Chapter Thirty-Four

Unwelcome in the House of Ávoth

The air in the woods was utterly still. Nŏl and Hino Son came to stand beside Min La who was looking upon the dead with a stone face. Though his hand that gripped the knife trembled, only So Ga saw.

He was crouching at the feet of Ăna San and, glancing back, saw Min La’s hand.

He said, “She was stabbed twice.” And his voice surprised him when he heard it. Such a harsh cacophony in the stillness. It seemed to shatter the quiet like glass. He felt he had done something wrong by speaking. But also that something needed to be said, as well as done. This thought was central in his mind, he couldn’t put it aside. Something needed to be done. But what? He had to think, but then his eyes found again the dead family and his mind went blank. He felt helpless. He felt responsible. He felt angry.

His words had seemed to break Min La from his frozen state. Putting the knife away, he came forward and crouched next to So Ga to examine the bodies.

The three figures had been robbed of everything, even their cloaks and their shoes. The pale feet of Ăna San and her little maid were as white as the snow that mounded on top of them. Vono’s feet were stained with blood and mud. So Ga realized that the man had likely fought even after his shoes had been taken. He lay with his arms around his wife, as if to protect her from the cold. So Ga wondered if they had still been alive when they had fallen here, run through and then left to bleed to death in each other’s fading warmth. Ăna San was holding the hand of her little maid, the child’s other hand was clutching the spot on her chest where the sword had pierced her. So Ga remembered suddenly the sight of his sister, Simna, lying dead with her body blocking the tiny space where So Ga hid.

The blood was still wet. Min La’s hand came away red when he touched Vono’s golt. He tried to clean it with the snow.

In a whisper So Ga asked, “Was it them? Is this because of—”

“No.”

“How can you tell?”

“This is cruel. Our old friends are ruthless and they are skilled. But they are not cruel.”

“What do you mean?”

Min La motioned to the second stab wound in Ăna San’s stomach. “She probably told them she was pregnant in an effort to stay their hand.”

“She was…” but the words caught in his throat. He looked again at the dark stain of blood on the fair woman’s lavender-colored golt. The feeling of anger became more and more prominent.

Nŏl and Hino Son had left the little clearing to search this part of the forest, both with their swords ready. Nŏl returned then and announced in a quiet voice.

“I think these are the only passengers.”

Min La said, without standing, “You didn’t find Íso Lin Bin Koth?”

So Ga had almost forgotten about Íso Lin — or the fake Íso Lin, with his dyed hair and his secrets — it was indeed strange that he was not also here among the dead. Min La, however, did not seem surprised at his absence.

Nŏl answered, “No. Perhaps he left the caravan.” After a pause, he added, “As you did.”

At that, Min La stood and faced him. It took So Ga a moment to understand, as the shock was still echoing through him in quiet, slow waves. Looking at Nŏl, So Ga doubted that he actually suspected Min La of anything. He assumed that Nŏl, like himself, was struggling with the horror of their discovery. Words were tumbling from him like apples from a dropped sack.

Nŏl put up a hand. “I am not saying what you think, my friend.” He even bowed slightly, as if to apologize. “We both know that the man who called himself Íso Lin was not who he said he was. Perhaps he left the caravan because he—”

“And what of you?” Min La asked, his voice suddenly hard and edged.

For a moment, Nŏl looked genuinely confused. “Me?”

“Were you not following the caravan? Were you not searching for something? Or someone?”

He shook his head. “We are traveling to my cousin’s—”

“Yes, to your cousin’s wedding. Just the two of you. No swords, no servants.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

“Are these not your woods? Is that not your road where the carriage burns?”

“You cannot be accusing me.”

“Why does it seem like you expected something like this?”

At that, Nŏl looked stricken. “If I had expected this, I would have done everything in my power to prevent it.”

“Enough!” cried So Ga, unable to endure the rising, echoing violence of their voices another second. They were both angry, as angry as he was. But their anger was directed at the wrong things, at each other. He needed to focus them. And anyway, they couldn’t afford for Nŏl and Hino Son to begin suspecting that they, too, were lying about who they were. Even more than that, they couldn’t afford to make them their enemies.

