To help with the large cast of characters,
I have put together a spoiler-free Dramatis Personae
(as it has been a while since we were in the capital, Chapter Thirty-two might help clarify some details in this chapter)
The capital, Ŏna Soth
The afternoon had already slipped soundlessly into evening by the time Kío En Tolen was making his way to the narrow stone avenue that led to the Palace gates.
Six hours of anxious waiting and he was nearly there. He had no reason to be nervous, of course. There was no reason to think that anyone would suspect his true purpose here today.
For almost half the day he had stood upon the great stone stairs to the king’s Hall requesting an audience with King Mŭ So, who had not spoken to him in days. He had known that this request would be denied. He had known that this entire ordeal would be a blow to his reputation within the court. The other ministers would whisper behind his back. Some would speculate about the decline of his power.
But while he was standing in the bitter cold, buffeted by a chill winter wind, his attendant Nălo was busy elsewhere in the Palace.
Kío En had known that his presence — the presence of the king’s Oak Hand — would attract attention from everyone in the Palace. And indeed, standing in a slight bow upon the king’s staircase he had seen waves of curious onlookers come to see for themselves the humbling of the Prime Minister.
And so Nălo had the freedom to move throughout the other parts of the Palace grounds. Until, as the moon had begun to climb into the winter blue evening sky, he had appeared at Kío En’s elbow. With a whisper to confirm his success, he also presented the image of a loyal attendant urging his master to come away for the night.
Kío En had made a show of hesitating. And then, offering a deep bow to the king’s Hall and the king’s person, he turned and left with Nălo.
He sat now on the bench inside the carriage, his aching legs throbbing, his back a knot of pain. But he could not relax, not yet. His heart had been hammering in his chest all afternoon. He had skipped two meals to stand upon the king’s stair and was beginning to feel faint.
Clutching his cloak he began to sway slowly back and forth, humming a lullaby under his breath. It was an old habit from the years of his wife’s long illness. She had only been able to rest when he had held her in his arms and sang softly to her, rocking her gently to lull her to sleep. And then he would remain that way until morning, praying to Ethádéoth1 that she wouldn’t wake crying out in pain as she usually did.
The swaying calmed him, he knew. It also distracted him. Thinking of his wife sheltered his mind from the fear that was crowding his mind. He needed to remain calm. He was almost there.
Just as he was beginning to feel his mind settle, the carriage came to an abrupt stop.
Nălo pushed aside the curtain and said, “My lord, there is—”
“Who is this, then?” came a voice from out of sight. Kío En knew by the sound of armor that it was one of the Palace swords who guarded the exterior gate. He tensed and clutched his knees until his arms trembled.
“This is my lord Kío En Tolen,” Nălo answered, his voice stern, but even. “The Prime Minister.”
“At this hour?”
Nălo did not answer. Kío En heard footsteps as the guard approached.
“It is irregular, is it not?” he said. “We’ve not been told to expect the Prime Minister.” The curtain rustled as if disturbed by a hand as he said, “Perhaps I’ll just—”
“How dare you,” Nălo reprimanded, his voice louder. “This is the carriage of the king’s Oak Hand.”
“If you would just allow me to see for myself—”
“What gives you the right to request such a thing?”
“I was told that the Prime Minister would not be in the Palace today. It is my duty to check—”
The guard stopped talking, but not because Nălo had interrupted him. Kío En heard then the sound of another carriage behind his own. Shifting on his seat, he pushed the back shade open an inch or two and peered out to the narrow avenue.
Arriving just behind him was the open carriage which the king had provided for the use of his brother-in-law, Bo Han Lăsoth. The Lăsoth Housemaster sat upon the bench behind the driver together with another member of his House, the same Kío En had seen him with the last time they had encountered each other in the Palace. Ŏvor, he believed his name was, the husband of Bo Han’s cousin.
