4th pass Naondel-TX.

indd 1 8/25/17 10:19 AM

 KABIRA

T here are few whom I have loved in my overlong life. Two of

them I have betrayed. One I have killed. One has turned
her back on me. And one has held my death in his hand. There
is no beauty in my past. No goodness. Yet I am forcing myself to
look back and recall Ohaddin, the palace, and all that came to pass
therein.
There was no palace in Ohaddin, not to begin with. There was
only my father’s house.
Our family was wealthy; our ancestral estate was of long
standing and comprised a spice plantation, several orchards
and extensive fields of okahara, poppies and wheat. The house
itself was beautifully situated in a sloping dip at the foot of a
hill that gave shade in the worst of the summer’s midday heat,
and protection from the harshest of the winter’s rainstorms. The
ancient walls were of thick stone and clay, and from the roof
terrace there spanned a far-ranging view over our grounds and
those of our neighbors, all the estates and plantations, and the
Sakanui River snaking down to the sea. In the east one could
see the pillars of smoke rising from Areko, the capital city of the
realm of Karenokoi. The city of the Sovereign Prince. On clear
days one might glimpse the ocean like a silvery mirage on the
southwest horizon.
π

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 I met Iskan at the spice market in my nineteenth year. As daughters
of a wealthy family, it was certainly not the responsibility of
my sisters, Agin and Lehan, and me to sell the estate’s yields of
cinnamon bark, etse and bao spice. This was undertaken by the
overseer and his little pack of laborers, under the supervision of
Father and our brother, Tihe. I recall the procession of carts laden
with sacks of bark and bundles of bao and gleaming red heaps of
etse pods. Father and Tihe rode up front on well-groomed horses.
Each cart was flanked by two laborers, on foot, at either side of
the horses’ heads; both a sign of Father’s status and as protection
against thieves. Mother, my sisters and I traveled in a carriage at the
back of the caravan, with a green silk baldachin over our heads as
protection from the heat. The gold-embroidered fabric let through
a pleasant glow of daylight, and we jostled along on the uneven path
and talked. It was Lehan’s first journey to the spice market and she
was brimming with curiosity and questions. Halfway to the city,
Mother produced steamed dumplings of sweet-spiced pork in soft
dough, fresh dates and chilled water flavored with oranges. When
the carriage drove over one of the larger of the path’s potholes,
Lehan spilled meat juice down her new yellow-silk coat and
received a scolding from Agin. It was Agin who had embroidered
the orange blossoms around the cuffs and neckline. But Mother
only looked out over the okahara fields, now in bloom, and did
not involve herself in the girls’ quarrel. Suddenly she turned to me.
“I first met your father when the okahara was in bloom. He
gave me a bunch of the white flowers on our second meeting, and
I thought that he must be poor. Other young men gave the girls
they were courting orchids and precious fabrics, or jewelry of
silver and goldenstone. He told me that I reminded him of the

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 silky-soft petals of an okahara flower. A shocking thing for a man
to say to a maid!” Mother chuckled. I bit into a succulent date and
smiled. Mother had recounted her first meeting with Father many
times. It was one of our favorite stories. They had met by the
stream where Mother would often go to fetch water, and which
Father happened upon as he rode home from Areko, where he
had purchased new farming tools. He was his father’s only son
and heir, but he did not reveal his name to Mother, nor she her
own to him, until their third encounter.
“He had already captured my heart,” Mother continued with a
sigh. “I reconciled myself with the idea of binding my life to a man
of modest means, and thought that perhaps it would be just as
well to marry a poet. But then I got—”
The three of us joined in: “—both money and poetry!” Mother
smacked my knee with the cover of our lunch pack.
“You disrespectful little cackling hens!” But she smiled, still in
a daydream.
Perhaps it was the mood she inspired in me that made me
notice Iskan as soon as we arrived at the gardens of the Sovereign
Prince. At every spice market the Sovereign opened his gardens
of unparalleled splendor to the wives and daughters of noble
families. The men, their sons and laborers saw to the arduous
physical work of auctioning off their batches of spices in the spice
square near the port. Merchants came sailing from far and wide
to buy of the renowned spice yields of Karenokoi, and paid a high
levy to the Sovereign for the privilege. Our spices would fetch
dizzying prices overseas, and the farther the merchants sailed,
the more the spices sold for. They were the source of the land’s
prosperity, and of the Sovereign Prince’s fortune.

