by S. C. Emmett
“Oh, please, simply Fifth Prince will do.” An indulgent smile stretched his well-fed lips. “Where are you from, lovely girl?”
“A…a village,” she hazarded, and her arms began to tremble too. He wanted her to betray Lady Yala in some fashion, and Anh would die before she did such a thing. Still, if she was not very careful, some omission on her part might perform the betrayal despite her.
“Well, of course.” A thin thread of irritation crept into his jollity. “I didn’t think you were born in the Palace.”
What would Lady Yala say? “I was not blessed so, no.” For a moment Anh was frightened of her own daring. But the Fifth Prince merely nodded, a movement glimpsed at the very edge of her vision, as if she had said something profound.
“And where is your lady today, lovely girl?”
So that is what he wants. Fortunately, Anh knew what to say. “Abed, Glorious Fifth Prince. Sick with grief.”
“I did not think she and the Emperor were close.”
No, for the Second Concubine. Anh realized the trap just in time, and kept her mouth shut. An indiscreet word here might raise gossip that Lady Komor mourned more for a concubine than for the Emperor. Instead, she kept her gaze fast upon the floor— solid wood, polished by set after set of hurrying feet. How many times had she been in this passageway, and she’d never looked down to see where her toes would land?
“Well.” The prince tucked his hands in his sleeves, a tiny movement glimpsed in peripheral vision. “Convey my wishes for her complete recovery to your lady, little Anh. What a charming name. Would you like another syllable for it?”
I know my place. Anh shook her head, hurriedly. “I have not earned manumit, Glorious Fifth Prince.”
“I’m not sure the Khir know about manumit. You’d best ask your lady. You could spend your entire life with leather on your braids.”
That wouldn’t be so bad. Not if it was in her lady’s service. A kaburei took pride in a master or mistress of any quality, for it reflected well downstream. “Yes, Glorious Fifth Prince.”
“If you change your mind, I could ask Lady Komor for you. She seems the tenderhearted sort.”
If he made an offer for her…oh, surely Heaven would not allow such a thing to happen. Anh’s mouth was dry. She folded even deeper into her bow. “An h-honor,” she stuttered. “Great p-prince.”
Perhaps he even took pity upon her. “Well, you’d best be about your business. If Lady Komor says yes, you might be manumit soon, lovely girl. Would you like that?”
I don’t know. “I…I cannot tell, Glorious Fifth Prince.” She wondered if she was dismissed enough to scuttle away. Her hands were sweating enough to fill a teacup. She had the idea, unwelcome indeed, that the Fifth Prince might maneuver Lady Komor into a position where Anh had to be given away, and then what would become of her?
“Think about it. I’m a very tenderhearted sort, too. Well, go on. I’ll see you again.”
Anh hurried away, her heart thumping and her liver uneasy in its seating.
She wished, suddenly and vengefully, that her lady was not quite so highly placed or well-regarded, for then today would be an ordinary day and this devouring fear would be a stranger to her. But that was a useless thought, and she had more than enough of the useful kind to crowd her head-meat and keep her moving.
UPON OUR CONSCIENCES
The dovecote was warm and full of murmuring as well as the sour smell of birdshit; he was glad of the jatajatas keeping his feet clear of the sticky floor. At least the cages were constructed so none of the soft grey birds could splash his robes, so long as he took a modicum of care. “All of them?” Kurin tongue-clicked like a disapproving dowager and shook his head. “The North, East, and South gates?”
“There’s no telling who slipped out.” A faint edge of bitterness clung to Binei Jinwon’s tone. He was taking the news of his sudden demotion from head of the clan very well, all things considered, but still bore watching. “Arrows and knifework. Someone knew what they were about.”
Kurin rolled a scrap of silk tightly around the wooden sliver; he slid the last message into its case. Normally a cotewatcher would tie the straps to the birds’ legs, but this was a delicate time in the Palace; the Golden watching this particular hutch were under the command of a fellow whose family was much beholden to Garan Kurin— especially the youngest sister. “Of course, news of Father’s ascension to Heaven is useful to any number of parties.”
