Ŏno Soth, Estate of the Lăsoth Housemaster
Bo Han1, Housemaster of Lăsoth, chief and most ancient of the Fourteen Ancient Houses, gazed through the open window of his Hall at the silvery veil of evening rain. The moon had begun to peek through the glaze of storm clouds, gleaming gold in the sky above Ŏno Soth.
A thin man, with a long face and large gray eyes, Bo Han was the youngest Housemaster in Lăsoth’s history and had held the position for almost fifteen years. Elected heir at the age of sixteen, he assumed the role two years later, the same year he had married. The same year his wife had died in childbirth.
For fifteen years he had sat at the head of the Lăsoth Hall and managed the affairs not just of his House, but also, in a less direct way, the affairs of all Houses. Since Láokoth had united, the Lăsoth House had always been the understood head of all Houses. Though by virtue of being one of the Fourteen Ancient Houses, no Lăsoth was permitted to serve in the king’s court. Nevertheless, the influence exerted by the man who presided over the Lăsoth Hall far exceeded that of any other House. Bo Han Lăsoth was, after all, the only Ancient Housemaster permitted to sit in the king’s hall when his court was assembled.
A voice said his name, and Bo Han turned away from the window.
“My lord Bo Han, we understand the importance of this as much as you do, though of course we do not handle it directly, as you do, we nevertheless believe, should it be necessary — not that it will be of course — but should it be necessary that if these matters became more severe than they are now, though now of course they are quite severe, and my House acknowledges this absolutely, but should it become even more severe than it is now…”
The seemingly endless string of words continued for some time. Bo Han found himself struggling to follow it, though he expected the words, once combined into a single thought, would ultimately be found to mean nothing. At least, not anything that was worth listening to.
The one speaking was Von Ol2 Ŏklo, one of two official visitors standing in Bo Han’s Hall, both of whom were Housemasters of Ancient Houses.
Von Ol was not precisely a Housemaster. The large, corpulent man served rather as the master of eastern Ŏklo. He was now, as he often did, attempting a severe, imposing image with his crisply cut golt and his tall northern hat with its dangling tassel, but he was hindered by his vast girth which strained the buttons down the front of his golt. A great shock of dark, reddish-brown hair erupted from beneath the tightly-fitting hat and framed his massive, round head, which was dominated by a protruding nose. He spoke with large, pouting lips, giving a lazy drawl to his endless speech that fit well with his thick, deep voice. Standing in his tent-like golt of purple and gold, his fleshy hands and long, red fingers were clamped against his belly as if to hold something in. As he spoke, his hands slid up and down his great, round stomach, his fingers catching on the row of strained, gilded buttons. From time to time he would gesture, and doing so seemed to be a great strain, as it caused his endless speech to hitch a little until he caught his breath.
As he was not the Housemaster of all Ŏklo, but only of the eastern estates in Sona Gen, the title of “Housemaster” had only been grudgingly granted to him by his brother-in-law in Sălun so that he could manage affairs in the east in his name. Despite this, Von Ol always presented himself as the Ŏklo Housemaster and as a ruler of one of the Fourteen, one of the many reasons Bo Han despised him.
The true Housemaster of Ŏklo, Nŏnol3, was much occupied with the western border with Srenléth, given that he had been assigned by the prince of Sălun to maintain their princedom’s alliance with that kingdom to the west. And so Sona Gen — and Bo Han — were left to endure the ever-growing presence of Von Ol, who fancied himself a person of significance. In truth, however, Von Ol Ŏklo was as ridiculous as he was large, and had little sense when it came to matters of House governance. It was for this reason, among others, that the king had chosen to assign the management of his silver mines to Koda instead of Ŏklo. There had been a rumor at that time that the king’s decision had been influenced by words from Bo Han.
Next to Von Ol — though some distance apart, Bo Han noticed — stood Ŏna of Nă Sat4, who had inherited the position of Housemaster from her dead husband according to the Nă Sat bylaws. She was a woman of rare vanity and greed. Slender, heavily ornamented in such a way that she couldn’t even move her head to the side without an accompanying jingle of dangling gold and precious stones. Her sharp, bony face was thickly powdered and painted, the material cracking a bit around her eyes, making her look ten or fifteen years older than she was. She had been painting a blue ílan5 on her cheekbone since her first, and only, son had survived the four week confinement, oblivious to the fact that it had ceased to be a mark of pride the moment it became known that her son was both an idiot and a lecher.
