The messenger came while So Ga was standing in his garden peering down into the pond. A white umbrella protected him from the morning’s chill rain. He was shivering in the cold, wet air and twice already they had suggested that he come inside. But he was filled with a nervous energy that had not waned since the guard had brought his news last night. So much so that he jumped when the messenger — who had arrived soundlessly — spoke to him.
“She is here, Your Highness,” the messenger said to him.
He was not from the Front Hall, but was conveying the news on their behalf. With an outsider in the Front Hall, the doors would not open for any but the prince.
Visits from outsiders were indeed rare in the Spring Courtyard, though they did occur. The Grand Steward herself came to each Little Palace once a year. But there was nothing routine about this visit, of course. All night So Ga had lain awake trying to settle his thoughts. Sweet soup and soothing words were no longer enough to ease the unrest in his mind. He was no longer a child. No, the only thing that would help him was knowledge. He needed to find a way to see what his blindness inside this Little Palace was preventing him from seeing. Ever since last night he had begun to feel the proximity of some danger that was just out of sight, hidden by the high walls that were supposed to protect him. Yesterday, before the news of the servant climbing his wall, he had begun to think that he might have been imagining his sense of unease, that the memory of Nŭnon renewed by his father’s court transcripts had colored his imagination with paranoia. Now he knew he wasn’t wrong. But he had no way of learning what he did not know. He was just as cut off from the world as he was protected from it.
For him, as it was for all four Little Princes, the only link he had to the world outside the Spring Courtyard — the world outside the Royal Historian’s documents and the archives of dusty volumes in the Royal Library — was the Grand Steward.
But the Grand Steward was a woman of absolute discipline. She would not offer information to him that he was not allowed to possess. Somehow, he would have to convince her. More than anything he needed to know what the servant had been coming to tell him. Because that was the only explanation for his actions; he had been sent by his master to give him a message with the utmost urgency. This was not a matter that could wait. Nor was it something he could ignore.
So Ga turned from the pond and looked at the porch where Hin Lan was standing stiffly, his arms tucked inside his heavy green sleeves. Almost imperceptibly, the tutor offered the prince a small nod. He hadn’t spoken to Hin Lan about his plans for this meeting with the Grand Steward, but somehow he had the sense that his tutor would approve, though he would probably try to stop him.
So Ga took a breath and said to the messenger, “Very well.”
In the anteroom that connected the Little Palace to the Front Hall, they removed So Ga’s outer silk golt and replaced it with the fine green ceremonial golt of his station, embroidered in gold in a pattern of birds and hemlock. On his hands they placed long gloves of black velvet and his face was covered with a stiff black mask. None of the Four Little Princes was permitted to meet with outsiders without their masks or gloves. The identity of the king’s son must be protected, and so all the little princes were to remain unknown, unrecognized, and invisible until So Ga himself took the throne. These were the Grand Steward’s protocols, and he must follow them exactly.
When the guards opened the door and So Ga stepped through, the Grand Steward, who was standing at the bottom of the steps, bowed deeply.
Lŭ Lin Bá-Ăvan was a tall woman with a long, impassive face. Her pale skin was powdered, but otherwise unpainted. She was elegant, careful in her appearance, but not vain. As a child, So Ga had been frightened of Grand Steward Ăvan. She had seemed always to wear an expression of profound disapproval. So Ga had feared the iron rule of her protocols in those early days when he’d had such a difficult time adjusting to his new life in the Little Palaces. In time, however, he had come to understand that her calm face was not disapproving, but merely unreadable. She was a woman who kept the entirety of herself within, allowing none to know or understand her but through her actions. The inherent sincerity of such a person was deeply admirable to So Ga.
The Grand Steward’s black cloak and blue golt were darkened with rain up to her knees. Under her golt she wore an inner gown of thin silk, also black, the soaked edge of which made a susurrus sound against the tile when she dipped into a low bow.
“Your Highness,” she said. Her voice was gentle and deep, like a wave of smoke.
So Ga murmured an order to one of the guards at the top of the steps, who bowed quickly and hurried off to obey.
In truth, So Ga had gradually come to like the Grand Steward a great deal and even looked forward to her annual visit. Her House, Ăvan, was a respected one. But she had long removed herself from its workings in order to serve the Palace. There were not many who would place anything before their House. She did so, he knew, out of staunch loyalty. At the same time, her devotion to the king and to her station lent nobility and favor to her House, none of which she kept for herself.
“Thank you,” So Ga said from the top of the stairs, “for coming.”
Grand Steward Ăvan bowed again. So Ga motioned to a small, formal receiving room where the guard So Ga had sent off had just placed a brazier. A door to the Grand Steward’s left led her to that room, with its low ceiling and plain, bare floor.