As his carriage came to a stop, Bo Han Lăsoth surveyed the situation before him. He saw Kío En’s attendant, Nălo, guarding access to his master while one of the Palace guards attempted to check the interior of the Oak Hand’s carriage. He saw that the Palace guard appeared to be behaving in a way that was bolder than was appropriate for the Palace House. Which was not entirely irregular these days, but Nălo seemed to be protecting more than just his master.
Sitting where he was, just behind the Prime Minister’s carriage, he saw when Kío En pushed open the shade. For the length of a breath the two exchanged a look, and Bo Han understood. Leaning over, he whispered something to the young man by his side.
Immediately, Ŏvor stood. “What is this?” he demanded.
The Palace guard hurried over. “My lord Bo Han Lăs—”
“My lord has just finished meeting with the king. It is quite late and he has important matters to attend to. Will you not allow anyone to leave the Palace? Who has given this order?”
“No, no, my lord, there is no order—”
“What then? Whoever this is in front, tell him to stop idling here and move along.”
The guard bowed and jogged back to open the gate. His complexion was red and his jaw set in a look of perturbed irritation. Kío En wondered if he was annoyed at being reprimanded by Ŏvor Lăsoth, or if he had some other reason to be upset. In either case, the display was a success and soon the Prime Minister’s carriage was again moving.
As he at last reached the road outside the Palace, he turned again and looked through the back window.
Bo Han Lăsoth had dismounted the open carriage together with Ŏvor, and was walking to his own, which was waiting for him on the road outside the Palace gate. Turning, he saw Kío En and offered a slight nod of his head. Kío En wondered how much he knew. Considering that it was Bo Han Lăsoth, there was a very good chance he knew everything.
In that case Bo Han had helped him even though he knew the danger of what he was doing. Did that mean the Lăsoth Housemaster could be an ally?
No, it was too early to consider such things.
Kío En rested his hands gently upon the cushioned bench. It frightened him to think in such terms as “allies” and “enemies”. It made him think that a war might be coming.
In Na greeted him at the door of their estate. But in his nervous condition, Kío En barely felt glad to see her. His anxiety would not be assuaged until they were inside the walls with all the doors closed and locked. Nălo had gone to check the outskirts of the estate while he closed the gates and assigned swords to watch it closely. Kío En was beginning to wonder if it would be too suspicious to suddenly increase his guards.
But then he shook his head. It didn’t matter. It only mattered that the estate was protected. Especially now.
In Na stood just inside the wide open door, which glowed like a framed slice of candlelight at the top of the porch stair. She wore the yellow she always favored, and was wrapped in a white wool cloak. Her black hair, bound in an intricate knot of braids, was covered by the cloak’s fur-lined hood. A little behind her stood her maid, also in a cloak, her hands clasped before her. Every day when Kío En returned from the Palace, In Na greeted him in this way. She was the firm barrier between the frigid, tense world of the king’s court, and the warmth inside his estate, warmth that was fueled by his fair daughter.
Kío En stood at the bottom of the porch stairs and looked up at her. She was confused that he was not coming up. In Na stepped through the little barrier, crossing the glowing threshold from the warm interior to the black porch.
“Father?” she asked, a frown upon her face. “What is—?”
Wait, child,” he said to her. “Wait here a moment.”
Nălo returned and offered Kío En a nod. Then they went back to the carriage. Besides the two of them, and In Na and her maid, the porch of the estate was otherwise free of life; all had been sent to various tasks by Nălo upon their arrival.
They did not need a lantern, there was light enough pouring from the open door where In Na stood waiting and watching.
Nălo opened the back of the carriage and deftly removed a panel from the underside. This exposed a latch at the back corner of the carriage body. Lifting it, he revealed a compartment just beneath the interior bench. Normally intended for hiding valuables, the space was now filled by the shivering limbs of a young man.
“You can come out, my boy,” Kío En whispered.
“I think my legs have fallen asleep,” came the muffled reply.
