Chapter Eighty-Two: Small Matter

Sleeping quarters were limited. Not even Cemil had his own room, at least not after their party’s arrival. Emre was mostly recovered, but grudgingly resigned himself to a morning in bed at Sakina’s urging—he took to her fussing better than Cemil did, Osmund was amused to note. Sakina entertained them both with a bawdy anecdote she’d had from one of the musicians. Osmund lowered The Flowering Maiden’s Fall to give it his full attention.

“The poor thing couldn’t sing for three days afterward,” Sakina concluded as she sat by Emre’s pallet. “She got up before clients and just croaked like a frog. Apparently men started lining up to pay for the privilege.”

“Seems like traveling musicians lead a colorful life,” Osmund remarked, near admiringly. “All-night parties and torrid affairs with wealthy patrons! It’s like a novel.”

Emre was pulling a face. “Women croaking like frogs. Interesting, but if I paid for a performance, I’d rather have a song.”

Osmund struck upon an idea. “Sakina, what if you sang something for us?” He remembered the servants’ gossip detailing her many talents.

“She’s very good,” put in Emre unexpectedly.

Sakina gave a wan smile. “Stories aren’t enough? Are you both so starved for entertainment in a house full of musicians?”

“Nevermind them, I want to hear you. Please?”

He’d expected some coy demurring, easily overcome. “I haven’t sang in years,” said Sakina, her lilting voice going high. “I think I’d have to relearn how…”

There was a knock. Cemil entered, accompanied by the emperor himself. Osmund and the others sat up abruptly.

“Why do I see three young people hiding in your rooms, Cemil?” the old man wondered. (The Meskato prince just grimaced; this ambush clearly hadn’t been his idea.) “And on a fine day like this one.”

Without warning, the emperor seated himself at Emre’s bedside. Emre went stiff, his eyes alert and sharp, unwilling to betray the softness that had been there only moments before. “Emre,” said the old man reproachfully, and Emre did not flinch when the emperor patted his leg in a way that was nearly paternal. “Have you been getting into trouble again? Disobeying an order from your brother goes against our arrangement.”

“It was a misunderstanding, Father, as I explained yesterday,” said Cemil quickly. “I compelled him at the house unintentionally.”

“On what matter?”

“…Not anything serious.”

The emperor hummed. After a stomach-dropping pause, he gave Emre’s leg another little pat. “Good,” he said simply. “Let’s not give your dear mother cause to worry.”

Emre didn’t speak, but his nostrils flared with every breath. He stared back at his stepfather with the same intentness as a cornered animal.

“Why don’t we all step outside?” suggested Sakina with a smile plastered on her face. She was already making to rise.

“A small matter first,” said He. And he looked to Cemil, who cleared his throat.

“Emre,” began the Meskato prince, and Osmund realized he was holding the silencing charm from the other room, “once you’re well enough to travel, I’m sending you to Safet’s palace in Kördağ as my eyes and ears.”

Sakina did not quite hide an outraged expression. Emre was quiet. The brand on his hand pulsed. He asked without emotion, “Will that be all, my prince?”

“If the opportunity arises,” Cemil went on at a slight sideways glance from his father, “…kill Lalezar. You know her face.”

“Not Nadir?”

“…He isn’t an immediate threat. Not without her.”

Emre stared, unafraid, back at his brother—and at the stepfather that had once called for his execution. He held their gazes for a long time.

“H-hold on,” Osmund interrupted. And despite his friends’ expressions of dismay, he was forced to continue, “If General Nadir really is Safet’s guest, he’ll suspect Emre has come for revenge, surely?”

Emre’s hand twitched upon the sheets, an impulse quickly mastered. On his left shoulder beneath his too-loose shirt lay a hint of the cruel scar from Nadir’s blade.

“I was thinking we could orchestrate a scheme,” suggested Cemil. “Appear to part on hostile terms, so that when word travels, they won’t believe you represent my interests.”

“A bit of theater,” said the emperor jovially.

Sakina still looked less than amused. Osmund swallowed. “I don’t want you to announce yourself on arrival,” Cemil clarified. “You can use your magic to hide in plain sight while you send your local connections to gather information. How to proceed from there, I’m leaving to your judgment.”

Emre sucked in a grudging breath. “…I’ll figure it out.”

“See that it’s done,” the emperor agreed. Smiling, he added, “Consider it your first job as the imperial spymaster.”

Several pairs of eyes went wide. Emre looked to Cemil, his gaze seeking. “How about it, Emre?” asked Cemil quietly. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

The seconds ticked by. “Very well,” mumbled Emre in reply. And Osmund understood that this was theater, too.

