Post by journeycat on Apr 21, 2010 8:08:57 GMT 10
Title: Silent Sakuyo
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,404
Summary: The day Tortall lost their future queen, Haname lost a friend. Now, she will be the steel beneath the silk: beautiful, deceptive, and when the time comes, Lianokami's greatest weapon. Set within my The Last Conté universe.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Lisa for answering my numerous questions via text!
-----
“Would you like more tea, Lady Haname?”
“No, thank you, Your Highness.”
It was one of Prince Einvers’ subordinate wives who offered the teapot; the superior queens did not deem it necessary to be polite to a savage. Not for the first time, Haname noh Ajikuro wished she had returned to the Yamani Islands with the rest of Princess Shinkokami’s retinue. Tortall had become an inhospitable land for those who had known it well in its shining glory. Its exotic crudeness no longer fascinated her, its rulers no longer instilled a sense of awe.
But she was needed here.
All around her, women chattered and giggled and subtly insulted each other. Such disharmony, such crass—there were simply too many wives and mistresses and the pursuit of ultimate power meant constantly shifting alliances and dangerous games. Einvers had little regard for his women, even those he married, as was proven when he constantly grouped his wives with the ladies in his harem. Now king, after Ain’s timely death, he spared no thought to his queens and whores, and only continued to add to his collection of trophies.
The result was a disarray of restless women with nothing with which to occupy themselves except to vie for the scant attention Einvers so kindly offered. Secluded in one wing of the palace, only the queens were allowed limited and guarded freedom. Still, he was a crafty man, in his own way. By leaving the women alone and desperate, he ensured that they would do anything for his favor.
And that was how Haname ended up as a frequent guest in the cramped, loud quarters of Einvers’ harem. Growing up in the Imperial court as a member of a most ancient family, she was not innocent to politics, and she knew quite well why they requested her presence so often. They did not like her—foreign, beautiful, silent, unreadable.
Valuable. A link to the missing princess, to potential alliances with her homeland.
Ah, Shinko, she thought. You would laugh at their pathetic substance.
“At least have a little cake,” an unexpected voice said lazily over the drone of shrill voices. “Your figure certainly won’t suffer from it.”
Haname met the cool gaze of Philippa, the wily high queen. She had reigned unchallenged for seven years after the last high queen had mysteriously died. She was untouchable now, as firmly insinuated in Einver’s life as any woman could be, but it was only a matter of time. It was she who had screamed her rage when Princess Lianokami’s nursery was found empty, and she who danced around in Shinko’s crown.
It would be Haname who brought her down. The Tusaine guards thought little of the shukusen she bore; it was a petty weapon, they thought. The cold steel was soothing to her fingers, and she touched it for reassurance. This was the one that will cut through Philippa’s black heart.
It was only fitting. This shukusen belonged to Shinko.
“I am not hungry, Your Lady Majesty,” she demurred. “Thank you.”
“Nonsense,” Philippa said, waving dismissively. “You barely touched your lunch. Please, have a cake.”
If the other ladies had not been nibbling on the food, Haname would suspect foul play. With no other protests, she selected a little honeycake at random and politely bit into a corner. It was sickeningly sweet, but she swallowed it nonetheless.
“Good, aren’t they? It’s an old family recipe.”
“It is very sweet.”
“They are called honeycakes.”
A snide jab like that would not upset a woman of Yamani upbringing.
“How are the negotiations coming along?”
Philippa’s chin lifted a little, but Haname simply gazed serenely at her from her place at the other end of the table.
“Your emperor killed our messenger,” she said. “But I’m sure you knew that.”
“I had heard such a thing,” Haname said evenly. “I thought surely it was a rumor.”
“As I recall, it was you who said the emperor would treat him respectfully—seeing as how the messenger was my brother.”
The noise quieted a bit as everyone tried to listen without seeming to.
“I had certainly expected this to be true,” she replied without missing a beat. “But how could I have known the emperor would act so drastically?”
“How, indeed.”
The fury smoldered just beneath the surface, but if Philippa did not have Yamani discipline, she was at least a master of concealing feelings. Her smile was brittle and did not reach her eyes when she continued,
“I wonder at this, Hana.” She used the easternized nickname that Haname abhorred. “After all, don’t you keep in touch with your family? I believe you’re related to the emperor, if I recall.”
This was dangerous ground; politics required one to bend the truth without lying, but Haname had perfected this art. She knew quite well they intercepted her incoming and outgoing letters—or those she let them find. She could only reveal what they already knew she knew, and dance around what they suspected but couldn’t prove.
“We are related, yes,” Haname said, “but I only write letters to my mother and Prince Eitaro, who does not discuss politics with me.”
“I see.”
Haname did not mention those letters she exchanged with Yukimi, by way of an intricate underground network that George Cooper successfully constructed after several years of frequent imprisonments for smuggling. Tusaine was proud of their shrewdness, but they had underestimated his own. Their mistake was in keeping him alive—they thought they had gained his cooperation. All the more fools, they, for George Cooper of Pirate’s Swoop would never forgive them their murder of his son in the Corus Seige.
