'Then I give you my blessing, and with it my leave. Four seasons more I grant for this endeavour, thereafter are you to wear the mantle of Pior Lam and apply yourself to its people, at your fullest capacity.'

'Of course.' Kiet rose. There will be time later to mull over his newly acquired responsibility. 'Dare I beg one other of you, Father? that you allow me to settle the issue of my sisters' espousals? If I am to become provincial prince, they may yet help secure my position through unions convenient to me.'

'Take me for no fool, Kithrel! For nigh sixty winters have I partook in this game!'

'It was worth a try.' Kiet shrugged. 'But you know what I say is true.'

'I know your impertinence recognises no bounds! This, surely you have absorbed from your mother! You have two sisters. Loath as I am, the younger will I grant you, for she has yet the behoof of time. As for Kiesja ... what father would refuse an offer, were one to arise, if he deemed it suitable for his daughter? one—it afflicts me to remind you—who has dallied well past her prime?'

'I can find her a more than suit—'

'Too long have I allowed Amarin to cosset her child and delay the inevitable! No more shall I hear of this!' It was Judhistir's turn to rise; indication that his son was dismissed.

Kiet bowed, thanked his father, and left.

Kiesja would be displeased. As she should be, with the threat of wedding a stranger old enough to have children her own age. How was he to get her out of this one?

The collar of his robe suddenly felt stiff and constrictive against his neck. Kiet untied the garment as he walked. He needed fresh air. The halls were long and winding, each chamber he passed filled with old bureaucrats and court administrators hunched over their desks. A task force was likely already dedicated to arranging his installation to Pior Lam.

Kiet took the first exit he saw, blinking in the sudden contrast of sunlight after the quiet shadows of the hallway. It was the last weeks of summer—the season of harvest in the Eastern Isles. Women wore thin fabrics, their syarong tied in more revealing styles. It was entirely reasonable, considering the staggering heat, yet they blushed and hid behind their shawls when he passed.

Like the rest of the royalborn, he avoided walking through the Grand Palace gardens; they were made for guests and occupants of the palace. 

A group of dhayang gasped as he strode through, pulling each other to give him a wide berth. The track was too narrow and they ended ankle-deep in the sloping grass that hedged one side of the stone pathway. Still they bowed and muttered greetings through their palpable embarrassment.

Kiesja had at least him to petition for her—who did these girls have? It was unfair that he would keep his sisters from an unwanted marriage when plenty other girls their age had no other option.

'Do you have a sister, Akai?' His guard was walking several paces behind. Kiet wished he would not do that, and his question forced the man to meet his pace.

'Only a brother, maharaj.'

'Younger?'

'By five years.'

Five years. Kiet sketched that at roughly sixteen, seventeen. Only a little younger than Jyesta. 'He resides still in Jenawi?'

Akai made a small sound of surprise. 'He does, but how—'

'It was only a guess. Your blade is not often seen outside Pior Lam, and such a modest design is typical of the Jenawi region.'

'Lack of design, you mean,' muttered Akai under his breath.

Kiet laughed. 'In any case, seems you may be reunited with your family sooner than you think, once I take the seat of Pior Lam.'

'You say you're unfamiliar with the north, maharaj, but you're familiar enough to guess my origins.'

The path tightened around a mound, a small pavilion filled with women at its crest, half hidden behind a curtain of cassia trees with their hanging cluster blossoms. 'I am well-travelled, but that can help only so much. What do you think of Maharaj Junaedi? How do your people find his governance?'

'He's ... a true representation of the Maha Rama's laws and sees it's adhered to across the province.'

'I'd appreciate your more prescriptive sentiments.'

Akai hesitated, which said enough. Luckily for him, a pair of dhayang diverted Kiet's attention. They walked, linking arms, upon the footpath ahead. He could see only their backs, even then they were partly obstructed by low-hanging branches and the yellow inflorescence of cassia around them. 

Yet he recognised that gait, the thick cut of that sable-black hair, let loose and unruly in the noon winds.

He quickened his step to meet them, and before he knew it, his hand was on her shoulder. The girl turned, the name died on his lips.

The dhayang quickly bowed, muttering a string of the regular greetings. Kiet stepped back, uncertain, mortified, disappointed. What was he doing, accosting poor girls? He was going mad.

'Yes, maharaj?' asked the dhayang when he stood there, frozen. 'You what?'

'My apologies. I mistook you for another.'

The smile wavered on her face. 'Ah ... are you searching for a dhayang, maharaj? Is it something we can maybe help with?'

'I appreciate the offer, but no. Please forget it.'

Her friend piped up before he could leave. 'We know everyone at the asraam, don't we, Eila? and quite a few of the early-bloomers at the White Asraam, too.'

Eila? Even her name sounds similar. The gods must be having a laugh. 'No, you misunderstand. It was entirely my mistake.'

'We're also still in touch with our friends who've been sent to the Water Palace, so if you're looking for a dhayang there, we—'

'Don't be ridiculous, Kara!' said the one named Eila. 'As if we would have more connections in the Water Palace than a royalborn! Forgive my friend, maharaj, she's just excitable. Things do get boring sometimes at the academy.'

Kiet tried to push through, but the commotion had attracted the visitors resting at the pavilion and, encouraged by the sight of two dhayang conversing with a maharaj, they too had started streaming down to enter the conversation.

'What's her name, maharaj? What do you need her for?'

'I heard you just returned to Kathedra—have you been looking for her this past year?'

'Has it to do with—ah, Ogbu embrace her—the attack on your mother?'

'Gosh, it reminds me of that perri tale ... you know, the one about the girl who lost her bloodrune at the palace ...'

Kiet took in all their faces, all their questions. For the first time in his life, he wished he were more like his nephew. Khaisan would simply have shoved past them, or perhaps indulged their questions with tall tales of his own; whatever felt most entertaining to him.

'Maharaj.' Akai stepped in to the rescue. 'Forgive my intrusion, but you will be late for your meeting.'

Kiet excused himself with one final apology. Truly, this was what he needed a personal guard for. He gave Akai a pat on the back. 'You've saved me another scolding from my sister.'

For a long time Akai did not respond. 'If you're searching for somebody, maharaj, perhaps this is something your men can help you with.'

Kiet smiled at him. How easily could Chei have injected her own men into Judhistir's selection? Would she have Isla killed, if she discovered he were after her? After all, Isla was an important key to what happened that night. She had been there. It was impossible she knew nothing of what transpired after his temporary death. 'Only a foolish infatuation, Akai. It is of no consequence. Certainly nothing worth expending my resources on.'

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↝ END CHAPTER SIX ↜

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☆ this chapter is dedicated to liiiaaauwu, another one of my long-time readers; thank you so much for your support! ☆

Video: Taking a quiet walk through a peaceful garden
Image: Photomanipulation + digital painting of Judhistir by yours truly; upper right image—© Sebastien Hue at ArtStation

So Kiet's looking for Isla, but do you think he should trust his new men? Please don't forget to vote if you liked this chapter, and leave your thoughts behind if you have a moment to spare.