To help with the large cast of characters,
I have put together a spoiler-free Dramatis Personae
Éna Lí stood just to the left of the beam of morning sunlight lancing across the king’s antechamber. The light pierced the room’s darkness while the dust that swirled in the air sparkled as it crossed the beam. Absently she put her pale fingers in the light’s path, blocking it with the shadow of her hand. The silvery beam flickered against her trembling fingers and she quickly pulled her hand away. The maids saw her flashing eyes and moved about their tasks with pale timidity.
The king’s antechamber was part of the old Palace. A room in a stone structure adjacent to the king’s Hall, with walls that had been covered in frescoes before Éna Lí had ordered them painted over with a dark, somber rose color. That had been over five years ago. Time, she observed stepping back from the lance of sunlight, seemed to be moving faster these days.
A porcelain white stove poured heat into the chamber in a thin wave that left the air with enough bite to please her. Heat had always disquieted her. As had the presence of light.
Though Éna Lí had already been disquieted. She had been agitated ever since returning from the Grand Steward’s residence. Her messengers had been sent out for news under cover of night while she had paced across the Palace grounds awaiting their return. And each report had made her angrier than the last. The fourth messenger, a boy who had brought his report at dawn this morning and delivered it upon his knees, had been beaten by Éna Lí in a furious rage. None dared ask what news had so angered her, but all the Palace House labored in tense fear.
Meanwhile, the Grand Steward’s residence had been sealed, and her meals reduced to broth and water. The physicians had been forbidden from visiting her. Any who had failed to prevent the escape of the servant had been taken to the cellars of Éna Lí’s residence. A sharp decline in the Palace House’s numbers would no doubt soon be noticed.
While Éna Lí watched, the maids misted the king’s ceremonial golt with rose water; the perfumed fragrance filled the room quickly and tickled her nose. Turning, she glanced at the little door from which the king would enter, but he still had not arrived. He seemed to move more slowly every day.
At last she heard the distant swishing rhythm of his stocking feet and his thick cotton inner golt. With a click of her tongue, the majority of the maids were dismissed.
The king came through the little door accompanied by two elderly servants who bowed at the threshold and went no further. Éna Lí dismissed them with a wave of her hand and they disappeared. The king observed all this with indifference, as he did the chill, dark air in his antechamber. He was accustomed to the cold and the dark, as these were the conditions Éna Lí preferred. Most of his life had been lived on her terms and according to her rules and preferences. Resistance had never won him anything but pain and immeasurable loss.
Éna Lí said nothing as she, with the help of one other maid, helped the king don his heavy ceremonial golt. Made of black silk, trimmed in gold and embroidered all over with the falcons and hemlock of the Sona House, it was only worn in court. The thick, layered weight of it pressed against his shoulders and back, but he was glad for the heavy garment. Lately it had become more and more difficult to stay warm in the Palace.
Éna Lí busied herself fastening the complex golden clasp at the king’s waist. It featured a braided chain and a long pin which looped through a hook and then again through a dangling catch. Her long, fair fingers worked clumsily, the king observed; twice she dropped the golden pin, which dangled on the braided chain and brushed against his knee. But he said nothing, and instead turned his head to look at the recess in the chamber wall where a locked golden door secured the precious white crown of Láokoth.
The king never wore the Láokoth crown to court; the delicate porcelain crown was reserved only for coronations. The last time he had worn it was on the day his son had been made the crown prince. Immediately after, So Ga had been taken to the Spring Courtyard and locked, together with his three body doubles, in the Four Little Palaces.
Éna Lí followed the king’s gaze as she finished fastening the clasp. Her beautiful face warped into an ugly smirk.
“Your Majesty is feeling nostalgic, perhaps?” she said in a voice thick with sweet derision.
“I will never wear the crown again, will I?” he said. The directness of his question startled her, but she collected herself quickly.
“I’m sure Your Majesty will find many occasions in the future on which it will be appropriate to wear the crown.”
“Will I?” He turned and looked into her shining eyes. “Perhaps when I crown a new heir for you?”
