Seimiya looked up at him, her face wan. “I’m fine. Thank you,” she said weakly. Then she added, “It’s not because I’m ill that I am not joining you in the hall tonight. You do understand that, don’t you?”
The skin at the corner of Shunan’s eyes grew taut. “Yes, but—”
Seimiya cut him off, her voice low and sharp. “Say no more. I have permitted foreigners to set foot in the Yojeh’s sacred palace for the first time since this country’s birth. We should attempt no more right now.”
Shunan remained silent for a long while, then stood up slowly and said, “Yes, it is just as you say. It would be going too far to do more than that at this time.” He took a breath. His eyes softened, and he bent low to kiss her cheek. “It’ll be all right. We can do this,” he said in a voice only she could hear.
Seimiya’s face stiffened, and she turned her head toward the window. Silence rolled like a wave, heavy and ponderous, through the large room. Even Yuimiya kept quiet, watching her mother from her nurse’s arms.
At that moment, the strumming of a lakkalu undulated softly, floating toward them on the breeze. It sounded completely different from the music played before.
“So Rolan’s here, is he?” Seimiya murmured.
Shunan nodded. “Yes. His lakkalu works magic.” He sighed and touched his wife’s hand gently. “I will ask him to play for you, too. Although I doubt that he can do so tonight.” Seimiya shifted her gaze to his and nodded.
Turning his head, Shunan fastened his eyes on his son and regarded him thoughtfully. “Yonan,” he said, “you should attend the luncheon with me tomorrow.”
Yonan blinked. Mixed emotions crossed his boyish face. Joy at being permitted to join such an important gathering and nervousness at his first encounter with people from a foreign land. “Yes, Father,” he said, his voice faint, then glanced at his mother. Shunan also cast her a questioning look.
Seimiya gazed at her son, his arms and legs still childishly slender. “It will be a good opportunity for you, Yonan,” she whispered.
Their first son would be the Aluhan, their first daughter, the Yojeh. That is what she and Shunan had decided when their children were born. There was no need to even discuss the possibility of Yonan becoming the Yojeh. That position was passed down from mother to daughter. Likewise the position of Aluhan was passed down from father to son. Yonan could never become the Yojeh. As he would one day be the Aluhan, Seimiya believed he should learn about the outside world, but it pained her now to see the uncertainty in his face. He looked so very young. She wished that she could give him a little more time to be a child.
Yuimiya, who sat perched on her nurse’s lap, and Yonan, who was trying so hard to be grown up, would bear an arduous load once they reached adulthood. Pity welled within her as she thought of the merciless path ahead of them.
These children …
She must strive to lessen their burden even a little. Struggling to lift her spirits, which threatened to sink at any moment, she raised her chin and looked at her husband. “Shunan.” He turned toward her, his face still bearing traces of the young man he had once been. “I will bless your negotiations with the kingdom of Tolah so that they may go smoothly.”
Shunan’s eyes shone. Smiling, he pressed his palm against his breast in gratitude. He gave his son’s shoulder a quick squeeze, then turned and strode to the door. Just as the servant reached to open it, however, they heard the sound of a bell outside.
Yuimiya leaped down from her nurse’s arms. “It’s Auntie’s bell!”
Stepping into the hall, Shunan cocked an eyebrow at his younger sister, her slender form garbed in an attractive gown of twilled fabric. “What are you doing here, Oli?” he asked. “The banquet’s starting soon.”
She shrugged. “I’ll only be a moment. I heard that Seimiya wasn’t feeling well, so I brought her some chimi fruit stewed in honey.”
Seimiya’s face brightened at the sound of her voice. “Oli?” she called out.
Oli saluted her brother with her eyes and slipped past him into the room. Dropping to one knee, she bowed to Seimiya and the two children, then rose and walked over to Seimiya’s side. “How are you feeling, Your Majesty?”
The Yojeh smiled. She loved this young woman whose skin glowed with health and who, still single at almost twenty, spent every moment she could out riding. “Thank you for your concern,” she said. “It’s just morning sickness. I always get it. I’m not actually ill, so there’s no need to worry.”
