He had just finished shaving the stubbles off his cheeks when a knock came upon the door. He had a perfect view of it through the hole in the screen. A familiar voice called from the other side; feminine and muffled behind the thick wood.

He straightened in the water, cleared his throat. 'Enter.'

It was his plate-sampler, carrying a large tray of congee and fruits. Kiet sank back into the bath, trying to subdue his inexplicable annoyance. What else had he expected?

'Shall I bring this to you?' She had enough reserve to keep her head down. 'The congee will get cold if you don't eat it quickly.'

'Sure. Nothing more foul than cold congee.'

The girl walked towards him, eyes glued to the floor. She came around the wooden screen, hands trembling harder the closer she got. The tray shook in her steel grip, the pitcher upon it slipping dangerously close to an angle. Kiet pulled away in a panic. Water sloshed off the side of his tub and onto the tiled floor.

'You're going to spill everything into my bath! Look up when you walk!' Besides, if she wanted to avoid seeing anything, looking down was the worst idea.

The girl squeaked a flurry of apologies, set the tray between the edges of his tub, and bowed clumsily before turning to leave.

'Wait.'

She faltered. 'Yes, maharaj? Shall I—Shall I scrub your back?'

'What? No. You are my plate-sampler, are you not?'

She made more noises of apology before kneeling beside him to take a bite from each of his food. He knew not why she irritated him so—it was by no fault of hers. Clearly he stepped out of bed that afternoon with the wrong foot.

He sighed, softening his voice. 'What is your name?'

'It's Tika, maharaj.'

A dime-a-dozen name; it made him think of another, long ago. He scarcely remembered her face ... some visiting nobleborn girl's bedmate. It was his mother's mockery he recalled. 'Astika? I've never heard a more barnyard name! Make sure you return her to whichever backward village she came from once you're done.' He would have left the girl in peace had he not needed see her a couple more times if only to irk his mother.

But those were his younger, wilder days. He had learnt better ways to prove a point. 'You are young, Tika; too young to be plate-sampler. I'll have my steward assign for you a new role once we've returned to the palace.'

'Have I displeased you?'

'Not at all.'

She folded suddenly over her knees, hands clenching her thighs. 'Then please don't send me away! Let me serve you longer!'

Having a girl kowtowing while he lay naked in a tub—the discomfort hit him all at once. Kiet pushed the platter away and reached for the folded towels, using her momentary obeisance to cover himself. 'So eager are you to die of food poisoning?'

'If it would spare the maharaj his life, then yes!'

His stomach twisted again, and all Kiet's appetite vanished along with the wry smile on his face. 'Rise. Keep your station if so you desire, just please save ... the grovelling.'

'Thank you, maharaj!' The relief on her face swiftly changed to shock as she rose and faced him.

Between the steam literally smouldering off his skin and the young lady turning lobster-red, Kiet thought of a rather inappropriate remark. He swallowed it; his wilder days were supposed to be over. 'You are dismissed.'

She bowed yet again before backing out of his presence.

Her mother had served his, according to Akai, and Kiet believed it. Upon reflection, she did have amongst the most subservient employees in all the palace. 'Keep them docile, like your elements,' she liked to say. He always thought she had a dark sense of humour, but apparently none of them had been spoken in jest.

Kiet dressed, his mood already souring. Whatever effect the hot bath had on him was evanescent.

Was that why she took in all those desperate, unemployable men and women? Was it he who inferred magnanimity where there was only well-hidden exploitation? No wonder he could barely stand staying home, back in the days, surrounded by constant grovelling and yes-men. Sindhu was an exception to the rule. His mother made the mistake of judging his spine by his stutter.

Oh, how much you'd despise Isla then, Mother. He chuckled despite himself, stopping abruptly at the sight of his reflection from the corner of the room. The descendant of a royal- and baseborn.

Part of him doubted it still. Not her sincerity—perhaps Chei's. Or someone somewhere had made some kind of mistake. He would have Sindhu look into it, just to be certain. The scriptures were clear on the matter; the warnings written in stone, not ambiguous exempla. A royal- and baseborn union was destined to be barren of theurgy for all generations to come, yet according to academy records was Isla not only a mind-reader, but a second-rank at that.