She flinched, her arm drawing back as if to strike him. But then she collected herself again and clasped her hands at her waist. The king was surprised to see her so on edge. He wondered if the cause for her rage should give him any hope.
The morning court meeting proceeded without incident. Éna Lí’s servants had positioned themselves throughout the king’s Hall to be able to observe and overhear. This way she would know of any possible new alliances or whispered rumors that could be dangerous to her plan.
The ministers were arranged in clusters in the great open space of the king’s Hall. Each had a desk behind which he stood and from which he could speak — or any of his people could speak if permitted to do so by the king — but the others in his retinue had only small stools on which they sat. The minister had no stool and was required to stand for the duration of the meeting.
Balo Sonen, on a little stool in the company of the prime minister’s people, to the right of the raised platform on which rested the king’s throne, seemed to be avoiding Éna Lí’s gaze, and that of her various servants. This almost pleased her. More and more Balo worried her. He was not formidable enough to be a threat to her plans, but he believed himself to be, and that was almost as troublesome.
His son, however…
From her position behind the king’s throne, she turned to look upon the tall, slender figure of Ban Lo Sonen, sitting upright behind the desk of the Minister of Defense. The aged minister, Heno Vona Lí, had been absent frequently and was said to be growing senile in his old age. As his master’s chosen representative in the king’s Hall, Ban Lo Sonen was permitted to stand in the minister’s place. As he was merely a second clerk, he could not speak on his master’s behalf, but was permitted to answer when addressed by other ministers or by the king. Today, he had little to say beyond the occasional polite agreement.
Ban Lo Sonen was a man quite unlike his father. Handsome, amiable, and charming. All traits, it was said, inherited from his mother, a woman who now lay dying in the Sonen estate.
But as the son of Balo, Ban Lo had also his father’s ambition and his taste for the delicate work of long, slow schemes. Éna Lí had long suspected that Ban Lo was superior to his father in this. However, like all proud sons of bad fathers, Ban Lo was hindered by this fatal flaw: he wanted both to please his father and to outshine him and so remained trapped in perpetual paralysis. For some time Éna Lí had been contemplating how she might use this flaw to her advantage.
As she gazed at Ban Lo — whose pale face shone in the morning sunlight filtering through the high windows of the king’s Hall — the young man turned and glanced to his left. Éna Lí followed this glance and nearly started when she saw Kío En Tolen, leaning against his own desk, hidden somewhat by the slope of the ornate podium.
How had she failed to see the entrance of the prime minister? Turning, she looked at the king. He was hiding a smile of relief as he looked upon his Oak Hand.
For days the prime minister had avoided entering the Palace. She knew why, of course. Her messengers had confirmed it; Kío En Tolen harbored the surviving servant — in his estate or some other secret location — and he feared discovery. Looking upon him now Éna Lí could see that that fear had begun to gnaw at him; his face was thin and had aged considerably, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Did he know enough to fear her specifically?
Why hadn’t he acted? If he had the servant in his possession, then he must have learned from him the secret Éna Lí had worked so hard to protect.
Perhaps the servant hadn’t told him. Perhaps the boy was smart enough to know that the secret he carried was of immeasurable value and he was waiting for the right moment to use it.
Perhaps he didn’t know what he knew.
No, she couldn’t rely on luck to save her. If the servant hadn’t yet told the prime minister what he knew, she still had time.
She couldn’t send her men to force their way into the estate of the prime minister. Her actions could never be so obvious, nor could they so easily be traced back to her. No matter what, her hands had to remain clean, at least to the world outside the Palace walls. But if she didn’t find that little servant and kill him with her own two hands, if she didn’t silence him forever, years of careful planning would potentially be upended. And what if she was discovered? What if she was forced to flee, to return empty-handed to him…
Éna Lí’s wretched brother used to taunt her when they played, saying that her childhood schemes against him always failed because she insisted on holding the sword with her own two hands.
