The afternoon sun shone brightly over the walls of the Little Palace’s garden. Clouds built in great gray clumps across the northern horizon, heralding storms. A cool breeze cut through the warm, damp air.
One of the maids had followed the prince into the garden with one of his thin summer cloaks, which he had allowed her to drape around his shoulders. Its bulk had more than doubled his size, yet still he was a small figure in the small garden. One could say they fitted each other exactly. At least, that was how So Ga had always felt, that he and this place fitted each other exactly. In the bright afternoon he was even more pale than usual. His long dark hair was almost dry, and though the cool breeze made him shiver, the sun was indeed quite warm and felt good on his cold, pale cheeks.
The maids remained on the stone porch behind him, some four or five of them dressed in the white and green of their station. His father’s maids wore white and black. And the maids who worked elsewhere in the Palace wore white and brown. But green was the color of the crown prince, as it was associated with spring and new life. For this reason the crown prince’s palace used to be called the Spring Palace. Though the name had never been applied to any of the Four Little Palaces, the walled courtyard in which they were housed was often called the Spring Courtyard.
The small but abundant garden inside the Little Palace’s courtyard had been carefully maintained over the summer. Thin willows swayed over patches of brilliant green grass. Flowers bloomed in curling rows forming a circuitous path through the small space where each turn and bend presented a different fragrance and assortment of colors. Last summer a pond had appeared near the back wall, where willow branches bent low and brushed across the water’s surface. The afternoon light made the dark water glitter with the movements of the elegant birnrens whose fins and tails were as delicate as the iridescent gauze that women wore over the long skirts of their golts in the summer. Recently they had also added a few blue-bellied nars, Ávoth’s1 fish. The addition of the nars had not been the prince’s request, nor indeed had been the construction of the pond. But he knew who was responsible, and that made him love this little corner of his garden all the more. Lately the prince had taken to spending his afternoons on the edge of the pond gazing at the movements of the nars and the birnrens who did not seem to be entirely at ease with each other’s company.
“Are they enemies?” he had asked Hin Lan yesterday.
The stone-faced tutor had pondered the undulating surface of the water and said, “Perhaps they do not yet know.”
At this moment, however, only minutes after he had sent away his afternoon meal uneaten and had left his study to catch his breath in the open air of his courtyard, So Ga was staring not at the little pond and its occupants, but at the high back wall of his Little Palace where a maple tree had used the long summer’s heat to reach as high as possible over the gleaming ramparts. One of its slender uppermost branches had draped over the white stones like the resting arm of a distracted intruder. The prince had decided that he was fond of this maple tree when he had returned to this little palace four weeks ago. Even though only its uppermost crown was visible above the wall, its leaves had already begun to transform from green to bright crimson, shining like wet clay in rain or sun.
But now, given the errant branch, the tree would have to be removed.
He suspected that a portion of his unease stemmed from the fact that they were scheduled to move palaces this week. It had been four weeks already since the last switch, though it felt like it had only been a few days.
Part of the protocols for the Spring Courtyard stipulated that every four weeks the Four Little Princes would switch palaces; the crown prince and his three body doubles would change places at night, under cover of darkness. The move included the entirety of each prince’s household. The Four Little Palaces were identical, so in many ways it felt like a brief midnight walk. He could not bring anything with him. All the clothes, books, and furniture were identical in each palace, so it was not deemed necessary. Nevertheless, So Ga always started his stay in a new palace feeling like an intruder in someone else’s home. By the time the sensation had faded it was time to move again. He stared at the maple tree and tried to decide if this reason was enough to account for the broad disruption that had begun to burden his mind.
When Hin Lan returned a half-hour later he told the crown prince that a fresh copy of the transcripts was on its way. Then the stone-faced tutor bowed deeply and said, almost in a whisper, “It was His Majesty, your royal father.”
So Ga did not reply. Minutes after he had erupted at the innocent attendant who had brought him the pages, that realization had occurred to him. No one else would dare to touch the pages of the court transcripts. By law, even his father was not permitted to do so, though in recent years the court seemed to behave anxiously around the king. Indeed, from what So Ga had read, the court hadn’t dared to question the king on any matter in nine years.
A pair of small robins had come to rest upon the invading maple branch. They hopped cautiously along its thin length, gazing first outside the wall and then at the garden within, as if trying to make a decision.
So Ga had not yet acknowledged Hin Lan, nor his whispered announcement. He was calm now, but he was still troubled. And he was still unsure why.
Once again, So Ga found himself distracted by the same thoughts that had been plaguing him for weeks. How could he, as the crown prince, continue his duties from within the Little Palace? How could he help his father from within these walls? Who would marry a prince who could not leave his enclosed courtyard? Without a strong marriage, how could he gain any support from the powerful Houses?