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 When we came to Whisperers’ Gate, the entrance to the
Sovereign’s gardens, we had to wait a short while for passengers
from other carriages to disembark. Lehan leaned out of the
carriage, curious to scrutinize the other women, but Agin pulled
her back abruptly.
“That is not any way for a well-born girl to behave!”
Lehan sat back in the carriage with crossed arms and a furrowed
brow, provoking an immediate response from Mother: “Scowls
destroy beauty.” It was something she had said throughout Lehan’s
life, for she was the beauty of the three of us. Her skin was always
fresh as rose petals, even after spending all day out in the sun
without a proper wide-brimmed straw hat for protection, or after
crying herself sick, as she did if Mother and Father ever denied
her something that she wanted. Her hair was thick, and black as
coal, and framed her heart-shaped face and big brown eyes in a
way that my flimsy hair never could. Agin had the hardest face
of the three of us, and large hands and feet. Father sometimes
joked that she was his second son. I know he meant no harm,
but Agin took great offense. She was the good daughter, the one
who looked after me—though I was her elder—and Lehan and
Tihe. She was the one who performed offerings to the ancestors,
even though that was my duty as eldest daughter. I would always
forget, and then Agin would be the one to undertake the tiresome
passage up the burial mound, and burn the incense and tobacco to
appease the spirits of the ancestors. The only responsibility that I
did not shirk was the spring. I made sure to keep it clean, to sweep
around it and fish out dead leaves and insects with a net. Yet that
was because my siblings knew nothing of the secrets of the spring.
I could already see a great deal from my seat in the carriage

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 without leaning out as Lehan had done. Women and girls,
dressed in costly jewel-colored silk coats, stepped down from the
carriages, their heads heavy with hairpieces of silver chains and
coins. Some handsome young men of the court, with well-kept
beards and royal-blue shirts over loose white trousers, helped
the ladies down, while little girls, presumably daughters of the
Sovereign’s concubines, hung flower garlands around their necks
in greeting. One of the young men was a head taller than the
others. From the silver stitching on his collar I deduced that he
must hold a high position in court, close to the Sovereign himself.
He wore his hair very short and his eyes were uncommonly dark.
When our carriage rolled up to the gate, it was he who stepped
forward and offered his hand to help Mother down. She gave a
dignified nod and accepted flower garlands from the little girls,
and the young man bowed to her before turning back to the
carriage once more—to me. I offered my hand and he took it. His
hand was dry and warm and perfectly soft. He smiled at me with
plump red lips.
“Welcome, Kabira ak Malik-cho.” He was well informed also,
though it was not difficult to guess that the eldest daughter of the
family would step out of the carriage directly after her mother,
and from Mother’s nine silver chains one could surmise that we
were of the house of Cho. I stepped down with care, but did not
return his smile. It would hardly be seemly. He still held my hand
in his. “My name is Iskan ak Honta-che, at your service. There are
refreshments provided by the pond. You must be warm after your
long journey.” I bowed, and he released my hand. He helped Agin
down without a word, but when Lehan stepped out, I saw his
gaze linger on her hair, her skin. Her eyes.

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 “Come, Lehan.” I took her hand. “The pond is this way.” I did
not wish to be impolite, so I bowed to Iskan once more. “Che.”
He continued to smile, as though he saw straight through me.
I pulled Agin and Lehan along with me. Lehan’s eyes were
drinking everything in. The beautifully dressed women. The
garden paths dotted with crushed seashells. The flower beds of
sweet-smelling blossoms with butterflies as big as your hand
fluttering hither and thither between. There were many fountains
trickling crystal-clear water, and the pendant branches of a parasol
tree stretched out above us, offering shade. Mother followed us
through the garden, nodding graciously at other harika ladies who
were herding their daughters along the paths, and I mused that
we too resembled butterflies in our brightly colored silk jackets.
Then the park opened up to reveal the palace, fronted by its
huge pearl-like pond. Lehan stopped still, wide-eyed. “I never
knew it was so big,” she whispered, enraptured.
The royal palace was the largest building in Karenokoi, and it
was impossible to conceive of anything more majestic. It was built
on two stories and spanned the entire north section of the garden.
Its red marble came from inland Karenokoi, which gave the building
a color unlike any other in all the realm. The roof tiles were black,
and the entrance to the palace from the garden was formed of wide,
arched double doors of beautiful gold filigree. The palace housed
the Sovereign Prince, his wives, his concubines and all his hundred
children, as well as the royal court, which also comprised around a
hundred persons. The palace was not at all visible from the city; and
consequently few citizens had ever seen more than the roof.
The palace is still standing, or so I heard. Though, naturally,
no longer in use.

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 Around the pond were several long tables dressed with gold-
embroidered damask and covered with dishes overflowing with
chilled fruits, pitchers of iced green tea, candied flowers and
pastries glistening with honey. Lehan had eyes only for the palace
and its magnificent grounds, and expressed no interest in eating,
but Agin and I enjoyed sampling the many delicacies. Mother had
found some acquaintances to talk to, and was sitting with them
on a bench beneath a jacaranda tree while young girls fetched
them refreshing beverages. Suddenly I saw a tall figure in white
and blue approaching Lehan where she stood gazing up at the
palace. It was Iskan, the man who had been so forthcoming at the
entrance gate. He pointed something out to her and she giggled in
delight. Mother frowned, and Agin and I sighed as one.
“I’ll take care of this,” I said and hastened over to Lehan.
“Look Kabira, that’s the residence of the Lady Sovereign!” said
Lehan as I reached her side. “Iskan resides in the palace. He meets
with the Sovereign Prince almost every day!”
Iskan smiled at her exuberant expression. Did this man never
stop smiling?
“Perhaps you will permit me to show you the palace?
Unfortunately, the second floor is out of bounds to anyone other
than the Sovereign Prince and his family, but there are many
splendid chambers on the ground floor as well.”
“Please Kabira, may we?” Lehan was practically jumping up
and down with glee. I laid a calming hand on her shoulder and it
seemed to remind her of befitting harika conduct. She stilled and
lowered her gaze.
“That is most kind of you, che. But two unmarried young
women . . .” I let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished. It was

