To help with the large cast of characters,
I have put together a spoiler-free Dramatis Personae
Gin Ja Koda dismissed the servants who waited upon the Koda Hall as she entered it. They all bowed and left through the nearest doors, all of which were shut behind them, until only the Koda high family remained.
Shining amber-colored lanterns hung from the darkly stained beams that crossed the ceiling. White walls swam with gold; the air was thick with the smell of candle wax and resin. In the corner an incense burner emitted a thin thread of fragrant smoke. Tá Nom’s mother would not easily abandon her southern ways.
The Koda Housemaster sat upon an ornately carved chair of dark, shining oak. The seat and arms were covered in blue velvet, which shone like salted water in the lantern light. After she sat, Săn Lí and Nola Nan took their seats near to hers. Nola Nan’s velvet covered bench was a little behind Săn Lí’s, as she had married into the family and did not officially manage any of its affairs. Gin Ja, however, believed that the Housemaster’s wife ought to aid her husband in his duties, and wanted Nola Nan to be prepared when the time came.
Tá Nom did not sit, not yet. He unfastened his cloak and stripped off his gloves while his mother poured herself tea. He stood and he waited.
At last Gin Ja lifted her tea cup to her lips, blowing lightly on the steaming liquid. Then she motioned to the seat next to hers. And Tá Nom bowed before sitting.
While his mother listened, he explained all that had happened at the Tolo Dol camp. He described the two young men, their dress, their behavior. He repeated for the Koda Housemaster every word they had said. His mother didn’t speak; she sipped her tea and listened, her eyes partly closed.
When he related how one of the young men had seemed particularly protective of the other, she opened her eyes. Tá Nom paused, but she still said nothing, so he went on.
Having finished the accounting, he bowed his head and put his hands on his knees.
“That is everything?” Gin Ja asked.
“Yes,” he replied with a bow.
Tá Nom sometimes had difficulty deciding how to address his mother. When his father had been alive, Tá Nom had never once called him “father”, but always “my lord”. His mother had always seemed to him to be his father’s counterpart, and yet she had also been his mother. To call her anything less seemed to him a diminishment. Yet he was concerned about showing undue familiarity with the master of their House. She had never clarified what she expected of him, likely because she wanted him to make his own decision. Nevertheless, it still troubled him from time to time. Never more than when they were alone. Did he obey her and trust her because she was his mother? Or because she was his Housemaster? Both, surely. But did she command him as his mother, or as his Housemaster? Perhaps it didn’t matter.
Gin Ja put her empty tea cup on the table that sat between her seat and her son’s. Tá Nom lifted the clay pot and refilled it.
She said, “And they are now…”
“Gone. Into the woods west of the mountain road.”
She lay her wrists on the velvet arms of the chair. “Very well,” she said quietly.
Nola Nan’s velvet bench squeaked in the silence. Tá Nom glanced at her and saw her run her pale hands over her stomach. He felt, then, a tug in his focus. Like an iron hook was somewhere in his heart, pulling him away from matters that required his attention. Nola Nan had been greatly grieved by the death of their second baby. He worried every day that she might not survive a third. In a few weeks time, she would give birth and they would have to enter the four week confinement, sealed within their residence with the infant until the weeks elapsed— or Ávoth took the child, as he had the last two. The last baby, a girl, had survived twenty-six days. On the morning of the twenty-seventh, her tiny body had been cold and emptied of breath. And so Tá Nom had taken her in his arms and used the silver knife to cut the blue silk ribbon that sealed the door. As was the Koda custom, they buried her quietly in a small box stained blue, and planted an ash tree to mark the spot.
It was said that Ávoth was fond of the people of Láokoth and so took many of them for himself. But Koda had given too many.
Tá Nom had given too many.
Gin Ja turned from her son to her daughter.
“You have heard from your girl in the Ŏklo estate?”
Săn Lí bowed her head before answering. The translucent golden veil gleamed in the lantern light making it look like gold had been spun through her long brown hair. She said, “The two young men identified themselves as brothers traveling from Hin Dan.”
“Hin Dan?”
“Yes.”
“A strange choice,” Gin Ja murmured. “Perhaps it was meant to discourage attention.”
Săn Lí offered, “Perhaps one of them is from Hin Dan.”
Gin Ja looked at her. “Meaning?”
“If one of them is the prince, perhaps the other is one of his body doubles.” She turned to her brother. “You said they looked alike?”
Tá Nom nodded once. “They did.”
Săn Lí looked at her mother. “Perhaps one of the other little princes came from Hin Dan. As he knew it, he was confident using it as a concealment.”
