by Anna Banks
She nods. “I do, too, Highness.”
“Indeed. Well, let’s have it, then. Do explain your actions today. As far as I can tell, you’ve lied to one of the royal guards and endeavored on a false mission in my name, which included stealing a chariot and recruiting a Lingot from the Lyceum.” He swallows. “And rumor has it that you’ve thrown yourself from the Half Bridge.” Which is technically not a crime, but something he’s outrageously curious about. “What is your plea to these charges?”
“They’re all true, Highness.” Frustration swirls in his stomach. He didn’t want those things to be true. He didn’t want her to be guilty of punishable crimes.
Whispers erupt among the guards, the noblemen and women surrounding them. Tarik feels eyes on him, watching keenly for his reaction to Sepora’s astonishing admission. He gives them none, though the pit of his stomach now lies somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. On the one hand, he’s glad she didn’t try to lie and add to her trespasses, and on the other, though he knows it to be true, he cannot believe, not really, that someone would willingly jump from the Half Bridge unless they intended suicide—which has been known to happen on occasion. “Those marks all over your body. What are they?”
“They are Parani bites, Highness.” Gasps burst forth from the very captive audience. At least Sepora has the good sense not to speak out of turn, to try to defend herself against what she’d just admitted were justified charges against her. He remembers the last time she was brought to him before an audience and the boldness she’d shown in defending herself. Now she just appears humble and dutiful and sapped of bluster.
It’s a bit disappointing, not to see her usual fire.
“If I may, Highness, I’d like to speak to you privately.” Ah, the brazen Sepora he thought he knew after all, speaking out of turn at last. How refreshing—and utterly inconvenient.
He shakes his head. “I’m afraid a private meeting is not possible. There are many here at court who wish to know what will come of these crimes, and I’m of a mind to yield to their inquiries.” She should be more afraid or at the very least intimidated by his words, yet a certain energy keeps her standing upright when clearly the girl is exhausted.
She holds her hand out in front of her and opens it to reveal a silvery rock speckled with white and black flecks. Tarik has seen a similar rock before; his father kept it in the form of a sword on a mantle in his bedchamber, a gift given to him from his bravest warrior who withstood the dangers of the Nefari to obtain the element to make it for him. Tarik inherited this lump of earth, and he values it greatly. Because this unimpressive rock is nefarite.
“I’ve been on a mission in your name,” Sepora says evenly. “And although it was in many ways a lie, there was still truth in my deeds. I did these things on behalf of Theoria, and though I’ll gladly accept your punishment, Highness, I do think what I have to say warrants a private audience.”
His eyes lock with hers. She believes what she says. Giving her a private audience will show weakness on his part, he’s sure of it. But not giving her a private audience may be more detrimental than a handful of rumors. Surely he can thwart gossip of his weakness some other way, in some other show of power. Sepora believes that what she has to say is for his ears only and she’s holding the largest piece of nefarite he’s ever seen, aside from his own. She’s covered in Parani bites. And she’s done it all on behalf of Theoria. He settles his gaze on the guard next to her. “Accompany the Mistress Sepora to my day chambers and stay with her until I join you.”
* * *
He paces back and forth behind his marble table, striving to find the patience to even speak to this girl who has caused disruption in his previously peaceful palace. King Knosi would not stand for such behavior and yet, he cannot conjure up the appropriate anger for the situation as he beholds her posture, so pitiful and defeated since the last time she sat in that very chair. She has been through much today, and though it appears she did indeed perform these tasks on behalf of Theoria, she has still broken more than a handful of laws while doing it. If only Rashidi were here to listen to her story, to advise him on how to proceed. Rashidi would know how to handle Sepora objectively. Or would he?
Yet, what is there to handle? There is no deception in her story. This girl has single-handedly opened communications between their kingdom and the keepers of the Nefari. She stole a chariot, a Lingot, and jumped from the Half Bridge to bring him his own lump of nefarite—and with it the promise of much more. The last person to do so was honored as the king’s bravest warrior. Tarik doesn’t know if he should behold her with awe or if he should shake some sense into her.
