Chapter Seventy-One: Strange Novelty

Osmund,

You were right to be surprised by the manticore. Maritime trade in such beasts is certainly rare. Your friend heard correctly: Safet has a bottomless appetite for all that money can buy. I’ve heard accounts of his garden palaces for years, since he was even more the child than he is now, and all the exotic creatures he finds for them. It is not the empire’s money he wastes, but the fortunes of his powerful friends, who he seems to find effortlessly. There is little I can do, so do not mind it. Likewise, don’t dwell on what is said of us, or of me. Gossip is for idle people. I intend to let my actions speak for themselves. And what we have is something special, only for us to know.

The purpose of this retreat is becoming clearer to me. My father wishes to see how I act with his advisors and loyal men, knowing I will be in their hands once he passes. He even speaks of setting a test for me. As I’ve described, they are a difficult group, but no more difficult than the petitioners I deal with every day in Şebyan. I believe I’m earning their trust. Mirhan’s and Yücel’s insight and experience have been a great help here.

By the time you read this, we will be over three weeks apart. I can offer you no worthy apology, except that this was not my design. I fear we will be here longer still. Father has announced another party will soon be joining us, someone he claims has a stake in regional diplomatic affairs. It seems to be a secretive matter. I will tell you the full of it in time, once it is known to me.

You wrote of wishing our life could be simpler. There’s nothing I can do to change the fate I was given. But I promise I’ll endeavor to make you happy, no matter what else we must contend with. That much is within my power to give.

Take care of yourself and Banu, and give Sakina my love.

Your devoted prince,

Cemil

And so it went. Osmund rose every morning for work, tracking his progress not just by the number of pages he’d conquered in the account ledger but by the surprising morsel of kinship he felt with his new companions. Just until this whole business is over, he reminded himself on more than one occasion. As for Mylo, the intimidating man was no friendlier, but the stern hum he gave whenever he took a peek at the ledger was very nearly praise.

Presently Osmund walked through the streets with Emre. As they navigated the shops on the way back to the governor’s mansion he suddenly felt the warm touch of Emre’s ungloved hand. A curious thing, especially when he felt that strange, though by now familiar pull.

“I’m just getting topped off. Don’t stare,” Emre grumbled.

It wasn’t unusual for men to walk arm-in-arm (or even hand-in-hand) the way it was on the Isles, it being considered a brotherly gesture here in the Empire, but it was definitely an adjustment. Not to mention his fellow Tolmish would not understand the distinction: it had caused that misunderstanding with Sigebert already. “All you have to do is ask,” Osmund reminded him, chafing. “I may not be using my magic, but it’s still mine.”

“Then, may I?”

“Of course.” Osmund took a breath. “Just tell me, why do you have such need of it lately?”

Emre didn’t answer, but Osmund saw the way he flexed the fingers of his other hand, where below the sheepskin glove lay the burning brand. On that subject, he remained tight-lipped as ever.

“Alright then, next question, and I believe this one’s fair.” Osmund gestured to their surroundings, flummoxed. “Why have you brought me to a sweets shop?”

They’d wound up in a veritable field of whimsical sugar sculptures. The little store was populated by creatures both mundane and fantastic, heroic figures with sword in hand, blooming flowers, pavillions with whispering lovers, even imitation jewelry. All impressive indeed, but Osmund had a headache and wanted to get in a ride with Banu before dark.

Emre seemed cagey. “I’m looking for a…gift,” he said belaboredly. “For my…mother. Do any of these seem right?”

“I barely know your mother, Emre,” Osmund quipped after the initial disbelief had passed. “I don’t think she approves of me for her son, if you can imagine it.”

“…Then, what do you think a woman would like?”

Heavens, how helpless he was. Osmund scanned the figures awhile. “This one, I think,” he announced.

The sculpture was of a young girl, a book on her lap, surrounded by flowers. Behind her crouched a boy, half-hidden in the garden as if afraid to approach. “I don’t know,” Emre muttered. With his hand still in Osmund’s, he gravitated them towards a different piece: pulled sugar in the shape of a lily. “Perhaps something simple…”

They went back and forth while the confectioner’s assistant eyed them, her manner friendly, but her gaze impatient. In the end, they left without buying anything. Emre released his hand, which was a relief. Even though they were well out of the Tolmish quarter, Osmund had been half-expecting to see Sigebert walking in to buy something for his missus.

After a few blocks, he decided he was done with pretense. “Why can’t you just talk to Sakina normally?” he demanded.

“You’re getting the wrong idea,” claimed Emre, too forceful, and half-red in the face. “I just wanted to…apologize. For whatever I did to give her a bad impression of me, after all these years.”

“She isn’t angry at you. You’re just so…aloof!” The Tolmishman shook his head. “I don’t know what arcane ideas you have about women, but you’ll have a lot more luck with honest conversation.”

“Is that advice?” Emre snorted. “You’re the one lying to your lover about the most basic facts of who you are.” His face changed once it was said. “…Sorry. That was—”

It was many things, but not untrue. “Let’s just go home,” said Osmund soberly.

In the garden outside the Golden House, they paused. These last few weeks, he and Sakina had continued boarding there, not finding any particular reason to vacate now that the emperor was away (and for Osmund’s part, finding it unthinkably melancholy to stay alone in the room he normally shared with Cemil). “Why don’t you come in and chat a while?” he offered.