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 most unbecoming that I should need to remind him of the rules
of propriety.
His big brown eyes opened wide and he looked quite appalled.
“I should never dream of escorting you alone! My nurse will
accompany us as chaperone, naturally.”
Lehan peered up at me through her thick eyelashes. I pursed
my lips and looked at Iskan, and saw a sort of mischief sparkle in
his eyes. He was poking fun at me!
“Very well. Come along, Lehan.”
I started hastily toward the steps leading up to the gilded doors,
and Lehan squealed and scurried after. We waited a moment in
the shade of the bloodsnail-red baldachin hanging above the
doors, and Iskan soon joined us with an old woman, dressed in
white, leaning on his arm. She nodded at us sternly, but Iskan did
not present her. Instead he threw open the doors and showed us
in with a grandiose gesture.
“As if the palace were his own,” I whispered to Lehan, but she
was already gaping at the entrance hall’s marble floor and the
stunning painted screens dressing every wall. The nurse sat down
on a stool in a corner, trying to catch her breath, and Iskan smiled
at me.
“As you can see, cho. Everything is most decent.”
I scoffed, because I did not know how to respond. He walked
over to Lehan, who had stopped before a screen that depicted a
ship in front of a green island in the midst of a storm.
“This piece is by Master Liau ak Tiwe-chi.”
Lehan’s eyes grew wide. “That means it’s over four hundred
years old!”
“The Sovereign has much older treasures in his collections,”

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 said Iskan genially, and Lehan blushed. She rushed over to the
next screen.
“Is she a devotee of fine art, your sister?” Iskan asked, appearing
at my side. I was standing with arms crossed and my hands tucked
into my sleeves. Mother would have shuddered to see me so, and
I noticed the old nurse scowl.
“No, she is not. She simply likes anything that is pretty, golden
or expensive.” I softened. “Though our father has seen to it that all
of his children receive an education in the classics.”
“Let me see, your father is Malik ak Sangui-cho. And your
estate lies in the northwest, toward the Halim mountains?”
I nodded to hide the fact that I was impressed. “Though not so
far as the mountains. Several estates lie between.” I glanced at the
silver stitching on his collar. “What is your position at the court?”
“I am son, the right hand, of our esteemed Vizier, Honta ak
Lien-che.”
Walking along the screens of the southern wall, I stumbled
and came to a sudden halt. The son of the Vizier! The man I had
scolded and snubbed! I removed my hands from my sleeves and
bowed low. “My lord. My apologies. I . . .”
He waved away my words. “I prefer not to reveal my parentage
immediately. All the better to learn what people truly think of
me.” I looked up quickly and saw that sparkle in his eyes again. I
pursed my lips.
“Better to learn who is silly enough not to realize at once who
you are.” I was displeased at him for having exposed me so. Yet
he appeared to find the situation most amusing, and throughout
the rest of our brief tour of the reception rooms and their artistic
treasures he paid me at least as much attention as he did Lehan.

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 He was an unfailing source of information on all the beautiful
paintings, sculptures and ceremonial objects and furnishings
that there were to see. Unlike my sister, I truly was fascinated by
art history, and found myself listening with great interest, quite
against my will. Iskan had a pleasant manner, though he was
clearly poking fun at me. He spoke with ease and animation, and
the only thing that irritated me somewhat was his tendency to do
so with a certain sense of entitlement. But when he was facing me,
and losing himself in the detailed description of a jade statue with
its fascinating history of wartime plunder, he focused all of his
attention on me. As though I were someone important. Someone
he truly wanted to speak with. It was difficult to tear myself away
from his dark eyes. When he finally led us back out into the light,
he held open the golden door, and his bare hand brushed against
mine.
It took a long time after that for my heartbeat to return to its
normal pace.
π

We journeyed home at dusk. Tihe accompanied us, while Father

would remain another day to finalize the last trade agreements.
Tihe rode out in front together with some of the laborers in their
carts, and two hired guards followed behind our carriage. We were
as quiet on the homeward journey as we had been talkative on the
outbound. Lehan was asleep with her head on Mother’s lap before
we had even left the city walls, while Agin and I were each wrapped
up in our own silence. What she was thinking I do not know,
perhaps about the rolls of silk cloth jostling along on one of the
carts ahead. My head was filled with the classical paintings I had