And while Yuki sent news—the birth of her son, and a letter to Nealan that she dare not send directly to him for fear of attention turning to him; and valuable information—like how the emperor seethed with unforgiving rage for Shinkokami and would never ally with Tusaine, and how Prince Eitaro very quietly negotiated with Maren and Tyra, and also how there were very tentative correspondences with that midden called Jindazhen; she still sent no word of that which Haname so desperately wanted to know.
Where was Lianokami?
My princess, my little Yamani, Haname thought, her heart constricting. Where are you? Where has Keladry taken you, and are you safe there? Do you even live, or has Tusaine found you? We look for you, we wait for you, but we cannot see you.
“I find that hard to believe,” Philippa smirked. “You correspond with a prominent prince of the Yamani Islands, one close to the emperor himself, and yet he did not reveal to you that his uncle planned on beheading my brother?”
“That is correct.”
Her lips tightened, but Philippa’s sharp face revealed nothing more. When she got the chance, Haname would have to caution George; after this, no doubt Tusaine would scrutinize letters even more carefully, so those that were openly sent and concealed a hidden message, some kind of code, would be even more at risk of discovery.
“We’ll find her, you know.”
At this, the room went silent. Women looked at their queen, and at the barbarian. Even Haname was taken aback at the matter-of-fact statement, so violently hissed. Still, her surprise was concealed behind her Yamani Mask.
“Who?” she asked, feigning indifference.
“Your precious princess. We’ll find her, and we’ll take her head, and I’ll lay her long black braid on your pillow while you sleep.”
Fury bloomed in her breast as the queen laughed cruelly, hot molten anger that roiled in her belly in nauseous waves. Dared she threaten a scion of divinity and emperors? Dared she threaten Lianokami, daughter of Shinkokami, who was beautiful, brave, her soul-sister? Dared she threaten that for which Haname had suffered all these years, for which she had spied, for which she will die?
Philippa danced in Shinko’s crown, but Haname would strip her own flesh before she saw that woman dance in Liano’s.
“We will see, Your Lady Majesty,” she said coldly.
Oh, yes, we will see, she thought fiercely. Triumphant, Philippa turned away to converse with Lady Malita, as though she was so easily dismissed. We will see how hard you laugh when you bow to Queen Lianokami.
Haname touched the steel of Shinko’s shukusen, and prayed to Sakuyo—if anyone could help her now, it would be that cunning god of tricks.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,404
Summary: The day Tortall lost their future queen, Haname lost a friend. Now, she will be the steel beneath the silk: beautiful, deceptive, and when the time comes, Lianokami's greatest weapon. Set within my The Last Conté universe.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Lisa for answering my numerous questions via text!
-----
“Would you like more tea, Lady Haname?”
“No, thank you, Your Highness.”
It was one of Prince Einvers’ subordinate wives who offered the teapot; the superior queens did not deem it necessary to be polite to a savage. Not for the first time, Haname noh Ajikuro wished she had returned to the Yamani Islands with the rest of Princess Shinkokami’s retinue. Tortall had become an inhospitable land for those who had known it well in its shining glory. Its exotic crudeness no longer fascinated her, its rulers no longer instilled a sense of awe.
But she was needed here.
All around her, women chattered and giggled and subtly insulted each other. Such disharmony, such crass—there were simply too many wives and mistresses and the pursuit of ultimate power meant constantly shifting alliances and dangerous games. Einvers had little regard for his women, even those he married, as was proven when he constantly grouped his wives with the ladies in his harem. Now king, after Ain’s timely death, he spared no thought to his queens and whores, and only continued to add to his collection of trophies.
The result was a disarray of restless women with nothing with which to occupy themselves except to vie for the scant attention Einvers so kindly offered. Secluded in one wing of the palace, only the queens were allowed limited and guarded freedom. Still, he was a crafty man, in his own way. By leaving the women alone and desperate, he ensured that they would do anything for his favor.
And that was how Haname ended up as a frequent guest in the cramped, loud quarters of Einvers’ harem. Growing up in the Imperial court as a member of a most ancient family, she was not innocent to politics, and she knew quite well why they requested her presence so often. They did not like her—foreign, beautiful, silent, unreadable.
Valuable. A link to the missing princess, to potential alliances with her homeland.
Ah, Shinko, she thought. You would laugh at their pathetic substance.
“At least have a little cake,” an unexpected voice said lazily over the drone of shrill voices. “Your figure certainly won’t suffer from it.”
Haname met the cool gaze of Philippa, the wily high queen. She had reigned unchallenged for seven years after the last high queen had mysteriously died. She was untouchable now, as firmly insinuated in Einver’s life as any woman could be, but it was only a matter of time. It was she who had screamed her rage when Princess Lianokami’s nursery was found empty, and she who danced around in Shinko’s crown.