“Put the sword into someone else’s hands,” Amalnaroth would say with a sneer. “Then, when the job is done, your enemy will be dead and your ally will be punished in your place. And you won’t have lifted a finger.”
Bastard, she thought tightening her hands into fists. What was the use of winning if you didn’t do it with your own two hands? But what did Amalnaroth know about losing? He was the favorite of their master, chosen to stay by his side while she labored tirelessly and alone in the petty court of the Láokoth king.
But as she thought it, her eyes went from the face of Kío En Tolen, to that of tall, proud Ban Lo Sonen, standing at the desk of the absent Minister of Defense. And she smiled.
The king requested that Bo Han Lăsoth and Ban Lo Sonen meet with him in his chambers after the other ministers had been dismissed. This surprised Éna Lí, but the beginnings of the plan that had begun to formulate in her mind had lifted her mood, so she allowed it with passive amusement. With a smile, she offered that Kío En Tolen ought to join them, given his recent absence. Secretly, she wanted some time to observe the prime minister closely and to make him nervous. It would take some time to find the right way to use Ban Lo against him, but in the meantime perhaps she could toy with him a little.
The king, with a look of surprise, agreed. No doubt he thought that perhaps she would allow the prime minister to resume his usual favored position.
To Éna Lí’s added amusement, Balo had to be reminded, rather curtly, by one of her servants, that he had not been invited to this private audience and should exit the Hall at once. He glanced at her with a look of childish irritation, and then puffed his chest a bit before bowing and turning to march out of the king’s Hall.
The audience took place in the king’s antechamber, the same room where the king had dressed for court. While he spoke, the king directed Éna Lí and the other two maids to remove the heavy ceremonial golt.
Bo Han Lăsoth, accompanied by his man Ŏvor, Ban Lo Sonen, and Kío En Tolen stood on the other side of a short, painted black screen during this operation. Éna Lí watched the king’s face closely, curious as to his motives, but she was otherwise unconcerned.
“My lord Sonen,” the king said to Ban Lo while Éna Lí worked on the clasp at his waist, “Your master is again absent from court.”
The young Sonen bowed deeply and answered, “Your Majesty, the Minister of Defense has been ill for some days. But I have been relating to him in detail all the matters—”
“I have several reports that I have received from him in recent days. If he is too ill to attend court, how is it that he is not too ill to spend the hours necessary to write these reports?”
Ban Lo fell silent and slipped into a bow from which he did not rise. Even Kío En Tolen tensed, lifting his shoulders.
Éna Lí hid a small smile. The king had a commanding presence and a unique ability to arouse fear in other men. Were the circumstances different she would, perhaps, find something in him to which she could be attracted.
“Your Majesty—” Ban Lo began.
“Surely it is no less taxing to labor over a pen and a pot of ink than it is to stand at his desk in my Hall.”
The clasp undone, two servants came to help Éna Lí slip the golt off the king’s shoulders. They took the heavy garment to its wooden stand while Éna Lí retrieved a golt of thin black silk, without trim or embroidery, and helped the king put his tired, trembling arms in the sleeves. She was pleased to see signs of fatigue.
Ban Lo answered, still bowing, “Your Majesty, the Minister of Defense dictates his reports. I— we write only the words he tells us to write. We would never presume—”
“No indeed,” the king said while Éna Lí fastened the woven black ties of the simple silk golt into the style of knot that he preferred. Having finished, she retrieved a white velvet cloak and draped it around his shoulders. Two servants came then and took the painted screen away.
“No,” the king repeated, turning to face them while he adjusted his arms in the black golt’s sleeves. “No, you would never presume.”
Ban Lo continued to bow while the king walked across the antechamber to a little table near the glowing white porcelain stove. He rifled through a stack of papers until he found what he was looking for.
“This, for instance,” he said, bringing the page to Ban Lo so he could see it. “This report in which you detail the shortcomings of Lord Lăsoth at the Ŭthol Na border. This was written by your master?”
Bo Han Lăsoth, without moving his head, cast a sidelong glance at the bowing shape of Ban Lo Sonen.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ban Lo replied. “He dictated the words. I wrote them.”
