The Wolf of Oren-yaro (Annals of the Bitch Queen Book 1)

by K. S. Villoso

  He grumbled under his breath before lumbering forward. It wasn’t a long walk. We stopped in front of a building with walls of a slightly different colour than the rest—a light shade of grey, compared to drab grey. I didn’t have anything to pay the guard with, so I gave him my best smile before knocking on the door. I saw a window creak open, revealing eyes that fiercely stared back at me.

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m here to speak with Deputy Wanhe,” I said. “I know he’s up in the palace, but if I could wait here until he returns…”

  The door opened. An old, bent woman ushered me through the hall, clicking her tongue to remind me to take off my shoes. They were covered in street muck and I was glad to be rid of them.

  I entered a common room that was larger than I expected. “Who sent you?” she asked.

  “I have a pressing problem, and Lady Zhu told me Deputy Wanhe might be able to help.”

  “I didn’t know Lady Zhu was acquainted with him,” the old woman said. “You said he was in the palace? You must be mistaken. He doesn’t go to the palace very often. He’s up in his office now if you want to speak with him. Do you want some tea first?”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “I would like to speak to him now, if possible.” I wondered how he had managed to get back before I got there. Lady Zhu had said he was in the council meeting with Governor Ong.

  “Up the stairs, first room to your right,” the woman said. “Be polite. He doesn’t like being disturbed when he’s busy.”

  I bowed and went up. The staircase was very narrow—two people wouldn’t be able to squeeze by each other—but I think for a Zorheng apartment, this place was meant to be luxurious. I reached a hall, lined with various paintings of deities. There was an alcove at the end with a figure of Saint Fei Rong on a little platform. A string of dried lilies adorned his neck.

  I knocked on the first door and waited. There was no reply.

  Downstairs, I heard the old woman whistling. I recognized the tune, though I couldn’t remember where I had last heard it from. In Jin-Sayeng, we have childhood nursery rhymes twisted from songs brought from the Empire, derogatory songs I would never acknowledge in front of polite company. But I didn’t think hers was one of them. This was something else, something that went deeper than memory.

  I knocked again before that age-old impatience flared. I pulled the door open.

  Deputy Wanhe—or at least, someone I assumed was Deputy Wanhe—was on his seat. He didn’t greet me. He couldn’t—his throat was slit open. His skin was extremely grey and there were flies buzzing around the wound. He must’ve been dead for hours.

  I ran down the stairs. The woman turned to me. “Is everything all right?”

  “He called for you,” I said, placing my fingers around my sword hilt.

  She went up without hesitation. As I slipped back into my shoes, I heard her scream, and decided she was not the enemy. But someone else was. I barged through the front door, back out into the street, and saw guards approaching Deputy Wanhe’s house from the distance.

  I turned to run down the other way. I saw Yuebek appear. My first thought was that he had found me really fast. Then I saw Zhu beside him and realized what had happened.

  Or at least, I thought I did; before I could throw hurtful words her way, I saw Yuebek’s hand on her twisted arm. She was walking with a limp. Halfway into drawing my sword, I heard Yuebek click his tongue.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. He dragged Zhu forward and bent over to squeeze her jaw with his fingers. “This one. Such loyalty. Such devotion to her husband. Upset as I am over what you did, Queen Talyien, I think you could teach her a thing or two about duty. Did she actually think she could trick me? Me? She should’ve known better. Using Wanhe as an excuse when I knew he had been dead in his house since this morning. I’m always two steps ahead of everyone, Queen Talyien. Remember that.”

  Zhu uttered a low moan.

  “Let her go, Yuebek,” I said. “Your quarrel is with me.”

  “Is it?” Yuebek hissed. He pushed Zhu to the ground and pulled out his own sword.

  I lunged at him.

  He made a fumbled attempt to defend himself. But he didn’t look worried—the guards were coming closer, and we both knew that if I killed him, I would be dead, too. I worked on pushing him away from Zhu while I got closer to her. I stopped, poised to defend, and helped her to her feet.