“Enough,” he repeated. “Whatever it is you need to discuss, do it after we have buried them.”

“So Nan—” Nŏl began.

“We will bury them,” So Ga repeated, his voice echoing against the sky. They both looked at him. Nŏl dropped his eyes quickly, but Min La stared at him unblinking. His face was fixed in an expression of sharp anger. But he took a deep breath and nodded once.

“On one condition.”

“What?”

“You will wait in the carriage.”

“But I—”

“You will wait in the carriage.”

So Ga considered resisting, but the cold had already tightened his chest, and he felt a faint ache with every labored breath. He nodded. “Very well.”

At that moment, Hino Son came running, breathless, back into the clearing where they all stood. He leaned against a tree and said, “You must come quickly.”

“What is it?” Nŏl asked.

“I found one alive.”

Quickly, the three of them followed him. They wove through slender trees — birches, mostly, their white bark made brighter in the falling snow — and to another clearing near a stream that trickled musically through a slice in the forest floor.

There, propped against a tree, bleeding from a deep gash in his stomach and another in his leg, was Lin Jenin.

“You?” the merchant said in wide-eyed shock, when Min La appeared before him. “No, not you, I had spared you.”

So Ga watched as Min La’s face changed. He stood at Lin Jenin’s feet and regarded him in silence for some minutes. As he did so, his face shifted from surprise and anger, to something very different. A deep, empty sadness came over him. For a moment, So Ga thought he would weep.

But then his eyes flashed and he lifted his hand, the knife drawn and ready. But So Ga gripped his trembling arm to stop him.

“What is it?” he asked him. But Min La did not answer.

Nŏl crouched before Lin Jenin and examined his wounds, which were grave. As he began to tend to the gash on his thigh, Min La said, his voice cold and terrible, “No, don’t. Leave him.”

So Ga continued to hold Min La’s arm. He seemed ready to finish the merchant himself.

“Let him die. It’s what he deserves.”

Lin Jenin shook his head, a sorrowful look on his face. “Clever bastard. All of you were too smart for your own good. It’s what got you killed.”

Nŏl stood and, together with Hino Son, gave the merchant a look of confusion. His words seemed to be the product of some delusion brought on by blood loss, but So Ga understood that he was referring to Min La’s House, Nŭnon, and found himself feeling nervous that Lin Jenin would accidentally give away Min La’s secret.

Nŏl said to Min La, “Do you mean—?”

Min La took a steadying breath and pointed with his free hand. “This is his doing,” he said. “He arranged it.”

He yanked his arm free from So Ga’s grip and put the knife away. So Ga was surprised by the revelation, but it did not shock him. From the beginning he had been inclined to dislike Lin Jenin. But a terrible sensation washed over him when he turned to look at him now, bleeding in the snow and mud: a hard, sharpening hatred, but one that was larger than himself. As if he had, in that moment, absorbed the anger and misery of the three who had died, and through him they were demanding justice. So Ga knew that if he had been able to do so he likely would have killed Lin Jenin himself there and then. His whole body trembled as he struggled to remain calm.

When the merchant went on, his face and voice became suddenly pitiful, “Don’t you see, though?” he said to Min La. “I spared you. You have already suffered enough. I wished to spare you.” He coughed, but it broke off in a grimace of pain. “But I didn’t know. I didn’t know they would kill.”

“You didn’t know?” Hino Son cried. “Three lives, what you have done has cost three lives.”

“Four,” Min La corrected, his eyes dark.

Hino Son looked at him, confused.

“Ăna San Sengí was with child.”

For a moment it seemed like Hino Son was going to be sick. He put his face in the crook of his arm and doubled over.

“It was not me,” Lin Jenin gasped. “The head of my caravan. Not me.”

Nŏl turned to Min La. “I’m afraid I still don’t completely understand.”

“They must have some kind of deal with whatever bandits roam these woods. They offer up one carriage and the rest are allowed to go free.” He looked at Lin Jenin. “Isn’t that right?”

When the merchant nodded, So Ga was struck by how pathetic he seemed. Like a child eagerly confessing his misdeeds in the hope of leniency.