Kío En motioned to Nălo and then stood back. “Please forgive us,” he said to the carriage’s cramped occupant while Nălo roughly pulled him out of the tiny space by his legs. “We need to get you inside as quickly as possible.”
In Na watched, eyes wide with wonder, as a young man emerged from the impossibly small space and then leaned against her father. Again, she came out onto the porch, but hesitated before descending the stairs. When the young man’s legs gave out under him, she hurried to her father’s side. Her maid came to stand upon the porch, but seemed uncertain how to help in this strange situation.
“I told you to wait inside,” Kío En whispered sternly.
“Let me help you,” she replied. She could plainly see that whoever this young stranger was, her father had brought him here in secret, a secret he was even keeping from the rest of the household.
The young man’s arms were thin, pale, and covered in smears of dirt. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in days and his clothes were so worn and dirt-crusted that it was impossible to say what color they were supposed to be. She couldn’t see his face, as his long hair was tangled and unkempt. When she grasped his arm to support him, she was shocked by how cold he was. Without a moment’s hesitation, she untied her cloak and pulled it from her shoulders.
“My lady,” her maid said, arms outstretched.
“Never mind,” In Na replied as she wrapped the young man in the fine white wool.
As they made their way up the stairs, Kío En said to Nălo — who had finished reassembling the carriage, “Prepare a bath as you would for me. Find him some of my clothes.”
“Nothing of yours will fit him, father,” In Na said. “Look, he’s half your size. I will get him something of Mon Soma’s.”
Kío En glanced at her. He had not heard his daughter mention her dead husband by name since his funeral last year.
“He will also need food,” she went on. “I will prepare something myself.”
Kío En nodded, but said nothing. As they made their way inside he found himself glad to have the firm, domestic command of his daughter.
While they waited for the young man to bathe and dress himself, Kío En watched In Na prepare a simple meal. But first she poured her father a little hot coffee, as if she had perceived that he was unlikely to sleep anytime soon.
“I had wondered why you went unbidden to the Palace,” she murmured.
He didn’t answer. His mind was a storm of thoughts and worries and he needed to calm himself if he was to understand the right way to navigate his current situation.
Kío En’s search of the Palace grounds for Lŭ Lin’s “missing spoon” had been difficult, to say the least. He had told himself, when they had set about searching, that he was doing so for her and also to serve the king. This wasn’t enough to ease his anxiety, however. Matters were already tense in the king’s court. Smuggling someone out of the Palace was a risk he should not have taken.
But according to Lŭ Lin, it would help her and it would help the king. Kío En heaved a shaking sigh and gulped the last of his coffee. In Na glanced at him, one brow raised, then she poured him a little more.
It had been Nălo who had overheard the clue they had needed to find him, this missing spoon. A pair of Palace maids had been whispering to each other about a plate of chicken meant for the king that had disappeared after a careless servant girl had set it down on her way across the Palace grounds. The plate had not been found, so it was assumed that the child had absconded with the feast herself and then discarded the plate. Naturally, she had been punished. The maids had whispered that the child had not been seen for more than two days, a detail that would have troubled Kío En, had he had the time to consider it.
Nălo had gone to that part of the Palace and found it to be almost entirely abandoned. The servant girl had been taking a shortcut across the narrow Green Way that led to the Spring Courtyard, a place that was, by Éna Lí’s order, absolutely off-limits to any within the Palace. Under cover of darkness, Nălo had found a small opening in the wall around the nearby residence of the queen consort. Once inside, he had found a small nest of rags and old cloth surrounded by scraps of stolen food. A young man — Lŭ Lin’s missing spoon — had been hiding there as well, of course. Nălo had seen him, but had not let on that he had. Instead he had placed an orange on the floor near the nest, wrapped in a handkerchief embroidered with the oak branches of the Prime Minister, hoping it would be message enough.
