Song of the Abyss Read online

  “No.” Ana-si did not glance Blaise’s way. She left the baths as the women watched in silence. Blaise sank lower into the water, her expression troubled.

  “Don’t think anything of it,” an older woman advised. Her eyebrows had been plucked bare. She must draw them in with a pencil. “She’s a strange one.”

  “Strange how?” Reyna asked.

  It was all the prompting the woman needed. “In every way. The girl arrived a year ago. Prince Jian-so brought her on his ship.”

  “She did not look like a lady then,” a second woman with a large mole by her nose said. “Not even the beggars would have worn her rags.”

  “And that voice!” another exclaimed.

  “Like a man’s!”

  The women tittered; their breath turned to vapor. Reyna had not been wrong. Ana-si was not welcome here.

  The first woman said, “We see nothing of her for days, and then one evening she comes to supper. The prince introduces her as Ana-si and says she is to be his guest. Nothing else.”

  “But where did she come from?” Reyna asked. “Does no one know?” Who was this Ana-si who insisted on being called Ana in private? How had she recognized Reyna as not being from Lunes?

  “The slave markets on Caffa,” another woman said. “So they say. We’ve asked her, but she doesn’t waste her breath speaking to us.”

  “Did she come here alone?” Blaise asked.

  “We didn’t see anyone else,” the woman said. They promptly lost interest in the topic. Reyna did not mind. She learned other things. The women had been born here and raised here and never left. It was the same with their husbands. Except one woman. Her husband, a carpenter, sailed frequently on a ship captained by Jian-so. He never spoke of where he went or what he did.

  “That sounds mysterious,” Reyna commented with a smile, even as her heartbeat quickened. Blaise had moved farther down the pool to speak with others.

  “He tells me only that it is the prince’s business and no one else’s.” The woman was quite put out. “There should not be secrets between a man and his wife.”

  “Your husband sounds loyal,” Reyna offered.

  “For all the good it does him,” the woman said with a snort. “He’s always in a temper when he comes home. He doesn’t eat. He barely sleeps.”

  “Oh?” Reyna said, but the moment was lost. A younger woman had sidled up to Reyna, eyes bright with curiosity. “You have seen Caffa?” she asked shyly.

  Reyna managed a smile and said yes, and spoke of it. The women were hungry for any news of the outside world. The younger women in particular. They pried from Reyna the history she had invented for herself. How her parents had died when she was a young girl. How she had been raised by her grandfather, a royal scribe, who had trained her to become one herself. How he was gone too. And so on, and so forth. Reyna told her story easily. Lies were best remembered when they bore some semblance of truth.

  * * *

  That evening Prince Jian-so threw a splendid welcoming feast for his friend Prince Levi.

  Reyna saw this: a great, sunken courtyard out in the open, the sky turned gold from dusk. Two rows of artfully sculpted trees. The tree behind Reyna was shaped like an open-mouthed carp. Another had been trimmed to resemble a hawk. Otters were represented, as were tigers, tortoises, pigs, and horses. She could see Blaise beneath the otter, Benjamin near the pig. They would dine among the Miranese tonight and try to learn what they could of the missing men.

  Low tables had been arranged on the grass, weighed down with platters of carp, pig, and other dishes Reyna could not readily identify. There were no chairs, only large tasseled pillows. The Miranese knelt upon them while they dined. Though no one was kneeling at this moment. Jian-so’s father, His Imperial Majesty Botan-so, had yet to arrive.

  Reyna stood within earshot of the royal table. Beside her was a much smaller table covered with parchment and ink. A meal would come later for her. She was Levi’s scribe; this was an official function. Her duty was to record all that transpired. At least she would not have to worry about the gathering darkness making it difficult to see. Ample light came from torches blazing on the walls and from the tortoises that roamed among the guests and harpists, slow and amiable, lanterns strapped to their shells. Reyna had come to Miramar on some dark journey, it was true. But there was beauty here as well. Everywhere she turned.

  A chirping distracted her. She looked up, searching the branches overhead, smiling when she saw a nest tucked away just out of reach.

  Levi arrived with Jian-so. His eyes searched the crowd, found hers. She spread her arms slightly to show that she was in one piece, no disasters here, which made him smile. Jian-so appeared distracted. Constantly looking to the main archway, where, presumably, his father would make an appearance.

