Makokan pushed open the door with his shoulder while carrying a tray of tea and refreshments in one hand. The aroma of slow-roasted tea and fresh-baked cookies spread through the room. Milalle’s face relaxed into a smile, but fatigue showed in her eyes.
“Oh, you made us some tea?” she remarked. “What a heavenly smell.”
Makokan placed the platter on the table and set out its contents. Hohsalle, slouched in a chair, his body sunken in its embrace, stared absently at the cup in front of him.
“You must be tired, sir,” Makokan said.
Hohsalle sighed. “Exhausted. Honestly.”
Three days ago, he’d received a letter from the director of the Academy of Deeper Learning asking him to mediate between Tomasolle and the King of Aquafa. Tomasolle and his assistant, Shikan, had arrived last night, following on the heels of that letter. They must have been chasing wolves again, because wolf hairs were stuck to their clothing. They’d stayed the night and, until a short while ago, Tomasolle had been ranting at Hohsalle in this very room.
“He’s like that sometimes,” Hohsalle muttered. His brother-in-law was a good man, open-hearted and full of curiosity, and Hohsalle maintained a good rapport with him, but when he got stuck on principle, he could become intractable.
Last night, Tomasolle went on and on about wolves during dinner. The black wolves that had been driven to near extinction in the Toga region were returning in small numbers in the northern forests. Tomasolle and his people had caught a significant number of them, as well as some ossam. All were shipped off to the Sacred Territory of Otawalle to be tested for mittsual.
“Limuelle really helped us out,” Tomasolle had said. “There was considerable opposition to sending potentially infected live specimens to the academy. And not just from the Zolians. Even some among the Otawalle objected. I doubt we could’ve done it without Limuelle putting in a word for us. The specimens have to be injected with a sedative in repeated doses so as not to overtax their bodies. They likely haven’t even arrived in Kazan yet. Still, it’s an experienced team, and I’m sure the specimens will reach the Sacred Territory safely.
“Oh, and by the way,” Tomasolle had added, as if it were an afterthought, “when I was in the northern forests, one of the Inner Circle delivered a copy of your message. We tried testing ticks for mittsual, as you proposed. But there was still snow on the ground, and there weren’t enough specimens. We might find infected ticks, if we try again when it gets a bit warmer and the population increases, though.”
When Tomasolle smoothly changed the topic to praising Hohsalle’s recent accomplishments, Hohsalle felt ambivalent. Unwilling to believe that his brother-in-law, who spoke with such excitement, was trying to deceive him, he’d asked point-blank, “Did you know what Kenoi was plotting?”
Tomasolle had shaken his head with a dire expression. “I wasn’t involved at all. I swear to the gods that’s the truth.” Frowning slightly, he’d added, “Though I guess I did suspect something was going on. I suppose I should’ve reported it to the director of the academy, but I didn’t want to subject the Ahfal Oma to any more unnecessary scrutiny.”
Tomasolle had glanced at Shikan, and his expression turned fierce. “I still sympathize with the Ahfal Oma, you know. And I can’t help but regret my failure to save Kenoi.”
Fatigued from his journey, Tomasolle had quit the subject there, but this morning, fortified by breakfast and a full night’s sleep, he’d launched into his defense of the Ahfal Oma again, spewing grievances that had built inside him.
“The king caused the tragedy inflicted on the Ahfal Oma. He bungled the negotiations and bowed to Zolian demands. I hold him responsible for the results. It never would’ve come to this if he truly regretted his actions and wished to aid the Ahfal Oma.”
From there, Tomasolle had launched into such a venomous tirade that Hohsalle interjected with “Remember you’ve been sent here by the head of the academy to tell the king that Otawalle had nothing to do with this incident.”
Tomasolle had flushed. “I know, I know. But that’s why I need to get this anger out now. If I don’t, I won’t be able to see things objectively. I might just knock the king down the instant we meet.”
He’d continued for some time until he finally tired himself out and left with Shikan to get some fresh air. Hohsalle knew Tomasolle was likely to return angrier because everywhere he looked, he would be confronted by preparations to celebrate the Visit of the Emperor’s Eyes.
“I can see his point, though,” he muttered.
It was true. The king was to blame. If he couldn’t defend the happiness of the many small clans that called Aquafa home, there was no point in calling himself king in an occupied territory. Muzzling his people for fear of Zol would mean losing the respect of his supposed subjects. The king stood for all that united the peoples of Aquafa. If he squandered their affection, the bonds that loosely knit together the many clans as Aquafaese would disintegrate, and Aquafa would be reduced to the name of a territory on the edge of the Zolian frontier.
Tohlim understood this. “We must not cause the Ahfal Oma any more suffering,” he’d said. “But the Mukonians wax in strength every year. Without Zolian support, we’ve no hope of maintaining peace. To survive, Aquafa has no choice but to walk this precarious tightrope, paying close attention to all sides.”
