Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Roka’s master drew her to an open space of wall, and they stood with the rest of the singing flock and added their voices to the chorus. A minute later the song ended and the whole of the Castle of Marvels took up a new and equally familiar song, this one with the verses Roka expected. She joined words to her humming and felt an equal part of the crowd at last.

As she sang, she scanned the room. The emperor did not appear present. A raised dais waited for him on the north side of the hall with chairs and a little space for slow dancing. Of course, the emperor hadn’t used the dais in his audience chamber that morning, so he might have been among the crowd at that very moment, but Roka thought that unlikely. Talit was also nowhere to be seen, but unlike his father, he was very likely to be mingling with the masses.

Roka caught a brief glimpse of Elise King talking into the ear of another Donparsh guest. Neither were engaged in the song. Roka did not fault them. The lyrical lexicon of the empire was vast and difficult to learn, even for an imperial citizen raised with the music. Roka lost sight of the woman when a newly arrived group of guests took up a position between them.

It took another twenty minutes and four songs for all of the guests to make it inside the castle. Roka thought there would not be enough room for everyone, but the newest guests moved up to the second and third floors of the hall. When the doors were shut the guests were dispersed enough for everyone to sit, stand, or dance at their pleasure.

As soon as the most recent song came to a close, the emperor walked into view on the dais, preventing a new song from beginning. All heads turned to face him. The dance hall went quiet. The emperor's garments and jewels outshone his guests with a sheen of power.

A herald marched onto the dais in front of him and puffed out his chest. “His Majesty Dawuto, son of Imankaj and Mosikoji, emperor of Ninzam and her many coasts.” He paused, allowing the emperor’s full title to sink in before continuing with, “Husband to Nierha, daughter of Nafadan and Tahdevi, late empress of Ninzam and her many coasts, may she serve forever.”

The entire crowd responded to the herald, “May she watch forever.”

Roka had never heard the final part of the announcement before, but neither had she ever been in the presence of the emperor and so many people who knew him and the late empress. She looked around for Talit again to see his reaction. He remained elusive, so she returned to studying the emperor. He was far away and his features difficult to read, but she thought she saw sadness in the set of his brow.

The herald marched off the dais, making space for the emperor to take the central edge of the platform.

“My friends,” he called out, “I have heard such beautiful music tonight, and we have not even begun. I look forward to hearing your voices fill this chamber to its brim, though I hope you take frequent breaks to rest your lungs with a draught of wine or a frosted dumpling.” He gestured to the covered tables of food. Imperial slaves moved among them, removing the protective white sheets. The guests laughed or rubbed their stomachs with exaggerated sweeps of their hands.

The emperor went on, “This Breaking Fast Festival has been the best of the last decade. The city’s millet grain stores are filled, and the people are happy. The firetechs have put on a tremendous display, and I am sure tonight will be even more dazzling. For much of this we have our new partners across the seas to thank.”

A murmur went through the crowd. A nearby woman said, “The Ensigns?” just loud enough for Roka to hear. Roka looked away from the woman, trying to spot the different Donparsh guests in attendance. They were few, but they were present. She spotted Elise King again.

“Our bond with the Many Ensigns of Donpar has not always been as strong as it is now,” the emperor calmly continued, not dismissing the uncertainty among the guests but also not allowing it to fester into discontent. “Such has been the same for all of our allies. The empire’s history is long and sometimes unhappy, but I am glad to know that we can always settle down in comfortable places like this beautiful hall the Donparsh built for us where we can sing and share bread. I'm pleased to see we are shoveling together to one day bury all our swords..”

A round of applause overwhelmed the previous murmur. Roka noted that Elise King was the first to clap her hands, but the rest of the room followed almost instantly.

“Be grateful now for full stomachs and bright futures,” the emperor said. “Both are imminent.” He opened his arms to the hall and gave them all a great big smile. “I give you leave to return to your choir. We will have breaks every fourth song for fifteen minutes of conversation. Attend to the desserts as your appetite desires. Enjoy!”

The emperor stepped back to his seat on the dais. A conductor and vocalist came forward to take his place. The vocalist cleared his throat, tested the air with a do re me, and then set the pitch for the next song with a high, held note. The conductor listened for a second and then waved her arms to give the guests their tempo. Once again, music filled the chamber.

Roka joined in the song—both the tune and lyrics were familiar to her—but her master broke away towards the dessert tables. She thought about following, but felt committed to the song and remained in place. She let her eyes wander as she sang and examined those closest to her. Expensive silk and suede abounded, but despite her drab clothing and humble upbringing, she still felt a strong connection to the powerful and rich guests around her. She held no illusions about her status, the power they wielded, or her own power over them, but sharing their voices leveled the disparity.

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She finished the song and then went in search of sustenance. Before she could find it or her master, she came across Talit. He didn’t look very different from when she had seen him that morning. His purple wrappings were the same and he wore the same collection of jewels and rings. From her appraisal of the other guests, she determined he was actually significantly dressed down for the occasion, and perhaps for general heir duties as well. He relied on his innate status to lend him gravitas, and it mostly worked. He held himself high and magnetized everyone he passed in the crowd. Two other young men stuck close behind him. They were only slightly more lavish in their appearance than Talit.

