The Wolf of Oren-yaro

by K. S. Villoso

  Rai looked troubled. “What do you mean? She was invited, along with many other royals, to study in Shirrokaru.”

  “You seem overly familiar with each other.”

  “We’ve known each other since childhood,” he said. He cleared his throat. “She visited the Citadel for a time.”

  “Did my father know this?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I took a deep breath. “Chiha is Lushai’s daughter. You do remember Lushai? The man who started the war with my father—his closest ally, who then betrayed him at the last moment?”

  “Those were unfounded accusations.”

  “Lushai meant to plant a dagger in my father’s heart.”

  “Warlord Yeshin is dead,” Rai told me. “These old grievances should remain in the dust with him where they belong. Remember that your father had tried to get my mother killed many times.”

  “They were enemies. That’s different.” I swallowed. “Lushai wanted you for Chiha.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “So you don’t care that we’re both in the palace at the same time?” I couldn’t stop my voice from rising. I was a girl, and the seed of jealousy, once planted, is very difficult to remove.

  His face remained straight. “I don’t see the problem. She is not her father, Talyien. As I’m sure you are aware that you are not yours.”

  The implication in his voice was clear. I don’t think he knew how much his words could hurt me. Comparing me to my father had always stung; hearing them from his lips felt like a dagger. I drew away from him, and it took all of my willpower not to storm off in a huff. I don’t think he noticed. When it became clear I wasn’t replying, I caught him gazing out at the horizon with that unreadable expression on his face, the one that would vex me for years to come.

  ~~~

  “I think I know where this is going,” Khine said, when I reached that part of my story.

  I observed him through the rim of my cup. “Do you?”

  “He was seduced by this other woman, ruining your belief that you—unlike others in arranged marriages—have found a love match. A tale as old as time.”

  “Ah. Then it seems it is unnecessary for me to speak any further. You’ve already come to a conclusion.”

  He gave me a one-sided grin. “I apologize. Was there more to it?”

  “There always is,” I said.

  He grew serious, and I could tell he was suddenly fishing for words. Which was strange, because in the short amount of time I’d known him, he always seemed to have a ready response to everything. I looked at his face, at the soft, appeasing expression and his bright brown eyes, very different from the sharpness in Rayyel’s darker ones. Different, but no less calculating. But I knew there was no way he could understand. He was a young man—younger than me by two years, Inzali had mentioned—and unmarried. What would he know?

  I heard the clatter of dishes, the sound of someone dropping a tray. I turned my head and saw a group walking through the doors. They were led by a woman, who was wearing a short robe over cotton trousers. There was a certain swagger in her walk that made me think she was a frequent customer, someone who believed herself more important than she was.

  I turned to Khine and realized that he was gone. He must’ve gotten up to make water while I was distracted. I turned my attention back to the group, noting the swords strapped to their belts, which explained the sudden silence in the hall. Their leader walked up to a serving girl. After a brief exchange, the serving girl shook her head.

  The woman grabbed a mug of ale from the counter in response. She took a long drink before glancing at the other patrons. Her gaze skipped across the room before settling on me.

  I saw one of the men elbow her and recognized Dirty Robe.

  “You!” the woman cried, pointing at me. The men rushed forward. I flipped the table and scampered for the door. I dodged a pair of lovers entangled in each others’ arms as I barreled my way outside. The blasted rain was coming down again, but for once, I was actually pleased to see it—it was easier to hide behind the torrent. I made for the outhouse, hoping to catch a glimpse of Khine along the way.

  But the outhouse was empty. The door was swinging wildly with the wind. There was no one else on the path except the men behind me. I continued running, leaping over the next fence and into the woods.

  It was starting to get dark. I hid behind the bushes, torrents of rain dripping across my face and down my jaw. I clenched my teeth to stop them from chattering and shut my eyes. I thought I heard the men crashing through the foliage, but it must’ve just been the tree branches swaying in the storm.

  Time passed. No one found me. The damp darkness felt like a shroud. I wondered if they would find my dead body by morning.

  I tried not to sink to such thoughts. Thanh was waiting for me. I had promised him his father, not the loss of both parents. Imagining the look on his face if he receives news of my death drowned all my other fears. If they learn of my death, my boy, the first heir of two clans in the history of Jin-Sayeng, would be slaughtered at first light. Or else ignite a civil war larger than my father’s. I could not put that on him. I would sooner whore myself out to Lo Bahn and all his men than allow such a thing.

  After I felt like I had been hiding long enough, I willed myself to move. I hadn’t seen any other buildings on that road, so I carefully made my way back to the inn. The rain must’ve been too much for the men, because the yard was empty. I approached a window and pressed my back on the wall. I took a deep breath before pulling myself up on tiptoe, to peer through the edge. The woman and her group sat around three tables, pushed together. I saw Khine standing near her. They were too far away for me to hear their conversation, but it was clear enough from the look on their faces what it was.

  I dropped back to the ground, my heart hammering in my chest. How long until you learn? So Khine wasn’t planning to sell me to Lo Bahn—no. There were others. I should’ve known when I met Jiro Kaz, when I learned who he was, when I saw how familiar Khine was with him. There were so many clues. But just like back in Anzhao City, back with my own damn people, I had ignored them all, and here I was.

  Father, I thought, staring up at the sky. There was no answer—there never had been. The man who had dragged me into this mess should at least have the courtesy to lend me some wisdom. But I imagined that he would be less than pleased that I found myself in this situation at all. Why did I expect loyalty from a mere stranger? From anyone? I couldn’t even keep my betrothed faithful to me.

