by Anna Banks
Fool! Whether or not the council comes through as requested, his future queen still keeps things from him. Who knows what else she hides?
Cy perks up, bringing Tarik’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Perhaps the people need the wedding, Mistress. So that in chaos, they may find a bit of happiness.”
“I’ll try to view it that way, Cy,” Sepora says graciously, taking Tarik’s hand and guiding him out of the chair. She yawns. She is tired. He is tired. Perhaps tonight really is not the night for confrontation. But if not tonight, then soon.
Tarik nods. “It has been an interesting day. I think the Mistress Sepora requires a nap.”
“I think you might be right for once,” she returns, yawning again in the back of her hand. “Cy, you’ll excuse us, won’t you?”
The boy Healer smiles. “Of course. Please give the king and Princess Magar my highest regards.”
* * *
It is almost dark when the two of them return to the palace by chariot. As the sun sets behind them, the palace seems to give off steam as the dying heat of the day makes mirages of water ahead of them in the desert sand. As they approach the servants’ entrance, Tarik notices immediately that something is amiss; Ptolem, who should be off duty by now, stands at attention with two other guards.
Tarik and Sepora exchange glances as Ptolem halts the horses short of the entrance, his rigid body language signaling to Tarik that he has been waiting for them for some time, his news urgent.
“Greetings, Tarik,” Ptolem says awkwardly. He does not like to address his king so casually in front of the others, though Tarik is sure that the guards there now do not know that they are watching their king dismount the chariot with his future queen.
“Hello, friend,” Tarik says, offering Sepora his hand. She takes it, not taking her eyes off of Ptolem.
“The Falcon King bids your presence forthwith. It seems an ambassador from the kingdom of Hemut has arrived in your absence.”
Ah. So it begins.
Tarik nods, clapping Ptolem on the back. “I trust the king has sent for Prince Sethos from the Lyceum as well?”
Ptolem shakes his head. “Rashidi may have, but I’ve not received such instructions.”
“I’m sure the Falcon King will want Prince Sethos to accompany him in greeting the Hemutian ambassador this evening. Please send him an urgent correspondence on behalf of the king that his presence is required. In the meantime, Mistress Sepora and I will report to the Falcon King directly.”
Ptolem, relieved to receive his instructions, hurries away without so much as a farewell.
Once inside the kitchens, Tarik pulls Sepora aside. “We are to greet our Hemutian friend this evening, as King Ankor has been kind enough to send an ambassador instead of an army. Let your servants know you’re to be presented in your finest, but in all haste.”
Sepora nods solemnly. “Are we ready for this?”
“I’m afraid we have to be.”
* * *
Once Sethos is retrieved and everyone is gathered in his day chambers, Tarik signals for the guard to escort the ambassador from Hemut in. Upon her entering, Tarik can tell he has a difficult conversation ahead of him. Perhaps Ankor did not send an army, but rather he sent war in the form of one person.
The ambassador, introduced as the Lady Gita as is the custom in Hemut, is around the age of Rashidi, has gray wispy hair, and wields a long glass staff that looks like an enormous icicle. She doesn’t need it for walking as Rashidi does, Tarik notes, as she carries it instead of leaning upon it. She could run a man through with such a thing and by her expression, she is considering doing just that.
“Welcome, Lady Gita,” Tarik says, taking care to keep his voice neutral. “I do not think I’ve had the pleasure of speaking with you before.”
“You haven’t,” she says, taking a seat next to Sethos, who is now crammed between the ambassador and Rashidi. Lady Gita is dressed for a winter that will never come to Theoria, but which is the constant companion of Hemut. With Hemut’s daily blizzards and icy terrain, it is no wonder that she wears the skins of animals and the furs of many more, most of which are white and used as a trim for her floor-length coat. Tarik wonders how she could layer herself up so against the heat of his deserts without sweating to her death.
It is with these layers that she fidgets now, adjusting each one to her liking while she ignores all present company and the matter at hand. Tarik cannot tell if she does so out of true concern for her appearance, or if, as he suspects, she is keeping them waiting on purpose, to show that she means to start the conversation on her own time and terms. He wonders if this is how Rashidi acts when he visits other kingdoms and highly doubts it. However, if the visits were to address a slight or insult a kingdom had delivered against Tarik, he’s quite sure Rashidi would have his own way of showing his acute displeasure.
