Chapter Eight
The normal meeting chambers of His Majesty’s Royal Council sat three doors down from the throne room along the Palace’s main corridor. Closed off by an inconspicuous wooden door, the chamber itself had been kept minimalist. Plain wooden walls with simple, patterned tapestries, a single window at the far end, and sconces holding torches for light. The simple, wooden trestle table itself seated ten people, twelve uncomfortably, and made the room seem to burst at its seams.
Ashai sat on the left side of the table, his head in his hands as he rubbed his temples. It was bad enough that the king insisted he wear black hose and a deep blue doublet, but Ashai’s connection to Nishi’s gift was fading, and his body showed it. When he looked up, his left hand trembled. He put it in his lap to keep anyone from seeing. He’d missed his morning prayers—the schedule of Minister of Finance began quite early—and now was running low on Nishi’s power. The muscles in his neck and shoulders had started to bunch, a slow-moving tension that crawled from the small of his back up his spine to the base of his skull. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth.
He needed to pray. Soon.
But the way these doddering old fools bickered and debated over every minor point, this meeting was likely to last to the wee hours of the morning. He looked past King Abadas at the end of the table to see the evening sun setting outside the west-facing window. How long had they been here now? Three hours? Four?
And yet they were no closer to an agreement than they had been when they started.
The entire council had been arrayed around the table. Of course, King Abadas sat at the far end, with Makari to his right in a foppish looking lime dress, the imposing Bauti standing behind them. The rest of the council ringed the table like jackals around a corpse.
“Your Majesty,” General Celani said, leaning back in his chair and staring at the smoke-stained ceiling, “the Army is already operating on the thinnest budget we can manage. We have four battalions deployed to the foothills to manage the recent slave uprisings and cross-border raids. That costs money. They’ve already depleted the local fields and livestock, meaning we have to send them food. And if we don’t send them food, they can’t fight. And if they can’t fight, they do us no good.”
Ashai’s ears perked up at the report of that many men on the border with Nishi’iti. It seemed excessive to handle simple slave uprisings and cross-border incursions, which most often came from the Pushtani side anyway. He wondered what Abadas was really up to. Or maybe it was Celani. Someone was building up military forces along the border.
“I’m familiar with the cost of soldiering, General,” the king said. His voice took on the same sharp edge it always did when he didn’t like the tone of the person speaking to him. Celani shrank down a little bit in his chair. “But it’s only part of what this government must deal with. Believe it or not, we actually have internal matters to deal with too.”
Celani said nothing, at least not out loud. His lips moved as if he were saying a silent prayer. Or a silent curse.
As Abadas droned on, Ashai let his mind wander off. Beside the King, Princess Makari listened with intensity, her blue eyes focused on her father as if reading his lips. Ashai had no doubt she was running numbers through her mind, trying to find a way to pay back their creditors and still meet their financial obligations at home and abroad. She had an extremely sharp mind for numbers. And everything else.
They’d dined together several times since that first night. Each time, Makari found a new secret place where Captain Bauti and the Royal Guard could not follow. Ashai suspected they knew where she went, at least some of the guards, but chose to look the other way. Some understood the Princess needed her time and space, while others were simply afraid to anger her.
Ashai couldn’t blame them.
He found himself thinking of her often. Thoughts of her interrupted his daily prayers, which contributed to his weakened magical state. Every time he didn’t complete a prayer, or every time one was interrupted, it slowed the flow of Nishi’s power and left him weak.
He needed to focus. The girl was beautiful, true. Smart, funny. And independent. Oh, so independent. Sometimes he almost felt sorry for her father.
Almost. The man was still a butcher. And still his target.
“Minister Ashai, perhaps you’d like to join us at this meeting,” the King jibed from the end of the table. Ashai snapped out of his trance and found himself staring at Makari while the whole table stared at him. Makari included. “After all, you are our Minister of Finance.”
Laughter rippled around the table, with Bauti’s irritating snicker rubbing Ashai raw. Someday he would kill that man.
Focus.
“My apologies, Majesty, my mind wandered.”
Abadas sat forward and slapped a meaty hand on the hard wooden table. Wine glasses sloshed.
