A chequered palanquin waited at the top of the embankment, but Kiet was done with sitting in a vessel. 'I prefer to ride, if it is no difference to you.'

Immediately were horses brought before them. Kiet spun the stirrup towards him and mounted the horse, Akai and two of their chosen soldiers following.

The road had been cleared all the way from the harbours of Tanmoji to the colossal gates of Momuji Castle, onlookers pushed aside by mounted soldiers. It was too ostentatious for Kiet's liking, but he understood the show was more for the people and less for his own comfort.

'I told you to bring more men,' muttered Akai. He had become more brazen with his opinions. Kiet liked that. 'Instead you bring more servants and a bird.'

'The bird could not be helped.' Kiet chuckled. His pet flew low around his unimpressed mount. Whatever his theurgy did, he never could shake the creature away. It had grown into a full-sized swiftlet since he nursed it—just larger than a fist—and was more attached to him than any palace dhayang. 'As for the Emperor; he is enough of a suspicious and fearful man. I'll give him no reason more to distrust me than my presence itself already draws.'

Three of his best soldiers were enough. Another half dozen he left on the ship. He needed most his men home, with his sisters.

'You've met him before?'

'I came for his coronation, though that was so long ago, I was too young to remember anything.' He had been four. The only thing he knew of the visit was what had been written in their annals, and his next visit to Tsunai had neither been to Momuji nor to see its Emperor. 'This is your first time to Tsunai?'

'Yes, maharaj, though my grandmother told me many stories of the land and taught me their language.'

'I was counting on that.' Kiet had guessed correctly his captain's roots. Never mind his skin tone—even his name suggested Tsun influences. It was why he elected Akai to accompany him to the realm. Kiet knew the language himself—not as well as Common Regnant or Kapuluan—but he might later need a man to be his eyes and ears where he was himself not present. 'Well. Now you shall have stories to tell your grandmother in return.'

Akai beamed at that; the first Kiet ever saw him so enthused.

The sound of chatter overwhelmed them then as they entered what their escort announced as the Tanmoji markets. The guards here had a harder time keeping people at bay. Children pushed between their horses, women flirted for a peek. The smell of the sea turned into the tang of metal and stone, the musk of woods and fabrics. It followed them until the market streets merged into a wide road leading up to the castle.

They were welcomed through the Hancheon Gate—heavengate, in their tongue, and aptly named. It was built into the face of the cliff, so high that four tiers of soldiers guarded the entrance. Men lined the tunnel, spear in one hand, torches wedged in the wall between every soldier. Archers guarded the higher tiers.

Kiet could hardly think with the din of metal and clattering that echoed, constant, through the tunnel. When finally they rode to its end, he discovered its source.

The tunnel led to a row of cages. Nine in all, built deep into the surrounding walls and fenced in iron bars.

'This elevator if you please, maharaj.' Their escort gestured to the centre cage at the foot of the tunnel, whose floor was decked with pink-tinged planks that could only come from Tsun cypress.

'Elevator?' One of Kiet's soldiers whispered.

They ushered their mounts into the cage, the iron bars lifting behind Akai and sealing with a clang that resounded through the tunnel.

'You might experience some giddiness,' warned the escort. He pulled on a rope tucked in a chute by the corner of their cage and waited.

Metal scraped, chains rattled, and their platform slowly took from the ground. Akai startled on his horse and pulled away from the edge. Wood creaked under their weight, but the structure was sound. The landing drifted away, people below them shrinking into miniature pieces from a game of general's warboard. Eventually they were swallowed by the darkness, light now sifting in from above, along with the sounds of men yelling and straining.

They emerged through a skylight, blinded by the sudden brightness. When Kiet lowered his arm, the expanse of Momujis East and West sprawled below him.

Water sparkled in the sun. The royal carrier was still berthed where he left it, national ensign flapping on the jackstaff: silver on black, the mighty capradon with its wings outstretched, crown sitting between its branched horns. His own house flag was hoisted on the yardarm, fluttering across the Tsun courtesy ensign.

