by J. S. Bangs
He trembled visibly, standing as straight as a board in the glinting noon sunlight, jewels of sweat and tears gleaming on his cheeks. “I divorced Khindi the next year, after my father died. Not my desire, but my mother’s—and in the end, Khindi’s. She begged me to release her from what the household had become. Now tell me, Bhudman. Tell me Navran, Heir of Manjur and King of Virnas. Why should I grant your suit?”
Navran swallowed. He stood slowly and walked around the pool to where Veshta stood. He brought his face close to Veshta’s and put his hand on his cheek.
“Nothing is fixed by adding sorrow to sorrow,” he said. “Nothing forgiven, nothing healed.”
“The wife of the Heir should be a woman of virtue,” Veshta said, but he mumbled, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it with conviction.
“Look at me.”
Veshta raised his head and looked Navran in the eye.
“You saw me. Before Ruyam. When Mandhi brought me. Am I a man of virtue?”
“My lord and king, you faced Ruyam, you proved yourself.”
“And Josi has proved herself virtuous. Ten years going.”
Veshta looked to Bhudman, an expression of quiet desperation on his face. His lips moved, but no words issued.
“As eldest of the saghada in Virnas, I present no objection,” Bhudman said. “The Heir speaks for himself.”
Veshta’s jaw trembled as if he were about to break into tears. “I ask one thing,” he added swiftly. “I won’t give permission yet.”
“What?”
“First, you must finish your period of mourning. Your mother ascended to the stars only, what, four months ago?”
“Yes,” Navran said softly.
“You’ll respect her memory.”
“I wouldn’t allow it otherwise,” Bhudman said. “But in two months the Heir’s bereavement will be completed, and it would take longer than that for the wedding to be prepared anyway.”
“Fine,” Veshta said. “But there is another thing. Thudra.”
Navran was taken aback. “Not your concern—”
“I will not give my sister into danger. It seems to me that while Thudra is free and threatens Sadja-dar’s heir, your position as King of Virnas is fragile.”
“I’ve already written to Sadja-dar.”
“Until Sadja-dar’s heir is ransomed and Thudra is driven out of Virnas, or killed, or flees to Patakshar, there will be no betrothal and no formal agreement.”
He stalls, Navran thought. But he pitied him. A month and a few days remained until the deadline for Sundasha’s ransom. Veshta might need as long as that to convince himself to grant Navran’s petition.
“Very well. When Thudra is gone, I’ll come again.”
“If you haven’t changed your mind by then.”
Navran smiled gently. “Nothing could change my mind.”
Sadja
A broad red carpet covered the porch overlooking the Saru river. A table set with sweet delicacies and crispy, honey-covered roti glimmered in the center of the porch. Two cushions were set at the table. Sadja sat on one, leaning back and admiring the evening sunlight burning in tiger-stripes on the surface of the river, while Lushatha sat on the other, his face contorted in anguish.
“The rumors,” Sadja said. “They might not be true.”
Lushatha gave him a piteous look. “Sadja-dar, do you honestly have any doubt whether the story is true?”
Sadja shrugged. “There are always rumors, especially when the Emperor’s daughter enters the Ushpanditya.”
“I have followed them to their source,” Lushatha said. “Or as near as I can get. The members of the princess’s own retinue are the source of most of them, and they all describe her tryst with Majatha-kha.”
Sadja made a noise of concern. “Will you do anything about it? Perhaps the Emperor can do something for you concerning his daughter.”
“Do something?” Lushatha smiled ironically. “He kept her locked in a wing of the Moon Palace in Gumadha for years. Precisely so she would stop pursuing her affairs with whatever khadir caught her fancy.”
“He might keep her locked in the Ushpanditya until your wedding.”
“He assures me that he has,” Lushatha said.
Sadja noted that. He would have to make a trip to the Ushpanditya soon. It was important he see Basadi at least once more before the wedding. “And after your marriage? Have you considered what you’ll do with her then? You can’t lock her up.”
“I might try. My estate is large. There’s little enough reason for her to go out.” He shook his head. “There are few things more vexing than a wayward woman.”