“And based on how you were staring at my daughter, I’ll bet we know where it wandered to!”
Even Makari laughed this time, though Bauti remained in any eerie, stone-faced silence.
Ashai allowed himself an appropriate blush, and looked at his hands. “I apologize, your Majesty, as lovely as your daughter is that’s not what distracted me. I think we may be able to solve the problem of Pushtani debt to Thahr without taking money from General Celani.”
“Is that so?” The general leaned forward on his elbows. “We’re all ears, Minister Ashai.”
Ashai eased his chair back from the table and stood, clasping his hands in front of his chest and pacing behind the seated men. He stopped in front of Bauti, intentionally blocking the man’s view of the King. As he suspected, Bauti shifted slightly to one side.
“The solution may lie in a barter system,” Ashai said. “Thahr depends on trade with Slevonia, Neskania, and us. For all of that, they must use the highways that pass through Pushtan and when they do, we tax them heavily. In fact, by my calculations the taxation on their merchants’ use of our highways in the last three years was more than we owe them right now.
“I propose we lift the highway tax on Thahr merchants and allow them to use our highway system free of charge for three years. In return, at the end of three years they forgive our debt to them and our two nations are even.”
Ashai could have cut the silence in the room with his dagger. Celani sat with his lips pursed in his finger tapping his chin. Foreign Minister Renard looked like he wanted to blow up but couldn’t think of something to blow up about. Trade Minister Talbot stared at Ashai, his mouth open, while interior Minister Neffin grinned a fool’s grin.
Even King Abadas nodded slowly, a smile spreading like melted butter across his face. In fact, there might actually have been some melted butter in his beard.
“See, my Lords, Minister Ashai has already solved one dilemma for us. Does anyone still doubt the wisdom of his selection?”
Ashai glanced at Bauti in time to see him erase a glower from his face. All that remained of the expression was a turned down corner of his mouth. And a finger that lingered a half-inch too close to the pommel of his sword.
“That’s a very innovative solution,” said the Trade Minister, his expressionless face not even changing for this. He should’ve been grinning, since Ashai just made his job that much easier. “But how do we know Thahr will accept this proposal?”
Ashai shrugged. “We don’t. But put yourself in their position. They can keep taking promises from us that come with empty bags of silver and gold, or they can take something for free that saves them actual money. And Thahrs are notoriously stingy. I guarantee they know exactly how much money this will save them, and know they’ll profit from the deal.
“I think you’ll find them more than willing to accept this proposal.”
Talbot looked like he might argue more, but Abadas raised a hand and silenced him.
“Lord Talbot, you will press forward with this suggestion. Approach the ambassador from Thahr this afternoon and make this proposal. I want to know by sundown today what their answer is.”
“And if they must consult with their own leader?” Talbot spread his hands on the table before him, his face still slack.
“Put some pressure on the ambassador and tell him the offer comes with a time limit of two weeks. That’s enough time to send a pigeon and get a response, but little more.”
Talbot nodded, and Ashai had to admit the King’s finishing touch was clever. It forced the king of Thahr to make a quick decision rather than think it through and possibly have second thoughts.
As if to congratulate himself, the King took a long pull from a wine flagon, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and looked at his daughter.
“Makari, if you would excuse us we have other, more sensitive matters to discuss now.”
If the Princess had been a cloud front, in that instant she would’ve flashed lightning and sprouted tornadoes.
“Father, you told me I could attend Council now to start learning the art of governance. What good will it do me to leave during sensitive matters?”
Abadas shifted in his chair, and looked like he wanted to take another gulp of wine.
“These are matters best attended to by men,” he said. Ashai noted he did not look his daughter in the eye when he made that statement, and somehow he thought that was wise. Makari could kill with a glare, mortally wound with her eyes. “These are not matters for the tender heart of a woman.”
For a moment, Makari looked like she might explode, her fists bunching on the table. Cords stood out on the side of her neck.
Ashai cleared his throat loud enough for her to hear. She turned her lightning bolt gaze on him, and he gave her a comforting nod. It was a subtle gesture, one designed for her and only her to see. One that said, “Don’t worry, I’ll fill you in later.”
