Chapter Sixty-Four: Sacred Bond

Immediately following this pronouncement, the emperor—who had apparently built himself up to a proper appetite—suggested they conclude matters after dinner. And so there was no chance to discuss any of it.

“You did well, Cemil,” Mirhan said as they filed in together. “I know how your old man acts, but he likes that you ask questions.”

“‘Your old man’,” Cemil repeated with a snort. He studied him anew. “You’ve become familiar with my father, your sovereign. Friend, tell me, how did you end up at the palace?”

They had gathered in a painted gallery known as the butterfly room, beneath the faithful facsimiles of hundreds of the colorful creatures, and stood around the periphery waiting for the emperor to reappear. Three splendid silver serving trays, round with scalloped edges, had been laid out at intervals atop embroidered dining mats, and tantalizing smells reached them all the way from the kitchen. “I spent some time traveling after leaving Şebyan. I ended up at the Dragon’s Eye Court as a spiritual advisor, and only just arrived back in the Empire last year.” Mirhan flashed him that mischievous smile Osmund had seen earlier. “That’s the story in short. I owe you the long version later.”

Sakina clung to Mirhan’s arm. “You should see the way he charms your father, Cemil,” she giggled. “This one has a gilded tongue.”

Cemil grinned. “Well, we knew that, didn’t we?”

Osmund looked between the three of them, attempting to keep pace with the flow of conversation. “But enough about old times,” Mirhan said, honing in on a new amusement. “I spy another familiar face.”

They all turned to look. Through the doors walked Emre, alone, wearing an ornate cloak like the imperial mages’ costume. He locked eyes with their small group and froze.

“Emre!” Osmund called, after no one else did. “Over here.”

Curiously, when Emre finally approached, it was Osmund’s side he chose. “I remember you,” he said to Mirhan tightly.

“It was a memorable occasion,” the other man acknowledged. He reached over and flicked something off Emre’s cloak, as if it were anything but spotless. “Especially the two of you, the way you fought last time I was here. It almost made me glad to be an only child. But here you are, because you’re brothers. That’s a sacred bond that one such as me will never know.”

“I can’t imagine why your parents stopped at one,” Emre quipped under his breath. Then his gaze fell on Sakina, and he startled, like someone glimpsing a unicorn.

“I decided to wear my hair differently,” Sakina joked, but Osmund could see she was nervous. She shook her head, causing her black curls to tussle freely. “How do you like it?”

Emre looked to Cemil as if for confirmation. “Call her Sakina now,” said Cemil, apparently just realizing the confusion.

“Good to see you again,” mumbled at last, averting his eyes like a shy child and appearing redder than normal. “I’m going to go find my mother. Excuse me.”

They watched him slip away. Mirhan chuckled. “Funny little man.”

“Well. He didn’t take that very well,” Sakina sighed. “I guess I thought…well! Never mind.”

“Took what well? The fact that…?” Osmund almost laughed. “He was nervous because you’re a beautiful woman.”

A sudden presence made itself felt in the room. As one, they straightened themselves and stood poised, and in strode their sovereign, who ushered them onwards with a magnanimous gesture. “My courteous friends,” he called. “Join me. Let us share in the bounty that the Eternal has provided.”

Sakina grabbed Osmund’s arm, sparing him the agony of wondering where to go. And so, once again, the man who’d tried so hard to escape his past life as a royal prince wound up at the emperor’s table!

Musicians in the nearby courtyard strummed their instruments pleasantly. Without speaking the diners partook in dish after delectable dish: soups, sturgeon, caviar, fruits of all kinds, sweet pastries and spun sugar, even such things as raw vegetables—a “salad”, whoever heard of such a thing?!—in no particular order, brought out one after the other before anyone could get acquainted with the current flavor. Each was nearly untouched by the time a servant appeared to whisk it away again.

Even with such controlled portions, Osmund was full to bursting right around course number twenty. This wasn’t helped by Cemil on his right side, who from the start had kept handing him more food, as if Osmund couldn’t reach it himself! He knew enough about Meskato etiquette not to refuse something that someone had offered him, but when he tried to return the favor, Cemil just smiled like he’d done something funny.

At the dinner’s conclusion, after an awe-inspiring forty-four courses in all, Emperor Alemşah patted his stomach contentedly and smiled at his private assembly. “Life is sweet while one can still eat well,” proclaimed He.