Tonight, when Nălo had gone back again, the young man, it seemed, had decided to trust him and so had presented himself to him in a moment of bold desperation. Perhaps it was nothing more than Kío En’s connection to the Grand Steward that had led the young man to make that decision.
Nălo hadn’t given him any time to tell him his name or who he was. He packed him into the hidden compartment in the Prime Minister’s carriage before the patrols could circle back around. And, thus hidden, he was smuggled out of the Palace.
His very presence in his estate frightened Kío En, if only because it confirmed the bulk of his suspicions after speaking to his sister-in-law.
The Four Little Palaces had been attacked.
Three of the four little princes were dead.
And there was something very wrong inside the Palace. Kío En began to sweat and used a silk handkerchief to mop his brow.
“Are you alright, father?” In Na asked as she spooned a bit of pork stew into a bowl. “Would you like something to eat?”
“No, my child,” he replied. In truth, he was still too nervous to eat. It was likely he wouldn’t be able to keep anything in his stomach.
When she was done arranging the simple meal, he carried the tray of dishes for her into his study, where he had asked Nălo to bring the young man when he was dressed. In Na followed him, and for a moment he considered telling her to go to bed. But he didn’t like to keep things from her, and, in truth, she would be more responsible than him for keeping the young man hidden in their estate. It would be good for her to know. She was shrewd and careful, and, of course, the one person he trusted most in this world.
At last Nălo brought their young guest into Kío En’s enclosed study. Bowing, Nălo gestured to In Na’s maid. Then they both left to wait in the corridor outside the study.
Kío En had fed the little blue stove and so the room was quite warm, despite the pervading chill of the deepening night. The simple meal had been placed on the table near the desk where Kío En sat sipping his coffee.
In Na started when she saw the young man standing there in the shadows outside the glow of the lanterns and the roaring stove. Kío En saw it and felt a pang of sorrow. The young man was wearing a maroon golt of simple wool embroidered all over with tiny oak leaves, In Na’s handiwork. She had made the golt for her husband. Mon Soma had been a handsome young man and his clothes fitted the stranger perfectly. For a fraction of an instant, as the young man stood in the shadows with his should-length black hair loose, as Mon Soma had worn his, he almost looked like him.
Mon Soma’s death last year in a riding accident outside the city had been a heavy blow to In Na, who had, in her grief, miscarried. On that day, when Kío En had feared that he would lose both his daughter and his son-in-law, he wondered if he was being punished for his own sins. After all, In Na had only been able to marry Mon Soma because Kío En had spared her from a marriage into the Sonen House.
That conniving snake Balo Sonen had tried to arrange for In Na to marry his son, Ban Lo, a man with such a look of ice and venom in his eyes that Kío En would have sooner cut off his own arms and legs than let his daughter marry him.
Some time before, Balo, in the course of one of his bolder schemes, had used his position in Kío En’s service to arrange the destruction of the small Kin Lí House near the Ŭthol Na border. It had been suspected that Kin Lí had been guilty of smuggling, but Balo had wanted to use this knowledge not to bring them to justice, but rather to leverage the Kin Lí Housemaster for all his assets, including his estates, which Balo had coveted for some time.
But he hadn’t been sure how to arrange this in a way that would keep his hands clean. Kío En, meanwhile, had found out about this scheme quite by accident, and so he had made a plan of his own.
He had suggested to Balo Sonen to arrange for his son Ban Lo to marry the Kin Lí Housemaster’s daughter, Nă Nen2. In this way he could legitimately receive the Kin Lí assets without, legally speaking, doing anything untoward. Balo had seen through Kío En’s suggestion, of course, and had known that he was merely trying to spare his daughter from a marriage outside their House, and to Ban Lo, of all men. But, as Kío En had predicted, he had desired the Kin Lí assets more than he had a marriage connection to Kío En. Moreover, Kío En had suggested to Balo that if he didn’t accept his plan then he would inform the king of his scheming. More than anything, Balo always sought the approval of the king.
