Tam Mai was feeding her cat in the rajini's gazebo, and again Isla thought of Prijsti and the kitchen tabby that always followed her around. Haana's tabby. But just like Haana, her bondmate was confirmed dead, and what were the odds of another cat being another bondmate for another unknown enemy?

Isla sighed. If she started suspecting every creature that crossed her path now, she would never stop.

She stepped into the gazebo, cool and breezy in the midday sun. A sweeping roof supported by six pillars, all of them connected by a lattice frame that served as both fence and bench. A table sat upon its centre, presently cluttered with flowers in rattan baskets, scattered cups, and a pitcher of iced tea. The entire structure was built atop a stone foundation. Clumps of lavender hugged its exterior, frosted purple in the deepening winter, and green clematis rustled from the trellises above.

'A sight Rajini Amarin herself would have envied,' she muttered as she brushed the foliage off the wooden bench.

'Anything Amarin had constructed is merely a replica of mine.' The voice came among the lavender bushes. Rajini Chei rose, basket-full of clipped lavender in her hands.

Since when did she and Tamma start spending time together? 'Of course, rajini.'

'It is not spite that drives my words, grandchild. Imitation is only the purest form of flattery, after all. I speak simply of observable truth. I've been here far longer than Amarin, and apparently will be here for longer yet.'

'Do you not wish to leave? Retire to your paternal home, perhaps?' And bring Tamma with you?

'A consort cannot leave so long as her Rama yet rules. But her children; her grandchildren can.'

Isla glanced at her sister, who had scooped the cat into her arms to join her by the bench. 'That's why I've come, actually.' She took the cat from Tam Mai's hands and it settled, purring, in her lap. 'You've always wanted to see Noi and Uncle Bart again. Are you sure this isn't something you still would like to do?'

Tam Mai wrinkled her nose. 'Not without you.'

'You could go first, if you like. Jinsei will come with you.'

'So you can spend some time alone with your maharaj?'

Even the rajini snickered behind the cover of her bushes. Isla pretended not to hear either of them. 'I'd join you soon enough.'

'We already talked about this.'

'I know, but I only wanted to offer it again.' Things will soon start, Tamma, and when they begin, I don't want you getting caught in the crosshairs.

"And when you get caught in the crosshairs?"

'I already had a life. While you were—' She could not bring herself to finish. Isla took Tam Mai's hand to still hers. 'I already got to experience many things, Tamma, and now it is your turn. Please, just think about it.'

   
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'Your sister is just as stubborn as you are.' Hours had passed and the rajini found Isla in what used to be her father's chamber. 'It seems to run in the family, though gods know you didn't acquire it from my side.'

Isla had been looking through her father's collection of books. A low shelf had been fitted beside the doorway, and it was filled with thick volumes and leather-bound sets. 'I always thought it was my mother who was the studious one. She was the school teacher, not our father.'

'Chani's cleverness came from years living a hard life. It was something Alain could never learn from his books.' Rajini Chei strolled across her son's chamber, stopped before the large, square-lattice windows that filled half the entire room. Light and warmth filtered in through the rice paper screens pulled over them. 'They would not be happy to see you here.'

'Would they be happier seeing their daughters running for the rest of their lives?'

'I know you cannot be dissuaded. That's not my intention today. In fact it saddens me, in a way, that you and Tam Mai never had the opportunity of an upbringing at the Grand Palace.'

And risk growing up into a less masculine version of the maharam? No, thank you. 'I'm happy with the upbringing we did receive, short-lived as it was.'

'I know. You seemed all very happy. He'd write to me about it, Alain. I kept all his letters. His journals, too, which he kept when he stilled lived here.'

'He kept a journal?'

'Your father wrote just as much as he read. They are there, under his bed.'

Isla needed no further prompting. She rushed to the bed behind her, dropped to her knees, and reached under its wooden frame. Her fingers met a slatted box—it scraped across the rush mats as she pulled it out.

A crate, coated in years of dust, but the rolls of parchment contained within seemed to be in fine condition. They stood in rows between the slats and a pile of sheepskin journals, each marked with only a number upon its spine. He kept a journal.

'How ... how old was he when he started these?'

'I gave the first one for his twelfth namesday. Each journal marks each following year of his life—right until months before his nineteenth summer, when finally he and Chani wedded.'

Isla ran her fingers through the first book, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears. 'What were they like?'

'Your father was as cautious as your mother was carefree.'

'Did she also live at the palace?'

'Gods, no. Chani had no such flair for palace life. Not that your father fared much better, either.'

'He didn't get along with his cousins and siblings?'

'With some better than most. Maharaj Satria was his closest friend growing up. One of his half-nephews, though they were only two years apart. I'd tell you to speak to him, if your identity was not an issue.'

'How did he meet my mother, then, if she didn't live at the palace?'

The rajini's smile was sad when she turned to face her. She nodded at the crate on the floor. 'That is something Alain can tell you better. There were many things he kept from me, the same way there are many things you keep from me—including, most recently, where you have spent your night.'

Isla staggered for words, her cheeks warming despite there being absolutely no need for it. 'I—the maharam ... he requested my presence for—'

'You were with Maharaj Khaisan?'