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 read about but never before seen with my own eyes, with thoughts
of the great echoing halls and gilded ceilings, the throne room
of Supreme Serenity and its three-hundred-year-old solemnity.
But in every recollection was also the image of intense eyes and a
flashing smile. I leaned back on a cushion and looked out into the
darkness that had descended upon the district.
Iskan has not left my thoughts for a single day since.
π

Father came home the following day, laden with purses heavy with
coins and full of stories from the spice square, of all the merchants
he had met and talked to there, and of how happy he was with how
business had fared. Later, when we were sitting in the courtyard,
gathered around the supper Mother had laid out under the shade
of a baldachin, Father licked oil from his fingers, leaned back
against the cushions strewn on the ground and took a glug of wine
from his bowl.
“And what about my little girls? Did you have an enjoyable
day?”
I let Lehan blather on about the garden and the palace and
the nice young man who had showed us around. I stayed quiet.
Father watched Lehan closely as she spoke, and when she had
finally exhausted the topic, he gazed down pensively into his bowl.
“I met a young man before I left for home. He asked if he may
visit my daughters with whom he had spent such a pleasant day
in the palace.”
I looked up at once. Father met my gaze.
“That is precisely what he said—my daughters. Did one of
you take a liking to him?”

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 Lehan blushed and looked down. “Father, I . . .”
“It is quite clear that he is referring to Lehan,” I said quietly.
“He is only being polite.”
“I cannot say that I understand it as polite,” Father answered.“It
is customary for a suitor to make it known which of the daughters
of a household he is courting.”
“I was mostly interested in the palace,” admitted Lehan.
“Though he certainly was pleasant.”
“Lehan is still young, husband,” Mother said, pouring more
wine into Father’s bowl. “Only fourteen years.”
“What did you say to him?” I tried to sound as though the
answer was of little consequence.
“That he is welcome.” Mother gave him a sharp look, and he
shrugged his shoulders. “He is the son of the Vizier. It is not my
place to deny him anything.”
“I believe,” I said bitterly, “that Iskan is not accustomed to being
denied anything. Ever.”
I reached for a date to hide my reddened cheeks. Agin, ever
keen-eyed, noticed, and I looked away. She turned to Father.
“I cannot wait to set my needle in that saffron-yellow raw silk,
Father. Where did you say it came from?”
“Herak. There were many who envied the deal, daughter, you
should know! But I have done business with the same tradesman for
several years. He buys a great deal of our yield for a very favorable
price. In exchange, I buy raw Heraki silk from him. It is most coveted
and little goes to export. The Lady Sovereign herself probably does
not have as much rare cloth to set her needle in as you do, Agin!”
Agin laughed. “As if the Lady Sovereign would do her own
sewing, Father! You are too funny!”

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 I flashed her a secret grateful smile. Now everybody was
talking about cloth and not about Iskan.
π

During the following weeks, there were two hearts that I studied
especially closely: Lehan’s and my own. Mine perplexed me entirely.
I had met a young man who was irritating and self-important, and
who had showed interest in my sister. So why did he recur in my
thoughts? Why were my daydreams filled with his eyes and smile,
and my night dreams filled with his hands and lips? I had never
been in love before. Agin and I had giggled about some of the boys
in the district, but only in fun. Like children making sand cakes as
practice before baking real cakes with flour, honey and cinnamon.
However I tried to deny it, I eventually had to concede that I
now had honey and cinnamon on my hands.
Lehan was harder to read. She did not speak of Iskan—but
then neither did I. She mentioned our visit to the palace once, but
spoke only of the jade throne and not of the man who had shown
it to us.
I was quite convinced that her heart was still making sand
cakes. Yet this afforded me no comfort. A man such as Iskan
would have whatever he desired, and my sister was the most
beautiful girl in the whole of the Renka district.
π

One evening during the hottest of the summer moons, he paid

an entirely unexpected visit. Mother and Father welcomed him
as an old friend, as if a visitation from the Vizier’s son were a
commonplace occurrence. The servants rushed back and forth

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 carrying silver trays laden with dates, candied almonds, sweet
rice cakes flavored with rose water, chilled tea and vinegar-soaked
plums, prepared according to our grandmother’s recipe.
I used to love those plums when I was a girl. Grandmother
had taught me how to prepare them before she passed away. You
must soak a ripening plum in vinegar and sugar with masses of
spices. It is eaten during the hottest moons because, according to
traditional wisdom, vinegar has a cooling effect on the body. We
always had access to fresh spices: cinnamon bark direct from the
tree and etse pods still moist with fruit pulp. When you eat the
plum, the sharpness of the vinegar makes your eyes water, but
the sweetness also tickles your tongue, and the spices caress your
palate.
It has been a long time since I tasted a plum.
We daughters were not called into the shaderoom, where
Father, Mother and Tihe entertained our guest. The shaderoom
ran along the north side of the house, where the hill behind the
house afforded a certain protection from the sun, and it was the
coolest place to be during the worst of the summer heat. Lehan,
Agin and I sat with our needlework and tried not to let our
curiosity get the better of us. We could not hear what they were
doing, but sometimes Father’s hearty laughter resounded across
the courtyard to where we were sitting. As darkness began to fall,
Father summoned his musicians, and soon the crisp strings of
the cinna and the mellow tones of the tilan floated out to us. I
smiled down at my embroidery. Not all harika employed their
own musicians. We were most worthy of entertaining even the
Vizier’s son.
The evening was already velvet black, and the air full of the

