by S. C. Emmett
“Ahi-a, yes.” Huo barely glanced at the rest of the tavern; even at this early hour there were many laborers and the like drowning the heat in sohju, chewing khansu, or clattering dice upon a table despite the prohibition upon gambling in taverns. There was no mirrorlight, only a few guttering lamps, for this was a place many of the lower classes came to in order to find work to augment slender incomes—and some of the employers did not wish their faces seen. It reeked of spilled sohju, strong tea, and sweat. “But that isn’t why I’ll do it.”
“Zhaon deserves better,” the impresario agreed. This fellow was a fine catch, even if not overly bright. “At least the Emperor’s wives are not barbarians.”
“I was in the Northern Army.” Huo scowled into his cup. “I saw what those Khir bastards did to the dead.”
“Barbarians.” The impresario, his dark eyes gleaming, poured another round. “But are you certain, Honorable Huo? I thought you might find us merely a pair of eyes.” Fortune favored those who leapt to grasp, but it also favored those who allowed the prey to approach; the “accidental” meeting of a Golden Guard looking to gain extra pay and a merchant who wished to know details of the palace’s newest addition partook a little of both.
“I’ll do more than that.” The man’s jaw set, and his own dark eyes were burning coals. “You’ve got your man, Honorable. You may have to wait a bit, though.”
Of course, there were many factors involved, and Huo was not the only pair of eyes he was soliciting. “Patience brings a man all he needs.” The impresario’s smile only lifted half his thin mouth, but he placed a small leather bag upon the table, pushing it with a fingertip until it crossed the invisible border into his drinking companion’s slice of the table. Then he returned his fingers to his own cup; it was impolite to actually hand the money over. “They say that in Wurei. Consider this a sign of good faith.”
“That where you’re from?” Huo regarded the bag but did not reach to take it. It was better than it being passed under the table; an onlooker might know they both had something to hide rather than just suspecting it.
“No, I’m from the borderlands.” The almost-lie unreeled smoothly, and he managed to inject just the right amount of coolness, mimicking Huo’s banked fury. “That’s why, if you’re wondering. I saw what those barbarians did, too.” It was best to stay close to the truth in all things, and he did not say just who were the barbarians.
War made a bandit of every man, even he who merely fought to survive.
“Then we are brothers.” Huo raised his cup; the impresario did the same. They drank to brotherhood, and when the palace guard left to return to his shield-square and his duties, he took the small bag, tucked safely in a trouser-pocket.
Eventually, the impresario gestured for tea instead of sohju, and a tavern-servant bore his half-full jug away. No doubt he would steal an importunate gulp or two before he returned it to the cask-room, but the impresario did not judge him harshly.
In this life, you took what you could.
At least the nobleman sent to hold his leash understood the need for caution. He was probably related to one of the princess’s ladies, with the care he took to stipulate that only the royal bitch be… touched. He also brought ingots, welcome indeed to a man in the impresario’s position.
The impresario wondered idly if the nobleman would hold the knife himself. It would be interesting either way, and afterward relieving the pale-eyed lord of the remaining funds and disappearing must be accomplished.
Tea arrived, the impresario leaned against the wall behind his chair and watched the tavern-room. None approached his table, but he had time before evening and his return to the nobleman to report progress. He could use that interval most profitably by thinking, motionless as an adder under a rock.
It was always best to have more than one plan.
SPUR TO A TIRED HORSE
Tamuron’s skin twitched, an invisible seamstress pulling at fabric over muscle to right its folds. The invisible insects come recently to plague him were excited today, perhaps sensing summer’s advent. Even mint oil worked into the rashes did not help, and watertree bark in boiling water barely alleviated the worst discomfort. His dressing-chamber was particularly close today, the walls bearing the entire weight of unified Zhaon and pressing inward.
Zakkar Kai, wearing a look of peculiar concentration, settled heavy crimson-dyed leather, adjusting the weight the way he knew Tamuron liked to wear his breastplates. Purely ceremonial half-armor with little to no battlefield utility, it was still important. “Normal, I suppose,” the younger man said, and threaded the catch. When he concentrated upon a task in this manner, you could glimpse a shadow of his youth, and it was both a comfort and a needle to the heart.