There were many hundreds of Housemasters in Láokoth, and there were fourteen — or fifteen — among the Ancient Houses. Among them, Bo Han was aware of several who were inept, some who were weak, but only a few who were truly villainous. These two before him were not even the worst of them. And yet, each time he sat in their presence he found himself wondering if the cruel villainy of others was preferable to the brazen, gluttonous edacity of these.
Von Ol Ŏklo was still in the midst of his prepared speech, which he continued with an occasional bounce of emphasis. “It is without question that what happened all those years ago was a matter of absolute horror, and one which certainly could not go unanswered, of course. The king made his choice and it was up to us Housemasters to lead our Houses in obedience to the king, you’ve said this yourself, I remember it well, my lord, as I listen closely to every instruction you offer to the Fourteen Houses…”
None of Bo Han’s council was present. The Lăsoth Inner Hall would not trouble themselves with the likes of Von Ol Ŏklo and Ŏna Nă Sat. Though some, including Bo Han’s aged adviser Inohin6, had offered to sit with him.
But when it came to matters pertaining to the Fourteen Ancient Houses, everything was a calculation. When Von Ol Ŏklo and Ŏna Nă Sat had announced their intention to meet with the Housemaster of Lăsoth, no one in Bo Han’s Inner Hall had taken it seriously. But if Bo Han had forced the Ancient Housemasters to meet with his council and not himself, it would have seemed to them like a scheme. For Von Ol and Ŏna were schemers, and to those who plot, everything looks like a plot. As paranoid people themselves, paranoia seemed the only natural state of any living person.
Bo Han had to meet with them alone, without his council, to show them that he had nothing to hide from them and that he didn’t take their concerns seriously, while still seeming to take the two of them seriously. He had already wasted an hour on this and he could see no indication that it would end anytime soon.
But the room wasn’t completely empty. To Bo Han’s left, on carved wooden chairs that had been part of the Lăsoth Inner Hall since the days of the House of Netholom, sat his cousin Sen Lan7 and her husband Ŏvor8. The two wore the gray of Lăsoth, though Ŏvor’s golt was embroidered with blue along the collar, a habit he had adopted after the death of his father last fall. Sen Lan sat near her husband, her hand upon the arm of his chair. She was staring with narrowed eyes at the two Ancient Housemasters standing before Bo Han. Her knuckles on the hand that gripped Ŏvor’s chair arm were white.
Of all Bo Han’s House, he valued Sen Lan the most. Besides being among his only remaining kin, she was also the one person in the entire Lăsoth House who most reminded him of his sister. Like her, Sen Lan possessed a sharp mind and was a keen judge of character. But for all her wit and intelligence, she was also burdened with a reckless temper and an impulsive nature. Since her marriage to Ŏvor this had been tempered somewhat by his calm, reserved manner. But she had little patience for fatuousness. And even less for the likes of Von Ol Ŏklo and Ŏna Nă Sat. Bo Han found himself briefly distracted, wondering if Sen Lan would be able to hold her temper today.
It seemed that at some point Ŏna Nă Sat had begun to speak. “These matters are not yours alone, my lord. My lord Von Ol is right to remind us that, should it become necessary, we must all combine the wealth of our Houses and so ensure the future of the Fourteen. But it is my belief that such a thing should not be necessary. The king’s decree, after all, need not be permanent.”
Bo Han glanced back at the window, through which the moon shone more dimly now that it was higher in the clouded autumn night. The rain continued. In the distance, lightning flickered and, some time later, a rumble of thunder followed. His gaze drifted to the wooden ceiling, which was low and ornately carved and painted. The Lăsoth House had long favored the motifs of the hunt, and so wolves and harts raced along the narrow ceiling in intricate relief.
The walls were paneled in the same dark wood, though slender sections of mosaics broke up the paneling with flashes of color. Between the mosaics stood tall candle frames covered in flickering wax stubs. Several servants dressed in white stood like pillars of ivory along either side of the hall’s length in between the towers of candles. The hall glowed golden, but was heavily shadowed in the places untouched by candlelight.
