The room was one of the largest in the palace, majestic and grand. The acoustics were wonderful—a balladess stood in the corner of the room, singing a slow, passionate song. “The Fourth Ballad of the Return,” Jasnah thought it was—though she could never keep them separate. A line of women sat behind the current singer—lesser noblewomen, waiting their turn to provide music for the feast.
The hall’s grey marble floor was inlaid with a massive silver palen-burst that depicted the glyph nolh, the symbol of air and of power. Air—the first of the Ten Essences, often used as a representation of the omnipotence of the Almighty. It was no coincidence that Alethkar’s ancestors had chosen nolh to represent their kingdom, a fact of which Elhokar seemed quite aware as he sat proudly at the king’s table.
Jasnah studied her brother from her place at the women’s tables. He seemed to be growing into the kingship more and more every day—the insecurity he’d displayed upon first assuming the throne was nearly gone now. He seemed comfortable among his noble supporters, more in control. How could it be that there were so many things he did not see?
Dalenar sat to the king’s right, in his proper place as Parshen, yet her uncle’s mood was withdrawn, and he did not smile at the king’s comments. To Elhokar’s left sat Meridas—a place that should have been reserved for Jezenrosh Kholin, Elhokar’s cousin and second Parshen. Meridas was obviously not a man to be trusted. He had enormous power despite his lowly title, and he had no dogma beyond his own thirsty ambition. Yet Elhokar saw fit to give the man his ear.
Jasnah turned from Elhokar’s table to seek out another threat. The women’s tables were clustered together in a circular pattern, with the men’s tables forming a half-ring around their right side. The queen’s table was near that of her husband, a short distance from Jasnah’s own. Nanavah sat speaking quietly with her ladies-in-waiting, her posture controlled. Powerful. Jasnah had spent the last few hours sending messages to her old contacts in the city, and did not like the replies she had received.
It didn’t help her mood any that Shinri had disappeared. The girl had yet to return from her trip to Vedenar, and while it had once been common for Shinri to lose track of time, Jasnah had thought the girl beyond such things. Shinri’s absence made Jasnah’s table look conspicuously empty. Though Jasnah had sent out a tenset invitations, only two had replied affirmative—Tama Jothken and her cousin, Remlah. As Sixteenth Ladies, they were the two lowest-ranked women Jasnah had invited—she had added them to her list almost as an afterthought because of their fathers’ honorable support of Elhokar in the war. The two sat somewhat sheepishly at the end of Jasnah’s rectangular table, eyeing the other tables, which were mostly full of occupants.
Jasnah frowned in dissatisfaction as the cooks began to enter, bearing steaming platters of food. There had been a time when her table would have been the most prestigious one at the feast. It appeared that her extended absence had dulled both memories and allegiances.
“My Lady Jasnah?” a hesitant voice asked.
Jasnah turned with a frown, though her mood quickly lightened as she saw who had spoken. A girl, barely fourteen years old, stood beside the table. Despite her youthful features, she wore an intricate woman’s talla, with her hair in braids and her face painted. She held herself well, only slightly uncomfortable despite how obviously out-of-place she was.
Kinae Khardinar. Dalenar’s betrothed.
“Kinae,” Jasnah said, smiling. “You’ve . . .” You’ve grown so much. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one told a second lady, betrothed of a Parshen. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Lady Jasnah,” Kinae said. She had always been a somber girl—perhaps it was the speed at which she had been forced to grow up. “My lady,” Kinae said. “It looks like some of the people at your table decided not to come to the feast. Can my table come join you? If you have room, I mean.”
Jasnah felt a sudden wash of gratitude. Oh, child. . . . It was an amazing compliment—despite Jasnah’s relationship to Elhokar, she was unmarried, and therefore was of a lower rank than someone like Kinae, even if her marriage wouldn’t take place for another four years. For Kinae to abandon her own table and to sit beneath Jasnah’s . . .
Kinae probably didn’t understand what she was offering. Then again, she just might. She was very clever—moreover, she was dedicated to understanding and fulfilling what was expected to her. Though duty loomed far larger than her youthful experience could handle, she tried so hard to live up to her station.
