“When Lady Talyien weds Prince Yuebek…” one of the Zarojo began, and I found myself standing.
Rai reached out to jerk me back down to my seat. I slipped from his grasp. The men turned as I walked towards them. But it was their guards that I addressed. My soldiers, once upon a time. “You let them utter such blasphemies in your presence?” I demanded.
The guards blinked at me in confusion. Now I turned to the Zarojo. It took plenty of effort not to run them through with my sword where they stood. “You speak openly of Lady Talyien renouncing her vows. Do neither of you understand Jin-Sayeng’s laws? Divorce is impossible, and having the priests absolve the marriage is going to be difficult without proper reason, so either you are implying that her husband Lord Rayyel will have to be killed, or you are implying that we break our own laws to allow this…Prince Yuebek…to marry her. It is treason, either way.”
The guards’ hands strayed to their swords. One of the officials stopped them. “Let’s entertain the madwoman,” he said. “Her Zirano is impeccable.”
“Not surprising,” the other added. “There was a time when the Empire of Ziri-nar-Orxiaro was well-regarded in this backwater place. Your nation was prosperous, then.”
“For Prince Yuebek to even consider marrying a woman—especially one as disgraced as Lady Talyien is at this moment—is high praise indeed.”
“I’ve heard of this Prince Yuebek,” I retorted in Jinan, so that the guards would understand. “Isn’t he your Esteemed Emperor’s Fifth Son? Your praise tastes like ashes. Like desperation.”
“Prince Yuebek commands an army large enough to trample your warlords’,” the official replied. “I’d hardly call that desperate.”
“Queen Talyien at this point is no more,” his friend continued for him, following my lead in speaking in Jinan. The entire restaurant was looking up in interest, and I think he was frightened of the backlash. “Even the title of head of Oren-yaro has been taken from her by Warlord Ozo, and rightfully so. Her rule has been steeped in too much intrigue and she has lost standing not just with the other warlords, but her own people. That said, it cannot be denied that she is the rightful heir of the Orenar clan, one that the Oren-yaro people won’t easily forget. Warlord Ozo will restore her title and her lands if she proves herself willing to work towards progress. In this case, her first and only available option is to marry our prince.”
“Her marriage to Prince Rayyel can be annulled easily enough,” the other man said. “He has not shown any interest in reclaiming his position as her husband, and their separation can be examined by both the council and the priests once both step out under the light once more. Her husband’s allegations will play a big part in the proceeding trial. When the investigation is over, decisions can be made for the good of the realm.”
“Decisions,” I repeated icily. “So Lady Talyien must decide between staying married to her husband or marrying Prince Yuebek.” Speaking his name so casually made me shudder.
“If you put it that way,” the official replied.
“I wouldn’t call it treason, in any case,” said the other. “Lady Talyien brought this upon herself.”
It wasn’t their words anymore, then, that was unsettling. It was the fact that everyone in that room—most of them Oren-yaro—listened without a word of complaint. As if they understood. As if they agreed.
I strode out of the restaurant feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me. Rai watched me gather my breath at the side of the street. I glanced up at him, and he cleared his throat. “Your over-confidence will be the death of us.”
“If we didn’t know what they were planning, we would’ve been walking into Oka Shto blind. It was worth the risk, I think. But walk a little faster—they’ll be right behind us, and I want to lead them straight to Agos.”
He gave a nervous glance over his shoulder. “You think he can take that many?”
“Those were once his men. Two runts he trained, and two unarmed officials? Not a problem.”
“Their conversation was upsetting to you, wasn’t it?”
“Obviously.”
“More than it upsets me. This is our marriage they were speaking of, too.”
I sighed. “Maybe it’s because you never cared about the marriage.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You know that’s not true.”
I fell silent, allowing my steps to match his.
“Being used as a figurehead and a scapegoat…” he began. He cleared his throat again. “Let us just say it is not a privilege afforded only to you.”
“Tell me, Rai. We’ve gone far too long keeping things from each other.”
He sighed. “It is not how I made it sound. Only, if you have ever wondered about the lack of support from the Citadel with regards to this issue, then you have your answer. They argue about me. Have argued about me from the very beginning. Many of the Ikessar bannermen do not agree that I should have been put forward as the heir. They do not agree my mother should’ve led the war against your father in the first place. And so it goes.”
We walked in silence for a length of time.
“Figureheads,” I repeated. “Puppets. Was there a time when we were anything more?”
Rai shrugged. “There was a time, back then…” He paused, fishing for words. “When you told me you were with child. I liked the name Thanh, I said. For a boy.”
“I remember.” I remembered dreaming of it, too, back in Phurywa. I could still feel the snakes inside my belly.
“Thanh. The first Kibouri priest. A great man. Perhaps not to your people, but to mine, he stood for the very ideals that the Ikessars would later be known for. I had the misguided notion that perhaps my Thanh could lead the whole of Jin-Sayeng along such a path. A boy loved by both his parents, and not for what he could offer them—not like you, who was Warlord Yeshin’s sword against my mother, or I, who was to be the dagger to his heart.”