Bo Han sat upon a carved wooden chair which was raised a little above the rest of the hall on a stone platform. The chair was almost as old as the House and had only a thin velvet cushion. The high back was inlaid with mosaics to create an image of a mountain from which emanated a long, silver river. The thin thread of the river was visible over Bo Han’s shoulder, sparkling in the hall’s candlelight.
The Lăsoth Housemaster wore gray, as he always did, a simple dark gray golt of wool with gold embroidery along the collar. The wide, traditional sash was unadorned, but clipped to the side was the ancient Lăsoth medallion, a large golden seal framing a round, polished gíth stone.
Over his shoulders was draped a long green velvet cloak that shone in the candlelight. He sat with his hands on his knees, his head slightly to one side. Listening to the Housemasters without looking at them.
Von Ol answered whatever point Ŏna Nă Sat had been trying to make by saying, “The king’s decree nine years ago was not a light matter that he would just brush aside. It was done specifically to prevent another Nŭnon. With each House permitted fewer Houseswords, there was less chance of another attempted coup.”
“Nŭnon did not attempt a coup, my lord Von Ol. And anyway, the animals who attacked the Palace nine years ago were not Nŭnon, but were hired by Nŭnon. Decreeing a limit to a House’s swords does not prevent a House from hiring mercenaries.”
“And so what does my lady suggest? Should Lăsoth House demean itself so far as to hire mercenaries to guard the Ŭthol Na trade routes? Is that what you would have? Mercenaries guarding House matters?”
“My lords,” Bo Han said in a firm tone. They both ceased their bickering and turned their attention back to him.
“My lord,” Ŏna Nă Sat began again, “I am merely trying to point out that this problem need not even exist.”
He raised his brows. “Problem?”
“The matter at the Ŭthol Na border. The limits placed on a House’s swords since Nŭnon have certainly put a strain on your ability to guard the ancient Lăsoth trade routes and —”
“Have they?” he asked without looking at her.
“But my lord Bo Han,” she intoned in a trilling, sing-song voice that echoed against the tiled walls of Bo Han’s hall. “But my lord, you do, after all, have the ear of the king.”
At Ŏna’s twittering declaration, Sen Lan leaned forward to cast a withering glance at the bejeweled woman, only stopped from an outburst by her husband’s hand on her arm. Ŏna, spying the flashing eyes of Bo Han Lăsoth’s beloved, sharp-tongued cousin, understood her error. Bo Han was only permitted to be present in the king’s court out of respect for his symbolic position as representative of all Houses of Láokoth. To suggest that he ought to use this position to leverage favors from the king was dangerous. He was not, after all, a member of the king’s court and by law was not permitted to exert influence there.
Not that Ŏna cared for such rules and protocols. But she did recognize that she was in danger of annoying Bo Han. And any House in Láokoth — any person in Láokoth — knew that it could be disastrous to stand against the Housemaster of Lăsoth.
With Sen Lan’s expression of disapproval, Bo Han was spared the need to correct her himself.
He said, “Despite the recent decrees, our numbers at the border are more than sufficient.”
“My lord,” Ŏna said, “all the Houses have been under significant strain since the changes. None more so than the Ancient Houses, especially those, like yours, that guard borders. We merely wish to share your burden, as fellow Ancient Housemasters.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Bo Han saw Sen Lan suppress a smirk. Even Ŏvor had a twinkle in his eye, despite his unmoved face.
“And I thank the Lady Nă Sat for her concern.” He then added, to both of them, “The Ŭthol Na border has been well-managed these past nine years even under the new restrictions. As much as I appreciate your offer of swords, I suggest that you use them, instead, in service of your own Houses.”
Of course, managing the Ŭthol Na border for Bo Han would have indeed been in service of their Houses; this was their entire aim. If they could maneuver their way into Lăsoth’s northern trade routes, that would be the first step in what they no doubt thought was a clever, complex scheme to take over the border trade entirely.
“My lord,” Von Ol said, “we have all been finding the new restrictions difficult. Many have struggled to guard their lands. But you have more than just land to guard.”
A messenger entered soundlessly through the carved wooden doors at the end of the Hall. It was Tova9, Bo Han’s attendant and bodysword. He bowed and then, at a motion of Bo Han’s right hand, approached his elevated seat.
