Page 67 of The Second Marriage

“It will feel strange to leave here without knowing how it all resolves.” Sejun chewed with a pensive look on his face. “Don’t you feel that we’re invested now, in what happens in Chedi?”

“I do. And I believe that was Feba’s purpose all along. She’s gotten her wish. The Chedai know us now, and we won’t be able to dissolve back into our mountains and pass out of their awareness.” He winced to think of the trade concessions Aditya had negotiated with him. Tadasho would benefit, it was true, but Chedi would benefit more. Aditya would be sure not to let the Mountain Kingdoms withdraw from his notice.

“It seems the next few years will be eventful,” Sejun said.

“I expect they will.” Taral took in Sejun’s frown, and added, “Trouble won’t come to our threshold. The mountains will keep us safe. We’ve never been invaded from the north, not once in all our long history.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Sejun said, brightening. “Well, I won’t worry, then. Hurry up and squeeze a treaty out of Skopa so we can leave. I want to visit my family before the autumn holidays begin.”

“I’ll personally ensure they wrap up the negotiations in no less than three days.”

And they did, although the treaty wasn’t signed until the morning of the fourth day, a rare rainy summer morning in Banuri with all the shutters closed against the drizzle. Taral stood in the little-used throne room with Sejun at his side, and near them were all the other delegates from Tadasho, and the parties from Ripuk and Barun and Shershon and all the rest. The Chedai stood in their own clusters, and the Skopai, and even the Setsennai, who hadn’t taken part in the talks but through their presence now made it clear they looked favorably on the outcome. At the front of the room, Mentun and Aditya sat at either side of a table, and there they signed their names to the paper that would end the war.

There was no cheering; no one present would be so inappropriate. But Taral saw many smiles as he looked around the room. They had worked hard, all of them, and suffered through many boring speeches. They would drink heartily tonight at the feast and consider their work well done.

As they left the room, Sejun said, “What happens next?”

“I think that’s the end of it,” Taral said. “Unless someone decides to add a clause to modify the terms.”

“Thank the One God,” Sejun said. “We can finally go home.”

* * *

Their party dwindled in stages,as it had grown. First Feba left them in Ripuk, then Jaysha in Barun. At the split in the road through Tadasho, their companions from Merek turned east. At each farmstead they passed, another person or two made their farewells. At last, late in the afternoon, there was only the handful of them who had come from Tadasho: the monks and the merchant, the few guards. As they rode through the town, the merchant and her family left them, and Sejun and Taral rode up to the fortress, as they had left it, alone.

“What an adventure we had,” Sejun said, with satisfaction, as the fortress came into sight ahead of them.

Taral snorted. “Which part? The part where you got arrested?”

“Oh, you mean when I unraveled the separatists’ plot and salvaged the peace talks?” Sejun grinned over at Taral from his horse, irrepressible. “Yes, that was an excellent adventure, I would say.”

Someone must have spotted them coming up the road, because as they led the horses through the gate into the courtyard, Taral saw Ujesh waiting for them on the steps, and smiling, which he almost never did. In Taral’s memories, Tadasho was dingy and decaying, a shameful reminder of all the ways he’d failed to secure his family’s legacy. But the fortress before him was freshly whitewashed and tended to. The courtyard had been swept clean and the weeds removed. The crumbling bricks had been replaced. Although Sejun had initiated some repairs before their departure for Chedi, more had been done in their absence, and Taral swelled with pride to see his home in such an improved condition.

A servant came over to collect the horses and lead them off to the stables. Ujesh descended the steps, still smiling. “Prince Taral, my thanks to the One God for bringing you safely home to us.” He bowed to Sejun with grave dignity. “And you as well, my lord.”

“We’re glad to be back,” Taral said, speaking for both of them. The bond was less closed off to him than it once had been, but he still couldn’t read much from Sejun aside from his strongest emotions. He didn’t mind. He didn’t need the bond to tell him what Sejun was feeling now; he could read the pleasure on Sejun’s face as he gazed up at the high walls of the fortress. The air in Tadasho smelled distinctly different from the air in Banuri, and all around the mountains hemmed them in, snow-capped even in high summer and secure as a mother’s embrace. They were home.

“Taral!” a voice cried, and Taral looked over to see Iniya rushing out of the fortress, holding her robe up around her knees. “Taral, you’re here!”

Taral opened his arms to catch her as she collided with him hard enough to knock the air from his chest. She laughed and flung her arms around him, and Taral pulled her close and kissed her hair, laughing himself. How good it was to see her again.

Abiral followed at a more sedate pace, holding the baby and herding the girls ahead of him. Taral crouched to give them kisses, then stood again to take the baby from Abiral’s arms and kiss his fat face. Everyone was talking all at once, a great cheerful clamor that made Taral’s heart swell. Here was his family, safe and happy and with him once more.

He met Sejun’s eyes. Sejun smiled and came closer, and held out his arms for the baby. Taral passed him over, and Sejun settled him on one hip and said, “You have the look of a man who’s gotten everything he wants in life.”

“I have,” Taral said.

“Stop flirting with each other in broad daylight!” Iniya said. “I need to hear all about your travels. Come inside and have something to eat, and tell me everything.”

“Everythingwill take us at least a week,” Sejun said.

“Well, you can get a good start on it, at least,” Iniya said, undaunted, and began to move them all toward the fortress as one might direct a group of recalcitrant sheep.

Taral and Sejun weren’t alone again until late that night, when the sky was dark and the stars were out and the children had fallen asleep beneath the fig tree in their parents’ laps. Sejun, who had been doing most of the work of telling the tale of their adventures, trailed off several times before finally saying, “I’m sorry, I’m too tired to go on.”

Iniya waved a lazy hand, then used it to cover her yawn. “Tomorrow, then. We have time.”

The gathering broke up. Sejun and Taral went up the stairs to their room, which someone had thoughtfully aired out for them. There were clean linens on the bed and a pitcher of water on the table to quench any midnight thirsts. Sejun, yawning, lit a lamp, and they undressed in its flickering light and crawled beneath the blankets together.