  ~~~

  Sometimes I wonder: what if time has no fixed point? What if everything is happening all at once, the converging memories as real as it still feels? I was twenty-six years old, shivering in the storage shed of a roadside inn. I was also eighteen, riding for Shirrokaru on my best horse, the harsh words I traded with Arro still fresh in my mind. At least, they were then—such is the fickleness of time that now I struggle to recall what that argument had been about. Decisions congregate with emotion; one moment you are certain of yourself, the next you are standing where you once swore you never would. And then you must pick up your life where it fell, dust it off, and pretend that you knew what you were doing. Pretend that profound wisdom can be somehow gleaned from pride.

  The past few years in Shirrokaru had given me a familiarity with the road that I wouldn’t have dreamed of. Although I was no longer required to study with the scholars—I had been home for over six months at the time—I still found myself missing the refuge of the lecture halls, where I was just one of the students instead of the future queen.

  “We should head back,” I heard Agos grumble behind me. His horse was nearly a head taller than mine, a thick-limbed creature that he really shouldn’t have picked for this journey. But I had left in a huff and hadn’t given him enough time to think things through. I had that effect on him—I always have. Call it an oversight, how much I had taken his devotion for granted in those days. I still don’t like thinking about it.
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br />   “I don’t want to. Not until he sends me an apology. He’s my adviser, not my father,” I bristled.

  “What will Prince Rayyel say?”

  “He can say what he likes,” I replied. “I’m not going back until Arro apologizes.” Secretly, I was excited to see him. That tense meeting on my first day in Shirrokaru was a thing of the past. Chiha left months after I had arrived, feigning an illness of some sort, although most of us believed that she simply didn’t have the stamina for the rigorous studies the scholars put us through. She was old enough to be married, anyway, and was said to be busy entertaining suitors in Bara by the end of that winter.

  Rayyel’s own studies were formally done a year after I arrived, but by then, he had come to call the Dragon Palace as his home and would visit me in the study halls as often as his advisers would let him. Here, we would share tea or sweets, fresh from the kitchens, while I went through history books and he busied himself with reports from the various provinces. Although he was not supposed to have authority until our coronation day, he had already started to serve on the council as Master of Agriculture.