Von Ol Ŏklo added, “My lord, my own storied House is soon to gain a richly martial alliance. The So Hoth House in the west will more than double my western swords. Please, let me offer you Ŏklo swords for your trade routes. The safety of the paths between Ŭthol Na and Sona Gen benefits all Houses.”
Bowing, Tova held out a small ceramic tray on which rested a folded paper sealed with a thumb-sized imprint of black wax. The paper itself was not much larger. While Von Ol spoke, Bo Han split the seal and unfolded the message.
Ŏna, meanwhile, scoffed. Doing so caused an array of hair ornaments to tangle with the long golden chains of pearls that dangled from her ears. The tinkling sound echoed in the darkening hall. “As if So Hoth’s blades are yours to thrust about,” she said to Von Ol. “Just because a So Hoth is marrying an Ŏklo does not mean you will then own So Hoth’s swords.”
Tova had not departed after giving Bo Han the message, but had leaned close and whispered into his ear. Bo Han had received this additional message with his usual unmoved face. Then he dismissed Tova, who left with a careful bow.
“That reminds me,” Bo Han said to Von Ol. “There is to be a wedding in your own estate soon, is there not?”
The rotund Housemaster raised his brows arrogantly and gave a light bow. “In five days’ time,” he answered, as if the matter was his own personal accomplishment.
“I have heard that your Housemaster has sent his son to be present on his behalf. I am sure he would have liked to go himself. But as you can imagine, my lord Von Ol, a Housemaster has little time for such things.”
At this he stood, and Sen Lan and Ŏvor stood with him. “My friends,” he said. “I must cut this meeting short. I have just been summoned to the Palace.”
This announcement had precisely the effect Bo Han had intended. The two immediately decreased in size and gazed at the floor. Ŏna Nă Sat even put her hands together at her waist and bowed her head slightly. They were humbled at this sharp reminder of Bo Han’s far loftier status. It was a temporary effect, of course, brought about mainly by their desire to endear themselves to a man who was powerful enough to be summoned to the Palace.
Bo Han gestured and three of the servants came forward to escort the two Housemasters from the Hall. Before they left, they both bowed.
“My lord Von Ol,” Bo Han said abruptly, and the large man turned and bowed. “I have prepared a wedding gift for your niece. They will give it to you before you go.”
“Thank you, my lord,” he replied in a small voice.
As they left, Sen Lan and Ŏvor approached Bo Han.
“My lord,” Sen Lan bowed deeply, her long dark braid slipping over her shoulder and nearly touching the cool, glossy tiles of the patterned floor. When the doors closed behind the departing Housemasters she straightened, smiled in that crooked way she had, and bowed again, more naturally this time.
“Cousin,” she said. Then, “He is fatter every time I see him. Soon you will have to meet him outside, because he won’t be able to fit through our doors.”
Bo Han made a disapproving sound.
She added, “He doesn’t want to guard the Lăsoth trade routes. He wants to eat them.”
The corners of Bo Han’s mouth turned up as he clasped his hands behind his back.
He said, “They aren’t wrong. And if we aren’t careful, they’ll soon know it.”
Sen Lan frowned. “My brother seldom speaks to me of House matters.”
Her younger brother, Sen Lí, had been living at the Ŭthol Na border for almost four years, learning the management of that complex estate from its keeper Ŏv Onol10, Ŏvor’s father. After Ŏv Onol had died suddenly last year, Sen Lí had been struggling there, in part due to the king’s imposed limit on a House’s swords. The Lăsoth’s precious, lucrative trade routes had been falling prey to increasing attacks from bandits and river pirates and they did not have the numbers to defend them.
“Sen Lí is very capable,” Bo Han said to her with a reassuring nod — he knew how she worried about her brother — “but the matter is indeed untenable. We can endure for perhaps another year. When the time comes, we will need to think of a solution.” He glanced at both of them and added, “One that does not involve the king.”
Sen Lan asked then, “Is it true that you have been summoned to the Palace? Or did you just want to be rid of them?”
Bo Han smiled at her and replied quietly, “Would I tell such a lie?”
“Don’t pretend, cousin. You’ve done that very thing on at least two occasions.”
“Well. This time it is the truth.” And he turned to leave the hall, a dozen or so servants moving into step behind him. Then he paused and looked over his shoulder at Ŏvor. “Ready yourself. You will accompany me.”