Hohsalle had to admit that his sentiments were closer to Tohlim’s than to his brother-in-law’s. With a grimace, he thought of Shikan, who’d sat beside Tomasolle, silent and dour, betraying not a flicker of emotion as he watched Hohsalle.
“Even so, it’s still unforgivable,” he muttered.
“What?” Makokan asked through a mouthful of cookie.
“Hey! Who said you could eat those before me?” Hohsalle snapped, rapping the table with a finger.
Makokan gave him a startled look. “I thought you did. When I asked you if it was all right, you nodded.”
Hohsalle blinked. “I did?” He didn’t remember doing anything of the sort.
Milalle grinned. “You sure did. With an expression that looked like your thoughts were miles away.”
Hohsalle pulled the plate of cookies to himself with a scowl and sank his teeth into one. Crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside, it was sweet and fragrant with roasted seeds.
“So what’s unforgiveable?” Milalle asked.
“Oh.” Hohsalle took a gulp of tea. “The fact that the Ahfal Oma used a disease to advance their claims. I just can’t understand how my brother-in-law can approve of that, so I guess I can’t forgive him, either. Swords and arrows kill people, too, but a sickness doesn’t choose its victims. Once it spreads, there’s no way of stopping it. It will kill people who never wronged the Ahfal Oma.”
“From their point of view,” Milalle interjected, “no one is innocent. I expect they feel that anyone in Aquafa who doesn’t care about their tragedy, anyone who lives a comfortable life, deserves to be punished.” She sighed. “And besides, with disease, they can claim that the gods decided who should live or die.”
Hohsalle pursed his lips. “That’s the part I really can’t stomach. It’s absurd. How can Tomasolle even pretend that such reasoning is logical? I can’t stand the way he checks Shikan’s reaction whenever he speaks about the Ahfal Oma.” Just the memory of the disdain on Shikan’s face and his obstinate refusal to show respect to anyone filled Hohsalle with disgust.
Milalle leaned forward and gently touched his hand. “Hohsalle, it’s no good staying angry when you talk with Tomasolle. If you keep it up, you’ll end up saying things you shouldn’t.”
Hohsalle snorted. “Maybe I should go for a walk myself. If he comes back and starts lecturing me again, I won’t be able to hold my tongue.”
Makokan looked out the window. “If you’re going out, you’d better hurry. It’s starting to rain, so I’m betting they’ll be back before long.”
As if on cue, one of Hohsalle’s apprentices called out from the other side of the door. “You have visitors. May I show them in?”
The three shared a look. “Visitors?” Hohsalle muttered.
Makokan stood. “Let me take a look.” He returned quickly with an odd expression on his face. Upon seeing the people who followed behind him, Hohsalle understood why.
“Well, well,” he said, leaping up from his chair.
Van and Sae entered the room, bringing with them the smell of rain. Milalle rose and beckoned them to sit in chairs by the fire while Makokan, who should have been ushering them to those chairs himself, stood sullenly by the door.
“Stop sulking,” Hohsalle chided with a grin.
“Surely, sir, you would feel far more uncomfortable were I to welcome the one who hoodwinked and drugged me with a smile,” Makokan said stiffly.
There was a moment of dead silence. Then Milalle began to chuckle, and Hohsalle’s and Van’s lips twitched. Sae, however, looked up at Makokan with a contrite expression. “I’m so very sorry,” she said, and bowed low.
Makokan glowered down at her. “Oh, never mind,” he said after a beat. “You can raise your head. I know you had your reasons. I’ll be able to talk with you more normally once I’ve had a bit of time to get over it.”
Hohsalle laughed. “Knock it off, Makokan. Do you have to be so roundabout? Why not just say ‘It’s okay’?” Hohsalle could feel his own excitement rising and had to laugh at himself. For some reason, he could never maintain his composure when Van and Sae were around.
Milalle’s cheeks were flushed as well. “We didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” she said, gesturing again for the guests to come and warm themselves by the fire. The air had grown chilly, perhaps from the rain.
Van was dressed in the tanned leather worn by the reindeer herders of the north, and his expression was more grim than when they’d met in the Yukata Mountains. He walked around the table toward the fire but stopped abruptly when he approached the empty chair. He gazed intently at it, as though there was something on it.
“What’s wrong?” Hohsalle asked.
Van raised his head. His eyes carried a hard glint. “Was someone sitting here?
Hohsalle blinked. “Yes, my brother-in-law’s assistant… What about it?”
“Your brother-in-law’s assistant?” Van repeated, his brow furrowed. “He’s an Otawalle, then?”
Hohsalle glanced at Milalle and saw his own uneasiness reflected in her face.
“No. He’s a young man of the Ahfal Oma.”
A keen light kindled in Van’s eyes. The sound of the rain on the roof grew louder.