“And that little bastard with his fake name, it was his job to find the carriage with the most money.”

Lin Jenin nodded again.

Nŏl was pale, his eyes wide. Stillness again came over the woods, the snow was like cotton in the air around them, blotting out sound in a way that seemed almost painful. So Ga’s ears rang and his chest felt hot and tight. Solemnly, he began to rub it. But nothing seemed able to dull the edge of pain that had settled within his entire person.

It was Hino Son who broke them from their frozen state. He lunged forward, sword drawn, blade aimed at Lin Jenin’s throat. Nŏl caught him and held him back. His fine, young face was twisted in terrible rage, teeth clenched, eyes wide. Nŏl said something So Ga couldn’t hear and it seemed to calm him enough for him to remember himself. He leaned against a nearby tree and sheathed his sword, breathing heavily. White puffs of breath shrouded his face.

Lin Jenin had watched all this with a look of sorrowful passivity. It seemed to So Ga that he was resigned to die, even if it was by Hino Son’s enraged sword. There was powerful guilt in him. And like all guilty men, he sought any means he could find to escape the weight of his guilt. Even, perhaps, death.

He said, “But they weren’t supposed to kill anyone. I wouldn’t have— they weren’t supposed to kill. They’ve never done that before.”

“Before?” Nŏl cried. “How many times have you done this?”

“As I understand it, these bandits have been working in this forest some three years or so.”

Hino Son looked at Nŏl. He whispered in a shaking voice, “It is true, then?”

Nŏl shook his head. “We don’t know yet.” Then he turned to Min La. “We need to take him to my uncle’s estate. We need to question him, we have a duty. These are Ŏklo lands. I know we promised to take you to the next inn, but will you help us?”

Min La answered immediately, “We won’t.”

So Ga stared at him. “Min La,” he whispered. He feared that Min La was making this decision because he was afraid Lin Jenin would reveal his secret.

“This has nothing to do with us,” he said to So Ga, a look of warning in his eyes.

“But the dead,” So Ga said, stunned. “The Sengís, do you not have a thought for them?”

Nŏl walked to Min La’s side and put his hand on his shoulder. “We cannot stay out in this cold. It will be dark soon and we need to find shelter for the night. We don’t have time to question him here. We need to bring him with us. If you won’t help us—”

Min La looked not at Nŏl, but at So Ga. He said, “Which is more important, carrying Lin Jenin to the Ŏklo estate, or burying the dead?”

So Ga felt a wave of bitter cold wash over him. He understood that choosing to bury the dead meant leaving Lin Jenin here to die, or perhaps killing him themselves. It was precisely the kind of question he had to be able to answer. But which choice was right?

Looking at Lin Jenin, he recalled what he had said, that his caravan’s head had made arrangements with the bandits, not him. At best, the merchant might be able to identify the bandits, but it was highly unlikely that he knew much more than their faces. He probably didn’t even know the true name of Íso Lin.

Nevertheless, he had indeed offered up the Sengí family to be robbed and murdered. He had allowed this, and was guilty. He needed to be punished.

Min La walked to a small, fallen tree and perched on it while he rubbed his fingers.

So Ga said, voice unsteady, “Whatever he might or might not know, only the Ŏklo House has the authority to punish him.”

“The Ŏklo House is before you,” Min La said, motioning to Nŏl.

Nŏl shook his head. “My uncle controls these lands, not me.”

“Indeed,” Min La said, with a light scoff.

“What are you trying to say?”

At that Lin Jenin nodded weakly and tried to smile. “You see? Clever.”

Hino Son opened his mouth to say something, but Nŏl put up a hand.

But it was Lin Jenin who seemed to decide things for them. “I will not last much longer,” he said, and he motioned to the gash in his leg, from which blood flowed freely. “I will tell you whatever I know, and then I will die in these woods, you need not even bother with my body. Just leave me to the wolves. It is no less than I deserve.”

Nŏl crossed his arms. “Very well. Speak, then.”

“No, no.” He smiled, his teeth red. “I will only talk to him.” And he pointed with a bloodstained hand at Min La. “I do not trust the rest of you. Especially not you,” he said to Nŏl.