But Gin Ja shook her head. “The other three little princes are dead.”
Săn Lí paled and even Tá Nom felt his breath quicken.
“It is possible that you are right, however,” Gin Ja went on. “This living prince might be from Hin Dan, and, as you said, is using what he knows to conceal himself.”
“But I thought he was the crown prince,” Tá Nom said.
“He is.” Gin Ja smiled at him. It was the smile that most reminded him of the days when she was only his mother. It indicated to him that he was being taught a lesson and needed to pay attention. And so he took a steadying breath and considered what she had said.
“I see,” he spoke at last. “Even if he isn’t, he is.”
Gin Ja nodded. “If the true crown prince really is dead, the king would never admit it. The ministers would never suggest it. Doing so would plunge this peninsula into war. No matter who that boy is, he is the crown prince. Whether he is or not no longer matters.”
Tá Nom did not think he agreed. But he said nothing.
“But would he not have the seal?” Săn Lí asked. “The one that marks him as the true prince?”
Gin Ja shook her head. “Only the king knows which of the four seals is the right one. Would he tell the court if it wasn’t?”
At this, Săn Lí frowned. “Would the king accept a crown prince who was not his son?”
“There are those who will do anything to preserve their power.”
Tá Nom bowed his head, brow furrowed. He wasn’t sure he liked this possibility. If it was true, that meant that the next king to sit upon the Láokoth throne could very well be an impostor. If the truth was ever revealed, war would come as surely as it would if all four princes had been killed. Was peace always balanced so delicately?
“You are troubled, my son,” Gin Ja said to him then, “to have let them go.”
“Given who he is,” he answered, “it seems dangerous to let him wander the wild. If he is killed—”
“If he is killed, there will be war, it is true. But there might be war even if he survives.” She smiled at her son. “I think this young prince is smarter than you give him credit for. Obviously, he is going to Osa Gate. With his father’s army and the support of Ko Gŏth Enlin he will be safe from danger and from manipulation.”
“If he makes it to Osa Gate.”
She nodded once.
“Should we not help him, then?”
“No,” she answered sharply. Tá Nom bowed his head. “No, his fate must be outside Koda control. He was little more than a prisoner in your hands who escaped. Even that is a dangerous point of connection. If the king knows we possessed him, he might assume we had snatched him from the Palace itself. Other Houses will see the prince as the key to controlling the king, and even taking control from the king. They would fight us for him. Whether it is the king himself or the other Houses, blood would be shed. No, we cannot help him further without plunging our own hands into the mire of Palace matters. And that is the surest way to see our House destroyed.”
She put her finger to her lips and stared thoughtfully at the cooling tea in her cup.
“But it might be wise to prepare.”
“Prepare?” Tá Nom asked.
“Whatever has happened in the Palace to send its precious occupant alone into the wild, it does not begin or end with that little prince. Something else is happening, very quietly. And if we are not prepared for it, we will probably be destroyed by it.”
“What is happening?” Săn Lí asked, her eyes wide and shining. “For what must we prepare?”
“War, I expect,” Gin Ja answered simply. “The moment the fires lighted the Four Little Palaces, war was inevitable, I think.” She looked at her daughter. “You must begin to gather what you can. Information will be our armor. We must send word — carefully — to Tola in in the south. If we must we will abandon this estate and return there.”
“Abandon?” Tá Nom asked. “Will it come to that?”
“I hope it won’t, my son.” She stood. The motion was so sudden that Tá Nom flinched. Then he and Săn Lí quickly followed, Săn Lí turning to help Nola Nan to her feet.
Gin Ja stood before Tá Nom and took his hand in hers. “Your heart is almost as large as your mind, Tá Nom. Because of this you will be a better Housemaster than this old woman.”
“Mother—”
“You are not wrong to want to protect him. You are not wrong to feel that we, our House, ought to risk ourselves to fulfill that duty. If war could be avoided by saving the prince ourselves, I would agree with you. But I fear it cannot.”
When she held his hand in both of hers, the lantern light glinted off the large silver ring she wore on her forefinger. It bore the pale pink gíth that his father had gifted her upon their marriage.
She said, “Take a few men and follow him from afar.”
Tá Nom stared at her, surprised and confused.
“But if you must choose between involving our House and letting him die, you know what you must do.”
Tá Nom bowed.
Letting go of him, Gin Ja said, tucking her hands into her sleeves, “We still have one friend in the capital. Perhaps it is time to call on him.”
The Capital, Lăsoth Estate
Tova Lăsoth received the message at the door. The hooded figure who delivered it bowed and left without a word, disappearing into the early morning throng on the other side of the Lăsoth estate’s walls.