'No, no. Kiet—he found us and—'

'I see.'

Isla floundered for words. The rajini said nothing else, her face was as serene and calm as always, so why did she feel guilty? Shame, even? as though she was betraying her grandmother's trust by even breathing the same air as Rajini Amarin's heir?

'Shall I prepare for you some dianthus tea?'

What? 'Ah ... sure?'

Rajini Chei sighed and looked like she wanted to say more before thinking better of it. Clearly she had tired of trying to warn her against Kiet. What had been her feud with his mother, anyway? Rajini Amarin's crimes had nothing to do with him.

'Are you coming?' She was already by the door. 'Never mind the crate. I'll have someone bring it to your chambers.'

Her father's bedchamber was close enough to the tea room that they only needed to descend half a level and down the hallway. Picture windows decked the length of the wall, tall and wide like a series of wooden frames, mounting an image of the angsana and flame trees lining the walk outside.

The tea room waited at the end of the hall, behind a set of double-leaf sliding doors and a pair of unarmed guards. They bowed when the rajini approached, slid open the doors for them. The room was warm as always, made sombre by the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Shelves had been fixed into one wall, now decorated with an array of pots and herb-filled jars. The rajini wasted no time selecting through them.

'You really should not have waited so long.' She returned to the table with a tray of herbs and filters.

'For what?'

'For your tea. You should take it immediately in the morning. Next time, just ask the servants or fix one yourself—you know where it is.'

Even Noi never took her tea rituals so seriously. Perhaps, like her mother, Isla too had no flair for palace life. But her confusion was interrupted by a pair of maids, come with a kettle of boiling water to set upon the pit beside their table.

One of them looked up at Isla with large, star-filled eyes and a broad smile to match. 'I'm sorry, miss, but I just have to say—I think you were so brave to testify against the Rajini Dhvani. None of us ever liked her!'

'Erma,' warned the rajini, but the maid only giggled.

'It's only between us girls, rajini. I made a lot of friends with the academy dhayang—if it wasn't for that Dhvani and her runesmith, some of them would still be here. I'm just glad someone finally had the balls to make her pay for it all!'

'Erma!'

'Unfortunately I cannot take credit for that.' Isla took the cups from the rajini's tray and set them upon the table.

'I know, but I can hardly be chasing down Maharaj Kiet to express my undying gratitude now, can I? Besides, without your testimony, he couldn't have gotten far. Oh, allow me, rajini—' Erma took the tray from the rajini's hands without so much as waiting for approval.

Neither Rajini Chei nor the other maid seemed to think this was inappropriate behaviour. In fact, the rajini only set two more placemats and cups upon the table. Isla looked on as Erma opened the jars, wondering if she had misjudged her grandmother.

'What are we having today?' Erma scooped a spoonful of herbs into the rajini's teapot. 'Jasmine as always for the rajini.' She clicked her tongue, much to Isla's horror. 'I keep telling you to try the hibiscus and raspberry mix. With just the right amount of honey—'

'I come here for tea, not infused water.'

Erma gave a dramatic sigh before peering into Isla's jar. 'And for Her Royal Messenger ... oh—ah ... sorry ... how ... how strong do you like your tea?'

'She'll want it strong, Erma.'

'Ah—of course, rajini. Stupid question. Sorry.'

Isla preferred her tea light, actually, but she kept her mouth shut. She was still trying to grasp at the scene in front of her.

Every time the palace servants spoke of Rajini Chei, they had been full of both scorn and fear. The recluse, they called her, who did not care for people and could kill with a glare. Whose owl spied on both palace royalborns as well as the servants and their sticky hands.

It did not add up, the way Erma spoke to her, the way the other maid laughed openly and sat next to the rajini with her own cup of tea. The other servant—Flori—had served out a bowl of deep-fried tapioca balls and spicy dipping sauce, and now they ate as they talked, laughing when Erma burnt her fingers on the piping hot flour balls.

Like a pair of sisters spending a quiet evening with their grandmother.

How long had it been since she and Tam Mai returned to Kathedra?

How much of that time had she spent with the rajini?

Of course it would be strange—the rajini had been a stranger for all one-and-twenty years of her life before Isla knew who she was or that they were at all related. But she was still her grandmother. She still helped her parents escape.

The tea was sweet and sharp, smelling slightly of cloves. It soothed her throat, warmed the pit of her stomach. Isla's body eased, and her mind cleared enough for the gravity of her plan to sink in.

My soldiers, my servants—their lives shall be all forfeit should the Maha Rama suspect treachery from among my people. The rajini's voice rung in Isla's head. Erma and Flori, the soldiers outside, the guards and groundskeeper and everyone in between ... she was risking each and every one of them. And for what? A better, safer place to live? For whom? Everywhere she looked, everyone seemed content with their place.

What the guppy doesn't know, the guppy doesn't miss. Isla poured herself another drink from her teapot. The kingdom might be falling, but ignorance is bliss.

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↝ END CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE ↜

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☆ this chapter is dedicated to hotDOdo ☆

Video: CozyMood
Image: Original artist unknown

Isla's discovering new things about her father, but . . . uhh . . . has she ever considered asking Kiet about him? ಠಿ_ಠ