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 coos of night doves and the violins of cicadas, when Father’s most
favored servant, Aikon, summoned us. We set our needlework
down by the oil lamps and I straightened Lehan’s collar. When
we stood up, Agin smoothed down the stray hairs on my temple.
“I am glad you chose your sky-blue jacket, Kabira. It makes
you look like a blossom.”
I pushed Lehan in front of me. “What does it matter,” I
mumbled, grateful that the dim light veiled my blushes.
Mother, Father, Tihe and Iskan were seated around a low
rosewood table in the shaderoom, encircled by flaming lamps.
The windows and doors were open to let the cool evening breeze
flow through the room, which smelled of lamp oil and food,
though the table had been cleared and only a few bowls of iced
tea remained. We daughters knelt down on a woolen mat, at a
respectful distance.
“You have met my daughters, of course, my most honored
guest.” Father gestured at us each in turn. “Kabira, my eldest. Agin,
my helper. And Lehan, my youngest.”
I held my head down-bent but peeked up through my
eyelashes. Iskan’s gaze swept over us all, and lingered on Lehan. It
came as no surprise, yet I had to swallow hard several times. Next
to me Agin sighed, ever so quietly.
“Girls, the evening is late and our guest can no longer ride
home to the capital. He is to stay with us tonight. Kabira.”
I looked up. Father was scratching his beard. “Tihe and I
have arranged a meeting with our neighbors in the north early
tomorrow. Keep your mother company until our return as she
gives Iskan-che a tour of the grounds.”
“Yes, Father,” I replied, and bowed. Iskan looked at me, and

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 there was that irritating little smile again. I lifted my chin and
brazenly met his gaze. I could never let him know of the effect he
had on me.
π

Agin did not want to leave her needlework the following day.
“I am the only one with nothing to gain from this meeting,” she
said mischievously. “You and Lehan are more than capable of
entertaining our most lauded guest.”
I could not think of a good response, so I scoffed and pulled
Lehan along with me down the stairs. Mother and Iskan were
already waiting in the courtyard in quiet conversation.
“My ladies.” Iskan bowed elegantly as we approached and then
straightened to reveal another of his characteristic smiles. That
morning he was dressed in a deep-blue jacket and trousers of
brilliant white silk. “I could barely sleep last night for excitement
about our little excursion.”
I immediately blushed and bit my cheeks hard. Could he read
my mind? I had not been able to sleep at all. Just knowing that he
was in the same house was enough to set my heart aflutter.
“My lord.” I bowed, and Lehan did the same. We were both
dressed in green garments that morning, hers as light as young
grass, mine as deep as moss. I had shown extra care in fixing her
hair that morning, as had Agin in fixing mine.
“I should be honored to present our modest grounds.” Mother
took the lead. We went out through the door in the low north
wall of the courtyard. The ground was still moist with dew and
the air fresh and fragrant. Iskan walked beside me, with Lehan a
few steps behind.

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 We had a pleasant morning. Iskan was attentive and asked
intelligent questions about the estate and everything Father grew,
about the number of servants and laborers, and our ancestry and
traditions. I had rarely seen Mother so animated and verbose—
by Father’s side she usually let him steer the conversation, and
with her children she was full of warnings and sober advice. Yet
now she was proving herself to be full of knowledge about flowers
and the maintenance of the grounds. Iskan praised Mother’s herb
garden and her flower pots, which put her in very good humor,
and when he promised to bring her plants from the Sovereign
Prince’s personal gardens, she hardly knew how to express her
gratitude.
Iskan listened politely to everything Mother had to say.
At times he asked me questions and kept me entertained with
amusing side commentaries. His eyes lingered longest on Lehan.
I realized that the same had been true in the palace. Lehan was
only fourteen years old and did not have much to say. I was more
interesting to talk to, but she was more beautiful, and my heart
was aching, yet I was already growing accustomed to the ache. I
was not the first girl to suffer so. One day my turn would come
and a young man would visit our home for my sake, and perhaps
he would not inspire in me scents of cinnamon and honey, but I
could live with that.
When Father and Tihe returned, we girls were sent back to our
diversions, and Iskan ate a light meal with the men before riding
back to Areko. Tihe came looking for us and found us sitting in
the courtyard practicing our calligraphy under the baldachin.
“A remarkable man, Iskan ak Honta-che,” he said, and sat