They all turned and looked at Min La, who had his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His long hair had come loose and the breeze blew it across his face, hiding his eyes. They were waiting, So Ga realized, for him to decide what to do. Even Nŏl and Hino Son seemed ready to obey Min La.

Abruptly, he stood. As he walked to So Ga, he retied his hair in a low knot and then took off his coat.

“Does the carriage have shovels?” he asked Nŏl.

He nodded. “I saw at least two.”

“You and Hino Son begin digging the graves.” He put his coat around So Ga’s shoulders. “You wait in the carriage.”

So Ga hesitated, then nodded. In truth, he was relieved now that Min La seemed to have taken charge.

Min La crouched at Lin Jenin’s feet and said, “The merchant and I, meanwhile, will talk.”

Nŏl and Hino Son dug in silence. There was still enough daylight that they did not need torches or lanterns. The driver had offered to stay with the carriage. Already the burning remains of Lin Jenin’s once-beautiful carriage were little more than embers. The driver had found a small, battered hand warmer which he liked to use for his feet on long winter rides. This he filled with sparking wooden embers from the burning carriage and pressed into So Ga’s hands. The boy, he saw, was pale as the snow and shivering. He placed him in the carriage and then piled blankets around him, patting his shoulder before he left. Then he planted himself in front of the carriage as if to guard it, as if there was anything an old man could do against the likes of those who would slaughter women and children. Pregnant women, too. The breath caught in the driver’s throat, and he tried to push all thought from his mind.

Min La gave Lin Jenin water from the flask in his bag. Then he looked at him. The color had drained from his face, leaving him gray and with a countenance like wax. He was near death, Min La could see that plainly enough. Already he had lost too much blood.

“You don’t have much longer,” he said to him. “Tell me, then.”

“Do the other two know?” Lin Jenin asked, “Do they know who you are?”

“Do you wish to waste your time on such matters?”

The merchant smiled with his red teeth. “You know, I once met your prince, Lă Kol¹. It was many years ago and I was very young. My own Housemaster was organizing trade with Hin Dan. We did not expect to speak to the prince directly, but he had newly taken the Hin Dan throne and so was doing many things himself. He was wise, and sharp. Anyone could see it. But wisdom cannot protect you from treachery.”

Min La wasn’t sure how much this line of conversation interested him. In truth, it was making him feel more angry and anxious than anything else.

“I hope you know that, my boy. Your House was wronged.”

“What would you know?”

“There is a rot in the heart of fair Láokoth. Do you not feel it? Nŭnon was merely the first to fall. But it will not be the last.”

“What does any of this have to do with the people you allowed to be killed today?”

“Everything,” he said, his eyes widening. “I think it is all connected.”

These unexpected words were like a flash of lightning in Min La’s mind. Sudden, brief illumination by which he could see something he hadn’t seen before. Listening to Lin Jenin, he thought of So Ga, and the attack on his Little Palaces. He thought of the mercenaries who hunted them, and the conspicuous absence of the king’s swords. But as quickly as it was all illuminated, the clarity vanished.

“Explain what you mean,” he said.

“The head of my caravan told me before we even entered Sona Gen that he had an arrangement with the bandits in these woods. But the way he said it told me that the bandits themselves have an arrangement of their own. As I think you’ve already deduced.”

“You mean with Ŏklo?”

“Yes.”

It didn’t surprise him. The eastern master of Ŏklo was a wretch of a man. That he would make deals with Houseless bandits wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. However…

“Don’t you see?” Lin Jenin breathed. “How has Ŏklo been permitted to do this for so long without being stopped? This is Sona Gen. Do you really think the king doesn’t know?”

“What proof do you have?”

“None.” He took a breath. “But the one who leads these bandits, he would be able to tell you what I do not know.”

“But you know nothing?”

“I know only what I have told you.”

“Then what does any of this matter?”

“What does it matter?” He laughed weakly and blood spattered onto his chin. “Is this what becomes of the Houseless? Are you so far removed from civilization that you no longer care if your own king is permitting such atrocities?”

“What the king has or has not permitted has nothing to do with me. Or you.”

“Did not the king permit the destruction of your House?”

