by S. C. Emmett
At least it would be a Khir weapon that struck this time, unless another of his kind was having better luck elsewhere. For a moment he almost felt sorry for the quarry, pursued by so many hunters.
This was the road they used most often for morning gallops. He had five horsekillers; it would have to be enough. Hunting required patience, and knowledge of the prey.
Sooner or later, his would appear.
AN OFFER, INTERRUPTED
The Crown Princess’s dressing-room was stifling, and alive with bright mirrorlight. Behind a carved wooden partition the bedroom had been put to rights; in the dressing-room proper two robe-holders stood silent sentinel waiting to be loaded for the day, and servants hurried in the hall past the antechamber.
“I long to go riding with you.” There were shadows under Yala’s eyes, perhaps mirrored by those under Mahara’s own. They did not have to creep stealthily about for nightly stretching and practice now, Mahara handling Yala’s wrapped yue and going through the basic forms and stances over and over, but neither of them were sleeping well in the now-dry heat. “But you hardly want me, with your husband along.”
“I do not think it wise.” Mahara, her veil held aside with a bentpin, clasped Yala’s hands in her own. “You should stay in the Jonwa, at least for some little while longer.”
“At least I may go into the city to fetch your practice-blade?” Yala squeezed gently, searching Mahara’s face. “Third Prince Takshin is visiting the astrologer, but Zakkar Kai will accompany me should I write him a letter.”
Mahara bit her lip and shook her head. “No. Takyeo…” She colored a bit, saying his name so freely. “He thinks it best you stay out of sight. In a little while we shall have a proper kaibok game, once things are calmer.” She loosened her grasp, reluctantly. “And once the weather is not quite so dismal.”
“As my princess commands.” Yala fussed at her princess’s veil and sash, making certain Mahara’s sleeves carried everything she might need. “When you return, we shall stretch again.”
Mahara made a face. “Must we?”
Their shared laughter, birdlike, lightened the air, and Mahara swept away. Yala exhaled softly, then turned her attention to straightening the room and the antechamber. Royal dressing was a messy business, and her absence, however short, had created a truly amazing disorder.
She would much rather be riding, but at least when her princess returned it would be to neatness, cool crushed fruit to drink, and a light luncheon of her favorite things. Yala had already given the orders for the latter, and fell into her work with a smile. Some short while later there was a light step in the passageway.
“Oh, Lady Komor.” It was Su Junha, returning from her morning errand. “You should rest. Where is Lady Eulin?”
“Visiting her esteemed aunt; I gave her leave and attended our princess’s dressing myself.” Yala arranged the bright green afternoon dress upon its babu rack, bending to taper-light the coil of freshening incense under its folds. “If I stay abed today I will fret myself into distemper.”
“Tch.” The slim girl sounded much older. Her dress, pale rosy silk edging upon peach cotton reworked from one of Lady Kue’s festival gowns, suited her exactly, and Yala was looking forward to finishing sleeves for the orange one. Anh’s festival gown was coming along nicely, too. “A stubborn lady you are, indeed. Have you had lunch, or tea?”
“Not yet, and I would not refuse another cup.” Tired as she was, Yala could not help but smile as she snuffed the taper and returned it to its home in a bonefire holder. “How does anyone sleep during this heat? There must be some trick to it.”
“Lady Komor?” Hansei Liyue appeared in the door. A book lingered gracefully in her hand, her thumb holding her place, and she had the dreamy look of the interrupted reader. It did no good to scold her; the girl’s head was firmly amid brushstrokes and paper. “We have a visitor; General Zakkar has arrived.”
“I hear he went to the Emperor to plead for you.” Su Junha grinned, a mischievous glint in her wide dark eyes. “You are lucky to have such a friend.”
“It is far more likely he visited the Emperor upon other business; he is a counselor of much merit.” Yala sought to sound somewhat severe. “Lady Liyue, have tea sent to the smaller receiving-room. Afterward, you may visit the weavers and inquire of the tasks I have set them. You will accompany me to the Second Concubine’s house this afternoon. Lady Junha, when Lady Eulin returns, the two of you will set your chambers to rights and aid Lady Kue with her afternoon rounds.”
