Ilia shrugged. “Of course. Don’t you get it yet? After all I told you? We don’t want the Sacred Territory to interfere. We can use him like a weight to counterbalance the Otawalle.”
She stood and motioned for Makokan to rise. When he did, she told him to turn around and then bound his wrists so deftly that although the rope was slack enough for him to move his wrists, he’d never work them free.
“Just pretend you’re a wooden doll,” Ilia said from behind. “Don’t react to anything you might hear. And do as we tell you. In the end, that’s what will save you and Hohsalle. Don’t bother thinking or acting for yourself. There’s far too much you don’t know.”
Makokan glanced over his shoulder. She laid a hand on his back and gave him a gentle shove. “Move. I’ll take you to Hohsalle.”
Ilia had been telling the truth—Hohsalle was indeed being given a warm reception.
Makokan had been led through dark alleyways to the hall of Ukani Okusa, a cousin of the clan chief. While the Okusa were a prominent family, their hall stood alone on the west side of the capital partway up the mountain, which was probably why it had been chosen to house the hostage.
Ilia led Makokan through the back door. The servants bowed slightly, then showed them into a corridor and withdrew.
“He’s in this room,” Ilia said. “Go on in.” She removed the rope from Makokan’s wrists, coiled it up, then turned on her heel and strode away.
Makokan sighed and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a voice said. When Makokan opened the door, he was enveloped by a heavenly aroma that he knew well: roast duck, a delicacy in this region served from fall through winter. The bird had been hung and aged, then basted with a honeyed sauce and roasted until its skin was crisp and glossy. Its cavity was stuffed with things like walnuts and chestnuts, giving the meat a rich flavor.
Hohsalle sat alone at the table, carving the duck with a dagger and shoving chunks of meat into his mouth. When Makokan entered, he merely glanced up at him, not bothering to stop eating.
“Good to see you’re safe, sir,” Makokan said.
Hohsalle chewed a mouthful of meat and swallowed audibly, then chased it down with a swig of wine. Only then did he stop and look at Makokan. “It’s good,” he said. “Have some.”
Makokan took a chair and sat, but he found that he had no appetite. “I’m amazed you can eat at a time like this,” he whispered.
Hohsalle snorted. “I’m furious. And when I’m mad, I get hungry.” He hacked off another chunk of meat and shoved it into his mouth.
“You’re angry? Don’t you mean ‘worried’?”
“Worried? What should I be worried about?”
“What should you be worried about?! You’ve been knocked out with a blow dart, abducted, and imprisoned!”
“That’s precisely why I’m so mad! And to use blow darts! Damn it! The nerve of them. Depending on a victim’s metabolism, even a small amount of poison could have serious consequences!”
Hohsalle gulped down his wine. “Cheehana! Curse that old hag! She sent us here knowing this might happen. Cunning old witch!”
“You really think she would do that?”
“Of course she did!” Hohsalle practically spat the words. “She couldn’t trust the Servants of the Inner Circle living in the Yukata Mountains to keep an eye on the Ahfal Oma, so she sent us to see how they’d respond. And we’d be able to check on the disease while we were at it, too. That scheming old bag used me like a pawn in her game! Chucked me like a pebble into a pond to watch the ripples.”
Makokan stared open-mouthed at his furious young master. “Um, there’s something I need to tell you,” he began hesitantly. Hohsalle waved a hand at him, urging him to continue. Makokan repeated what his sister had said.
Hohsalle listened silently, although he continued eating. When Makokan finished, he heaved a sigh. “Your sister’s a servant of the Inner Circle through and through. I can see why you ran away from home.” He turned his cup in his hand and watched the wine swirl. “You think the Yukata clans are behind the mittsual affair, but I doubt it.”
Makokan’s eyes grew round. “Why?”
“If it were only the Yukata clans, the Sacred Territory would have spurred the King of Aquafa into action long ago and put out the fire while it was still little. There’s no way the Sacred Territory would’ve stood by and let the Yukata clans attack the Zolian governor’s son during the falcon hunt.”
Makokan frowned. “You mean…”
“That’s right, damn it. What a pain…”
His words coincided with a knock on the door. It opened, and Makokan’s eyes widened in disbelief. The figure that strode into the room was none other than Milalle, who should have been at the clinic in Kazan. She was draped in a thick fur cloak, and her cheeks shone red from the cold.
“Ah! That’s better!” she exclaimed brightly. “Thank goodness it’s warm inside the hall. I came ahead. The microscope and other equipment should arrive tomorrow.”
Noticing Hohsalle and Makokan gaping at her in evident surprise, she stopped and blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“What’re you doing here?” Hohsalle asked.
The smile vanished from her face. “You told me to come…”
Hohsalle frowned. “Told you to come? Me?”
“Yes… Didn’t you? But—”
The door opened again, and a man carrying a bottle of wine in one hand entered. It was Tohlim, the King of Aquafa’s right-hand man.