by Devin Madson
He snuffled again and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mama,” he said, blinking rapidly and pushing himself up out of his nest. “I fell asleep.”
“You are forgiven. But you must straighten yourself. We do not go before any eyes looking untidy.”
“No, Mama.”
I set a hand to my hair, checking pins and elaborate curls by touch. Robe. Sash. Sleeves. The fur stole around my shoulders. Eyes upon me, Takehiko ran through the same routine with a three-year-old’s clumsiness. I adjusted the sit of his crimson sash for him, the knot so big and elaborate that it almost covered his whole torso.
“Good,” I said when I was satisfied. “Off you go.”
With one hand upon the curtain he hesitated, his little face twisting. “You are afraid, Mama.”
“It is wise to be afraid, my child, but not wise to show that fear to others. We are Otakos. We show no fear.”
“No, Mama.” Still he hesitated. “The soldiers are afraid too.”
“It is their job to fear everything so they can keep us safe. Now go, we cannot keep our host waiting too long or it will appear rude.”
“Yes, Mama.”
He pushed the curtain aside and climbed out onto the mounting block, met by murmurs in the chill air as every soldier bowed. A small smile hovered about my lips, only to be stolen a moment later by the fear he had felt, the fear I had tried to bury out of sight. Perhaps he was getting stronger. Or I weaker.
I stepped out after him, and he offered me his hand as though he had been the emperor himself. I took it, forcing a smile though his touch tingled like something at once both too hot and too cold.
Easier not to think about it.
The carriers had halted outside a discreet house in a narrow backstreet, exactly the sort of place one expected for such meetings. The single lantern above the door ought to have illuminated the steps and a portion of the road, but all its failing flame managed was the wooden door and the stern face of Koto. He bowed but did not speak. It was not necessary. The warning he would have uttered stood clear upon his furrowed brow.
Despite the spluttering lantern we were expected, and the door opened as I set my foot upon the step. No face appeared. No light. Just a maw that opened into darkness. A mother’s instinct was to enter first, but protocol maintained power. Let one slide and the other would follow.
Without glancing back, Takehiko went first up the stairs. Even at three the protocol had been so firmly drummed into his head no amount of fear could shift it. Suffused with pride, I followed.
Inside, a servant bowed, traces of moonlight dancing about his short white hair. “His Lordship apologises for the darkness. It is merely a precaution. Do follow me.”
The door shut with a click leaving only a dim light calling us along the passage. Not bright enough to see clearly, but it guided our way, sandals crunching fresh reed matting. The light sat beyond the paper screens of a highly carved door and there the servant stopped to bow before sliding it open.
A round table took up most of the room beyond. Paintings and carvings hung upon the walls, but it was the shape of the table more than any ornamentation that flaunted Chiltaen wealth. Such a waste of wood – rosewood too, if my eye was not out.
The man sitting at the table rose, letting furs fall to reveal a sumptuous silk robe in shades of green like a dappled forest floor. Not an old fashioned robe, but one in the new style, no doubt made especially for him. No interest in tradition then, a fact worth remembering.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing to Takehiko. The boy did not find this very interesting. His gaze had slipped toward another door set behind a steaming brazier.
The man bowed again to me. “Your Imperial Majesty. I am greatly honoured by your visit.”
“A visit I trust will remain between us.”
Again he rose, this time with an amused smile. “Indeed it shall, but what a loss to my business to have a visit from the Kisian Imperial family kept secret.”
“You mistake,” I said. “Were it known, then your business would be in very grave trouble indeed.”
“Opening with a threat, Your Majesty?”
“A warning, My Lord Oligarch.”
“Epontus, please,” he said. “As no one will ever know about this meeting we may as well be informal, don’t you think?” His eyes slid to Takehiko, whose sleepy gaze moved about the room from picture to carving to coloured glass ornament. “You bring a child to protect your honour, Your Majesty?”
I had practiced my smile until I could form it perfectly at need, and did so now. “I protect my own honour, Lord Epontus. The presence of my son is merely the whim of a devoted mother.”
