Page 61 of The Second Marriage
He had a message in the morning, delivered to his door at first light by a servant who didn’t go away again but stood there waiting for his response. The folded paper bore the king’s seal in white wax, a roaring bear seen in profile. Taral stood in the doorway and read the message with escalating disbelief. The king requested an audience with him that very morning, before the day’s negotiations began. He awaited Taral’s presence.
“I need five minutes to dress,” Taral said to the servant, who bowed in acknowledgement.
The king’s rooms were high at the top of the palace, where open windows facing east let in the first dawn light. Taral’s escort led him to a carved door barred by guards, who after a brief conversation stood aside to let them pass. Within, a massive desk dominated one half of the room, and the king sat there, looking over some papers. In the corner stood one of the three sorcerers who accompanied Aditya at all times. This one was tall and thin with a face like a mountain cat that waited for the ideal moment to leap upon its prey.
Aditya sat at his desk with the air of a man who had slept little and risen earlier than he would have liked. He rested his forehead in his hand as he hunched over a letter on his desk, and he had a collection of empty teacups beside him to accompany the one so fresh it was still steaming. He glanced up as Taral was brought in and made some hand signal to the servant, who went out, and then Aditya said, “Prince Taral. Thank you for attending me so early.”
He spoke Dirang with an accent, but with the confidence of a man who knew he spoke the language well. Taral was speechless with surprise.
Aditya allowed his face to betray some amusement. “You’re surprised I know your tongue.”
“It’s said in the palace that you speak no Dirang.”
“It does a man no good to make all of his abilities known. I learn much by listening and almost nothing by speaking.” Aditya looked past Taral’s shoulder as the servant returned with a tray of tea. “Sit, please, and drink with me.”
As Taral hadn’t yet taken his first cup of the morning, he was very glad to accept. Aditya rose from his desk and sat with Taral in the chairs beside the window. The king gazed through the window for a while at the city to the north and the forested expanse of the royal preserve to the south. Taral waited, gripping his patience with firm hands. Finally, Aditya said, “Your husband is held in my cantonment.”
“Yes,” Taral said.
“My wife urges me to do as you ask and release him. She finds your predicament romantic, it seems.” Aditya moved his gaze from the window to look at Taral. “But tenderness won’t preserve my throne.”
“Sejun has no cunning in him. He delivered that letter as a favor to a friend. I can assure you he gave no thought to any nefarious intentions.”
“So I’m told,” Aditya said, which made Taral’s spine go rigid. Had Sejun been interrogated already? Yes, of course he had by now, the second day after his arrest. What had he said? He could so easily incriminate himself with a careless word. Taral didn’t doubt his innocence, but he knew how easily a thoughtless turn of phrase could be bent to any interpretation.
“Your Majesty,” said the sorcerer in the corner, breaking his silence.
Aditya turned toward him. “Hold your thoughts a minute, Poplar,” he said, and the man subsided. To Taral, he said, “Tell me what you know of Simra the fossil-seller.”
Taral held his cup in his hands. He was careful not to move or react, which was its own reaction, and Aditya would recognize his sudden awareness that he had willingly come to his own interrogation.
He took a sip of his tea. “I’ve corresponded with her for years. I have an interest in fossils, and she’s a scholar as well as a merchant. I came across one of her treatises and wrote to her with some questions, and she wrote back. I met her for the first time soon after I arrived in Banuri.”
“A professional relationship,” Aditya said. “And what did you discuss when you met her?”
Taral felt his eyes slide toward the sorcerer and knew he was betraying his mental calculations. He didn’t know if Simra was guilty and didn’t know what he might say that could absolve or condemn her. He had walked into Aditya’s trap, not knowing that it was a trap: as gullible as Sejun and with far less justification. He had been so blinded by his panic over Sejun that he hadn’t paused for even one moment to consider Aditya’s motives. Aditya was a paranoid recluse, if Simra was right, but he was also a shrewd politician.
“We looked at a specimen she had bought off a merchant,” Taral said, “and took tea together.”
“And what did you discuss,” Aditya said, “while you had tea?”
Taral could lie, but which lie was safe? If they knew already, he would spoil any chance of securing Sejun’s release. He drew a breath. “She told me there are separatists in Chedi who wish to join with Skopa. I told Feba, and we came up with a plan to have Sejun befriend whatever courtiers he could and see what he could learn about the situation in the palace.”
“This Simra set many wheels in motion. Although had she not, the traitors would have simply found another lackey to so obligingly carry out their wishes.” Aditya exchanged a glance with the sorcerer that Taral couldn’t interpret. “You mountain people aren’t stupid, but all of you are naïve as children, even your clever Queen Feba.”
Taral couldn’t stop himself from bristling. “We don’t plot and conspire as the Chedai do. We live in peace and care for our kin and our kingdoms.”
Aditya snorted. “In peace? In this generation, maybe. But you can’t tell me the Mountain Kingdoms have never taken up arms. No, war comes to all of us, whether we seek it out or not. One can only decide how to meet the occasion.”
As if war were a guest that appeared in one’s courtyard without invitation. Taral considered the king’s weary face, the cynical twist of his mouth. “War has stalked the southern coast these past years, it seems.”
“And we can little afford to let it nip at our heels while Etsukeo rouses from its longs slumber and begins to ponder who might be ripe for conquering. It’s time to make our peace with Skopa and turn our attention north.”
“And yet neither side is willing to yield any ground. Why did you invite us here, in all our naïveté, when we’ve done nothing to help you at all?”
“Because war will come us, and when it does, we’ll need the aid of our neighbors. You think you’re set apart in your mountains, but if Etsukeo turns its forces against Chedi’s shores, where do you think the common people will flee? Nowhere along the coast will be safe. No, they’ll go south into the mountains, and then you’ll be forced to deal with coastal problems whether you like it or not.”
Taral sat without speaking, assaulted by the uncomfortable feeling of the world expanding around him with Aditya’s words. “You share Feba’s goal,” he said, realizing. “Unity. Only you’re even more ambitious. You want unity of all the nations of the southern shore. The treaty with Setsen, and now peace with Skopa. And warmer relations with the Mountain Kingdoms after we depart. Who next—Absou?”