The Crown Prince was here in Silasta but seemed determined to avoid any diplomatic engagement. Whether we were dealing with a wealthy noble who just wanted to indulge in everything Silasta and karodee had to offer, or one deliberately snubbing our officials for more sinister reasons, we didn’t know. In the last eighteen months Talafar had undertaken two conquests—“liberation and annexation” was the politer term—of small neighboring territories on Imperial borders, reportedly under Hiukipi’s direction. Clearly he was more aggressively minded than his father. The critical information I needed was whether his sights and ambitions had drifted south. Someone with resources had funded a rebellion to weaken us, and if it was the Prince then I would find out.
“Well. Nothing to negotiate for now,” Ectar said, placing a hand on my shoulder blades, almost possessively. “There is a litter waiting. If you’ve finished your drink, Kokush?”
The Minister paused before setting down his cup, and did not hasten to his feet, but nor did he dawdle to the point of rudeness. I pretended to brush my clothes for the last of the fragments of broken porcelain as an excuse to observe this subtle tussle between nobility and bureaucrat.
“Are you enjoying the karodee?” I directed the question to both men as we boarded the waiting litter outside the teahouse. While Ectar gave enthusiastic affirmation, Kokush gazed through the fluttering fabric at the passing traffic and took his time answering. He looked at me in an assessing manner.
“It is a very grand affair,” he said at last. “Quite the celebration.” His manner was faintly hostile, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Many conservative Talafan would disapprove of aspects of the karodee celebrations, most notably the adult ones confined to nighttime. Or perhaps I personally was the source of his distaste. Some in the Administrative Guild had resisted my application for Ambassador on the basis that women did not hold government positions in Talafar and a female diplomat could find some Empire officials hostile due to gender prejudices. Yet it seemed unlikely the Empire would appoint a Foreign Minister who was offended by foreign customs and social standards.
“Have you seen ribbon dancing before, Minister?” I prompted. “It’s quite beautiful.”
“Never,” he replied gravely, without looking at me.
“Dancing is a social event in Izruitn,” Ectar clarified. “It will feel strange to only watch!” Then, as if he thought he might have offended, he added, “But I am looking forward to it, of course.”
A brief tug of affection—he really was trying very hard—preceded a stronger one of guilt for how I was using him. But a degree of dishonesty to all but those closest to me was a necessity of my role. Etan had explained that all those years ago, and I’d agreed willingly enough. “There will be dancing during the masquerade, so I hope you still brought your dancing shoes, Lord Ectar.”
“Do you dance, Credola?” he asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the stamina.”
Ectar’s hands stilled, stricken. “Of course! I’m sorry.” Not the first time he had forgotten, or even disbelieved, my limitations.
Kokush looked at my stomach, suddenly attentive, confirming my guess that he had always known precisely who I was. The ugly knot of hard tissue and the web of pale surgical scars beneath my clothing served as permanent reminders of my encounter with Aven, but aside from the occasional random twinge the injury rarely bothered me. What she’d done to me had left different marks. But for most people it was more comfortable to attribute my slow recovery and any ongoing health issues, however unrelated, to the dramatic story that had defined the last few years of my life.
I would use that; I would turn it and everything else into a tool at my disposal to protect what was important to me.
“I’m quite recovered from my injuries,” I assured him, and turned the conversation to a discussion of Ectar’s trading ventures. While Ectar happily expounded on the new demand for leather clothing in the mountainous Doran kingdom, the Minister visibly relaxed. I was glad of the hours of practice learning body language cues with my Talafan language tutor, because Kokush, unlike Ectar, never wavered in his facial control, and clues to his mood and emotions were in the rise and fall of his breathing, the movement of his hands, the occasional shift in his seat. The more we talked business and trade, the more comfortable he seemed. By the time we arrived at the arena, Kokush’s guarded manner had eased and he had joined the conversation.
The Stone-Guilder, Eliska, and her team had spent months transforming our old sporting grounds into this imposing, impressive structure capable of seating thousands at capacity. A smiling attendant led us to seats reserved for our international guests. Keeping pace with the men as we ascended took much of my energy—fortunes, I hated stairs—but I was determined to stay with Kokush now he was opening up. My lungs burned beneath my ribs and my legs were warm with a dull ache that preceded exhaustion. I would pay for this little excursion.
The guest area, with its unparalleled view of the whole arena, had its own roof to protect it from weather, and resembled a cozy room with its fine cushions, rugs, and lamps. A far cry from the plain benches ringing the lower levels where I had watched several earlier events, but I preferred the anonymity and unpolished excitement of the public section. This afternoon the area was empty but for a few guests from the western nations in one corner, engaged in an intense conversation. I recognized several Marutian Dukes with their decorated beards and flat hats, and the imposing, veiled High Priestess from Perest-Avana. One of the latter’s accompanying officials, a tall woman with a sculptured face accentuated by very short hair, smiled at us warmly, but none of the others looked up from the conversation. A Talafan servant led us to a cushioned bench in the corner of the partitioned section.
“You were telling me about your family’s business, Minister,” I reminded Kokush. “Where did you grow up?”
“My family is from the northwest, originally,” Kokush said, lowering himself beside me. Ectar, who had turned away to hand his hat to the attendant, looked put out as he swung back and found himself on the far side of the Minister.
Behind us, several other groups entered the area; I pretended to adjust my position on the seat to scan them. It was not the Crown Prince, as I had hoped, but a group of Talafan noblewomen. At their center was a beautiful woman with an intelligent face, long curls the color of sunlit honey, and a kind of gentle grace in her movements I couldn’t have imitated with months of practice. That must be the celebrated Princess Zhafi, the Crown Prince’s younger sister, by decades, and by all reports their father the Emperor’s most favored daughter.
She was surrounded by a handful of other noblewomen and trailed by several maidservants. A glowering and primly dressed man directed them to seats as far from the other guests as possible, his gestures and tone as they took their seats reminiscent of a bad-tempered schoolteacher. In their gleaming multicolored silk pants and elaborate headdresses, the ladies looked more like a flock of exotic birds than unruly children, and their smooth, doll-like painted faces and perfect composure made his forceful treatment incongruous. Ectar bowed his head to the ladies but did not speak, and Kokush gave no sign he’d even noticed their entry. “The province of Lokapir.”