“You wrote them?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“What of it, My Lord Lăsoth? Is this true?” The king handed the report to Bo Han, who bowed and took it with both hands. Then he straightened and read it quickly. Éna Lí watched him closely.
She knew that Balo considered Bo Han Lăsoth an enemy. It would not surprise her if he had attempted to use his son’s position in the Ministry of Defense to undermine him subtly. She was curious, however, to see if the legendary cleverness of the Lăsoth Housemaster could withstand the schemes of Balo Sonen.
“It is true, Your Majesty,” Bo Han answered simply and, bowing, returned the report.
The king’s face flickered with surprise. Éna Lí smiled to herself. He had hoped that Bo Han would contradict the report Ban Lo Sonen had written. He had hoped that he could then use Ban Lo’s attempt at a scheme to remove Balo’s son from his valuable position. This would then weaken Balo’s control over the court which, he no doubt hoped, would in turn weaken her grip on him. She knew that the king believed that she served Balo Sonen, and not the other way around.
But he had failed to see that Bo Han had been trapped by his question. Had he answered that the report was untrue, that his Houseswords were able to guard the Lăsoth trade routes without difficulty — which would have been a lie — that would have placed him in a position in which he would have had to prove what he’d said. This would have then made his difficulty in the north — and his attempt to conceal it — a matter of court record.
If he merely admitted to the king here and now that the matter was true, it would go no further than this chamber. In either case, he was forced to reveal his situation, an embarrassment to the proud Housemaster of noble Lăsoth. But answering as he did was the only way he could avoid involving himself in court politics. A direct reply was Bo Han’s only option. Even if it did harm him a little.
In any case, the king had failed. Éna Lí watched as he rubbed his wrists and studied his hands.
Turning again to Ban Lo Sonen, he said, “If your master continues to suffer, perhaps he should consider removing himself from his position.”
Ban Lo’s bow deepened. “He lives only to serve Your Majesty.”
“Perhaps. But he is serving no one at the moment.” He waited while Ban Lo stood up from his bow, then he took a step closer to him and looked hard into his dark eyes. “He is my Minister of Defense. Not Ban Lo Sonen.”
Ban Lo bowed his head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Turning to Bo Han again, the king reached out suddenly and grasped his hands. The Lăsoth Housemaster did not seem surprised. He allowed the king to stroke and pat his hands as a doting father would.
Éna Lí did not see the king slip a bit of folded paper into Bo Han’s sleeve. No one saw, not even Ŏvor, who was watching his Housemaster’s hands in an effort to avoid looking at the frightening face of Éna Lí.
“You are a good and wise Housemaster,” the king said with open affection. “You will see to the matters in the north.”
“I will, Your Majesty.”
The king nodded and released his hands. “You may go,” he said abruptly. Then he also gestured to Kío En Tolen. “And you too. I’m not even sure why you’re here.” He turned to Éna Lí. “Why is he here?”
She bowed. “My lord the prime minister has recently returned from a long illness. He is greeting Your Majesty.”
“He is greeting me, indeed. My entire court has been stricken by long illnesses.” He turned back to Kío En Tolen. “See to your household,” he said sharply. “Your fair daughter is quite frail. It would be a great loss if she were to fall ill as well. Go, I have no need of you here.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The prime minister bowed and, together with the Lăsoths, took his leave.
Once they were gone, the king returned his attention to Ban Lo Sonen. “Your father did you a great favor by having you placed in the Ministry of Defense,” he said to him.
Ban Lo only bowed, uncertain what to say.
With his back to him, the king went on, “What does your father think of the Minister’s decision? No doubt he offers you advice.”
Ban Lo lifted his head. “Which decision, Your Majesty?”
“The decision made many years ago, sometime after you began to work for him.” Turning, he said, “The decision to place a royal officer in each of my barracks.”
Éna Lí flinched in surprise. Though the question startled her, it was clear what the king was doing. He was trying to determine how closely the son served the father. Did Ban Lo Sonen obey the Minister of Defense? Or did he obey his father?