They took their tasks with good grace, though Hansei Liyue would no doubt have liked to steal away and filch more reading-time. While Yala visited Kanbina, Liyue could read in the antechamber, and the girl’s pleased expression showed she realized as much. The other two would learn much of domestic management from Lady Kue, and the Shan woman’s stern glance would keep Eulin from shuffling too many of her tasks onto Junha’s shoulders.
It took longer than Yala liked to finish setting the dressing-room to rights, even with their help. The household could easily hold another three ladies, but Yala was no closer to making a decision upon that matter just yet. There was time, and the court was in a ferment just now.
Those who did not turn away from the Crown Princess at such a moment, whether from kindness or ambition, deserved close inspection Yala did not quite have the endurance for.
The smaller receiving-room, dark wood opening onto a verandah skirting the main garden, was bright with mirrorlight. Zakkar Kai turned from the sliding doors, and his shoulders were tense under a sober black court robe. His belt was worked with orange, and likely the embroidery was Kanbina’s, bearing delicacy and much thought.
“I hope you were not waiting long.” Yala bowed, and realized she was smiling with relief. “Have you eaten?”
“Please do not trouble yourself, Lady Yala.” He strode across the room. “I am relieved to see you unharmed; I regret I could not visit you earlier.”
“I hear you hied yourself to the Emperor to plead for me, General.” She halted, momentarily confused by his quick approach; he seized her hands.
“News flies like a hungry blur-wing, here in the Palace.” His palms were rough and warm, fingers callused from swordhilt and other soldiery. “I am simply glad Takshin bethought to visit you in the morning instead of waiting for the traditional time. He is ever impatient.”
“Is he?” She should, she supposed, free her hands, but her knees were not quite steady. A measure of strength flowed up her arms, strangely affecting her head. “And did you truly plead for me?”
“Of course. I wish I had been as impatient as the Third Prince, though. When I think of what could have happened…” A swift grimace crossed his face, surprising in one so carefully controlled.
“Let us be happy it did not.” Strange. Why did she not wish to take her hands away? Why were her legs unsteady now? The danger was past, was it not?
Still… Zakkar Kai bent to study her face. This close, she saw the fine lines beginning at the corners of his deep-set eyes, and the tender border where his lips met the rest of his face, the weathering of his shaven cheeks. His topknot, pulled severely tight, was caged in leather with a sober wooden pin, and his house-slippers’ wooden, leather-wrapped soles creaked slightly as he shifted, his gaze moving from her eyes to her chin, resting upon her mouth for a moment and sliding away. “I begin to think you need a close-guard to keep you from mischief, Lady Yala.”
“It was not mischief, Zakkar Kai.” She could not, it seemed, cease smiling. “Merely performing my duty.”
“Yes, well.” His hands tensed on hers. “I wish—”
Whatever he wished remained unsaid, for the tea was brought and he dropped her hands as if they burned. Yala indicated a low table with a satin-smooth stone top and they settled upon cushions; she dismissed the servants and poured for them both. The door to the hall, wide open, meant that any who wished could glance in and see them at tea; there was no need for a chaperone.
Zakkar Kai’s cheeks dark-flushed. He coughed, slightly, and accepted his cup. “So. Now you have seen the palace dungeons. Had I known you wished to view them I would have arranged a less exhausting tour.”
Relief filled her again, hot and weightless. At least he was not treating her… well, differently. Perhaps they were more than friends after a fashion, and after all. “I did not know they were so interesting. The floors could stand a fresh measure of straw, though.”
“Yes, well, the housekeeping there is not in a lady’s capable hands.” His mouth twisted wryly, and the greenstone ring upon his left first finger glinted. “I suppose that is why they wished you to remain.”
“I was not of much use during my stay.” She blew across steaming liquid, delicately. Lady Gonwa’s heaven tea, heavy with jaelo, was most welcome. “And—forgive me for saying as much—I have no desire to return.”
“They are not cheersome hosts, that is true.” He shifted upon his cushion, as if it were not thick enough. “I wonder that Takyeo allowed your arrest at all.”