“Roka,” he called to her, stopping her short. “I’m glad to see you here. Are you enjoying the party?”

“I am,” Roka said, inclining her head. “It is quite a treat to be part of such a well-attended Singing. Everyone has such magnificent voices.”

“Truly a feast for the ears,” he said with a smile. He turned to his side and the two young men in his wake came forward for introductions. “These are my friends, Jakale, son of Keto and Jioki, and Hama, son of Toshka and Nachala. This is Sentinel Roka, daughter of Barata and Fuuko.”

The word “Sentinel” made their ears twitch but the two young men each took her left hand in turn for a warm greeting.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Jakale said with a grin. “Talit has spoken much of you these last few hours. It seems he is quite excited by your visit, and I think we’re both excited to get to know you.”

Roka flashed a look at Talit. “Oh? I didn’t know I was an intriguing enough subject to support that level of discussion.”

“Of course,” Jakale said. “You were in our city barely a day and already the scum of the street is running scared. Two of their number are even put away for their misdeeds, and you gave our prince balcony seats to the action.”

Roka tried to smile. Jakale’s analysis of the altercation earlier that day was far too black and white for her liking. Men and women who broke the law and sought injury upon others needed to be restrained and punished, but that did not make them scum. Roka did not know the personal circumstances of the men she had arrested, and Jakale certainly had no idea.

“I merely did my job,” she said. “Sentinels tend to be drawn to the misfortune of others, even when we are not looking for it.”

The four of them were quiet for several seconds. Roka waited for Jakale to respond, but he just stood there with the same grin he had used for his approach. She began to worry if she had said something to offend him, but she was certain her words had been neutral.

Talit looked between the two of them. “Is something wrong, Jakale?”

The young man seemed to wake up. He shook his head, “No, nothing is wrong.” But he did not say anything more.

Ah, Roka thought. It wasn’t my words; it was my face. She brushed it off, knowing how others judged her appearance was out of her control.

Talit gave his friends a surreptitious look—one that Roka barely caught—and they both jumped in response.

“Oh,” Jakale said, raising his hand to his brow. “Is that Chinala I see over there? Come Hama, we need to apologize to her for yesterday.” He turned and bowed to Roka. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope we get the chance to talk more in the future. I’m sure you have many more exciting stories to tell.”

“I would love to share them,” Roka said, inclining her head.

Talit’s other friend Hama, who had not yet spoken, bowed as well, and said, “A great pleasure,” before they both walked away into the crowd. Talit himself remained behind.

“I hope I did not offend them,” Roka said, though she did not much care. If she saw them again, they would certainly get along better. Her first interactions with strangers often made them nervous, but subsequent meetings usually gave them a chance to warm up.

“Not at all,” Talit said. “They are sons of the court. They are required to palaver with every guest if they can manage it. It makes every conversation a little brief and shallow, but they are good men.”

“Good.”

Silence stretched between them. The singing had momentarily stopped, giving the guests a chance to rest their voices and talk.

“Were you on your way to the dessert table?” Talit asked.

Roka nodded. “The emperor’s comment about frosted dumplings piqued my interest.”

“Mmmm, understandable. I must say, you won’t find better dumplings anywhere in the empire. The cooks here are masters of their craft.”

“I don’t know,” Roka said as they made their way toward the tables. “My mother made the best frosted dumplings I’ve ever eaten, and I’ve been to pretty much every corner of the empire.”

“That’s a good point,” Talit said. “While I likely have the edge on you in fine dining, I’m sure I don’t come close in sheer variety of experience. Should I ask what corner of the empire has the worst cuisine?”

“I wouldn’t disparage any part of the empire,” Roka said, “but that being said, I contracted food poisoning in Unkmbio, so they certainly wouldn’t earn high marks in one of Elise King’s schools.” Assuming the woman had designs on culinary education as well as everything else.

They reached one of the tables and looked over the spread. Unfamiliar Donparsh desserts mixed with traditional Ninzamian dishes. A number of solid white wheels stood out in the middle on the center of the table. Prior guests had cut into a few of the wheels, revealing a soft yellow center. Roka decided to be brave and test one of these strange white and yellow Donparsh delicacies. She found a knife and cut a triangular piece for herself onto a plate while Talit loaded his own plate with a handful of dumplings.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “we can share.”

Roka did not mind. She was about to step away from the table when she realized the Donparsh dessert was not meant to be eaten with hands. She scanned the table and found a waiting collection of small spoons. She took a spoon and backed away. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Yusubru holding a glass of wine and sharing a word with E’zatomi, captain of the citadel guard. She decided not to interrupt them.

Talit explained the Donparsh dessert was a form of cake, and when Roka popped a spoonful of the fluffy concoction into her mouth, she was overwhelmed by its sweetness. It certainly tasted good, but it caused an unexpected pain in her teeth. Far more sugar had gone into making the Donparsh cake than went into any frosted dumpling. Roka needed some relief. Perhaps one of the tables held a platter of triangle meat pastries. Some tea was in order as well.

“Your dress is nice,” Talit said, springing the complement on her from a fathomless depth of context Roka had missed.