So Ga made his way into the same room by a different door, one which led to a small platform that was divided from the rest of the room by a long screen of fine green silk. There was no space in the Front Hall for a throne. But it was unseemly for the Crown Prince to receive outsiders without elevating himself in some way. Standing, looking down at her from behind the haze of the silk screen, he motioned for her to kneel. In the king’s receiving room she would have been offered a short chair, but there was no space for such things in the Little Palaces. Instead a cushion had been placed next to the brazier, in the northern fashion. She knelt upon it, the image of graceful dignity; her skirts before her arranged neatly, her back straight, her eyes down, and her hands clasped on her lap, right hand over left, thumbs tucked. As always, the Grand Steward’s etiquette was impeccable.
A small cushioned stool rested on his side of the screen. He sat on it, his silk golt a great flowing length of embroidered fabric all around his knees and ankles, it shone in the light of the hundred or so candles that were lighted all around. He could smell the beeswax and the burning warmth of her brazier. A small train of servants had followed him and arranged themselves in a slight bow on either side of a screen that hung behind him, embroidered with the symbols of the Sona House.
Tea had been set out on a tray that been drawn close to the brazier. The room was cold along the edges and warm in the center. So Ga shivered behind his mask as a draft slid across the back of his neck. A servant of the Front Hall came and poured the Grand Steward’s tea and she thanked him. So Ga would not drink tea. His mask, after all, would not allow it.
“I know you are very busy,” he said in an affected whisper, a trained alteration to his voice that was part of the rules for all the little princes. “And yet you have taken the time to see me in my Little Palace.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” she said after she had sipped the tea. “I have come to visit you—” So Ga knew she was referring to the four of them together “—after last night’s incident.”
“Incident?” So Ga answered carefully.
According the protocols, the Grand Steward would not have been told which palace the servant had been caught trying to enter. But there was still a chance that such information had been allowed to accidentally slip as the incident was being reported to her. Something in her carriage and phrasing seemed to suggest that she knew it had been his palace. If she already knew this, half his work was done for him. Now he just needed to know why the servant had come here. Ideally, he would be permitted to speak with him.
When he had thought about it last night at great length, he couldn’t think of a specific protocol that would forbid this. But the final decision was the Grand Steward’s in any case.
Grand Steward Ăvan went on, just as carefully, “I am referring to the matter of the servant who left the walls of his own Little Palace.”
So Ga thought for a moment, disappointed that her answer had no further information. He said, “I see.”
“I understand,” she went on carefully, “that Your Highness and Your Highness’s household might indeed be troubled by these events, that this might indicate some deficit in the Courtyard’s security—”
“I assure you, no such thought has crossed my mind.”
A throat cleared behind him. So Ga glanced at his retinue of servants from behind his mask. Hin Lan was among them. He would likely caution the prince against being too specific when speaking of himself. Nevertheless So Ga felt the need to put the Grand Steward at her ease.
He asked, “My royal father has condemned him, yes?”
“Your Highness, he is to be executed.”
So Ga nodded.
“As Your Highness is no doubt aware, this is His Majesty’s law.”
“My royal father is very wise.”
The Grand Steward bowed slightly, a gesture of deference and agreement.
“The servant,” he said, placing his gloved hands on his knees. Then he paused, uncertain precisely how to continue.
“The servant, Your Highness?”
“The one who is going to be executed.”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“You have, I expect, determined from him the reason he abandoned our Little Palaces.”
She put her tea down suddenly, but he could not read her face. “I have not done so, Your Highness.”
This answer surprised So Ga. Surely that would have been the first question she would have asked him when she had interrogated him last night.
He asked, “And why not? I know of no such rule forbidding it.”
“Indeed, Your Highness, there is no rule forbidding it, precisely.”
“Then what, precisely?”
“Your Highness, immediately after this incident occurred, I spoke to His Majesty who issued the verbal decree that the prisoner was not to be interrogated at all. He was not to be seen or spoken to by any but the deaf-mute woman who has been assigned to bring him his meals.”
She didn’t look at him, but carefully adjusted the position of her tea cup on the tray before returning her hands to her lap.
So Ga was distracted by his confusion. It seemed a strange order that should not have had anything to do with the security of the Four Little Palaces. Indeed, he thought, his father would more likely wish to know why one of his son’s servants had so betrayed him. But perhaps it was all part of the king’s fitful anxiety. The scar on So Ga’s shoulder ached and he moved to touch it, but stopped himself.
“If I may, Your Highness. Is this something you wish to know? Why he chose to abandon you?” Again, she was referring to all four of them.
So Ga said nothing for a moment. Then, “Please do not presume to know my mind.”
She bowed deeply. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“When will he be executed?”
“Just before dawn.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He paused, still searching for some way to find the information he sought. Of course, there were other ways for him to learn which Little Palace the servant had come from, but that would take weeks. And So Ga was overcome with a keen sense of urgency.
“Where?” he heard himself asking. And the question alarmed even him. It was too direct, and concerned matters outside his usual permitted sight. Of course, behind him he detected the unmistakable flutter of Hin Lan.
“Your Highness?”
He leaned forward a little and said, “Where will the execution take place?”
“I—” she stopped, smoothed the fabric over her lap, then continued. “In his cell, Your Highness.”
“Like last time.”
“It is the—”
“Protocols. Indeed, Grand Steward. And no effort will be made to determine why he did what he did.”
