetic nags or sturdy ponies riding to meet with the caravans in a wide pounded dusty fairground outside the East Gate, which cracked at dawn and not a moment before.
By then, though, the impresario had left alloy slivers to pay for his tea and vanished into Zhaon-An. He had another bow to retrieve, a Khir nobleman to visit with ill news, and other plans to attend to.
MUCH DISTURBANCE
A bright clear morning stooped over the palace, the sun a swift circling thing searching for any weakness or movement below. “And you are quite certain?” Garan Tamuron said, shifting a little upon his dressing-stool’s embroidered pillow. With only a thin silken robe covering his torso and lap, the heat was almost bearable. The itching and irritation was not very bad today, and his gaze was brighter. Perhaps soaks in tepid water full of gently stirred rai flour were working to soothe the angry skin, though they made the Emperor feel somewhat like a leftover dumpling.
“It was very clear.” By the look of his topknot and the reddening of his eyelids, Third Prince Takshin had not yet slept. His boots held city-dust, and his glower was that of a caged beast through bars, exhausted but unwilling to surrender. “A man with a Wurei accent orchestrated this attempt.”
Zakkar Kai, his arms folded, stared at a hanging scroll. The calligraphy upon it was an exhortation to magnanimity in victory and courage in defeat, and had hung in Tamuron’s tent during every campaign since Shiera had presented it to him so many years ago. Now it was accorded pride of place in the Emperor’s dressing-room, where he could view it every morning.
It was not a replacement. Nothing was. Still, the characters brushed by a dead woman were… comforting. There was little comfort to be found anywhere else. Zakkar Kai’s countenance was one of deep thought, and the faint line between his eyebrows was not an encouraging sign.
When Kai looked this sullenly thoughtful, it was best to beware, for he had seen more problems looming than were immediately apparent. Garan Tamuron absorbed the news. “So, that is why you did not attend the banquet.”
“I am hardly likely to be missed, and I needed Kai.” Push me further, Takshin’s shoulders said. Go on. See what happens. The mixture of arrogance and exhaustion was an explosive one; he had always been prickly, even as a child.
It was probably a mercy that Gamwone had not raised him. A Kurin with Takshin’s temper would be almost unmanageable. On the other hand, the whispers of what the Third Prince had suffered from the Mad Queen were… disturbing, and Takshin’s scars doubly so.
The boy did not answer when his father tried to indirectly inquire how he had received them, simply stared with that same mute, dull, furious resignation. By the time Tamuron had guessed where the damage lay it was too late to curb a restive youth’s spirit. Takshin did not take to bit or bridle; spurs would only madden him, like the prong-headed beasts the god of mountain storms was said to ride.
“Quick thinking.” Tamuron touched the heavy greenstone hurai upon his left first finger. The matching one on his right glinted, its edges cased with beaten silver. They did not leave his hands du
ring sleeping, bathing, or squatting over a waste-catcher. “A palace guard suborned, arrows from the rooftop… why were those responsible not brought to the palace? Zan Fein will be sad to miss the chance to practice his art.”
“Certainly I could have called the Market Guard or a brace of carters to haul the miscreants to the palace. I could have driven them right through the front gates with a whip, too. Which would have negated the benefit silence will gain us in this matter.” Takshin rolled his shoulders, only missing a dismissive shrug by a few fingerwidths.
Takyeo was a statue near the door, his arms folded like Zakkar Kai’s and the echo of his mother in his features almost unbearable to gaze upon this morning. “Takshin,” he murmured. “Enough.”
Amazingly, the Third Prince subsided somewhat. “And yes, I am certain.” His hands relaxed, his own hurai glinting. The characters of his name were spiked, too, despite their auspicious meaning. “A man with a thick Wurei accent; the landlady was quite clear upon that point.”
“Those hired for dark deeds may come from any corner of Zhaon, and Wurei was lost long ago.” Zakkar Kai’s expression made sense, now. His head-meat, ever agile, did not like a cup it could not peer under, and the clan of his adoptive-mother was ash upon a cold wind. At least they could rule out any involvement of Kanbina’s in this affair. “Without questioning this fellow, we cannot be sure. Would the Khir attempt a rescue from captivity, then?”
