Chapter Sixty-Five: The Golden House, pt I

Cemil offered Emre healing for his wound, but the mark stayed, and his brother wouldn’t meet his eye. They didn’t speak.

When Emre stood, it was to seek out his mother. She’d been moved, reclining, onto a stone bench by the flowerbed, and moaned insensibly as if in a torturous dream. Emre knelt beside her and spoke to her gently.

Danvarra stirred. The night filled with her weeping as she threw herself at her son, embracing him tight.

“You accept your responsibility, Cemil?” said the emperor as they looked on.

“…Yes, Father.”

After what felt like an eternity, the Meskato prince seemed to remember his companions standing there. “Wait for me in the house,” he implored them. “I’ll join you soon. Please.”

There was to be no argument. All three retreated back into the mansion, leaving their prince to converse in private with his father.

Even from here, Danvarra’s sobs carried.

“They aren’t going to kill him?” Osmund asked the others breathlessly as soon as they were inside. Sakina dropped onto a couch, and Mirhan fetched her some water from an ewer set out nearby.

“They won’t if he behaves himself,” he said shortly. “Not that he has much of a choice now.”

“You’re miraculous. I’ve never known our sovereign to take counsel from anyone once he’s made his ruling,” Sakina said faintly, taking the offered cup. She looked up. “Osmund, sit. You’re white as marble.”

“Is that not just his natural complexion?” said Mirhan innocently.

Osmund barely heard the jab, and sat. There was more he longed to ask, but his tongue felt foreign in his mouth. They lingered in silence until Cemil appeared in the doorway. He too had lost some of his color.

Sakina set down her cup and went to him. “Cemil, you’re worn to nothing,” she fretted, smoothing down his caftan. “Take some rest now, please.”

Cemil’s brows furrowed. He shook her away. Then he cursed hoarsely and swept to the other side of the room. Osmund went to his feet as well, only to stand uselessly watching as Cemil paced, stalking around like a raging storm.

“Father has decided to stay at Guardian’s Roost, an old fortress on the harbor,” Cemil said at last, leaning his weight on a lacquered wooden table against the far wall. His voice was drained. “He’s quitted the house for the night.”

The words turned over in Osmund’s pounding skull. It was the last thing of importance right now, but he couldn’t help thinking of the Golden House, and of the grueling hours the servants had spent preparing it for the emperor’s visit. “An old fort?” he repeated blankly. “But why?”

“Perhaps he means to garrison it with his own men during his stay and so feel more secure.” This was obviously the unsatisfactory explanation Cemil had arrived at, himself. “He did want it fixed up before his arrival.”

“Let’s hope that’s all it is,” said Sakina forebodingly.

This was another aching mystery, but Cemil abandoned it for the moment. “I’m indebted to you, Mirhan,” he said. Rather than gratitude, his voice was thick with something like shame.

“It was my responsibility to save your brother,” said Mirhan, “because only I could’ve done it. Our sovereign fears nothing but spiritual ruin. And so he listens to me, raised as I was by mystics, and I give him exactly the counsel he expects. To a man like you, Cemil, what I would have said is that things in the far territories are more fractious than they appear. Emre is known to be a rebel sympathizer; his execution without even a show trial would have made waves. Keeping him controlled is a much more logical course.”

Mirhan spoke plainly, yet Osmund couldn’t help but think of Sakina’s comment about his “gilded tongue”; before their eyes, he watched as Cemil began slowly nodding, his tension easing with the words. “This brings me to the reason I’m here,” Mirhan continued. “Of course, we pray that your father is granted long life in defiance of his condition. But when you do take his place, I wish to retain mine. And not as spiritual counsel, but as an advisor. I’ve come to pledge myself to you. Consider me at your disposal, my prince, as you decide whether to make use of me.”

The words were bold and earnest. There was nothing servile about his tone. “Thank you,” said Cemil, his expression softening. “I’ll always have need of loyal and resourceful companions. I welcome you warmly back to Şebyan, my friend.”

The mood had thus been considerably lifted, or at least changed into something new. “Tonight should be dedicated to a happy reunion that will live on in our memories,” Mirhan decided, folding his hands together. “Is it not a shame to let those lovely apartments sit empty?”

Sakina eyed him. “What are you suggesting, you mischievous boy?”

“That we must do something about it. A great many somethings. Deeds that would captivate even your harshest critics, my prince. Look at these faces around you.”

Osmund fully expected Cemil to argue. Yet unexpectedly the Meskato prince turned, taking in Sakina’s tired features and then, prolongedly, Osmund, who must really have been paler than usual. “Perhaps we should,” was what Cemil eventually said.

“Again, you’re miraculous,” Sakina said to Mirhan privately as they all made their way together out the door. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Stepping through the resplendent doors of the Golden House had the feeling of committing some great sin, washed clean by reverence at the full spectacle. The magnificent domed ceiling loomed far overhead, its visible surface replete with swirling ornament. Below, the apartments opened with a private alcove for worship and performing ablutions. The others stopped to rinse their faces, so Osmund did the same. The trickle of the running water echoed throughout the towering space.

His mind freshly cleared, Osmund noticed for the first time the motifs depicted in painted tile on the little fountains. By now they were familiar: the eye representing the Glimpse Eternal and the six-fingered hand meant to stand in for the Emissary himself, the first Great Khan, ancestor of the Meskato people.

He turned to the others to find that they’d already slipped into the next room, their voices carrying, and he rushed to follow. Inside was a vividly-colored carpet, enclosed on three sides by a couch with textured stripes, and in the room’s center, a tall, elegant waterpipe.

