But where was the king?
The previous night, after he’d gone to change into dry clothes, he’d overheard the others talking in the sitting room.
“We just have to get past the closing ball,” Tamar had said as she put her arm around Genya. “Then we’ll make a decision.”
“How can there be no sign of them at all?” Genya asked with a soft sniffle. “It’s been nearly three weeks. People don’t just disappear. I never thought I would say this, but I miss Zoya.”
“Me too,” said Tolya. “Even though I know she’d kick me for wasting time worrying about her.”
“I think the Apparat knows something,” Tamar said. “He sent a request for an audience with the king to hear about his pilgrimage and demanding information on Yuri. The priest won’t be put off forever and he’s been gone from the city too much for my liking. He has his own warren of tunnels leading in and out of the capital. There are too many places for him to hide.”
“We could get him more involved with the guests,” said Tolya. “Ask him to perform a service—”
But Tamar had cut him off. “We can’t afford to let the priest near Isaak. He’s too canny for that.”
“Perhaps we should have him killed,” said David.
Genya had burst into fresh tears. “When you say that, it just makes me miss Zoya more.”
What comes next? Isaak wondered. He might make it through the afternoon, he might well make it through this whole series of parties and pomp without inciting any more disasters. But that didn’t mean he was capable of governing a country or even serving as some kind of figurehead while Genya and the others did the real ruling.
He rounded a corner into the portrait gallery and came upon Princess Ehri and several of her guards—just as the twins’ lookout had said he would. Isaak did his best to feign surprise as he greeted the princess and made small talk about the morning’s entertainments.
“We found the weather too brisk for the garden party,” said Ehri. “So we thought we might stroll through the portrait gallery.”
“How are you finding the paintings?”
“They’re all very stern.”
Just don’t look too closely, thought Isaak. “Perhaps I can offer you a tour of this wing of the palace?” He could have sworn he felt the approval of her guards. They really must report Ehri’s successes and failures back to her sister.
They passed through the blue splendor of the lapis drawing room and the concert hall and then through some of the humbler parts of the palace: the musty trophy room, its walls crowded with stags’ antlers and the heads of various big game; the armory with its old-fashioned saddles and swords; and, at last, the training rooms.
“Come, let’s step inside,” he suggested. The words sounded awkward and staged to his ears, but at least he knew she had a fondness for axes.
“Is this where your guards train?”
“Yes,” said Isaak. He himself had trained here and practiced with the king. “Tamar, perhaps you could give us a demonstration?”
Tamar took two dulled axes from the wall. “You,” she said, pointing at one of the Tavgharad. She was young, her face serious, the chin sharply pointed. This had to be Mayu Kir-Kaat, whose twin brother had gone missing and who, perhaps, had tired of service to the Shu crown.
One of the older women stepped forward. “I will gladly spar with you.” She had a long scar across her elegant nose.
Tamar cocked her head. “Is there only one lioness in this pride?”
“I will fight her,” said the pointy-chinned girl.
“Mayu,” said another of the guards softly.
But Mayu stepped forward, undeterred—or perhaps anticipating the invitation.
An uncomfortable current passed through the room.
“Perhaps we should spar too,” said Isaak. The twins wanted the Tavgharad watching Ehri, not Tamar and Mayu. He plucked a wooden sword from the wall.
“I have little talent for combat,” said Ehri nervously.
“I thought all of the Taban family were trained to defend themselves.”
“Of course. But my sisters are the better warriors.”
“Maybe I can teach you a thing or two.” Isaak didn’t want to push her, but he also knew Tamar was relying on him to create a distraction while she attempted to speak to Mayu. A friendly chat while sparring wasn’t ideal, but there was no other way to get one of the Tavgharad alone.
Isaak tossed Ehri a practice sword, and she snatched it from the air with ease. He heard a murmur of disapproval from the Tavgharad.
“Princess—” the older woman began.
But Ehri was already on the attack.
She had radically understated her talents. She was a gifted swords-woman and moved without a hint of hesitation. Distantly he heard the grunts of the other fighters and dared a glance at them. He saw Tamar handily knock Mayu on her behind. She leaned low when she helped the girl up, and he could only hope they were exchanging the words they needed to—assuming Mayu was the guard who wished to defect.
