Nalini pursed her lips and looked back at the pyre. Was it appropriate to go over and speak about politics at her father’s funeral? Probably not. But the flames had passed their peak and were starting to die down now. Moreover, if she did not speak to Pallab now, Razilan had every chance of doing something reckless before she got another opportunity to speak to him and the counsellors, standing next to the Royal Admiral. That made up her mind and she lifted her black skirts, fitting for funerals and mourning, walked toward Pallab.
“Princess Nalini,” Pallab said, suavely, as he bowed. “My brother, I am sure, would have wanted to be here and pay his respects to His Majesty. Alas, as the Guardian of the West, he is still fighting skirmishes on the Kingdom’s western borders. But I suppose my family are not the only ones who have reason to begrudge the Al-Yutams.”
Nalini grimaced. She had her own reasons for resenting the Kingdom of Al-Yutam. Not a year had passed after her father had won the throne when Sultan Raham of Al-Yutam had threatened Al-Jaraba with invasion. His threat had led Sultan Daquan to seek an alliance with the heathen, King Fransisco of Volído to deter him from invading. The alliance worked as Sultan Raham called off his full-scale invasion, but Nalini had paid the price as the cost for the alliance had been her marriage to Emilio.
Now, though, it seemed as if Al-Jaraba’s alliance with Volído was meaningless. King Fransisco had refused to provide aid to stop the raids coming from beyond the Dusty Mountains. It had meant that Lord Nahmet was having to deal with them, since Carob Castle held the closest garrison to the border with Al-Yutam, with Lord Ehud Asfour of Orange Fork backing him up. “It is understandable that your lord brother is not here,” Nalini said. “He is defending the western lands of the Kingdom admirably.”
Pallab snorted, derisively. “If the Crown would have sent him some men,” he said. “My brother could have put an end to the raids months ago.”
Nalini sighed. Pallab was the Vizier for Ships, and had been promised to go on a voyage to see if there were a way to the lands of the east and the Yshvahan Gulf via the Boundless Western Sea.
Many argued that there had to be an end to the Great Grasslands; that the Yshvahan Gulf got its name from the wealthy Yshvahan Kingdom to the east of Blackport and the Kush Mountains; and that this kingdom bordered the Wai-Sha kingdoms further east, where porcelain and silk merchants claimed to come from. All were beyond the Charted Map and Pallab had been eager for years to find out what was there.
“And to think that the ship that was supposed to take me across the Boundless Western Sea is just sitting in the harbour,” Pallab added, with rueful, mocking bitterness.
It was true, as well. The ship that was meant to take him across that impassable sea was in Flourish’s port. But events outside of everyone’s control had prevented him from setting sail. “Well, I would like to thank you for staying,” Nalini said. “It means a lot to my family and I that you are here, attending what Lord Nahmet cannot.”
Pallab dulled his eyes. “Your gratitude is a great substitute for the fame and riches of doing what no man has done yet. Between the Al-Yutams, Sultan Daquan’s sickness and Prince- I mean, Sultan Razilan, I am still here, despite all the promises.”
“That’s why I want to talk-”
Pallab scowled. He failed to hear what she said and marched away. Lord Anané Jadwiga chuckled. The warrior-esque Lord of Last Thirst and Guardian of the South was the Royal Counsellor for Weaponry, and his full set of ivory-coloured teeth contrasted with his ebony skin. “Pallab has been cross ever since his lord brother told him to stay in the capital a month ago,” he said. “Pallab had been most looking forward to that voyage. Now, he fears it will never happen. If you ask me, it is for the best. He is just setting himself up for disappointment.”
“Or a watery grave,” Lord Krarim added. “No-one who has ventured more than a hundred leagues into the Boundless Western Sea has returned to chronicle the tale.”
Nalini smiled wryly. Lord Krarim Ta’íni of Fort Orchard was fifty-one and the Sultan’s chief advisor. He seemed to have information about everything and everyone in the Kingdom and beyond. If there were a man who knew a far-off tale of someone who had found land somewhere in the Boundless Western Sea, it would have been him. “The voyage was not what I wanted to discuss with him,” Nalini said. But then it dawned on her that she had little notion why Razilan becoming Sultan would mean that Pallab had to stay in Flourish and postpone the voyage indefinitely. Now, was as good a time as any to ask about it. “Why did Pallab mention His Majesty, Sultan Razilan?” she asked. “Just because the two the men have no love for another does not mean that Pallab has to stay at court.”
Lord Anané gave her his bright smile. “When it comes to knowledge, Lord Krarim is Lord Reliable,” he said, turning to him. But then Lord Anané tilted his head and his eyes hardened. “His way with information is beaten only by his way of keeping himself and his family safe. Indeed, there is no-one better.”
The slender, ordinary-looking Lord Krarim upheld a straight, impassive façade as Lord Anané walked away. “He will never forgive me for what happened at the Battle of Fort Orchard,” he said. “Never.”
Unease coursed through Nalini’s veins. Lord Krarim had initially sided with the Crown during Daquan’s Revolt. It was only after he, Lord Cadman Gherda and Lord Anané had lost the Battle of Fort Orchard, and Razilan had come forward with his trebuchets and with an arrow protruding from his shoulder, threatening to smash his town and family, that Lord Krarim had switched sides and contributed positively to the rebellion.
Yet, Nalini did not want to discuss the time when Lord Krarim had wrongly allied himself with Sultan Jashan the Fanatic. That did no-one any favours, not least herself. “You have nothing to worry about, My Lord,” she said. “Your reputation for serving Al-Jaraba precedes you.”
“That is all I want. I wear a green kaftan, and a dark blue cape and turban, to show that I am content so long as the fields are green, and the waters are deep. And that House Reba sits on the throne, of course.”
Nalini raised a brow. For all Lord Krarim’s modest claims, he had an air of intellect and wisdom about him, shrouded in mystery. He belonged to a small, mystical sect of Abyar; no-one knew if he had long, short or no hair under his turban; and kept his full black beard cut short, leading the late Sultan Daquan to once quip that Lord Krarim kept his knowledge as close to him as his beard.
“In answer to your question,” he continued. “Pallab and his brother believe that Sultan Razilan is exaggerating the threat to the Kingdom’s eastern borders.”
“Do you believe that?” Nalini asked. “Are our eastern borders not under threat?”
Lord Krarim looked at her impassively. “No more than usual,” he said. “While the His Majesty, Sultan Daquan, was ill bandits tested the Kingdom’s resolve by raiding around Date-Palm Port and Peace Valley, while Sharafi pirates have been launching raids across the Slim Sea. But I have not seen anything to suggest a significant build-up of forces from either the Zufans, the Sharafis or the Galutlis.”
“Then why did my brother give Lady Ríma three thousand of Father’s-” she shook her head. “Or, rather, of his men, unless he had made an agreement with her.”