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 down by Agin’s feet. He bumped into her arm, as if by accident,
so that her brush stroke went askew. She sighed as he grinned.
“Did you know that he has already ridden into battle once? He
accompanied the Sovereign Prince’s eldest son when they quashed
the Nernai uprising. It was Iskan’s strategy that won the battle.”
“I can imagine,” I said sourly, and quickly set down my brush
pen before Tihe could ruin my scroll as well. He loved to tease his
sisters, yet always took our side against anyone else.
“What do you mean?” Tihe stretched his tall frame out on
some cushions and looked up at the bright summer sky. He had
grown at an incredible rate over the past year and was now taller
than Father. He was over a year younger than me and at least as
self-important as Iskan.
“I only mean that Iskan seems convinced that all success is his
earning and all failure is the fault of another.”
Agin laughed as Tihe threw a cushion at me, and I was glad to
have set down my brush pen.
“Girls understand nothing,” he said snidely. “Iskan has been
schooled in leadership since he was a boy. He is his father’s right
hand, and there is nothing that happens in the palace that he does
not know about, or have involvement in. He gets to be where the
action is. Not forgotten on a dusty herb farm like me. Next time
there is war, I want to be a part of it!”
“Do you really think Iskan has been in actual battle? He and
the Sovereign’s son were probably sitting in a tent far from the
battlefield drinking wine and playing pochasi.”
Agin gave me a look of concern. “You are certainly not singing
his praises.”

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 “Why should I? One egotistical young man is much like
another, whether he be the son of the Vizier or the son of a spice
merchant.” I got up. “I am tired of writing. Can we not begin
designing our new jackets? I want one made of the saffron silk.”
As soon as we began talking about clothes and needlework,
Tihe left us alone, and nobody mentioned Iskan again that day.
Yet still his name rang in my ears. Every beat of my heart was
singing it, again and again. Iskan. Iskan.
Iskan.
π

Iskan began to visit regularly after that, and his visits soon took on
a familiar routine. He would ride over in the evening once he had
fulfilled his day’s duties at the palace and spend the evening with
Father, Mother and Tihe. The next day, when Father and Tihe
were busy with jobs on the plantation, it was up to Mother and
us girls to entertain him. Sometimes we would walk through the
gardens or adjacent spice plantations. If the heat was too intense,
we sat indoors and Iskan would watch as we did our sewing or
other appropriate tasks. The ache in my heart became a familiar
and constant companion to these visits. I learned to live with it.
Agin ceased her little taunts. Even she could see the way Iskan
looked at our youngest sister. The only one who appeared not
to notice or particularly care was Lehan herself. She enjoyed the
attention, that was clear, but I think that she saw Iskan similarly
to how she saw Tihe—with sisterly affection. And I think that
despite his pride, or perhaps because of it, he was not satisfied with
this. So he continued to visit us without taking the decisive step
and asking for Lehan’s hand.

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 “He is like a dithering tradesman who pinches at packets and
sniffs at cinnamon bark but cannot resolve to make an offer,” said
Father one evening after Iskan had ridden back to the district
capital. He liked Iskan and looked forward to his visits, but at the
same time he was irritated that Iskan never spoke his mind.
We sat in the shaderoom and talked while moths of varying
sizes danced around the oil lamps and singed their wings. Lehan
blushed and went to refill the lamps on the other side of the
room. She knew Father was talking about her and could never
feel comfortable while others were discussing her future.
“You know how it usually turns out for those tradesmen,”
Mother replied, and cut a thread from her sewing. “They miss out
on the best deals.”
Father lit his pipe and took a pensive puff. “Right you are,
Esiko. But so far there have been no other offers.”
“No, but she is still young. I believe that many of our friends
consider it inappropriate to allow their sons to court the youngest
daughter with two older sisters still at home.”
Agin and I exchanged glances. What could we say? Agin was
only sixteen, so just old enough for marriage, whereas I was almost
twenty, and Father had not yet received an offer for my hand.
“I suppose there is no hurry. It will give Lehan a chance to
grow up a little. It is probably only the spice merchant in me that
wants deals to be settled as quickly as possible.”
Mother and Father asked Lehan many times what she thought
of Iskan, but all they could get out of the girl was that she thought
he was “pleasant.” They did not want to marry her off against her
will, but neither did she seem unwilling. So they let the matter
rest. And I resolved that I must rid my heart of this folly.

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 Ten days later Iskan visited again, but this time he arrived to a
near-empty house. Father and Tihe had traveled eastward to buy
new bao plants after an entire crop had been destroyed by the
harsh summer drought. The worst of the heat was over, and in
another half-moon or so the autumn rains would come. It was the
best time to renew the spice tree crop. Agin had gone to stay with
our aunt to help her sew a bridal gown for her eldest daughter, our
cousin Neika. She was to marry as soon as the autumn rains had
passed. Lehan had contracted a bad summer cold and lay in bed,
while all the maidservants of the household competed to pamper
her with hot and cold drinks, compresses and home remedies.
That evening Mother and I were sitting alone in the sunroom.
Mother was embroidering a collar for Lehan (I could not help
but think that it too resembled a bridal outfit), and I read out
loud from the teachings of Haong ak Sishe-chu. He has always
been my favorite of the nine master teachers, because he mixes
philosophy with history. We had come to the third scroll when
Aikon opened the door and showed Iskan in. I began to roll up
the scroll, but Iskan gestured for me to stop.
“Please, do not let me disturb.” He smiled. Mother bowed over
her needlework and I hesitated, with the scroll in my hand. It
sounded as if he were teasing me, as usual, but would he really
do so with Mother nearby? He sat down on his usual cushion,
crossed his legs and looked at me encouragingly. My heart was
pounding wildly, but I just frowned, unrolled Haong and started
reading again.
Iskan listened attentively throughout the whole third scroll
and half of the fourth before inquiring as to the whereabouts of
the rest of family, when I had stopped for a sip of iced tea. I let

