The Tower of Bashan (19 page)

And that scar . . .

She forced herself not to stare, and study instead the person who truly mattered. The emissary looked regal in his foreign attire—a dark-blue jacket cut in a way that accentuated a lean waist and shoulders she would have thought to find on a man used to scaling walls rather than one who likely spends most of his time sitting at a table. Matching trousers and a simple high-collared, white shirt finished the look.

Given her brother’s lingering look of displeasure as he neared, she half wondered if he would maintain proper protocol until he opened his mouth. “This is a surprise.”

“Hopefully, a pleasant one,” she replied.

He ignored the invitation for a retort. “I asked Lord Rickar to join me for dinner this evening. He’s visiting from Bratanic.”

Lord Rickar bowed in half at the waist with the grace of a man who had spent his entire life at court. He took her offered hand in his gloved right and kissed it. “Princess. It’s a pleasure.”

“A simple greeting. One I’m not used to hearing from guests.”

Lord Rickar straightened. “Well, Your Majesty, I suppose I could spend the next several minutes flattering you about your exquisite cheek bones, your beautiful dark eyes, your flawless skin, and a dozen other bodily attributes that immediately stand out. However, I feel fairly confident that you are aware of your physical beauty and reminding you of such could be perceived as insulting to your intelligence. That’s something I would never do to someone who successfully ruled Bashan in the years after your lord father’s passing.”

Oh, this one is good. I hope you are on guard, brother.
She grinned. “I appreciate the sentiment, my lord.”

He withdrew his hand from hers. “Please, Rickar is fine, Your Majesty.”

She nodded, studying the man in closer detail. Rickar looked as though he had once been a fairly attractive man with lean facial features and wavy locks. Even now as she guessed him to be somewhere in his late thirties or early forties, he pleased her eyes with graying brown hair and faint wrinkles around his eyes. Their eyes met for a moment. He tried to smile with them, but it did not come across as sincere.

They look tired. Even sorrowful.

Her brother cleared his throat. “Well, now that introductions have been made let’s find our places for dinner.” He turned Rickar to the table. “I hope you like spicy food. I’ve asked the cook not to hold back on his curries.”

Rickar laughed. “I find myself pleasantly up to the task.”

Lela was at Mira’s side a breath later, escorting her to the seat across from Rickar, nearest her brother.

Appetizers arrived within moments. Mira took special note that unlike most visitors, Rickar allowed his bodyguard an equal place at their table.

He holds her in higher regard that he lets on. Interesting. Is there a way I can use that?

Of the dozen dishes in the first course, Mira took only a small bite of each until reaching a plate of lightly spiced fried vegetables served with a cucumber dipping sauce. She had a double helping.

Conversation between Rickar and her brother related mostly to trivial matters during the first several courses. Minander did his best to flatter Rickar’s homeland of Bratanic, but Mira noted the sincerity fell flat.

It’s like he’s going through a conversational checklist, striking off each item in his head before he can get to discussing what matters to him most.

While her brother bumbled through the small talk, Rickar carried himself as someone well experienced in the finer points of dinner conversation. He never once seemed offended by her brother’s slights or jests, and in fact laughed right along with him. The emissary flattered Minander just enough to keep him relaxed, but not so much as to come across as needy, making it obviously clear that Bratanic felt that Bashan needed them more than Bratanic needed Bashan.

Which is probably true.

Rickar talked only about Bratanic. Never about himself.

He’s careful to reveal nothing that could be twisted and used against him.

As if reading her thoughts, she caught Rickar smirking in her direction. It was supposed to be a warm smile, but it came across as rehearsed.
Like the way he eats. His gloves have stayed on during the entire meal and he only uses his right hand. An injury to his left he’s self-conscious about?

Twice, Rickar tried to include Mira in conversation. Both times it was when talks of Bashan drifted to the famed tower. Twice she replied with a short and simple answer, refusing to elaborate or volunteer any information. The questions Rickar had asked seemed innocent enough. However, she hated talking about the tower since Minander had turned her original idea into a spectacle.

The curries finally arrived—vegetable, lamb, chicken, and half a dozen other meats, all covered in sauces of varying colors. Everyone dove into the meal, especially Yumna who had done little but eat and scowl throughout the evening. Mira settled on a brown, lamb curry over rice.

Way too much ginger,
she thought after the first bite.

Finally, discussions drifted to more important matters.

Her brother cleared his throat in a lazy, unnatural manner. “So, Lord Rickar, I’m sure you’re well aware of Bashan’s current troubles?”

Mira raised an eyebrow at his approach, but kept her tongue.

“Troubles, Your Majesty?”

“It has been over a hundred years since my great grandsire lost control of Kindi and our country broke into this system of independent, barely unified, states we have today. It is both a dangerous and ineffective way to exist. We all hate each other immensely, yet no one openly defies another because of fear about how all the others will react.”

“Didn’t your grandfather and your lord father himself put an end to much of the fighting between the states?”

“Most of it, yes. There’s rarely a threat of arms anymore except for the minor skirmish over who gets to tax a particular bordertown. However, we still battle each other quite ruthlessly from an economic standpoint, taxing goods at ridiculous rates as they move in and out of each territory, hoping to gain back the money lost on our own poor deals. Southern states bordering the Madacan Ocean are trying to gain monopolies on certain goods that come in by ship. In response, the northern states are spending lavishly on huge roads in the hopes they might circumvent the need to transport as much via ship. It’s rumored that they’re also trying to hire foreign mages to blast holes through entire mountains for the new roads that go through, rather than over, the ranges.”