  Yuebek laughed. “Are you sure you want to do that? She betrayed me and in doing so, unwittingly betrayed you.”

  “Why should I blame her for anything? You were the one who tricked her. You killed Deputy Wanhe before the meeting, didn’t you? But somehow, you’ve convinced her he was still in the palace.”

  He looked pleased with himself. “A well-placed rumour in the halls can do so much.”

  “You wanted her to think she was the one tricking you to give me time to escape.” I swallowed. “Is this about me? You wanted to see how trustworthy I was?”

  “I wanted to test her trustworthiness,” Yuebek said, sneering. “Guess how much you failed, woman? You and your father both, filling my head with talks of how utterly devoted you would be to me…the perfect wife…and I believed you, all these years. I believed you!”

  Zhu wasn’t even looking at him. Her head was bowed and there were tears streaming from her eyes.

  “She returned to you, Prince Yuebek. I asked her to come with me and she refused. Out of loyalty to you, though I can’t for the life of me see why. There are crocodiles in the River Agos with more redeemable qualities.”

  “It is hopeless, Queen Talyien,” Zhu murmured. “Please. You do not have to speak up for my sake. He is right. I did betray him. Your words cannot change that.”

  I turned to her. “This is ridiculous. He disregarded you, yet you were still supposed to obey blindly?”

  “Blind obedience was all that was ever asked of me,” she whispered. “And I failed.” She drew away from me and ran towards Yuebek. I screamed, reaching out to stop her, but she slipped from my grasp like the wind.

  He met her, arms wide open. For a moment, I was almost sure she was going to him to beg for forgiveness and that he was willing to give her a second chance. My heart leapt to my throat. And then he twisted his sword, the blade sinking deep into her belly. He left it on her as he kicked her to the ground. Blood pooled on the pavement.

  “The inconvenience has been taken care of,” he said, turning to me. “Shall we start making wedding preparations, my love?”

  I spat on the ground. “Go to hell!”

  He laughed. The guards closed in.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Legacy of Warlord Yeshin

  My memory of what happened after Yuebek killed Zhu was hazy. Though I tried to fight the guards as best as I could, there were too many, and my head met too many blows from gloved fists and at least two clubs. The nauseating blackness took much of those memories away. I do recall Yuebek climbing on top of me, his breath stinking of wine as he pawed at my thighs and tried to rip my clothes off. Before he could succeed, someone dragged him away, screaming. I recall the blood on his clothes, Zhu’s blood, and how it soaked my dress, and how Zhu’s dead eyes stared back at me as the commotion exploded around us and the darkness set in.

  When I came to my senses, I was in a prison cell that had so little light, I could barely see beyond my own fingertips. A guard came to slide a tray of gruel and water through the door. No one else came to visit.

  The shadows were comforting for a while, a welcome respite to the madness that had transpired out there with Yuebek. But the hours began to drag on, and when the guard returned to bring more food and empty the bucket, I reached out in an attempt to talk to him. I had barely said a word when he turned and struck me across the jaw with a gloved fist.

  Solitude, it seemed, was to be my torture.

  I counted the days by the coming and going of my guard, whom I no longer tried to speak to after a third clouting. And then it reached a point w
here I lost track of it and stopped. I ate diligently, wanting to preserve my strength in case an opportunity presented itself, recited every text and poem I knew by heart in my head, went through my usual training exercises in the darkness, and slept more than I had ever slept in my life. I was sorely tempted to start talking to myself, except I knew my survival depended on keeping my sanity and the last thing I needed was to give myself permission to start slipping into madness.

  A day came when the guard arrived with no food. I thought this meant that Yuebek had decided I had learned my lesson and would be more cooperative. But instead of leading me out, the guard grabbed me by the collar and pulled me up close to his stinking face. He pressed his fingers over my cheeks, forcing my mouth open. I tried to bite him. He hit me.

  On the ground, reeling from the blow, I felt him straddle me and force something into my mouth—something that smelled of herbs and dried bile. I gagged, struggling to spit it out. He hit me again. The substance—whatever it was—began to emit a hot sensation that started in my tongue and spread across my body.

