“Pretend.”
She pressed her lips together. “Forever our fathers’ daughters. You told me this back in Oren-yaro.”
“So I did.”
“Perhaps he wasn’t thinking of what he was leaving you,” she said. “Perhaps he didn’t consider that you were just a child hanging on to his every word. The folly of most parents—to see their children as extensions of themselves. You are me. You are my legacy. You are capable of everything I am not. It removes the responsibility of actually having to do anything for themselves, leaving it all on the shoulders of the generation after.”
“In almost every other aspect, my father had me convinced that he had everything under control.”
“Even a man like Yeshin can have his oversights.”
“I…” I swallowed. “I’m not sure how I feel about my father anymore. Hearing your words right now, for instance, I still have to fight back the indignation that you could say such things. That my father could’ve overlooked anything.”
“Your father made many mistakes during the war, Beloved Queen. As did Princess Ryia. As did all of them.” She craned her head to the side. “Perhaps it is time you accept that the man… isn’t as intelligent as you believed. He was as much a fool as the fools he hated. He made the mistake of dealing with Yuebek and Princess Ryia at the same time and pandered to both to keep them off his back. It is what most would have done. There is no shame in admitting your father was human, too. What you need to worry about is right in front of you and Lord Rayyel.”
“Priestess, even if we manage to kill Yuebek this very instant, one scandal after another does not bode well for a joint rule.”
“Then you will both still have to decide what happens to the nation after,” she said. “Your allies will want to know what they are fighting for.”
I swallowed. She was right, of course. But I’d committed the same folly—I, too, saw myself as an extension of my father. To let go of him would be like reaching blindly into the void. I wanted to do it, but I didn’t know if I could.
Namra looked at me and mumbled an apology under her breath. She bade me to rest and left the room in search of our hosts. I stepped over to one of the beds, wondering if it was even possible to sleep at this rate. My foot got caught on the side of a box that had been kept in the dusty shadows. I pulled it out and noticed it was filled with old books—children’s stories, most of which were popular in Oren-yaro for a time. I picked one up.
I heard the door creak open. Liosa returned warily, her eyes darting across the room as if in search of a hidden enemy. She spotted me with the books.
“Is this yours?” I asked. “I apologize. I didn’t know.”
She came up, plucked the book from my hand, and turned it several pages.
“Now I think you want to tell me a story,” I said with a smile.
She pushed my cheek, forcing my eyes back to the book.
“Or maybe you want us to do this together…” I grumbled. “Well, let’s see what we have here.” I began to read the story out loud. It must have been one of her favourites, because her eyes danced as I skipped past the sentences. She didn’t seem to mind my inadequate reading, though she did make me re-read a page or two with an intensity that reminded me of Thanh. After I finished, she took my hand and eagerly pulled me down the hall, as if to invite me to take a walk. She looked like she held no memory, no qualms, of our last encounter. Despite my exhaustion, guilt made me get up and allow her to take the lead.
“That’s Liosa,” one of the priestesses had told us that day. “Don’t let her scare you. She’s harmless.”
The woman was feeding ducks at the pond in the back of the temple. The priestess gave her a dimpled smile before gesturing towards me. I wrapped a swaddling cloth around the baby’s bare back before walking around the bamboo grove to join her.
“How long has she been here?” I asked.
“Too long,” the priestess replied. “She was so young, just this thin waif of a girl. I wasn’t here then—the head priestess told me everything—but they said she was much worse in those days. They had to tear her away from her old mother… she was crying like a baby. No insult meant to this little warrior, of course,” she added, glancing down at Thanh, who blinked quietly at the sunlight. I was convinced volcanoes could erupt and he wouldn’t utter a sound.
“I think he’s mesmerized by the clouds,” I stated offhandedly.
“I think he’s passing gas,” the priestess chuckled. “May I?” She held out her hands.