“She won’t eat.” Tamuron’s hair was loose. The topknot came later, and one of the round-faced bathhouse girls, pale and tense with the importance of her task, stood ready to dress the royal hair. It was not Dho Anha, whose gentle hands he preferred, but the girl had other duties at the moment. She did not complain that his preference made things more difficult, but he sensed as much. “Luswone is worried, I know she is.”
Anha did not share his bed, though Tamuron supposed he could insist if he didn’t mind losing her steady quiet companionship. A man weary of his wives could wish for a completely uncomplicated female to spend a few moments with, even if the time did not include bedsport. He had earned a few moments of respite, had he not? The Land of the Five Winds was a harsh weight upon shoulders swiftly tiring.
The illness, now sensing Tamuron’s flagging vigor, was gathering speed.
Kai exhaled, a short sound not quite a whistle, familiar from many years of attending to his lord’s armor. “I am told it is natural for a young maiden to be apprehensive.” He did not point out Sabwone would be a queen, which should suit her roundly, but he was probably thinking it. “Does the First Concubine protest, my lord?”
“Of course not. She would never.” At least, not openly. Another thing that need not be said. The air was crowded with them, lately.
Kai tightened the left shoulder-cup. Tamuron was favoring that side more and more, the long terrible scar along his ribs paining him even when late-spring storms did not sweep over the city.
All the old injuries had settled hard upon his bones lately. Old friends, but not particularly pleasant ones.
“Still, she loves her daughter.” Kai’s gaze was bent upon the buckles, straps, lacings.
“As does Sabwone’s father.” Tamuron glared balefully at him, a high flush under his beard. He loved them all, and it pained him to see petty rivalries and suspect any one of them of… improper deeds. Why could they not simply trust he knew best, as they had when younger? He had worked unceasingly to provide them a patrimony they could be proud of, a broad shield against ill-luck, and they were too busy squabbling over the shadow to think of the sun. “What is your meaning, Zakkar Kai?”
“I am merely making conversation, my lord.” A mild glance, but Kai’s chin was stubborn-set. Even he was treating Tamuron cautiously, as if the Emperor were merely a querulous old man.
“Don’t.” The Emperor’s brow was damp, too. That was new; he used to rarely sweat, even during the zanpai eating contests where the tiny, hideously curled peppers nestled in every bite and burned afresh when sohju was swilled. “Your talents lie in the sword, not the tongue.” Tamuron’s eyes half-lidded, the spearing pain from bright light new as well.
He had lost weight. Just this morning, he had performed the daily unarmed exercises he was accustomed to, and had to stop before the last sequence.
“Yes, my lord Garan Tamuron.” My lord, not Your Majesty. The general did not have a body failing under him; he was flush with health and strength.
The Emperor shifted irritably, mastered himself. “Ah, Kai. Forgive me, my own tongue is too sharp.”
Kai finished the buckling, tested the strap. Finally, he glanced at Tamuron’s face. “The pain is worse.” It was not a question.
> “A small annoyance.” At least Dho Anha never treated him like a petulant elder. “Like a stone in the shoe.”
“Puts one in a bad temper.” Kai did not take offense, or if he did, it did not show. It rarely had, even when such a show was his right.
Tamuron sought calm, and restrained the urge to scratch at his ribs. “Or lames one.”
“Only if one is a horse.” Kai’s lopsided grin was natural, and a relief. He beckoned the girl forward with her tray of implements, glancing at the selection of cages and pins. Most were of filigree, two of highly tooled leather. The girl set the tray down and bowed to the Emperor’s back upon a drift of clean citron-blossom scent before gathering his hair and working through the greying mane with a wide wooden comb. Strands came free against her skin; she wrapped them deftly around her fingers and deposited the resultant thread-nest upon a golden salver.
