'We'll never know what truly occurred that night, unless we offer the accused an opportunity to defend herself.'

'The dead do not speak, maharaj,' said Omana, her voice hard.

'What good fortune it is, then, that your daughter still lives.'

'I claim no traitor as a daughter of mine.'

'Alleged traitor, some would say.' It did not escape Kiet that she had made no effort to contradict his claim. 'I could help not but marvel upon my walk here, the committal trees you keep alongside the Obsidian Trail.'

'We have no burial grounds here, that is no secret. Our frangipani we plant over the mountain pass, so that the spirits of our loved ones may guard the Obsidian Trail.'

'I've heard of this Obusirjan tradition, thus it is not what I saw that intrigued me, but rather what I did not.'

Eshka's lips turned to a brittle slit, her grandmother's chin rose a little higher. That was what Kiet liked the most about House Obusirjan—perhaps the only thing, from what he knew thus far. They wore no masks the way members of the Surikh court did. Their words were weighted with passion, they wasted no time with empty civilities or posturing except to use it to their own advantage.

He continued, 'Tell me. It is customary that we bury the dead with a frangipani sapling to mark their grave. Does House Obusirjan follow this custom closely? Or do you plant a full-grown tree over your graves?'

'I wish you would ask me what you came here to ask.'

'I looked, I saw no sapling in your mountain-grave. Certainly a woman who died a little over a year ago would have a committal tree not as large and deep-rooted as the ones you currently keep.'

'You did not find a sapling because we did not plant one in memory of Dhvani.'

'Because she is no daughter of yours?' Kiet smirked. 'They say the best game of pai gow is one played against an Obusirjan, I understand now why.'

'Because we did not receive a body to bury.'

'You received no body to bury because we found no body to bury. Even so, empty trees have been planted before. You chose not to do so for you know she still lives. It would be unpropitious to plant a frangipani for a living relative, after all.'

'What you accuse me of is treason.'

'It would be treason to harbour the murderer of a queen consort—'

'Alleged,' interrupted Divya.

'Her fleeing does not speak so well of her innocence, does it, half-sister?' He approached closer to the women, saw the anger in full across all three pairs of eyes. 'As I was saying—harbouring Rajini Dhvani would be treasonous, and she would never put her House into such a position. However, that is not to say that you do not know where she has currently chosen to remain.'

Omana's hands shook where she gripped her stone armrest. 'This is the repayment I must suffer, after centuries of service this family has—'

'Did you not marry into the Obusirjan House?'

'Does your father know of this gambit?' Omana rose; slowly, painfully, leaning against a staff she had kept by her feet. Her granddaughters hurried to assist her, but she waved them away. 'I understand now why he stripped your claim to the throne in favour of Maharaj Khaisan.'

Kiet laughed. It was not the first time someone assumed the matter of investiture was a sore point for him. How could they appreciate the freedom he now enjoyed? But more than that, Omana knew as well as anyone that the succession was not a matter of favour. Khaisan was a grandson of the Maha Rani. His own father would have been heir apparent if he had demonstrated first-rank theurgy. As it happened, Maharaj Persi capped at third, and the moment his son rose to first-rank, the claim to the throne descended unto him by virtue of primogeniture alone.

'You've arrived here alone, without guard or retinue,' continued Omana. 'It is not difficult to conclude you have come without the Maha Rama's blessing.'

'I could march into the Kingdom of Napoa, and still I'd need no guard or retinue. There is a reason I was made heir presumptive, after all, and it would do you good to remember that, syuri.'

'You dare threaten me in my own home?'

'How ridiculous; threats are beneath me. I mean only to say that whatever I do within my own time, I do so still under the banner of Surikhand.'

'For the last time, maharaj. Dhvani is not here.'

'We've passed that, syuri.' Kiet paused, allowing the women a moment to seethe. 'Look. We all here want the same thing—'

'You want my mother paraded naked and speared to death!' Divya spat.

Kiet cringed at the thought. 'I'd prefer not to see anyone's mother naked. All I want is the truth, as I'm sure you do, too. I personally will ensure Rajini Dhvani has the opportunity to present her truth, to present evidence and witnesses to attest to her truth, before the kingdom decides on a just consequence.'

'The consequence for the murder of a queen consort is death. It is always death.'

'You believe she is innocent and will be put wrongly to death? Or is it her guilt you fear? Which is it, dear sister? Did your mother kill mine, or was she framed?' These women both amused and tested his patience. The temerity—to be appalled that he would want to seek a trial for the murder of his mother; to show no humility even while they obstruct the course of justice.

