The Courtesy of Kings | ☑ Queenkiller, Kingmaker #2

01.2

'We'll never know what truly occurred that night, unless we offer the accused an opportunity to defend herself.'

'The dead do not speak, maharaj,' said Omana, her voice hard.

'What good fortune it is, then, that your daughter still lives.'

'I claim no traitor as a daughter of mine.'

'Alleged traitor, some would say.' It did not escape Kiet that she had made no effort to contradict his claim. 'I could help not but marvel upon my walk here, the committal trees you keep alongside the Obsidian Trail.'

'We have no burial grounds here, that is no secret. Our frangipani we plant over the mountain pass, so that the spirits of our loved ones may guard the Obsidian Trail.'

'I've heard of this Obusirjan tradition, thus it is not what I saw that intrigued me, but rather what I did not.'

Eshka's lips turned to a brittle slit, her grandmother's chin rose a little higher. That was what Kiet liked the most about House Obusirjan—perhaps the only thing, from what he knew thus far. They wore no masks the way members of the Surikh court did. Their words were weighted with passion, they wasted no time with empty civilities or posturing except to use it to their own advantage.

He continued, 'Tell me. It is customary that we bury the dead with a frangipani sapling to mark their grave. Does House Obusirjan follow this custom closely? Or do you plant a full-grown tree over your graves?'

'I wish you would ask me what you came here to ask.'

'I looked, I saw no sapling in your mountain-grave. Certainly a woman who died a little over a year ago would have a committal tree not as large and deep-rooted as the ones you currently keep.'

'You did not find a sapling because we did not plant one in memory of Dhvani.'

'Because she is no daughter of yours?' Kiet smirked. 'They say the best game of pai gow is one played against an Obusirjan, I understand now why.'

'Because we did not receive a body to bury.'

'You received no body to bury because we found no body to bury. Even so, empty trees have been planted before. You chose not to do so for you know she still lives. It would be unpropitious to plant a frangipani for a living relative, after all.'

'What you accuse me of is treason.'

'It would be treason to harbour the murderer of a queen consort—'

'Alleged,' interrupted Divya.

'Her fleeing does not speak so well of her innocence, does it, half-sister?' He approached closer to the women, saw the anger in full across all three pairs of eyes. 'As I was saying—harbouring Rajini Dhvani would be treasonous, and she would never put her House into such a position. However, that is not to say that you do not know where she has currently chosen to remain.'

Omana's hands shook where she gripped her stone armrest. 'This is the repayment I must suffer, after centuries of service this family has—'

'Did you not marry into the Obusirjan House?'

'Does your father know of this gambit?' Omana rose; slowly, painfully, leaning against a staff she had kept by her feet. Her granddaughters hurried to assist her, but she waved them away. 'I understand now why he stripped your claim to the throne in favour of Maharaj Khaisan.'

Kiet laughed. It was not the first time someone assumed the matter of investiture was a sore point for him. How could they appreciate the freedom he now enjoyed? But more than that, Omana knew as well as anyone that the succession was not a matter of favour. Khaisan was a grandson of the Maha Rani. His own father would have been heir apparent if he had demonstrated first-rank theurgy. As it happened, Maharaj Persi capped at third, and the moment his son rose to first-rank, the claim to the throne descended unto him by virtue of primogeniture alone.