Or, Éna Lí wondered, did he serve himself? She found that she was just as interested in the outcome of this conversation as the king was.
Ban Lo bowed his head again and answered, “Minister Vona Lí’s decision regarding the use of the royal officer ensures efficiency and reinforces Your Majesty’s—”
“Are these Heno Vona Lí’s words? Or yours?” The king took a step closer. “Or are they your father’s?”
“My father, like all those who serve in Your Majesty’s court, supports every decision Your Majesty makes.”
Éna Lí smiled to herself. The boy was certainly quick on his feet. No doubt nine years in the king’s court had taught him how to speak carefully and at length, but without saying anything at all.
But then Ban Lo’s eyes snapped up. He looked directly into the king’s face and, with a small smile on his lips, he said, “My father thought it a wise decision.”
The king took a step back. He studied Ban Lo’s face, unhindered by the cool directness of the young Sonen’s gaze. Éna Lí studied him as well. Ban Lo seemed, perhaps, to be doing little more than to express his awareness of the relationship between his father and the king. He had removed a layer of appropriate deference from his behavior, just enough to suggest that he did not entirely respect the authority of the monarch who stood before him. But not enough to reveal whose authority he did respect. Éna Lí wondered what outcome the king had hoped for. Had he hoped to use the son of Balo? Had he hoped for support from a young, capable courtier? To what end?
The king, clasping his hands behind his back, said. “I understand your mother is unwell.”
Ban Lo said nothing.
“I hope that she soon recovers.”
Ban Lo bowed slightly. And after a long, tense pause, the king dismissed him.
Éna Lí followed the young Sonen to the door of the king’s antechamber, dismissing the servants who were escorting him.
“My lord Sonen,” she said.
Turning to face her, he bowed.
“My lord Sonen,” she repeated. “The king has asked me to escort you.” Then she took a step closer and reached for Ban Lo’s hand. “Your father is much on His Majesty’s mind.”
“Yes,” Ban Lo Sonen replied. “I’m sure he is.” His hand was tense in hers, closed in a tight fist. Gently she worked his fingers open and placed her cool palm against his warm skin.
“Because of your mother,” she added.
“Of course.”
“I am sure that Minister Vona Lí relies upon you heavily. And now your father, too. The king sees this. He understands.”
“Understands?”
“The position you hold, my lord, it is more significant that many realize. But His Majesty sees.”
Ban Lo Sonen tried to pull his hand away from hers but she closed it inside hers and squeezed gently. As she did so, he looked into her shining green eyes with an expression of open disdain. It pleased her to see it.
With his free hand, Ban Lo gripped Éna Lí’a wrist and twisted until she was forced to release him. She tried not to smile while he did this; his behavior was exactly what she had hoped it would be.
“Like the rest of His Majesty’s court,” he said, “I serve where I am ordered and do as I am told.” Then, still holding her wrist in his tightening grip, he leaned closer to her and whispered, “Unlike my father, I will not demean myself by serving the king’s whores.”
When he left her at the door of the king’s Hall, she watched him descend the stone steps while she massaged her wrist. One of her maids appeared at her side.
“My lady?” she whispered, watching her hands with wide-eyed concern.
“It’s nothing,” Éna Lí replied with a smile. “It’s perfect. He’s perfect.”
“Who is, my lady?”
“Watch closely, my child, and soon you will see how I will destroy two Houses. And I won’t have lifted a finger.”
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I must apologize again for the delay. I’ve been quite sick for some time; the first few drafts of this chapter were written under the influence of a high fever and were… interesting.
Better and better. Complexities of the plot still above my pay grade but loving the way you are weaving in these backstories. Very strong chapter!
I despise Ena Li. But it’s always the same thing: as soon as I get into the mind of a character, discover a little bit of backstory, get teased about a whole dimension I can only guess at, I become invested. And I know I’ll be a little heartbroken if and when she dies that brutal, painful death I long to read about. Long live the king