by Devin Madson
“A messenger two days ago,” he said. “But nothing since.”
“Did he say where he was camped?”
A pause. “Not far from Kogahaera, I believe.”
I tried to read in his expression whether he knew the Levanti court had removed there, whether his father had some understanding with them or was planning an attack, but another pair of guards watched us from the end of the hall and I shut my lips on every question.
Edo bowed, inviting me to go before him into the room at the end of the passage. “You have not seen the Cavern before, Your Majesty. I remembered it vaguely from living here as a child, but no memory, no matter how strong, could ever have done it justice.”
“I have heard of it, of course. How nice to see it for myself.”
From the narrow passage we stepped into a grand room that stretched all the way to an open balcony and the crashing sea beyond. Matting covered the floor, but the ceiling was no criss-cross of thick wooden beams, rather vaulted stone like the interior of a cave. Dozens of stone spikes dotted its surface, each a knife blade poised to drop.
“It is believed the other half of the spire tumbled into the sea a long time ago, leaving this cave open to the sky.”
“And yet someone chose to live here. In this half,” I said. “I admit I would not have had the courage to commission the building works knowing the cliff might crumble at any moment.”
Edo laughed, and though it was not the laugh I remembered nor the smile I knew, it brought life to the dead shell who had met me upon the stairs. Foolish to have expected a warmer welcome. Losing Tanaka had changed us. Had changed Kisia.
“I don’t think they knew,” he said. “Perhaps they might have chosen differently if they had.”
I stared beyond the balcony at the grey sky streaked with rain. Waves crashed and warming coals crackled in their braziers, but Edo’s voice must have been as clogged as mine for he did not speak again until a servant scuffed into the room.
“Ah, good, your bath is ready, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing to me once more. “When you are finished there shall be food and we can talk. It’s been… too long since we last met.”
Almost I refused the bath and the clothes, but his voice had cracked on the words and he turned to stare out at the rain with the stance of one determined not to be drawn back. To someone who did not know him he looked to be staring at nothing, his thoughts far away, but I could see grief in the way he bent his fingers far back, in the curl of his shoulders and the press of his lips. Yet I could not speak, could not comfort, sure the acknowledgement of Tanaka would break us both beyond bearing. It felt wrong to even be in the same space as Edo without Tanaka lounging nearby.
Needing space, I went with the serving girl, crushed beneath a new guilt whose weight knew no bounds. I had not thought of my brother for days, weeks, had not grieved, had not prayed, had done nothing but keep fighting for the throne that ought to have been his. A throne he now could never take. And Mama. I had no reason to believe she had survived the sacking of Koi, yet I had not lit a single prayer candle for her or any other members of the court. So many dead. So much gone. But not me. Not yet.
The serving girl offered to stay and wash my hair, but I sent her away and sank alone into the hot water, letting it melt the ice stiffening my bones and bring feeling back to my aching limbs. And there in the small stone room, so deep in Kiyoshio Castle I could not hear the crashing waves, I took up one of the candles. Wax pooled around its flaming wick, and forcing myself to recall my brother’s face—frustrating, confident, dearly beloved Tanaka—I tipped a drop of hot wax onto my arm. I hissed, surprised by how sharply it burned when I had thought myself prepared. Meaning in that, perhaps.
Once enough wax had built up, I pictured my mother, Kisia’s Dragon Empress, and tipped another drop of wax beside Tanaka’s penance. The next was for General Kitado. Then General Ryoji. For Minister Manshin. For Master Kenji, Chancellor Goro, and Yin, on and on until I needed four candles sitting upon the edge of the bath to keep up with the names of those I had failed even to remember, let alone respect, in death.
A silk robe felt strange after so long in damp armour. As a princess, most of my robes had been decorated with dragons and pikes, but this was white and adorned all over with deep blue embroidery like the raging sea, horse heads visible amid the waves. Like the Ts’ai, the Bahains were intent on stamping their mark upon everything it seemed, even me.