Oli’s lips twitched at this. “Morning sickness is a perfectly respectable illness, Your Majesty, so please feel free to rest.” She turned to her maidservant who was carrying a basket and took a small jar from it. Placing it on the side table by Seimiya’s chair, she opened the lid. Yuimiya and Yonan trotted over and peered inside.
“Oh, how pretty!” Yuimiya exclaimed.
Oli smiled at her. “A large chimi tree grows in the garden of the Aluhan’s castle, Aluhan Ula. It’s so laden with fruit that when they drop in autumn, they cover the fallen leaves. We take those and stew them with honey. They’re delicious and good for your health, too.”
Oli’s maidservant removed three plates from the basket and scooped out some golden fruit from the jar with a spoon, deftly arranging them on the plates. A refreshing citrusy aroma wafted through the air.
“What a lovely smell,” Seimiya said softly. Nami, her lady-in-waiting, glided forward and looked at her. She nodded, and Nami scooped one of the fruits off a plate with a spoon and daintily slipped it into her own mouth. She had been serving as Seimiya’s food taster for so long that each movement was made with natural grace and no trace of hesitation. When she finished, she removed some utensils from a pouch she always carried with her and placed them on the side table. These were reserved solely for Seimiya’s and her family’s use.
Seimiya took the small plate of fruit Nami offered her and popped one of the glistening golden orbs into her mouth. A fresh aroma coupled with a delicate sweetness spread across her tongue. She had been unable to eat properly for so long that the sweetness seemed to seep into every corner of her body. “They’re delicious,” she said.
“I’m so glad you like them,” said Oli with a broad smile. She turned to look at the servants. “I brought a jar for all of you as well. Please have some when you take a break.”
Seimiya’s servants looked uncomfortable. Although more than a decade had passed since Seimiya’s wedding, they were still unable to accept the freedom with which the Aluhan’s kin, who in their eyes were unclean, entered the Yojeh’s chamber. Oli was fully aware of their feelings, but she never seemed to let that upset her and always treated them kindly.
The children’s nurse strode forward. Bowing, she thanked Oli and took the jar. Noticing the woman’s expression, Seimiya was caught by surprise. Although the nurse had schooled her features to conceal her emotions, her eyes betrayed a glimmer of remorse, as though she was ashamed of the coldness with which they treated Oli. The change was minuscule, yet it made Seimiya think that Oli’s generous nature might be affecting the hearts of her servants after all.
This brought back memories of her grandmother, Halumiya. Regardless of her age, she had always stood straight and tall, smiling at everyone and addressing them as if they were her kin. She had been open to all without ever losing her quiet, illustrious dignity.
Grandmother …
She had probably been the last true Yojeh, Seimiya reflected. With that thought, the sounds in the room receded, and she was left alone in the silence, confronting the fear that plagued her mind.
If I am not the Yojeh … then who am I?
* * *
Seimiya woke in the dim light of dawn and laid her slender arms on top of the bed. She stayed that way for some time, feeling her skin, accustomed to the warmth of the covers, grow cold. Slipping her arms back under, she closed her eyes. But sleep did not come. She stretched under the soft quilt that covered the wide bed and sighed.
Her gratitude a
t being alone was greater than the loneliness of missing her husband beside her. These last few years, she always tensed when he gazed at her. Not knowing what face to show him, confusion made her stiffen. Despite her awkwardness, Shunan’s attitude never changed, but his kindness just added to her burden.
His face and that of his sister rose in her mind.
Shunan and Oli. They’re both so strong.
They bore such a heavy burden that pain sometimes etched their faces, yet they still had the strength to take another step. It was probably their unwavering conviction that had reminded her of Halumiya.
Grandmother never doubted, even for a moment, that she was the Yojeh. That’s what made her so strong and generous and radiant. She was convinced that she was descended from the god who had crossed the Afon Noah and that her very existence brought this kingdom blessings. It was this that had made it possible for her to stand firm and unshakable, like a great tree, arms spread wide to embrace her people.