“Perhaps.” Or a princess’s outraged body would have been left in a public place to garner maximum effect and rid Khir of encumbrance. The first wains of tribute from the north were late, too. The country had been bled for the last five years, trade with every point south choked. Of course, they could—and did—trade with Ch’han, but bringing goods step by step through the northern wastes at the fringes of the Yaluin was difficult and dangerous. There were closer problems at hand than a missing wagon or two, though. “This Lady Komor. Are you certain of her innocence?”
“Yes,” Takshin said, a little too quickly, and a little too loudly.
Tamuron studied his most difficult son, who returned his searching look with a lift of his stubborn chin and a banked fire in his dark eyes. Was he partial to this Khir girl? Wondrous times afoot, if he was.
He turned his gaze to Takyeo. “And you, my heir? She is of your household.”
“Lady Komor is of the highest integrity.” Takyeo’s chin did not settle stubbornly to match his brother’s, but it was close. He touched his hurai with a fingertip, to witness the truth of the statement. “She has been nothing but loyal to her princess’s new household, and was cruelly treated for her bravery.”
“Changing cloaks. It’s like a novel.” Which brought him to Sabwone. She had not even reached the Shan border yet, and was doing her best with daily letters to drive the court into a froth. If she was not sending thinly veiled hints of suicide to her uncle, she was bemoaning the barbarity of travel to her mother, and Heaven alone knew what she was sending to Jin, who stood behind Zakkar Kai as if seeking shelter from a cold wind. The boy’s eyes were round, and his green morning-robe held Luswone’s careful stitching at collar and cuffs.
Gamnae was old enough to be married, too. Negotiations with Khir upon that front were… unsatisfying. They had already given a princess; they did not wish to sacrifice a prince to matrimonial allegiance, even King Ashani Zlorih’s byblow. A princess from Ch’han or even a high-ranking noble Shan girl sent to Khir was a thing to be avoided. Applying more pressure along the trade routes might work, or induce Khir to find other relief than sealing themselves to their richer southron neighbor.
Had they intended to bring their princess back, or simply to slide free of Zhaon’s yoke? An outraged Khir princess was a powerful rallying point, and would give Kiron of Shan much leverage in negotiations too. Shan could very well refuse to accede to prohibitive trade measures against Khir in that eventuality, and Sabwone was not likely to be of any help.
It was a troubling development indeed. Tamuron sighed. It did not help that all was smoothed over, the Khir girlservant retrieved whole and presumably undamaged. “Keep the Khir lady out of sight for some little while.”
“She is pleading an illness.” Takyeo paused. “My wife is thankful for her safe return.”
You must not trust a woman’s gratitude, my son. “We should consider a second wife for you, Crown Prince.”
“I am content, Father.” Takyeo’s cheeks did not pinken. Instead, his eldest regarded him narrowly. Almost—a ridiculous thought—as if insulted by the notion.
“As you like. Women are trouble, and a foreign one doubly so. Since you speak for this Komor girl, I shall not have her taken to Zan Fein to judge her involvement—”
“Father.” Jin’s eyes were round. “You wouldn’t. They couldn’t have planned to meet me in the Market, it isn’t possible.”
“Possible is one thing,” Kai weighed in hurriedly. His hurai bore traces of mud from the night’s searching, and his half-armor was still sodden. “Probable is another, yet just as unlikely.”
“She finds many defenders, this foreign woman.” Tamuron longed to scratch at his ribs, but such a gesture was unroyal. He sat, stiff-backed, and waved one hand. “Very well. That was deftly handled, Third Son. You have my gratitude.”
“The Emperor is magnanimous.” Takshin’s tone could have been flat exhaustion or sharp sarcasm; it was difficult to tell. The leather wrapping of his Shan swordhilt was damp, too. His eyes half-lidded, his expression shutting like a heavy palace door. “If more surfaces in this matter, rest assured I will deal with it just as thoroughly.”