Again his eyes slid to the boy and I wondered what he had heard. Whispers travelled. Even, it seemed, when mouths had been silenced.
The smile that spread his broad lips was as practiced as my own and he indicated the table already set with tea and sweets. “Do join me, Your Highness. Your Majesty.”
Takehiko brought his attention back to the man and one of his brows twitched. But he said nothing, just ran his small hands down the front of his robe before kneeling. Those small hands grabbed a fur blanket from the floor and pulled it around him, forming something like the nest he had made in the palanquin. It was not the action of a prince, but the sooner the man forgot his presence the better, so I just placed a hand upon the boy’s head and patted his hair, cooing like a mother dove.
I let the clink of ceramic and the clearing of the lord’s throat draw me out of my motherly pretence. “Tea, Your Majesty?”
A nod. Empresses didn’t say thank you.
Lord Epontus shifted his portly bulk, leaning an elbow upon the table to better reach the steaming pot. A drawback to having a fancy round table.
Tea splashed as he poured, and though I pretended not to notice, he gestured to the servant kneeling by the door. The man rose and mopped up the spilt tea, but when he ought to have returned to his place he lingered. It was the man with the white hair who had let us in, but despite the colour he was not old. He risked a glance my way. Such disrespect could earn him the lash. I ought to have objected, but the danger of my own position stilled my lips and all too soon the moment passed.
Protocol maintains power. Let one slide and the other will follow.
“Leave us, Gadjo.”
The servant bowed, murmured and departed, all while Lord Epontus, with some effort required to move his bulk, set the steaming tea bowl before me. He then gathered up his own as though his hands were cold, but then perhaps he was. In Chiltae it hardly ever snowed and the Ribbon never froze.
“Foul stuff,” Lord Epontus said, taking a sip and shuddering. “I never will understand why you Kisians prefer tea over wine.”
You Kisians. I had spent half my life in Kisia. Was that what it took to be disowned? Or was I no longer useful?
“They drink wine,” I said. “Just not as frequently as we Chiltaens imbibe it. It is served after meals. Warmed in the winter.”
If he noted my attempt to regain my heritage he didn’t show it. “Madness,” he said. “But there is never any accounting for foreign ways. Did you know that across the Eye Sea there’s a land that has no ruler? They are nomads – horsemen – who follow their herd leader and no one else. One would think they would fight often, but people say the grasslands are so immense that they don’t fight because they have everything they need. Fascinating, eh?”
“Very.” I took a sip as Takehiko snuggled against my thigh. “But I did not come to talk about horsemen from across the sea.”
“Of course not, Your Majesty. So do enlighten me.”
He seemed to have forgotten about Takehiko, probably thought the boy asleep though I knew he wasn’t. He never could sleep with strangers close by, their souls pressing in upon him.
“The treaty,” I said. “You signed it.”
Eyebrows went up. “I did. As did the other oligarchs. Also your husband, the Great Emperor of Kisia, may he live forever, and his brother Grac
e Tianto. In fact it was signed by everyone of importance.”
I forced out my smile, though would have loved to choke the words ‘everyone of importance’ from his throat.
“Peace, you see,” he went on. “Is good for trade.”
“Yes,” I said. “And for people not dying.”
“Trade is also good for people not dying, if it is life you care about, Your Majesty. Though I would point out, with no malice intended, that it was Kisia that invaded us this time.”
“This time.”
His laugh shook his bulk. “I am sure you are aware, Your Majesty, that we have, shall we say, a... colourful history?”
“I am aware. But you seem to be unaware that your peace is in jeopardy.”
Lord Epontus set his bowl down with a thud. “Ah, now I was wondering what all the secrecy was about. You’ve heard something? You wish to be of service to your people at last?”
“I have,” I said, ignoring the last jab. “If one lives long enough at the Kisian Court one grows long ears. The details are my own to keep, but if you want the peace to last then you must organise a marriage between one of your merchant lords and Lady Kimiko Otako.”
