'I hope you are better rested, Master Mandabu.' Kiet rose as the old servant entered his sleeping chambers, smelling a mixture of bath oils and the mild sulphur of the springs.

He motioned for him to join him at the table; a round mango wood, its surface chiselled in fine lines into the pattern of a sunray and coated in varnish. Together with a set of low chairs it bridged the wide space between his bed and the balcony.

Sindhu bowed before crossing the chamber, hesitating once he saw the table. A ceramic pitcher and matching cups waited upon a braided seagrass tray, surrounded by a wooden box to one side and platters of afternoon cakes on the other: a stack of creamy-white appam, a small basket of freshly fried spring rolls, and a serving of soft, pressed cassava cakes dressed in sweetened coconut shavings.

A farmer's treats, his mother called them; sold by old women who wandered street to street with a large basket balanced on their heads, or by loud hawkers in the busiest sections of the anterior ring markets. But as a boy, Kiet would always catch Sindhu during his breaks chewing on his cassava cakes. They were always a different colour. Brown like the dark palm sugar mixed into the cake base; green when added with a paste of pandan; or even red and sweet with dragon fruit or yellow with the slightest drop of turmeric.

It had been also Sindhu who gave him his first taste of the supposed commonfolk's cakes, and to Kiet they were just as delightful as the palace kitchen's pandan cakes or steamed buns.

Kiet sat, Sindhu following suit, choosing the seat opposite him and the balcony. Its glass doors were left open to cool the room, framed by gauze curtains that now fluttered in the gentle breeze. 'Have I interrupted your m-meal, maharaj?'

'Of course not. I called you here exactly when I needed you here. But I hope I've given you ample time to catch your breath.'

'M-More than enough time. Nothing quite revives like a hot ... bath during the tail-end of the seeding season.'

'Not even chilled rice wine?' Kiet lifted the small pitcher off its tray and poured Sindhu a glass. 'Please drink with me. I wanted to thank you for all your hard work. It could have not been easy, tracing down something the Rajini Chei herself interceded in to keep hidden.'

'It is my honour and duty, m-maharaj.' He took the cup in both hands regardless, lifted it, and drank. 'I am only sorry if it was not the answers you wished to hear.'

'Truly, I know not what I wish to hear. All I do know is that over these past two years have you done—time and again—the work of one without carrying officially its title.'

Sindhu paused between his sips, only his dark, sunken eyes visible over the rim of his cup. He looked tired, concerned, but Kiet knew not whether it was because he naturally looked that way, or because he knew what was soon coming.

'It is time to remedy that.' Kiet pushed the box from his side of the table until it sat perfectly central before his servant. 'If, of course, you are willing.'

Sindhu lowered his cup and slowly opened the box. It was a simple thing, really, with no ornate markings or decorative gems. Not even a lock. But he reached inside and pulled out the silver pendant Kiet had for him acquired. He gasped, his fingers wrinkled and shaking when he brushed them over the red capradon in its centre.

'M-Maharaj ...' he said at last. 'This title ... I am ... un-un-unworthy of it! A m-man of my skill, m-my age, education—'

'Have I been unclear? You've proven more than capable of every task set upon you. Why do you doubt yourself when all evidence point otherwise?'

'B-b-but—' His stutter became too overwhelming for him that he had to draw back and take a few breaths.

'Nothing changes, regardless of whether or not you accept this pendant. I will continue to rely upon your counsel and occasional investigative talents, as I've always done. The only difference is formality. You'll have to swear an oath and you get to wear a fancy trinket around your neck. I suppose—now that I think upon it—it probably is in your best interest to refuse. Prestige strikes me not as something that interests you, after all. If you wish to retire, or to strictly take upon less perilous tasks in the future, then I understand and you only have to say. As silver-servant, such choices will be stripped from you. But I'll accept no refusal if it is due to any perceived incompetence or unworthiness on your part.'

'I do not fear the oath, m-maharaj.'

'It is too early for you to make such statements. Think it over. I've no desire to pressure you into making a commitment on the spot. Like I said: I wanted only to thank you.' Kiet waved over the table. 'I recall you had an appetite for pressed cassava cakes.'

