Page 33 of The Second Marriage
“Now we drink,” Gerel said. “And I have lettuce for you from Ripuk.”
“Lettuce,” Taral repeated blankly.
“Maybe I don’t remember the word. Message? Note?” Gerel reached inside her coat and took out a folded piece of paper, which she offered to Taral.
“Letter,” Taral said, smiling. “I see. Thank you.” He took the note from Gerel’s hand and bowed. “Let’s go into the fortress, my lady. We can offer you rest and refreshment.”
He delivered Gerel into Iniya’s custody and went to his office to read the note. Tadasho had warm relations with Ripuk, especially after Abiral’s marriage to Iniya, but he couldn’t think of what message would be sent to him in such an informal way. If it were urgent or confidential, or both, a rider would have been dispatched. Gerel was trustworthy enough, but she was still a foreigner.
His eyes skimmed down the page, and then he went back to the beginning and read again more slowly. The neat brushwork left no ambiguity. The war between Skopa and Chedi had ended. Those nations sought a neutral third party to broker the peace agreement, and the Mountain Kingdoms were closest both geographically and sociopolitically. Ripuk would be sending a delegation and asked that Tadasho send a party as well.
Taral set the letter in his lap. Chedi wasn’t far, but the mountains were steep along the northern boundary and thinly populated, which made Chedi seem more distant than it was. Sending a delegation wasn’t a bad idea. Tadasho had been a great house once and could be again, if Taral could leverage a trip to Chedi for political influence or trade agreements. Well, he would have to send Iniya, then; he himself had no ability to charm or persuade.
But Iniya didn’t want to go.
“I can’t travel with the baby,” she said, when he managed to draw her away from her conversation with Gerel and another of the traders. Although evening hadn’t yet fallen, the atmosphere in courtyard was raucous, and she had to pitch her voice louder for Taral to hear. “He’s too young. All that way to Chedi on a horse?”
“The Sarnai do it,” Taral pointed out.
She frowned at him. “Taral! He hasn’t been named yet.”
Well, she had a point there. “You can leave him here. Abiral and Daxa will care for him. We’ll only be gone a few weeks.”
“He isn’t weaned,” Iniya said in a tone that said she clearly thought that settled the matter.
“A wet nurse,” Taral began, then swallowed down the rest of his words as his skin threatened to burst into flames from the heat of Iniya’s glare. “No?”
“Chedi can make their peace without us. Let Ripuk take care of it. Feba is good at that sort of thing.”
Taral pressed onward. “It could be advantageous for us. To make trade connections in Chedi.”
“Go yourself if you’re so determined. You have my leave.” Iniya turned away, and Taral saw that he would get no other answer out of her.
Abiral and Sejun were sitting together beneath the fig tree, Abiral with the baby in his lap, playing with the trailing ends of Sejun’s belt. Taral joined them, and Sejun said, “What was that about?”
Taral told them. Abiral shook his head and said, “I’m surprised you’d even suggest that, Taral. You know it isn’t appropriate to travel with him before his naming.”
“I forgot,” Taral admitted sheepishly.
“Your own nephew,” Sejun said, miming shock with his eyes wide and a hand pressed to his chest. He wasn’t helping; Taral shot him a stern look, and Sejun grinned and looked aside.
“Well, why don’t you go, then?” Abiral asked. He untangled the baby’s hands from Sejun’s belt and offered him a carved toy horse instead, the head of which he immediately crammed into his mouth. “As Iniya said.”
“I’m no diplomat. I’d fare poorly without Iniya’s silver tongue.”
“Ripuk will manage the peace talks, I’m sure. Feba’s inviting everyone to join her as part of her obsession with mountain unity.” Abiral spoke fondly; Queen Feba was his cousin, and they had grown up together in Ripuk fortress. “It’s politically advantageous for her to bring a large delegation and convince the Chedai that we’re one nation instead of many loosely affiliated kingdoms, and that she’s our leader.”
“She wants us to unite?” Sejun asked. “But the Sarnai already tried that, and it only lasted as long as their empire did.”
Abiral shrugged. “We muddle along well enough as it is, if you ask me, but Feba’s determined. I couldn’t tell you why. You can ask her yourself when you travel to Ripuk, as I can see you’re going to from the look on Taral’s face.”
“I have no fixed intention,” Taral protested. “I only received the message today.”
“Why shouldn’t we go?” Sejun asked. “I’d like to see Chedi, and there’s plenty of time before winter.”
“It’s something to consider,” Taral said.
He could think of many reasons not to go. The expense, for one thing, of transporting so many people and horses on the two-week journey to Chedi’s capital of Banuri. The risk of some diplomatic calamity. The danger of leaving Iniya to her own devices for however long it took to negotiate the treaty. Taral would return to find she had sold the rest of Sejun’s dowry to purchase a collection of exotic carved wooden puppets from Tihasel, or something else equally lovely and useless. Abiral would do nothing to restrain her as he thought everything Iniya did was charming and harmless.