To help with the large cast of characters,
I have put together a spoiler-free Dramatis Personae
After Sivo Hin left Ona Lín’s residence, the four of them came down from where they were hiding. They went to her, uncertain what to say, uncertain, even, what to think.
She saw how Min La and So Ga were staring at her father’s gift.
“By your faces, I can see that you know the origins of this,” she said, holding the gíth pelican in the palm of her hand.
Min La looked at So Ga, who gave a small nod. Then, with a slight bow, he explained, “It belonged to Ăna San Sengí. She had been traveling back to her home from the capital together with her husband and her young maid.”
Ona Lín stared at the shining gold inlay in the pelican’s finely carved wings. “And they are—”
“Dead,” Nŏl spoke this word in a hoarse whisper, his voice failing him. “We buried them two days ago on the side of the Prince Road, near the spot where they were killed.”
“The Prince Road,” she repeated softly, her voice trembling, and with the tip of her finger she touched the corners of her eyes.
Taking off the necklace, she approached her cousin. Min La wasn’t sure why, but Nŏl flinched when she did so and stepped back. But Ona Lín simply took his hand and placed the necklace in his palm, closing his fingers around it.
“I trust you will see to it that this finds its way back to her family.”
He stared at his closed hand and then at her. “If you give this to me, it may help me to destroy our uncle — and your father. If it is discovered that Sivo Hin himself killed the Sengí family, my father might order him to be stripped of his Housename and beheaded.”
“If that is the will of the Housemaster, so be it.”
The rooms Rin Holok had prepared for them were in one of the two stone structures of the estate. The larger of which — the one where, they were told, Von Ol had his residence and his Hall — was topped by two towers. The other was not as tall but had also a tower on its northernmost corner. Rin Holok remarked, as he led them inside, that one could see Osa Gate from the top of that tower.
After Min La had bathed and dressed, he went to the room Rin Holok had offered to So Ga and found him sitting there, also in new clothes and with his wet hair bound in a low knot, sipping steaming tea at a low table.
The prince had been wrapped from head to toe in blue. A blue inner golt of dyed linen, a blue woolen outer golt, a cloak of blue velvet wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Rin Holok had found the warmest clothes in the estate and offered them apologetically, knowing the excess of blue to be somewhat grim. And though So Ga was pale and still looked tired and weak, he was no longer shivering.
Before Min La could say anything, So Ga motioned to the other side of the room where Nŏl sat on the cushioned bench near the round porcelain stove. The firelight cast him in red and orange and caught the facets on the necklace of blue stones in his hand. Min La could see that Nŏl had not changed his clothes or bathed, but sat in his road-dirtied golt and coat, his muddied boots, and uncombed hair. He sat staring at the necklace in his hand.
“How long has he been there?” Min La asked in a whisper, sitting on a thick cushion next to the table.
So Ga poured him a little tea and answered, also whispering, “I think he’s been waiting for you.”
Presently, Rin Holok came with a kitchen servant to bring them their evening meal. As the dishes and trays were set out, he remarked to Nŏl that he knew he would rather not make their presence in the estate known just yet.
Nŏl did not hear him and so Min La thanked Rin Holok, who bowed with a look of concern on his face, and then took his leave. Min La perceived that Rin Holok was, now that Nŏl was here, occupying an uncomfortable space between Von Ol, who was the master of this estate and of all eastern Ŏklo, and Nŏl, who represented the authority of the Housemaster. As a So Hoth, he was also an outsider, at least until the wedding ceremony was complete. And even then he would never be entirely Ŏklo. As much as he would like to help Nŏl bear the burden he now had upon his shoulders, it was not in his power to do so.
So Ga and Min La tried to eat the steaming soup that seemed to be the central dish of their meal. It tasted of onions and sage and featured large amounts of pork. But the air in the room was heavy and severe, so despite the fact that they had all eaten very little today, none of them seemed to have much appetite. Nŏl hadn’t even noticed the arrival of the meal and Min La was not willing to interrupt the storm of thoughts that was no doubt swirling in his troubled mind.