Ŏvor marveled at the warmth with which Bo Han spoke to his cousin. He marveled, too, at the way Sen Lan treated him, and that he allowed it. Her familiarity with the Lăsoth Housemaster had come as the greatest surprise to Ŏvor when he had married her.
Bo Han Lăsoth and Ŏvor’s own father had arranged the union. An arrangement made by his father had been expected and regular, of course, but that the Housemaster of Lăsoth had had a hand in choosing his wife had indeed been a surprise. To be precise, Bo Han had been more concerned with selecting a husband for his cousin, than a wife for Ŏvor. With their parents gone, Bo Han had become responsible for Sen Lan and Sen Lí and guarded their well-being with the utmost care. Still, Ŏvor had been stunned to learn that his future wife was Bo Han’s cousin and thus one of the few members of the Lăsoth High Family.
Ŏvor had met his wife for the first time on his wedding day. He had not had any expectations regarding the arrangement. To marry and have children was a simple enough duty and one he was glad to carry out. So few children survived the four week confinement, so this task was sacred to all Láokothians. But he had, nevertheless, been surprised when he had met his wife at the beginning of the ceremony. As the two of them, with the aid of his bodyservants and her maids, had adorned each other in the traditional wedding garb, he had marveled at her simple beauty and the sparkling light in her gray eyes. Neither spoke for this part of the ceremony and so he had not even heard her voice until she pledged herself to him several minutes later. And it was a softly musical, pleasant sound; in three years he still had not tired of hearing it. In time he had also come to know that sharper side of her and had heard the way that fine voice could form words keen enough to cut through stone. But on that day she had spoken to him with such gentleness that he loved her immediately. Of course, it was some time before he told her this.
The Housemaster, too, had been present and had spoken kindly to them both. Ŏvor had found himself more nervous in his presence than he was in the company of his new wife. But Sen Lan had treated the Lăsoth Housemaster as one would a brother, not as one would their lord. And Bo Han, in turn, had treated her as a younger sister. Ŏvor had been surprised these last three years to see this other side of the intimidating young Lord Bo Han.
As Bo Han left the Hall, Sen Lan sighed and watched the door close with a dark expression.
“What is it?” Ŏvor asked her.
“They do not care for him. They all think him stone. Or worse.”
“He does not care what they think of him.” He turned to his wife and pushed a strand of her shining black hair behind her ear. “And anyway, he has you.”
“The way they speak of it, I hate it.”
“Speak of what?”
“The attack on the Palace nine years ago. They speak of it so casually, like they’ve all forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?”
“Or perhaps you have forgotten, too.” She looked at her husband sharply. And then her eyes softened and she shook her head. He was accustomed to her piercing bursts, like a wildly swung dagger, and had learned not to take them to heart. He knew she found it difficult to govern her tongue when she was upset, but that she seldom meant what she rashly blurted out on those occasions.
“Forgotten what, Sen Lan?”
With a sigh she said, “The king’s wife died that day. But so did Bo Han’s sister.”
They were accompanied only by Bo Han’s driver and his personal bodysword, Tova, who had been by the Housemaster’s side since the day he had been elected heir almost two decades ago. But only Bo Han and Ŏvor rode within the carriage, which was small but luxurious and very comfortable. The seats were covered with thick gray cushions and an amber glass lantern lighted the interior.
But the night was cold and with the rain it was growing colder. Ŏvor wore a coat that Sen Lan had brought to him before he had left, but it was barely enough. Bo Han was wrapped, still, in his heavy velvet cloak. The young Housemaster sat with his eyes closed, his hands upon his knees. He seemed, in that moment, much older than he was. Fifteen years at the head of the Lăsoth House had left their mark on him.
Rain tapped ceaselessly on the roof, in the distance thunder rumbled faintly. Their breath fogged and the lantern swayed as the carriage wove through the roads of Ŏno Soth.
“Do you know why the two of them came tonight?” Bo Han asked him. His eyes were still closed.
It was then that Ŏvor understood why Bo Han had brought him along. More and more in recent months Bo Han had been including Ŏvor in the daily intricacies of his powerful position. Sen Lan believed this indicated that Bo Han trusted Ŏvor enough to allow him to share his burden. She was pleased, both because her cousin was able to lessen the daily load on his shoulders and because her husband had gained the favor of the Housemaster.