The emperor left without further comment, taking the snuffed silencing charm with him. Cemil watched him round the corner before gently shutting the door and indicating to his companions that it was safe to speak.

“Never mind the order,” was the first thing out of his mouth. “I release you from compulsion. Emre. Will you do this?” Osmund wondered if there was really a choice involved.

Emre sat at the edge of the pallet. “I see the reason in it,” he allowed. “You need someone who’s close at hand, and who you know won’t be lured away by Safet’s charm. Yes. Lalezar needs to be taken out. I’ll do it.” He flashed Osmund a momentary glance. We’ll discuss Pravin later, it seemed intended to say.

“But you can’t go alone, surely.” Sakina looked pleadingly between the two brothers.

“Others would only get in the way,” said Emre, blunt as ever. “I’m used to traveling alone. Osmund, is Adalet in good form?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll make sure he doesn’t need a reshoeing.” Osmund frowned distractedly. They’d only just arrived, and already their group would be divided again. “What will the rest of us be doing while you ride to Safet’s court?”

“That’s been decided too,” Cemil said. He was visibly ill at ease. “We’ll be riding to Videl to forge peace, once the escort I’m requesting from Taranuz arrives.”

The other three reacted. “We’re riding to Videl directly from here?!” Osmund interjected. “What if they don’t want peace?”

“They’ve already signalled they’re agreeable to…what we can offer them,” Cemil supplied, strangely unforthcoming. “We just need to…finalize the arrangement. In person.”

“Finalize how?” Sakina led the charge now. “Cemil, you’ve been put in charge of this Videlari affair. Is this all part of your ‘test’?”

Cemil nodded. “Many in my father’s circle lust for war,” he said gravely. “This, I’d prefer to resolve with diplomatic means. If possible.”

Emre threw on another layer and reached for his socks by the bed. “Glad I’ll be riding along the coast. The cold doesn’t agree with me.” Considering the thick cloaks he wore in mild conditions, this was hardly a surprise.

“Oh. I didn’t bring anything warm,” Osmund realized.

Sakina teased him. “This from a Tolmish? Surely a proud Northerner can handle a little cold.”

“Not dressed like this, ideally!”

“You’ll be properly outfitted, of course. I’ll find you something myself.” Cemil paused at the door. “We’ll be here a couple more days in the meantime.”

Sakina folded her arms. “And how should we be making use of that time? We aren’t hunters, any of us.”

“There’s musicians and plenty to eat, and bored statesmen hoping to play against new faces.” Cemil offered his friends a distant smile. “You’re all guests of the emperor. Enjoy yourselves, as you can.”

Reluctantly, Osmund sat down in the garden to dice games with his former self. The impostor sought out his company eagerly and was unflinchingly polite. Owing to some instinct he could not interrogate, Osmund felt sure the other man actually deeply disliked him.

“I say, the demon king has lent me some of his own luck,” chirped the fraud triumphantly as he swept the clinking silver aspers over to his side of the table. “Or perhaps you’re cursed! Would that every opponent was as obliging as you. Play again? Oh, hold on, I’ve business with her.”

“Business” entailed hopping to his feet to go shamelessly flirting with the tambur-playing beauty providing their entertainment. Osmund rolled his eyes and wondered about Lady Selenne, and whether this unfaithful man currently wearing Osmund’s own name was the father of her unborn child.

It was a lazy day, but with the feeling of a encroaching storm. The emperor sat at the center of the garden, a fawning Mirhan at one side, and his son Yücel at the other, surrounded by courtiers who seemed enamored of the prince’s stories; Osmund recognized Vasiliy and Toraman from before. All the ministers and attendants had joined the gathering, and the hounds too. Osmund nudged a very insistent mastiff away with his elbow. “I’ve no food for you,” he scolded, dodging the beast’s eagerly-sniffing nose as best as he could while sitting cross-legged before their makeshift game board. “Leave me be, please?”

He didn’t notice Cemil until the Meskato prince crouched down beside him, dismissing the dog with a single command. “As usual, you’re popular with animals,” observed Cemil with a smile.

“Dogs aren’t discriminating,” Osmund grumbled. “Though they’d be better off pestering one of the soldiers.”

“Animals are attracted to places with high concentrations of magic,” said Cemil thoughtfully. “I assume the same holds for similarly blessed people.”

It took Osmund a second to register the meaning. “It’s how you were able to destroy the ‘undying weapons’, isn’t it?” The Meskato prince looked to him for confirmation. He seemed only curious. “You overloaded them, in a sense, like flooding a ditch, or causing a dam to burst. All those times we’ve been in contact physically, yet I never thought to try you for latent magic.”

