Chapter 6: The Cultural Exchange Delegation (2)
Have we been found out?
Listening to the scattered shouts drifting down from somewhere impossibly high above, Iskandel frowned deeply. The knight at his side—his bodyguard and dearest enemy—seized the chance to speak to him in a low voice.
“Iskandel.”
“Don’t say a word.”
“Do you know the one skill a womanizer and a spy must have in common?”
“I told you not to say anything.”
“Getting close to the target. As close as possible.”
The bard standing behind them immediately picked up on the knight’s words.
“Oh, dear. Our Prince Iskandel is hopeless on both counts. What are we to do?”
“Hopeless doesn’t even begin to cover it. He looks like a natural-born charmer, but he’s too squeamish to be anything but a virgin. And he struts around like he’s going to be a spy for the ages, yet he can’t even get through the city gate.”
“Be quiet.”
“Don’t bark at me. Listen and take this to heart. At your core, you’re as straight-laced as they come, but the air you give off screams theoretical womanizer and theoretical mastermind, so you’re getting the worst of both worlds. You should have just accepted it when Karasvati offered to make you high priest.”
Sensing his moment, the bodyguard knight unleashed a torrent of nagging he had been storing up.
“Why would a man who is a scholar by nature insist on playing spy, of all things, and volunteer for a diplomatic mission that doesn’t suit him at all? I truly don’t understand why someone who seems to have left any desire for power or achievement back in his mother’s womb insists on going out of his way to suffer. And what does that make my suffering, being dragged along with you?”
“Who told you to come?”
“Karasvati did. She said it would be a very entertaining show, and if I stuck by you and reported every last detail, she’d give me a large jewel.”
The men lined up behind them all nodded, some slightly, some vigorously. Iskandel, who had been glaring at their shadows without turning his head, bit down hard on his lip. His bodyguard, delighted by his master’s obvious dismay, let out a knowing sigh.
“I don’t need to have seen it to know exactly what was said in the crown prince’s chambers. His Highness must have said something idiotic, and our prince here must have seen a chance to get out of the palace and gently coaxed him along.”
Iskandel kept his mouth shut.
“I told you over and over not to even think about going far away. I said that even if it’s filthy and unfair, the best life is to bleed the imperial treasury dry while living quietly and long. I said it so many times, and you just forgot it all, didn’t you?”
He was right. Clenching his fist, Iskandel let the nagging go in one ear and out the other, forcing himself to voice only the most optimistic interpretation.
“We probably just arrived a little earlier than scheduled… so they’re flustered, and that’s why we’re hearing all the shouting. If we wait, they’ll come out to greet us soon.”
“If they were going to come out, they would have done it already. This is a warning. We know you’re spies, so watch yourselves. That’s what this is.”
“Warning or not, all I have to do is keep a clear head and act completely innocent, right? That’s what you taught me. You said if I stay calm and brazen, I can walk out even if I get caught doing an indecent act with another man’s wife.”
“Theory and practice are two different things, Your Highness.”
Iskandel said nothing.
Everything his friend said was true, which only made it more irritating. Iskandel tried to tune him out, keeping his eyes fixed on the noisy heights above.
Really… did they really figure out we’re spies this fast… before we even set foot inside the gate?
He couldn’t believe it. They could at least talk to him once before jumping to conclusions. Ever since leaving the Capital, all he had done was march and march again, crossing mountains and rivers and pushing through deserts with thirty men who hadn’t the slightest idea how to function as a group.
He had never felt so wronged in his life. The sun beat down with such relentless heat it seemed ready not just to melt them but to dry them to a crisp. The sand-colored fortress city, baked to the same brittle dryness, seemed to be mocking his helplessness before he had even begun.
“Still, there is one thing we can pin our hopes on. Your looks.”
His friend, who knew him better than anyone, offered comfort that didn’t sound like comfort at all.
“No one who looks at you is going to think you’re the sort of man entrusted with something as important as espionage. Let’s bet on that," his friend continued, “When the gate finally opens, and someone comes out, just do what you always do with the ladies.”
Iskandel replied, “I will.”
“My advice is this: since we have no chance of winning by force, use your looks. You do know that not just you, but all thirty of us, came here hoping to be well-received in Durgtah and spend the rest of our lives in comfort, right?”
“I know.”
Grinding his teeth, Iskandel tugged his disheveled cloak into place. His bodyguard, teasing in tone but sincere in his loyalty, took out a handkerchief and gently dabbed the sweat from the bulging veins on the prince’s forehead.
* * *
This really, really isn’t my calling.
Hurrying down the spiral ramp that wound its way along the city wall, Hashana shook her head over and over.