Though the latter seems more appealing at the moment.
“Highness, you’ve said nothing of the terms of the Parani. Did you not want the nefarite from the river after all?” It’s her way of breaking the silence, he knows. Her voice is tired and she staves off a yawn with the back of her hand. She is woefully unafraid of him.
Stern hand, soft heart.
He stops pacing and takes his seat across the table from her. Of course he wants the nefarite. But there are so many things to consider. So many things to weigh against one another. “Did he say how much nefarite we could obtain?”
She shakes her head. “When he gave me that”—she nods toward the rock on the table between them—“he said there was much more.”
“How can we trust that?”
“I told you. Saen the Master Lingot believes he tells the truth.”
Of course. Saen would have been sure to pick up on the authenticity of the Parani’s promise. The idea of communicating with a Parani at all still has his head spinning. “How did you persuade the Master Saen to accompany you?”
“I didn’t. The charioteer did. I assume his belief in my mission convinced her?”
Tarik nods. “It’s possible.” The charioteer believed her, and so his story was probably persuasive to Lingot Saen. What amuses him is that Sepora herself is not sure how she managed to pull off that stunt. She is genuinely asking him whether that could be the case. So for his most trusted adviser, he has procured a reckless, thieving, headstrong liar. Rashidi will be thrilled.
“You still didn’t answer my question. Will you negotiate with the Parani?”
Tarik adds “pushy” to Sepora’s list of qualities as he leans back in his chair. “It’s not something I can answer right away.”
She sits up straighter. “But you need the nefarite. That is what you said. You need it to protect yourself from the Serubelans.” A brief expression passes over her face when she says “the Serubelans” and Tarik thinks it might have to do with the fact that she did not seem to include herself in with the kingdom, though it would be unwise for him to think that she doesn’t still. They have simply come across a mutual desire: to prevent war between the kingdoms.
“It would be helpful, but at what cost?” That is the true question. “The Middlings will be the ones to suffer if we close one of the tributaries. Without the water the channel brings, their crops will die.” How can he take away the livelihood of so many? By far, they make up most of Theoria’s population. A loyal working class of people who rely on the River Nefari for their food, their water, their trade. “We were actually thinking of diverting more water to their crops.”
As much as it baffles him to be having this conversation with a mere attendant, he still feels as though it would be a natural thing for them to discuss. She is the attendant of his adviser after all, and in his absence, could he not analyze things with her in his stead? And, it is not to be overlooked that she is the very reason they must discuss it at all.
Sepora shakes her head, pulling her hair around her shoulder and attempting to rebraid it. She seems at ease with him, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. He’s not sure how he should feel about that. Even before he became king, people treaded carefully around the Falcon Prince, simply because of rumors of his discernment and most likely because of the fact that he would one day be king
. Sepora clearly hides something deep within her, yet she is honest in her dealings with him now. “What of the Parani?” she says. “If you divert more water, their food supply will dwindle and they’ll completely die off.”
“You say that as if it were a bad thing.” He can only view the Parani’s nonexistence as a positive in the grander scheme of things. Their presence has been a nuisance for centuries.
“They’re not beasts, Highness,” she says. “I think we have proved that today.”
“They’re not people, either. More specifically, they’re not Theorian, and therefore not my concern.” His father would be proud by the way he handled that. “Theoria must never perish,” King Knosi had always said. “No matter what the other kingdoms do.”
Sepora narrows her eyes. “You could do that, Majesty. You could divert even more water away from them, watch them die slowly.” She spits the last word as if it tastes sour in her mouth. “But doing so would nullify this offering of peace.” She picks up the rock from the table and tosses it back and forth between her hands. “It will take years for the Parani to die off completely, and if I understand correctly, you do not have the luxury of years to prepare for a war.”