There was no better warning for Dhvani, if indeed she hid in this city. But nautical etiquette was not to be disregarded.

'I hope that was not too heavy on you, maharaj.'

'It was nothing.' Kiet turned his mount. Around them soared a grove of sugi trees, white shrine gates marking its entrance.

'Welcome to Handojja.' The escort bowed nose to saddle.

Third enclosure, if his Tsun did not fail him, where the Emperor held all administrative and court functions. Their cage-elevators were sheltered under a bridge that rimmed the entire enclosure. The escort led them eastward where the road continued through the grove. Stone lanterns lined the pavement, joined by an intermittent of banners. Log houses rose and fell in the distant north, built between halls and an interweave of pavilions, whilst the south was dominated by a majestic temple, standing watch over the Kapuluan Raja.

The grove receded, replaced by a six-storied twin pagoda bridge—and through it, there she stood in all her glory.

Momuji Castle was sun-bleached and proud, built atop a foundation of dry-laid stones that arched like a lunar crescent. Kiet took in the sight of her and felt a dangerous desire he quickly tempered.

Akai came up behind him and gasped out a prayer. Their escort chuckled, dismounting with the help of the servants who had come to take their horses. 'My thousand apologies, maharaj, but before we continue, I must ask for your bloodrunes.'

Kiet pulled Sandyakala from its sheath. 'The black stone in the hilt.'

The man received the sword in both hands, bowing deep, before turning to Kiet's soldiers.

'I'm unblooded. So is this one,' said Akai, nodding to one other of the guards. The third man pulled a ring off his finger and dropped it into the escort's hand.

'Very good, seunghwan. They shall be returned by the end. Please follow me.'

The castle interior was just as breathtaking. Her halls were wide and cool, fragrant with the natural scents of pine and earth. Latticed windows splayed light upon polished floorboards. Calligraphy engraved the wooden beams, floral medallions carved into the braces above.

Gyoseong received them in his audience hall: a three-tiered cloister skirting a closed quadrangle. Paper lanterns lit the beams. Thick layers of chōza—the typical Tsun rush mats—carpeted the square, each placed in accordance to royal arrangement.

'His Serene Highness, the Maharaj Kiet Ametjas. Second in line to the throne of Surikhand.'

Kiet entered as the escort announced his arrival. He bowed to one knee before the tribune, whereupon sat three men in imperial robes; Gyoseong on his elevated throne, his advisers sitting around him in the formal tsujeud position—legs folded beneath the weight of their body. The Tsun had strict conventions over every aspect of life, sitting not excluded.

Gyoseong spoke in Common Kapuluan, his accent strong. 'Welcome to Momuji, maharaj. Please make yourselves comfortable.'

The chōza was soft enough. Kiet assumed the tsujeud, nodding his thanks as refreshments were carried his way. 'Thank you for receiving me. Your city is beautiful, and this castle its epitome.'

'How can I refuse a visit from an old neighbour? It has been too long since I entertained one from House Ametjas.'

Is that so? 'I believe the last time would have been at your enthronement ceremony. I wish I had been old enough to remember the day. It must have been a magnificent affair.'

'Two-and-twenty years long past, it has become a haze even to me in my old age.'

Kiet doubted that. His own father was eleven years Gyoseong's senior, and his memory still sharp.

'I do remember you, however, and your mother. A beautiful woman. I was sorry to hear of the tragedy in Kathedra.'

'Thank you, Emperor. Even now I work to bring her justice. But there will be time for that. First, please allow me to present you our gifts. Some might refresh your memory yet.'

The escort slid the side doors open. Kiet's servants streamed in bearing casks and caskets. He explicated each gift as they were revealed before the Emperor. Matured wine, made of Tsun rice starch harvested the year of the Emperor's coronation; kashmeer and silks woven in the bright patterns popularised during the period; a spider hibiscus carved from nine pounds of pure jade ...

