I noticed that she was not as frightened of me as my own handmaid. A little intimidated, perhaps—understandable, given the authority I represented and what our arrival might mean—but not overly so. I noted that in Ziri-nar-Orxiaro, even the servants shaved their eyebrows thin and wore the pigment that allowed their lips to look so red and supple. This was not so in Jin-Sayeng, where the servants needed to keep their faces plain.
I turned to my servant to make this observation before reminding myself that it was a conversation that was going to lead nowhere. She continued to keep her eyes averted, her fingers laced nervously in front of her. What was it about me that she found so frightening? Arro had mentioned that she was one of my “usual” handmaids, which meant she wasn’t a new hire. Surely she would know by now that it wasn’t my habit to whip servants for no reason.
My Captain of the Guard, Nor, found us on the way to the dining hall. “My apologies, my queen,” she said, drawing her thick brows together. “I was called outside to deal with a small issue, but I left a guard in my place.”
“I didn’t see him,” I said.
She glowered. “That’s unacceptable! I will have the man sent for and punished.”
“I think we could let it go this time. No one tried to assassinate me, Nor.”
“Without discipline, our morals falter.” Nor’s expression was hard, the sort of hardness that my father approved of. The guard might be wise to never show his face again.
“Will you accompany me to breakfast?” I asked.
“Of course, my queen,” Nor said. She glanced at my servant before falling to my side. Straight as an arrow, was Nor, and dedicated to her duty like no other. She was an obvious choice when they were picking the staff to accompany me to the empire. She was also my cousin, an aron dar Orenar, so you would think she would have more to say to me beyond guard formations and schedules.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Nor was brought to the palace not long before my father’s death. She was the shadow of Warlord Yeshin’s own Captain of the Guard, Sahiro the Dauntless, who fought in the War of the Wolves before deciding that army life was not for him. Nor, I soon came to understand, was something of a prodigy. Only later did I learn that she was also a royal, which explained the speed with which she climbed through the ranks. At only eighteen, she was leading her own unit, overseeing palace security among the gnarly old men that were the remnants of my father’s choices.
Choosing to join the guards instead of taking a clan-honoured title or finding position in the army was seen by many as an unconventional choice. The gossip was ruthless: Nor had married another guard, so of course she only joined to be with him. He was not a royal, so her family wouldn’t have approved otherwise. I can’t count the number of times I’ve longed to find the source of such gossip and then throttle the life out of it, even with my reputation as tarnished as it was.
We reached the dining hall. Our host must’ve been informed of my arrival—a fresh plate had already been set out for me. My adviser, Arro, was already tearing into a steamed rice bun while wiping his fingers on the table. He noticed me and bowed.
I settled into the most comfortable and expensive-looking stool I had ever seen in my life and allowed a servant to place my meal in front of me: the aforementioned buns, some sort of tofu pudding garnished with mint leaves, and rice balls wrapped in bamboo leaves. I was about to touch the rice balls when Nor cleared her throat. I sighed, pulling back to let my handmaid sample a bit of everything first. I had forgotten that they had waived my rights to an uninterrupted meal throughout this entire visit. It was like being a child again.
“I trust you slept well, Beloved Queen,” Arro said.
“Well enough,” I replied. “Someone was playing the harp long into the night—”
“I will inform the host that such activities must cease immediately.”
“I was only about to say that I enjoyed it. It gave me pleasant dreams.” I glanced to the side. As my handmaid was still alive, and not crumpled on the floor with foam on her lips, Nor gave a nod, allowing me to finally eat my own food. I had only eaten a small meat pie from the market the night before and all but wolfed down the rice balls. The pork stuffing had salted egg and bits of mushroom, all melded together in a sweet and savoury sauce that tasted faintly of black pepper and oysters. I didn’t care what the Jin-Sayeng consensus was about Zarojo food—the elders have preached against its richness and penchant for over-spicing—I’ve always found it delicious.
