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The archery contest was hosted north-west of the palace, where upon ordinary days the Maha Garda would be holding their target practice. It was smaller grounds by far, but more accommodating of spectators. Raised gazebos dotted the fringes of the field, each as small as eight-by-eight but comfortable enough for a half dozen soldiers to rest during their break. Now each were filled with highborns—both foreign and domestic—whilst the commonfolk sat upon quilts between the trees.

Kiet shared his with Fukuse and his sisters, though many had come to their gazebo to wish him and the hanjou their many blessings. The postern balusters of their platform were piling up with gifts; any more and they might need to join the commonfolk upon the grass.

His eyes roved over them but there were so many, all their faces blurred into one. It was impossible to find her—if she was there at all. But surely she'd miss not the archers' tournament? She already had skipped the races three days prior, the unarmed combats, and even the lamp festival just the night of Fukuse's arrival. In fact, the last he saw her at all had been the day before the hanjou arrived, and that had been only to warn him of some nefarious conversation she had overheard between Khaisan and Persi. Not that he required any warning of Khaisan's potential meddling—it concerned him more that she still found the time to be sneaking around dropping her eaves.

'Maharaj?'

His attention snapped back to Raj Joharu and Syuri Aroem of House Dyaspar. All their children, too, had come before him bearing gifts. They looked resplendent in their soft pinks and blues, the men wearing ankle-long ossa and the women clad in delicate tissue syaree. The latter was a popular dress amongst highborns of the south-west. It was considered a more refined version of the common syarong; an extensive length of fabric arranged over the body like a robe, one end wrapped around the waist and the other draped over the shoulder like a shawl. Some wore them pleated, others cinched with gemstone chains, whilst others yet decorated theirs with beads or laces or more subtle ornaments.

Some of the men carried blades—but only ceremonial daggers, and this worn tucked at the back of their belts as a sign of deference. One could hardly be hostile, after all, if one could hardly reach his weapon. The higher his status, the more ornate the grip of his dagger. It was even said Raj Joharu carried a keris of his own; an ancient one passed down from generations past, but none were able to confirm the tale as none had ever seen it drawn.

Only Andaru was missing, though Kiet quickly found him amongst the contenders upon the field, nocking his fourth arrow and sending it straight into the hundred-point mark at forty yards.

'Forgive me.' He'd heard nothing they said, but smoothed it over with a smile. 'My attentions were upon the field. Truly is your son an expert archer. Khaisan will meet his challenge today.'

'Andaru can shoot a bat out of the night sky, but still he is no match for the Rama-in-Waiting.' Raj Joharu bowed in appreciation, revealing the balding patch upon the top of his head. 'I am sure he will wish to offer you later his own compliments, but for now please accept these gifts on behalf of us all.'

Kiet took the proffered basket. Jars of rare herbs, crystals, and phials of scented oils lay nestled amidst a fresh arrangement of flowers. 'Spider hibiscus and lotus.' He smiled despite himself. It may be his own prejudice against its symbolism, but the pairing looked odd to him, with the red fringes of the spider hibiscus and the pale peach cups of the lotus. Both were bold, distinctive flowers; they complemented not, only competed. 'A thoughtful gift from House Dyaspar. The hanjou and I thank you deeply.'

They bowed away, returning to their own platform just as down in the field, Andaru and the fourth round of archers took their final shots.

'At this rate, we'll not see anything until the finals,' Kiet muttered back at the girls.

Jyesta giggled, but Fukuse seemed a little put out. Great. I offend her even when I intend no offence.

'It is a blessing to have so many people come wish our marriage well. And they have put so much consideration into their gifts,' she said, taking the basket from him. 'Look, they even gifted me these lovely jade hair pieces.'

'My brother jests, himisae.' Kiesja to the rescue. 'Of course he appreciates his guests.'

'Some more than others.' Kiet could help himself not. Kiesja glared at him between the swishes of her folding fan.