“What happened to my House happened years ago,” Min La replied evenly. “It no longer matters.”

“Oh, my boy.” Lin Jenin took a long, shaking breath. “If you carry on pretending you don’t care, one day you actually might not.”

“Am I supposed to believe that you care?”

“Why do you think I spared you and your brother? I did not think you should have to suffer any more than you already have.”

“And the Sengís? Did you believe they ought to suffer in our stead?”

Lin Jenin’s eyes darkened. He lowered his head and said in a fierce whisper, “I did not know they would be killed. And if I had the power, I would not allow that to go unpunished. But you—”

“I cannot punish anyone.”

“An Ŏklo is in your company. If you trust him, tell him what I have told you. He can punish them. He can see justice done. He is from western Ŏklo, I have heard they are better than their eastern members.”

“Then speak to him, this doesn’t have anything to do with me.” He stood and moved to walk away.

Lin Jenin sighed, resting his head against the tree behind him, his eyes opening and closing slowly. “But you are Nŭnon, my boy.”

Min La paused and looked down at him.

“I know you cannot help yourself. All you damned Nŭnon are too righteous and too clever for your own good. If that prince of yours had taken up arms he could have overthrown the Sona king and saved his House. But he was too righteous. Do you know, they say some of the Nŭnon bloodlines are descended from Netholom, the greatest Housemaster of Láokoth?”

“That is just a legend.”

“I can only tell you what I know. I trust only you to do something with this knowledge. I do not know that So Hoth boy, and I do not know that Ŏklo. But you, you I trust.”

Min La again crouched next to the dying merchant. “Your trust is misplaced.”

“Is it?” He smiled again. “We’ll see.”

After a moment, during which the snow fell down around them and made a little mound in Lin Jenin’s lap, melting into the hot blood that had pooled there, he turned to Min La and said, “There were seven of them, if you do not count the boy who called himself Íso Lin. Their leader was the one to whom my master spoke. The others called him Gíhon². I know nothing else. And now if you do not kill me with the blade you have in your hand inside that bag, I will call out as loudly as I can that you are from Nŭnon.”

As he opened his mouth as if to yell, Min La, in a panic, drew out the knife and plunged it into his chest. He had barely felt himself move, and could not recall making the choice to kill him. But once it was done, Lin Jenin glanced down at the blade and then smiled at Min La.

“Perhaps now,” he whispered weakly, “I will not be unwelcome in the House of Ávoth.”

And then he was dead.

Hino Son’s digging style had grown increasingly violent. He plunged the spade into the earth, ripped the soil free, and savagely tossed it aside. Nŏl paused and watched him.

As if to answer the question Nŏl was silently asking, Hino Son said, “He was right in front of us.”

“We couldn’t have known.”

“We were told what to look for.”

“We weren’t. We didn’t even know if the reports were true.”

“And now they’ve killed.” Hino Son stopped shoveling and stood, heaving deep, shaking breaths. “They’ve killed and we could have stopped them.”

Nŏl said his name quietly, either to remind him that they were not alone, or to soothe him.

“They had not killed prior to this. Now they have.”

“I know.”

“It is different now.”

“I know.”

“Nŏl—”

“I know, Hino Son,” he snapped.

At that moment, Min La reappeared in the little clearing. He was using a handful of snow to wipe blood off his hands, but he seemed calm. Hino Son and Nŏl stopped digging and looked at him.

“Is he…?” Nŏl asked.

“Dead.” Min La nodded.

“What did he say?”

Min La looked at them in the fading blue sunlight and perceived — in Nŏl especially — a heaviness like guilt. Or responsibility. If what the merchant had told him was true, he could understand why.

But the daylight was nearly gone and they had lingered in this place — with the high beacon of dark smoke signaling to all around — for much too long already.

He said, “We should finish this and then we can talk in the carriage.”

He offered to take the shovel from Hino Son, asking him to see to So Ga. Hino Son, who was still agitated and on edge, seemed relieved, and agreed at once.

When they were alone, Nŏl said to him, “You must forgive Hino Son. All this is a matter very close to his heart.”

“The bandits, you mean?”