Gyoseong's smile widened with each gift, but he was especially delighted by the last. He held it in the light flowing from the round windows behind the tribune. 'Now this is a gyok worthy of divinity. The maharaj indulges me with such extravagance.'

'I have one more, Emperor. This last is for the Empress, whom we hear is again with child. The Maha Rama extends his felicitations. His Rani selected this special gift herself.' The servants opened a long casket, revealing a set of candles. 'One to be burned every night until labour. They were crafted by our own palace herbalists. The scent of orchids to bring you many strong children, and anyalar herbs for a healthy pregnancy.'

It was no secret Gyoseong had ill fate with children. None from his first marriage had survived infancy. Many died during birth, eventually his own wife followed. He took a new bride after his coronation, and though the Empress proved stronger than his previous wife, it was not by much.

How many children had she given him? Kiet could not remember. His information was likely outdated, besides. All he knew was Gyoseong's oldest living son had seen at most twelve summers, and if any of them had reached first-rank, the entire Eastern Isles would've heard of it by now.

'A thoughtful gift.' Gyoseong nodded for his servants to store them away. 'Allow me to return the favour. I have prepared a residence for the maharaj and his retinue. It is one of my most favourite compounds in all of Ikidojja.'

One to better watch me through? 'I've heard much of Ikidojja's beauty. I cannot wait to experience it first hand.'

'Good. We will speak again once the maharaj is rested. I'm sure the journey must have been taxing. The waters can be rough, this close to the mountain-beast that is Honju.'

'The volcano gave us no trouble.'

'Let us pray it remains that way.' A flash of fear passed Gyoseong's face.

Had they approached a matter of distress? The volcano had caused no real threat, no real challenge for a Tsun emperor since ... five? six years before Kiet's birth? He really needed to freshen up on his history readings.

But of course—in ten years or in twenty, it was only a matter of time before Honju rose from his slumber. How old would Gyoseong then be? Pushing seventy, eighty? Could he still stand against the wrath of a centuries-old volcano? Would he still even be alive to protect his people?

And who would take his place, if he failed to produce a first-rank son? Of all his brothers—both half and true—only six including himself were first-rank. But two of them were decades in the ground, another two were not gifted with terrakindry ... and if there was one thing anyone knew of Tsun governance, it was that they required a first-rank terrakin for an emperor.

That only left the crown prince, Gyoseong Yeungji.

His younger brother.

Kiet's eyes trailed to the man sitting left of the Emperor, clad in the jade colours of the Gyok Dynasty. He looked older even than the Emperor himself, though that was impossible. All of Gyoseong's older brothers were deceased.

'Now. I will not trouble the maharaj with our domestic concerns.'

'Honju's fury affects all the waters of Kapuluan Raja, Emperor. Perhaps not as intensely as yours, but any assistance Surikhand can provide in such an event is in the best of all our interests.'

'I will remember this kind offer. But the maharaj comes bearing many gifts and promises today; one must wonder how they are expected to return the favour?'

Kiet smiled. 'I bring with me no such expectations.'

The man right of the Emperor twitched suddenly. It was the first time he moved, Kiet realised. He had been sitting there so still, the maharaj forgot he was there at all. A young man, with something twinkling in his ear. He, too, was robed in green—not the greenish-blue of the Gyok Dynasty, but paler, like frosted winter grass.

☆ this chapter is dedicated to WaterWitchEl; another long-time reader of A GRACE OF CROWNS! ☆

Video: Ambient with Flute
Image: Left image—© Syuhei Inoue at unsplash; right image—© vadaka1986 at Flickr

Umm ... careful, Kiet ... I guess he didn't hear about the Emperor's truth-weaver (>_<)

Anyway, some people asked for a list of the Tsun honorifics. There are many, so I have made a comprehensive list in the QUEENKILLER, KINGMAKER–APPENDIX book on my profile (or click on External Link to be taken straight to the glossary). Again, don't trouble yourself trying to memorise them! As usual, please vote if you liked the chapter, and don't be shy to share your conspiracy theories! (≧▽≦)