Without pausing, Tova turned from the door and carried the message back into the house. He passed several servants along the way, as well as three members of the Lăsoth council who were making their way to their carriages after their morning meeting with the Housemaster.
He carried the message to the door of the Hall where he tapped his knuckles once against the carved wood. The door was opened immediately by a small maid dressed in white. The moment her eyes fell on Tova, she bowed and stepped back, opening the door for him.
Tova carried the message down the length of the Hall to Bo Han Lăsoth who stood by the window watching the pale winter sky.
Bowing, Tova held out the message to him with both hands. The Housemaster turned and took it from him. Tova stood upright and took two steps back.
The Hall was not otherwise empty. Though the rest of the council had gone, Sen Lan and Ŏvor remained, as did Inohin, who had only recently recovered from a lengthy illness. A maid was using tongs to refill a hand warmer with glowing bits of wood from Bo Han’s stove which hunched like a glossy black beast in the far corner. She brought the warmer to the old man and he took it gladly, thanking her and tucking it inside his cloak.
“You should go back,” Sen Lan said to him. “This morning chill will not do you good.”
He nodded at her with a smile and said, “I will go when I am dismissed.”
Of all Bo Han’s council, Inohin was the most loyal. The rest were good men, but they served the House first and foremost. Which was, they all knew, why Bo Han trusted them. Inohin, however, served Bo Han. He had known Bo Han’s father. He had — though he never spoke of it anymore — bounced both Bo Han and his sister on his knee when they were still too small to form words. Inohin served Bo Han, and Bo Han only allowed it out of respect for the man’s many years of loyal service to Lăsoth.
Sen Lan continued to pester Inohin to return to his residence — which was within the estate walls — and rest. Seeing that the aged adviser was growing weary of resisting her, Ŏvor came then and led his wife away.
Meanwhile, Bo Han read the message. Tova waited in case there was to be a reply. He waited much longer than he expected to. Twice while he read, Bo Han lifted his hand to his lips to conceal a silent cough. The others did not notice, but Tova did.
In time, the length of Bo Han’s silence at last attracted the attention of the others. Ŏvor approached, his wife with him.
“Is it news of him?” Sen Lan asked, because she knew Ŏvor wouldn’t.
Bo Han folded the paper and looked again at the sky. Then, turning to Tova, he dismissed him with a nod. The bodysword left, the maid again opening and closing the door for him, but he remained just outside, should his master need him.
“It is Ŏklo,” Bo Han said quietly. Then he lifted his hand and gestured and the maids and servants silently filed out of the Hall. Once they were gone, he went on, “There is rumor of disquiet in the Ŏklo estate. Von Ol has been removed from his position by Nŏl.”
“The Housemaster’s son?” Sen Lan asked, breathless.
Bo Han nodded.
“Is that not a good thing?”
“If he is like his father, it might be. But this was perhaps the worst time to take such an action.”
He left the window and made his way slowly to the stove near the opposite wall. Inohin watched him closely. He watched the way Bo Han pulled his green velvet cloak tighter around his shoulders and took each slow step with surprising care. Perhaps it was just fatigue; Bo Han had had frequent late night trips to the Palace, and, Inohin knew, elsewhere, though he never told the rest of them where.
Opening the stove, Bo Han tossed the folded paper inside and waited a moment to watch it burn. His face was briefly bathed in reds and oranges. His eyes shone and his pale skin glowed like a polished bone.
Then he closed the stove again.
“The prince passed through there,” he said at last, tucking his arms inside his cloak, his eyes still on the stove.
“Ŏklo lands?” Sen Lan asked. “Then he is still alive.”
“Against all odds,” Inohin murmured.
Bo Han glanced at him. “Quite. It is said one travels with him, a sword I had thought.”
Sen Lan took a step closer to the stove. “But now?”
Bo Han shook his head. He did not answer.
“He is going to Osa Gate, then,” Inohin said. “As you thought.”
“If he does,” Bo Han answered, “there is a very good chance he will not survive.”
Inohin convulsed with a coughing fit while Ŏvor stared in blank shock at the Housemaster. Sen Lan hurried to the old adviser, pouring him a little water.
“I thought Osa Gate would be a place of safety,” Ŏvor said. “Is that not the king’s army?”
Bo Han looked at him, his face cast in shadow. Then he gestured with his eyes to the message in the stove.
“Ŏklo,” Ŏvor said in a quiet voice. Then, “Sivo Hin.”