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 Mother answer. When she told him that Lehan was sick in bed,
I studied his face carefully. He asked politely how she was feeling
and if there was anything he might do, but I could not find any
semblance of concern in his eyes or facial expression. My heart
skipped a beat. Though a summer cold was naturally nothing to
worry about.
Then Iskan turned to me. “So I suppose you and I will have to
amuse ourselves alone tomorrow, Kabira-cho. What shall we do?”
I lowered my head and attempted to look busy rolling up the
scrolls.
“You could show Iskan-che the spring, Kabira.” Mother set
down her needlework.
“A spring? I do not think you have mentioned one, cho.”
I had never shown Iskan the spring. It was not oaki—
forbidden—but it was sacred. All districts in the realm of
Karenokoi were built around a sacred place: a mountain, river,
lake or, as in the district of Renka, a spring.
“Our family are guardians of Anji, the sacred spring of Renka,”
I replied reluctantly. Just as I had expected, Iskan chuckled with
amusement.
“I have heard of Anji. In my nurse’s tales when I was a boy.”
“The spring is absolutely real,” I said indignantly.
“I do not doubt it.” Iskan leaned back, visibly amused by my
reaction. “Though few remain who would call it sacred.”
“The old beliefs have disappeared in most of Karenokoi,”
Mother said. “But in many parts the traditions live on. My
mother-in-law took great care to cherish and honor the spring,
as my husband’s family has always done. She taught my eldest
daughter to uphold the tradition.”

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 I squirmed. It did not feel proper that Mother should speak of
this with an outsider, though neither the spring nor my role as its
guardian were secret. However, the true wisdom Father’s mother
had imparted was something nobody knew but me. Hence why
they could make light of Anji’s significance. Mother especially had
always thought that Grandmother was stuck in the past and was
annoyed that she occupied so much of my time with her lessons
and visits to the spring, especially at night. It was inappropriate.
It was old superstition. Mother was a practical woman. She
understood that which she could see and touch, and did not
assign value to anything else.
She did not know that much of what she could see and touch
in her own home, of her own wealth, was thanks to Anji. She did
not know that the spring affected our harvests, our health and
our fortune.
“I would consider it an honor to visit your sacred site,” said
Iskan, and bowed low to me. “Tomorrow, at dawn?”
He knew that I rose early in the mornings. I deliberated. The
moon was waxing and it was only a few nights before full moon.
Anji was good and strong. Why not? Perhaps I could teach this
arrogant man a little humility. Make him swallow his haughty
skepticism!
I slammed shut the lid to the box of scrolls.
“As you wish, che.” I smiled sweetly at him, and when he raised
his eyebrows, I realized that it was perhaps the first time he had
seen me smile.
π

We met the next morning on the path leading to the spring. I

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 brought with me the broom, a drinking bowl, a small clay pot
filled with water and Aikon, Father’s faithful servant, because I
could not be unchaperoned with a man who was not my kin. Iskan
gazed in the direction of Areko, which could be glimpsed in the
early morning mist like a flickering mirage of shining roofs and
smoking plumes. He was clearly restless. Wasting his time here
with me, an old maid, when he could be back in the palace in the
capital and . . . well, doing whatever it was he did there. Enchanting
beautiful girls, shining the Sovereign’s shoes. He never said exactly
what his responsibilities were at the court, but he happily hinted
that he was incredibly important and highly praised. I sailed
straight past him.
“Follow me,” I said as my only greeting. It was more than
inexcusably discourteous, especially to such a high-ranking guest.
Yet there was something about Iskan that always got my hackles
up.
He hurried after me along the path that snaked up the hill
behind our grounds. It was late summer now, and all the grass
had dried. The hill was brown and dead, and dust covered our
shoes as we walked. The autumn rains would come soon. I found
myself hoping they did not come too soon. Not before I could
teach Iskan a lesson.
We came to the point where the path curved to the left and
continued up to the tomb on the crown of the hill. There I turned
right, onto a barely discernible trail that led around the hill
through the rustling dried grass. My shoes darkened with dew.
“So much haste, cho,” panted Iskan. It occurred to me that
he was not like the young men on the plantations, used to long
rides and hard work. A palace lapdog, that was all he was, used