Kío En’s plan had worked. In Na had been spared a marriage into Balo’s House and with Balo’s son. And Ban Lo had gained a beautiful bride who brought with her the wealth of her father. The rest of the Kin Lí House had been ruined and impoverished. The last Kío En had heard, few of them remained. Nă Nen’s father had killed himself in shame shortly after the wedding. Whereupon the Kin Lí’s swords had been forced to pledge themselves to Balo or be made Houseless. This last detail was not known to many.
Not a day passed when Kío En didn’t think himself unworthy of his position because of what he had helped Balo to do. But what else could he have done? He would do anything to protect In Na.
And yet, despite all of that, she had still been forced to endure the greatest double grief a woman could know: the loss of both her husband and her unborn child.
Watching In Na’s fair face pale at the sight of the stranger wearing her dead husband’s golt filled Kío En with grief and shame.
The young man saw the way she was looking at his clothes and he bowed. “Thank you, my lady,” he said. “They are very fine.”
She collected herself and smiled at him warmly. Then, motioning to the dishes upon the table, she said, “Please, eat.”
He bowed and then sat upon the cushion they had prepared for him. With another bow, he reached for the spoon and began to eat the stew. His hands trembled so much he was barely able to hold his bowl.
“My boy,” Kío En said gently, after watching the young man eat for some time in silence. “Are you who I think you are?”
The man paused and then put down his spoon. He positioned himself so that he was facing Kío En directly and then placed his hand on his chest and bowed deeply. “I am Mŏ Rin Hŏnol3.”
It was as he had assumed. “Palace House?” Kío En said, rubbing his chin. “Then you are…?”
“I am— I was a servant in the Spring Courtyard. I served in the Four Little Palaces.”
In Na turned and looked upon her father with wide eyes. The laws of the king stated that any servant who fled the Spring Courtyard was to be executed. And yet here one was, sitting in her father’s study.
But she, of course, did not know what Kío En knew.
“Is it true, then?” Kío En asked him. “Was the Spring Courtyard attacked?”
In Na put her hand on her chest, but maintained her composure. Mŏ Rin took a bite of his stew in an effort to calm himself before answering. Kío En was surprised to see that his eyes were wet with tears.
“Yes,” he answered at last, through a mouthful of food.
“And the four little princes—?”
“Three are dead.”
Kío En took a steadying breath. The coffee he was drinking seemed to be worsening his tension, and this conversation, and the young servant in his study, were beginning to make him feel very afraid. “You know this?” he asked, breathlessly.
“I know very little of what happened that night. I know only what I saw when it was finished. And that was all four little palaces burning and the dead beyond number.”
“But the three princes—”
“I saw them with my own eyes. My own master and two others.”
Kío En’s heart was pounding. He absently began to sway a little on his chair. With his eyes closed, he asked, “How did you survive this terrible attack?”
“I was not in any of the four Little Palaces at the time that it happened.”
“Oh?” Kío En opened his eyes. “Why not?”
“Because.” He paused and ran his fist up and down his thigh. At last he looked up and said, “Because I was awaiting execution.”
This was familiar to him, he remembered hearing of it. Kío En thought for a moment. Then, “You are the servant who attempted to flee the Spring Courtyard?”
Mŏ Rin shook his head. “I was not trying to flee the Courtyard.” Then he paused and frowned. “Though I suppose it makes sense that they would have said that.”
Kío En shook his head. The sharpness of his nervous tension combined with his exhaustion was making it difficult to think. “I am confused,” he said. “Are you or are you not the servant who was caught that night?”
Mŏ Rin bowed and answered, “Yes, I am.”
“But you weren’t fleeing the Spring Courtyard?”
“No, my lord.”
“What were you doing, then?”
“I was…” he paused and swallowed, looking a shade paler. “I was trying to pass a message from my prince to the crown prince.”