Ah, but negotiate with the Parani? What would his father do if beset with such circumstances? This leader of the Parani, Sed—and pride of the pyramids, Parani have names?—has proposed that the Theorian kingdom should divert more water to their territory, giving them more room to swim and grow, as it were. This will detract water from the Middling crops, Tarik knows. Sed proposed that Theoria stop fishing so heavily, to include refraining from fishing from the main banks of the Nefari completely. This will greatly affect his fishermen working to sell their catches daily at the Bazaar. They will have to fish along the tributaries, and their catches will need to be preserved with salt—something the Pelusians do in order to trade their ocean hauls—which will also affect the Middling class. The Superiors will surely complain of not having fresh fish at their disposal at all times. And the Baseborn Quarters will be forced to pay more for the fish, since it costs more for the Middlings to salt them.
Tarik could not help but notice that Sed made no mention of whether they would continue to receive gifts of condemned prisoners being thrown from the Half Bridge. He has half a mind to ask Sepora about that very thing. Indeed.
And so, in exchange, the Parani will not harm a single Theorian who steps foot in the Nefari for any reason.
It is a sound bargain, Tarik knows. But that doesn’t mean he should allow Sepora to dominate his conversation, not when she’s permitted to dominate his thoughts so often.
Tarik crosses his arms at her. “This war you speak of. Is Theoria to be the only target?”
“The first target, Highness. King Eron will take down every kingdom until he rules them all.”
“You seem to know him very well.”
“I know him better than most.”
The truth. Curious. “And what would you have me do, Mistress Sepora?”
“I did not jump from the Half Bridge for nothing, Highness.”
He grins. “And what if you did? What if I refuse to negotiate with the Parani?”
“Then you are much less intelligent than I’d estimated.”
“You’ll not speak to me like that.” He says it gently, more gently than he should, but for now he’s just grateful there are no onlookers to witness her disrespect. Rashidi would have her head if he’d heard those words from her mouth. Why am I taking such abuse from my attendant’s attendant?
She sighs. “I’m sorry, Highness. I’d assumed you, as a Lingot, prefer directness instead of dancing around a matter.”
Another truth, and one he cannot refute. He does grow bored of false flattery and reverence. And if he’s being honest, her audacity is one of her more entertaining flaws. Still, she speaks of the matter as though experienced in it herself. He’s sure many Serubelan noblemen tickled her ears hoping to get in a word with the king. Or perhaps they tickled her ears for different reasons. Flattery does come to mind, but not of the false variety. A compliment to the mistress on her beauty could never be unfounded.
Annoyed with himself for allowing his mind to wander, he reaches across the table, a silent request for the rock in her hands. When she passes it to him, their hands lightly brush and he swears he sees her shiver, but her expression never changes. He turns the rock over and over in his hand, as if it holds the answers to all of his questions.
And indeed it might.
“The Middlings,” Sepora says after a while. “They’re farmers?”
He nods. “And fishermen. They trade most of their goods at the Bazaar and eat the rest of them. Why?”
“Perhaps they could tend to a different harvest?” She eyes the nefarite in his hand.
He thinks on her words, pursing his lips. “You’re suggesting I use the Middling class to reap the nefarite from the Nefari. And how shall I pay them? As you know, we’ve a shortage of spectorium and the last time I checked, nefarite is not edible. Not only that, we need the crops they reap from their fields to feed us.”
At this she rolls her eyes, and Tarik could not be more delighted. Finally, someone who truly does not toy with him or give him undue credit. Even Rashidi at times can be overwhelmingly praiseful and, if not, then painstakingly diplomatic. Sepora is neither of those things.
Get hold of yourself, fool. After all, you are delighted with a servant who insults you to your person!