Even now Rashidi grows impatient, switching his staff from one hand to the other. Tarik suppresses a grin. Sepora sits straight and composed beside Tarik, shoulders squared and chin lifted, her regal ensemble giving her a sort of untouchable appearance. Her composure is a show, he knows. As for Sethos, he snarls in his chair, arms crossed, eyes lifted toward the ceiling. He did not have time to change from his Majai attire; Tarik suspects it is his pleasure to show up to the occasion underdressed and sopped in sweat.
When the Lady Gita is sufficiently situated, she gives a small, sharp nod to Tarik, reminding him of a cobra ready to strike. “Shall we begin, Highness?”
“Of course, Lady Gita. Please proceed.”
“Allow me to be frank, Highness. King Ankor is highly displeased with the correspondence you sent regarding the current happenings in Theoria. In fact, a caravan has accompanied me on my visit to return the insulting gifts you sent along with your message.”
“I have never heard of gifts referred to as insulting, Lady Gita,” Tarik returns dryly.
“King Ankor is not interested in gifts, Highness. He is interested in a husband for the Princess Tulle.”
“Which I have offered him as well.”
The lady exhales sharply. “I’m sure Prince Sethos would make a fine husband, Highness, but you can see where my king would be disappointed with a prince, when at first he had secured a king.”
Sethos snorts. Lady Gita cuts him a dire look—as does Tarik. Sethos may be dressed as a Majai, but he will behave as a prince of Theoria. Perhaps Tarik should have made that clear before allowing the Lady Gita to join them. Sethos can be as unpredictable as the ever-changing desert winds, and his open dislike of Tulle will only complicate matters. This must be a careful conversation indeed.
Tarik glances at Rashidi, and while he clearly disapproves of Sethos’s conduct, he is still either unable or unwilling to offer Tarik help in the matter. After all, for the most part, Rashidi agrees with what the Lady Gita says. He has always been opposed to Tarik going back on his word to marry Princess Tulle. Tarik wonders how difficult it had been for Rashidi to have secured the arrangement in the first place, and if that has to do with his resistance to speaking up on his king’s behalf now.
Tarik regards the Lady Gita for some time. He cannot admit to his feelings for Sepora, that he had made a decision with his heart instead of with sound reason; it would make him appear weak, and what’s more, foolish. But perhaps there is something he can say that may pacify King Ankor. He had discussed it with Rashidi at length, but his adviser was convinced it was a poor line of reasoning for the throne. Still, out of stubbornness, Rashidi had not offered any alternative explanations, and so Tarik must go with the least provoking one he has.
“I’m afraid my hands are tied in the matter,” Tarik says. “You see, unbeknownst to me, while Rashidi made arrangements for the engagement with Tulle, the Princess Magar was secretly living in my palace as a servant. When I became aware of this fact, I immediately sought to rectify the situation to avoid insult to King Eron of Serubel. Surely you can see how offensive it would seem to him that I kept her as a se
rvant.”
Lady Gita actually gasps, her gaze oscillating between Tarik and Sepora several times, which, to Tarik, is a very good sign. She finds the situation at least a little scandalous, which may garner him some pity from Hemut after all. At last, Lady Gita settles her focus on Tarik again, eyes narrowed. “And how did this come to be, exactly? How were you not aware that the only princess of Serubel lived under your own roof?”
“The details are unimportant, I think. The resulting insult to Serubel is what ultimately led to my decision,” Tarik says firmly, hoping he sounds inflexible on the matter. After all, the details make him appear solidly as a dolt. Sepora was not only a servant in his palace, but arguably his closest one, and not a single member of his court nor his highest adviser had noticed. Though it seems unbelievable, Tarik doubts even King Ankor would recognize Sepora were the circumstances the same in his kingdom. Sepora herself admitted to rarely being seen by visitors and ambassadors in Serubel, having been kept busy with Forging.