What is he talking about? Those rumors have been around for years. That’s all they are.

Rondel bobbed his head. “A novel idea.”

“It’s a great idea, actually,” said the prince. “But one that could be our end.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“We’re weakening ourselves economically. Only the gods know how much it will cost those in the north to carve a road out of solid rock. Or how much it’s costing the other city-states to keep up with these stupid taxes. Coffers everywhere are bleeding.”

“Unless they’re raising the taxes on the locals to keep up with expenses,” offered Rickar.

The prince nodded. “That is true in some cases. There were reports of a small uprising in Vidish just last week. High taxes were the cause. More than three dozen people died before the crowd dispersed.”

Another exaggeration.
“Brother, I believe the main culprit of those riots was the sentencing of Agnimukha to death.”

“Agnimukha?” asked Lord Rickar.

Her brother scowled. “A local holy man well liked among the people.”

“Why was he sentenced to death?”

“Because he refused to pay the taxes imposed on him by the city,” smiled Minander, as if he made his point.

“Yes,” said Mira. “He refused to pay his taxes, but those taxes have been imposed on the temple for generations. His refusal had more to do with an argument of doctrine his predecessors thought best not to pursue, not anything that resulted from the current political or economic state of Vidish.”

Minander turned away from Mira as if she were nothing of importance. “Ignore my sister. She did an admirable job of ruling before my time, but the current state of Kindi is as much her doing as those that came before her, including my father.”

Mira’s mouth dropped. She was speechless at the open insult to both her and their father.

“Again,” continued the prince. “I need help with our trouble.”

“I’m still not sure I follow,” said Rickar, eyes shifting uneasily back and forth between Mira and Minander. She could see he understood the situation already.

It almost seems like he expected this.

“Enough with the games, Lord Rickar. You’re a smart man. You know I want those trade routes.”

“They’ll be yours, my prince, once the details are worked out.”

“I want them exclusively so that none of the other city-states benefit from your resources. And in turn, I’ll ensure none of our local city-states can trade goods in Bashan that are similar to Bratanic’s, thereby giving you a monopoly on the market.”

Rickar pursed his lips. “Won’t that be taken as another act of aggression and escalate tensions further?”

“It absolutely will,” said Mira.

Minander shrugged. “I’m sure it will escalate tensions. That’s why I will also need the use of fifty of her majesty’s warships and another twenty thousand of her ground forces. I’d like both with the delivery of your first shipment of goods.”

Rickar coughed. “What could you possibly need with such a large force?”

“I mean to do what my father and grandfather should have done long ago. I mean to reunite the independent states of Kindi. With Bratanic’s help, I can do it quickly enough so that damage will be minimal, thereby bringing the city-states under one ruler without leaving us open to aggressions from the enemies at our borders.”

“The risk—” began Rickar.

Minander cut him off. “I’ll see that the reward is well worth the risk. You have my word.”

Brother, what are you doing?

* * *

“War!” shouted the princess.

Lela was sure the word was a question. It had the right inflection one would expect from a question. However, the venom in which it was spat, and the volume with which it was produced made it sound like the most vile curse imaginable.

The prince scowled, pacing around the table. “It’s good to see that you at least had the sense to wait until our
guests
were out of earshot before this . . . outburst.”

“Of course I waited. The last thing I want to do is let the entire world know that I think my brother is a fool,” continued Mira. “You know
nothing
about war and you want to bring one to Bashan?”

Despite Mira’s anger, Minander remained calm at her outburst. His eyes narrowed though at her second remark. “Be aware of who you’re talking to, sister. I am still your prince and Bashan’s ruler.”

“Not for long.”

“Is that a threat?”

I hope not,
thought Lela, feeling more than a little uncomfortable at where the conversation headed.

“No. A fact. I have no need to go to the trouble of removing you from power. Every one of Kindi’s states will do that for me. Invade their lands and you will give them cause to put aside their differences. They will unite and rally against you.” She paused. “Perhaps I should just announce my disapproval for this nonsense now. Then after their armies sack the city, they might allow me to govern Bashan in its aftermath.”

He sneered. “The support of a loving sibling. Father would be so happy.”

“Don’t you dare bring his name into this. Especially after you spoke so poorly of him. I’m only glad he isn’t alive to see your foolish mistakes.”

“Me the fool? Father was a coward who never could make the stand needed to reunite Kindi.” He shook his head. “Do you really think the other states will unite so quickly? Even with an army marching into their lands, they’ll squabble for power, hoping to put one over on the other after their victory. With twenty thousand trained soldiers and a navy to add to our own forces, we’ll sweep in and take their lands before the ink dries on their dumb alliances.”

A long pause followed as the two bore holes into each other. Lela was glad that most of the silverware had been picked up already.

And that I’m an only child.

“I see now,” said Mira.

“You see what?”

“This plan of yours. It’s only the beginning, isn’t it? If you succeed, where do you go next?”

The prince snorted. “Good night, sister.” He turned toward the door, paused, and called over his shoulder. “As far as throwing yourself in with the others, please don’t be so hasty. It will be immensely more difficult to offer your hand to my supporters if I have to have you tried for treason.”

The door opened for the prince and he left.

A deafening silence rang out in the empty dining hall. The lingering smell of dinner hung in the air. The princess’s hands opened and closed before clenching hard and finally relaxing. Her shoulders slumped forward slightly as she took a seat at the table.