Some of the violence leached from her storm cloud expression, and the lightning bolts faded. She breathed in a deep, cleansing breath, then pushed herself back from the table, deliberate and slow, her dignity on display for all the men to see.
“Come, Kendshi,” she said, offering her hand slave the slightest smile. “Let us go discuss more tender things, better suited for our mild hearts. Perhaps sewing, or dancing, or flowers would be better suited for the future ruler of Pushtan than whatever it is my father’s going to talk about.”
Abadas actually winced, as if his daughter had slapped him on the cheek. But Makari didn’t offer him even the slightest look. She simply spun on her heel, put her nose in the air, and marched from the room with Kendshi in tow.
The sound of the slamming door echoed through the small chamber for a full ten seconds after she left, as if every minister there was afraid to speak. Finally, Abadas took a deep breath, sat up straight, and addressed his council.
“As you know, gentlemen, our slave masters in the north report increasing frequency of insubordination, violence, and even organized resistance by Nishi’iti slaves who were led by the tale of this Pachat thug. This cannot be allowed to continue if our mines are to be productive and profitable.
“More disturbing news, however, comes from Minister Tan. I will allow him to explain.”
Tan inclined his head, and rose from his chair with great effort. His belly almost hit Lord Renard in the back of the head when he turned, and he struggled to pace behind the ministers as he presented his information.
“My sources in the foothills south of Nishi’iti report numerous instances of Nishi’iti Army units positioning themselves further south than normal. Regiment size units are reported in three separate locations, each one marking a major potential invasion corridor south into our territory. Perhaps just as disturbing is that there is been a marked decrease in cross-border incursions by Nishi’iti raiding parties in the last three weeks.
“This combines with two other factors to look quite nefarious. First, Nishi’iti demands immediate repayment for the gold we’ve mined from their territory, and by using their people. They made vague threats if we didn’t pay in gold. Secondly, as you know, there have been increasing instances of Nishi’iti slave violence in the foothills. Some might call them uprisings, inspired by this Pachat character. Just three days ago a slave attacked his slave master deep in the tunnels and nearly killed him. My sources believe Nishi’iti elite soldiers—the Wanao Lai—may have infiltrated the slave camps to stir up trouble and give their Army reason to move south.”
“And what would their goal be?” Celani asked. “Their Army is mostly defensive. We would slaughter them in open combat.”
Tan raised a finger in front of his face. “They would not seek to hold land, like most armies, but to recapture their people, steal gold, and retreat deep into the mountains where we could not track them down.”
Abadas leaned back in his chair and nodded. “That makes sense. It gets them their gold back, gets their people back, and leaves us no one to work in the mines. That hurts us three times. It would take years of raids into Nishi’iti to come up with enough slaves to work the mines again.”
“And yet,” Renard complained, “if we move to protect our own people, we are labeled aggressors! Preposterous!”
“Do we care what the Nishi’itis call us?” The King’s question silenced everyone in the room. “I don’t even want them to think we care. They are bugs to us.”
Ashai decided to use the silence to his advantage. He raised his hand, timid as a schoolgirl.
“Your Majesty, I may have a solution that would avoid conflict and protect our image. Your image.”
Chuckles around the room told him his idea had been received as poorly as he’d expected, and Abadas’s thunderous laughter shook the rafters enough to make him wince. Doubt crept into Ashai’s mind like clouds across a midnight sky.
“Master Ashai, you are quite droll!” Abadas roared. Celani and the others looked like they pitied Ashai, except for the smirking Bauti. “I do not, in fact, care even a little what some Nishi’iti slaves think of me or my policies.”
Ashai waited for the laughter to die down, then spoke.
“Of course not, Majesty, but what of your own citizens?”
The room fell into a tense silence. Ashai knew he stood on dangerous ground, with Bauti behind him wound tight as any bear trap. So he spoke with the deliberate softness of a priest.
“And your fellow monarchs? Should they not respect you, what then?”
“Merchant, you overstep,” growled Bauti. “You’re speaking to your king, not some wayward cloth apprentice.”
Ashai ignored how his hand dropped to his sword pommel and went on, trying to appear contrite.