  Sometimes, he would pause from his work and take my hand under the table without a word. The warmth of his touch, in contrast to his stoic demeanour, would flood me with emotions—a sense of belonging, of being wanted, of love. It was towards that feeling I rode to. I think a part of me was convinced that I was heading home, even as I was riding away from Oka Shto.

  I arrived in the Dragon Palace without fanfare, handing my horse off to the stables and declaring I would see Rai personally first. Agos stayed with the horses while I stalked through the gardens. I paused long enough to pluck a white rose from the bushes. I had joked, the morning I left six months ago, that I would throw one at his feet if he forgot to send for me.

  “Sometimes I wonder if I’m supposed to be a business partner or your bride-to-be,” I had added, after.

  I still remember Rai looking at me, trying to digest what I was really trying to say. I knew I confused him. All young women did—he had admitted to me as much in the past. After a moment, he cupped my chin in one hand and kissed me.

  The memory of that first kiss burned in my memory, and my cheeks, as I walked down the hall. I was wondering what I would say to him, imagining the look on his face when I threw that rose the way I said I would. My arrival startled a guard on the hall, but I paid him no heed, and kept walking until I reached the doors. I pushed one open.

  I saw the naked back of a woman on the bed. She was straddling my betrothed, her hands on his bare belly. His eyes were closed.

  They didn’t notice me. I quickly closed the door and stalked back out the halls, back towards the stables. I left the rose on the doorway. I never spoke to Rayyel of that day, but he must’ve seen it. He must’ve known.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zorheng City

  Between the sound of the dripping rain outside, and my own, chattering teeth, I heard the door to the shed creak open. I pushed myself to the corner, my hand gripping the slippery handle of my sword. “Get out before I run you through,” I hissed.

  Khine frowned.

  “Out!”

  He hesitated before taking one step towards me, and then another. I pressed myself as far back to the wall as I could. “Leave,” I said again. I had meant to throw as much ice in the single word as I could, but my voice only came out weary. He knelt beside me.

  “You should keep it down,” he murmured. “They’re asleep, but one or two might decide to go looking for you. They’re not all stupid.”

  “You disappeared, and then I saw you talking to that woman…”

  “Anya Kaz,” Khine said. “Jiro’s wife. I left, hoping she wouldn’t see me with you.”

  “One of the men recognized me,” I mumbled.

  “I figured as much. I’m sorry I told Jiro Kaz about Lo Bahn. I didn’t think he’d care. Thought it was our best chance of escaping—anything to be a thorn in Lo Bahn’s heel. But Anya, she had other ideas. She was always the shrewd one.” He looked up. “Did you think I left you?”

  I turned my head without replying. From the corner of my eyes, I saw him start untying his shirt. “What are you doing?” I snapped. The sound of my voice, like the squeaking of an adolescent girl’s, took me by surprise.

  He finished taking his shirt off and held it towards me. “You’re soaked. Change into something dry.”

  I hesitated before taking it. “Look away,” I grumbled. But I didn’t even have to ask him that—his eyes were already fixed on the far wall. I took a moment to observe his tanned skin from behind, at the lean muscle over his shoulders, coated with a thin layer of fat. Not a warrior, this man, but one who, at some point, had done enough hard labour to have marked his body.

  I realized I was staring a little too long and focused on shrugging myself out of my shirt. Goosebumps flitted over my naked skin, and I felt oddly self-conscious. If someone walked in on us right now, they were going to think the worst. The question was: did I mind? My reputation was tarnished enough as it was.

  I put his shirt on and cleared my throat. He turned, took my wet shirt, and draped it over a broken chair to dry out. And then I felt him tug me by the arm, pulling me towards him. The movement caught me by surprise and I started to kick him away, but I was so exhausted that I allowed him to wrap his arms around me instead. “You’re still shivering,” he explained. His voice was so soothing, and the warmth of his body—after spending hours drenched in rain—was starting to lull me to sleep. Gods, I thought. I felt like a branch teetering under the weight of a rock. I wanted to snap, but I couldn’t.