“If she goes out, you could ensure she is accompanied. A eunuch to keep her behaving.”
“She had escorts on the road,” Lushatha said. “It didn’t help, when she could simply order them away.”
“But if her husband is in the same city—”
Lushatha pursed his lips. He took a candied fig from the bowl atop the table and chewed it slowly. “It’s possible. But it’s a terrible thing to consider, and we aren’t even married yet.”
Sadja waited for Lushatha to finish chewing. He had eaten nothing; he was fasting to hone the edge of his farsight for these delicate maneuvers. Even now, he felt himself half-touching the inner silence, and the porch over the river hummed with past and future visions. He was not practiced enough to see anything clearly, nor had he been fasting long enough to truly purify the inner sight, but the fate of things to come hung around Lushatha like a mist.
“And what about this Majatha-kha?” Sadja said next. “Have you looked for him?”
“I cannot find him.”
“Nowhere? Surely there’s someone who knows him in all of Amur.’
“I’m sure there is someone,” Lushatha said, He looked at Sadja plaintively. “Rumor has it he was from somewhere near Davrakhanda. Have you heard of him?”
Sadja shook his head. “Must have an outlying holding. I’m quite sure I’ve never met him in the city.”
Lushatha sighed. “I am entertaining the theory he never actually came to Majasravi. After he met the Princess on the road he realized he would be in danger here, and so he has holed up elsewhere.”
“You could pursue him,” Sadja offered. He’d be delighted if Lushatha were occupied chasing the phantasmal Majatha. “Perhaps he’s in one of the peripheral villages.”
“There are dozens of guesthouses he could occupy,” Lushatha said, “and by the time I got to any one of them he might have heard the rumors and fled.”
The umbra of future possibilities around Lushatha shifted and folded. Sadja leaned forward and pursed his lips deliberately, saying with quiet certitude, “And what about the Emperor? Your ultimate recourse would be to demand some sort of repayment from him.”
Lushatha pulled at the edge of his mustache and shook his head. “I don’t think I dare.”
“Why not? He is her father. He is responsible for her until she enters your house.”
“I know, but… have you seen him recently?”
“No,” Sadja said. He had avoided the Ushpanditya for the past several weeks. Better to let the Emperor stew in his own juices for now.
“He seems on the edge of madness,” Lushatha said. “Paranoid on all sides, determined to root out all enemies. You know he executed Chadram, the Emperor’s Spear?”
“I had heard.”
“The replacement, Vadya, encourages him. Sees Praudhu’s paranoia as the path for his own advancement.” Lushatha shook his head. “I can only hope his fears are allayed in time for the wedding. I wouldn’t want a spectacle.”
“At least you can be sure he’s taking care of Basadi-dar in the palace.”
“For now,” Lushatha said. “The Emperor and his daughter are valuable enough as allies that I’ll endure these trials.”
“Truly,” Sadja said, nodding with earnest sympathy. “But it is a shame the Emperor brought this on you through his daughter.”
“Perhaps
I’ll seek some relief,” Lushatha said. “An addition to the dowry, to compensate for the loss of her virginity.”
Of course Praudhu would never agree to such a thing, for it would be tantamount to publicly admitting he knew about his daughter’s affairs. As long as he refused to acknowledge them, the rumors would remain only rumors. “Have you met Basadi-dar yet?”
“I haven’t,” Lushatha said. “The Emperor has encouraged us to stay apart.”
Sadja frowned. “That seems curious. This is not one of those old peasant marriages where the bride and groom may not see each other before the wedding.”
Lushatha shrugged. He seemed beaten-down and withered. Hardly attentive enough to notice the game that Sadja was playing. “Perhaps I can see her for you,” Sadja offered. “I have an invitation to the Ushpanditya tomorrow, and unless the princess has been sequestered, there’s a good chance we’ll cross paths.”
Lushatha’s face brightened. “You could. I would appreciate it. A report from someone I trust, someone outside the imperial family—”
Sadja bowed. “I’ll be happy to bring you what report I can. Of course, I can’t promise much—I’ll have little privacy with either the princess or her servants, so I doubt I’ll be able to inquire much after these rumors. But my own servants will be there, and you know how they talk amongst each other.”