Hino Son came in soon after, also wearing fresh clothes and carrying a light woolen cloak. He looked at Nŏl, the necklace still in one hand while in the other he now held a folded paper, the inked black seal shining in the lantern light.
“Has he eaten anything?” Hino Son asked them.
Min La shook his head.
Hino Son sighed and put aside the cloak he had been carrying. He went to Nŏl and spoke to him quietly. They heard him say that he needed to eat and that he ought to rest.
“I am sorry,” Nŏl replied, his voice terrible. “I don’t think I can.”
“Come have some soup, at least,” Hino Son urged, pulling Nŏl over to the table.
Min La prepared a small bowl of broth and set it before him. He thanked him with a nod and said, “I am sorry. If I had known—”
“If you had known what?” Min La asked sharply. “This is your House’s estate. But it is not yours. You are not responsible for your uncles’ crimes. I will not sit here and listen to you apologize for them.”
They stared at him. He almost regretted his harsh tone, but the sight of Nŏl’s distress was already more than Min La could tolerate. The most noble man in the entire Ŏklo House should not be forced to suffer for the actions of the least. The ideal end of this day, Min La thought, would be the execution of both Von Ol and Sivo Hin and the placing of Nŏl at the head of eastern Ŏklo. He wondered if that was the hardened Houseless beggar in him, or the wisdom of Nŭnon. Wisdom that had never been his. He wondered what his brother would do if he was here.
After Nŏl had taken several sips of the soup, he turned to Min La and So Ga and asked, “You know this necklace?” He motioned to it where it sparkled on the table in between several dishes of preserved vegetables and a large bowl of bread.
Min La nodded. “We were in Lin Jenin’s carriage when Íso Lin noticed it. Ăna San Sengí showed it to him, because he claimed to have been studying with a jewelry maker.”
“That bastard,” Hino Son breathed. Then he glanced up, and added, “I’m sorry.”
“He is and he should pay with his life,” Nŏl said. “But I need to speak to him first.” He glanced at Min La, as if afraid to meet his gaze. “If you would assist me in this, perhaps I can prove that Sivo Hin has been working with them.”
Min La said nothing. He pulled a piece of bread apart and gave half of it to So Ga.
“And if he can?” So Ga asked quietly. “If he can prove that your uncle was helping bandits, what will you do?”
Nŏl did not answer, but touched his golt where he had slipped the sealed, folded paper back into his pocket. He said, “When this is all done, I will go myself to the Sengí Housemaster and return the necklace. Until then I will have to keep it.” He glanced at them all. “Though it is terribly heavy.”
Min La again wished he knew of some way to help him. But the matter that was unfolding inside Vol Ol’s estate was quickly becoming too large. Large enough to pose a threat to So Ga. It saddened him to think that Nŏl would, in the end, be forced to carry this burden himself. But that was the fate of men like him.
Hino Son asked, “Who is this Sivo Hin? Your father’s brother?”
“He was married to my father’s sister,” Nŏl answered. Von Ol’s sister, too, I suppose. She died some years ago, Ona Lín was her only surviving child.”
“And he manages Ŏklo estates?”
Nŏl shook his head. “No, he works for the court.”
“I thought members of the Fourteen Ancient Houses were not permitted.”
“They can be clerks, which is a very low position so most don’t bother pursuing it.”
So Ga asked, eyes bright with curiosity, “Your uncle is a clerk, then? To which minister?”
“The Minister of Defense. He is a royal officer.”
When Nŏl saw that Min La did not seem to understand, he added, “Nine years ago they enacted a new policy placing a representative of the royal court in every royal barracks in Láokoth. This representative is a called a royal officer. He represents royal authority inside the barracks.”
Min La asked, “Is that not redundant?”
“It has been controversial,” Nŏl said with a nod.
Hino Son asked, “Which barracks is his?”
“Osa Gate.”
Min La almost dropped his spoon. Fortunately, Nŏl and Hino Son did not see the look of surprise that he and So Ga exchanged.
“He lives there?” Min La asked, trying not to sound overly interested.