  Only it was not Miramar’s imperial majesty who arrived, but a younger man dressed, not for dinner, but in a traveling cloak and gloves. She judged him to be four or five years older than Jian-so and Levi. He bore a striking similarity to the Miranese prince, without the scarring, without the twist to the lips that hinted at some deep anger or unhappiness. When the steward introduced the stranger to Levi, he could not keep the shock from his voice.

  “Crown Prince Ken-so?” Levi said. The sweet notes from the harpists trailed away. The courtyard was silent. Levi recovered quickly and returned the short bow offered. Beside him, Jian-so’s face had flushed a deep, sullen red.

  Reyna did not understand. Jian-so was the king’s only child. How could he not be his heir? And why had he kept it from Levi?

  “You look surprised, Prince Levi,” Ken-so observed with a sardonic glance in Jian-so’s direction. And he tugged his glove from each finger with brisk efficiency. “No. Astonished. Has my dear cousin been telling tales again?”

  “I’m no liar, Cousin.” Jian-so’s words sounded bitten off at the ends. “Your kingship is not a certainty.”

  “But it is,” Ken-so replied evenly, “when your own father, His Imperial Majesty, decrees it so.” A servant stepped forward to remove his cloak and gloves.

  “Much can happen before my father leaves us.”

  “So you keep telling me,” Ken-so said, tight-lipped. He shrugged off the cloak, which a different servant whisked away. “I will offer a reminder that you, also, are not invulnerable.”

  Levi’s eyeballs were the only parts of him that moved, cautious eyeballs, flicking from cousin to cousin. On the steps behind the royal table, Samuel and Hamish watched, alert.

  “Come.” Ken-so visibly reined in his irritation. “We are making our guest uncomfortable. Take your place here, Prince Levi. Eat. Drink. Welcome to Miramar.”

  The steward clapped his hands sharply, making Reyna jump. The harpists started up again and everyone else knelt by their tables. Conversation resumed, but it was muted. More than one ear strained in the direction of the royal table.

  Reyna dipped her quill in ink and wrote feverishly. Her king’s words came back to her. Why would the heir to the Miranese kingdom be conducting sea raids? He could be killed. It seems a foolish move to me. The answer was simple: Jian-so was not the heir. Why not? What horrible deed did one commit to be disinherited from the throne?

  Ana-si dined closest to Reyna at the end of the royal table. Alone, for the woman beside her had turned her back, speaking to others. Reyna watched Ana-si for a moment, knowing she had not shared her suspicions with Jian-so. If she had, Reyna would not be here. And neither, she suspected, would Levi.

  Ken-so said to Levi, “You’ll forgive my late arrival. I’ve only just arrived in the city.”

  “No apologies are necessary.” Levi accepted a glass of wine from a servant. He knelt on one side of the croown prince. Jian-so knelt on the other. “I should have sent word ahead. Prince Jian-so has been very welcoming.”

  “Has he? Now it is I who am astonished.” Ken-so’s smile was meant to soften his words.

  The look Jian-so sent him could have curdled bathwater.

  Ken-so
sighed. “I’m told you’ve brought clay for us, Prince Levi.”

  Levi said that he had. “Bricks of them.”

  “Forgive me, but . . .” Ken-so turned to his cousin with a puzzled frown. “For what purpose?”

  “It’s a gift for Father,” Jian-so muttered. He stabbed a thick slab of pork with a knife, with enough force that the tip broke off. Instantly, a servant stepped forward to offer a new, unbroken knife. A girl, about twelve. Was it so common, then, for Jian-so to destroy knives at the supper table?

  Ken-so waited for further explanation. None came. He eyed his cousin with displeasure and weariness.

  Levi cleared his throat. He went from honored guest to peacekeeper. “Will His Imperial Majesty be joining us?”

  “Regrettably, no,” Ken-so said. “You may have noticed that our numbers”—he gestured toward those dining around them—“are somewhat less than what is usual for a palace this size.”

  Reyna brushed excess ink from her quill. It was impossible to miss. The palace was mammoth, yet it did not have the servants to support its upkeep. On the way to supper, Reyna and Blaise had passed several wings that had been roped off. You could see the dust thick on the ground. No one went there. And the guards . . . there should have been more of them.