“Grace Tianto’s daughter? She is the Emperor’s niece!”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if you do not then trade won’t be good for quite some time.”
“That is all? You expect me to petition for a marriage on such tenuous grounds? You’ll excuse me for being frank, Your Majesty, but there is a reason why you Kisians have been happy to take Chiltaen brides but we do not take Kisian brides. They are too expensive. The offer the family would have to make to Grace Tianto would be so immense as to not be worth it. War would be preferable!”
“And if I could see to it that the price was... considerably lower?”
He scoffed. “Oh yes, only half crippling. Even so I would be hard pressed to find a family acceptable to the Otakos that would be willing to pay such a price merely for a woman. Too proud by half,” he went on, his colour rising. “The Otakos think their fancy throne makes them gods, well their people may believe such rot but we are not so blind. Men are men. We built Chiltae on that belief and are proud of it. No one would give a fortune for the girl be she never so pretty, because the Otako name means nothing on the Ribbon.”
He must have realised to whom he was speaking for he puffed out his cheeks and bowed an apology. “I let my tongue run away with me, Your Majesty. But in all truth, I could find you a dozen rich families happy to sell their daughters to the Otakos, hells even a few who would pay some small amount for the honour, but not the other way around.”
And water the Kisian blood further. There had been enough trouble when I had married Emperor Lan, or Prince Lan as he had been then. And there had only been more bloodshed since. No, that would not work. It had to be Lady Kimiko.
I sipped my tea. It had gone tepid but still calmed fraying nerves. Cheng would be disappointed, Koto not surprised, but I had done what I could. Now all I needed was to be sure of the man’s silence.
Beneath the table my fingers wriggled into Takehiko’s hair. The boy held his breath.
“It is unfortunate that we were unable to come to an understanding,” I said, setting down the half-empty tea bowl. “You will of course speak not a word of this meeting or its contents to anyone.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Lord Epontus said. “Not a word, on my honour. You are in enough trouble at court I think, without adding to it.”
My hand stilled amid Takehiko’s curls. “Trouble?”
The man laughed. “I am sure I can find a new husband for you, Your Majesty. Even the Otakos would not expect much for old goods. I hear the Emperor’s latest is quite something.”
“Men have their appetites,” I said, lifting my chin.
“Women too.” His glance shied to the still form of Takehiko curled at my side. “At least so I hear.”
My free hand balled into a fist, but I sent my practiced smile in to battle. “Indeed. Your word on your silence?”
Lord Epontus bowed as low as he could before the table got in the way of his stomach. “My word.”
“He’s lying.”
The muffled words came from the furs, but Takehiko didn’t lift his head.
“Excuse me?” the Lord Oligarch said. “Did he—?”
“His Imperial Highness does not think you are telling the truth, yes,” I said. “But he is just a child, of course, children take such whims into their heads, especially to protect their mothers. Do allow me to apologise on his behalf, Lord Epontus.”
Lord Epontus grunted. “Yes, well, he ought to learn to keep his mouth shut.”
“Indeed he should.” With one hand still upon Takehiko’s head, my other crept to the thick band of my sash where wriggling fingers soon found steel. The knife came free and, heart thumping hard now, I tucked it behind my back and made a show of rousing the sleepy prince.
“We have trespassed upon His Lordship’s fine hospitality too long, my son,” I said. “It is time to leave.”
I rose with the words. The Lord Oligarch would have to rise too, and bow, for that was the custom and however much he might detest Kisia respect had to be paid. He struggled a little to gain his feet, but once there executed a proper bow, sliding his hands down the front of his fine silk robe. “Your Highness. Your Majesty,” he said. “It has truly been an hon—”
My slash cut the flesh of his neck, missing his throat but spilling hot blood onto my hand. He buckled, his bulk crashing a knee into the matting. I lashed out again to finish the job, but he moved and the blade juddered into his cheekbone only to leap from my hand like a slippery fish.