“He is supposed to, but I don’t know. It seems like he does as he pleases.”
So Ga asked, “If a royal officer lacks prestige, why would Sivo Hin be interested in such a position?”
Nŏl smiled quietly and looked at him. “Indeed,” he said. “My uncle is nothing if not ambitious.”
After they had finished their meal, Rin Holok returned to tell Nŏl that Von Ol had learned of their arrival and that he and Hino Son ought to greet him. Nŏl refused, saying he would do so in the morning.
Rin Holok seemed to understand. “The longer you delay,” he reminded him carefully, “the more offended he will become.”
Nŏl nodded and gathered up the necklace, putting it in his pocket. “He is not the Housemaster,” he said standing. “And I have had a long, difficult journey and would like to sleep.”
As he moved to leave, Hino Son following to return to his own room, Rin Holok said to Min La, “I have arranged for another room for you, if you’d—”
But Hino Son patted his cousin’s shoulder and said, “No, no. Our Min San would sooner be parted from his left arm than from his brother.”
Min La bowed apologetically and said, “Thank you, this is sufficient.” After the revelations of this afternoon, he was not willing to leave So Ga alone. Even in a fortress such as this.
When they were alone and the dishes from the meal had been taken away, Min La went to the room’s narrow window. He peered through the darkness for the lighted peak of the mountain, Osa Gate.
So Ga stood next to him. “It’s there,” he said. “Just between those two shorter peaks.”
“Have you been there before?” Min La asked in a whisper.
But So Ga shook his head. “My father has. He used to travel frequently with his father to Osa Gate. That was a time when the court moved more than it does now. And when matters with Ŭthol Na were not as stable as they are now.”
Min La asked, “How much power does a royal officer have?”
“None. They represent the court. It’s a formality meant to emphasize the king’s ownership of his own armies.”
“A strange decision.”
“I think they are intended as a measure to prevent…” he paused and walked away from the window, and then said with his back turned, “to prevent another Nŭnon.”
Of course, Min La thought. But he said nothing.
“I know,” So Ga said, in a quiet, dark voice. He did not turn around. “I think many do.”
“Know what?”
“That Nŭnon was innocent. That your House was innocent.”
Min La sighed and sat on the bench next to the stove. “What does it matter?”
“It matters.” So Ga turned sharply. “It matters a great deal. If they were innocent—”
“Then your father annihilated an innocent House, one of the Fourteen Ancient Houses, no less. Even if he knew, he could never admit it. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. All of Nŭnon is dead.”
“You are alive.”
Min La smiled. “I am the least of Nŭnon. I do not matter.”
“How can you say that? That was your House and your family.”
“What can I do about it? If I somehow managed to convince the world that the king was wrong, then Sona House would be destroyed. You and your father and whatever remains of Sona would all be killed, I expect. Then there would likely be a war. The struggle for the throne might never be resolved and Láokoth would again be divided. And then Bá Hoth in the south and Ôdenra in the north would look upon us with shining eyes. Don’t you see? Thousands more would die in order for me to have my revenge. You among them.”
So Ga sat heavily on his cushion next to the low table.
Min La watched him out of the corner of his eye. It did not surprise him that So Ga had arrived at this realization. He was not stupid and he had ready access to more knowledge on the subject than anyone else in Láokoth. Yet it did surprise him to hear him admit it so openly. His words meant that he knew his father had been wrong, had wrongly condemned thousands of people. Yes he did not offer excuses or justifications. Nor did he hang his head in shame. He was, Min La observed, apart from the event, despite being more central to it than almost anyone else in Láokoth. He had both suffered the attack, and been related closely to the wrongful punishment of an innocent House for its execution. Perhaps the two states in his mind met and balanced each other. Suffering and guilt.
So Ga said thoughtfully, “Is that why your prince did not fight? Because he knew that proving his innocence would lead to war?”
Min La nodded. “That’s what my father said.” After a pause he added, “My brother-in-law said that that was likely the intention of the one who arranged the whole matter.”
“Your brother-in-law, you mean the raven?” So Ga asked.