It would be Haname who brought her down. The Tusaine guards thought little of the shukusen she bore; it was a petty weapon, they thought. The cold steel was soothing to her fingers, and she touched it for reassurance. This was the one that will cut through Philippa’s black heart.
It was only fitting. This shukusen belonged to Shinko.
“I am not hungry, Your Lady Majesty,” she demurred. “Thank you.”
“Nonsense,” Philippa said, waving dismissively. “You barely touched your lunch. Please, have a cake.”
If the other ladies had not been nibbling on the food, Haname would suspect foul play. With no other protests, she selected a little honeycake at random and politely bit into a corner. It was sickeningly sweet, but she swallowed it nonetheless.
“Good, aren’t they? It’s an old family recipe.”
“It is very sweet.”
“They are called honeycakes.”
A snide jab like that would not upset a woman of Yamani upbringing.
“How are the negotiations coming along?”
Philippa’s chin lifted a little, but Haname simply gazed serenely at her from her place at the other end of the table.
“Your emperor killed our messenger,” she said. “But I’m sure you knew that.”
“I had heard such a thing,” Haname said evenly. “I thought surely it was a rumor.”
“As I recall, it was you who said the emperor would treat him respectfully—seeing as how the messenger was my brother.”
The noise quieted a bit as everyone tried to listen without seeming to.
“I had certainly expected this to be true,” she replied without missing a beat. “But how could I have known the emperor would act so drastically?”
“How, indeed.”
The fury smoldered just beneath the surface, but if Philippa did not have Yamani discipline, she was at least a master of concealing feelings. Her smile was brittle and did not reach her eyes when she continued,
“I wonder at this, Hana.” She used the easternized nickname that Haname abhorred. “After all, don’t you keep in touch with your family? I believe you’re related to the emperor, if I recall.”
This was dangerous ground; politics required one to bend the truth without lying, but Haname had perfected this art. She knew quite well they intercepted her incoming and outgoing letters—or those she let them find. She could only reveal what they already knew she knew, and dance around what they suspected but couldn’t prove.
“We are related, yes,” Haname said, “but I only write letters to my mother and Prince Eitaro, who does not discuss politics with me.”
“I see.”
Haname did not mention those letters she exchanged with Yukimi, by way of an intricate underground network that George Cooper successfully constructed after several years of frequent imprisonments for smuggling. Tusaine was proud of their shrewdness, but they had underestimated his own. Their mistake was in keeping him alive—they thought they had gained his cooperation. All the more fools, they, for George Cooper of Pirate’s Swoop would never forgive them their murder of his son in the Corus Seige.
And while Yuki sent news—the birth of her son, and a letter to Nealan that she dare not send directly to him for fear of attention turning to him; and valuable information—like how the emperor seethed with unforgiving rage for Shinkokami and would never ally with Tusaine, and how Prince Eitaro very quietly negotiated with Maren and Tyra, and also how there were very tentative correspondences with that midden called Jindazhen; she still sent no word of that which Haname so desperately wanted to know.
Where was Lianokami?
My princess, my little Yamani, Haname thought, her heart constricting. Where are you? Where has Keladry taken you, and are you safe there? Do you even live, or has Tusaine found you? We look for you, we wait for you, but we cannot see you.
“I find that hard to believe,” Philippa smirked. “You correspond with a prominent prince of the Yamani Islands, one close to the emperor himself, and yet he did not reveal to you that his uncle planned on beheading my brother?”
“That is correct.”
Her lips tightened, but Philippa’s sharp face revealed nothing more. When she got the chance, Haname would have to caution George; after this, no doubt Tusaine would scrutinize letters even more carefully, so those that were openly sent and concealed a hidden message, some kind of code, would be even more at risk of discovery.
“We’ll find her, you know.”
At this, the room went silent. Women looked at their queen, and at the barbarian. Even Haname was taken aback at the matter-of-fact statement, so violently hissed. Still, her surprise was concealed behind her Yamani Mask.
“Who?” she asked, feigning indifference.
“Your precious princess. We’ll find her, and we’ll take her head, and I’ll lay her long black braid on your pillow while you sleep.”
Fury bloomed in her breast as the queen laughed cruelly, hot molten anger that roiled in her belly in nauseous waves. Dared she threaten a scion of divinity and emperors? Dared she threaten Lianokami, daughter of Shinkokami, who was beautiful, brave, her soul-sister? Dared she threaten that for which Haname had suffered all these years, for which she had spied, for which she will die?
Philippa danced in Shinko’s crown, but Haname would strip her own flesh before she saw that woman dance in Liano’s.
“We will see, Your Lady Majesty,” she said coldly.
Oh, yes, we will see, she thought fiercely. Triumphant, Philippa turned away to converse with Lady Malita, as though she was so easily dismissed. We will see how hard you laugh when you bow to Queen Lianokami.
Haname touched the steel of Shinko’s shukusen, and prayed to Sakuyo—if anyone could help her now, it would be that cunning god of tricks.