I washed the food down with cold, melon tea before I turned back to Arro. He was chewing on his ratty moustache, a clear sign that something was bothering him. “You might as well tell me now, Magister,” I said. “I’m bound to find out soon enough.”
His eyes darted towards me. “I learned why we were turned away from the governor’s house last night. Governor Gon Zheshan was informed of our arrival well in advance. But he will not entertain us. Prince Rayyel is lodging with him.”
“Dragonlord Rayyel, according to him,” a voice called out from the other end of the hall. “We’ve spoken about this, Magister Arro.” A thin, pock-faced man, dressed in ornate silk robes, approached us. An official’s hat was perched on his head. I recognized our host.
“Deputy Qun,” I said, inclining my head towards him. “I’d rather not insult your hospitality, but that is incorrect. Lord Rayyel was never crowned.”
“A technicality that Governor Zheshan has no problems overlooking,” Deputy Qun said, taking a seat from across them. He bowed. “Let me tell you what I’ve already tried to explain to Magister Arro: Governor Zheshan is merely following a pact between Anzhao City and Shirrokaru, signed over a hundred years ago before the fracturing of the friendship between our nations. This pact obligates one to help the other should the need occur. Oren-yaro has no such pact with Anzhao City.”
“And the fact that I am Queen of Jin-Sayeng, and not just Lady of Oren-yaro, holds no meaning to this irksome man?” I bristled.
Qun looked at me with the calm expression of a man used to the babble of enraged authority. “This is not my personal opinion, Queen Talyien. I am merely detailing the truth.”
“This ancient pact,” I said. “Why has Anzhao City never stepped forward before?”
“Lord Rayyel can be very persuasive,” Qun said. “He was the one who arrived a week before you did, bearing the sealed and signed documents. Governor Zheshan could hardly refuse him, not with all of Anzhao City’s officials watching. The law, despite our individual misgivings, cannot be broken.”
“Your nation attacked ours,” I grumbled. “You think that immediately dissolves any agreements we made before that.”
“The attacks on Jin-Sayeng were unfortunate, but isolated incidents,” Qun replied without breaking a sweat. “Anzhao City shares a sea with your nation. We vehemently opposed all actions made against Jin-Sayeng and refused to lend aid to the officials who deemed the attacks necessary.”
“I find it difficult to believe that your Esteemed Emperor allowed such a display of insubordination.”
“Our nation does not work like yours, Queen Talyien,” Deputy Qun said. Now there was a note of distaste in his voice, but nothing more than that. “In any case, it was the Esteemed Emperor’s father who was emperor at the time. When he died, the current Esteemed Emperor called off our forces. There was no sense in invading your nation, not when we had no intention to hold it for ourselves from the very beginning.”
“I see,” I said, smiling. We had a different story in Jin-Sayeng. In Jin-Sayeng, we knew that the Oren-yaro made a last stand in the plains between the cities of Bara and Darusu. No one else dared meet the Zarojo army the way the Oren-yaro did, prepared to sacrifice our lives while we took down our enemies—from the royal clans of Orenar, Yare, Tasho, and Nee, among others, the minor clans, and down to the last, common soldier. We fought like warriors, like cornered wolves, like demons, and forced the Zarojo to flee back to their ships and across the sea.
Qun did not k
now that, else he would not continue to look at me as brazenly as he did. I allowed it to slide; he was still our host, after all, and I still had my manners. I took a sip of melon tea to quell my nerves. “Please accept my gratitude, then, that the Jinsein people can call the people of Anzhao City friend.”
“I would not go that far,” Qun said, nodding towards me. “But your candour is appreciated.” A smile worked its way up to the corners of his lips. “As is my head.”
So, I thought. My reputation precedes me. Outwardly, I only smiled some more. “If you continue to serve these rice balls for breakfast, you may keep it.” Let him think we had an understanding. My father had taught me, early on, to detect ambition, and it was clear from the gleam in the man’s eyes that he only offered his hospitality because he saw it as a chance to undermine Governor Zheshan’s authority.