She was used to handling an absurd number of different tasks all by herself. In Durgtah, desert sandstorms blew from the front and salt-laden sea winds from behind. Caring for the people, plants, and animals who endured that harsh environment was Hashana’s happiness.
I didn’t do it for recognition, but for them to ignore it this completely… it really does sting.
She thought back to Rsanda’s scolding from a moment ago and furrowed her brow.
A pacifist like me, and they call me the saintess of war.
The more she thought about it, the less the title suited her. She was the sort of person who wanted to avoid even arguing with Rsanda, never mind war. Rather than get into a pointless fight, she preferred to simply put in a little more effort herself. She knew perfectly well that her personality—avoiding fistfights at all costs and staying out of arguments from the start—was not very “Saintess of War”-like, which only made Rsanda’s criticism hurt more.
They say Rsanda poured her heart and soul into creating me, the saintess, so where did I go wrong?
With every step she took, Hashana let out sighs too numerous to count and kneaded the back of her neck. Her gaze dropped to the uneven downhill path beneath her worn shoes.
But if you think about it, I didn’t actually do anything wrong, did I? I’m the one who roughened all these stones so people wouldn’t slip and fall! How can she say she’s disappointed in me?
The farther she trudged down the dusty slope, the more resentment crept into her footsteps. Her hurt and disappointment quickly turned into bitterness.
If you’re going to create a saintess, the least you could do is match the job to her aptitudes, right? Honestly, Rsanda hasn’t put a proper system in place for anything.
She clicked her tongue and shook her head. When subordinates were diligent and full of drive, the best thing a superior could do was stop paying attention to how things were being run. That was how everything went smoothly, especially when the hierarchy was strict.
The worst kind of superior is the one who is useless at the actual work but loud, starts pointless projects, shirks responsibility, and loves giving unnecessary advice… and Rsanda manages to be all of that at once.
Deep sighs kept spilling from Hashana’s lips. After she had cursed Rsanda and lamented her own lot for about the tenth time, she found herself standing before the city gate. The soldiers waiting on either side of the massive stone doors bowed politely.
“We have been waiting for you.”
“You must be exhausted, standing here in full formal attire in this heat. I should have come down sooner, but I was too busy arguing with Rsanda to think about the people waiting. I’m sorry.”
“Not at all, saintess. You are the one who works the hardest. Every citizen of this city knows how devotedly you care for Durgtah.”
“Thank you for the kind words.”
The tongue-tied soldiers mumbled, “It’s not just words…” their expressions earnest. Their sun-darkened faces radiated nothing but sincerity. Thanks to them, Hashana was able to set aside her resentment toward Rsanda and let out a soft, fluttering laugh.
When she laughed, the soldiers laughed with her. The captain of the outer-wall guard, who had been quietly watching them, stepped to her side.
“Saintess. Shall we open the gate now?”
“Mm. No. Give me a moment to think.”
Hands on her hips, she turned to the master weaver who had appeared at her side.
“The purple awnings we prepared for the delegation’s banquet… there’s no way we can use them, is there?”
“…No. Because of the color of the cloth, they cast a bluish shadow over people’s faces. All the weavers and housewives in the city have gathered to hurriedly weave white awnings, but it’s nowhere near enough to cover the banquet hall…”
Hashana let out a deep sigh. It had been a mistake to dye the awnings purple just because purple was the imperial color.
It was a beautiful shade to look at, but once people sat beneath it, their complexions turned as dull and corpse-like as could be. Even Rsanda, who had been utterly indifferent about welcoming the delegation, had shaken her head and said this would not do.
Why did the delegation have to get here so fast? We’ve been staying up night after night to get everything ready, and they just show up out of nowhere like this!
Hashana shot a resentful look at the thick gate. She knew perfectly well why they had arrived early. It was because of the horses they were riding. Those horses were imbued with Karasvati’s blessing; their stamina and speed were beyond comparison to ordinary fine-bred mounts.
I really want those horses. It would be wonderful if we could breed them with ours and see what foals we get.
As she turned over possible methods in her mind, she clicked her tongue at herself for thinking about improving their warhorses even in the middle of all this. The master weaver, who had been sneaking glances at her ever-changing expression, cautiously offered a suggestion.
“If we just go with the original plan and use the purple awnings, we can somehow manage to get the banquet ready for tonight.”
“No. If we welcome our guests under that bluish shade, we’ll be a laughingstock. How long until the white awnings are finished?”
“At the earliest, we won’t be finished until after midnight tomorrow…”
“You look troubled. Shall we buy you some time?”
Hashana, the master weaver, and even the outer-wall captain standing at rigid attention all turned their heads toward the voice.
Beyond the soldiers in gleaming white uniforms holding up golden spears, near the archway that led to the soldiers’ barracks, someone let out a soft laugh. It was the dancers.