“A fabulous meal to equal any in Inecalar,” said Yücel courteously. He engaged Mirhan. “What of the banquets held at the Dragon’s Eye Court?”

“It requires a certain adventurous taste, to be sure, but they do treat their guests as well as any Meskato.”

That’s high praise indeed, Osmund might have said in less terrifying company. He’d never eaten half so well, even as a Tolmish prince.

Sakina struck up a conversation with Mirhan and Yücel beside her on the table’s other end. Osmund tried to listen in, but it was the emperor’s words, shared privately with his fourth son, that he overheard. 

“We must find you a wife, Cemil,” said He. “You are near twenty-six, too old to be a bachelor.”

Osmund’s shoulders locked as he paid special attention to his sherbet. “Fate has kept me occupied with domestic matters here in Şebyan,” Cemil answered, very faultlessly. “I’m not sure we have the time or resources to spare for an imperial wedding celebration.”

The emperor laughed. “Ah, work never stops.” Closing his eyes, he recited: “‘He who awaits pleasure when pain is concluded will find pain’s well bottomless. Let him stop a while by the river and taste sweet-scented waters.’”

Cemil—who loved poetry—breathed out slowly. “Soli is wise,” he said vaguely.

“Make no issue of the expense. Hire more clerks to handle the logistics. As for a suitable woman, I’m sure one can be found.”

Cemil fell into conspicuous silence. His father leaned in close, eyes glinting.

“Taking wives and fathering children doesn’t mean surrendering your companions.” He was glancing between the two of them unsubtly. “This is an enlightened society, whose sovereign appreciates beauty in all its many forms. Put your lover in a nice apartment in the Inner Gardens, and you may lie with him once, even twice a month without anyone batting an eye.”

“A month?” Cemil blurted, which stopped anyone noticing Osmund choking on the pickled cabbage he’d been anxiously chewing. The emperor only chuckled.

“Be glad you cannot obtain a son by him,” joked He, as he cleaned his teeth with a mother-of-pearl-handled pick without a care. “You would have to send them both away to the provinces when your child came of age, like your mother and you, or else pray he was born with defects, like sweet Yücel. Oh my dear, the emperor belongs to his people. He cannot belong to one person, not even a favorite wife, at that. Perhaps in this, you simply lack a man’s heart.”

Cemil didn’t flinch at what must have been an incalculably ruthless blow. “What about our ancestor Turelan?” he pressed instead, animated. “He kept a favorite in the palace even after she bore him many sons, and they shared a bed every night. He conquered all the southern territories. Was he not a man?”

“Turelan,” the emperor cautioned, his voice even, “was overthrown, and his lover and their children strangled or drowned by jealous rivals.” He turned to Osmund directly now. “Tell me your prince did not promise you anything.”

“No,” said Osmund distantly. “I know exactly what to expect.”

The emperor smiled, appeased. “Do you see, Cemil? Ah, don’t frown. You are young, and haven’t tasted all of life’s pleasures yet. Your future house will be full of beautiful things to enjoy.”

With an effort, he made to rise to his feet, and the others followed. “Let’s walk,” said He. “It strengthens the digestion.”

The musicians in their pavilion continued playing as their party made their way outdoors and strolled through the gardens. Sakina had affixed herself to one of Osmund’s arms, and to one of Mirhan’s on her other side. The three of them walked in near silence, pretending to admire the work of the house’s horticulturists instead of eavesdropping on the conversation taking place just ahead of them. “About this other business,” the emperor said to Cemil as they walked a few paces ahead. “The Videlari. You know I’ve come to advise on the matter.”

“Let me relieve you of it, Father,” Cemil replied, almost too low to pick out amidst the strummed melodies. “Rest here in the house, and send me in your place.”

“You shall accompany me,” ruled his father. “This affair requires a lasting peace; that old beast of a voivode has inflamed deeply-held wounds among his countrymen. They cry about lost Videlari glory and will quit their caterwauling only when they are assured of our superior strength. They must see father and son, unified.”

Cemil nodded after a few steps. He clearly thought better of trying to dissuade him. “Yes, Father.”

“I hear the Tolmish Merchants’ Guild is causing trouble here in Şebyan. This you will delegate to your lieutenant and those beneath her. I trust it shall be resolved by the time of our return, if your government is competent.”

“Yes, Father,” said Cemil again, his voice betraying nothing.