Once again, I refused the help of the maid. I was too restless for paint and combs, making do with three jewelled hairpins stuck through a rough bun. Edo, of all people, would forgive my lack of formality.
He was waiting back in the Cavern, but though he threw me his warmest smile yet, it was a flurry of tan fur and scratching claws that made my heart leap. I dropped with a squeal of delight as Shishi dashed toward me, her tail wagging so fast it blurred with excitement.
“Shishi!” I scruffed her fur as she sniffed furiously at my face and licked my proffered cheek, her scent so reminiscent of a life I had lost that my throat contracted and I blinked back tears.
“She must have heard your voice,” Edo said as I buried my face in Shishi’s fur. “She came trotting in looking for you not long after you went to bathe.”
I nuzzled Shishi, murmuring to her until I could command my voice without it trembling. “Thank you for looking after her, Edo.”
“You’re welcome, Your Majesty,” he said, and I realised he had not once used my name since I had arrived. It was like we had never played in the gardens together, never chased one another down the long halls when we thought no one was looking, like those children were long gone. “It would have broken my heart too had she come to harm.”
My sleeve covered the wax burns on my arm, but still I tugged it as I joined him at the table, regally spreading the skirt of my robe. Shishi settled beside me.
“Lord Edo,” I said, acknowledging him with the same formality with which he had greeted me. I could not repress a bitter smile.
He looked up and for a moment our eyes met across the sea of delicate dishes filling the air with the scent of spice and memory. “It seems strange to be on such terms of formality,” he said as a serving girl poured wine. “I used to wonder how it would be when Tanaka became… But I think after everything we had… well, I don’t think it could have changed us.”
The words plunged a dagger into my heart, twisting as he finished with a sad, wry smile. I had spent so long listening for the hidden meanings in words that I could not stop now, could not keep my doubts from blooming anew. Had all that childhood play, all that friendship, been for nothing because it had not been me he loved?
“You’re right,” I forced myself to say though each word was a hammer strike to a heart already cracking. “Tana would never have let you bow and call him fine titles.”
He would have been informal with everyone; it had just been his way. I had none of his assurance. The title I claimed hung by a thread, owing its existence to nothing but the continued mention of it. I had no palace. No crown. No throne. No empire. No people. Nothing but the name.
Edo’s lips trembled and he said nothing. I wanted to talk about Tanaka. To mourn him with the only other person who had loved him as dearly as I had, but I had not come to Syan to open such a wound. Not while there was no time or strength to do it justice.
There would be time later. Always later.
I had been ravenously hungry when we had arrived, but could only stomach picking at a few slices of fish. “You must not have been home long before your father left with the battalions,” I said, choosing my words so carefully it might have been a minister seated across the table.
“Not long, Your Majesty, no.”
Night was falling beyond the balcony, bringing renewed storms. The blustering wind sent waves crashing against the cliff and whistled through the room, making the candle flames dance. Sandals scuffed matting. Ceramic clinked. Coals hissed in their braziers. They ought to have been comforting noises a
gainst the background roar of the storm, yet I felt more tense than Hacho’s string. We were just eating a meal, yet my fingers twitched at the absence of my bow, left in my room with my sword and armour. I touched the knife hidden in my sash, but it brought little comfort.
Pressed against my side, Shishi lay still, only her tail stirring restlessly.
We ate in silence for a while, though I seemed to be doing most of the eating and Edo most of the drinking. Due to a tendency toward headaches, he had never been much of a drinker, but headache or no he was drinking now. I sipped at my wine, more in an attempt to burn away the lump in my throat than because I wanted it. It didn’t work. The lump remained. And only the warmth of Shishi against my leg kept the tears at bay. Why couldn’t I just ask him what had happened? Ask what his father was doing and whether we could ride to meet him? Why could I think the words but not get them past my lips?