  “I have, yes,” Levi said. “Was it the pox?”

  “Two years ago,” Ken-so said. “There were many losses. My uncle survived but was sorely weakened. To our great sorrow, he is not expected to be with us much longer.”

  Levi looked past him to where Jian-so had abandoned his meat. Both fists were on the table, on opposite sides of his plate.

  Levi said to him, quietly, “My friend, I am sorry to hear it.”

  Jian-so dipped his head in acknowledgment.

  Ken-so said, “Is there pox on Lunes, Prince Levi?”

  “Not for many years,” Levi said. “Not since I was a boy.”

  “And were there many deaths?”

  “Not as many as here, I think. Our doctors know ways to treat the pox so that fewer suffer. Fewer die.”

  Levi had the attention of both cousins.

  Ken-so waved away a servant offering more food. “I would be interested in learning more about these ways. It is not something I wish to see ever again.”

  “My kingdom is open to you,” Levi said. “Our hospitals as well. If you wish to send physicians to Lunes, I will see they have all they need.”

  When Ken-so did not answer straight away, Jian-so smirked. “My cousin is trying to find a polite way to reject your offer, Levi. We do not send our physicians abroad, ever. We prefer death and ignorance.”

  “You’re an ass, Jian-so. You always have been,” Ken-so said mildly, without bothering to look at him. Instead, he eyed Levi with a thoughtful expression. “We are isolationists, it’s true. I believe isolation has done much to preserve our way of life. Our language. Our culture. All that makes us who we are. Do you find that strange?”

  A tortoise padded by Reyna’s table. She paused in her writing long enough to reach out and touch its shell, hard and smooth beneath her fingertips.

  Levi said, “It’s a different custom from my own. I won’t deny it. But my father told me, long ago, that there are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.” He held up a hand, refusing more wine. “I’ve been treated well by your countrymen. I will not come here, to your home, and criticize how you rule it.”

  Reyna was unaccustomed to this side of Levi, less like a captain and more like . . . what was it Mercedes had once said? A diplomat is someone who will tell you to go to the devil in such a way that you actually look forward to the journey. Levi had a way with words, and people. Just like Mercedes.

  Ken-so smiled. “You are a credit to your kingdom, Prince Levi. Miramar could use more like you.” He shot a glance at his cousin, who snorted. Turning back to Levi, he said, “I lost three sisters to the pox. Nieces and nephews, all gone. I accept your offer with gratitude and . . . who is that girl over there?”

  Reyna, parchment raised to her lips as she blew the ink dry, did not immediately realize the crown prince was speaking of her. When she looked over at the royal table, she found everyone else looking back.

  “Master Reyna is my scribe,” Levi said with a neutral expression.

  Heart racing, Reyna set aside the parchment and jumped to her feet. She curtsied low and held it.

  “A scribe? But she’s female,” Ken-so said, utterly perplexed.

  “I’ve already told him it’s odd,” Jian-so said. For once the cousins were in agreement.

  Levi was unruffled. “There are men and women in our writers’ guild,” he explained. “Master Reyna was chosen by my queen. She can read and write the languages of our neighbors. It’s a useful skill.”

  “Is that so?” Ken-so beckoned to her. “Come here.”

  Reyna did as she was told. Her palms were damp. She clasped them together as she stood before Ken-so. Behind her, the rest of the palace continued to dine and laugh and enjoy music and conversation. Before her, the royal table had fallen silent to hear what the crown prince had to say to her.

  “Master Reyna, you said?” Ken-so inquired of Levi, who nodded.

  Ken-so addressed her. “Tell me, scribe, what do your parents think of your position at court? Your father allows this?”

  “I’m sorry to say my parents died many years ago, Prince Ken-so.”

  Jian-so chewed his pork, bored.

  “Ah. Then you’re an orphan, taken in by the royal family. Commendable of you,” Ken-so said to Levi, who inclined his head and looked gracious. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen, Prince Ken-so.”

  “A good age to marry. Are royal scribes allowed marriage?” Ken-so asked Levi.

  At that, Levi appeared to have swallowed something unpleasant. “If she wishes it.”