Bo Han’s face was broken then by the slightest of smiles. He nodded once.
The Lăsoth Housemaster had known years ago, when Sivo Hin Ŏklo had been given his position at Osa Gate that it was a political move. The Ŏklo House was greedy and scheming, Bo Han knew they had exchanged something for the prestige of that position. But he had never been able to learn what exactly.
Ever since he had left the king’s chamber after the fire, Bo Han had been working to learn the truth of what had transpired behind the walls of the Palace. But the Palace House was an unbreakable barrier. Bo Han had long suspected that the servant Éna Lí had manipulated and schemed her way into power in the Palace House. But ever since that night he had understood that she also had some power over the king. How much, Bo Han still did not know.
But as he looked closer, strange connections had begun to come into view. Éna Lí, after all, controlled access to the king. And besides himself, she seemed to only allow one other person into the king’s chambers: Balo Sonen. Not even the prime minister had been granted an audience, and yet this simple, unassuming clerk from a failing House had been permitted to visit the king’s chambers.
Several months ago, Bo Han’s men had followed a messenger from Balo Sonen’s estate. They had watched as he delivered his message into the hands of Sivo Hin Ŏklo himself. There was no known connection between the Ŏklo House and the Sonen House. But Balo Sonen was sending messages to Sivo Hin Ŏklo, and outside the official channels. Secret messages, under cover of darkness.
Bo Han and his council had discussed this at the time. They had endeavored to learn if there was some other connection between Sivo Hin and Balo. But all they could find was that Balo’s son Ban Lo, a clerk to the Minister of Defense, had been present when Sivo Hin had been given his appointment as royal officer at Osa Gate. The connection was not enough to prove that Balo Sonen had had Sivo Hin placed there himself. But Bo Han knew it to be true. He had, at the time, assumed that Balo was using Sivo Hin to leverage favor from the powerful Ŏklo House. But to this day the cunning Balo Sonen had received nothing from anyone in Ŏklo. Indeed, their connection was all but non-existent.
But now the prince was fleeing to Osa Gate. And in Osa Gate waited Sivo Hin. Sivo Hin, who had been placed in Osa Gate by Balo Sonen.
Bo Han took a deep breath and turned from the stove.
This connection had not answered any of Bo Han’s questions, the most important of which were two: What had happened in the Palace? And why?
He had begun to suspect that whatever it was, Éna Lí had been somehow behind it. But how it benefited her to destroy the king’s heir, Bo Han could not see.
But, he remembered, Éna Lí had allowed Balo to meet with the king. Perhaps there was a partnership there that Bo Han could not see.
With another sigh, Bo Han shook his head. “We do not have enough information,” he said, half to himself.
“But we know where the prince is,” Inohin said. “And we know where he’s going.”
Sen Lan asked, “Can we stop him before he reaches Osa Gate? If it’s dangerous for him there, perhaps if we took him into our—”
“Such things are beneath the dignity of our House,” Bo Han answered, distracted.
“I do not want to control him, cousin,” Sen Lan replied quietly. “I would never suggest—”
“But,” Bo Han continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “If he enters Osa Gate he will doubtless be taken prisoner and then he will be used.”
“How do you know?” Inohin asked.
“Because Balo Sonen was recently permitted to see the king,” Bo Han replied.
They stared at him blankly, all but Ŏvor, who watched the crackling stove, brow creased.
“Balo’s son Ban Lo does nothing without his father’s leave,” Bo Han explained. “Ban Lo placed Sivo Hin in Osa Gate.”
“No,” Inohin said, raising one trembling hand. “No, my lord. Ban Lo is a clerk. The Minister of Defense—”
“Is senile and every day lurches closer to his grave,” Sen Lan said with a nod. “My cousin is right. Someone guides his hand. We have all heard the rumors. That he relies heavily upon Ban Lo, that Ban Lo has made himself his favorite clerk. He even waits on him at his estate.”
Bo Han nodded. “It is reasonable to assume that Ban Lo’s influence — therefore Balo’s — placed Sivo Hin, the most undeserving of candidates, in Osa Gate.”
“For that matter,” Inohin said thoughtfully, “it could be said that the entire idea of the royal officer might have been Balo Sonen’s idea, as it came from the Minister of Defense.”
Bo Han nodded once. “And that means that Balo Sonen has a certain amount of control over the army at Osa Gate.”
“But what of the Iron Hand?” Sen Lan asked. “Ko Gŏth Enlin is incorruptible. There is no man in Láokoth as loyal as he is to the king.”