The answer might have been unfathomable at any other time, but by my thudding heart and queasy gut I knew it for fear. I had been so sure of so much, only to have it torn away. Edo was all I had left. Whatever happened next, I wished to prolong our friendship as long as I could. Even if it was just one more minute in silence. Followed by another. And another.
Outside the wind howled.
“I assume you heard about Koi,” Edo said as his wine bowl was refilled. The serving girl returned to her place kneeling just inside the door.
“Yes,” I said. “Word came to us in Mei’lian. Did you hear about the capital?”
“About the Chiltaen massacre? Yes.”
I cleared my throat and forced out more words. “I understand the Levanti emperor has removed to Kogahaera.” It was like treading very quietly around a cave lest I wake a sleeping bear.
“I believe that to be true, yes.”
“I must admit surprise then, that you have had no recent messages from your father.”
“He has little reason to communicate with me here unless to pass orders to his steward.” Bitterness? Edo had never had much of a relationship with his father. “I am but a caretaker.” He spread his arms, indicating the room. “Ensuring the great Kiyoshio Castle does not fall into the sea.”
The creeping fear something was amiss strengthened. “Edo,” I said. “I…” I glanced at the servant kneeling by the door—the very best of spies, Mama had once told me, for no one pays them any heed. Too many servants made their living from the pocket of more than one master and I had lived too long beneath the court’s watchful eyes to trust anyone’s discretion.
Edo seemed to follow my thoughts, for he cleared his throat and gestured to the girl. “Bring tea. Her Majesty is not fond of wine.”
The girl rose, bowed, and uttered, “Yes, my lord,” as she backed out of the room. It had no door for her to close in her wake, leaving the sound of her footsteps to fade as she scuffed away down the stone passage. As soon as she was out of earshot, Edo fixed me with a look so full of fear that my mouth dried.
“What is it?” I breathed, the words barely owning enough strength to be heard above the storm.
“My father is not the ally you think him,” Edo hissed over the top of his wine bowl. “Did you never wonder why he did not ride to your aid? Why he replied so late to Minister Manshin’s call to arms? He—”
Edo broke off. Footsteps were already returning along the passage. He was not fool enough to turn and look, but over his shoulder I watched a new servant enter bearing a pail of coals. Wordlessly the man moved around the room from brazier to brazier, taking his time stirring the coals and adding more from his charred pail.
Edo did not watch the man, but tapped his wine bowl between mouthfuls, drinking so regularly he had to refill the bowl himself. Before the man finished his task, the serving girl returned with tea, ending any chance for further unheard conversation.
Edo’s words gnawed at me. I had wondered time and again exactly what Emperor Kin meant when he said I had to remind Grace Bahain who he was loyal to. Lacking other options, I had come to Syan wary, sure at the very least that no man possessed of such hate for the Chiltaens could ever ally himself with them.
Still without answers, a cage closed tighter around me.
Edo downed the rest of his wine and the serving girl refilled that too, slow and graceful about every task. I had to bite back the demand she leave us. She would have to obey, but another servant would just take her place.
At last she returned to kneel by the door, her eyes lowered. Checking the coal man had gone, I cleared the dishes from the centre of the table and tipped up the rice bowl. With my knife I spread it, still steaming, into a flat surface. Who? I wrote, using the tip of the knife to carve the word into the rice.
Edo took up his own knife, and having glanced around the room, he smoothed out the rice and wrote Levanti.
I had considered Jie, or even that Grace Bahain had merely been working in his own interest, but that he had allied himself with the Levanti was far more frightening. That he had not ridden to our assistance meant their alliance was of long duration, and the massacre of the Chiltaens in Mei’lian no crime of opportunity. I caught my breath at the enormity of my ignorance.
I longed to be able to speak openly, to tell Edo everything, but I clamped my lips and took up my knife. Trap?
He nodded.
Unable to eat any more, I took up my tea with shaking hands, trying to take comfort from the warmth of the bowl and the habitual act of blowing away the steam. Across the table Edo stared at the rice as though he could burn a message into it with his eyes. Beside the door the serving girl knelt statue still.