“Of course,” Lushatha said. He suddenly seemed nearly cheerful. “Thank you for inviting me here. As you can imagine, I’ve been vexed, and most of my other acquaintances in Majasravi have been rather too circumspect with me. They pity me, I think.”
“Only a fool would pity you for marrying into the imperial family,” Sadja said. “Are you sure it isn’t jealousy?”
“Maybe a little,” Lushatha said, his lips twitching toward something that could have been a smile.
“And you yourself should not be so glum,” Sadja said. He laid a hand on Lushatha’s shoulder and pulled him close. He spoke into the man’s ear. “Your wedding is a month away. The misfortunes of the princess’s behavior and the Emperor’s paranoia can be endured until then. For a prize so great, a little patience is required.”
* * *
“My youngest daughter,” Praudhu said with a vague wave of his hand, “has always been a source of frustration.” He plucked a leaf from the orange tree, crushed it in his hand, and tossed the crumpled green ball into a pool of lotuses.
Sadja stood a little ways off, his hands folded behind his back, his toes scratching at the gravel that had gotten into his sandals. A brisk wind passed through the orange garden today, rustling the tops of the trees and sending Sadja’s dhoti whipping around his knees. Praudhu seemed not to notice.
“You understand why I asked, my Emperor,” Sadja said. “For Lushatha-kha, who’s become a dear friend to me in the weeks I’ve been in Majasravi.”
“Yes, I understand,” Praudhu said, turning on his heel and fixing Sadja with a black stare. “I also understand that Lushatha-kha is marrying a daughter of the imperial house, and receiving a dowry to match. So perhaps rumors leaking into the city from without should not be foremost on his mind.”
Sadja bowed his head. “Lushatha-kha said he might seek some recompense from you.”
“Recompense? For what?”
“In an ordinary marriage, if the woman betrothed were found in such a situation—”
Praudhu guffawed. “And I’m to believe Lushatha-kha never availed himself of mistresses and servant girls in all his years. He’s marrying late; he ought to know more than that.”
Sadja shrugged. “I haven’t asked him about himself. In any case, his behavior isn’t what has set Majasravi afire with rumor.”
Praudhu sniffed and stomped ahead on the path. Petals of rhododendrons knocked loose by the wind blew before him, swirling around him in gusts of red and violet. “If he insists,” he said, “I could increase his dowry. There are positions within the Ushpanditya which I could give to him, which would ask little of him and provide him ample chances for enrichment. Or whatever else he wants.”
“Is that truly a fitting repayment for the stain against his honor?”
“His honor?” Praudhu snarled. “If he is so concerned about his honor, then he should come in and help me purge this place of traitors and liars.”
Praudhu stopped and stared at Sadja with a hungry glare. “Sadja-dar, for weeks now I have been consumed by it. The Dhigvaditya had to be nearly emptied to ensure the taint of that mad thikratta Ruyam and the traitorous Dumaya was removed.” He bowed his head and rubbed his temples, and seemed almost to sob. He spoke quietly, slowly. “I don’t know if there’s an honorable man in the Dhigvaditya and the Ushpanditya, except for Vadya.”
“Vadya?” Sadja inquired. He knew the basic details of the man through Bhargasa and his spies, but he was curious to see what Praudhu would say about him.
“The Emperor’s Spear, now that the treacherous Chadram has been eliminated.” Praudhu’s eyes were bloodshot. “The only one who took to the purge with zeal. The only one I trust.”
“It’s good you have him.” Sadja bowed thoughtfully.
Praudhu heaved a great sigh and lowered himself onto a stone bench with a groan. “Sadja-dar, understand me. I am vexed with the Ushpanditya; Basadi-dar’s vexation is a minor thing after that.”
“I asked for Lushatha-kha.”
“Perhaps he should consider more carefully before making such requests,” Praudhu said darkly. Then he shook his head and rubbed his temples again.