Bo Han shook his head. “Loyal, yes. But the nature of the royal officer is to confuse loyalty. Ko Gŏth Enlin will obey the king without question. The royal officer represents the king. What if the royal officer — Sivo Hin — convinced Ko Gŏth to take the prince into his care? What if Ko Gŏth is convinced that the king himself attempted to kill his own son? Where would his loyalty fall then?”
“But the king didn’t do that,” Sen Lan said, breathless.
“No, cousin,” Bo Han answered gently. “But the Palace did.”
“How do you know that?” she asked in a stricken whisper.
“I don’t, yet. I need to speak to Kío En.”
“The Prime Minister? Why?”
“Because he was not permitted to see the king.”
Ŏvor turned and looked at the Housemaster. It was clear to Bo Han that the young man had followed him well enough up to that point. But now he was confused.
“The Palace House controls the king,” Bo Han began, patiently. “And the Palace House will not allow Kío En to see him. But they will allow Balo Sonen.”
Inohin blinked several times. “You’re saying the king was not the one Balo Sonen was seeing, but the Palace Housemaster?”
“In a sense,” Bo Han replied.
“And so the Palace Housemaster also refused Kío En’s request for an audience?”
“Yes.”
“So Balo Sonen, presumably, is an ally of the Palace House—”
“Perhaps.”
“—while Kío En is an enemy.”
“That is so, yes.”
“But why does the Palace House want to control the king?” Ŏvor asked. “To what end?”
Bo Han said nothing. He tightened his cloak around his shoulders and stood very still watching the soft glow from the stove slip through the seal of the little black door. They watched him as his eyes narrowed until they were almost closed. Enough time passed that they thought he might not answer at all.
“There is, as we speak,” Bo Han said at last, “a game unfolding and all of Láokoth is the board.”
“A game?” Sen Lan asked. “Played by whom? Against whom?”
Bo Han turned from the stove and looked at her. Then he reached for her hand, his own long, thin fingers were cold when they grasped hers.
“I do not yet know. But the Palace House and Balo Sonen are either important pieces, or they are players.”
“And Lăsoth? What of us?”
Bo Han let go of her hand and put his arm back inside his cloak. “If we are not careful, we will also become just another piece.”
Ŏvor took a step closer. “And should we instead strive to be a player in this game?”
Bo Han shook his head. “Lăsoth does not play these games. Never have we done so. But if we aren’t careful, we will be trapped on the board, forced to serve one side or the other.”
“Who is the other side?” Sen Lan asked.
“I do not yet know.”
Ŏvor followed Bo Han as he walked to the chair where Inohin sat.
Bo Han went on, “Kío En is the brother-in-law of the Grand Steward. It is said that she has been imprisoned in her residence ever since the fire. Judging from Kío En’s behavior since he visited her, I am confident that he and the Grand Steward hold the final piece of this terrible game.”
“What piece?” Inohin asked, moving to stand.
Bo Han gave the old adviser his arm to help him out of his chair. He said, “‘Why?’ Kío En and the Grand Steward are the only ones who can answer that question.”
“‘Why?’” Sen Lan repeated, clasping her hands before her.
“Yes, cousin. Why were the Four Little Palaces attacked?”
After several long minutes of silence during which Bo Han stared at the mosaic designs along the far wall and they all stared at him, he finally spoke.
Turning to Sen Lan, he said, “It is time to send for your brother.”
“Sen Lí?” she asked. “But he is operating the border estate. Can he be spared?”
“This is more important. Write to him, carefully, the way you did when you were children.”
“In our code, you mean?”
He did not answer.
Sen Lan dropped her eyes, then said, with a note of childish embarrassment, “I didn’t know you knew about that.”
“Tell him to find the prince and watch him from afar. Never let him leave his sight.”
“That’s all?” she asked, uneasy.
Bo Han offered her a reassuring smile. “Any more and we risk entering the game.”
“And what of the Grand Steward?” Inohin asked. “And Kío En? How can we learn what they know without risk to ourselves?”
“Knowledge will be more valuable than ignorance, my old friend,” Bo Han answered. “Only the blind cannot defend themselves. If we don’t know the object of the game, we won’t be able to escape its players.”
“You will speak to Kío En?”
“I will,” Bo Han answered. “When the time is right.”
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I apologize for the delay! I was a little under the weather after New Years. It’s hard to write with a fever, it turns out.
Hilary, this is becoming a 3D chess game... and I have difficulty with checkers. But I'm hanging on as best I can :) This was a beautifully written and paced chapter. Kudos.
“Mosaic designs along the far wall…” love it. And the whole prince and pauper switching thing that’s potentially under way is super entertaining.