As he predicted, the Lady Gita will not be placated nor intimidated by his refusal. “The details are paramount, Highness, if I am to relay the situation to King Ankor with any sort of satisfying explanation.”
The Lady Gita is nothing if not persistent.
“The details are not mine to tell, Lady Gita. The Princess Magar—”
“I ran away from home,” Sepora blurts, cutting him off. “It was a foolish, youthful decision to do so, of course, but I was convinced of my reasons for it. During my travels, I was intercepted by a pair of vagabonds who sold me into the king’s harem, you see.” At this, she blushes. It is a genuine one, reaching down her neck and disappearing into the fabric of her top.
The words, and her reaction to them, settle over the room, and her meaning becomes clear. She means to imply that Tarik has already taken her to his bed—and that he must make up for the scandal by taking her as his wife. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, heat pooling in his own cheeks. Sepora is risking her reputation in order to pursue peace between the kingdoms. A queen who was once a mistress in the king’s harem. It is a clever ploy, and possibly even a necessary one, but Tarik still chafes at how the five kingdoms will view her after this information is distributed. And this kind of outrageous news will spread far and wide. He is not pleased with her deception at the moment. And he would not want to see her reputation destroyed.
King Eron will not be happy. Even Rashidi grimaces, no doubt turning over in his mind how to control this new damage to the throne. It had looked bad enough that she had been a servant in his own palace without him being aware of it. Now he has taken her to his bed without knowing who she was?
Still, with this half-truth brought to light, his decision to wed her is irrefutably necessary. Why come to his aid now? He’d half expected her to agree with the Lady Gita, offering to cancel the wedding herself. But Sepora has proven that she is dutiful.
Dutiful to a point, at least.
“I see,” Lady Gita says quietly, her expression softened. “I admit, that is quite the conundrum.”
“Yes,” Tarik says dryly, “it is.”
Lady Gita drums her fingers against the chair’s armrest. “Child, why didn’t you come forth before it happened? Why didn’t you inform the king at once who you were?”
“I did not think His Highness would believe me,” Sepora says. “I didn’t know what a Lingot was, let alone that the Falcon King was one of them. I was thought dead at home, you see. My own parents believed that. And can you imagine how outrageous it would have sounded to the Falcon King? Also … well, I thought perhaps I was being punished for running away. That I deserved it.”
Pride of the pyramids, but is she actually tearing up? Tarik is quite certain his future queen is graced with two gifts: Forging and lying. He cannot help but be impressed, despite the outlandish picture she paints for Lady Gita just now, who absorbs her revelations as the desert sand mercilessly soaks up even the smallest droplet of water.
In fact, Lady Gita considers this for a long time, twirling her glass staff between her fingers in contemplation. Finally, she looks at Tarik, her face pinched into a scowl. “King Ankor is not an unreasonable man. When he learns of this, I’m sure he will see the desperation of the situation. He does, after all, have a daughter of his own. If he were in the same predicament, he would demand that it be righted immediately.”
“You must pass on my extreme gratitude for the king’s understanding,” Tarik says. “And please, do return with the gifts, as they truly were not meant as an insult.” Still, most of his gratitude should lie with Sepora. In great sacrifice to herself, she has single-handedly salvaged a potentially irreversible difference between Theoria and the powerful nation of Hemut. But for all his Lingot abilities, he cannot be certain of her motivations. Is she acting out of duty as future queen? Has she truly accepted that she will one day share in rulership of Theoria? Or does she, as she always has, simply wish to save lives and prevent war?
Lady Gita nods. “As you wish, Highness. But I did not come all this way to return to Hemut without a husband for Princess Tulle. It would seem our discussion must steer in a different direction altogether.”
“Of course. My brother is a great warrior and a fine prince of Theoria. We would spare no expense with the wedding, in view of the circumstances. If it is amenable to King Ankor, Prince Sethos and Princess Tulle would reside in the palace, as is the traditional Theorian custom. She would want for nothing, I assure you.”