Lord Epontus hissed, a hand pressed to his neck where the slash bled. He might still die if he bled out. “Damn you, woman!” he snarled, his other hand steadying himself upon the table. “If you want me dead then do it properly. Order your guards to do it so at least it’ll be clean.”
He got his bulk to its feet, teeth clenched hard. “Gadjo!” he said. “Gadjo!”
“Master?” the word came as the door slid, no amount of silent prayer managing to keep it closed. I froze, blood smearing my hands.
The silver-haired servant took in the room with a sweeping glance. From his master, barely standing, to the tousled boy at the table, to me, then down at the blood-drenched dagger upon the reeds.
“Run for the surgeon, man!” Lord Epontus snapped, his face growing pale. “Her Majesty is leaving.”
Gadjo bowed. “Your Lordship.”
Almost I called him back, my hand twitching toward him as though to grasp his collar as he turned, but in the space of a breath he was gone taking my secret with him.
“You can be sure the rest of the oligarchs will find this as interesting as your previous request, Your Majesty,” Lord Epontus said, struggling for breath. He leaned against a decorative sideboard. “But if you do not wish the emperor to hear of it then I suggest you go now.”
An offer made to the foolish woman he thought me.
The dagger lay a step away, maybe two in this tight robe. Lord Epontus was in no fit state to fight and the longer I waited the weaker he became, but there might be more servants or even guards he could summon with a scream.
A breathy laugh interrupted my thoughts. “Is it really so desperate, Your Majesty, that you would kill me for my silence? You are Chiltaen. You ought to be on our side.”
You will die before your thirtieth year. Your children will die. The empire will fall.
The clear certainty of the seer’s gaze troubled me though her eyes had long been burned away.
“I refuse to die,” I said and reached for the dagger. My fingers closed around it before he could move or speak and I thrust as I turned. His hand caught my wrist. The grip not strong, but it twisted, sending sharp pain through my arm until the dagger fell again. But he did not let go, instead yanked me close, smothering me in the stink of blood.
“For this I will mak
e sure you die,” he snarled, lips drawn back to reveal well-kept teeth. “Attacking an oligarch is an attack on the treaty, which is treason against your Emperor. He’s been after an excuse to replace you with fresher meat and now he can have it.”
I cried out as he twisted my arm as though trying to snap the bone. Tears sprang to my eyes. “No, you cannot,” I said. “Let me go! I am—”
“Do not hurt Mama,” came the small voice from the table. “I am a Prince of Kisia and I command you to let her go.”
Lord Epontus did, slumping back, shaking, against the sideboard. “Of course, Your Highness,” he said with a dry laugh. “My apologies. Now how about you take your Mama and get out of my house. I would not want her death on my hands.”
I fell to my knees, tears blurring the room. The foolish tears of a woman tired of having to fight, of having to smile, to pretend, to do whatever was requested of me. Tears at having failed Koto and Cheng, at having failed Kisia, at having failed to keep the interest of the Emperor long enough that I might have been spared the humiliation that was to come.
The oligarch’s voice came in a huff. “What are you doing?”
Takehiko had risen from his place at the table, leaving behind his cosy nest of furs to approach the bleeding man. “I am leaving,” the boy said. “But before I go you must bow to me. It is the law.”
Another dry laugh, but although he did not kneel, Lord Epontus bent forward. As his head reached the lowest point injury and fat would allow, Takehiko gripped the man’s blood-streaked cheeks between his small hands – hands that had not yet shed the plumpness of youth.
“What—?”
“I am doing what my mother wants,” the boy said, pulling the oligarch’s head down when the man tried to stand. “I have to protect her. She is afraid.”
“I can—” the word ascended into a scream, the sound there and gone as it rose to a pitch his voice could not reach. The scream went on in silence, his eyes popping from his head as every breath came fast and shallow.
The whole scene lasted mere seconds. From touch to scream to the moment the oligarch crumpled to the floor like an enormous baby birthed from between its mother’s legs. And there, curled tight, he remained. Still. Not a sound. Not a breath. Nothing.