Emre’s head turned, and Osmund’s moved to follow it. In the encroaching purples of the evening, a golden glow streamed from the apartment’s elaborately-latticed windows. The mind’s eye filled in the warm hearth and brazier, and the person sitting in its light.

“It’s not as simple as you think it is,” Emre said suddenly, though he could have been a moth for want of that light. “It’s better if I don’t get…involved with you. Either of you.”

“I don’t care what anyone thinks about it,” Osmund resolved. “You’re a tremendous ass, but we’re friends.”

“Don’t let too many people hear you say that.” Emre straightened his back and flexed his shoulders as if shaking off an uncomfortable coat. “Have you got new drawings for me?”

The drawings in question were Osmund’s hastily-scribbled notes copied in secret from the ledgers, dates and seals and names, in case any were noteworthy to a more discerning eye than his own. “Yes, yes, I’ve got them,” Osmund said. “I’ll come by your room later.”

After parting from Emre, Osmund found Sakina sprawled out on one of the house’s soft textured couches, looking quite indolent. In her hand was a book: The Flowering Maiden’s Revenge. The cover featured a defiant young woman holding a knife while shedding a single, graceful tear.

“A sequel,” Osmund noted. “Which one is that?”

“Four.” Oh, she was peeved. Osmund had been holding up a promised “reading party” for days now. In an unaffected tone she asked, “Was that Emre outside?”

“It was.”

“He isn’t coming in?”

“He isn’t.” Osmund attempted loyally, “He wanted to.”

Sakina let out an annoyed puff, and turned the page.

“The first volume’s still in my room,” Osmund said to divert her attention. “I’ll run and get it now!”

“There’s a letter for you,” Sakina said without looking up at him. With the toes of one foot she tapped the table on which it was resting.

Osmund’s mind emptied. He snatched up the rolled-up paper bound with Cemil’s personal seal, a single flower like the one on the imperial emblem, wreathed in a divine fire. “Well, go on, don’t mind me,” Sakina urged.

If she sounded a little sarcastic, Osmund couldn’t dwell on it just now. He took up the letter, breaking the seal and unfurling it there before her.

He read the whole thing, and his face fell. Then he read it several more times, but the words remained the same.

“…It sounds like he isn’t coming back anytime soon.” He nodded to a letter that sat on Sakina’s lap. “I suppose you’ve already heard that from Mirhan.”

There was another page to Cemil’s letter, apparently written later and in a looser hand. Curiously, Osmund began to read, and made it two sentences in before coloring. This one he could not read in front of Sakina!

“What does it say?” On seeing his reaction she couldn’t hold back. “Share.”

“Um,” Osmund stammered, “apparently the emperor wants to test him, and—”

“I know all that. Speak! What lurid things is he writing?”

Osmund had never heard half of these words out of Cemil’s mouth before. “I’m sure you have plenty of lurid things right there in that book,” he jabbed, attempting to redirect her attention.

She pouted. “Not that you’d know. The sex scenes are a highlight, but the rest has gotten a bit lost. I need someone to suffer this endless subplot with me.”

“I’ll read with you, I promise,” Osmund said. “There’s something I need to do first. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, tops!”

Sakina rolled her eyes. “Well, tell me what it says after you’ve taken the edge off. Ugh, honestly.”

Osmund was not, as she might’ve thought, hiding himself away to “enjoy” Cemil’s letter in private…but it made for convenient cover.

He passed through the gardens until he reached the main house. Then he fished out a key from his pocket and let himself into Emre’s room on the second floor. This was a fine chamber for a prince’s brother—even for one perpetually out of favor. Plain, but fine. A writing desk with a store of fresh paper. A change of clothes. A tiny residue of mud where Emre laid his boots when he returned here to sleep. Even forbidding servants inside to scrub the evidence of living away, this place seemed deliberately empty of life. The only ghost of the man himself was this half-eaten bread roll on the desk, which hadn’t been there on Osmund’s last visit, and still had a bit of give to it when prodded. Osmund opened his vest to an interior pocket and slid his folded-up notes from the ledgers onto Emre’s desk.

Once this was done, he hurried to his and Cemil’s room to retrieve The Flowering Maiden’s Court. He found it lying unread near the bed where neither he nor the Meskato prince had slept for the last three weeks. This room still smelled of him, a subtle scent Osmund had not even recognized until now, so constant a presence it had been. The ensuing pang of longing halted his progress a moment.

He returned to his would-be reading partner, only to find her dozing, the book lying open across her chest.

I should write back to Cemil, Osmund thought after tucking a blanket around Sakina’s shoulders and settling down beside her. Maybe it would ease the ache of missing him in this quiet moment with no work to distract from it, and the strange novelty of his absence utterly gone. He picked up another pen and paper, but unlike his missive to Emre, he found himself struggling to compose a single sentence.

It wasn’t for want of anything to say. It was that Osmund longed to tell him everything.

The true purpose of his mission. His fears about Pravin. What would Cemil say if he were to receive such a letter? By the way, I was born a prince like you. Do you still love me?

What a useless fantasy. And anyway, apart from the occasional pet name, Cemil had never actually said the word “love” to begin with…

Osmund shook his head to clear the spiralling thoughts away. Emre was wrong. “You’re the one lying to your lover about the most basic facts of who you are.” Rubbish. The irrelevant titles he’d been granted at birth did not define him. Not at all. And Cemil… Osmund knew how he felt. It was okay that he didn’t feel compelled to put it in words. There was no reason this should bother him now.

He resolved to write his reply tomorrow, nodding off beside Sakina on the couch.