  When I woke up, I was on a soft mattress in a strange room. I was wearing different clothes—clean, plain clothes that still smelled of soap.

  I didn’t know how long I had been asleep. I smelled of camphor oil and mint, and I didn’t feel as sore as I expected to be. My whole body had been scrubbed clean, and even my hair smelled as if it had been washed. I touched my forehead and noted a bandage on a cut I didn’t even know I had.

  The sound of music drifted to my ears. It was so faint that I had to strain to hear it. I rose, finding a pair of comfortable shoes in my size on the floor, and realized that I had been sleeping on a four-poster bed. The dark, heavy linens on the mattress, the frilly curtains, and every other piece of furniture in the room were of Kag-make. Even the rugs were Kag—red and velvet, set above a floor of dark, polished wood.

  I pulled the curtains back, to see if I had somehow magically been transported to western Jin-Sayeng or somewhere else where such trappings were common. The windows were stained—I couldn’t see anything through the glass. I tried to open them, but the frame wouldn’t budge. Trying to break the thick glass didn’t work either, even when I tried to throw a shoe at it.

  I gave up and walked to the door, a giant, carved slab of hardwood hinged in Kag-fashion. I turned the knob, slowly peeking through the crack to see if I could hear anyone out in the hall. But the silence that welcomed me felt louder than the music itself. I stepped out into a large, well-lit chamber. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls. In the middle of the room, I caught sight of the source of music: a piano, similar to the ones I had seen in some of the royal houses in western Jin-Sayeng. It had been a fashion lately for royal children to learn the instrument. Skilled tutors from the Kag could make good money in provinces where the warlords were more lenient.

  I wondered if it was normal for the thing to play by itself.

  There was nobody on the piano. The keys depressed on their own, cranking out a haunting melody that seemed to deepen my solitude. I placed my hands on the cold ivory, figuring there was probably some sort of mechanism inside. Something you wound up to make the song loop, maybe. I pressed my palm on one of the depressed keys and the music stopped. I chuckled, but before I could lift my hand, the song began again in a more upbeat tune. It was being played from the other end of the piano, where I wasn’t interrupting it.

  A chill descended on me. I backed away from the instrument. When I turned around, I thought I saw a shadow flit across the mirror on the wall.

  I chuckled again. Louder. “If there’s someone out there,” I offered, “come out and talk. I don’t bite. Well—not hard, anyway.”

  The sound of my voice, hoarse after weeks of silence, sounded strange to my own ears. I spotted a table a few feet from the piano. I was beginning to get hungry, and wondered if someone had the courtesy to leave some food for me, at least. I still wasn’t sure if I was a prisoner or a guest, but surely both have to get fed.

  Instead of food, I only saw a Hanza set on the table. It was an expensive set—made of carved and polished wood, each piece meticulously painted. The pieces were arranged mid-game—a losing game, with the red surrounded on all sides by the white. I saw a note beside the game, penned out in Kag writing. It said: The hungry wolf devours its own.

  I frowned and left the table alone to view the rest of the room. There were sofas on the other end, arranged to face each other. Vases full of yellow and white flowers lined the walls. I touched one and realized the petals were made of cloth, which explained the vibrant colours. There was also an aquarium with a single inhabitant: a silver bonytongue the size of my arm. I was glad to see one other living thing, although it wasn’t much company—it stared back at me through faded, glassy eyes. I noted that its water was dirty, but not overwhelmingly so, as if someone checked up on it at least once a week. Its scales were scratched. I wondered where it could have gotten them from—the aquarium was bare.

  I found two other doors, but both were locked. The only other door led back to the bedroom.

  I sat on one of the sofas, pretending I wasn’t disconcerted by the music, which paused long enough for a new, more sorrowful tune to play out. I twiddled my thumbs. I stared at the fish and named it “Sparky.”

