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“Of course,” Evemer said, standing. “I will be down in the kitchen, should you require anything.”
“Thank you.”
“My lord.” He left. Kadou slumped slowly down onto the bed, his eyes still shut.
When had Evemer started sounding like that when he saidmy lord? Like he meant it as more than just the words themselves? It was gradually growing some deeper, underlying meaning, like a river carving out a canyon from the rock.
It made Kadou feel like he was standing on solid ground. Here, at least, was one certainty. One steady thing to cling to: Evemer, and his loyalty, and the way he saidmy lordevery time like it was a promise.
Like Evemer was swearing an oath, each time he said it, that he would be the solid deck of the ship under Kadou’s feet when the tempest raged around them. Kadou wished he could be that steady. He wished he knew how.
After some time, he picked up Evemer’s copy ofThe Ten Pillars of War. Kadou had read it a dozen times already, as well as many of the other great classics, and like any educated person, he had particular passages of it memorized. But there was something different in looking at the pages written out, tracing the letters that Evemer had shaped, flipping through the book and watching his mastery grow.
Perhaps the making of this book had shaped Evemer just as much as his mother had. Perhaps this was where he had first learned discipline, and exacting measurements, everything fitting neatly into the penciled guidelines. But even by the end, though the spacing and size of the lettering and the layout of the pages became almost mathematical in their precision, they could never quite be described as beautiful. Evemer hadn’t bothered with ornamentation, even on the first line of every new chapter. In many older manuscripts, the first line was often lavishly illuminated, a narrow bar of color or intricate art across the width of the text block. This book was plain, with little attention to form but where it contributed significantly to the efficacy of the function.
But when he had been doing sword-forms in the rain, he had worked variations on several verses of the progression, and those had been beautiful.
When Tadek had called him in to settle the debate about Kadou’s over-robe, his eyes had lingered on the matelassé one just before he chose it, as if he thought that was beautiful too.
When washing Kadou’s hair, his hands had been as gentle as if he’d been handling some rare and fragile treasure.
And he saidmy lordwith that deep sense of meaning.
It was strange to think of all those things and hold them up in contrast to the hand-copied book, which gave scant hint of any beauty in the soul of its copyist.
When Kadou looked up from the book again, the light had changed, and there were voices below—the whole afternoon gone. He rose, back and limbs stiff, and descended.
The house was brimming with warm and golden light, though the thin linen curtains over the windows were carefully drawn. The kitchen was full of good smells, and Eozena was sitting there at the table with Zeliha, Tadek, and several kahyalar. Siranos was pacing slowly back and forth across the room with Eyne in his arms, humming softly to her.
“Decided to stop sulking?” Zeliha said with acerbic brightness as Kadou came down the last steps. He stopped in his tracks and justlookedat her, stung.
Eozena got up from the table and, wordlessly, engulfed Kadou in her arms. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he said, muffled in her shoulders.
“Scared the wits out of me last night.”
“So I’ve heard.”
She pushed him back by his shoulders and held him there so she could study his face. After a moment, she nodded and returned to formality. “Will you come sit, Highness? I have bad news and good.”
He sat on one of the long benches between her and Melek and resisted the urge to curl around her arm and lay his head on her shoulder. “I’ll start with the bad news,” she said. “The garrison is in chaos. There are several groups of kahyalar who pounced on the first conspiracy theory that presented itself, to wit: His Highness is dead and Her Majesty and the crown princess are either also dead or abducted. I have done my best to disabuse them of this notion, but I suspect that the more passionate ones have begun to suspect that I’m involved.” She rolled her eyes. “On the upside, the ones who have come to shout at me about how they’re going to uncover my villainy and avenge House Mahisti have put themselves, to my mind, pretty solidly in the little box I’ve labeledtrustworthy. Though perhaps not the one labeledsmart.” She gazed into the middle distance. “Truly, there are benefits to encouraging such passionate loyalties. Makes it easy to sort ’em. Further bad news, though: The chaos has extended to infighting. As of last count, just before I came down from the palace, there were more than thirty kahyalar injured in the infirmary, and two dead since this morning.”
“Shit,” Zeliha said under her breath. “And how many died in the attacks last night?”
“Six.”
Zeliha touched her eyelids, lips, and heart. Kadou did the same. “Usmim, judge them kindly,” she murmured. “What else? You said there was good news?”
“Partially good news, partially me asking a favor. How many of your kahyalar—the ones who are here with us—know specifics of the counterfeiting?”
Zeliha thought for a time, glancing around at the handful of kahyalar around the table. “Just Pinar, I think.”
Eozena turned to Kadou. “How many of yours do? Or about the Shipbuilder’s Guild?”
“Melek and Evemer. My armsman knows as well. The others might have overheard bits and pieces, but . . . I don’t actually know which of my kahyalar are here, besides them,” he added, trying to keep the peevish tone from his voice. “I’ve been locked in the house all day, and last night I was too drugged to see who was with us.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her fingers on the table. “I’ve been getting a lot of people coming up to me today to prove their loyalty. Selim, the chief of the ministry of intelligence, being one.”