He sighed into the mirror.

She had caught him off guard, back in the Emperor's bamboo forest, but their last meeting had gone not much better.

Kiet fixed his hair and exited.

Before he knew it, he was standing before her cabin. He raised his fist and, after a moment of hesitation, gave a loud knock.

She opened the door, her eyes widening upon seeing her uninvited guest. Isla pushed him into the corridor before he even could glimpse at the cabin behind her. 'Kiet? What are you doing here?'

'Were you expecting someone else?'

'No, I just—'

'Then why are you so flustered? What contraband have you this time smuggled?'

'Oh, please. It wasn't my fault you fell for a simple homophone that time.'

Kiet angled for a peek, but she pulled the door to a close. His amusement peaked suddenly into ire. 'Am I intruding upon something?'

'I was resting.'

'Resting? With the truth-weaver? Is that what you call it?'

She made a sound of disbelief, but the red spreading up her cheeks was more telling. Kiet sniffed. What was he thinking—why'd he even come in the first place? Every time they spoke, things grew only worse between them.

'With my sister,' she said finally, each word spat out between grit teeth.

'Ah.' Gods. I forgot about her. Heat rose to his own face but Kiet quickly buried his shame. 'In that case, is it not time you introduced us?'

'Not today.'

There was a trace of fear beneath her indignance. Kiet stepped away, but could he blame her, after what his mother did to them? 'Do you think ... I would continue where my mother failed?'

'If I did, I would not have gone to you for help, nor shared with you my secret.'

'Then why do you hide her from me?'

'I'm not.' Isla dropped her voice to a whisper. 'I'm hiding you from her. She isn't ready yet, Kiet. Even seeing your House crest gives her nightmares.'

'Oh.' What had his mother done to her? Kiet turned away. 'I'm sorry. I—'

'Anyway, she really is asleep, and it's been so long since she's had proper rest.'

'I understand. I'll stay out of your way. I should have not come.'

'Why did you?'

Kiet hesitated. 'When I saw you at the bamboo forest ... it was not how I imagined our reunion would be. I was beset by many things ... Dhvani, the Emperor ... I took my suspicions out on you.'

'Is this an apology?'

'No.' Kiet smirked. 'I wanted to thank you, for sharing the truth with me despite my behaviour.'

The smile faded from her face. Kiet knew guilt when he saw it, but whatever else she hid from him, he was too tired to fight.

'I've also come to make good on my promise,' he continued.

'What promise?'

'I recall inviting you to dinner, last time we voyaged together.'

He enjoyed the look of confusion on her face until it turned into a bitter smile. 'Oh, right, you mean before you became distracted by those half-naked girls.'

What girls? There had been a dance, that was right—a rendition of The Apsura and her Stole, but he had missed the entire show due to some slight mechanical issues he had to remedy. And he never saw Isla again, until the Water Palace ...

He would make not the same mistake twice. Kiet offered his arm. 'So, will you come?'

    
❖ ❖ ❖
   

Kiet led Isla across the dining room. His arrival was unannounced, and Akai had done his best to clear the room. The last man hobbled out, half drunk, but their mess remained behind: mounds of empty bottles, cards left scattered on the floor ... and by the look on Isla's face, she saw all too well the dirty breeches hanging over a chair.

Here, of all places? Kiet winced in embarrassment. He moved quickly around Isla to hide her from the grotesque sight. 'There, in the corner. That table is sufficiently clean.'

He pulled the chair for her before taking a seat across the table.

For a moment they sat, waiting for the other to speak, but for the first time in his life, Kiet could think of not a single thing to say. The cabin was so quiet they could hear the creaking of wood and dampened shrieking of wind even through the thick glass windows.

The door slid open and in came the cook with a tail of servants. Kiet thanked the gods for their intervention. Their dinner was lain in front of them, drinks poured. 'No congee, I see.' Another divine mercy. Who in all the epps eats congee for dinner?

'Tamma really liked it.' Isla looked askance at the cook, and Kiet swallowed his words. 'Her mother would make congee for breakfast whenever she was ill. It helped her sleep tonight.'

The man beamed, nodding his thanks. 'If there are any other special meals you'd like, miss, just let us know.'