  “Then you’ll lose her,” Ken-so predicted. Levi glanced at Reyna, and glanced away. “The pretty ones don’t stay unmarried for long. Is it not a waste to educate a female so thoroughly only to see her married and gone?”

  Mercedes would not like this man, Reyna thought. Not even a little bit.

  “Lunes is ruled by a queen,” Levi reminded him. “A wise one. A married one. My sister is a great believer in free will for her women.”

  Jian-so swished the wine around in his cup. “There is free will for women, and then there is too much free will. Where is the line drawn?” Laughter rippled down the table. Levi merely smiled.

  Ken-so said to Reyna, “Prince Levi says you speak the languages of your neighbors.”

  “I do, Prince Ken-so.”

  “Do you know Coronad?”

  Reyna lifted her eyes to his. She answered in Coronad. “Very well.”

  Ken-so was quiet. She braced herself for more questions, but he waved her away.

  Reyna smiled at Ana-si as she walked back to her place. As usual, the smile was not returned. Reyna retrieved her quill in time to hear Ken-so say to Levi, “Don’t take offense, but Jian-so has never mentioned you. He’s been very secretive about his adventures.”

  “It’s no secret. It’s not your business,” Jian-so said.

  To Reyna, it seemed as if the entire table held its breath. Jian-so’s rudeness was breathtaking. Ken-so merely drank from his cup, his eyes never leaving his cousin’s. He set the cup down. “It will be,” he said softly, in a tone that had Reyna wondering which cousin was scarier.

  “You speak as if you’re king already,” Jian-so spat.

  “Enough. Your temper is an embarrassment. We’ll discuss this later.”

  “We’ll discuss nothing—”

  A squawk had Reyna look up in time to see a small bird tumble from its nest. It landed on the thick grass. Ana-si’s head came up sharply, and she and Reyna rose in unison. A number of guests had finished their meals and left their tables, strolling about the courtyard or clustering beneath the trees in conversation. Before Reyna could reach the bird—she had meant to scoop it up and return it to
the nest—a nobleman walked by and, not seeing the creature, stepped directly on it.

  Ana-si’s cry turned heads. As the nobleman looked down in puzzlement, lifting his boot to see what lay beneath, Ana-si flew at him, wailing, her small fists pummeling his chest.

  “Ho! Hey! What!” The man raised his arms to ward her off, then tried to grasp her wrists. “Get off me, woman!”

  Everyone stared. Jian-so appeared, pulling Ana-si from the man. His grip was gentler than Reyna had thought him capable of. He whispered something in her ear, and the fight left Ana-si. Her shoulders slumped.

  Jian-so turned a cold gaze on the hapless nobleman. “Idiot.”

  The man blanched. “My prince, I did not see it. Forgive me.” He backed away, turned, and fled the courtyard.

  Ana-si’s tears were silent ones. Reyna had never seen anyone look so despondent over the loss of a nameless, solitary bird. Reyna scooped it up. A cardinal, clearly dead. It fit in the palm of her hand, crushed and bloody, perfectly horrible. “I’ll bury it for you,” she offered quietly.

  An irritated Ken-so called out, “Jian-so, for pity’s sake. Control your woman.”

  Jian-so looked down at Reyna. He said, gruffly, “There’s a grove by the women’s quarters. That will be a good place.”

  “Yes, Prince Jian-so.” Reyna curtsied and belatedly glanced at Levi, remembering that she needed his permission to leave. He dipped his head once—Permission granted—his expression asking, What in the name of all strange things is happening here? Reyna had no answers. Without having to be asked, Hamish came down the steps to take her place at the writing table.

  Reyna swiped a spoon from the royal table and tucked it into her belt. A moment’s hesitation only before she took Ana-si’s hand in hers. To her surprise, the girl did not protest.

  “Scribe.” Jian-so’s words stopped her. “My thanks.”

  Reyna curtsied again. She left the courtyard, dead bird in one hand, and Ana-si weeping beside her.

  * * *

  Reyna dug a small grave using the spoon, which took no time at all. Twilight had come, and there were no tortoises to shine a light on her sad task. Ana-si sat with her back against a tree, watching as Reyna placed the cardinal in the hole, covered it with dirt, and patted the mound.