Page 56 of The Second Marriage

“I can’t think of anything I would enjoy more,” Sejun said.

They went upstairs and had tea in the same room where they had all dined together, only this time the shutters were open to let in a warm breeze. Lavi had to go downstairs once when someone came into the shop, but aside from that they had an uninterrupted and very pleasant conversation about the recent festival that segued into a discussion of Chedoy cultural traditions as a whole. Sejun learned many interesting things to share with Taral later and left at last in good spirits, having set the unpleasant business with Tarush behind him altogether.

Taral wasn’t in their room when Sejun returned to the palace; from the empty tray on the table by the window, he had already eaten and gone back to his meeting. Well, that was fine. Sejun found a servant to request his own meal—Lavi had served small fritters to go with the tea, but not in a quantity that had satisfied Sejun’s hunger—and settled in by the window with one of his new books. He would go for a stroll in the gardens later, then eat dinner with Taral and enjoy the evening together.

The book was so engaging that Sejun couldn’t bring himself to stop when the servant brought his food. He sat hunched over the book open on the table, eating with one hand and turning pages with the other. When, after some time, a loud knock sounded at the door, Sejun ignored it in favor of turning another page. He hoped that whoever it was would give up and go away.

The knock came again. It was more like pounding. He sighed and stood up. “Yes, I hear you,” he muttered. “I’m coming.”

Outside his door was not, as he had imagined, a servant or messenger, or someone from Merek who wanted him to attend a tedious dinner of some nature. Instead, several Chedai guards stood blocking the corridor, and the one in front wore on a medallion on his tunic that Sejun feared meant he was important.

“Yes?” Sejun said, hearing the quaver in his voice and knowing the guards could hear it too. But he had done nothing—had he? What had he done?

“Lord Sejun of Tadasho,” the medallion guard said. “That’s you?”

Sejun had that dreadful feeling again, the queasy fear of a cornered animal. “Yes, but what is it you need from me?”

The man gestured. Two additional guards came up at either side of him, further barring Sejun from any exit save back into his room. “You’ll come with us, please.”

Sejun swallowed. He glanced over his shoulder into his room, but there was no escape there; the window opened to a courtyard two stories down, and he wasn’t athletic enough to even manage the scramble over the ledge, much less drop down without breaking all of his limbs. And where would he go from there? Flee on foot into the city and walk back to Tadasho from there? He had done nothing wrong. Surely this was only a misunderstanding.

“I would like to know why it is I’m being hauled off in this way,” he said.

The medallion guard rolled his eyes, so openly disrespectful that Sejun was shocked into silence. “I’m sure you would. You can walk or we’ll drag you. It’s your choice.”

Sejun’s face burned. The other guards watched him with distaste. He had no choice; but Taral would learn of his arrest soon enough and come to rescue him. He was sure of it.

He turned to close the door behind him. The guards surrounded him as they marched off down the hall.

CHAPTER26

Taral left the day’s meeting feeling like his head was filled with mud. If any progress had been made, he wasn’t aware of it. After two weeks in Banuri, he was beginning to think it was time to pack their luggage and go home to the mountains. Let Chedi and Skopa resolve their own squabbles. He wanted to be back in Tadasho before Gurratan had his baby, and at this rate the negotiations would still be dragging on at midwinter.

His heart lifted as the door to his room came into sight down the corridor. Sejun would cheer him up, as he always did. He would hear about Sejun’s adventures of the day and maybe lie with his head in Sejun’s lap while Sejun toyed with his earrings, until the pounding of his skull was entirely soothed.

Sejun wasn’t in the room. Well, that wasn’t unusual; he was often out at this time of day when the weather was good, enjoying the late afternoon sun in the gardens. But he had left his book open on the table, and his lunch half eaten on the tray. Taral frowned at the leftovers. That wasn’t like Sejun to leave the room untidy.

He put Sejun’s bookmark between the pages and set the book out of the way. When a servant came to see if he needed anything, he had them remove the tray and bring hot water for bathing. He washed off the grime of the day as he waited for Sejun’s return. The light in the room shifted as the sun moved toward the western horizon. He heard voices in the hall as people passed by, and each time looked up in hopeful anticipation of Sejun opening the door; but the door remained shut. He dressed and wrote a note to Simra about their upcoming trip into the hills. The sky darkened. Still Sejun didn’t come.

Sejun had likely lost track of time, or run into someone he knew and gotten involved in a conversation. Taral went to search for him in the gardens. There were many people there, out strolling with lovers or friends before the evening meal, but no sign of Sejun.

He stood beside a fountain, watching the water bubble. The palace was well guarded, and the city was safe, too. Taral couldn’t imagine that Sejun had come to any harm. Still, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was amiss. Sejun liked to complain that he didn’t see Taral enough and always grumbled a little when he had a social engagement in the evenings. For him to be away so long and without leaving a note set a high ringing sound of alarm going at the back of Taral’s mind.

He went back to the room. If Sejun didn’t come—well, what if he didn’t? What would Taral do about it? Go to the cantonment, he supposed, although he wasn’t sure where that was. The resources he could have brought to bear on this problem in Tadasho were unavailable to him here, and that was a frightening thought. He was unmoored in this country and helpless in the face of whatever might come to pass.

He waited until the light had grown dim enough that he felt the need to light a lamp. Then he went out into the corridors of the palace and walked until he found a servant he knew to speak Dirang. The woman offered to escort him to the cantonment, and he was grateful for the offer as he knew he would lose his way. She led him down and down to the lowest level of the palace, to a courtyard just inside the Firebird Gate, and a door painted blue with two guards standing at either side of it. The servant spoke to one of them in rapid Chedai, and he nodded and went inside. Taral stood with his hands tucked inside his sleeves and hoped he looked impassive instead of anxious. The sky was dark now, the first stars appearing overhead.

The guard returned and beckoned Taral inside with a motion of his hand. Taral went after him into a low-ceilinged stone vestibule, and from there into what appeared to be the superintendent’s office. He was a sturdy, balding man with a fading scar across one cheek. He looked up from the papers arranged on his desk with a weary expression and said, in Chedai, “Yes?”

The guard said something. The superintendent rubbed at his eyes and replied. The guard went out.

Taral grasped each wrist with the opposite hand and prayed for patience.

In thickly accented Dirang, the superintendent said, “You look for husband?”

“Yes. Sejun of Tadasho. I haven’t seen him since this morning, and it’s later than he’s usually out.”

The man folded his hands on the surface of his desk. “We have him.”