Seimiya sighed and ran a hand over her belly. Shunan thought it was their marriage that was making Seimiya suffer, the knowledge that she had thrown her people into confusion by wedding the Aluhan, whom they considered unclean. Even after all these years, the people still believed every calamity that assailed the kingdom was caused by his defilement of the Yojeh, and the palace was still in turmoil.
But he was wrong. If, like her grandmother, she had still believed without a trace of doubt that she was the Yojeh, she would have held her head high, regardless of the criticism unleashed against her. She would have taken his hand and together faced the difficulties that beset them.
With unseeing eyes, she stared at the blue dawn light wavering at the bottom of the thickly woven curtains. It was the Yojeh’s task to decide foreign policy, and she was fully aware of the importance of diplomatic relations with Tolah, a rich land, bordered on the south by a long coast. Establishing strong bonds between them would deter Lahza, a country that mushroomed like a black cloud on the eastern plain, and contribute greatly to the kingdom’s security.
But the nobles of Yojeh territory did not welcome relations with Tolah. If trade between the two kingdoms increased, it would be the lords and merchants of Aluhan territory, which already had ties with Tolah, that prospered. The nobles of Yojeh territory profited through taxes on goods that traveled the ancient highways joining this country with the caravan cities scattered along the grassy plains in the east. They feared that if bonds with Tolah were strengthened, traders would start using that route instead, reducing their profits.
The nobles were bound to create friction at the banquet just to cause Shunan trouble. To make sure that the banquet concluded peacefully and uneventfully, she, as the Yojeh, should be present. Yet even though she knew just how important this was, she could not bring herself to greet the prince of a foreign country. Not because she found the criticism of the bigoted nobles distasteful, but simply because she was afraid. Afraid to appear before the people and sit on the throne as the Yojeh, the ruler of this nation.
The source of her fear, the origin of her anguish, was emptiness, a lack of any solid foundation beneath her feet. No matter what she tried to say or do, she couldn’t make up her mind. She couldn’t see what was the right thing to do.
That night …
She closed her eyes, frowning. The tale Elin had told her the night she had appeared on the back of a Royal Beast had gouged a gaping hole in Seimiya’s heart. She longed to believe that Elin had made up that story to save the Royal Beasts. But once the seed of doubt had sprouted in her mind, it had refused to wither.
If the Yojeh aren’t descended from a god, then the belief that my very existence brings my people happiness is no more than a myth.
Since childhood she’d been certain the pure blood of the gods ran in her veins, but once that conviction vanished, all that was left was a vulnerable woman, no different from any other. Around the time that Yuimiya was born, Seimiya had begun to hear a voice murmuring in her ear whenever she sat on the throne and spoke to the people. A voice that called her an imposter.
It was not her union with Shunan or the resentment of her people that caused her anguish, but this voice that whispered deep in her mind.
2
SPRING BANQUET
Bathed in soft spring sunlight, a large round table stood in the garden. Glass dishes piled high with colorful fruits and freshly baked sweets sat upon the pristine white tablecloth. Guests sat around the table, chatting quietly, while behind them, servants bustled back and forth, bearing sizzling platters of roasted meats and bowls of steaming vegetables, which they deftly slid onto the table.
Seated on the left of the Aluhan, Yonan had barely touched his food. His face was tense with nerves, and he kept glancing at the foreign guests. Beside him, Shunan was engaged in an amicable conversation with Tauloka, the prince of Tolah, who sat on his right. Sitting across from them, the nobles of Yojeh territory remained silent, occasionally whispering among themselves. Kin to the Yojeh, they loathed Shunan and deeply resented the drastic changes he had caused. To invite foreigners into the sacred palace was equivalent to trampling through a holy place in muddy boots. Given the choice, they would not have attended either the banquet the previous evening or this luncheon. But they couldn’t protest when the Yojeh herself had given these events her blessing, and so they applied themselves to their food with glowering faces.
Oli sat next to Yonan. “Your Highness, you should eat,” she murmured.