Or so I imagined; I had only been Queen for five years, and the feeling of being thrown into an ocean I couldn’t swim in prevailed. Before I could get the chance to be smug about this, Arro bent forward, his skin folds jiggling. “Don’t try to fool us with your prattle, deputy,” he said. “You could at least honour our request to gain a private audience with the governor. That you would imply that the Queen of Jin-Sayeng must beg to be allowed to speak to a mere governor…”
“I am only doing my job, Magister Arro.” Deputy Qun gestured at the food before us. “If the hospitality is not to your liking, I can recommend several excellent inns in the area. Until then, my abode is yours.” He bowed before shuffling out of the hall.
“This is intolerable,” Arro said through gritted teeth. “The insolence they offer Jin-Sayeng…”
“What would you have me do, Magister?” I replied, keeping my voice low. “Declare war on them? Bite them?”
Arro snorted. “Would that you could.”
“I cannot even get my lords to agree to a single law without at least a year of deliberation and arguments.” I plucked a mint leaf before pushing the pudding away. “I knew Rai must be out of his mind to suggest this meeting here, out of all places. The Kag would’ve made more sense—at least we wouldn’t have to brave a week’s journey on sea to get there. I didn’t realize it was this bad. He’s dragging the Zarojo into our business. Whatever he wants to discuss will have this Governor Zheshan’s scent all over.”
“The Ikessars have always been sneaky.”
“I must agree with you on that. But why on earth have you never alerted me about this pact?”
“I didn’t think they would actually uphold it,” Arro grumbled.
“Does Oren-yaro not have a similar pact elsewhere?”
Arro nodded. “We do, though it is certainly nowhere near as ancient as the one Shirrokaru. My understanding is that ours is fairly recent. It’s with a place called Zorheng City, some distance north of Anzhao.”
“Then we should travel there for assistance. Perhaps we can delay this meeting and approach it from a better position. I dislike the idea of walking straight into a trap.”
Arro grimaced. “I’m not sure if that’s wise, Beloved Queen.”
“And why not?”
He hesitated for a moment. When he finally answered, his voice was subdued. “In the first place, it is at least three days’ journey from here and we are already lacking in resources as it is. Secondly, it is currently under the rule of Governor Ong, whose eldest daughter is married to Prince Yuebek Tsaito, Fifth Son of Emperor Yunan.”
“A prince? That sounds even better.”
“No,” Arro said, pushing away from the table. He gave me a stern look. “It is not better. I should warn you now, my queen. Prince Yuebek has…a reputation.”
“So do I. Royalty must stick together.”
“He…” Arro glanced behind him, noticing that Qun’s servants were standing right by the door.
I understood what he meant. “And how does it feel to finally return to the land of your birth, Magister Arro? A half-Zarojo such as yourself would surely have strong feelings about this.”
He dabbed a handkerchief over his lips. “We will speak of this at another time, Beloved Queen.”
“No, really, Arro. I wouldn’t mind talking about it.”
“As I said.” He looked down at his plate and returned to his meal.
The silence seemed louder this time, a sharp contrast to the chatter from only a few moments ago. Even Nor seemed more entranced by the idea of food than small talk. Other than Qun’s quiet servants and my handmaiden in the far corner, it was just the three of us in the vastness of that dining hall. I couldn’t see why we couldn’t take this opportunity to become better acquainted with each other—Akaterru knows, we’d been working together long enough. You think the exchange of a few pleasantries would be in order. How did I get it into my head that conversation would come easier once we reached the empire? Both had been just as subdued in the small confines of the ship that brought us here. I had chalked it up to nervousness, especially with the journey and the ship’s crew capturing most of their attention, but it was clear that there was more to it than that. They were servants, not friends. The new scenery did not change that.
I ate the last of my rice balls and pushed myself away from the table. Almost immediately, Nor got up to walk me to the hall.
~~~
I’ve never known a life outside of politics.