Kinae waited expectantly.
“I would like it very much if you joined me, Kinae,” Jasnah said honestly. Not only would it fill her conspicuously-empty table, it would cause a stir in the attending women. In Jasnah’s current state of power, anything that shook up the status quo was likely to favor her position.
Kinae turned and walked back to her table, maintaining an attempted regal bearing despite her diminutive size. There were subtle understandings that Kinae hadn’t figured out yet—an experienced lady would never have come in person, but would instead have sent a lesser lady in her place—but she did a remarkable job, considering her age.
As Kinae reached her table, Jasnah caught sight of Dalenar at the king’s table. The man was watching Kinae with a look of controlled dissatisfaction. The rest of the court accepted the betrothal for what it was—a political union, meant to seal Alethkar’s relationship with the state of Khardinar. They were willing to overlook Kinae’s age; sometimes, conventions had to be bent in the name of political expediency.
Dalenar, however, was not a man who approved of bent morality and false motives. To him, it was wrong for a man to accept even a betrothal to a girl Kinae’s age. However, at the same time, he was a firm believer in doing what was best for the kingdom—and a strong union with Khardinar was vital to Alethkar’s health. When Elhokar had given him the order to become betrothed, he had submitted to the good of Alethkar. However, the conflict between duty and morality left him in a very strange position.
Jasnah smiled. If only all of their problems were as simple as Dalenar’s relationship with his betrothed. The pending union might make him uncomfortable, but he would deal with it—besides, he already had two heirs. When he and Kinae wed in four years, Dalenar could leave the marriage unconsummated—as a union in name only—for the rest of his life, and it wouldn’t really matter. In fact, Jasnah suspected that she wouldn’t be the only one who respected Dalenar even more for the decision.
She just wished he would show just a little more warmth to Kinae. She tried so hard, and Jasnah suspected the young lady didn’t really understand why her betrothed always seemed displeased with her.
Kinae had a rather large entourage—mostly the wives of Shardbearers in Dalenar’s court. The women masked their displeasure at being forced to move tables. Technically, they were members of Dalenar’s court and not Elhokar’s, but the Oathgate made Kholinar practically an extension of the royal court. These women wouldn’t like the fact that Kinae had associated them with Jasnah, who was obviously out of the queen’s favor.
The ladies, however, let none of this show. They seated themselves at Jasnah’s table with pleasant smiles, as if overjoyed at the prospect of dining with the king’s sister. Soon the table was full, and Jasnah felt a lot less out of place.
As the meal began, a late arrival finally appeared at the doorway. Shinri wore the same red talla as earlier, and her face was marked with confusion. She sought out Jasnah’s table, then made her way through the feast hall as quickly as propriety would allow.
Shinri sat herself on the empty stool just beside Jasnah, and Jasnah gave her a dissatisfied look.
Shinri flushed. “I apologize, my lady,” she said quickly. “I should not have been late.”
Jasnah nodded. “Compose yourself.”
“Yes, my lady,” Shinri said, taking a few deep breaths and settling herself. “I’m sorry.” She glanced across the table, identifying the ladies who were sitting with them. “Not many answered yo
ur invitations.”
Jasnah shook her head. “Fortunately, Kinae offered to bring her entourage to my table.”
Shinri smiled. “She’s a good child.”
Jasnah nodded. Kinae was only three years younger than Shinri—but what a difference those three years made. Shinri had the maturity and the mind of a woman—and Jasnah fully intended to exploit both. She would need to use every resource she had if she were going to recover her position at court.
“What kept you?” Jasnah asked.
Shinri frowned. “Tethren refused to see me,” she said, absently picking at threads on the cuff of her left sleeve.
“Stop that,” Jasnah said, frowning at the girl’s nervous habit. “What do you mean he ‘refused to see you?’ What kind of man won’t meet with the fiancée he hasn’t seen for six months?”