Kihon Jiao would examine the contents of the salver after the dressing. The physician was performing this duty with a worried air more often these days, though never when a minister was present. At least he understood discretion, even if he did not care for it personally.
He never treated the Emperor as a peevish grandfather, either, and it was refreshing.
Kai’s worried gaze settled upon the salver. Tamuron sighed. “Yes, I know. More and more of it falls out. Dho Anha wishes to pad my head with horsehair, but I will not. Let them chatter.”
“The Second Queen is worried.” Kai’s tone was perhaps not quite neutral. His own half-armor, freshly polished, was supple from use, and if his old injuries were speaking, he made no sign. “She sent her physician to confer with Kihon.”
Tamuron dispelled a wince. Of course she would. “And what did Honorable Kihon Jiao tell him?”
“A reply you agreed upon, the good physician said.” Kai folded his arms, his brow slightly wrinkled as if studying dispositions on a sand-table or pieces upon a chessboard.
“Good. It would not do for Haesara to worry.” Perhaps she and Luswone would make an alliance. It would do them both good, and provide a counterweight to Gamwone.
“She has enough to worry her, indeed.” Kai paused. “It is perhaps time to take Prince Makar drinking, if the man can be pried from his scrolls.”
“An excellent idea.” It was a shame the general was not truly Tamuron’s son. Of them all, he was perhaps most suited for the throne—except he showed little interest in the damn thing, content to simply aid Takyeo. Which was another sign of his fittingness—a man who wished for power was a dangerous animal indeed.
As if the thought had summoned him, the Crown Prince was announced outside the curtained door; the Emperor gave assent for his approach. Takyeo, in somber yellow court robes instead of half-armor, had a most unwonted spring in his step, but when he saw his father he almost halted.
Yes, the damage must be visible today. He would need all Kihon Jiao’s arts to provide a false bloom of health until Sabwone was safely past her new husband’s lintel.
“Father.” Takyeo turned the pause into a polite, very proper bow. His eyes were not Shiera’s, but his mouth bore a startling resemblance when he was not wearing a frown. “All is in readiness.”
Tamuron affected not to notice the hesitation. His eyes half-lidded, and he winced slightly as the bath-girl began work with the finer comb, smoothing greying strands. Time was breathing upon his head more heavily of late. “How is Sabwone?”
“Furious, I should think.” The Crown Prince glanced at Kai. More to the tale than either would tell, but he had not raised both of them for nothing. You learned to read your children, and the habit held even when they had spouses of their own.
“Oh?” Tamuron kept his tone mild, a distracted inquiry.
“She hates travel.” Takyeo glanced at Kai again, uncertain if his father’s inattention was feigned or not. “And she would prefer anger to fear. She is, after all, your daughter.”
“Ah, yes.” It was a pity she had not gained Luswone’s serenity. “But marriage is not a battle.”
“I have not found it so.” But Takyeo’s mouth turned down at the edges. The latest assassin’s poison tooth had broken, either deliberately or when Takyeo had fought the man off; both face and body had contorted so badly it was almost impossible to tell whence the blade had come from. The skin, ghastly discolored from said poison, bore no markings, but the Sons of the Needle were not the only walkers of the Shadowed Path.
Far from.
“Khir women are fierce,” Kai murmured.
“And how would you know?” Tamuron grinned, slapping his knee to hide the grimness of his thoughts. The girl combing his hair into a topknot pulled a little sharply, and sucked in a gasp as if she expected him to stab her. “Ah, the Crown Princess has a lady-in-waiting, who often visits the Second Concubine. Does Kanbina like her?”
“My adoptive-mother likes everyone, my lord.” Kai’s tone softened when he spoke of Kanbina; it suited him. If he was not a born son, he would, at least, make a filial one.
The indiscretion of liking—or even trusting—everyone had, really, been Kanbina’s only flaw. Tamuron knew he had not been kind to her; he had not seen the danger from Gamwone until too late. He had thought, after a second wife and another concubine, that his First Queen’s viciousness was spent.
The woman seemed to have a limitless supply. She should have been born a man, and put that and her deviousness to good use.