I have been told that monarchs can have hobbies. The last true Dragonlord, Reshiro, kept butterflies. But then again, he was an Ikessar, and only Ikessars would find interest in that sort of thing.
Deputy Qun’s gardens were better kept than the one in my palace. There were long rows of cherry trees imported from Dageis. Despite the time of the year, they were dressed in pink and white blossoms. A small gust was enough to send a flurry cascading around us like snowfall. I quite liked the effect, but I wasn’t sure if I had the patience to create such an addition for Oka Shto. “Leave the gardening to the Ikessars,” I liked to tell the warlords when they comment on the wild nature of the surrounding land. “We Oren-yaro have better things to do.”
The abandoned keep down at Old Oren-yaro didn’t even have a garden. The Oren-yaro tended to prefer utility and function over aesthetics, and the old keep was nothing more than an outcrop of buildings and warehouses and a temple behind walls. My father only had the garden in Oka Shto built after extreme pressure by his advisers, who told him he needed a more presentable image if his claim to the throne would be recognized. There was more to being a leader than cutting down enemies: if one wanted to challenge the Ikessars, one needed to show the people that one could be cultured, elegant, and sophisticated. So he had the garden built, with a giant fishpond in the middle and jasmine, hibiscus, and frangipani flowers everywhere—local Jin-Sayeng fauna, nothing imported. He liked the scent of jasmine, he told me once—it reminded him of his mother.
But that was it. After Rai’s departure, I allowed the garden to become overgrown, and by now all the fish have probably eaten each other. I could be harbouring crocodiles now, for all I knew. The reality of ruling is complex, made even more so when you have a nation like mine, with empty coffers and people who hated each other behind polite words and empty smiles.
“How rich is this empire, really?” I asked, flicking a petal off my shoulder.
Nor looked up. “You were asking me, Beloved Queen?”
“You’re the only one within earshot.” This time, I couldn’t mask the irritation in my voice.
She seemed completely unaffected by my candour. “I have not had the chance to educate myself on the numbers…” she began.
I gestured at the garden. “I was not asking for the exact figure. It’s just that if a mere deputy—an elected government official, yes?—can afford all of this, while my father had to run himself bankrupt to get our garden built…”
I deliberately trailed off to let her pick up the slack. But she didn’t respond, her thick eyebrows drawn together in what appeared to be a permanent furrow.
“I would appreciate your thoughts
on this,” I urged.
Her jaw slackened. “My Beloved Queen is wise. You will best know the answer to your question.”
“But your opinion…”
“Shall I call Magister Arro? He is best qualified to advise you.”
“I think I can guess at what he’d say,” I said. And then, because I was my father’s daughter, I tried again. “How did your husband react to news of this trip?”
“Beloved Queen, it is my duty to go where the Dragonthrone demands it. Do you have any particular concerns I can address?”
“No matter.” I saw her shoulders drop as she visibly relaxed. I wondered what it was about my questions that made them difficult to answer. I wasn’t looking for an enlightening conversation—a mere acknowledgement would’ve sufficed.
I wondered if it was me.
Rai once told me—during an argument, I think, though I can’t quite recall the details—that I was too blunt. Which was an amazing observation, really, coming from the man who rewrote the rules on bluntness. The systematic breaking down of people’s temperaments and how they could be used was one of the few traits Rai and I had in common. As I was born Princess, and last heir of the Orenar clan, so was he Prince and heir of the Ikessars. Together, we tried to navigate the social awkwardness of our positions, of the customs and behaviours of the people around us. He was a scholar and always considered himself a little better than me, having studied many books on the subject; for my part, I thought he was severely delusional. If people found me blunt, then Rayyel aren dar Ikessar was an Akaterru-damned brick wall.
But not long after, I found myself echoing his words to a friend. I asked him how I could make myself less abrasive. “Speak your thoughts less often,” he had suggested. Easier said than done, I told him. If I didn’t speak my thoughts at all, what was there to say?
“Nice weather,” I blurted out.
The Wolf of Oren-yaro Page 2