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'Isla.' A hand curled around her shoulder, warm and firm. She blinked, and the full weight of the Rama's jii came crushing down upon her, latent though it was. Her knees buckled, but Jinsei held her steady. His voice was low as he pulled her further away from the Rama's bed. 'Enough.'

Enough.

How long had she been in there?

Kiet was sitting on the edges of his father's bed, his plate-sampler peeling what looked to be the fourth mangosteen for the Rama. His therapeut was not even in the chamber anymore, though when and why he left, Isla could not tell. She vaguely remembered their conversations, was vaguely aware of decorating the Rama's room while she worked in his head ... but the details were a haze ...

'You need to sit.'

'Not in the Rama's presence,' Isla whispered back. She opted instead to lean against him, gripping on the lapels of his robe, basking in the afternoon light that streamed through the windows.

Jinsei held a hand against her forehead. 'At least have some water.'

Not in the Rama's presence. Her glare was enough to answer him. He had no time to argue—Kiet had already risen from the bed, his eyes dripping with irritation as he glanced back at them.

'I fear I must take leave for now, Father,' he said.

'Already?' The Rama swallowed his mouthful. 'Are you returning to the woods for the red king crane?'

'Alas am I certain Khaisan has the creature but plucked and roasted.'

'Ahh ...' The regret was clear in his voice, but he patted Kiet's shoulder as though it was his son who suffered greater disappointment. 'Dwell not upon it ... come next blooming season, am I certain ... I feel it in mine bones!'

'Rest well, Father.' He bowed before him and the rest of them followed suit before exiting back through the doors.

The gallery was empty when they returned. Save for the Maha Rama's guards, everyone had dispersed to prepare for their evening meal, leaving only their gifts and well-wishes behind.

They were well away from the Rama's chambers when finally Kiet opened his mouth. 'Does the Tsun Emperor tolerate whispering in his court?'

The question was directed at Jinsei, though Kiet did not spare him as much as a glance. The truth-weaver simply chuckled. 'Has the maharaj suddenly become a stickler for court etiquette?'

'Suddenly?'

'It was my maharaj, correct, who almost caused a riot at the Emperor's temple?'

'That is a heavy misinterpretation, but sure.'

'And the maharaj who sought to blackmail a Tsun hanjeon into speaking with him?'

'Your perspective truly is refreshing, but it changes none of my instructions. Keep silent in the Rama's company, unless no longer do you value your tongue. Surely are you capable of lasting a few hours without engaging in sweet nothings.'

'You're in a foul mood today,' muttered Isla. Even the plate-sampler walking paces behind him seemed cowed by his ill-temper, though none of it was directed at her. She seemed even more aghast at Isla's unsolicited remark, and Isla had to remind herself that Kiet was a maharaj—not a racy sailor too long at sea.

'And you.' Kiet glared at her from over his shoulder before taking her by the wrist. 'I've a message for the Rajini Chei. You'll come with me. The rest of you are dismissed.'

His guest chambers were upon the tier below the Rama's. Only Akai trailed them there, following a long distance behind to avoid Kiet's inexplicable temperament; and when the maharaj led Isla into his quarters, the captain stood guard outside his door along with a pair of other stationed soldiers.

'You assured me you were prepared to craft into the Rama.' Kiet was upon her the moment he shut the door.

Isla frowned. 'I was, and I did.'

'So what is the problem?'

'Problem? I should be asking you!'

'He'd not sensed you in there?'

'No!' All this scheming and plotting must be getting into his head. Isla turned away from him to hide her frustration. Bamboo sconces warmed the room, rain pattered against the arched windows. 'In fact, it wasn't even difficult. I did not need to do much. Your father already doubts Khaisan would make a worthy Rama.'

'Of course he does. That is news not to me. But doubts are far from enough to make him supersede maternal precedence.'

'This is only the beginning, and it is a favourable one.'

'That may remain not for long, especially following Khaisan's triumphant hunt. So if anything goes awry during one of your ... coercions ... you must tell me immediately.'