“He said that whoever had designed the plot that brought about the condemnation of our House had known that the prince would choose annihilation over war. We were backed against a cliff and had no choice but to fall.”
So Ga nodded. Then he asked hesitantly, as if he was afraid of the answer, “Did they know who it was? The one who designed it all?”
Min La shook his head. “I remember hearing them say it was likely someone in the court. But they knew that it was, at the very least, someone in Sona Gen. There was no time to learn more.”
“Do you think it was right? To choose the destruction of your House over war?”
Min La said nothing. It was a question he had, for nine years, tried very hard not to think about too often. When he had been a child, when the fires of destruction had been tearing through the prince’s estate and laying waste to the Nŭnon lands all around, he had been angry that the prince had not fought the executioners. Even he had fought despite being only a small, powerless boy. Not that it had done him any good. With a bow he had taken down six or seven of the men who had been sent to execute his entire House. But even after that, he had still lost. Perhaps the prince had known that they were doomed to lose no matter what they did. But how could a Housemaster simply stand silently, and allow his House to be destroyed? And for a crime they had not committed?
Min La shook his head. “I don’t know.”
So Ga watched him carefully. Min La was surprised to find that he felt uneasy under the gaze of the young prince. As if So Ga was assessing his character by his answers. He found himself, once again, hoping not to disappoint him. With a sigh, he began to rub his fingers.
After a moment, So Ga asked, “What do you think he will do?”
He was referring to Nŏl. It was the same question Min La had asked himself after Ona Lín had given Ăna San Sengí’s pelican necklace to Nŏl. But Nŏl was hard to read and the burden he now found on his shoulders was one Min La did not envy.
“I don’t know,” he answered, a little relieved not to be talking about himself. “If he pursues Sivo Hin and his crimes, his options might not be as simple in this case.”
“Because he is a royal officer?”
“Condemnations are House matters in almost all cases, but if Nŏnol in the west condemns one of the king’s royal officers, the court will want to know why.”
“And that would force Ŏklo to reveal the villainy of Sivo Hin and Von Ol.”
“There is a chance the court will demand retribution beyond House justice. Ŏklo might be punished by the king. Even Nŏl and his father might find themselves victims of Von Ol’s greed and treachery.”
So Ga asked, “What would you do?”
Min La stared at him. So Ga met his gaze evenly.
He said nothing for some time, absently rubbing his fingers. At last he said, “You should sleep. We’ll have to leave tomorrow and you’ll need rest.”
So Ga looked disappointed, by he also looked exhausted. His pale face and colorless lips made the darkness of fatigue that rimmed his eyes seem even more stark.
“I’m not tired,” he said. And Min La almost laughed. But before he could say anything else, So Ga said, “You haven’t answered my question.”
Min La began again to rub his fingers. “What I would do doesn’t matter. This is not my House.”
“If it was your House?” So Ga asked. “If it had been your House?” When Min La again didn’t answer, So Ga instead asked, “Is there nothing we can do to help him?”
“We are leaving tomorrow if the weather holds. We cannot delay any longer.”
So Ga nodded. “Of course. But if there’s something we can do before we leave…”
Min La looked back at his fingers. He said, “You should get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
“Keep watch? Inside the estate?”
“As far as I’m concerned, Von Ol Ŏklo is at least as dangerous as the men who are hunting you.”
Von Ol Ŏklo sat at the great oak table that spanned the width of his hall. He wore purple and gold which tented out from his broad abdomen and made his shape upon the chair into a gleaming, silken pyramid. His hat was at the end of the table, its fine golden tassel sparkling in the light of several tall candles. Von Ol preferred the light of candles to lanterns; it was brighter and hotter. He didn’t like the way the closed lanterns hid the fire.
Von Ol Ŏklo sat alone at his great oak table. Before him had been set a large, but typical, feast: roasted ham coated in syrup and smelling faintly of pepper; great, glossy sweet rolls; a golden chicken, its skin crackling with butter and oil; a tray of candied fruits on a bed of sugared rose petals; one dish of tiny young potatoes that had been boiled and fried, their crispy skins coated with herbs; and a large bowl of preserved onions and okra that was thick with the smell of roasted garlic.