“The servants were very kind,” Shinri said, “but they stalled me in the sitting room. Eventually, they returned and told me that I’d just missed him—that he’d left just shortly before my arrival on a trading trip to Thalenah.”
Shinri didn’t seem like she accepted the explanation—as well she shouldn’t. Jasnah had instilled in the girl a healthy amount of skepticism regarding noble motivations. Everything the servants said could have been true—Tethren was a Prince of House Rienar in Jah Keved, but he was a younger son, and such often oversaw their family’s business negotiations. Perhaps Shinri had arrived just as he was leaving, and the servants had stalled her while they tried to get word to him in time. But Tethren must have received word that the Aleth nobility were returning from Prallah—why would he have left without seeking out Shinri?
“If you wouldn’t mind, my lady, ” Shinri said. “Could you include some questions about Veden politics in your evening’s communications? I would like very much to discover what has been happening.” Specifically, she implied, whether or not my fiancé has been cheating on me.
“It’s unlikely that Tethren is . . . looking elsewhere, Shinri,” Jasnah said consolingly. “He is known to be a very honorable man—and he seems truly devoted to you. There must be another explanation.”
“I know, my lady,” Shinri said. “But . . . could you ask anyway?”
Jasnah paused for a moment. It was early in the feast to begin correspondences, but she could see several other women already beginning to scribe notes. “Very well,” Jasnah said. “I have things I need to discover as well. Bring me some paper, then go change for the feast.”
Shinri nodded, rising from the bench and hurriedly fetching Jasnah some paper and a small brushpen from the side of the room. Afterward, she withdrew from the room.
Jasnah idly picked up an eating spear as she composed her thoughts—the metal skewer was tipped with a ruby, and she was very careful not to let it touch her skin as she stabbed a chunk of pork and slipped it in her mouth. The pork’s sharp flavor gave her pause—she hadn’t realized how much she missed the conveniences of a full chef’s staff. During the war, she had often been forced to subsist off Awakened grain. While nutritious, such rations were relatively mundane.
The pork, like all of the other items on the table, had been prepared specially for the female tables. Each dish had either been fried or seared after cooking so that it wouldn’t drip and ruin expensive seasilk tallahs. Like the other women, Jasnah ate with her right hand, her left hand held demurely in her lap, cloaked in the folds of the long left sleeve. The eating spears were long and thin, and the dishes had all been arranged in small chunks to allow for meticulous eating.
The men, of course, would have none of that. They ate with stocky eating spears in one hand, thick knives in the other. Their food would have been prepared after more masculine tastes, with sharp spices and extra seasonings. Jasnah had once tasted a man’s dish out of curiosity, and the spiciness of it had left her mouth burning for what seemed like days.
Eventually, she turned her attention to writing. She set aside her spear, and picked up the brushpen, carefully scribing on the thick white paper. She first wrote notes to those women she trusted—or, at least, had trusted—the most, then moved on to those she didn’t trust at all, but who often had valuable information.
“It’s early in the dinner for such furious writing,” a familiar voice interrupted after a short time of scribing.
She looked up to a smiling Balenmar. He stood beside her table, stooped against his cane, looking as old as the winds themselves.
“You don’t mind if I sit, do you?” he asked, moving over to a stool.
“Of course not,” Jasnah replied. Few men would even consider joining one of the female tables, but Balenmar was . . . somewhat outside of normal conventions. Stormkeepers, the scholars trained in Thalenah, weren’t completely free from social conventions like Vorin monks were, but they were generally given more leeway.
The old man sighed, settling down on the stool and laying his cane across his lap. He smiled. “It seems this body of mine moves more and more slowly with each passing storm. Someday, I fear it shall simply freeze, and I’ll be stuck standing in the middle of the hallway like a statue.”
Jasnah raised an eyebrow. “Well, if that happens, we’ll be certain to have a maid stop by to dust you off every once in a while.” She glanced toward the king’s table, where an empty chair marked the place Balenmar had been sitting just moments ago. It was at the very far end of the table, a ways away from the king and his Parshen—but it was still at the king’s table, a far more distinguished position than Balenmar had ever held in Elhokar’s court.