“His mother, father and younger sister were killed along the mountain rounds near the border of Srenléth many years ago.”

“By bandits?”

Nŏl hesitated. “In a sense.”

“What do you mean?”

But he would say nothing more, as if protecting a secret that was not his to tell. Instead, he said, “So Nan is your brother, is he not?”

Min La blinked in surprise, but said nothing.

“I guessed your secret some time ago but don’t worry. I do not intend to tell anyone.”

“Secret?”

“That you are Houseless. I can see it in how you carry yourselves. And I assume it is why Lin Jenin removed you from his carriage.”

Min La said nothing, but continued to dig.

“You and he, you are so alike that you must be related. You cannot fool anyone. You even have the same brow.”

Min La, more surprised than anything, allowed a small nod, then said, “Thank you for saying nothing.”

“Are you really traveling to Hin Dan?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer. And he hadn’t had time to discuss a new story with So Ga should their lie be discovered. So he decided it would be best to say very little. “Probably,” he replied. “Anywhere we can find a doctor who will treat him.”

Nŏl nodded. “I understand.” He put his shovel aside and faced Min La while he used his handkerchief to wipe mud off his hands. “May I offer something?”

Min La turned and looked at him.

“My uncle keeps a physician in the estate. He is very skilled. Perhaps he can—”

“No.” Nŏl looked surprised, even a little hurt, so Min La took a breath and bowed. “Thank you, but no. Being who we are, we are not welcome in Houses, particularly not in such a grand House as Ŏklo.”

“You would be my guests. I would tell them what you told us originally, that you are from the Go Lán House. No one would know.”

Try as he might, Min La couldn’t think of a reason why Nŏl would be offering this. What did it benefit Nŏl to have Min La and So Ga go to the Ŏklo estate with him? The caution and paranoia that governed his mind warned him that Nŏl had some devious plan. Perhaps it had something to do with what Lin Jenin had just told him.

But his instincts told him that Nŏl was not devious, but rather had his own all-consuming problems, which still weren’t entirely clear. It was possible — if unbelievable — that Nŏl was simply being kind.

He said at last, “I will talk to So Nan.”

Nŏl seemed relieved. He smiled slightly and then picked up his shovel and returned to his digging.

They buried the Sengís as the sun was dipping behind the trees. Hino Son had offered one of his own blue inner golts from his bag, which they tore into pieces to cover each body as well as they could.

The driver held a torch he had made from the remains of the burning carriage while they carried out the rites. In the end, they decided to cover Lin Jenin’s body in stones. There was no time to dig another hole and none of them were willing to place him in the same grave as the Sengís.

After Nŏl pounded a branch stripped of bark into the earth as a marker at the head of the three graves, he turned to the others. “I will write to the Sengí Housemaster when I reach my uncle’s estate and tell him where they can be found.”

The cold blue shadows were thick with silence, the amber sunset blading through the trees offered no warmth. So Ga still wore Min La’s coat in addition to his own and clutched the hand warmer the driver had given him, but shivered violently. He was pale and his breathing labored. He winced with each inhale, but never offered a word of complaint. They still had some of the medicine the monks had packed in his bag, but they couldn’t boil a pot of water out here in the open. If they lingered much longer, their old friends would catch up with them. That thought was forefront. Already they had lost so much time with the burial. He found himself wondering why he had let So Ga talk him into it.

As Nŏl and Min La covered the blue-wrapped bodies in cold dirt and snow, So Ga began to cough. Hino Son supported him as the coughing fit worsened.

“I will take him back to the carriage,” he said.

Min La nodded and watched them go. The driver went with them, holding a torch to ward off the building darkness, leaving a lantern with Nŏl and Min La.

“Min San,” Nŏl began.

“We will go,” Min La answered, before he could finish. “We will go and So Nan will see your physician, but then we must leave.”

Perhaps it was foolish to go with Nŏl into the heart of Ŏklo, which could very well be home to a deep, dangerous corruption. But the conflict within Ŏklo had nothing at all to do with Min La or So Ga. And he feared that the need for a physician would likely outweigh all other dangers. They would never make it to Osa Gate if So Ga was too sick to travel.