'She is still ill, then?' asked Kiet. 'You said you came to Tsunai to see the mind-healer.'

'Eshe helped a great deal, but there's only so much she can do. Tam Mai relives her time in the dungeons. Some things can bring her right back there, like she never left. She's getting better though, at staying present.'

She switched mid-sentence into Common Regnant; so effortlessly that Kiet almost missed it. None of his servants spoke the tongue—a gamble she took too easily for Kiet's liking .

There was no blame in her eyes, but he stung with guilt all the same. Kiet turned to his servants waiting yet by the table. 'What are you all still doing here? You're dismissed!'

They all bowed and backed away. All but one.

Kiet sighed. 'You again.'

'Forgive me, but I am your plate-sampler, maharaj.'

'Not tonight, Tika. I've company.'

'Every night, maharaj. There's no room for exceptions.'

Isla sniffed, looking between him and his plate-sampler. 'You have someone taste your food for you, now?'

By no request of mine. 'Lest you forget, I did almost die of poisoning.'

'Yes, by your—'

By what? By my own mother? Isla never finished her sentence, but the message was clear.

Kiet burst into laughter.

His own mother poisoned him into temporary death and now he must act as though his life was ever in any legitimate danger. Soon even Isla was laughing. It felt good, despite it all, to let it out. Like a twisted joke shared between friends.

His servants exchanged a troubled look. The plate-sampler cleared her throat. 'Shall I test your plate now, maharaj?'

Isla let out a sound of exasperation amidst her laughter, reached into Kiet's bowl with her own dining reed. She took a steamed dumpling from the soup and dropped it into her mouth. 'There, Tika, his plate has been sampled. You're dismissed.'

'But—'

'I'm not asking you, I'm telling you.'

Tika bristled and turned without so much as a nod.

'Are you really going to be one of those royalborns?' Isla directed her piercing tongue at him now that the servant had gone. 'I thought better of you. Who knew a near-death experience would have changed you so.'

'It's completely plausible that someone might genuinely want to kill me, Isla. I'm not certain you know this, but I am second in line to the throne. That is kind of a big deal.'

'Whilst a servant's life is of no consequence?'

'After the way you spoke to her, now you're a champion for her life?' Kiet picked a strip of sirloin from his plate.

'If she's treated poorly enough, maybe she'll quit.'

'Careful. One might think you intend on poisoning me yourself.'

'You want a plate-sampler?' Isla slammed her cup onto the table before stealing the strip from Kiet's dining reed. 'There. Tastes great.'

'You should stop that.'

'I at least owe you one.'

'That is not funny.'

Isla leaned back in her seat. 'Since when did you become this serious?'

When, indeed? He was not any more serious than he always had been, only exhausted. Almost two years he scoured the lands in search of Dhvani. Instead he found things about his mother he wished he never knew. No. It was my intentional blindness that got us here in the first place.

'You've done it, Kiet. Just enjoy the moment. Soon we'll be in Surikhand and you'll bring justice for your mother.'

'I begin to wonder if she deserves it,' he muttered.

'Whatever she's done, it doesn't make her murder any less of a crime.'

She was right, of course, yet still it felt as though the past two years had been for nought. 'I thought I would be bringing to trial the murderer of an innocent woman. That Dhvani would be answering for a wrongful death.'

'Are you worried her trial will destroy your mother's legacy? Whatever accusations the rajini indicts upon your mother would only come across as the desperate lies of a deluded woman. She has no evidence, not even a motive. Everything I know will stay with me.'

'I believe not for a second that you desire no justice for your sister.'

'I won't lie and tell you I don't despise your mother, nor that I would not have killed her myself if I had to. But she's already dead. It would be justice enough that her son build a safe place for her once-prisoner to live.'

Kiet sighed. He'd given as little thought to her proposition as was deserved. He dropped his voice and spoke in Common Regnant, 'You and Tam Mai will remain under my protection, Isla, but claiming the throne is out of the question.'

'You don't get it. It's not about me or my sister. There are gods know how many people out there like us, being hunted, killed. Their families wiped in their sleeps. Tam Mai, too, deserves a family of her own one day. Who will protect them?'

'You want me to make public your birthright?'