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 to treats and caresses and no more. I knew that. So why did my
heart still race at the sound of his voice so close behind me? Why
did the thought of a morning alone with him send delight surging
through me, as though I were flying on swallows’ wings?
When we rounded the hill and had nearly reached the crevice,
I turned around.
“Aikon, you wait here.”
Aikon frowned his already wrinkled forehead, but said
nothing. I gave him a reassuring smile. “We are only by the spring.
I shall call for you if need be.”
Iskan held out his hands. “Cho, I beg of you. You needn’t fear
anything in my company.”
I pursed my lips and gave him a look. He smiled broadly. “This
is a sacred site. A little respect, che.”
He put on an appropriately humble expression and nodded.
We walked the last part together in silence. The crevice is scarcely
visible until you stand before it, and the spring makes no sound
at all. The rift opens to a dark, narrow recess in the side of the
hill, with its foot to the east. I continued toward its opening with
Iskan, the Vizier’s son, close on my heels.
When I was met by the cool air of the chamber inside and
the smell of spring water, I felt a sense of calm run through me.
All the vexation and the pounding of my heart drained away. No
matter what Mother said, this was a sacred place—an ancient site
for worship of the divine: the balance of nature. I could feel it
every time I came to the spring, and I could not imagine how
others did not perceive the same thing. I took a deep breath and
let peace wash over me. Then I stepped inside.
Anji was deep inside the hollow chamber. The walls were bare

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 rock and nothing grew in the gloom, nothing except the velvety
moss, which was still green and healthy even after our long period
of drought. The spring water formed a small mirror by the rock
face, no larger than two silk shawls spread out to dry in the sun.
It was framed by smooth white stones set around it by someone
many generations ago. Some dead leaves had blown up onto the
stones, and I swept them away carefully with the broom I had
brought. A leaf was floating in the dark water, and I whispered
the words that Father’s mother had taught me before I picked it
out. Nothing dead could taint the sacred water. As always, I was
surprised by the coldness of the water on my fingertips. I leaned
forward and saw my own face reflected in its untroubled surface.
Sometimes other things could be seen in the spring. Things to
come. Events from the past.
A face appeared next to mine and gave me a start. For a
moment I had completely forgotten Iskan’s presence.
“Very pretty. And I truly appreciate the coolness.”
I stood bolt upright. My cheeks flushed hot.
“Anji has more than just cooling powers.” I took the clay pot
and showed him. “This is ordinary water from a normal estate
well.” I removed the stopper and took a sip. “No poison, see?”
Iskan raised his eyebrows in amusement but said nothing. I
bowed down, whispered thanks to Anji and filled the bowl with
her icy water. Then I walked to the mouth of the chamber. I looked
down at the two thistles growing by the entrance, quite dry and
dead. I held up the bowl so that Iskan could see what I was doing,
and then poured the spring water over the one to the west, slowly
and carefully so the dry ground had time to swallow every drop.
Then I poured water from the clay pot over the eastern plant in

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 the same way. Iskan stood leaning against the rock wall with his
arms crossed over his chest.
“There. Meet me here three nights from now, at the full moon.”
I pushed the stopper firmly back in the clay pot, turned on my
heel and rounded the hill before Iskan had to time to react. Aikon
was waiting for me by the bend with a grim expression. My hands
were sweaty and I felt as though I could barely breathe. What had
I just done? I stumbled on a stone and Aikon had to catch me to
keep me from falling. I had invited a man—a man my parents
saw as suitor to my own sister—to meet me at night. Alone. For
I knew I would have no chaperone. I knew I would meet Iskan
alone, and my cheeks blazed with shame. Yet I was not sorry.
π

During the three days that followed, I was an exemplary sister

and daughter. I took care of Lehan, whose fever had lessened but
who was still exhausted and weak. I helped Mother with all of
her errands. I made offerings to the spirits of the ancestors up on
the burial mound. I waited on Father and Tihe when they arrived
home, weary from their long journey and troubled over the rise
in the price of bao plants. All to avoid thinking about what I had
done. What I was intending to do.
The night of the full moon was cloudless and bright. I sat in
my bedchamber and waited until the whole household had fallen
into a deep sleep. Midnight had long passed before I dared sneak
out.
Unknown birds were singing in the surrounding bushes as I
walked the familiar path around the foot of the hill. The colors,
smells, sounds—everything was different. I, too, was changed by

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 the night. I had become someone else. A woman who sneaks out
to meet the man she loves, with no regard for propriety, family,
consequence. My shame, my reservations, I left them all behind.
In that moment I was free. Freer than I have ever been since. I
often dream about that walk to the hill. In my dreams it is never-
ending. Sometimes I am floating above the ground. The shadows
are blue, the moon enormous and the air cool against my skin.
It smells of dew and soil and etse. Everything in the dream feels
real, razor sharp. Freedom and joy swell through me as though my
heart might burst.
The dream always ends in the same way. My dream-self
becomes aware of something approaching. Something large
and black that eclipses the moon and stars. Something about to
devour everything. I try to scream. Then I wake up, in my own
bed, with the night sky on the other side of the window. My heart
pounds and I know it is too late.
Too late to scream.
π

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