I hesitated for a second. I still wasn’t comfortable letting others hold him. But the woman’s face was so bright, and Thanh so calm, that I conceded. She took him from me carefully, the fragile thing, precious gem, and began swaying.
“My sisters had so many babies,” she explained with a laugh. “Now they’re old and stinky and wouldn’t be caught dead in my arms. They grow up too fast.”
“None for yourself?”
“Goodness, no! They’re easier when you can give them back.” She grinned before stepping towards Liosa. “Look at what we have here, my dear. Look at this little one. Isn’t he lovely?”
Liosa looked up, the ducks waddling around her. She couldn’t see what the priestess was holding at first and approached curiously.
“He’s newborn, so you can see how soft his skin is,” the priestess said. “And those eyes! Have you ever seen such beautiful eyes before?”
Liosa peered down at the bundle. As soon as she saw him, her face contorted. I was about five, maybe six paces away, but something told me I needed to move, even with a body bruised from childbirth. I grabbed the priestess’s arm just as Liosa’s fingers tore the swaddling cloths from my son’s body, twisting it so that he dropped safely into my arms.
Liosa screeched, a sound that tore itself out from the bowels of her soul. I backed away.
“She’s just curious,” the priestess managed, trying to hold her down. “Liosa—listen to me, Liosa. It’s just an infant. She just wants to see—”
But I didn’t believe her. The look on Liosa’s face was that of a wild animal that wanted to rip my infant son apart. I covered his head with one hand and fled to the safety of the temple just as the other priestesses and the head priest arrived to our aid. I didn’t know what happened after, but they told me she was inconsolable and that they had sent her down to the village, to be kept there for the entirety of our stay. They all seemed very apologetic.
The woman I followed up the stairwell seemed nothing at all like the one in my memories. There were lines on her face that betrayed her years, but she moved with the grace of someone who hadn’t aged much inside. I remembered asking Agos to watch the door and kill Liosa if she ever came near my son again. If she had shown her face I might have run her through myself; I was young then, too, and couldn’t see past the need to protect my child. The recollection filled me with shame. I could have been kinder.
She laughed with the clear sound of bells as we walked past the kitchens. “I was about to call you,” Namra said. There were bowls of chicken and papaya soup and plates of steaming rice on the table. “Come and eat.”
“I think she wants me to see something.” I glanced at Liosa, who had yet to let go of my hand.
“She’s curious about one of the villagers,” a serving woman commented, passing by. “Just came in for a healing. She always wants to look but she won’t go alone and the priestesses don’t have time to entertain her.”
“I’ll go with you,” I told Liosa.
She must’ve understood my words, because she looked ridiculously happy. Namra abandoned the food to join us. We made our way to the temple grounds, past the pond and through the tilled plots of tomatoes, eggplant, and bitter melon. A bamboo hut was built right at the edge of the vegetable garden.
We heard screaming as soon as we came up the path. Liosa’s hand tightened around mine.
“A healing,” Namra said.
“I know what you’re going to say, priestess.”
&
nbsp; “I mean no offense.” She nodded towards the hut, where we could see a woman on a woven mat, hands and feet bound. The head priest and priestess dabbed oil on her forehead while murmuring prayers. “The servants of Akaterru are servants of the people. It’s… comforting, in times like these.”
“You’re a priestess yourself. To guide the people in times of trouble—isn’t that ultimately the goal of servitude to whatever deity you’re sworn to?”
She smiled. “As with you.”
“Religious dogma is hardly like politics.”
“I disagree. There’s a reason Dragonlord Rayyel decided to have himself ordained, just like his uncle Rysaran before him. Servitude to the people can come in many forms. Sometimes we must appreciate the intent, even if in practice it is… flawed.” The woman inside the hut started screaming again.
“So the healing doesn’t always work,” I started.
“If it even works at all. Without treatment, how are prayers supposed to heal?”
“We’re in Jin-Sayeng. It’s not like we can afford a ship or two of Zarojo physicians to offer to the common man.”