And probably been hanged for it, which would ease everyone around her considerably.
Kanbina’s tortured breathing, and the blood on the sheets… so much of it, and her stumbling apologies through the miscarriage, as if she thought he would blame her.
Was he truly so terrible? Harshness was needed in battle, and to keep what one had fought for. But he had never unleashed it upon the undeserving.
Had he?
“Lady Komor is eminently likable.” Takyeo’s smile turned genuine. He had nothing but soft words for the Khir princess, and nothing but compliments for her lady-in-waiting. Regardless, the Crown Princess’s food and drink was tested thrice before it passed her lips, and it was quite possible the Khir servant girl tested it again to be certain. “Lady Kue has quickly grown to depend upon her, and my household is quite harmonious.”
“Perhaps Ashani Zlorih sent his best to accompany his daughter, and considered the rest superfluous.” Tamuron did not quite scowl, though he longed to. “Be careful, Takyeo. Spies make themselves agreeable.”
“Assassins do not.” Takyeo watched the wrapping of the topknot.
“That one.” Tamuron indicated the cage he wished used. “You should have left some of him to question, my son.”
“I was somewhat hasty, true.” Takyeo’s patience was truly deep and wide, but being shaken from sleep as a hired blade came to kill your wife—who would restrain himself? The poison tooth’s breaking was unfortunate indeed.
Tamuron had killed his share of treacherous men in darkness. Sometimes he thought he should have arranged for Gamwone to meet a fate worthy of her deeds, but after all, she was only a woman.
The bath-girl in her dun, high-collared overdress held a bronze mirror for the Emperor to consider, his eyebrows—still black, and somewhat lush—slightly raised. At least those had not failed yet. Tamuron’s hollowing cheeks bunched as he attempted a pained smile at his reflection. He nodded; the girl bowed and retreated with her tray and implements at an almost unseemly pace.
“I am become an evil spirit to frighten children,” he murmured, and glanced at Kai. “I hear Sabwone will not speak to her mother. She mutters only the most formal of responses to me.”
“Shan must be bound to us.” Takyeo massaged his hands together as if they hurt. He did not have to add that without Sabwone’s urging Sensheo would lose a great deal of his venom, and Jin might find some joy that did not involve weapons practice. “And she is old enough.”
“It is a father’s duty and happiness to see his daughter married.” Tamuron uncrossed his ankles, and Kai hurried
forward to check the lacings on his boots.
“Lao Lung,” the general said, and accomplished his task with the same swift exactitude as ever. Not too tight, or they would pain the Emperor, not too loose or they would irritate him.
The Emperor nodded. “You have studied.”
“Of course, my lord. You required it of me.” A quick grimace, another tug upon the boot-lacings, and Kai glanced up.
“The joy of scholarship should be its own reward.” The Emperor did a fair imitation of Mrong Banh, when he had a mind to, and both his eldest sons laughed.
“Makar says the same.” Kai’s wry half-smile said exactly what he thought of scroll-diving.
Tamuron coughed another laugh, moved his knees. The pain was a spur to a tired horse, driving deep into each joint. Perhaps a tepid bath tonight, and Dho Anha pouring him sohju, though that would inflame the rash more. When she forgot her reticence and spoke openly, she was full of quick observations and witty descriptions of her home village, and both were a relief from affairs of state. “You are good sons,” he said, quietly, and rose from the padded bench. “Both of you.”
Takyeo’s startled smile was Shiera’s. Do not be sad without me, she had whispered, blood slipping from her mouth. Marry again, give my son a mother.
In the dead of night, guards drowsing at his door and courtiers sleeping in the next chamber ever ready to be called, Tamuron sometimes held the simple bone-handled dagger that was her wedding gift to him, and the longing to see her again was enough to make him consider opening his veins.
But he was Zhaon now. The Five Winds coursed over a united land, north, south, east, and west.
He had served the last wind, that of Heaven, and until it saw fit to take him, he would not risk his chance of seeing his most beloved wife once more by defying the Fifth Wind’s will.