More and more he had begun to understand that he did not feel anxiety about his inability to aid his father as much as he felt fearful of leaving his Spring Courtyard. These high walls offered a sense of security that So Ga valued more than he cared to admit.
But that security, So Ga had come to understand today, came at a price. He could think of no other word for this price than “blindness.” The feeling that he was blind to everything outside his Little Palace had suddenly made him fearful. As if the blindness itself indicated the presence of danger. But why would his father, of all people, seek to make him blind?
As he waited in the afternoon stillness for the new pages to arrive he slowly came to realize that the only reason his father would go so far as to black out words from his son’s view was to protect him. But protect him from what? Was he not already as protected as he could be? The Spring Courtyard was better guarded than the king’s own person. Each of the four Little Palaces had its own army of bodyswords, each had large drums on the roofs of their Front Halls to alert the Palace guards of any threat or danger. Each had volumes of protocols that were followed to the letter. A slip of paper could not breach the walls of his Little Palace, much less a knife or enemy. From what could his father be protecting him?
In time a boy came from the Front Hall. And, as was the usual way in the Little Palace, he went straight to Hin Lan.
The little messenger bounced where he stood with a restless energy that Hin Lan checked with a tap on the boy’s elbow. Tucking his small arms into the short sleeves of his messenger’s golt, the boy bowed and crossed his hands, right over left, thumbs tucked. After making a brief inspection of the new pages he had delivered, Hin Lan took a small item from his pocket and tucked it inside the boy’s crossed hands. So Ga saw the glimmer of sparkling sugar. A spasm of joy shivered through the bowing child. When finally Hin Lan released him with a curt dismissal, he all but ran back inside the palace, barely remembering to bow to the prince before he left.
When So Ga turned and held out his hand for the new pages, Hin Lan hesitated. At that moment, the prince knew vaguely what words the ink had attempted to hide. Hin Lan did not meet his gaze when he finally placed the new pages in So Ga’s outstretched hand.
The page that had been covered in ink contained an argument that had erupted between the second clerk of the Minister of Defense and the elderly Minister of Appointments. The latter had presented a matter before the king which he believed needed to be addressed. And that was the governorship of Hin Dan, the princedom on the eastern-most edge of Láokoth.
Hin Dan, the princedom that had once been ruled by the Nŭnon2 House. It had been the Nŭnon prince who had sent men into the Palace nine years ago. Men who had spilled more blood than the Palace had seen in a hundred years. The scar on So Ga’s shoulder tingled. He took a few steps away from Hin Lan before he continued reading.
The Minister of Appointments went on to remind the court that after the Nŭnon House had been eliminated, the rule of the Hin Dan princedom had temporarily fallen to the royal governor. Each princedom had a royal governor, who was little more than an officer of the king’s court tasked with maintaining Sona authority in the unified princedoms of Láokoth. But for the last nine years the royal governor had been ruling Hin Dan as a prince would.
“For the last nine years…” that was what the Minister of Appointments had said. For the past nine years, ever since the Nŭnon House had been executed in its entirety, a condemnation received after they had attacked the Royal Palace and killed most of the king’s family. Perhaps it made some sense that So Ga’s father had sought to protect him from the memories that would be recalled to his son by the topic of Hin Dan and Nŭnon. But what about all the mentions of Hin Dan in past court meetings that had not been covered in ink? He shook his head and continued reading.
The Minister of Appointments went on to remind the court that for the royal governor’s office to continue to serve as the ruling body of Hin Dan was “most irregular.”
He was right, of course. A governor appointed by the king ruling a princedom? That had never happened in the history of Láokoth. However, none of the other members of court had agreed with his proposal that the king oversee the powerful Houses of Hin Dan in appointing, from among their number, a new princely House.
It was then, rather abruptly according to the records, that the second clerk of the Minister of Defense, a young official called Ban Lo, of the Sonen House had harshly reprimanded the Minister of Appointments for carelessly recalling to the king’s mind the crimes of the former princely House of Hin Dan, the condemned and hated Nŭnon House.
The king, So Ga noticed, had said nothing.
Hin Lan was still standing behind him, his folded hands tucked into the large sleeves of his dark green golt.
So Ga tilted his head and looked again at the maple branch.
“My royal father ordered the redaction?”
Hin Lan considered the prince for a moment. “As I understand it, His Majesty suggested the redaction. I believe he was concerned—”
“Yes, I know.”
Hin Lan set his jaw.
“What will happen?” So Ga asked, looking at his tutor.
“With what, Your Highness?”
“With Hin Dan. The governor has ruled the princedom for almost a decade. If my royal father isn’t going to allow a new House to become the princely House, why does he not just take Hin Dan as part of Sona Gen and expand the royal princedom?”
“I cannot speak for His Majesty, Your Highness. But if you were in your royal father’s position, would you make Hin Dan part of Sona Gen?”
So Ga thought for a moment. Then answered, “I would not.”
“Why not?”
