Page 62 of The Second Marriage
“The Etsukai will fall upon us like an ocean of fire,” Aditya said. “If we’re too busy fighting each other, they’ll burn us to ashes before we can even turn to face them. Mentun is no fool, and knows this. As soon as I learn who’s been whispering in her ear, we’ll finalize the peace and begin our preparations.”
Taral looked through the window. In the courtyard below, a gardener was sweeping the flagstones. It was impossible to envision war coming to this busy, open city, the palace burning, the brightly colored houses on the hillside crumbling into flame. But Aditya had envisioned it, and was preparing for it even now.
“What aid do you seek from us in the mountains?” Taral asked. “We have little to offer you. We have no standing armies and no vast wealth to draw from.”
“Trade,” Aditya said. “If supply routes across the Middle Sea are cut off, we’ll have to rely on goods from the mountains.”
“And from the Sarnai. That’s what you’re really after, isn’t it? The Sarnai don’t send their caravans into Chedi, so you want us to serve as brokers and purchase the goods you need.” And then he understood Aditya’s purpose in bringing him here and sharing so much of his plans: he wanted to trade Sejun for favorable terms from Tadasho, and use Tadasho to supply his kingdom.
Aditya was watching his face. “Yes. You understand my intentions, I think.” To the sorcerer, he said, “You may speak now, Poplar.”
The sorcerer stepped forward. “Sejun of Tadasho is innocent of every crime but delivering a message whose contents he didn’t know. Simra the fossil-seller and her wife Lavi are innocent of every crime but receiving that message and turning it over to its recipient. What Prince Taral told you is in accordance with what I learned from his compatriots.”
“So.” Aditya looked at Taral. “I’ll solidify Chedi’s warm relations with Tadasho, if it pleases you.”
“You’ve led me very neatly into your snare,” Taral said. He had to admire Aditya’s scheming, and how swiftly he had moved to make use of Taral’s desperation even amid the crisis embroiling the palace. “What terms have you offered Feba?”
Aditya’s mouth slid into a wry smile. “Better to ask what terms she’s extracted from me. But Feba has no silly husband who needs rescuing from my clutches. So.” He raised his eyebrows. “Are we in agreement?”
Would Taral barter his kingdom’s trade profits for Sejun’s release? Only a fool would do such a thing. But Taral found he was convinced by the scenario Aditya had laid out for him. If war came, Tadasho wouldn’t dither and do nothing while the coastal nations burned.
“You may present your terms,” he said.
Aditya smiled. “Then there’s one other request I’ll make of you. Your husband refuses to give up the name of the person who gave him the letter. You’ll write to him, please, and tell him to stop trying to protect someone who doesn’t deserve his loyalty.”
Taral suspected it was less out of loyalty and more out of fear of saying the wrong thing and getting himself into worse trouble. Sejun had never been taught to trust his ability to reason. Either way, this was a problem easily solved. “You don’t fear I’ll advise him in some way that will turn the situation to our advantage?”
“I do intend to read your note,” Aditya said dryly.
Yes. Of course. Taral shook his head in chagrin. “Then I’ll write it right now, if you can offer me some paper.”
“I suppose I can manage that,” Aditya said.
* * *
Sejun’s cellwas dim and damp, and there was nothing to do in it. He spent a while telling himself the plot of his favorite book, but he had trouble focusing, and soon his thoughts drifted to his family in Merek. He wondered what they were doing, and whether Batsal had managed to impregnate Shubhu yet, as their father had predicted. He wondered if Iniya’s baby had started crawling. And then he thought of Taral, and brought himself almost to tears wondering whether he would ever hold Taral in his arms again.
So much for hardening himself. But after what had passed between them the night they went to Simra and Lavi’s, there was no hope of Sejun pretending he could become guarded and cautious. What he had sensed from Taral that evening had crumbled every half-hearted barrier he’d tried to erect. He would wait a thousand years, or ten thousand; he would wait the rest of his life in open, hopeful devotion for Taral to look at him again the way he had that night, his eyes dark in the candle glow of the sitting room.
He would never be a man like Jaysha; he could only be Sejun, and there was no use trying to reshape himself in someone else’s image. He had been soft and hopeful all his life and he would continue on that way, and love Taral no matter what, until the Mountain Kingdoms were lost beneath a vast ocean once more. He would give himself to Taral with all his heart, and would be satisfied to honor his bond and do what he could to care for the people of Tadasho. But maybe—maybe, if he were very fortunate, he could have something more.
The door opened. Sejun didn’t look up. Guards came from time to time to deliver food and water, or to carry away his chamber pot. There was no need for him to participate in the proceedings.
“Lord Sejun,” a voice said, and Sejun did look up then.
It was the sorcerer—Poplar. He came into the chamber and closed the door. He had a letter in his hand, which he extended, and Sejun stood on his stiff, unsteady legs and accepted the folded piece of paper.
The seal on it was the king’s, but the handwriting inside was Taral’s, and the message was written in Dirang. Sejun’s heart pounded in his chest as he read:
* * *
My Sejun,
I sit here with King Aditya discussing the matter of your imprisonment. Please tell his sorcerer the name of the person who gave you the letter you delivered to Lavi. I know why you haven’t said, but there’s no need to withhold this information. Then you’ll be released, and we’ll go home to find another dragon like the one in the quarry near Gurratan’s steading. I long to see you.
Your Taral
* * *