'If you desire unobstructed view of the field, then join it yourself.' Khaisan came loping along from the next platform over where watched Judhistir and his Rani, now accompanied only by their two sons.

Kiet took a lotus from his gift basket and slipped it into Fukuse's loose braids. 'If I competed, I'd be forced to spend this beautiful morning away from the hanjou.'

Khaisan sniffed, hand resting atop the bow and quiver hanging down the strap around his waist. 'Some would say you feared your competition.'

'Some would be mistaken.'

'Come now! How dull! This entire tournament is for your good name and union held—yet not a single of its contests have you yet graced. People have from far and wide come, uncle, and a courteous host entertains his guests as much as he welcomes them.'

So his nephew could come with fine arguments, after all, when he put his mind to it. What did he want, anyway? It would be quite different to meet him on the field in good fun, but all Khaisan wished was to outskill Kiet in front of his bride, in front of his entire wedding party, and he'd enable no more of his nephew's infantile fomentations.

The next group of highborns were coming their way. House Tsafir, as clear as day in their white and saturated blues; yi-sang flowing down to their ankles and robes just a cut higher. Kiet wanted his nephew gone before his provocations found its fuel.

'It may be held in my name, but this tournament is for the people's pleasure, and it is bad enough to contend against one Ametjas. Hardly would it fair competition make were I to participate as well.'

Khaisan raised a brow. 'You think yourself better than everyone else?'

Nice try. 'Better trained, certainly.'

'Amongst the baseborn, sure. But even compared to our greatest raji and fellow highborns?' He motioned at the first of the Tsafir men to arrive—Raj Abhu, if Kiet recalled. Young yet at sixteen summers; dark-skinned with the spruce-grey eyes of House Tsafir. They widened at Khaisan's gesture. 'You do not find the likes of House Tsafir and Dyaspar to be worthy enough contenders?'

'That I never said. I, however, see only a handful of highborns competing in today's event, and to be frank, I look forward to seeing Andaru wipe your board with his arrows.' It was no empty excuse. Not many had signed up for the archery tournament, knowing their competition. He must admit; even without theurgy was Khaisan an exceptional archer. His nephew clearly had committed himself to his lessons since last they trained together.

'Well, lucky for you, uncle, I've learned that many of our most exceptional highborns will be competing for the height of the tournament: the Rama's duelling contest.' Khaisan nodded at Abhu. 'You and your brothers included, am I wrong?'

'Absolutely right, maharam.' It was one of his so-called brothers who answered, arriving behind the younger Tsafir and looking much more composed. 'An event of such scale—we wouldn't miss it. And nor will the Raji Gintaura and Sautama of House Dyaspar.'

'Amongst many others.' Khaisan turned again to face Kiet, who knew exactly where things were headed. 'It is a pity my uncle prefers to sit it out. Surely his bride would not begrudge him one tourney?'

Fukuse flustered and bowed from where she sat upon folded knees. 'Please, do not miss your own festivities on my account, intended. After all, I shall have the company of your dear sisters whilst you compete.'

Oh, sweet hanjou. Kiet held back his sigh. How little she understood the games he and Khaisan played.

'I'm sure the hanjou would enjoy nothing more than to see how well her future husband performs on the duelling field, besides,' added Khaisan with a smirk. 'How well he might be able to defend her and their future children.'

Anyone else mentions future children, I'll ensure he'd be incapable of siring any himself.

The Tsafir men looked expectantly between him and Khaisan. Of course his nephew would make a public affair of his challenge, and before so temperate and impartial a House as the Tsafir, too—leaving Kiet with no choice than to accept or lose face.

But truly had Khaisan no need for such artless tactics. The more Kiet considered it, the more his blood pumped at the thought of meeting his nephew upon a duelling field.
                

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'He'll have your weapon tampered with.' Hours had passed and still Akai tried to have Kiet withdraw his word and honour. 'Or lace his own with a slow-reacting agent.'

'You've watched far too many melodrama plays, Akai. You're getting predictable.' They walked along the edge of the archers' field, Fukuse and his sisters some distance behind, their conversation drowned below Khaisan's victory speech and the accompanying celebrations.