“It appears that the king appreciated your news,” Jasnah said.
“Indeed,” Balenmar said.
“And what is it going to take for me to find out what, exactly, you two discussed?”
Balenmar eyed her in his unconcerned way, then reached over and selected an eating skewer and tasted an inavah cake. “Parshen Jezenrosh isn’t here.”
“He’s been sick,” Jasnah replied carefully. “He never recovered from the illness he gained in Prallah.”
Balenmar raised his eyebrows. “Ten months. That’s a long time to be sick.”
“My mother has been sick for longer,” Jasnah pointed out.
“Your mother is not sick, child,” Balenmar said. “She is dying. Jezenrosh, I assure you, is not. There is something going on in Crossguard. When Elhokar left for the war, he brought his most ardent supporters with him. What does that say for the noblemen he left behind? Noblemen left alone for the better part of two years . . . six months of that spent with access to a discontent cousin to the throne . . .”
“You speak of dangerous things,” Jasnah said.
“Someone sent that man to kill Elhokar on the battlefield, Jasnah,” Balenmar said. “Someone who wanted, very much, for it to appear that Elhokar was killed by a Prallan who broke Protocol. And, with the king dead, Alethkar would need a new leader to seek a double vengeance upon Pralir. Elhokar’s son is far too young—and that would present a very convenient opportunity for an aspiring nobleman.”
“Proof?” Jasnah asked.
“Nothing substantial yet,” Balenmar said. “But the king appreciated my conclusions. I’m looking.”
Jasnah digested the information. Jezenrosh’s absence was conspicuous, though he and Elhokar had been at odds since their childhood. Elhokar had chosen Jezenrosh as his second Parshen for tradition’s sake, and had done so at Jasnah’s strong suggestion. She had hoped that by working together, they would overcome their differences—unfortunately, their relationship had only grown worse by the forced association.
But would Jezenrosh try and have the king killed? It was far-fetched. The Parshen had never displayed that kind of ambition before.
“How sure of this are you?” she asked.
Balenmar shook his head. “My specific information was regarding the attack itself, not who performed it. But the rest seems obvious.”
Jasnah nodded. “All right,” she said. “I’ll remember this, Balenmar. I’m in your debt.”
Balenmar
raised an eyebrow. “Jasnah dear, just because I play the game doesn’t mean I don’t care about Alethkar. I served Nolhonarin all his days; I would do the same for Elhokar. I came to you not to extort favors, but because I fear for the king’s safety. Despite the danger, he won’t let me help him as he should. Do you remember the night before Jezenrosh’s departure?”
Jasnah nodded.
“Something happened between Jezenrosh and your brother that night. There was an argument between the two of them, but Elhokar refuses to tell me what it was about. I don’t trust the boy to take care of himself, and I certainly don’t trust the queen to look after him.”
Jasnah eyed the queen’s table. “Agreed.”
Balenmar sighed. “Perhaps the king was right to leave me behind from the war. Old men don’t travel well—we complain more than we advise, and we find it hard to see the regality of the son when all we remember is his father. However, Elhokar needs us now, even if he doesn’t realize it.”
Jasnah was still watching the queen’s table. “You were right about her.
Balenmar nodded, chewing on the edges of his cake with a thoughtful face. “Things haven’t quite been the same here this last year, child. The records say I was in charge, but sometimes it really didn’t feel that way.”
“When did it happen?” Jasnah asked. “When I left her, Nanavah was about as savvy as a chunk of granite.”
Balenmar shrugged. “She’s her father’s daughter, Jasnah. At first it seemed she’d only inherited his temper, but apparently there was more hiding underneath than we assumed. There have been rumblings in Jah Keved—people are less and less pleased with having the Idiot King on the throne. Perhaps she fears her brother’s throne will fall, and has realized that she needs to be a stronger force in politics if she wants to keep her power. Either way, watch yourself with her. She’s been quite efficient in her conquest—you’ll find few allies left.”
The Way of Kings Prime Page 10