“What message?” Kío En asked. Then he stood up from his desk so quickly that both In Na and Mŏ Rin flinched. “No, no,” he said. “No, don’t tell me, I don’t wish to know. It is dangerous enough to have you here. I do not wish to know.”
Mŏ Rin bowed deeply, his forehead almost touching the floor. “I know you have taken a great risk bringing me here. I can never repay you. I promise you that I will do nothing to put your estate in danger.”
“I certainly hope not,” Kío En replied coldly.
“Father,” In Na murmured.
But Kío En said to her, pointing at the young man, “He’s right. We have taken an immense risk bringing him here. The entire Spring Courtyard was—”
He stopped then and looked at Mŏ Rin. A thought had suddenly occurred to him. “This message you were supposed to deliver, did anyone else know of it?”
Mŏ Rin thought for a moment. “Perhaps,” he said. But Kío En silenced him with a wave of his hand just as he was about to elaborate.
He began to pace back and forth in front of the stove. In Na and Mŏ Rin watched him, waiting.
It was possible that his nerves and the uncoiling tension of the entire terrible day were coloring his tired mind, but if he was right, the attack on the Spring Courtyard had been a great deal more complicated than he had originally assumed. In that moment he suddenly wondered if Lŭ Lin knew this as well. Was it possible that the assassination of the four little princes had not been an assassination at all?
He paused and looked at the young servant eating bread at the table in his study. What if this young man…?
But no, that was absurd. Who would risk attacking the Spring Courtyard just for one little servant? That was impossible.
“This is no good,” he said at last. “I am too tired to think. For now, you will stay here. You will do exactly as she says,” he pointed to In Na, “and you will speak to no one and be seen by no one. You do not exist, do you understand?”
Mŏ Rin nodded and then bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Very good. Now finish your food and sleep. We will talk about what to do with you in the morning.”
The king wrapped his cloak tighter around his shoulders. When he breathed upon his cupped hands, his breath came in a thick cloud of white fog. The Inner Room of the king’s residence was the coldest place in the Palace. Unlike other Inner Rooms in more ordinary homes, this was also a mausoleum.
The vast, underground place — which rested just beneath the king’s residence — was filled with tombs carved from white stone. Simple lanterns flickered from where they were hung near the ceiling, casting amber light over dark stone walls and a dark stone floor.
Though the tombs were simple and unadorned, each was marked with a small figure on a finely wrought stone pedestal. These figures, carved from wood, represented the occupants of their respective tombs. Unpainted, according to the tolibin way, they were nevertheless exquisitely made.
The king walked the narrow aisle between the two facing rows of tombs and wooden figures. Each pedestal bore a placard with the name and title of the deceased, but King Mŭ So had walked through his Inner Room so many times in the last years that he no longer needed to be reminded who rested in each stone box.
After paying wordless respects to his Sona ancestors, he went to the far end of the row and found the three newest tombs: his wife, his daughter, and his youngest son. It was only here that he could be with his family. Especially with his one surviving son locked away in the Spring Courtyard.
Of course, So Ga was not in the Spring Courtyard, not anymore. He was somewhere in the world, running for his life, hunted, afraid.
Mŭ So touched the cheek of his wife’s wooden figure.
“I have failed you,” he murmured. Then, turning to his daughter and son, he added, “You must watch over your brother, for he is alone in the world and likely to join you soon.”
These words surprised him and filled him with pain. Bending over his wife’s tomb, he struggled to hold back his tears.
Even if So Ga somehow managed to survive, he would return to a Palace that was as hostile and dangerous as the world beyond these walls. Perhaps even more so. Would it be better if he remained lost?
Would it be better if he did join his brother and sister soon? This thought filled the king with shame, and he placed his head on his wife’s tomb while silently begging her forgiveness.
“Here you are.”
The voice broke against him like a wave of freezing ocean water. He did not turn as Éna Lí came to invade the peace of the Inner Room.
With his back to her, he said, “Get out.”