'That would only put Tam Mai under public scrutiny, and it is not yet safe to do so. Your mother was only one of an entire movement. They're everywhere, Kiet, preserving your precious throne.'

'Preserving the throne?' Ah. Kiet gave an ironic laugh. Isla would bring to question everything they believed about the divine Laws. The same Laws that keep kings in power. 'You take far too many gambles. You're expecting me to work against my own best interest.'

'If inherited monarchy means that much to you, then keep it. I don't care whether people know my name or my father's. I only want these Surikh royalists rooted out to the last weed.'

Your truth-weaver would not agree. It seemed they were not as attuned as Taeichi claimed. The thought gave him some satisfaction. 'That can I easily do as a maharaj. In fact, being Maha Rama would only keep me occupied with other concerns of the realm.'

'Concerns such as the conscription? The eugeneic act? I'm glad you mention it. I too, would like to be able to live in my own realm without such concerns present, and many others the Maha Rama alone can change.'

'It is not as easy as you would—'

'How can you sit there comfortably on your royal arse, knowing children are being promised to men old enough to be their grandfathers?'

Kiet lowered his dining reed, his hunger quickly gone. How often did he need voice his discomfort—subtly, yes, so as not to provoke Judhistir—before the Maha Rama would grow tired of his insolence? How many issues had he brought forth, ideas had he presented, only to be shut down by the likes of Persi and his coterie of nobleborn men?

He had tried. Wise father knows he tried reforming the conscription—making its dismissal contingent upon examination rather than marriage or sponsorship of a noble man; expanding the programme to incorporate young boys as well. He had won a few ears, but not the ones that mattered.

'All that would be nothing compared to civil war,' he said at last.

'Who said anything about civil war?'

Was she playing dumb? 'What do you expect would occur if I challenge Judhistir for the throne? That is if I manage to escape a public execution within the next five seconds.'

'Funny.' Isla smirked. 'Why must you challenge him? I'm not sure you know this, but you are second in line to the throne.'

She is insane. 'You want me to assassinate my own nephew.' As if Khaisan would be as easily slaughtered as any number of nobleborn heirs. Kiet laughed at the sheer temerity. 'In case of Khaisan's untimely death, all eyes would be turned to me. And unlike me, Persi will bother with no trial. He'd himself lead the call to war.'

'So quickly you jump to treachery and murder.' She tugged on the chain around her neck. The smile on her face wavered. 'I have a better plan.'

'Stop. I've no desire to hear it. You've come a long way in your faith in me, to be so openly suggesting treason. If I knew all it took was to sacrifice my life for you, I'd have done so earlier.' Kiet ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. 'But my regard for you can only go so far, Isla. If you fail to rid yourself of these treasonous notions, I will be obligated—'

'No treason. No murder, no death, no betrayal. If my plan succeeds, it will be a clean succession. The Maha Rama will crown you himself.'

He tried to read her face, but it wore only a subdued confidence. What had she brewing up her sleeve? 'Even if that were possible, I cannot. This is Khaisan's birthright. I'll not take it from him.'

'Kiet—'

'I understand we had a deal, so you need not assist me with the trial, nor do I hold the truth-weaver to any commitments. I need no truth-weaving besides. Dhvani is many things, but above all is she an Obusirjan, and if there is one thing you should know of the Obusirjan, it is their self-sabotaging arrogance and undying pride. If she speaks at all, Dhvani will deny none of her crimes. It is not in her bones. It is more likely she will retain her right to be tried without participation.'

'I said I'd help you bring Dhvani to justice—I'll still do it.'

'You'll only be putting yourself under scrutiny should you attest in the hearing.'

'Just think about it, Kiet.' Isla folded her hands over the table. 'About my testimony, my proposition. Surikhand needs a leader like you.'

Kiet chuckled. For a moment he was eight again, his theurgy only just settled at first rank. His mother had been so proud, his father relieved, his teachers hopeful. He heard enough from them what Surikhand needed, and though their ideas were of different nature to Isla's, they weighed all the same. He had only too gladly passed the mantle of maharam to Khaisan when his nephew, too, rose to first.

'Last time you came to me with a plan, I ended up dead,' he said at last.

