Page 44 of The Second Marriage
He would ask Simra the next time he saw her. She might be able to tell him if Feba couldn’t.
The procession went onward and dwindled up the road. Taral turned to Sejun and said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to continue the search without me. I should go back to the palace and see what’s happening with the Skopai.”
“I want to hear everything,” Sejun said. “Every detail,” and he wouldn’t be satisfied until Taral promised that he would take careful note of everything that transpired to tell Sejun about later.
Taral walked briskly up the road to the palace, his calves burning from the steepness of the slope. The courtyard inside the gate was filled with horses and soldiers, and he had to dodge more than one swishing tail as he made his way to the palace door. The long central corridor leading through the public areas of the palace was abuzz with activity as servants rushed around carrying baggage and escorting the new arrivals to wherever it was they were meant to go. As Taral made his way toward the throne room, he saw Chedai courtiers mingling with Skopai diplomats in open chambers off the corridor that opened to the courtyard beyond. The negotiations had already begun, then, albeit informally.
He caught sight of Feba standing outside the throne room, head bent as she read a letter. She glanced at him as he neared, and then, to his surprise, beckoned him over.
“I’m glad to see you,” she said, tucking her letter inside her robe. “I don’t know where any of the others are, and Aditya is going to hold an audience with Queen Mentun in short order.”
Taral looked down at the robe he had worn to go traipsing through the city. It was clean enough, at least, and he didn’t imagine anyone would pay him much attention. “The Skopai waste no time.”
“No. Mentun wants everything settled as quickly as possible.” Feba glanced around, and seeing that they were alone, added, “The Etsukai are out sailing the Middle Sea again. They struck a port in Absou last spring, and I’ve heard rumors they’ve moved on Skopa now.”
“I see.” Taral scoured his brain for everything he knew about the Etsukai. Feared raiders with feared fire magic, inhuman in some way, but all of that was only legend. Or so he had thought. “So she’ll formalize the end of one war only to start another.”
“And meanwhile Chedi will pray that war doesn’t come to them, too, although I imagine all the coastal nations will have to grapple with that problem sooner rather than later.” Feba shook her head. “I’m thankful we’re alone in our mountains.”
“Now that you’ve said that, the Sarnai will decide to invade us again.”
“One God protect us.” Feba turned to a Chedai functionary who was approaching, and after a brief conversation with the woman said to Taral, “We’re to go in now.”
Taral hadn’t yet been inside the throne room. He had gotten the impression that King Aditya used it rarely and only for ceremonies of state like this one, and the chamber did have an air of disuse and stillness, with heavy draperies at the windows and none of the artwork or potted trees the Chedai favored. The room held nothing but a dais at one end with two chairs. One of those chairs, the queen’s, was empty. Aditya sat in the other, upright with his hands folded in his lap. He looked weary, as he always seemed to. His heir seemed to be a man of great vigor and purpose, and Taral had to wonder why, as Simra had said, Aditya hadn’t discharged more of his duties to the son who would succeed him.
“Queen Mentun of Skopa,” said a herald; even Taral couldn’t misunderstand those words.
Mentun came through a pair of doors in the far wall. She seemed to glide across the floor rather than walking. Her tunic and trousers were of black cloth embroidered in white thread, like stars scattered across the night sky. She wore her hair pulled back in a net of silver chains decorated with moonstones, which enhanced the effect. She was tall and quite plump, even more so than Sejun, and radiated beauty and good health.
Aditya rose from his throne and stepped down from his dais to greet Mentun face to face. They spoke to each other in what Taral decided, after some careful listening, was likely Skopai. From what he knew of the conflict in the Kasauli Hills, the fighting had been bitter and protracted, and he was surprised to see these monarchs address each other with no seeming animosity. Well, they hadn’t themselves been on the front lines, and perhaps the war was such an abstraction to them that they could come together without resentment. Or perhaps they were simply expert diplomats and knew how to conceal their true feelings at any cost.
Taral gazed around the room as the monarchs spoke. The gathered Chedai courtiers watched in silence. No one whispered to a compatriot; no one made an expression of disgust. If anyone here conspired against the king, there was no way for Taral to know it.
He felt helpless, like a child who saw others walking but couldn’t manage it yet himself. He didn’t speak the language to eavesdrop on furtive conversations or ask anyone what their intentions were. He hadn’t even sought a private meeting with Feba to share with her what Simra had told him, although he knew he should do so immediately. He was embarrassed to bring her such news without a solution or even a plan for how to approach the negotiations. All he could do was provide Simra’s knowledge and then stand aside to let more competent people decide what to do.
Aditya turned toward the audience and raised his hands. He spoke a few sentences in a clear, firm tone. Everyone bowed, and Taral followed suit. Then Mentun turned and glided out through the same door she had entered. The audience was over.
“Negotiations will begin this afternoon,” Feba said to Taral. “Both sides will prepare opening remarks. I suppose they speak back and forth to argue their positions.”
“How litigious,” Taral said. “Feba, I must tell you something with some urgency. Where can we go that we won’t be overheard?”
* * *
Sejun returnedto their room at midday, empty-handed. He came whistling into the room, then stopped abruptly when he saw Taral and raised his eyebrows as he shut the door behind him. “You’re here? I expected you’d be shut in some meeting room for the next week and I wouldn’t see you until it was all over.”
“The formal proceedings begin this afternoon. Didn’t you buy any books?”
“I couldn’t find the shop. I got lost in the market district and had to ask someone to help me find my way back to the palace.” Sejun came to stand behind Taral at the desk and set his hand on Taral’s shoulder as he peered at Taral’s notes. “That looks tedious.”
“I’m only trying to organize what I know. It helps me to write everything out.” Taral set his brush aside and turned in his chair to look up at Sejun. “I have a task for you, if you’re willing to be put to work.”
Sejun inclined his head. “I’ll be glad to do whatever you ask of me.”
A servant came to the door just then with a tray of food for their midday meal. As they ate, Taral explained what Simra had told him about the separatist movement and outlined his conversation with Feba. “We’re at a disadvantage here, as I’m sure you can imagine. We’re tasked with fair and neutral arbitration, but that’s challenging when we don’t know everyone’s motives. If some Chedai makes a compelling argument, how are we to know whether they argue in Chedi’s best interest?”
Sejun poked at his dish of lentils. “This all sounds very complicated. Why don’t these people move to Skopa if they want to be ruled by Skopa’s queen?”
“It’s more that they want Chedi to become part of Skopa, I would imagine. But we don’t know who they are or what they intend.”