“Forgive me, My Liege,” he said, addressing the king and intentionally ignoring the captain’s posturing, “I mean no offense, but as someone who’s been on the streets with your people, and who’s traveled far and wide doing business, I know something of how your own people and the people of the world see you. They believe you a capable leader, but somewhat … how should I say it … one-dimensional. They feel you resort too quickly to violence and strong-arm tactics instead of reasoning your way through more diplomatic solutions.”
Abadas’s face looked like a volcano ready to erupt, red and hot and bulging.
“I have Minister Renard to handle things diplomatically,” he said, droplets of spit spraying as he talked. “By the time things reach me, action is required!”
Nods around the table told Ashai he still had an uphill battle, but that didn’t matter. He’d never expected the council to adopt this idea—he’d wanted to see how Abadas handled the suggestion. So he made it.
“Your Majesty, this solution solves not only your slave uprising problem and image problem, but allows you to pay back Nishi’iti for the gold Pushtan … procured, and to do so at a substantially reduced rate.”
This time, the room’s silence was less tense, but just as palpable. He knew he held everyone’s attention, so he went on.
“I propose giving small, token amounts of money to select, trustworthy Nishi’iti slaves, telling them they can save it toward eventually buying their own freedom and a trip to the Nishi’iti border. You simply tell the Nishi’iti government you’re giving its gold directly to their people. These slaves are the poor, uneducated of Nishi’iti, so there will be no one to track how much money you give them.”
Around him, jaws hung open, and faces had gone pale. He fought back a grin.
“This plan does several important things. First, it allows the slaves to feel like they have a path to freedom, reducing their reason for rebellion. It satisfies the Nishi’iti government by simply not giving them an accurate count of how much gold you gave to slaves. Since Nishi’iti has no one here to count it, it’s your word against theirs. Everyone else gets to see you handle something with deft diplomatic skill, making your citizens admire you and world leaders respect you. More than they already do, of course.”
Now the room’s silence fell into such completeness that Ashai could have heard a spider weaving its web in the upper-most corner of the ceiling. After a moment of crackling tension, Abadas leaned forward in his chair, drummed his rings on the wooden tabletop, and gave Ashai a condescending look of understanding.
“Minister Ashai,” he said in a low, hoarse voice, “this is why you count coins and I rule the kingdom. I don’t need people’s respect or admiration—only their fear and obedience.”
He turned to Celani and sat up straight.
“General, send another company north to reinforce the slaver companies. Put down any and all rebellions with brutal force. I want heads on spikes, bodies hung from towers, public floggings, whatever your men need to do. Make it clear that any slave—especially any Nishi’iti slave—daring to oppose his master will die a slow, painful death.”
Celani nodded his salt-and-pepper head. The King had one more thing.
“Oh, and General?” Celani raised an eyebrow to his king. “Kill Pachat, and use his entrails to strangle anyone else who starts trouble.”
“Inform the Nishi’itis that until their assassins turn themselves in and are executed, Nishi’iti gold remains here and Nishi’iti slaves will suffer.
“And as always, My Lords of the council, do not let word of these things reach my daughter. She’s still too young for this. Now be gone, all of you. You’re giving me indigestion.”
Ashai rose, moved to the door, and as he filed out behind Minister Neffin, saw Bauti waiting outside with an additional blue-armored guardsman. The captain caught Ashai by the elbow, none too gently, and nodded at the soldier.
“Due to the threat of assassins in the palace,” he said, “I am assigning each minister a personal guard. You’re first. Congratulations.”
Ashai studied the guardsman, knowing there was no way out of this without looking suspicious, so he gave Bauti the slightest of bows.
“You are too kind to think of my safety so highly, Captain,” he said. “I’m sure this man will be more than a match for any Denari Lai.”
Bauti’s grip on his elbow tightened. “He’s not here to protect you. He’s here to protect the King and Princess. Should you act against either of them, his instructions are to lop your head off.”
The guard’s cold, blue gaze told Ashai he’d at least try. He patted Bauti’s hand where it kept grip on his elbow.
“You do think of everything, good Captain. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll move along.”
Bauti held on just a moment longer, then turned, and strode away, leaving Ashai to stew in his own juices.