He had spoken lightly, but Isla took it to heart. She played with whatever it was she held in her fist, eyes down. 'That's why you need to think carefully on it. My plan has a low risk of detection, but obviously high consequences if it is; and for it to work, we need to be able to trust each other completely.'

Nobody trusts anybody completely. It was the first lesson he learnt growing up in court. It was unwise of Isla to trust him with her seditious schemes. He could have her locked and chained right beside Dhvani down in the orlops.

So why did he not?

He may have little faith in Khaisan, but he wished no ill will upon him, even if he would be little more than a puppet under his father's strings. Persi, Khaisan, the ghost of old Ametjas past—it mattered not who sat at the throne of Surikhand, they were all of them alike. He'd not shed a tear if Isla managed to crown another Ametjas, so long as it incited no wars.

So long as it is not me.

Isla sighed, mistaking his extended silence. 'I understand it's a big ask. Trust must be earned, and I haven't really been deserving of it.'

'We all keep secrets. I can hardly fault you for keeping yours, considering its nature.'

'Being half-born isn't my only secret, Kiet.' She looked up, her eyes swarming with hesitance. Slowly, she opened her fist.

'Is that—'

'It's my bloodrune. Well, part of it.'

The chain was gone around Isla's neck. He took it now from her extended palm, held it between his fingers, studying the stone that hung caged in silver. Vitreous purple, dark with angular zones of lighter lilac. 'You're second-rank. That is no secret.'

'Yes, but I'm not a mind-reader. My sister is.'

'I saw your academy records.'

'I managed to fool them. It was not difficult considering its proximity to my true theurgy. I'm a coercer. A mind-crafter.'

A mind-crafter. Kiet drew back in his seat, reflexively stirring his jii awake. The last known mind-crafter recorded in history had been nigh a century ago. 'Then you're lucky Dhvani never learnt of your true nature.'

'It has nothing to do with luck. I didn't want to draw attention to myself—which my theurgy would have done. I did despicable things to keep it secret.'

'Yet you're telling me now.' She was trying hard to win his trust, perhaps a little too hard. Kiet understood she was desperate. Tired, frightened. He had never seen her so frightened—not even that night she climbed into his balcony, feet stained with blood.

'Like I said. You deserve the truth.'

'Isla—'

'I want you to have it.'

'The truth? You mean there's more?'

'No, I mean my pendant.'

Kiet stared a while, puzzled. Coming from any other young woman, he would have taken it as a token of affection, but Isla was far from the type.

Again she mistook his silence. 'The cage will keep it from touching your skin, so the bloodrune shouldn't burn you.'

'That is not—'

'I would never use my theurgy on you, even if I could. You never need to worry whether your decisions are your own around me. I don't expect you to take my word for it, but with this ... you'll know.'

Ah. He understood it now. Kiet smiled awry. 'Isla. You needn't do this.'

'Please. Not just for your own peace of mind, but mine as well.'

'This is not how I like to work with people.'

'There is no other option. You'll always be second-guessing me, I'll always think you're second-guessing me, and that is not how I like to work with people.'

A mind-crafter.

Did he second-guess her? He'd like to tell himself no, but had not his first instinct been to check his jii?

This is her plan? He saw it, then, the possibilities, and suppressed a shudder at the thought. If Khaisan would be a puppet-king for Persi, would he be a puppet-king for Chei's granddaughter?

Finally Kiet nodded and lowered the pendant into the pocket of his robe.

How did it all come to this?

❖

↝ END CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ↜

❖

☆ this chapter is dedicated to faithanuu ☆

Video: Beautiful music is a piano rendition of 잔나비 (Jannabi)'s 주저하는 연인들을 위해 (For Lovers Who Hesitate), which I think is the perfect title for the whole #Kiesla ship, lol.
Image: Top image—© 行之 LV at ArtStation; bottom left image—© Maxiuchiha22 at DeviantArt; remaining image—original artist unknown

It doesn't look like Kiet's down with Isla's plan, but at least they're talking again? Do you think Kiet will change his mind, or will Isla have to resort to ... other ... methods of convincing him?

Please don't forget to vote and comment if you liked this chapter, and see you next update! In the meantime, the second Q&A answers have been posted on Patreon, and this one deals with world-building techniques! Click on the linked comment or External Link to read.