Of course he had won the tournament, besting even Andaru in a final, eighty-yard head-to-head.

'I wouldn't be susprised if he cheated even today,' whispered Akai.

'Are you not an absolute brazier.'

'He didn't miss a single shot! And with his theurgy—'

'Have you been paying no attention to his cuffs the entire tournament?' They had just spent a good half hour congratulating his nephew; Akai should have seen the bloodrune bands around his wrists. 'I've many things to say of my nephew, but I can admit his skill when he has them.'

'He could've exchanged them for fakes before the round began.'

'I begin to think you dislike him more than I.'

'There's a reason he challenged you so publicly to a duel, maharaj!'

'Correct, and I can name one right now.' She crossed the field just as he spoke, brown hair ringed into buns above her ears, tiger's-eye and tourmaline hanging upon chains from the hairpiece crowning her head. A train of women walked with her, all dressed in pale yellow gowns that brought out the golden tan of their skin.

Akai stepped aside as Jihan, third daughter of the Napoan High Khan, stopped to congratulate Kiet and his bride-to-be. Considering their history, it was the first time in many long years that Napoan sovereigns were invited to—and graced—a royal Surikh event. Indeed, were it up to Persi, they'd have been once again disregarded, and truth be told, Kiet was surprised Judhistir extended his invitations at all.

'We had not expected to hear such happy news between the Divine Gyok and the Great Capradon of the Sea; least of all to partake in its celebration,' the princess was saying. Clearly she and Kiet shared the same sentiments. 'Surikhand and its Grand Palace has been a curiosity of mine—I've always wondered what all the fuss is about, so thank you for having me here.'

'It is our honour to host the High Khan and his House.' Kiet managed to keep the uncertainty from inflecting his voice. Unlike the hanjou, Jihan was completely unreadable. He could tell nothing from her face—not even her age. She should be younger than him by at least a few summers, but she carried all the confidence of a tested queen-consort. 'I hope we are able to finally sate your curiosity.'

'For that have I high hopes indeed. Your crown prince himself has offered me a tour of the Grand Palace.'

Including all three of his sleeping chambers and private kitchens, I'll wager. 'How good of him.'

He'd need to warn his nephew against any ... impulsive ... acts. It required only a single offence and their already strained relations could pull to a snap. Ah—no. Kiet thought better of it. Warning Khaisan against anything would only provoke that child into doing the exact opposite.

'In fact I must beg leave of you, maharaj,' continued the princess. 'It is time I congratulate the crown prince for his remarkable victory. It is a pity not more of my own people were able to come—Napoa has only the best archers, though our tournaments are held whilst on horseback. I would have liked to see them compete against your maharam. And on steady ground, too.'

'Of course.' Khaisan can much learn from the princess. She might as well have giggled into her hand. Kiet sniffed, watching as Jihan and her ladies walked away. Her boasts and condescension were at least much more subtle than his nephew's.

'She does not seem very pleasant.' Fukuse's voice came up small behind him.

Kiet turned to find her, brows knit with concern. 'Dwell not upon it. Some people are like fermented soybeans—'

Fukuse frowned. 'You either hate them or you love them?'

He laughed. 'I was going to say it takes time to accustom yourself to them, but I like yours better.'

Her face eased into a blush and she turned away. How quickly she turns red, Kiet noticed. If anything, it made things only more awkward for him. He knew she was young, but this was too much he could handle. Did she even truly wish to be here? or had she come only to honour her family name?

'We should speak soon,' he said at last, lowering his voice. 'In private, I mean.'

Her blush only deepened.

All right, not in private, then. 'Do you know the hedge maze surrounding the consortial estates? There is a fountain at its heart. I'll have one of your estate guards bring you there this afternoon.'

She bowed to hide her face. 'I look forward to it, intended.'

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↝ END CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN↜

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☆ this chapter is dedicated to siagupta ☆

Video: Apollo
Image: Original artists unknown