She gave a wry smile. “If the warlords would agree to cut their armies in half, perhaps, or do away with them altogether…”
“—and donate the coin to the Dragonthrone to spend on commoners… I don’t think so, Namra.”
“As I said.” She pressed her lips together. “Comfort. I do understand.”
Our conversation was interrupted by a priest who came running down the steps, paying us no heed as he raced back to the temple. Inside the hut, one of the priestesses began to pray out loud, a note of panic behind the chant.
“Back,” Namra breathed. “Step back!”
I dragged Liosa away from the hut just as the ailing woman threw herself off the window. Her head hit a garden statue and cracked open like a watermelon, splattering blood across the ripe tomatoes. Her bonds had been gnawed off.
Bile stirred in my throat. I found myself staring at the body as the priestesses flocked around us. She had died on impact, but she seemed to be staring right at me, the whites of her eyes flecked with blood. Eventually, someone draped a mat over her, and I found myself able to breathe again.
“Blessed Akaterru, you shouldn’t have been here,” the head priest told us.
“This isn’t the first time this has happened,” Namra said. It wasn’t a question.
The priest stared back, his eyes watering.
“There’s no sense denying it, Father,” Namra continued. “You all seem oddly calm about it.”
“The fifth since the turn of the moon,” the priest finally stammered. “This is the second who was too far gone. The others… we were able to convince the spirits to leave them alone.”
“Spirits,” I drawled, drawing away from Liosa.
“Spirits, yes,” the priest said. “These people attracted the attention of bad spirits somehow. It’s been making them sick. Making them mad.”
“Is that what happened to Liosa?”
The priest made a sign. “We don’t talk about these things.”
“Father,” a priestess called.
The priest looked startled. “Please,” he repeated. “We appreciate the concern, but we have this under control.”
A strange look came over Namra’s face. “I understand,” she said in a voice that didn’t match her expression. “Thank you for your service, Father.” She glanced at me. Taking the cue, I followed her down to the pond. Liosa, seemingly unaffected by what had just transpired, abandoned us in search of breadcrumbs for the ducks.
“You’re thinking the same thing I am,” I said as soon as we were alone.
“The things you saw in the Sougen,” she said. “People turning into monsters, as mad as the dragons themselves. But it couldn’t have spread this far. I don’t feel anything in the air. Look at that sky. It’s blue, not like the sky we saw in your father’s false throne room.”
“What else could this be?”
“Agan ailments can happen in other circumstances,” Namra said. “Just because you don’t accept these things in Jin-Sayeng doesn’t mean the rules have changed. Connections can still be made—mages can still do their work here. You’ve seen it with your own eyes, in your castle. Did you see how the priest reacted when you asked about Liosa?”
“Of course he would do that. Talk of the agan in Akaterru’s holy grounds…” I made the same sign the priest did, and I wasn’t sure if I was doing it in earnest or in mockery.
“In Liosa’s case—I’ve seen it before back in Dageis. She must’ve been in the presence of a spell gone wrong. It’s not easy to reverse—you’d need to re-create the conditions, readjust the threads, understand what you’re working with in the first place…”
“I hardly think anyone is casting spells out here in the middle of nowhere,” I said. “Maybe it’s an isolated case, caused by that rift all the way in the Sougen mountains. Maybe we’ll see more of these in the coming days. We must be among the few who know not only the cause, but also the effect. We need to do something about this, Namra.”
“How do you fight what you cannot see? How do you fix something you cannot reach?”
“Welcome to what keeps me awake at night,” I told her in my sincerest voice.
Later, I kept an eye on Liosa as she slept. The priestesses didn’t seem concerned. “Nearly thirty years she’s been here,” they said when they brought extra blankets, and caught me wide awake and conveniently situated as far from her as possible. “She won’t be flying out of the window any time soon.” I was more worried about catching her chewing the legs clean off my body.