They stopped a while on reaching the pavilion, now able to see the musicians in their rapture. The emperor sighed, as if lost in a great melancholy. “Sweet time leaves us so quickly in this garden,” he uttered, and Osmund had a feeling this, too, was taken from verse, and had a meaning beyond the literal. “Where is your mother?”

Danvarra was walking at a distance with her female attendants. She approached him, and he kissed her hand as he had before. “Lovely one,” said He. “Return to your room with your women, close your eyes and ears, and forgive me what I must visit upon you tonight.”

Osmund looked on, idly wondering what forgiveness he could possibly be entreating her for, watching the walled-off expression on Danvarra’s beautiful face alter as she acquired some secret understanding of his words. Her eyebrows moved. The corners of her lips quivered.

Then, she broke.

Her features became unrecognizable, contorted violently in agony. From her wide open mouth came a piercing scream, like from an animal. The music stopped, and Cemil flew to her side.

“Mother!?” A string of Anshan words left his mouth. She wailed something back, and now Cemil’s gaze snapped back to his father. Disbelief. Horror. A silent question.

“No justice for traitors, Cemil,” said the emperor gravely. “You knew to expect this. Let’s have it over quickly.”

Osmund had never seen such a look on Cemil’s face. “Father, this—this merits discussion, we must discuss it,” he begged. “The circumstances—”

But the sovereign was already rattling off instructions. Seemingly within seconds, two large men in the raiment of the imperial guard emerged from the house into the courtyard. Between them, both feet dragging, was the small form of Emre, seemingly too petrified to walk.

Osmund couldn’t move, couldn’t even remember to breathe as more servants appeared from nowhere, efficiently laying out a large red cloth on the grass just as they’d spread the dining mats not two hours before. Danvarra’s attendants restrained her, and she fought against them with the strength of a lioness, as if meaning to fling herself down upon it.

Cemil stood before his father. “Father, please,” he attempted again.

“Cemil.” The sovereign’s tone was chilled. “Listen to what your instincts tell you. We have both out of compassion for your mother indulged her eldest son’s subversive activities well past the point of reason. It’s time to be done with it.”

An executioner’s block was placed in the center of the mat, and Emre was shoved down onto it. Sakina buried her face in Osmund’s chest with a strangled cry. From the dark of night came a man garbed in grim layers of blue wool, in his hand a bladeless pommel, but then there was a hum of magic, and a long glistening edge—razor sharp, and hard as steel—formed from solid ice. This was the Meskato Empire’s famous “reaper’s kiss”: a beautiful, reliable, and mercifully quick method of delivering death.

Danvarra sagged in her ladies’ arms; she’d passed out from terror. Cemil stood frozen to the spot.

“By decree of your illustrious sovereign you have been found guilty of treason and sentenced to death,” the emperor pronounced to his stepson. “Prepare your spirit for a glimpse of the Eternal.”

The headsman raised his sword.

“My sovereign, permit me a thought,” said Mirhan suddenly.

The emperor turned. The glistening blade remained poised in the air, its business unfinished.

“As you know, the great eastern court makes an art of divination, using the celestial boundaries mapped out by the ancient Demysians,” he began. His demeanor was calm and erudite, and utterly unafraid. “I personally witnessed a great many readings in my time there, so I can advise you that slaying this man in his maternal brother’s house would be a deeply ill-omened act. The priesthood would forbid it, fearing ruin for your family’s entire line.”

The emperor seemed to consider this. Apparently he had a deep veneration for the goings-on of the Dragon’s Eye Court. “Then we shall do the deed in Inecalar,” he decided.

“Ah, but traveling with a condemned man is unfortunate also. Perhaps you might make use of this instead?”

Mirhan pulled from his pocket some kind of small wooden block. “I did it intend it as a guest gift,” he said. “It’s an ascetic’s seal. Genuine. Quite a curiosity.”

There was some kind of complex symbol protruding from its face; on the whole, it resembled a stamp. Everyone held their breath. The emperor took it from Mirhan and studied it, interested.

“Then, Cemil, will you do it?”

Cemil’s voice came out faintly. “Yes. I will.”

Emre was released from the headsman’s clutches. Cemil reached out and took his brother’s hand. He murmured something to him privately, before pressing the wood into the back of his palm.

Emre, who had been so limp, suddenly jerked horribly. His body curled in on itself like a spider’s. Osmund had seen him in pain before, but not like this.

When the seal was pulled away, the smell of charred flesh carried through the garden. The symbol was burned into his hand.

But, he still had his head.

And Osmund didn’t lose his dinner.