“Mh.” It disturbed Tamuron some little to think a son of his would share Zan Fein’s… artistic tastes. All very well for a stoneless underling to take pleasure in his work, but a prince was another matter entirely.
They must do what was necessary, yes. But enjoying it was not to be encouraged.
“I think Takshin must rest.” Takyeo, diplomatic as ever. At least he had gained some rest; the shadows under his eyes were not as dark. “And Zakkar Kai, too. No doubt Jin passed a restless night as well.”
“I couldn’t sleep for worrying.” Jin’s bottom lip pushed out slightly before he recollected himself. “I shouldn’t have left her there. Is she really all right?”
“She was the last two times you asked,” Takshin snapped.
“You did the right thing.” Now it was Kai’s turn to be diplomatic. “Lady Komor was right in telling you to guard the Crown Princess.”
“It doesn’t feel right,” the boy grumbled.
So, Jin liked this foreign woman, she had Kai’s approval, and she further had Takshin’s protection. What witchery could a single foreign girl have, to accomplish such a thing? As usual, being silent taught Tamuron more about his sons than questioning. Keeping your beard-hole closed was a virtue much lauded in the Hundreds.
Unfortunately, like much else, it was only of limited use when your skin prickled with heat, irritation, and suppuration. It was not bad today, but he was already exhausted, and the morning’s council meeting was likely to be interminable and useless. “Go and rest, Takshin. And you too, Jin. Do not speak upon this further, even among yourselves. There are ears everywhere in the palace.”
“And scorpions too,” Takshin muttered, but he bowed with admirable grace. “Come, Jin. Walk me to Takyeo’s door.”
“I’d be glad to.” A hurried bow, and the pair left.
“I don’t suppose I may be excused from council.” Zakkar Kai stretched, a long lithe motion. Takyeo merely gazed at the floor, deep in thought.
“If I must suffer, so must you, my general. But you may have a hot bath first. In fact, I’d recommend it.” Tamuron brooded for some short while. “Tell me truly, is there a chance this Lady Komor was part of the plot?”
Kai shook his head. “Neither possible nor probable.”
Tamuron changed his direction. “What were they about in the market, anyway? Are there not baubles enough in the Artisans’ Home?”<
br />
“Lady Komor was the Crown Princess’s agent in commissioning a gift for her royal husband.” Kai scratched at his cheek. “The Crown Princess decided that morning to view the progress upon that commission. The traitors were waiting for such an event.”
“I thought Khir women did not leave the home.” Tamuron sighed afresh. At least the Zhaon treated women with some respect. Gamwone could have used a dose of female Khir docility. “Something about this smells worse than the middens after battle.”
“That it does.” Takyeo folded his hands inside his sleeves. His air of almost-detachment was new, and his performance all through the banquet had been exemplary.
Disturbingly so. Even Tamuron had not guessed something was amiss, though he took pains not to bring attention to that.
“There is obviously a traitor in my household,” his eldest son continued, musingly. “It is good Takshin is with us; he will be another pair of eyes to ferret that black spot out.”
“Hrm.” Beaten to the dice-throw, Tamuron tried not to feel even more irritated. His fingers longed to be moving, his ribs itched furiously, and he was already sweating. “Yes, indeed. Well played, the lot of you. Now leave me in peace, I would think upon this before Council.”
Their bows were respectful, and once they were gone he could slip a hand inside his own morning-robe and rub at his ribs. Dho Anha trimmed his nails almost to the quick, gently scolding him for tearing at his own flesh, and it irked him.
Everything did. The Emperor of Zhaon sat, scratched like a common beggar, and brooded upon this latest indignity.
A FESTIVAL DRESS
The rai-paper screen enfolding Lady Komor’s bed was thin, but the princess obviously longed to push it wide.
“She must rest,” Anh whispered, hoping she was not being too forward. “Her wrists are cut; they tied her like an eggfowl for travel.”
“At least they did not hang her upside down.” The Crown Princess’s lovely round face was remote as the Moon Maiden’s. Her hair and robe were very simple today; clearly, she did not plan upon leaving the Jonwa or even receiving visitors. “Or at least, I hope not.”