It had all seemed rather out of the Crown Prince’s hands. “He was attending to my princess’s safety. By the time he thought to gainsay the guards, they had performed their function.” Or the one with the pockmarked face had.
“Commendable zeal. The guard who struck down the false eunuch has not returned to the barracks.”
“How strange.” She met his gaze, and the troubled nature of his almost halted her. But she had to know. “I am told they were zealous in the matter of flogging, as well?” That was the question she had longed to ask, and his nod told her he took her meaning and could shed light upon the matter.
“Well.” He looked into his tea, his brow wrinkling. Outside, an oven-hot wind sucked the moisture from the gardens and stole the shade of any coolness. “Did I tell you Lord Hanweo’s half of the year is over? Lord Yulehi—the First Queen’s uncle—has taken the Head Minister’s position. Of course Lord Hanweo is still a minister, but it is Lord Yulehi who performs such duties as scheduling executions and other matters, now. His is the voice closest to the Throne for the last half of the year.”
“I see.” In other words, the First Queen had a hand in the matter. Given an opening, the woman wished to cause maximum discomfort to Mahara, and through her, to the Crown Prince. Not to mention tarnishing a foreign wife with the imputation of a treacherous servant brought from abroad. The opportunity had been too good to let pass. “I was unaware of this, but then, matters of government are above a simple court lady.”
He nodded, perhaps relieved she had caught on so quickly. “There are perhaps other things you would wish to speak upon, Lady Yala. Forgive me, since such subjects are perhaps distressing to a noblewoman, but I shall answer all I can.”
In other words, did she wish to know more? Yala hesitated, and perhaps he thought—or wished—her finished with the subject, for he forged ahead.
“There is something else I would speak upon, though.”
“Ah.” More trouble? She took a tiny sip, though the tea was still too hot. “Please do so, Zakkar Kai. I am attending closely.”
His tone lowered. “It strikes me that you perhaps need protection inside the palace as well as outside.”
“Recent events have been rather troubling.” She regarded him closely. “It is my princess who requires protection, though. I am merely a shield.”
“To her, perhaps.” Zakkar Kai’s throat moved as he swallowed. “Not… to me.”
Yala allowed her eyelids to drift half-closed, as if she were enjoying the tea. Jaelo was a powerfully calming scent. Her pulse was behaving rather strangely, and a flush through her was no doubt the tea pouring warmth into a vessel already overflowing.
No doubt. It could not be otherwise, could it?
“To be plain…” Zakkar Kai swallowed again, the lump in his throat bobbing, and took a gulp of tea. It was far too hot for such cavalier treatment, and his expression suggested he had not foreseen as much. He set the cup down and grimaced, slightly. “To be very plain, Komor Yala, I would offer you more than my occasional small aid in minor matters.”
“What else is there here, for me?” Her stomach made a restless motion inside her, and she hoped it would not gurgle with hunger. Such a thing would be embarrassing. What, precisely, was he proposing? “Your help is certainly not inconsiderable, General, but please be plainer.”
A susurration in the hall caught her attention. Zakkar Kai cocked his head, listening, and his eyebrows drew together even more firmly. “I would like to be very plain,” he said, softly. “Lady Komor… Yala, I wish to make you an offer.”
Hurrying feet. Raised voices.
“An… offer?” Yala’s heart began to thunder, and her fingers were cold. Her teacup shook slightly, the surface of the fragrant brew trembling. She wondered if her grasp of Zhaon was failing her. Was he sincerely—
Zakkar Kai opened his mouth.
The receiving-room door flew open. Lady Kue, pale, wringing her hands, burst through. “My prince,” she gasped. A tendril of red-black hair had come free and fallen in her face; her hairpin was askew. “The Crown Princess… oh, Lady Yala… oh…”
A rushing filled Yala’s ears. She set her cup down, careful of its brimming boil. Zakkar Kai leapt to his feet, the table shook, and she grasped its edge grimly, seeking to hear through the noise of the world turning off its axis and spinning into a hellish, howling darkness.