He must have heard from Sakina. Osmund held out a nervous hand. “Would you like to now?” he offered.

With naked eagerness, Cemil rolled up his own sleeve and let their skin touch. Osmund felt that questing tendril of energy curling up into his veins, same as he had with the others, and yet not the same. It suddenly seemed brazen to be doing this in front of so many other people, and he shuddered with the intimacy of it, with the warmth and pleasure he always associated with Cemil’s magic.

Their connection untethered. “I never knew,” Cemil said wonderingly. Together they looked out over the assembled crowd. On the steps below the portico sat Sakina and Mirhan, the latter of whom had apparently broken away from the emperor’s party. The two were pressed tightly together as if discussing something in confidence, even as Emre made to approach.

“Heavens, what a circus it was, traveling with Sakina and your brother,” Osmund mused as he leaned his weight slightly against the larger man. “It was a ridiculous affair, trying to get them to share magic more efficiently without acting like it’d kill them! Though it’s obvious they wanted to kiss each other.”

Cemil’s head jerked in amazement. “They what?”

“Really, are you so oblivious? Is everyone blind but me?”

The Meskato prince sat with his befuddlement a moment more. Then he laughed softly. “It makes sense,” he conceded. “Sakina once confessed to me in childhood of a crush on him. Of course Emre was vicious. He didn’t spare her feelings at all.” Cemil looked amused and vaguely wistful at the memory. “I was so envious of him then. My big brother. I wonder if he knew.”

“You were envious of Emre?” Osmund nearly laughed too, imagining Emre’s reaction. “I think he’d be as surprised to hear it as I am.”

They watched as Sakina left her companions and wandered from the lodge into the tall reeds of grass. A tiny terrier (admittedly cute, by Osmund’s standards) trailed behind her, legs ablur, as she knelt before a patch of wildflowers and scooped them, roots and all, from the dirt. “Osmund, when we get to Videl…” Cemil began haltingly.

“Yes?”

A moment passed. Another, and then it was obvious there was something he didn’t want to say. “What is it?” Osmund prompted again, increasingly uneasy. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

Cemil shook his head. Not a refusal. He was frowning. Preparing himself. On the distant steps, Mirhan leaned in close to Emre, who was staring stonily ahead, ignoring the other man, or maybe listening intently to whatever inaudible words were passing into his ear.

Paranoia overtook his patience. “Should we stop seeing each other?”

Cemil reacted quickly. “No,” he said. “No. Not that.”

“Then whatever it is, I can handle it.” Osmund said it to coax out the truth, though from Cemil’s expression, he was already not so sure.

A breath. “You know the situation, in Castle Vide? The barons rule. Prince Luca, the rightful heir, is a ten-year-old boy.”

“Yes.”

“But he has a royal cousin. Nicoleta. She’s well-loved by her people.”

“Yes?”

“Twenty-two. Still a maiden…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

Osmund’s heart sank deep into his chest. “Oh.”

Cemil exhaled again and looked restively around. The musicians continued strumming, and the impostor continued his shameless flirting, and everyone went on as if the world hadn’t just broken apart.

“Well, we knew you needed to marry sooner or later.” Osmund heard his own voice laying out the facts logically. “And if this is the way to avoid a costly war, and to prove yourself as a leader, then it’s a fantastic plan, really.”

“…I’m sorry.”

This alone he could not bear to hear. “Please, don’t,” Osmund begged, scrubbing a desperate hand over his eye and willing the shapes of the world to stop smearing together. “Don’t. Not here.”

The impostor chose that very moment to rejoin them. “Cemil, my good fellow,” said the man with that unceasing cheer as he slid back into his seat opposite them. “Mail’s come. I’ve just had a letter. Here’s one for you, too.”

As promised, a messenger in courier’s headgear knelt before Cemil, depositing a sealed scroll into his hand. The Meskato prince tore it open immediately, not bothering to hide his dark mood.

Osmund sniffled in what he hoped was a discreet fashion. “Who’s it from?” he pressed, grasping onto the momentary distraction.

“From Taranuz,” said Cemil as he read. He cleared his throat roughly. “More details about the raid. She says they were helped by an informant on the inside…” His eyes suddenly narrowed upon the name.

“That would be my sponsor, I believe,” said the impostor brightly. “He sends his regards, and hopes you’ll remember his friendship in the future. Consider capture of those pesky counterfeiters a gift from my lord Pravin, to celebrate your engagement!”