Cemil and Sakina settled down around it while Mirhan industriously filled the bowl and arranged the leaves in the burner. The others made no move to help, and Osmund joined them on the floor rather than mess things up.

When the charcoals were burning, the hose was offered to each of them first, but they demurred until their prince took up the mouthpiece. After a long draught, Cemil blew a cloud of smoke. His eyes lazily drifted as he did so; Osmund tried to visualize that he’d just rid himself of all his troubles.

The four of them were now arranged in a circle, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, taking turns at the hose. Mirhan produced an impressive line of smoke rings, and everyone made noises of admiration. Osmund accepted it from Sakina warily; this particular pastime hadn’t made it to the Isles yet, with the Tolmish preferring their beer and wine to other intoxicants. Nonetheless, he inhaled as he’d seen the others do, and managed not to cough.

By his second turn at the nargile, he began to feel the comforting lightheadedness. He was still thinking of Emre being embraced by his sobbing mother, and the burning mark that had been left upon his skin.

“How long it’s been since we were all together,” Sakina sighed, languidly stretching. “We did miss you when you left us.”

“Oh?” Mirhan said. “Does that mean you went all the way to Kaliany in search of me?”

Osmund looked at Cemil before he could catch himself. The Meskato prince gave another short laugh, but there was no mirth in it.

“How did the three of you all meet?” the Tolmishman asked, to change the topic.

“Our fourth speaks!”

It was Cemil who answered. “Mirhan was traveling through the province and asked for hospitality. We ended up all passing some time together.”

“A dry version of events, but yes.” Mirhan gave Osmund his full attention. “And you! Appearing from nowhere to earn Cemil’s trust. A wicked sorcerer bewitching our prince!”

“Osmund is fearless. He saved me from a gryphon,” Sakina said loyally.

“He outmaneuvered Bayram,” Cemil added. “He’s intelligent and dependable. If not for him, we’d both be dead.”

Osmund shrank beneath their adulations. “‘Osmund,’” Mirhan said, testing out the sound of it. “You’re from the Isles. The same name as your royal prince.”

Underneath the numbing effects of the drug, the very blood in his veins screamed danger. “W-we were born in the same year,” he stammered, readying the defense he’d long since armed himself with, but never needed to employ until now. “It’s common on the Isles for families to name their children after recent royal births. For good luck! Hopefully I’m not cursed, since my namesake died, haha.”

Mirhan puffed out some more rings, hose in hand. “I heard rumors he survived, and that he’s alive and well here in the Empire.”

What?!

“I heard something similar,” Sakina said, further obliterating his mental peace. “They say he’s quite proud. Nothing like our Osmund.”

Their Osmund just gaped at the both of them, unable to hide his reaction. He’d been called a great many unflattering things in his former life, but “proud” was not one of them.

“If he is alive, and looking to reclaim his homeland as the rumors suggest, I shall have to deal with him sooner or later,” Cemil sighed. “Perhaps he can be of some use.”

“An alliance with the future King of Valcrest!” Mirhan laughed. “A bold new direction for our empire under your leadership, Cemil.”

Osmund had no idea who out there was spreading these wild rumors, but really, they only worked to his advantage, he realized with a strange pang of relief. No one would suspect him among whispers of such a character. Maybe this was Emre’s doing.

He was about to gather his nerve and finally press for details about the seal that had spared Emre’s life, but instead found himself watching, speechless, as Mirhan sidled on his knees right up to Cemil and leaned in as if for a kiss, so close a gentle nudge would have pressed them together, before slowly exhaling smoke, one hand tracking down his arm as he retreated. And Cemil hadn’t seemed surprised, or pushed him away.

“What is,” Osmund sputtered, the sentence dropping off midway.

Cemil at least had the decency to look guilty, snapping out of his tobacco-fueled trance when he noticed Osmund’s incredulous stare. “We got to know each other quite well before,” he said apologetically. “It was many years ago.”

Osmund put the pieces together slowly. “All three of you?!”

Sakina giggled. “It was a memorable couple of weeks.”

“Weeks?! I assumed you all had known each other for years!”

“A lot can happen in that time,” said Mirhan, smiling cryptically at him. “You’ll see.”

So, they had slept together. Alright. He could handle proximity to another of Cemil’s past lovers, if he had to. But it had taken months of living and traveling together for Cemil to open up to Osmund about his deepest secret, something that was inevitably revealed to any partner—which meant Mirhan must have managed it in a few short weeks.

When he’d first learned about Sakina those many months ago, he’d been instantly ready to give up. Now, he recognized, he was jealous. And furthermore, he was annoyed!

“Well, as Cemil said, it was years ago,” he said, making no secret of his displeasure. “You shouldn’t assume you have that kind of relationship anymore.”

“Oh, Osmund, you’re delightful when you’re angry,” Sakina laughed. Osmund glared at the betrayal, and looked to Cemil for support.

“You heard him, Mirhan,” said Cemil dutifully. The Meskato prince seemed, if Osmund wasn’t mistaken, pretty pleased with this turn of events.

Meanwhile the smile had not been wiped off Mirhan’s face. “We’ve made you feel so left out,” he cooed. It was Osmund he was focused on now. “Say the word, and I’ll right this great wrong.”

Osmund choked, gaping. Before he could find his voice to protest or—whatever it was he meant to do!—Mirhan laughed musically and turned away again. “Who’s up for a bath?” said the man instead, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve got a tension in my neck that needs easing.”