This seems to please Lady Gita. Tarik wonders at her relationship with the princess. He senses an underlying fondness for Tulle. And who could blame her? In all his dealings with Tulle of Hemut, she’d been sweet and kind. Sethos’s dislike of her stems, of course, from her initial rejection of him. When they had all been children, he’d plucked some flowers for her from their mother’s gardens, and Tulle had accused him of ruining the natural beauty of them. Sethos, naturally, had been dejected for days on end. Even at that young age, he’d grown accustomed to pleasing the opposite sex with very little effort. He had not taken well to being rebuffed at all.
“And what of spectorium?” the lady continues. “I assume your alliance with Serubel has opened up trade with them once more?”
This is unexpected, and Tarik takes a moment to collect his thoughts. Bardo and the other Forgers instantly come to mind, but he pushes the idea away as quickly as it arises. He’d promised Sepora that he would not force the boy to Forge, and he has no intention of forcing the Great Council’s hand. Not when they seem so powerful in their own right, and not when they’ve been so gracious as to hear him out. No, spectorium must be taken from the table. “Actually, we are moving away from the use of spectorium. We have resorted to using fire instead, in most cases, for light and for power. As a kingdom, we are choosing not to rely on a finite resource for our way of living any longer.” Which is true enough that Tarik doesn’t feel guilty in admitting it. It hasn’t been the easiest of transitions, but slowly and surely his citizens are making do.
Lady Gita huffs. “We do not have that advantage, Highness. Remember, our structures are made of ice. Fire is not practical for our needs. We require spectorium, and plenty of it. Our supplies have run dangerously low.”
Tarik is certain that only he notices Sepora’s small intake of breath. She is worried again about spectorium falling into the wrong hands. She is most assuredly thinking of Bardo, as Tarik did. Does she think of the other Forgers as well? Surely she does. Tarik feels his jaw harden.
King Ankor may not even know of spectorium’s use in cratorium, and if not, Tarik is eternally grateful. Ankor prides himself on his powerful army. Having cratorium will inflate not only the strength of his massive forces, but perhaps even his curiosity in using it as well. Still, the Hemutians are not known to abuse their power. Generations of royal Hemutians could well have set out to overtake all the kingdoms already but have never chosen to do so.
He will assure Sepora of this fact later. Besides, she can take comfort that
Sethos’s marriage to Tulle will unite the kingdoms of Theoria and Hemut. There would be no need to create a weapon like cratorium.
There would be no war.
Still, he cannot—will not—force Sepora nor Bardo to Forge. He must make this Sepora’s decision, for more than just consideration for her feelings. He must know if she trusts him. He must get his answers sooner than later. “As Princess Magar oversees the trading of spectorium with Serubel on Theoria’s behalf, I will leave this decision in her capable hands.” In her capable, deceptive hands, is what he wants to say. But that conversation is for later.
She cuts him a look that could slice through nefarite. Yet, she offers a gracious, if not counterfeit, smile to Lady Gita. “I will take this request into consideration, of course. But as you may be aware, our spectorium grows scarce. The Falcon King is wise to say it is a finite resource. It would also be wise, I think, to consider other alternatives for providing light. Perhaps we should both consider turning to Wachuk for answers. I’ve heard rumors that they’ve mastered a way to slow a fire from burning—to make it less destructive.”
Though a mere rumor, Tarik had heard of it as well from one of his informants only days ago. How Sepora could have learned of it he doesn’t have a clue as she had not been with him at the time of the report. Apparently, as the rumor goes, the women of Wachuk have found a way to cool fire without losing its power altogether. That it can be touched, but burns as brightly and twice as long as regular fire. His informant could not validate the rumor, and what’s more, did not believe it. But now that it has been brought into negotiations of peace with Hemut, Tarik will need to investigate the truth behind it.
Lady Gita is not appeased, though she nods solemnly. Tarik can tell she respects Sepora, despite her hesitance to yield spectorium—and despite the blow Sepora will now take to her reputation because of her earlier admission. “We have heard the same report from Wachuk,” Lady Gita says finally. “We have already sent representatives to that kingdom to learn more.” After a long moment, she sighs. “I will return to Hemut with this new turn of events.” She looks back to Tarik. “I feel that my king will want a prompt marriage. When may I tell King Ankor they will wed?”