“Yes, but why kill the barrier-guards?” His uncle lifted his ministerial robe slightly, like a lady crossing a bridge over a swollen stream. “What is the message?”
Was the man simply speaking to hear himself bleat? Kurin kept at his work; it required nimble fingers and a tranquil heart. Winged things could sense dismay or irritation, and it weighed them down. “Very simple: We know.”
“Know what?”
“That is precisely what they hope we are wondering, Uncle.” How was it, Kurin mused, that an elder, supposedly wiser, did not grasp what was stupidly, simply obvious? Head of the clan, indeed. It was a wonder the Yulehi were not extinct if this was the quality of their head-meat. He was grateful to his lord father for granting him a fraction of Garan, in that case. “Whether or not a message left, we are meant to wonder, and let the matter work upon our consciences.”
“Assuming we have such appendages.” Uncle twitched his mourning robe away from a cage. He and Mother were well matched, both querulous in their own way. “You are sending quite a few, nephew. Are you certain that is wise?”
Are you certain it is wise to yammer at me so? Kurin’s temper was not frayed yet, but it could easily become so. “Yours is not the only matter I am attending to, Uncle.”
“My matter?”
“Of course.” Kurin longed to shove the fellow outside, perhaps with a clout to the ear, but such behavior was beneath him at the moment and inefficient besides. Binei Jinwon was still a useful tool, and one did not lay such aside until one was forced— or until one had another to hand. “You are Yulehi clan head, a nephew upon the throne is to your advantage, is it not?”
“Certainly.” Uncle regarded him sourly. “And I shall be blamed if we are found out?”
“Of course not.” Only if it suits me. Kurin tied the first few cylinders, neatly and thoroughly, a trick he could perform one-handed. Each fat grey bird submitted patiently, knowing its place in the great scheme of the Middle World. He suspected at least one of the directions now starred with dead men was a feint, but which one? Impossible to tell, events were moving quite quickly. He had only one of the Golden commanders, but that was enough if the ministers decided Kurin’s was the wind to turn their sails to, like the great Anwei junks plying the eastern seas to far N’hon and even farther to the strange, wild coast of northern Ch’han.
“So much bother.” Lord Yulehi’s nose wrinkled. Of course, unlike the mews where the fierce hawks slumbered waiting for the hunt, this was no place for a nobleman. “You would think the commonborn spear-whelp would simply die, and save us the trouble.”
“Careful, Uncle. That is my Eldest Brother.” Yes, it would be quite amusing when he finally rid himself of this puffed-up festival bladder. He already had made certain preparations in that direction, but now was not the time. For one thing, he needed this fellow to help with his mother, who was in an excess of feeling— it could not be called grief, but the exact name for it escaped Kurin at the moment. “Common mother or not, we share a father, and that is all that matters. Cau Luong was very clear upon that point, was he not?”
At least the clan-head— more a painted screen set before the real power, as in stories of the Second Dynasty— had stopped flicking his robe about like a courtesan. “I have not your learning, Second Prince.”
Nor any of my other fine qualities. Kurin rolled another scrap, inserted it into a cylinder. “Then you must trust that he was. In any case, there is more than one group needing some manner of direction at the moment, and I am here to provide.” He finished tying
the last of the tiny scrollcases, exhaling softly as his fingers threatened to cramp. His hurai was too thick for this work; when finished he slipped it back upon its finger with relief. “And I wish to know exactly where one or two people are, and whether they mean to come to Zhaon-An.”
“Chief among them General Zakkar, I presume.”
“Not chief,” Kurin lied. Perhaps his uncle would even believe him. “But it would not hurt to know, and we have made arrangements for that, you and I. Shouldn’t you be discussing duty and pleasure with that Geh fellow?” The second Golden commander would be a welcome addition to Kurin’s camp, and where two of them went the third would follow.
Lord Yulehi shook his head. It was amazing, how a grown man could bridle like a girl told of marriage. “He is recalcitrant.”