“This storm season has been uncommonly bad so far,” I said, proud my voice didn’t shake as much as my hands. Small talk came naturally after growing up at court and it seemed to snap Edo from his reverie.
“It has,” he agreed. “But I have never spent one on the coast before, so perhaps it is always this bad. The castle weathers it well.”
“It does. I am surprised more rain doesn’t get in through your open balconies.”
Edo frowned, looking through me rather than at me. “Yes!” he exclaimed after a time, and began throwing handfuls of rice back into the bowl. “Yes, isn’t it marvellous? It’s due to the overhangs. The castle might look like a natural feature, but the people who built it were really clever. You see the angle of the rain—damn, it’s too hard to explain without a picture.” He turned his head. “Bring paper and ink. I left some over on the writing table.”
The serving girl rose, bowed, and moved across the room to retrieve paper and ink. While her back was turned, Edo swept the last few grains of rice off the table with his hand. Shishi padded over to snuffle and lick at the matting.
Edo moved his bowl as the serving girl set paper before him, along with a brush and ink that needed more water. He poured wine onto it and stirred, taking as long about the task as it took for the girl to retreat to her place by the door.
Then he started writing.
“So if the rain is coming in at an angle like this,” he said as words bled from the end of his brush, “which it often does off the sea because of the winds, then”—he paused as one might if drawing, but he kept on writing, the words messy and frantic—“by putting the balconies here and having little roofs jut here…” Another pause as his brush swept to the end of a line and stopped, quivering an inch from the page. “… then the rain will hit only the balcony and none of it will get inside. The matting does have to be changed more frequently at that end of the room, but it’s mostly because we tread the damp inside.” He slid the note across the table, only to begin illustrating exactly the scenario he had just described on the next page. I had no eyes for it, only for his messy lines.
Father wants the throne. He allied with the Levanti to get rid of the Chiltaens and wound Kisia. Now he will marry you and get rid of them. I’m to take you to Kogahaera and if I do not, his soldiers will. Go to your room. I will come for you in the night and smuggle you out on a boat I have ready.
“T
here are balconies like it all over the castle,” Edo went on, the words washing over me as though spoken in a foreign language. Marriage. How deep did this plot go? And how far back? “Some are natural formations, but most were carved from the stone and I marvel they don’t fall. Apparently, it hasn’t happened once in the recorded history of the castle. At least it’s not in any of the Toi family records and they lived here for hundreds of years, you know, until both the old duke’s heirs died in a particularly bad season of pirate raids.”
Edo barked a bitter laugh that drew my gaze from the page now trembling like an aspen leaf in my hand. “Duke of Syan,” he said. “Half reward, half punishment, Father has always said. It’s no wonder the old duke tried to leap from one of the balconies.”
I folded the hastily written warning and shoved it into my sleeve. “I am sure your father is more than up to the task, Lord Edo,” I said, trying to thrust the idea of being made to marry him from my head. No wonder Edo had been so stiff and quiet. To have thought one thing of his father and found the truth otherwise must have been a heavy weight to add to his already oppressive grief. I had only anger, and a return of my disgust at how readily two power-hungry men had sought to claim my body and my name, usurping my freedom to further their ambitions. I had already refused the fate once. I would refuse it again.
Too anxious to eat, I considered whether it would be safer to make a feigned escape to my mat now or attempt more conversation. There was so much more I wanted to say to him, but this revelation had put everything else from my mind. I patted Shishi, grateful for her comforting warmth.
An irregular patter of footsteps rose above the crashing waves, not one set but many, approaching along the passage. Edo’s hands clenched to fists. He dared not turn, but he leaned so I could see through the archway while his eyes scoured my face. A crowd of figures blocked the passage, its leader owning a distinctly military stride.
“Is something wrong?” I said, not having to feign a note of worry. “Has something happened?”