My Thanh. He was chewing his lip now, staring into the distance. For the first time, I understood exactly what I had done to him. Old enough to have known better, but far too young to look ahead, to peer into a future that held no meaning for me…I had cast doubt on the one thing he could ever truly call his, dragged it back into the shadows of titles and facades. What was the love for a child in the face of political maneuvering? There was no room for uncertainty in our world.
“You did jeopardize the succession,” he continued in a low voice.
“I know.”
“I couldn’t just turn a blind eye. If another had learned of it first, you may not even get an investigation. You’d both be dead before you can deny the allegations.”
“I know that, too. But Rai…we could’ve done better. I should’ve considered the weight of our actions. I should’ve told you about Agos. And you…you could’ve told me about Chiha.”
I saw Rai take a sharp breath before dropping his eyes. “My lady, I…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I have no excuses. I was young. We were not yet married, and Lady Chiha had been…a friend.”
“You knew that I knew.”
He scratched his chin. “I had wanted to believe…that I was mistaken. That the rose…I fooled myself into thinking it must’ve been a servant who…but I think always knew…” He fell silent. I realized that this was not something Rayyel knew how to talk about, not something he knew how to face. I wanted to lord it over him, wanted to gloat. Instead, I just felt a hollow weight. And so here we were in this sea of treachery and vipers and intentions too muddled to break apart, with nothing to show for it.
“She was saying her farewells,” Rai continued.
“Some farewell,” I grumbled.
He turned red and fell silent.
I sighed. I couldn’t even muster the old anger anymore. “You are aware of the hypocrisy, in light of everything that had happened.”
I had to give him credit. He simply nodded. “I am aware that I did not act as honourably as I could have.”
A part of me felt as if s
uch a moment should’ve carried more weight than it did. Should’ve felt like a blade in my heart, that thorn Agos had mentioned, getting yanked out without a care for how it made me bleed after. But I didn’t feel that way. It was as if I was now seeing our lives from the bottom of a glass jar, the distortion becoming more apparent. If our lives had been a play, if we had been nothing but puppets to our parents’ desires, then I was now at the applause, clapping as I was made aware of what was and wasn’t real. “It’s all in the past,” I said. “You said it yourself. We have to live with what we created.”
He gestured. “This, you mean?”
“This. We can put the blame on my father, who managed yet another underhanded trick on your mother from beyond the grave. Or Yuebek and his damned ambitions. Or we can understand the part we played in all of it, too. And we can try to fix it.”
“I thought I was trying to do that,” he grumbled. “But it seems that Yuebek has always been one step ahead of us. None of us would’ve anticipated such a bald-faced move from the Oren-yaro. No wonder they chose to accept your disgrace—Lord Ozo stood to benefit from it.”
“We’ve got to trade one bald-faced move for another, then.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“You don’t think much about our plan,” I said. “Get into the castle, get Thanh out. Consider this one extra step. I go to the guest quarters. I kill Qun.”
He frowned. “I don’t know what that will do. Yuebek will still be alive.”
“Didn’t you hear what those men were saying? They’re still trying to do this legally. If the Zarojo are seen as saviours, they can’t very well be seen as invaders now, can they? They want the Jinsein people to cheer them through the streets. But without Qun, they’ll be floundering. There’s a reason he’s here.”
“Killing him will only add to your crimes.”
I gritted my teeth. “Didn’t you hear them, Rai? I’m beyond redemption. What do I have left to salvage?”
My words were ominous. As soon as they left my lips, I heard the heavy clop of boots behind me and realized the Zarojo officials and the soldiers had finally caught up to us.
I turned around to meet them. “Yes?” I said, as soon as they came within earshot.
“Who are you?” the older Zarojo asked. “A commoner doesn’t just speak out in public the way you do.”
I smiled. “I suppose there was no point in hiding it. But why don’t you ask them?” I nodded towards the soldiers.
“Lady Talyien,” one of the soldiers offered.
“No,” another breathed. “It can’t be. She…”
They fell into silence, staring at me.
“You were once my guards,” I said. “Does that not count for something anymore?”
They hesitated. It wasn’t much, but the fact that they didn’t pounce on me immediately gave me a surge of hope, the first I had felt in months. But before I could do anything about it, I saw them glance at something—at someone—behind me, and their expressions verged on panic and fear.
“Suras, Nandro,” Agos said, sauntering up to them like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Captain Agos,” the guards said in unison. Their last words. Agos drew his sword, using the familiarity to his advantage and cut them were they stood. They were dead before they hit the ground. I was still staring in shock when Agos stepped over their bodies and slid his sword into them a second time, just to make sure.
“I’m sorry, boys,” he murmured. “A waste, really. May the gods forgive me.” He turned to the Zarojo officials, who were both staring with sheet-white faces.
“We’ll call for more,” one of the officials stammered.
Agos rubbed his wet brow. “No guards in this area at this time of the day.”
The official pointed at me. “If she really is the Lady of Oren-yaro, then she has nothing to fear. We’re…”
Agos killed him. He didn’t even have time to shriek. But the other did, scrambling over the blood and bodies in an attempt to flee from us. It was Rai who tripped him. He didn’t do more than that, but he didn’t have to. Agos struck him from the back.