A girl, bridling— he wondered if Sabwone, his favorite, clutching, clawing little sister, was happy in her own new home. The palace was certainly less interesting without her, but she would be a decided irritant at this juncture. Poor thing, but women were meant for marrying, and Shan was now even more certain as an ally. “We might require his services later, uncle.” Patience, Kurin told himself, was essential. He had worked too long and too subtly to risk a misstep now. “You are to overcome his recalcitrance.”
“You sound like your mother.” Perhaps his uncle meant it as an insult.
I doubt that very much. She would not be half so polite. “She is preparing for the funeral,” Kurin murmured, and hoped it was true. Gamwone was weeping into any bolster she could find, and alternated between bewailing that she was now left alone and vengeful mutterings as if Father were still alive. He did not envy Gamnae the duty of staying at her side to ameliorate the worst excesses; he suspected his sister would be all but useless in that capacity anyway.
“You do not seem to be grieving, nephew.”
Oh, the man was definitely feeling some injury to his pride. Which was unfortunate. Kurin halted, his gaze coming to rest completely upon Binei Jinwon. “Are you implying that I am guilty of something, or merely unfilial?”
“Neither,” Lord Yulehi said hurriedly. “I was remarking, with admiration, upon your stoicism. It is a quality much admired in a king.”
“But in an Emperor?” Kurin’s smile was rather gentle, but it would have made his little sister— or even Sixth Prince Jin— frantically wish to be anywhere else. One of the birds mantled as if it thought itself a hawk, and something splattered upon the floor.
“What is an Emperor but a king of kings?” Now Lord Yulehi’s forehead held a faint sheen of sweat, which was somewhat gratifying except for the fact that it could simply be from the stuffiness of the confined space. The drowsing birds reeked of feathers and ordure; it was almost impossible to believe such rancid beasts could fly.
“Indeed.” Kurin decided he had done all he could at this particular juncture. It was time to let the small, stupid winged things do their duty. “Come, let us give freedom to these poor feathered peasants.”
When they left the dovecote, Kurin found his robes were in quite good repair, unlike Lord Yulehi’s. But the larger surprise was a gleam in the fleeing shadows of rising dawn, a hard dart of light from a gold hoop caught upon his younger brother’s ear.
“Takshin.” Kurin did not bow a greeting. In any case, he was the elder. The morning was sweet outside the cote’s stink, and Takshin’s scarred face largely unreadable. “You are up and about early.”
“As are you.” He did not wear mourning except for an armband, Garan Tamuron’s third son, and his arms were crossed over his chest as he lingered in the shade under creeping starvine, its buds swelling fruitlike. When they bloomed it would be a wall of tiny white and purple flowers upon twisted, knotted, gnarled branches, a marriage of decoration and usefulness. “Send that puppet away, Kurin. We have much to discuss.”
If it bothered Lord Yulehi to have another nephew speak of him so, it did not show upon his broad, sweating face. He bowed to Kurin, lingering a little at the bottom of the motion, and turned his shoulder in Takshin’s direction. “I take my leave, my lord.” He no doubt intended it to be a crushing insult, but Takshin’s dark, level gaze did not alter in the least.
Kurin lifted the woven-osier lid, released the birds; the explosion of feathers coughing from the carry-cage was like dyed silk shaken in a weaver’s courtyard. He also let the minster amble out of earshot, restraining the urge to roll his eyes at the older man’s obvious ear-pricked lingering. “No wonder the clan fell to our father,” he said finally, and was rewarded by a single glimmer of startled amusement dancing far back in Takshin’s pupils.
“Don’t let her hear you say as much.” It seemed Taktak could not speak of their mother without loathing filling his tone. Unfilial— but understandable, Kurin thought.
Very understandable indeed. “Lecturing your elder, how utterly like you. Come, walk with me, and tell me what you want.”
“I want something?” An eyebrow lifted, and Takshin turned the scarred side of his face for his brother’s viewing, a movement so habitual he no doubt was unaware of performing it.
He had not moved to deny Kurin the release of his messengers, though he clearly knew very well what they might be carrying. Which was surprising, but Kurin knew better than to hope.
“You would not be posed so elegantly in the shade if you did not, my preening eyebird.” Kurin also knew better than to think his prickly little brother had finally seen sense, but there were no Golden or other witnesses about. Of all the things he had expected today, this was not one, and that was faintly troubling as well as interesting.