“The princedoms might be vassal states of the kingdom, but they are still Láokoth, which is ruled in its entirety by my royal father. Taking Hin Dan in order to rule it would suggest that the Sona royal House is somehow not already ruling the princedoms.” Hin Lan smiled slightly. “Moreover, the rule of the princely Houses over their princedoms is even more ancient than the rule of the royal House over unified Láokoth. It would be seen as an affront to the Houses, especially the Fourteen Ancient Houses. They would have no choice but to express their disapproval.”
“But if the royal princedom was expanded, there would be less need for the royal House to negotiate or even placate the princely Houses on matters such as defense and taxation.”
So Ga understood that Hin Lan was arguing this point in order to test him. He answered, “The princely Houses have no need for negotiation or placation. The princedoms are well-governed but still revere and obey the Sona royal House. They are not allies of Láokoth. They are subordinate to the crown.”
Hin Lan smiled gently and nodded. “But,” he asked, “why not allow Hin Dan’s Houses to name a new prince of Hin Dan?”
Suddenly, So Ga understood why his father had kept silent on the matter this morning in court. He answered thoughtfully, “Hin Dan does not need my royal father’s permission to name a new princely House. The new princely House would merely need his official approval, which is just a formality. It isn’t that the king has not allowed Hin Dan to name a new prince, but that Hin Dan has, so far, failed to do so.”
Hin Lan, still smiling, closed his eyes. So Ga understood that he was suggesting there was more. The prince thought for a moment, then went on.
“If my royal father spoke in court about the Hin Dan Houses’ delay in choosing a new princely House, the Láokoth crown would be seen to be interfering in the internal matters of both a princedom and a House. If the king agreed that the Hin Dan Houses need to put an end to their hesitation and bickering and appoint a new princely House, it would outrage the other princedoms, and most Houses. But if he stated explicitly that this matter had nothing to do with him it would suggest that the Sona royal House does not rule the princedoms.”
Hin Lan nodded solemnly. “This young second clerk from the Ministry of Defense did the court and His Majesty a great service when he deflected the argument away from these points.”
So Ga returned the pages to Hin Lan who made them disappear inside the heavy green sleeves of his golt. The prince had found that he no longer wished to consider the matter. Though he had a sense that there was still some crucial part of it that he was missing.
Of all the king’s many difficulties, balancing the rule of the princedoms and control over the Houses was by far the hardest. More often than not, So Ga had found, his father had accomplished this precarious balance by doing and saying nothing. For centuries the government of Láokoth had subsisted on carefully maintained and implicitly understood matters of power and respect. All that was necessary to undo that balance was a single poorly placed word in precisely the wrong moment. How his father had maintained it for nineteen years, So Ga couldn’t begin to know. The thought that one day this balancing act would be his filled him with dread.
It was then that Hin Lan cleared his throat.
So Ga turned and looked at his tutor who still had his eyes closed. He thought, in that moment, that with his stiff green sleeves flapping a bit in the cold breeze, he looked rather like a large bird. Given his strange mood, he nearly said so.
“Yes?” he asked instead.
Hin Lan opened his eyes and said, “They have reported to me that you did not eat your lunch.”
So Ga sighed and began to walk toward the little pond.
Hin Lan didn’t move. “Your Highness, you cannot flee. This garden is too small.”
“You cannot force me to eat lunch, Hin Lan.”
“I believe His Majesty might, in this case, disagree.”
So Ga turned and flapped the corner of his cloak at him. “How dare you presume to speak for my royal father.”
Hin Lan bowed solemnly. “Perhaps after you have had your lunch you can write to the Grand Steward reporting my crimes.”
“I’m not hungry,” So Ga argued petulantly.
“May I presume to remind His Highness that he is no longer a child.”
“And so I believe I should be able to make my own decisions regarding my meals.”
“Yes indeed, Your Highness. You may decide if you would like to eat your lunch in the garden or in the study.”
“I do not want lunch.”
Ten minutes later So Ga found himself sitting at his desk in his study sipping his steaming, reheated soup. Hin Lan was seated across from him in his usual chair, his arms still tucked in his sleeves, his eyes closed.
The court records were there on his desk, the new pages next to the ink-blackened ones, which were rumpled and creased. Hin Lan had said little and seemed disinclined to pursue the morning’s interrupted lessons, given the general disorder of the day. So Ga was thankful for that, but he still felt restless.
And while he sipped his steaming soup and for the rest of the afternoon, his eyes found the pages and lingered there while his mind grew more and more troubled.
AY-voth (the guardian of the dead)
NIY-oh-nohn
Power Play! Deflected! Both the minister's and So Ga's! :)
I enjoyed the world building in this chapter.
I like the politicking, but what I really like is the level of subtlety that not only makes the reader feel intelligent (even with a provided explanation) but the fact that the subtlety tells us more about the culture of laokoth than words ever could.