But nothing happened. The woman lay on her bed, curled up in a nest of pillows as peacefully as if nothing was amiss. Even in her sleep, she remained child-like. I crept up along the shadows to watch her breathe slowly, her eyes flickering every so often, as if she was deep inside some pleasant dream. I grabbed the edge of her blanket to straighten it, tucking it close to her chin. She made a soft sound and curled towards the warmth like an infant.
“Are you planning to kill her?” Namra asked, appearing by the doorway.
“Of course not,” I huffed. “Is it so hard to believe I won’t?”
Namra laughed as she approached, a jug of wine in one hand.
“Please tell me you didn’t steal that from the kitchens.”
“I didn’t,” she replied. “The priest had a stash in the back of the altar.”
“Gods be damned, Namra, they use those for ceremonies.”
“Even better.” She uncorked it.
“You’re really pushing this not bursting into flames thing.” But I took the jug when she handed it to me. “I’m sure you don’t get the chance to be like this around my husband.” I swallowed a mouthful, biting back the sour, acrid taste. Holy wine didn’t taste very holy.
She started to say something polite, shook her head, and laughed instead. “I’m sorry. My lord is a good man, but he is as stiff-lipped as they come. We once subsisted on nothing but plain bread for two moons just because—well, I don’t quite remember. But I recall thinking it was silly.”
“He doesn’t believe in drinking. Likes to keep his head clear. As if that makes things better. His worst decisions were made with a clear head.” I handed her the jug. She accepted it with a bow before taking a swig. “A good man,” I repeated. “You know what amuses me? That back when I needed him, when I would have given the world to have him by my side, I wouldn’t have agreed so easily. But now I do.”
“Because now you don’t love him.”
I took the jug back and had another sip. “Do we need a discourse? What is love, the priestess asked the queen, and she said…”
“She doesn’t know what love means anymore,” Namra replied, refusing the wine when I tried to return it to her. “That is, at least, what my lord thinks. And he is shattered by it.”
I stared at the glimmer of moonlight on the rim of the bottle. “He talks to you?”
She shrug
ged. “Occasionally.”
“He must trust you quite a bit. Rai hardly talked in the three years we spent together.” Well—maybe that wasn’t always so true. But it was hard to sift through memories after anger had distorted them.
“We knew each other briefly as children,” Namra said. “He is my lord, but he was also once shorter than me. I believe he thinks that since I’m also a woman, I can offer him the deepest of insights about how women think. As if I know! It would take too long to disagree, so I humour him when I can.”
“Did you tell him that disappearing for five years all while refusing to acknowledge our child and then later threatening to kill him isn’t endearing for anyone?”
“I may have,” she said with a smile. “Repeatedly.”
“Good.”
“I may have also told him that you care about this land more than your dissenters would have people believe,” she continued, growing serious. “And so even if your method of ruling was never to his liking—you with your threats and rage, a wolf of Oren-yaro through and through—it doesn’t make it wrong. You can be two sides of the same coin. He can offer stability, levelheadedness, and the age-old comfort his clan’s name brings. You? You could ignite fire in the coldest of hearts while striking fear in your enemies’. The perfect pair to bring this nation to harmony.”
“I’ve heard that all my life.”
“Not in this way, I’m sure.” She gave a small nod. “Forgive me. I’m an idealist. I can’t help but see the world as it could be. It’s inconvenient.”
“It’s admirable.”
“But I must admit that after everything that transpired… I’m just surprised you didn’t run off with Khine the first chance you got.”
I drank more wine.
“I mean, you could have,” she continued.
“Gods,” I whispered. “Is it that obvious to everyone?”
“An admission?”
“A rhetorical question.”
“I’ll answer it, anyway. My lord remains blissfully unaware, and Inzali thinks her brother is a fool and doesn’t care what he does with his life, but…”
The Dragon of Jin-Sayeng Page 26