Then the flat of Ehri’s sword struck him in the gut and his breath left him with an audible oof.
Ehri raised a brow. “Ravka’s king lacks focus.”
“How could anyone not be distracted by your beauty?” A weak riposte at best.
Ehri just laughed. She seemed more relaxed than he had ever seen her.
“You have a different fighting style than I expected,” she said. Probably because you expected a king raised from birth to wield a sword, thought Isaak. Instead she was getting a tutor’s son who hadn’t touched a blade until he had been drafted.
“I might say the same of you,” he replied honestly. He had the sense that she was holding back, though he couldn’t be sure. Were all the Shu princesses trained to wield a blade so well? He would be teaching her nothing.
Isaak heard a cry from over his shoulder, and both he and Ehri turned to see Mayu doubled over and gasping for breath.
“Enough!” said the older Shu guard harshly.
“My apologies,” Tamar said with a deep bow.
“And mine as well,” added Isaak. What had happened? Had Tamar gotten the information she sought? Was this all part of the plan? “I can take you to our infirmary. We—”
“No,” gasped Mayu Kir-Kaat. “I’ll be fine.”
“Please,” said Isaak. “I would hate to think one of my guests was harmed in what should have been a bit of good fun.”
“It was an accident,” said Princess Ehri. “We all know this.”
For a moment, the room bristled with tension as if trouble were racing from mind to mind, looking for a place to take hold.
“If I may, Princess,” said Mayu, straightening. “Among the Shu, amends would have to be made.”
Tamar frowned. “What did you have in mind?”
The guard exchanged a glance with Ehri. “Perhaps a private dinner?”
Tamar shook her head. “That would be seen as a sign of favoritism among the other hopefuls.”
Ehri looked uneasy. “We don’t want to cause problems for the king.”
“Surely the others wouldn’t need to know,” said Isaak before he thought better of it.
Tamar’s frown deepened, but she said, “Of course, Your Highness.”
When Ehri and her guards had gone, Tamar’s frown vanished. She punched him on the arm. “Well done. Another opportunity to chase information.” But his expression must have shown his disappointment, because Tamar drew back. “Oh no. Isaak, you witless podge. You like her, don’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat. “I know the game we’re playing. What did you learn from Mayu?”
“Nothing.” Tamar’s gaze grew thoughtful. “I told her I had heard she was keb and asked after her twin brother, but she gave me very little, only that they were from the Bol province.”
“Maybe she’s not the one.”
“Possible. She was scared of something though, and she doesn’t fight as well as I’d expect. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I misjudged her reaction times. She’s young and new to the ranks, so it’s natural for her to be a lesser fighter than the other Tavgharad. But if she’s failing in her training, she might be looking to get out before they throw her out.”
“Would she just go into the regular military?”
“After witnessing the Taban at their most vulnerable? Absolutely not. She would be exiled for her failure. She’d never see her brother or the rest of her family again.” Tamar returned her sword to the wall. “It could be someone else. Or no one else. Our intelligence networks in Shu aren’t what they should be. I’ll try to make sure I have time alone with each of the Tavgharad during your romantic interlude with the princess. Just make it a nice long meal.”
“If I must.” “Yuyeh sesh, Isaak,” Tamar said as she gestured for a servant to put the practice room back in order.
Despise your heart. A Shu saying. Do what has to be done. He knew how he was supposed to reply, the way a Shu soldier would reply, maybe the way a king would reply: Niweh sesh. I have no heart. But the words that came to mind instead were of the “Kebben’a” and the first blossom’s fall.
He was not a Shu warrior, and he was not a Ravkan king. He was just a peasant boy who wanted to have dinner with a girl who had been kind to him.
Isaak left the room in silence.
When Isaak met with Genya and David and the twins that night in his sitting room, he expected them to be excited over the prospect of his secret dinner with Ehri. Instead, it was as if he’d walked into a wake.
“What is it?” he asked. “Is it the king?”
Tolya looked grim, Tamar’s expression was murderous, and Genya looked like she’d aged twenty years. Even David had put aside his reading and looked, if not like the world was ending, at least mildly concerned.