He had thought House Obusirjan had greater integrity than this. Had it died with their patriarch some five and twenty years ago?

'Your journey here has been for nothing, maharaj,' said Omana at long last, hunched where she stood. 'We do not know where Dhvani is.'

Nor would you tell me if you did. 'I would not say for nothing.' It was not her, after all, he had come to see. 'At the very least, it gave me a reason to visit the famed Obsidian Fortress.'

'You are more than welcome to stay, of course. Our steward will show you to the guest quarters. Had we known of your arrival earlier, we would have prepared better accommodations.'

'Thank you for your hospitality, but that will not be necessary. I have acquired lodgings at the valley.'

'That is a two-day descent.'

'All the more reason that I should depart in good time.'

He declined their invitation to luncheon—an offer made only out of the most primeval form of courtesy even an Obusirjan could not neglect—and saw himself out of their Ancestral Hall.

It was a relief to escape their company. The Obusirjan matrons made his father seem like the warmest host since Erbē graced the realms with his presence. It must be all this mountain air.

'Maharaj.' A man waited for him in the courtyard, dressed in the Obusirjan patterns: deep black with a yellow sickle-moon across the chest. He bowed as Kiet approached. 'I trust you have been well-received by my mother and nieces.'

'Raj Djuro, I presume.'

His eyes lit at Kiet's recognition, though it was an easy assumption to make. Dhvani's other brothers were much younger. Djuro was the only one close to her in age, but more importantly, was also the only one who had reason to approach him. In fact, Kiet had waged his entire journey upon it.

'I heard the servants whispering of your visit,' said the raj. 'I did not think it true, so I came down here to see for myself. I hope you'll forgive my curiosity.'

'As far as I'm concerned, you're perambulating in your own home. Or is this not?'

Djuro smiled sourly, scratching his beard. 'Yes. Sometimes I forget that.'

'Well. Do you at least remember the way out? For I certainly do not.'

Djuro laughed. Kiet followed him through the many hallways, though in truth he knew exactly where to go.

Their talk remained inconsequential for most of their walk. Only when the grand doors to the Fortress were in sight did the raj suddenly drop his tone. 'I am, of course, most regretful for what has befallen upon your mother ... and expressly the part my own blood had to play in it.'

'Neither you nor your House are responsible for your sister's actions.'

'Even then, it brings me so much pain. It would have shamed my father to death if he weren't already.'

'Rajini Dhvani might very well be innocent of what Rajini Chei has accused her of.' Kiet shrugged. 'It is only a pity she has not come forward to clear her name, and her family's honour.'

Djuro took the bait. 'Until that day comes, you can rest assured that House Obusirjan will do whatever we can in our power to assist you in your endeavour, my maharaj. I only ask that should you require anything of us—anything—that it be brought to me.'

The rightful heir to the Obsidian Fortress, was his unspoken message. If only his mother would quickly pass it unto him or die. The latter, from what Kiet knew of Omana and her aspirations for House Obusirjan, would seem to occur first.

'Syuri Omana is, after all, blindsided by Dhvani's betrayal,' continued Djuro.

'And you have not been?'

'I always knew my sister, maharaj. The kind of person she is. Things even our mother do not, or refuse to see.'

The doors were upon them, now. A pair of guards pulled them open for the maharaj. He turned to Raj Djuro before exiting. 'I regret not being able to speak more with you, Raj Djuro, but I must begin my descent before dark.'

'If you allow it, I can arrange an escort to—'

Kiet held a hand up to stop him. 'That will not be required. I wish to remain anonymous at Shorga, an escort would certainly risk that. I've found a pleasant inn there, and plan on staying a few days longer.'

'The Two Peaks?' asked the raj, smiling. 'Indeed a quaint little place. If you stay long enough, they serve quail for dinner every week's end. I've travelled to every corner of the realm, yet never have I dined on better game.'

Kiet's stomach rumbled at the thought. Luckily it was disguised under all the wind howling between them. He nodded his thanks and parted ways, but not before catching the castellan's straight-backed figure watching from a landing above.

❖

↝ END CHAPTER ONE ↜

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☆ this chapter is dedicated to MorganMollyHunter; if you like futuristic mystery novels, check out her 2020 Watty's Award Winning story, "INSPECTOR RAMES" ☆

Video: Ambient sounds of the Obsidian Fortress
Image: Photomanipulation + digital painting of Divya, Omana, and Eshka by yours truly

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