'Of course.' Isla's frown only deepened. For once she wished her sister were there to pick into whatever was going on in Kiet's head.

'If ever you feel even a shadow of something amiss, you pull right out and—'

'This isn't my first time, Kiet.'

'Fine.' He sank into a settee stretched along the foot of his bed and cast his damp robes across the sheets. He sat there a moment, staring into the ceiling, his left palm wrapped in bandages.

Isla's frustration turned suddenly to guilt.

His father was in his sick bed. No doubt their drugging of him played a part in the diminished facilities that led to his accident. For all the Rama's flaws, for all his wrongs and miscalculations, he was still his father. Kiet had just lost his mother twice over—once to death, now to disillusionment—and so soon he had to wrestle with the fact he might one day lose his remaining parent, too.

'I am really sorry, Kiet,' she said at last.

'Whatever for?'

'Your father, of course. This was not part of the plan. I hope he recovers quickly.'

'Judhistir is strong.' His face eased into a smile. 'He'll be all right.'

'And will you?' She mustered the courage to ask. 'I know all this must be hard for you. You're a good son, despite your faults.'

Kiet sniffed. 'You never can help it, can you?'

'I mean it, though. He's lucky to have you.' She was met only with silence, and Isla bit back her tongue, feeling like she had said too much.

The air grew taut between them, almost uncomfortable. How many times had they spent only in each other's company? Countless, and never once had she thought anything of it—but all of a sudden now she was awkwardly aware of just how alone they were together?

Isla turned away to hide her discomfort. 'It must have been a long day for you. I brought some dianthus from the rajini's tea room. If you like, we could ... '

His eyes darted to hers, stopping her short, his smile turning to bewilderment. 'What do you—are you asking—'

If he would like some tea? He never finished, which only flustered Isla more. 'Well—rainy afternoons as these always set me in the mood for some.'

Kiet rose, slow. His cheeks flushed in the warmth of the chamber. 'I am your half-uncle.' His voice was low as he approached. 'Does that trouble you not?'

What? Isla stumbled back, shaking her head, confused, heat rising into her own cheeks. What does that have to do with tea? 'I ... I don't—'

Her sputtering broke with a gasp. His hand was on her back, warm against the silk chiffon of her ossa; the other trailed a strand of hair sweeping down the side of her face, stopping when his fingers brushed the tip of her chin.

Isla's heart raced, her mind both empty and a blur. What was happening? Why was he suddenly acting so strange? And when did her own hands start searching for the ribbons of his yi-sang?

'Maharaj,' a voice called from the other side of the door.

Kiet ignored it. His eyes searched Isla's. 'Are you certain?'

Yes. No. Wait—what was he asking?

'Maharaj!' Akai's fist thundered over the door.

'Gods, man! Not now!'

'But—the sky bridge, maharaj! You must come!'

Kiet drew back at the agitation in Akai's voice. He tore away from Isla, leaving her stunned against the wall. Within seconds he had the door flung wide open, startling Akai where he stood, fist poised to continue his banging. 'The bridge better be on fire, you worthless snake-trap.'

'It's the Water Palace guards, maharaj—they were saying—I slipped out long enough to see—and sure enough—' He was speaking so quickly he stumbled over his own tongue.

'What in the deepest trenches of the Great Ters Altum sea are you jabbering about?'

Akai drew a breath. 'A great beast, maharaj. It's been circling the Seven-Skies Pagoda for a half hour, now. The first sighting of one in decades—centuries! A horned rukh! A real, live capradon!'

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↝ END CHAPTER THIRTY ↜

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☆ this chapter is dedicated to nanduus222 ☆

Video: SoundsForStories
Image: Original artists unknown

Great timing, Akai ಠ_ಠ) But do you think there's an actual mythical bird conveniently flying around, or is there something else afoot...?

It's been a while since I posted another Q&A—a while back, someone asked me if there was anything I wanted to include in the series but didn't . . . and the answer is yes, there are tons of them! So if you ever wondered what scenes and plot points could have happened in A Grace of Crowns, click on the External Link or in the inline comments 𓆩♡𓆪