Most interesting indeed. He made doubly sure his robe was free of any importunate stains, scraped a boot-toe against the wooden slats placed for such an operation, and continued in the most pleasant tone possible. “You will not be the only man approaching me today, Takshin, so let us be quick.”
UNEASY DREAMS
Midday came and went, and the furnace of Zhaon simmered. Even in the shade of a thick copse Yala was uneasy; the horse, however, barely flicked an ear. He seemed quite content to nap in the shade, occasionally pulling mouthfuls of rank, luxurious weeds. A nearby meadow-clearing held the ruins of a burned-out cottage, and perhaps it was that marker of ill-luck that kept Yala alert when she should have been resting as much as possible.
Just as the sun reached its summit the horse raised his almost-misshapen head, ears intent and his muzzle dripping with clear cool streamwater. The wind had veered, and brought with it the sound of hoofbeats. A party of at least eight, going at a steady pace, but she was far enough away that the horse would not utter a greeting to others of his kind.
She hoped they were not chasing her. Was this what a bandit felt upon hearing any footfall, hoof or human? The urge to rise, tighten the horse’s saddle-girth, and strike for the road was overwhelming, but she put her forehead back upon her knees and breathed deeply, dispelling impatience. The long-ear that broke cover was the one the hawk stooped upon; she would have to be cannier than a puff-tailed, quivering bit of meat.
Were she in the Jonwa, she would be writing letters, waiting for Anh to bring lunch and a pot of strong tea. Then, perhaps sewing in the receiving room, if there were no polite calls to be made— and with Kanbina turned to smoke and dust, there was nobody who would invite her save perhaps Gamnae, who would be busy with other matters.
Of course Takshin might scratch at the lintel and make some manner of cutting remark about laziness or scribbling women, or deliver an edged compliment about the pretty picture she made sewing with Su Junha or Hansei Liyue. Or, were she wandering in the garden with a sunbell, she would feel a gaze upon her and raise her chin to find the Third Prince somewhere in the vicinity, carefully not studying her in return.
She could still feel his lips upon her forehead, and smell him— a tang of leather, hot sharp metal, and he favored twigs of highly fragrant unjuo in his bath, apparently. The curve of her lower back still burned where his fingers had pressed, pushing her against his che
st.
She thought of the relief, when she had turned away from a metal-sheathed post, to find he had stepped between her and the whip-strike. And how he had laid her yue in her palms afterward.
If she had not already promised Zakkar Kai…
Enough. She should think of something useful. Something safe, and that word could not describe Third Prince Garan Takshin in even the most fevered of imaginings.
Would Takyeo really become Emperor? It seemed impossible, though he was next in succession. Yala’s head hurt, a swift lancing pain as the horse returned to grazing.
Perhaps it was merely the successive shocks of the past few days that made her liver shift so within her and her thoughts take such unaccustomed turns. She did not want to find herself honorless, but the uninterrupted exercising of head-meat she had been eager for was transforming her into a wandering cloudfur, its head full of strange startlements and ruminating stupidity.
Twice more that day she heard commotion upon the road, but she was far enough away and had no fire, safely cradled in shade. There would be much coming and going whether they were searching for her or not. And who would look for her? She was a pebble, not even trapped in a shoe.
Finally, when the heat was worst, she fell asleep at the foot of another spreading lyong tree, and her uneasy dreams were full of rustle and the thunder of pursuing hooves.
UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER
I must confess, I am somewhat surprised.” Kurin tucked his hands into his sleeves, halting to enjoy a dry-garden vista full of thorny succulents and riverine stones. “I thought you firmly convinced of Takyeo’s ability.”
“Ability is not the question.” Takshin took a firmer hold upon his temper. No doubt the Second Prince had been sending busy little messages to other conspirators, perhaps even those who would wish to hunt a lone rider on a large, ugly grey horse. He could only hope the Tooth’s ill temper and Yala’s quick wits would keep them both a shade at the edge of vision, gone when a man glanced again. “It is simply that he would hesitate to have your head struck off for treason.”