  “Do you do this for all your patients?” I murmured, my ear drifting to the slight ridge over his bare chest. I could feel his heartbeat.

  “Only the pretty ones.”

  “I knew it. This is why you’re not practicing. Someone filed a complaint against you with the Physicians’ Guild.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Khine whispered, chuckling. “Told me I ought to keep my hands to myself.” Despite his words, he kept his hands slack.

  We sat silently like this for a while, his breath tickling my hair. It was strange for me to be so intimate with a man I wasn’t sleeping with. I had not felt anyone’s arms around me in a long time and I tried not to dwell on it. Loneliness and desperation can push even the best of us off the edge. My father had warned me often enough about the perils of such emotions.

  “Would returning to Anzhao be the worst thing in the world?” Khine asked.

  “And you were doing so well in not getting skewered.”

  “I have been told my mouth runs ahead of my wits sometimes.”

  “From the short time I’ve known you, I’d say more often than not.” I looked down at his hands, at the dark, calloused fingers, so different from Rayyel’s smooth, pale ones. I resisted the urge to trace them with my thumb, or do anything that would make me forget I was a married woman. I had lived this long without making it a habit of taking lovers wherever it was convenient. “I can’t risk it.”

  “Because of your Dragonlord.”

  I nodded.

  “With all due respect, after what you told me—”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” I grumbled. “We have a son. He is waiting for me to bring his father home. How am I supposed to face him like this? If his father is killed because of my inability to work around minor complications like these…”

  “I wouldn’t call getting involved with a lord of Shang Azi and the Blue Rok Haize minor.” He shifted his weight. “Your sense of duty…is admirable.”

  “I have no choice,” I murmured.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I was born to be Queen. No—not just. I was born to be Rayyel’s Queen. Without our betrothal, Jin-Sayeng would still be at war. I’ve already failed, letting him leave that night. I will not fail again.” My voice buzzed through the darkness of that shed. It felt disembodied, like I was listening to someone else speak for me.

  “A
nd so for this, you will walk out of here and face the unknown.” He shook his head. “If only I had that courage. I would be a physician now, my family away from Lo Bahn’s clutches.”

  “I thought Cho’s debts caused that.”

  “They did. But if I had passed the examinations before that last year…” He trailed off, letting the silence carry the burden of the unspoken words. “You did not fail your husband. He was the one who erred.”

  “It doesn’t change who I am and what I have to do.”

  “No. I suppose not.” Khine started to get up. “I will see if it’s safe to leave. I asked the innkeep to ply her men with drinks…I’ll be surprised if any of them got up before noon.”

  “A moment,” I said, grabbing his wrist.

  I felt him draw a quick breath. “Not too long.”

  “No.” I closed my eyes against his neck. He smelled like rain and sunlight and mud, a clean scent that reminded me of my dogs and horses. I soon fell asleep, though not before I felt his lips graze the top of my head.

  I dreamt of Rayyel, of opening the door to a prison cell to rescue him. Of outstretched arms and apologies, dancing around me like fireflies in the night.

  ~~~

  We left hours before the first crack of dawn. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, but it kept the air damp and cold enough to make me wish for a warm bed. We took provisions from the shed: some rice, dried vegetables, and plantains. Khine insisted he had already paid for the rooms and that it was a fair trade. I was starting to learn that he always had to say these things, had to justify his actions, even when I didn’t care one way or another.

  I still didn’t know how much I trusted him, or whether I did at all. He was too good of an actor. I supposed I was, too. We tricked a passing wagon in providing us transportation for part of the way, feigning a clueless husband and a pregnant wife. As the last village faded into a blip in the horizon, I glanced at the man and wondered what it would be like to have his sort of freedom—to have failed to meet his family’s expectations, yet still be accepted, even welcomed. It was a fleeting thought, one which I killed almost as soon as it appeared. This was not the time for me to face an existential crisis. I could indulge in something like that if I had been born an artist or a poet, perhaps, but I was locked into this life, one where every action carried consequence for another. I had already learned that the hard way.