“No time to hide the bodies,” Agos said, spitting on the side. “Let’s get out of here before they sound the alarms.”
“Do you think we’ll still get into the temple?” I asked.
“I’ve already got everything ready. Priests will be the last to know,” he said. “It’s now or never, Princess.”
We ripped out their pockets as an afterthought to make it look like a theft gone wrong, and then we left them to stiffen and stink on the empty street.
Chapter Fourteen
The Coin of Sin
The first blood spilt is often the easiest simply because it happens so fast. After that, the inevitability of death settles in, and you begin to weigh your options. How many more must die before you accomplish what you set out to do? Do you stop because too many are killed?
I don’t actually like killing. The thought is irresistible at times, but the very act itself leaves me nauseous. A hard thing for people to understand and an even harder thing for me to accept. But then again, my father didn’t like killing, either, and he handled it well enough. He used to tell me it got easier, that you stopped thinking about it after the first few. I remembered going over those words after I killed that innkeeper six years ago while I vomited my guts into a bucket. I remembered thinking that if I was going to act like this every time, then maybe I didn’t belong on the throne. Maybe I was Oren-yaro by name alone.
I could, if I had to, mention every single death attributed to my name. Qun might be loath to believe it, but even Biala Chaen’s death had caused me many a sleepless night. I’ve never said these things out loud. I had been taught that things left unsaid do not get the chance to fester in your mind. Khine—nosy, persistent Khine—had seen it as a mask. And as Yeshin’s successor, I had thought to make the mask part of me, and so I said the things that needed to be heard and did the things that needed to be done. But wearing it hurt. I wanted to be done with it.
Agos had found a coffin, surprisingly enough. A Kag had set up shop near an old friend’s house, and Kags asked less questions when confronted with a bag of coin—or in Agos’ case, credit. There were advantages to being honourably discharged as Captain of the Guard, and Agos still carried around the letter signed by General Ozo which enabled him whatever sort of assistance he needed in the city of Oren-yaro and beyond. He bragged about using the same letter to procure a rather nice rental house for his wife and children.
“Do you not want to see them, Agos?” I asked while we loaded up the cart. “We may not have the time when Thanh is with us.”
He paused. Out of all the men I knew, he was the easiest to read. “Better not to stir the pot,” he finally mumbled. “I made my choices a long time ago, Princess. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for them, for what they were to me when I needed them. But when all is said and done, you know where I belong. And it’s easier if they just take me for a drunken fool who ran off in the middle of the night and never returned. Hate and anger could be good. Wield them right, they’ll make them strong. Did it for me with my father, the bastard I never knew. Did well enough for myself.” He glanced at me, long enough that I found it unsettling.
“Your love is wasted on me,” I said.
He smirked. “Perhaps.” He turned to Rai’s figure in the distance and gave a resigned sigh. “But I’ve always known that.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“Don’t be,” he replied. His eyes twinkled. “I’m not.”
And with that, without even giving me a chance to reply, he strode up to call Rai. Too late to change our minds, too late to back out. We reached the temple before evening, right before the last prayers for the day. The wind was drenched with moisture, a clear sign of an impending storm. Just as the priest acknowledged our cargo at the gates, peering down at Rai’s still form only for a moment before demanding we close the coffin, lightning cracked throu
gh the sky.
I cringed as the thunder rumbled right behind it, followed by drops of rain. I felt Agos’ hand on my shoulder. I reached up to touch his fingers slightly—a soft brush, so faint you could’ve imagined I was simply wiping the moisture off them—and wished, not for the first time, that I had more to give.
~~~
“What’s his name, eh?” the half-blind priest asked, prodding the coffin with the sort of toothless grin that didn’t belong around the dead. I recognized him from my time as queen, but thankfully, the opposite didn’t hold true—I think I had been too young the last time he was at the castle.
“R…ordan aron dar Ikessar,” I said. “Struck down just two days since we arrived in the city. We didn’t know where else to take him. They wanted to burn him. But his last wishes were to be taken back to the mountains someday, with a proper funeral in a coffin, not a jar. We didn’t know what else to do.”
“I would’ve advised on the burning,” the priest said, crossing his arms. “It would help with the spread of the disease. Who knows if you’re both infected by now?”
“We’re not,” I replied.
“Did you handle the body properly?”
“Of course we did, old man.”
“Respect—” the priest started. He seemed to change his mind about lecturing me and shook his head. “I’ll tell them to get the crypt ready. You’ll want to perform the rites over him, I suppose. I’ll see if anyone can spare you the time.”
“I can do them myself, if you’ll just give me the prayer beads and one of your little booklets.”
He sniffed. “You’re Oren-yaro.”
“I’m not.”
“Do you know it’s a crime to the Nameless Maker to lie to a priest, child? I didn’t spend years in this city just to get fooled by an accent that reeks of it. No—you’ll just botch it. I think one of the younger priests may be able to do it.”
The Ikessar Falcon Page 54