THE OPPOSITE OF LUCK
Only Kai’s command and the presence of the Crown Prince’s household guard, grim-faced and sweating in their snow-pard livery, kept back the crowd of servants, Golden, courtiers, and a sprinkling of eunuchs upon the dusty, sun-drenched steps of the Jonwa. The great double doors were slightly ajar, and in the dark stifling of the receiving-hall, the Emperor himself stood, attended by General Zakkar Kai. An inner hall resounded with activity, and from it issued forth a physician in a brown robe somewhat better than his normal, tattered everyday wear.
“He will survive,” Kihon Jiao said, grimly, wiping his hands against each other in a brief scrubbing motion. “He may even use the leg again, with care.”
Garan Tamuron’s hands were fists inside his voluminous sleeves. He stared at the physician; a muscle in his cheek twitched. “Where were his guards?”
Kai glanced at him. “And the Crown Princess?”
“I cannot answer the first, I am not a guard.” Jiao’s mouth had turned to a thin line. “The princess… well, the arrow pinned her leg to the horse. She fell, the horse… there was little chance. They tell me she lasted some short while during the return to the palace, but not long.”
The Emperor fixed Kai with a deadly glare. “Where were his guards? Where were my Golden, if not protecting my son?”
“I do not know either.” Kai’s jaw set itself, iron-hard. “I do not set the roster, my lord.” Ask Lord Yulehi. He did not need to say it.
Did he?
Two spots of crimson burned high upon the Emperor’s cheeks. He turned away and strode into the hall beyond. “Takyeo,” he bellowed, and the chaos deeper in the Jonwa intensified further.
“He will do more harm than good,” Kihon Jiao muttered. His longing to be gone, attending his patient, was palpable. He did not even have house-slippers, having stepped out of his sandals at the doorway and bolted inside to perform his duty. His strong bare feet were wide as a peasant’s, and he was missing the smallest toe upon the left one. “Well, my lord?”
Kai shook his head. “He is a father concerned for his son.”
“Mh.” The physician’s gaze darkened. He leaned forward, tense as a long-legged racing hound. “The arrows were barbed. There is much damage. I do not know if I can save the leg, even with good luck and much care.”
“If anyone can, ’tis you.” Kai clapped him upon the shoulder, but gently. The physician was a warrior in his own way, but he bruised like a peelfruit.
“I dislike the thought of the dungeons if I cannot.”
Was that what worrie
d Kihon Jiao enough to keep him here? Of course, he had witnessed the Emperor’s temper firsthand, and plainly did not think much of it. A patron protected his own, and for better or worse, Kihon Jiao was Zakkar Kai’s pet physician. “We will quietly arrange a journey for you, in that case. I hear the provinces are lovely in late summer.” In any direction.
“The thought fills me with hope,” Jiao said, somewhat sardonically, and, comforted upon his last worry, vanished into the dark hallway mouth again.
“Kai! Kai!” Sixth Prince Jin, his topknot knocked free and his cheeks almost rai-paper pale, had forced his way through the milling of guards and servants, and likewise through the Jonwa’s great double doors. “Kai, it’s me!”
Zakkar Kai set his shoulders and strode for the doors himself, filling his lungs for a battlefield shout.
It was time, he thought, to restore some order outside.
It took longer than he liked to bolster the household guard; scholar-robed Fourth Prince Makar arrived in short order, glancing briefly at Jin upon the sun-drenched steps. “How bad is it?” he murmured. His sleeves were not as precisely folded as usual; he had no doubt hurried through his afternoon dressing.
“I cannot tell yet.” Kai beckoned a few Golden forward. “No more guests past this point except Third Prince Takshin, understood? You—” He pointed at another.
“My lord!” the young guard said, hopping forward with alacrity.
“Run to Guard Captain Hurao, tell him to send another dozen Golden with the same orders I have given these, and to double the patrols. Leave for any reason is canceled. A white crushflower has bloomed, tell him that. And also, have him send a relief for the guards here in four candle-marks. Go.”
“My lord!” A deep bow, and the young man took off at a run, the crowd of onlookers parting like waves before a sharp prow.
“A relief. Yes. Quick thinking.” Makar settled his hands in his sleeves. His topknot was not quite askew, but it was close, and sweat gleamed upon his forehead. “I take it you have a mission for me as well?”
