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Tadek bowed again and headed that way; Evemer followed. Behind him, Eozena began briefing Her Majesty on the handful of other kahyalar she had determined were loyal. She’d put together a squad and sent them down to the city to see if anyone could scrape up a satyota.
Kadou looked up as soon as they stepped out and set aside his teacup, still half full. “Oh, Tadek. Good. Where’s—is Melek . . . ?”
“Not to worry about çem, Highness,” Tadek said, immediately as bright and merry as he usually was. “Çe will be along shortly, Commander Eozena is just being very careful. Oh, but look at you, lovely, what a day you must have had!” He clucked his tongue and tucked a stray piece of hair behind Kadou’s ear. “Have you eaten anything?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ll waste away to nothing,” Tadek said.
“You sound like a grandmother.”
“Wise and always right about everything? A great compliment. Thank you, Highness. Why don’t you come inside?”
Kadou glanced at Evemer, biting his lip. “Is Siranos still in there?” he whispered. Evemer nodded, and Kadou grimaced.
“Oh, him,” Tadek said. “Well, how about a walk? Eozena told us about all the logistical problems, but I think there’s enough kahyalar in this house now that you don’t have to lock yourself in one room. How long have you been in that chair?”
“Hours,” Evemer said.
“High time you got up and stretched your legs a bit, then,” Tadek said. “Why don’t you give me a tour of the house? I’ve heard there’s a beautiful shrine here.”
Evidently getting space from Siranos was a more attractive prospect than lurking out on the balcony. Kadou unfolded himself from the chair and led them out, stopping to have a quiet conversation with Eozena and Zeliha first—they listened to him curiously, and then Eozena handed him something from her pocket and Zeliha got a small pouch out of a locked drawer of her desk.
Evemer couldn’t help but notice that Siranos watched them go, arms crossed and resentful. He noticed, too, that Eyne was in Eozena’s arms. Good.
Kadou was too busy thinking to give Tadek a very good tour of the royal residence. He’d nearly chewed his lip to shreds out on the balcony, his mind reeling over the Shipbuilder’s Guild, Armagan, the counterfeit coins . . .
The coins. In one pocket, the ones Eozena had found in Armagan’s chambers. In the other (and he was very careful to remember which was which), several of the counterfeits that had been taken from Madam Melachrinos. He was too cautious to jump immediately to conclusions—first, a test. He needed a pair of scales.
The shrine in the residence occupied a room that butted right up to the edge of the cliff. Like the throne room where he had been taken after the hunt, the long side of the room was left open to a covered balcony spanning its entire width, with the spectacular view of Kasaba City, its famous harbor dotted with tiny islands, the seawall and its two great towers that served as both lighthouses and defensive works, and the ocean beyond.
The altar on the left side of the room had a large niche with a statue of Sannesi, the Mother of All. It was about a foot and a half tall, made of solid gold that had been worn very smooth and shiny on the tops of her feet from years of supplicants touching for luck. Before her was a simple wooden table, holding a basin of water and a long, narrow candelabra with nearly fifty candleholders in two rows. On the right side of the room was Usmim, the Guardian, Challenger, and Judge. His statue was black and marble and silver, likewise worn on the tops of his feet, and there was a set of scales on the altar table before him.
Kadou crossed immediately to Usmim. Distracted, he ran through a few gestures of respect and supplication and offered up a quick prayer. It seemed rude to use the scales without doing so.
“Beautiful view of the city,” Tadek said, wandering into the room after him. “How old are these statues?”
“I don’t know,” Kadou said. “Sorry.”
“Tari dynasty,” Evemer rumbled.
Tadek grimaced. “I wasn’t any good with history. Always mix up the dates—the numbering system is madness, you know.”
Kadou was rather inclined to agree. He’d had to memorize everything by rote, or his tutors would have chiseled it into his skull—when a dynasty changed, the new one was numbered from the birth of its founder, but the old one didn’tenduntil the last ruler lost the crown, meaning that usually there were at least three or four decades of overlap. Thus, depending on what a historian wanted to emphasize (or their artistic preferences or personal opinions), they might choose to record that the Summer War occurred in the 20th year of the Shahre dynasty, the 236th year of the Ahak dynasty, or (if they were being particularly sycophantic) the negative-26th year of the Mahisti dynasty.
“It isn’t that complicated,” muttered Evemer, which was really to be expected.
“How do you know they’re Tari dynasty, then?” Tadek said, leaning forward to inspect the statue of Usmim.
“I listened. I studied.”
“Well, yes, I could haveguessedthat. I meant, did you study art?”
“No.”
“So how do you know?”
“There is a book in the kahyalar’s library.”