Sindhu chuckled, though more at himself than anything. 'I am a simple m-man with simple tastes, in the end. Dress me in silver and still a man like m-me cannot hide his roots.'

'Or his cassava roots, in this case.'

He laughed at that and took the offered slice, eating freely with his hands. 'I am surprised you remember, m-maharaj. Cassava was a staple in m-my childhood and helped us survive in m-more than one way. My m-mother ... she used to sell ... pressed cassava cakes, and we lived off both her sales and leftovers.'

Ah. Kiet recalled him saying he had worked for Kiet's maternal House since he was young, and Kiet had always assumed his parents had worked for them, too.

'She would go around our village every m-morning, but we were a small community and not enough lived there to m-make much, so she would go to the nei-neighbouring villages, too.'

'A hard-working woman, then.'

'Too hard. One day she never came back.'

Kiet nodded. He knew already it would be not a story with a happy end. It was too often the case with people of his station.

'She was old, it was a hot day, and ... well, they said her heart collapsed and she along with it.'

'You're going to make me cry, old man.'

'I never felt so worthless in my life.' Sindhu's smile was sad. 'How ... could I have let her continue working so hard at her age? But ... she was a stubborn woman, m-maharaj, and I had only just started working for your m-mother's family.'

Kiet sunk back in his chair, his eyes catching the ceiling panels above his bed; lavish illustrations of the Holy Anthology, carved and hand-painted by only the finest artisans. The mosquito net extending down and around his bed was threaded from choice silk. Even the writing desk across his bed was built by the realm's best carpenter using silver cypress imported directly from the higher regions of Napoa.

Every day he had servants sweeping and scrubbing his chambers. Not a spot of dust or drop of tea stained the creamy-whites and coffee-browns of his room.

How grossly extravagant. Whilst he lived amongst great works commissioned from across the Kapuluan Raja, how many more mothers, fathers, children were falling dead just trying to keep food on their table?

'I have upset you,' said Sindhu, quiet. He cleaned his fingers in the small washing bowl beside his plate andwiped them dry. 'Forgive me. It is a m-miserable story to share.'

'Not at all. I'm only upset that you, and so many others, must experience such hardship.'

'It is the way of life. There will always be ... people at the bottom, as there will always be people at the top.'

'But the divide need not be so great.'

Sindhu shrugged, nodded at the panels above. 'Even the gods failed to curb the greed of m-men. Our hunger for ... power.' He spat out the word. 'In the end they abandoned us for it.'

'Amongst many other reasons.' Kiet sighed. He had planned not for so miserable a discourse. 'But that reminds me of my next task for you.'

He rose from the table, approached the long chest stretched along the foot of his bed where he kept Dhvani's artifices. He took first her runesmith's glyphs, all five contained within a string pouch, and her snares next, all wrapped carefully in linen. Her mirror, her spyglass, and her ring.

He laid them all out upon the table for Sindhu, pointed at the mirror in particular. 'You brought its pair?'

Sindhu nodded. 'It is in ... m-my chambers.'

'Dhvani has been captured and brought to justice. I need her devices no longer. I'd like you to find a way of safely destroying them.'

'But—m-maharaj—'

'You can use this task as cover for your travels whilst you search for a discreet aqhla supplier. Internal combustions of theurgy have occurred before, and its damage well-documented. Wild theurgy is released of its human, killing not only its source, but many around, as well. I fear the same will occur if we were to simply break these snares apart.'

'Forgive me, m-maharaj, but ... why destroy them at all? If I—or anyone else—were to become your silver-servant, this enoptograph will greatly benefit our com-communications. And the optaglass'—he gestured at Dhvani's spyglass—'surely you see the advantage such an object would grant us.'

'You said it yourself, Master Mandabu. Even the gods failed to curb the greed of men, and mine ...' Kiet wandered away from the table until he stood between the egress to his balcony. The academy bell tower loomed in the distance, far behind the spires of what was once Dhvani's estate. Its windows were dark; not that Kiet could much see, hidden as most of her estate was behind the maze and her now untamed garden. 'Mine would be disastrous.'