She laughed. “Did your meeting with your brother-in-law not cheer you? Did he have no news for you this time about the prince? I am sure you must be most concerned.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. Her creamy face glowed in the lantern light and her smile bared perfect white teeth. She sickened him.
“You will be pleased to know,” she said, “that pathetic little creature Kío En finally left. He put on quite an embarrassing show. For a moment I thought he might actually collapse there upon the stairs.”
“If you keep refusing him, the rest of the ministers will begin to wonder why.”
“They know why. You are angry with Lŭ Lin, so why would you want to see her brother-in-law?”
“That will not be enough for much longer.”
She smiled sweetly. “That isn’t something you need to worry about.”
He couldn’t look at her any longer. The perfect, porcelain curves of her face filled him with a hatred so intense it pulled the life from him.
“Where have you put the bodies of the other three princes?” he asked her, turning back to his wife’s tomb.
“They have been disposed of.”
He struggled to conceal his shock. “You did not bury them? You did not even give them that?”
“Have you forgotten? Nothing happened to the Spring Courtyard. So why would there be funerals? I cannot bury princes who aren’t dead.” She moved closer to him, the silk of her black golt swishing in the cold-thickened silence. “You wanted to check them, didn’t you? Make sure your real son wasn’t among them. You must know it doesn’t matter. Whoever he is, if he isn’t dead already, he will be soon. You will see.”
He turned to her and opened his mouth. He wanted to ask her why. Why had she had the little princes killed and the Spring Courtyard burned? Why would she remove the king’s only remaining heir? Without the crown prince, the king’s power was greatly diminished. If he was overthrown, she would lose her control inside the Palace. She must know that.
In the end, he decided not to say anything. She would never give him an answer, anyway. And he still wasn’t entirely sure she had been the one to attack the princes. For years she had done everything she could to keep him isolated and alone. Information was difficult to obtain and she had a way of cutting off his access to anyone who might help him. She owned him. He knew this. He had known it for years. But why? Had she done all this just to take control of the Palace House?
Éna Lí reached out a hand to touch the wooden figure of the Queen Consort.
“Don’t!” Mŭ So snapped. He was surprised when she flinched. But then she laughed.
“You surprised me.” And she flicked the back of her fingernail across the queen’s wooden face. He felt rage rise up in him again, but just as it did, his chest heaved and he leaned against his wife’s tomb, exhausted. She watched him, an amused smile on her beautiful face.
Another one of her lifeless little maids appeared at the mouth of the Inner Room. She carried a tray holding a single clay cup.
“Ah,” Éna Lí said. “Your medicine, Your Majesty.”
He watched her as she took the tray from the girl and brought it to him. Though she held it out to him, he did not move.
“Now, now,” she said, her voice a sweet, honey rhythm that slipped into him and set his teeth on edge. “You cannot refuse your medicine like a child.”
Medicine.
How many years had she been weakening him with her concoction? If he stopped taking it today would he even recover? Surely the poison had already done its damage. And anyway, the longer he appeased her, the longer he would be able to help his son.
He snatched the cup off the tray and drank its bitter contents in two gulps. Then he tossed the cup back at her. Though she tried to catch it, it clattered onto the stone floor where it shattered. For only an instant, she looked annoyed. He felt a childish sense of satisfaction at that.
Bending, she picked up the larger pieces of the broken cup and placed them upon the tray. Then she carried it back to the girl, who received it with a trembling bow and quickly fled. As she did so, Éna Lí’s aged pet, the wretched servant Lonol appeared. He bowed to her and whispered something the king could not hear. Then he bowed again and left.
Éna Lí turned. “Your Majesty,” she said to him. “You have a visitor.”
“It is late. I wish to sleep.”
“Nonsense,” she replied. “You will want to see this visitor, I think.”
“Who is it?”
“It is Balo Sonen.”
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So why is the pale red-head the evil lady..?? 🤗
No Kío En you actually want to know!! Let him speak😭😭😭😭