Nŏl almost smiled. “Of course,” he said with a small bow. “Of course, I am glad you’ve accepted. Thank you.”

When at last they were underway again, Min La finally told the others what Lin Jenin had told him.

He had considered what he would do while he had helped Nŏl dig the graves. There was certainly a part of him that urged him not to trust any Ŏklo, especially under the circumstances, but something about Nŏl had, from the beginning, seemed genuine. Min La was inclined to trust his initial judgment of the young Ŏklo lord.

Moreover, he had no interest in involving himself in this matter any further. Telling Nŏl would put an end to his responsibility.

“He said the bandit’s name was Gíhon?” Nŏl asked, after Min La had finished.

“Do you know it?” Hino Son asked him.

But he shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve heard it.” He turned to Min La. “Do you believe what he said? Do you trust him?”

“I don’t see why he would lie, under the circumstances.”

So Ga said in a hoarse whisper, “Perhaps he wanted to die with a preserved reputation.”

“No, I think he was more concerned about dying well. In any case, I believed him. I do not know if what he said is the truth, but he thought it was.”

They were silent again for some time. Nol leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly. Hino Son watched him, he brow creased into a sharp frown.

At last, Nŏl took a deep breath and said, “It is true that Hino Son and I are not traveling just to our cousins’ wedding.” It was very quiet when he paused. Hino Son looked pained and wrapped his arms tightly around his sword, which was pressed against his chest.

Nŏl at last went on, “We had received word from some people within the eastern estates of Ŏklo that Von Ol, my uncle, has been acting improperly. We have heard rumors that he has been forcing small Houses to sign over their land to him, their members often becoming Houseless. The increase in land has been good for Ŏklo, especially after we lost the silver mines, but the reputation of our House has been sorely damaged.”

Min La remembered the orphan children in the temple in Rensoth, whose House had been absorbed by a larger House in the mountains. He began to rub his fingers.

“Some weeks ago, my father received a letter from Sona Gen but it wasn’t signed and we were not even sure it was sent from within Ŏklo. It claimed that someone within Von Ol’s estate had been permitting banditry here along the Prince Road and then collecting a kind of tax. The letter included details that could not be ignored. We were told that this scheme targeted groups of large travelers—”

“Like the merchant caravan,” So Ga said.

Nŏl nodded once. “That is what we were looking for. In truth, we didn’t know exactly what we were looking for. We didn’t even know if the report was true. But as I was to come east for the wedding anyway, my father ordered me to make discreet inquiries. Hino Son here was to accompany me. If we found nothing, the trip would not have been wasted.”

Min La asked, “And what if you found something? What were you to do?”

Nŏl looked at his clasped hands. He said finally, “We do not yet know everything. But this name, Gíhon, perhaps it can help us.” He bowed at Min La. “Thank you.”

So Ga coughed and they all glanced at him and fell silent.

Min La found himself wondering what Nŏl would do. Would he confront his uncle when he reached his estate? Would he quietly investigate and collect evidence to show the Ŏklo Housemaster? Would he do nothing and let the matter pass in order to save what was left of his House’s reputation?

But then, as firmly as he could, he reminded himself that it was not his business. What Nŏl chose to do had nothing at all to do with him.

Night came quickly, like a great, black wave. It continued to snow, though not heavily. And the only lights they had were the lanterns on the outside of the carriage. Presently, Hino Son fell asleep, his arms clasped tightly around his sword against his chest. Even So Ga began to doze, though his breathing was rasping and uneven. Min La glanced at him.

The soft, enclosing silence of snowfall changed then to the drumming din of freezing rain. Soon after, the carriage stopped.

“My lords,” called the driver quietly. “There is an inn, but it seems rather poor.”

“I’m not sure we’re in a position to be particular,” Nŏl replied.

“Very well, my lord.”

Min La roused So Ga who sat up, alarmed at the sound of the rain. As the carriage slowed in front of the inn, he became aware of a sudden, strong fragrance that disappeared as soon as it touched his nose. It was not an unpleasant smell, but he spent some minutes trying to identify it.

“Do you smell that?” So Ga whispered.

Min La looked at him and nodded once. “Oranges.”

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