Tonight, however, Ŏvor understood that Bo Han had brought him along in order to speak to him without the possibility that Sen Lan might hear. There was only one thing Bo Han would want to keep from her.
Ŏvor replied simply, “Sen Lí has been struggling, and the other Houses are beginning to notice.”
It was the unfortunate truth. Ŏvor had seen it in the reports Bo Han had allowed him to read. Ever since Sen Lan’s brother had taken control of the Ŭthol Na border estate, they had suffered numerous losses to river pirates and bandits and had not the numbers to guard against them. The Houseless did not have limits on their swords. Though lacking in skill, steel, and organization, they more than made up for it in numbers.
Bo Han answered, “Even your father was not able to overcome the difficulties in which we now find ourselves, and he was brilliant. Sen Lí learned much from him, but everyone in Láokoth knows that he is not Ŏv Onol.”
Ŏvor understood, of course. He said, “With my father gone, they know the situation will only continue to worsen. He might not have had a perfect solution to the limited swords, but he was very good at keeping the other Houses at bay. Without him there, the border estate is vulnerable to more than just bandits.”
Bo Han opened his eyes and looked at him. “Is there a solution that you can see?”
“Without an alliance with another House? Like they have done in Sălun?”
“Lăsoth cannot afford such alliances.” Bo Han paused, the tip of his finger lifting the shade so he could look at the sky outside the carriage. “There are hundreds of Houses on this peninsula. And none of them is more important than Lăsoth. We cannot afford even the appearance of weakness.”
“It is not weak for Ŏklo to borrow swords in Sălun.”
“For another House, perhaps not. What could strengthen another House might weaken ours. In all the history of unified Láokoth there has never been a time when the strength of Lăsoth was more important than it is now.”
Ŏvor waited for Bo Han to elaborate, but he did not. Instead, he lifted the shade again and peered outside. His face, Ŏvor realized, was somehow different from the stoic, cold expression the Housemaster usually wore. He couldn’t help but remember what Sen Lan had said. He saw, too, the hem of Bo Han’s blue inner golt where it pooled over his leather shoes. The Lăsoth Housemaster had been wearing blue for nine years and many had, indeed, forgotten why.
“What is it, my lord?” Ŏvor asked.
Bo Han answered thoughtfully, still looking at the sky, speaking more to himself than to Ŏvor, “When the moon is large and full of gold it signals the closeness of Imnethrun.” He let the shade close again and added, “You know, in the west they call this a hunter’s moon.”
Ŏvor nodded. “I have heard that. After all, she does guard hunters.”
Bo Han tilted his head.
“I mean Imnethrun, my lord.”
The Housemaster said then, abruptly changing the subject, “You have heard talk of the fire?”
“The one in the Palace?”
Bo Han nodded once.
“I have heard it was an accident but that the Grand Steward took responsibility. I know no more than anyone else does.”
Bo Han reached inside his golt and withdrew a small parcel, a piece of paper folded into a square no larger than a thumbnail. Ŏvor recognized it as the message that the Housemaster’s bodysword, Tova, had brought to him during the meeting some minutes ago. Bo Han handed it to him and then gestured, his long fingers fluttering and then returning to his knee. “Read it.”
Carefully, conscious of the fact that he was being allowed knowledge that Bo Han had not even shared with the Inner Hall yet, Ŏvor unfolded the message. He read it to himself, and then read it again.
“‘The swallow is flightless. With a shadow it will climb the mountain. Hope.’”
He looked quizzically at Bo Han. “I don’t think I understand.”
Bo Han watched him closely while he answered. “Five days ago the Palace was attacked.”
This simple statement pierced through Ŏvor, but he took a steadying breath and asked, “The king?”
“Unharmed. The prince however…”
Ŏvor looked again at the note. The swallow…
“I have learned that three are dead.”
“Three of the little princes?” Ŏvor asked, stunned. “How do you know?”
Bo Han looked at him, his face unchanged. But there was something in this eyes, an almost amused shine that said more than enough. Ŏvor realized then the foolishness of his question. Of course, Bo Han had people inside the Palace.
“And the fourth prince?”
“He is missing.”