“I did try to dissuade him from making the request. He comes to the Ushpanditya often enough. Perhaps he should have brought it to you directly.”
“No,” Praudhu said, “I understand why he wanted an intermediary. I am not angry. Honor… it’s good to contemplate a son-in-law who is concerned with honor. Honorable men are so few, so hard to find here.”
“Or anywhere,” Sadja said. He glanced up the path toward the wind, and he spotted a young woman approaching, flanked on one side by one of the Red Men and the other by a eunuch in dark gray. “Basadi-dar is coming,” he said, feigning surprise.
“I sent for her,” Praudhu said absently. “You two have never met.”
Sadja bowed his head until he heard Basadi’s footsteps on the path a few feet away from him. Then he looked up and met her eyes.
She only allowed the shock of recognition to show on her face for a moment before she composed herself into haughty, imperial indifference. Sadja bowed.
“My lady Basadi-dar,” he said.
“Father, who is this man?” Basadi demanded, pointing at Sadja accusingly.
“This is Sadja-dar, king of Davrakhanda,” Praudhu said. “An ally of our house, and a friend of your betrothed.”
“It is an honor, my lady Basadi,” Sadja said. He folded his hands and looked Basadi in the eye, allowing the hint of a smirk to show on his lips. “Your beauty surpasses what was described to me. I’ll be honored to bring this report back to Lushatha-kha.”
“Sadja-dar,” Basadi said. She raised her chin and regarded him with cool indifference. “The king of Davrakhanda. You are not a person I expected to meet in this place.”
“I came in support of your father’s ascension to the Seven-Stepped Throne and to see your wedding. I can hardly imagine a more pleasant errand.”
“Indeed, your errand seems most pleasant to me,” Basadi said. She lifted the skirt of her sari and set herself down on the stone bench next to her father. “But as the king of Davrakhanda, you surely have duties with your own kingdom. You aren’t some lowly khadir who can come to Majasravi simply to seek its pleasures.”
“Ah, but the pleasures of Majasravi surpass those of every place,” Sadja said. “Except, perhaps, for Davrakhanda my home.”
“Indeed. You’re not the first person to tell me of the pleasures of Davrakhanda. Perhaps,” she said, tilting her head slightly and glancing from Sadja to her father, “I’ll come and visit your palace some day.”
“I would be very please
d to welcome you and your husband,” Sadja said.
“Let’s not hurry sending Basadi-dar into far-off palaces,” Praudhu said with a grunt. “She is here to be married, and after that her husband Lushatha-kha will be the one to determine where she goes visiting.”
“Oh, him,” Basadi said. She gave her father a glare as hard and sharp as bronze.
“I have spoken to Lushatha-kha,” Sadja said, bowing his head slightly and smiling effusively at Praudhu. “He anticipates your marriage greatly. He has not heard the half of how beautiful and charming you are.”
Basadi sniffed and looked away. “If only I had heard such charming things about him.”
Praudhu grumbled and rose to his feet. “That’s enough, Basadi-dar.” He clasped his daughter’s hand roughly in his and pulled her to her feet. “Go walk in the rest of the garden. Sadja-dar and I must talk more.”
Basadi shook her wrist free from her father’s grip and stepped past Sadja on the path. “A true pleasure to meet you, Sadja-dar,” she said, putting a little emphasis on his name. “I anticipate our next meeting.” She walked quickly ahead, glancing back one time to meet Sadja’s eyes.
“She will be the cause of some trouble,” Sadja said in a quiet voice.
“She is too proud and too eager with men,” Praudhu said bluntly. “Her sister Jasthi-dar was similar, but she was married young enough to Yasma-dar of Gumadha to keep her reigned in. Hopefully Lushatha-kha will be able to do the same for her.”
“The majakhadir of Kaugali,” Sadja said. “Not quite the same as the king of Gumadha, but enough for a younger daughter.”
Praudhu laughed grimly. “I haven’t forgotten you petitioned for her, Sadja-dar. Is this your ploy? Are you trying to pry her away from Lushatha-kha and take her for yourself? I don’t think you want that much trouble in your household.”