Yonan, red-faced, hastily cast down his eyes and picked up his spoon. Oli focused on helping her nephew to navigate his first official luncheon, forcing herself not to look at the nobles. Just the sight of them made her so angry, it killed her appetite. Inwardly, she cursed them.
Fools! The people of Tolah were probably already aware of the situation in this country. Still, why would the nobles demonstrate their discontent so openly? They were unhappy about strengthening ties with Tolah. She knew that, but their reasons were purely selfish—they feared that their own profits would decrease. Maybe they wanted to declare through their rudeness their opposition to the negotiations. Or to embarrass the Aluhan by showing that he’d failed to win their confidence. But couldn’t they see how this put the country at a serious disadvantage?
“Is that so? This palace has wonderful pastures, too.”
Picking up the words of Prince Tauloka’s interpreter, Oli turned her attention to the conversation between him and her brother. Robust and deeply tanned, the prince was so short that the nobles had almost laughed in his face when they had met him last night, and he looked so boyish, he seemed far younger than his twenty-three years. He laughed often, and his big dark eyes darted here and there. But as she watched him, Oli began to suspect that, contrary to his appearance, he was sharp-witted, picking up every subtlety.
Once again, he spoke, his voice penetrating, and the interpreter quickly translated. “How unfortunate that I could not meet Her Majesty, the Yojeh, to present her with our finest steeds in person. However, if you have a pasture so close to the palace, why not ride with me after lunch? The five horses we brought for you were trained on the beaches of our coast and are strong-legged. I would be honored if you would test them yourself.”
Silence spread around the table. Under the steady scrutiny of the nobles, Shunan paused, seemingly unsure how to respond. Toda Riders considered horses to be inferior mounts. Warriors were trained in horseback riding, but while Shunan might ride in a carriage, he was not a skilled horseman and did not ride horses for pleasure. Well aware of this, the nobles waited, eyes glittering spitefully, to see if he would accept this invitation, which would surely end in humiliation.
But before Shunan could speak, a bright voice rang out. “What a splendid idea! If you wouldn’t mind, I would be delighted to accompany you,” Oli said. Ignoring her brother, who had turned to her in surprise, and keeping her eyes fixed solely on Tauloka, she pressed her trembling fingers together beneath the table and smiled. “Ever since last night,
when you showed us those wonderful horses, I have been longing to ride one.”
Tauloka looked at her with an arrested expression. The warbling of the birds sounded loud in the hush that had fallen over the garden. Finally, the prince inclined his head gracefully. “What an unexpected pleasure it will be to ride with the sister of the Aluhan,” he said. “Please do join me.”
A murmur of indignation rose from the other side of the table as the nobles demanded to know why the younger sister of the Aluhan should ride horses that had been gifted to the Yojeh. Their voices, however, were interrupted by music, which suddenly poured forth from among the trees. All eyes turned toward the sound. In a spot that a moment before had seemed empty stood a lone musician, his finely chiseled features framed by shortly cropped brown hair. Leaning against the trunk of a sasha tree beneath a halo of pale pink blossoms, he strummed a lakkalu.
His russet-colored eyes narrowed, and he bowed his head slightly over the instrument, focusing on the music, as he raised his gentle voice in song. Wafting toward them like the spring breeze through the blossoms, the tune touched some forgotten place deep within their hearts. It was a joyful song, celebrating spring, and by the time the last ripples had faded away, peace had settled over the group assembled at the table. Even the nobles had lost the desire to grumble.
The meal ended, and, after seeing the guests off, Oli told her maidservants to go on ahead. Alone, she walked over the grass toward the musician where he sat perched on a tree root loosening the strings of his lakkalu. “Thanks, Rolan,” she said.
The man raised his eyebrows and smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Always at your service, Princess.”
Oli scowled. “Stop calling me that.”
Rolan scratched his chin and cast her a teasing look. “But I can’t go on calling you Omli forever, you know. It wouldn’t do.”
“Omli is just fine. We were playmates from before we were even out of diapers. It feels weird to hear you call me Princess.” She frowned at him sternly, but his mouth quirked.
The Beast Warrior Page 7