Sindhu gave no reply, and it was first his sigh that broke the silence between them. 'Very well, m-maharaj. I will find what I can.'

'Take them with you.' Kiet turned suddenly to face him. 'But for love of the gods never put on that ring!'

'You ... discovered at last what it does?'

He returned to the table and took the ring between his fingers. It was scratched silver, tarnished especially on the inside, where its alphasyllabaries had been inscribed in one small, continuous flow. 'I could decipher only half of Ibnur's runes. His syntax is ... superfluous and riddled with ambiguity. All I know for certain is the ring contains astyrpeucy, and it requires no words, no reading to trigger the rune. Do you understand what I say? You put this ring on, and it will take you immediately to another location, with nothing but the clothes on your back and whatever little else you happen to be carrying.'

Sindhu's eyes widened. 'Where to?'

'You can ask the frangipani flowers for that.' Kiet returned the ring back into the folds of its linen. 'It will take you to wherever Dhvani bound these inscriptions.'

'You do not think she would have linked it to her own estate? In case she ever ... needed to escape quickly to safety?'

'I've searched her entire estate top to bottom, inspected her dungeons and the labyrinths below during its reconstruction. No such room holds the prerequisites to sustain such a link.'

'She'd have m-many hidden chambers, m-maharaj.'

Kiet raised a brow. 'I assure you I was most thorough following her escape. Anything hidden has since been uncovered. Besides, this ring was intended not for her own use at all, and she'd never allow even her most trusted silver-servant unbridled access into her private estates.'

'Not for her own use?'

'Look at it. This ring is simple and plain, unlike the spyglass, rich with its obsidian studs and the wild pearls installed in each of its drawtube rings. Or this mirror.' He lifted the object, perfectly round; black and gold with a thin sickle moon arching between its handle and frame. 'Do you know why it weighs far more than it looks? It is real gold she used to inscribe the runes along its frame.'

Even to the untrained eye was the ring a stark contrast to its sisters. Kiet returned the mirror to its place, and immediately Sindhu covered its reflection in linens. 'Perhaps she did ... not wish to draw any attention onto the ring.'

'When has she ever shielded her possessions from attention? She held no such reservations for the rest of her snares, each of which bears equal value. Certainly is silver fine enough for a ring, but she bothered with no designs, no accents; nothing to mark it as an Obusirjan treasure, unlike its counterparts. But—and perhaps most importantly—this ring is small, but it is also much wider and thicker than most. Its structure is traditionally a masculine one, and hawkish as Dhvani might have looked, she was never masculine.'

Sindhu leaned over the table to better study the ring without touching it. By the way his eyes widened, Kiet could tell he saw it then, too. 'This was designed for a man.'

'A slim one.'

Sindhu looked up at him. 'Her runesmith?'

'Her runesmith or her silver-servant; whoever it may be, it is as I said. She'd never create an object that would grant anyone free entry into her own home.'

'Her silver-servant is dead, but the other m-man still lives. I can ... question him, if you like, m-maharaj. Find out where this ring does lead.'

Kiet shook his head. 'It matters not. They are to be all destroyed regardless.'

'But ... what other of the late rajini's dark secrets m-might it uncover? Surely it m-must lead to a ... a-place of importance to her.'

'Best allow sleeping daemons lie, Master. It is worth not the risk, for one thing you may be certain of: Wherever this ring leads, it could be to no safe harbour. This ring I found stored in Dhvani's study. She could easily have used it to flee after murdering my mother—yet she did not. There must be a reason it remained behind.'

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↝ END CHAPTER THIRTY ↜

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☆ this chapter is dedicated to ANNETTE2356 ☆

Video: Eternal Depth
Image: Top image—© Yanchong Lim at ArtStation; lower images—original artist unknown

Kiet's getting rid of the runes, after all. But do you think Dhvani's secrets are better left to die with her, or would you go snooping for more information?

And on to happier news, I have officially completed my first draft of THE COURTESY OF KINGS! This means that updates will now be posted once or twice a week until we reach the end. If you would like to read my short author statement, you can click on the "External Link" below or go through the link in the inline comment.