  Eventually, I crossed the room again, and sat down in front of the Hanza game. I read the note a second time before pulling back my sleeves. I played the red, just because, and studied the board. I realized it could be won in two consecutive, legal moves as the red if you sacrificed your king. Hanza was scored in the end by the number of pieces you have remaining, but it is commonly acknowledged that you also needed the king piece intact.

  “Subtlety really isn’t your style, Yuebek,” I said out loud. Shaking my head, I moved the red pieces in the proper order, and then pretended I was the white player and took out the king. With one red piece, I demolished the rest of the white pieces.

  As soon as this was in place, I heard something click. I looked up in time to see one of the doors swing open.

  I felt that chill again. I found myself licking my lips in response. So, I thought. This is how Yuebek wants to toy with me. Very well. I strode towards the next room and found myself inside a small library. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books and scrolls. The only light source was from a lantern on a desk in the middle of the room, so I couldn’t see how far the shelves went—the furthest corners of the room was cloaked in shadows.

  There was an open book beside the lantern. I guessed that it must be another puzzle and sat down to read the page. It was a story.

  Once, there was a soldier whose king was on his deathbed.

  The soldier was utterly devoted to his king and swore he would remain by his side until the very end.

  He stood guard at the door. He no longer had a sword, so when wild dogs came, he fended them off with his fists. But there were too many, and they ate his knuckles.

  When the crows came, he beat them with his stumps and his elbows. But there were too many, and they made off with his nose.

  When the vultures came, he smashed them with his head. But there were too many, and they pecked out his eyes.

  When the king’s enemies came, he had nothing. He charged at the voices, but they only laughed and walked past him and they killed the king.

  What is the moral of the story? The moral of the story is that…

  I heard a crash. I turned to see a dark figure emerge from the shadows and come straight for me. I hurled the book at it, grabbed the lantern, and rushed for the door.

  Too late, I realized that I had sprinted for the wrong wall. Instead of the main hall, the door opened up to a dark staircase. I saw the figure halfway across the room and decided to take my chances. I slammed the door shut and slid the bar, locking it in place. Something struck the other side. I watched the wood heave slightly before the banging started, a sound that reminded me of someone beating the tip of a
broom inside a cellar. My skin began to crawl.

  I fled down the stairs. They were made of stone and slippery. I tried to slow down to keep my footing and saw that it didn’t lead to a room, but a basement of some sort where the air was damp and musty. I held the lantern higher and saw cell doors along one wall. The basement must have once been another dungeon.

  I heard a groan and saw something move behind the bars, something big and heavy. I felt the sensation of hot breath and imagined I could see steam rising in the darkness.

  Still a dungeon, I corrected myself. I wondered if it was the same dungeon I had been in. The doors looked different. The cynicism I imagined my voice held kept me calm enough—I was at least still aware of my own actions. But I avoided staring at the cell doors while I scanned the shelves and the tables for anything that could be used as a weapon. I picked up a rusty fire poker and made an experimental swipe in the air.

  The groaning intensified. I saw dark hands grip the bars and didn’t want to wait to see what face they belonged to. I rushed back up the steps, removed the bar, and kicked the door open, preparing to fight.

  The library was empty. I checked each dark corner, just to be sure. There was a shelf was turned on its side with books spilled on the floor, which told me that I had not just imagined the apparition. I stepped over it and tugged at the door to the main hall. As soon as I opened it, I heard a different melody coming from the piano: a rendition of a nursery rhyme from Oren-yaro, one my nursemaid used to sing to me on hot, sleepless nights. Each chord was so perfectly timed that I felt like I could hear her singing it now. Sleep my little darling, father went off to find a deer, soon he’ll be back, soon he’ll be home, soon he’ll be warm by the fire. This time, it was the hair on my head that stood on end.

  I fought to keep the fear in check as I tiptoed towards the center of the room. The piano was not playing by itself now. There was a young man sitting there, his thin fingers gliding deftly over the keys. He must’ve heard me approach him, but his face remain fixed in concentration, his lips mumbling through the tunes. He kept playing until the song was done.