He had been, for some time, enjoying this feast in solitude. As much as it irritated him to have Nŏl Ŏklo — the youngest and weakest of his brother Nŏnol’s sons — spurn his invitation to sit with him, he was glad to be spared his company. He had not seen Nŏl in several years, since the boy had been a young child, but if he was anything at all like his self-righteous father, he would certainly spoil his appetite.
But now, just as he was beginning to settle into a rhythm with the dishes — assembling little portions in the appropriate order to fully enjoy the assortment of flavors — the door to his right opened and one of the servants in the corridor announced the arrival of Sivo Hin Ŏklo.
Sivo Hin, of all people. For a moment Von Ol wondered if he would have preferred the company of Nŏl.
His brother-in-law swept in, bringing with him a wave of cold causing the candles all around the room to sputter and start. He was wearing, as usual, that ridiculous soldier’s golt, like the uniform worn by the men at Osa Gate, as if he had any right to the golt of a soldier. Von Ol chuckled to himself as Sivo Hin approached the table. His long, thin face was broken by one of his condescending little smiles when he offered Von Ol a small bow.
“My lord Von Ol,” he said.
“Save your pretensions,” Von Ol said as he peeled chunks of meat off one of the chicken legs. Half-mocking, he gestured to the food and said, “Would you care to join me?”
“Are you sure there’s enough to spare?” Sivo Hin asked, a crooked grin upon his face. But he reached for the tray of candied fruit and selected a single slice of dried, sugared apple. Von Ol could have guessed. Since they were young men, Sivo Hin had had a taste for sweet, fleeting pleasures.
“I heard,” Sivo Hin said, sitting in a chair opposite his brother-in-law and putting his boots upon the table, “that you went to visit that Lăsoth snake in the capital.” He popped the apple in his mouth and then used the corner of his cloak to wipe the sugar from his fingers.
Von Ol answered, his mouth full of chicken, “It was Ŏna Nă Sat’s idea. She wanted to assess how difficult things have been for old Bo Han at the border.”
Sivo Hin sneered and reached for another sugar-coated apple. “Ŏna Nă Sat has a unique ability to misjudge most situations. It’s a miracle her House still stands.”
Von Ol shrugged. “Give it a year or two.” He used a fingernail to pick a bit of chicken skin from between his teeth. “Bo Han is weak and stupid. He always has been. But now he’s also pathetic. He actually believes the Lăsoth House still means anything even though his sister has been dead for almost a decade.”
Sivo Hin shook his head. “His time will come.”
Von Ol glanced at him. He had that look about him again, like a child who had a secret that made him feel superior. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. “Is that something he told you?”
For more than two years Von Ol’s brother-in-law had had absurd notions regarding his own importance brought about, Von Ol was certain, by the fact that Sivo Hin’s mysterious friend in the king’s court had made him his pet. It was that friend who had arranged for Sivo Hin to be placed in Osa Gate as the royal officer. Ever since that had happened, he had been standing several feet taller. The fool.
Sivo Hin’s mouth twisted into a smile which pulled the skin across his hollow cheeks like wet linen across a wooden frame. Looking at him made Von Ol feel hungry.
“You didn’t think he put me there because he has no plan?” Sivo Hin said.
“Where? Osa Gate?”
He took his feet off the table and twisted around to lean closer to Von Ol. “It’s all part of his plan.”
Von Ol made a mocking sound.
Sivo Hin went on, “Don’t you see? He arranged for me to have a position in Osa Gate out of respect for Ŏklo. He knows that we are stronger and more significant than Lăsoth or any other House. He needs us.”
“Or,” Von Ol said, folding a slice of ham around a few of the potatoes. “He’s using us. His House is nothing, it’s past saving. He has no power in court, in fact his son is more powerful than he is. He’s a sycophant, eager for the approval of the king. He’d do anything for that, even if that means using us and using you. You shouldn’t trust him.”
Saying that, he pushed the ham and potato bundle into his mouth.