“Is that one the true—?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“I know more than most remember I do.”
Ŏvor thought for a moment. The strange, cryptic message was still in his hand. At last, he said, “My lord, may I ask…”
“Yes?”
And he held up the message.
Bo Han considered him for several seconds before he answered. “That was sent to me from Rensoth,” he said. “For now, that is all I will say. There may come a time—” But he stopped and shook his head slightly. “But not yet.”
He held out his hand and Ŏvor returned the message to him, which he folded back into its small shape and pushed into the sleeve of his golt, making a lump on the underside of his wrist.
Ŏvor asked, “Is that why you have been summoned by the king? Is it about the prince?”
Bo Han blinked slowly. “I do not know.” Then, with great care, he added, “There is something wrong in the Palace.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is, at the least, something wrong with the Palace House.”
“The servants and guards?”
“I think the Palace Housemaster is either dead or he is dying. He collapsed after the fire, no one has seen him since. I suspect the shock killed him, or will kill him.”
“Who commands the Palace House? Did he have an heir?”
Bo Han studied him for a moment before he spoke again. When he did, he didn’t answer Ŏvor’s question. “You will come with me. We will kneel before the king. But do not speak of the prince.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do not mention this message and speak of nothing having to do with the fire or the prince or the Palace. These are not why we are here.”
“Then why have you been summoned?”
“We will know soon enough.”
As he said it, Ŏvor had the sense that Bo Han knew more than he was saying.
The Housemaster closed his eyes again and remained that way until the carriage reached the Palace’s west gate. Neither of them spoke again until they were inside the Palace walls.
The Palace interior was so well lit that despite the late hour it almost seemed like daytime. Thinking of what Bo Han had revealed to him some minutes ago, Ŏvor couldn’t help but wonder if the abundance of swords and lanterns and torches was perhaps in response to what had happened.
The Lăsoth Housemaster was afforded the use of a very small covered carriage to convey him from the west gate to the king’s residence. Several royal bodyswords in black armor escorted them from their own carriage — where they left the driver and Bo Han’s bodysword — to the small Palace carriage.
Ŏvor sat by his Housemaster’s side on the narrow wooden bench behind their armored driver. The carriage was open but the roof still protected them from the rain. He was aware that most visitors summoned to the Palace had to walk from the gate, and that they had the privilege of the carriage only because of Bo Han’s status. His power was indeed greater than could be easily measured.
Although, comparisons of power between the royal House and all the rest of the Houses were particularly tiresome to a man as traditionally-minded as Bo Han. Ŏvor had heard him say that Láokoth was its Houses, not its king. But, Ŏvor knew, the Houses would not be united without the king, and the king would not have power had not the Houses allowed it. The balance was delicate.
A very long, walled avenue led from the west gate to the interior of the Palace grounds. There, this avenue would branch into several others, all of which were heavily patrolled. The labyrinthine design was intended to slow any would-be invaders. Ŏvor suspected it would still be some time before they reached the king’s residence.
At that moment, their carriage stopped abruptly when another crossed the Palace avenue in front of them. The other driver saw Bo Han and then spoke quietly to his occupant. Seconds later, the curtain opened and a middle-aged man wearing a red golt and a long ivory cloak emerged and offered his greeting to Bo Han. After a moment, Ŏvor recognized him. This was Kío En Tolen11, the Prime Minister, the king’s Oak Hand. Ŏvor found himself wondering how Bo Han’s power compared to that of the Oak Hand.
Kío En said from his carriage, “It is a poor evening for travel.”
Bo Han answered, “Like you, my friend, I serve the king.”
“That is good,” Kío En answered. “His burdens are many and great.”
“You should return home quickly. This rain shows no sign of stopping soon.”
“I’m afraid I am not going home. Not yet, anyway.” And he glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the other side of the Palace grounds.
“Of course.” Bo Han bowed, and Ŏvor with him. Kío En returned the gesture and his curtain closed. His carriage started to move again.
Bo Han turned on the bench and looked behind them. Their own carriage that they had taken from the Lăsoth estate was still visible where it was waiting on the other side of the Palace’s west gate. Bo Han gestured to Tova, who stood and nodded.
Ŏvor was aware that a great deal had just happened and that he would not understand any of it until Bo Han explained it to him later.
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