“According to the orders of His—”
“My royal father. Yes, Grand Steward, so you said.”
“Your Highness, it is against—”
“You serve our royal father faithfully, Grand Steward Ăvan. And for this the Sona House is truly grateful. A time will come when we will leave this Courtyard. We hope then that you will serve us with the same devotion. For our part, we will remember then the great care you took to ensure the security of our Little Palaces.”
It wasn’t until the words left his lips that he understood what he meant by them. He could see, too, that she also understood. For a single, fleeting instant her eyes met his through the green haze of the screen and the stiff black mask. The stillness behind him surprised him, he half-expected Hin Lan to leap out dramatically and attempt to quiet him. But now he knew what he needed to say to Lŭ Lin Ăvan. And he would not stop until it was said.
“It is my understanding, Grand Steward, that the protection of this Courtyard is your exclusive responsibility.”
He waited for her to answer. Even through the screen he could see that she had become a little uncomfortable. Though her face was still unmoved, her shoulders tensed and lifted and she tucked her elbows tightly against her sides.
Finally she said, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Due to your careful instructions when I was still a child, I have memorized the protocols in their entirety. It is my understanding that when it comes to matters relating to the security of this Courtyard, there is no one in all of Láokoth who can outrank you. No one.”
She understood him immediately. “Your Highness, it is not—”
“I am not finished.”
She bowed. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”
“The servant who awaits his sentence,” he went on. “He understood when he did what he did that it would cost him his life. There is no one in this Courtyard who does not understand the protocols, nor how it is that they keep us safe. And yet he did it. You know and we know that he was not, like the last servant who climbed his walls six years ago, trying to flee in a fit of madness. You know and we know what he was trying to do. But ‘why,’ Grand Steward, ‘why’ is a question that neither of us can answer, it seems. Of course, it is according to your protocols that we in our Courtyard may not know the answer. And therefore we in our Courtyard are utterly blind. But you are not. You may see what we cannot. It is because of this that you are able to protect us. What, then, if you choose to cover your eyes?”
He paused. The little receiving room was so quiet that So Ga could hear the breathing of his guards. He could hear the Grand Steward’s silks as she clasped her hands tighter and bowed.
“Your Highness,” she said, “I do not understand what you’re saying.”
Lŭ Lin Ăvan was one of the most loyal members of the king’s court. She knew precisely what So Ga was suggesting, but would pretend she did not. If she were to acknowledge that the prince was suggesting that she go against the king’s orders, it would force her to report his words to his royal father, for which all four of the Little Princes would probably be punished. Which would, in turn, pain His Majesty immensely. So Ga had not expected her to agree here and now. He had wanted merely to plant a seed in her mind.
This was all he could do. It was nothing, but it was all he could do.
So Ga excused himself then, dismissing her. He left the Front Hall in some haste, as he could feel a coughing fit coming on.
When he was finally back inside his palace, he removed the mask and coughed violently into a silk handkerchief. The air in his lungs swelled and sharpened, like he had inhaled a handful of needles.
The coughing fit lasted for some time. He found himself vomiting into a basin, which left the taste of blood on his lips. Then he sipped water and winced as he swallowed. Sweat coated his brow and his chest. Gently, they helped him sit on a small cushioned stool.
“The day has been tiring,” he heard Hin Lan say as the coughing fit settled. “You should rest. I will have them bring your medicine.” He sent the servants off to prepare it. The anteroom was abruptly empty.
So Ga said nothing. He felt an emptiness, like he had accomplished something difficult but it had amounted to nothing.
“When I am king, Hin Lan, will everything I do feel this useless?”
Hin Lan gave him a towel to wipe the blood off his lips. “You shouldn’t speak, you’ll strain your throat.”
“Is there nothing I can do?”
“What do you want to do, Your Highness? Do you want to save the servant?”
“I know he can’t be saved. He knows it, too.”
“Who? The servant?”
“The prince who sent him.”
For a moment it seemed like Hin Lan’s stony demeanor had cracked slightly. He started, then took the towel from So Ga and turned to rinse it in a basin of water.
“First my father, Hin Lan. And now this. There are easier ways to speak to me. But if it’s like this I can’t help feeling that I’m surrounded by enemies. Secret messages are for battlefields, Hin Lan, for wartime. Is there a war and we just don’t know about it?”
“I see only what you see, Your Highness.”
“Which is nothing.” He took the towel back and used it to mop his face and the back of his neck. “I feel like I’m riding in a carriage that’s headed for the edge of a cliff and everyone is trying to warn me.”
Hin Lan said nothing. He helped So Ga remove his long black gloves. The prince’s hands were trembling, his lips and cheeks colorless.
“If I had known what you were going to say to the Grand Steward,” his tutor murmured, “I would have cautioned against it.”
“Why? Because it might be against protocols?”
Hin Lan regarded him for a moment. Then he helped him remove the heavy ceremonial golt.
“Not seeing,” Hin Lan whispered, “is sometimes the only way to survive.”
I really enjoyed the tension in this chapter! Sometimes being blind to what's going on around you is more suffocating than not knowing anything