Sivo Hin watched for a time, mesmerized, as he chewed. Then he rested his cheek on his palm and said, “We’ll see.”
Von Ol swallowed and shook his head. “If I wanted to I could reach out and crush that little insect — and his son and the rest of his entire House — like they were nothing.” As if to demonstrate, he held a thumb-sized potato between two fingers and smashed it dramatically.
Sivo Hin scoffed. “You? Your swords are spread so thin spying on the Koda House you barely even have enough left to guard your own front gate.”
“Unlike you? And your borrowed swords?”
Sivo Hin’s face presented suddenly an expression of realization, as if he’d just remembered something. “Speaking of which,” he said and motioned to his attendant, who crossed the room carrying a small wooden box. At Sivo Hin’s direction, he placed it upon the table, bowed, and left quietly.
“What’s this?” Von Ol asked, pushing a torn piece of ham into his mouth.
“A wedding gift, of course.” Sivo Hin’s smile bared his shining white teeth. Von Ol felt his stomach turn.
“For me?”
“From me. After all, my daughter is marrying in your estate. And you are my master.”
Von Ol scoffed, a fine spray of spittle coating the tray of potatoes and also the box. With the tip of one greasy finger, he lifted the box’s lid and saw the silver shining within. A flutter of excitement swirled through his belly. But he kept his face impassive.
Sivo Hin took his gloves out of his pocket and placed them upon the table. Leaning back, he again put his feet up. It was all Von Ol could do not to laugh at him. The ridiculous man loved nothing more than to ride about the Ŏklo lands like a child pretending he was a rough, battle-worn bandit from some old legend. The greatest hardship in Sivo Hin’s life was that he couldn’t boast publicly about his illegal exploits.
Von Ol said casually, “I see you’ve been playing in the forest again.”
“That?” Sivo Hin replied, motioning to the box. “No, that’s something I had my boys at Osa Gate put together for me.”
Von Ol felt a sudden surge of anger. As if Sivo Hin Ŏklo, a royal officer, little more than a clerk, could command the forces of Ko Gŏth Enlen, who was, after all, the king’s Iron Hand. Sivo Hin lied as easily as he stole. But Von Ol wasn’t sure if it was the lie that so angered him or the fact that it might be the truth.
“One of these days,” Von Ol said, “you will be caught. And not even the old man in the west will be able to save you.”
Sivo Hin grinned. “And you won’t, of course.”
“Why would I save you? I don’t even like you.”
They both laughed, the echo of the sound thick with mutual disgust.
Sivo Hin’s attendant, who had again emerged from the corridor outside the hall, approached his master and whispered something in his ear. His face changed as he listened to him; his dancing eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw.
Standing abruptly, he said, “I must go, there is something I need to take care of.”
Von Ol, more than a little glad to see him leave, asked hopefully, “Will you be returning to the mountain?”
“So eager to be rid of me? We will see. But not tonight, anyway.”
As the dark blue beginnings of dawn colored the black square of window in So Ga’s room, Min La was roused from half-sleep by a commotion in the hall outside the door.
He had been perched on the bench near the stove, which was still emitting a warm glow. But as the commotion grew and seemed to come nearer the door, he took the knife from his bag and crept over to listen, but the wood was thick and he could hear little. So Ga sat up in the bed and pushed open the wooden screen.
“What is it?” he asked in a whisper.
“Wait here,” Min La commanded and quietly opened the door.
Lantern light danced around the darkened corridor, colliding with the shapes of three men. By their voices Min La immediately recognized them as Nŏl, Hino Son, and his cousin Rin Holok.
Nŏl turned when he heard Min La, the lantern in his hand casting sudden brightness across his face. Min La winced and shielded his eyes.
“Min San? Good!” Nŏl said.
“What’s happening?” he asked. Behind him, he was aware that So Ga was standing at the open door.
“You must come with us quickly.” And he motioned to Rin Holok.
Min La turned to him.
“It is your prisoner,” Rin Holok said, his eyes wide.
“Íso Lin?”
“He is dead.”
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