“Nefarite is not only valuable to Theoria, Highness,” she says, somewhat condescendingly. “Especially if Eron’s plans are to move on to the other kingdoms. You simply must inform them of his intentions. They’ll be knocking down the palace doors for nefarite once they realize the danger they face. The Middling class might find it more profitable than their wheat and corn, if you let them keep a percentage of it. And, of course, we can trade nefarite for food.” Curious that she uses the king’s first name without his title. She must have been very close to him indeed.
“You’re sure you’re not a spy?”
Slowly she stands. With her hands she brushes the length of her arms, pressing her finger on each of the Parani bites. She lifts the skirt of her dress above her knee, tracing a finger in a zigzag pattern along those bites as well. Afterward, she gives him a look that clearly says his question is nonsense. “What must I do to prove I’m not a spy?”
“I just cannot imagine what makes you so eager to remove your loyalty from your people and give it to me.” It’s something he’s given more attention than is due. Why would she be so forthcoming with information? Why would she be so willing to help save Theoria? “Do you not care about the lives that would be lost in Serubel were we to make an offensive attack to catch your former kingdom off guard?”
She places her hands on the table and leans in toward him. Her eyes shine like silver fire, her cheeks pink with barely disguised fury. It’s a sight to behold, Mistress Sepora on the edge of a tantrum. “I’m not giving you my loyalty, Highness. I’m simply trusting you to save lives. You yourself said that no one truly wins a war. I did not believe an offensive attack was on the agenda.”
“It isn’t. But you should not be so reckless with your trust.”
She opens her mouth but shuts it again, and Tarik wonders if she was actually going to argue that she wasn’t reckless and thought better of it. He grins again, ready to tease her for it, when Sethos opens the door unannounced and strolls in. When he sees Sepora, he stops dead.
“It seems I’ve interrupted.… What exactly have I interrupted?” he says, his glance shifting from Sepora to Tarik. His attraction to the mistress is plain on his face.
Annoyed beyond explanation, Tarik longs to run a hand through his hair, but his headdress will not allow it. With one swift motion he removes it and tosses it on the table. Sepora’s mouth drops open, and it occurs to him that she’s never seen him without it. He can’t care about that now. Standing upon ceremony in the privacy of his chambers and in the presence of
his younger brother is more than he can bear at the moment. “Sethos, do come in,” he says dryly. “The Mistress Sepora and I were only discussing the fate of the kingdom. Would you care to join us?”
Sethos strides to Sepora and takes her hand in his. Tarik tries not to grimace. “Mistress Sepora, it is, of course, a pleasure to meet you. Are you one of His Majesty’s new advisers, then?”
She gives Tarik a questioning look.
He waves his hand in response, as if batting a fly. “Sepora is your gift to me, brother. She didn’t want to reside in the harem, however, so I gave her to Rashidi as an attendant.”
“You gave her to Rashidi?” Sethos says, incredulous. “Did it occur to you that I would have taken her? Pride of the pyramids, Tarik, look at her.”
“I was not aware you required an attendant at the Lyceum.” Oh, this is going to be great fun. He can see the fury unfurling in Sepora’s expression as they speak of her as though she’s not present.
“An attendant? Well, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose—”
“Or perhaps a sheep or a goat?” Sepora spits. “Or perhaps a bushel of apples, or something just as meaningless that can be bought and sold at the Bazaar?”
Sethos tilts his head toward her. “Your tone would have me believe you’re angry with me. Which is nonsense, of course, because we’ve never met. Not to mention, females are never angry with me.”
“Females?” By this time Sepora is nose to nose with Sethos, and Tarik can tell his brother is on high alert. It is the Majai training in him. Before Tarik can protest, Sethos catches Sepora’s wrist and wrenches her around, pinning her arm against her back. She lifts her leg almost naturally, her heel catching him in the tender part of his goods, and he lets out a growl as he repositions the mistress to a safer hold.
Tarik purses his lips as Sethos contemplates aloud what to do with his new captive. “Have you gone mad?” he tells her. “Is that any way to treat the brother of the king?”
“You,” she says, nearly growling the word. “You grabbed me first!”