Matrinka nodded thoughtfully. The gods rarely worked in subtle ways. Everything they did, they did with pomp and grandeur. "Maybe the magic originated in the other world. We did not open a way for them; they opened a way to us."
Griff's shoulders heaved again. It was an unanswerable question. "We might know if we could find a way to communicate with our prisoner."
Darris took his lute in hand; though, true to Matrinka's request, he did not play. "Music has a language all its own, Sire. One anyone can understand."
Griff studied the instrument in his bard's hands, releasing Matrinka and rising. "Your music certainly does. It's worth a try."
Matrinka considered. Darris' songs could charm anything: animal, human, even god. He could transform his listeners through emotion, evoking calm or agitation, grief or wonder, anger or joy in an instant. If the prisoner knew any of the common languages, Darris could surely coax him to use it. But the more she heard about these invaders, the more Matrinka believed they came from another world, where an overlapping language seemed unlikely. Darris' gift allowed him to provoke emotions; but, unless his listener was also under a bardic curse, he had no way to respond to whatever Darris invoked. "There is another possibility."
Both men looked at her.
"There is a man in this world, I know, with an uncanny penchant for languages."
Darris blurted, "You mean Tae?"
Griff carefully restored the title, though he still, after nearly twenty years on the throne, seemed uncomfortable with his own. "High ruler of the Eastlands, King Tae Kahn of Stalmize?" His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head, dislodging his black mane of hair. "Surely, we have men here able to work closely with our prisoner and, eventually, find a way to talk with him and get answers."
"Surely," Matrinka agreed. "But none nearly as quickly as Tae. He learned Renshai from the babbling of his infant son, and even knows some barbarian. He can fluently read and write Bearnese, for example, and many other obscure languages as well."
Darris nodded briskly, clearly remembering their first encounter with Tae, who was then a desperate street urchin. They had needed information about the existence of a possible missing heir to Bearn's throne, and Tae had sneaked into the Sage's twelve-story tower to read the scrolls. His information had led them to Griff.
Matrinka continued to work on the king. "Tae's father started him on multiple languages at birth, for spying purposes. And Tae seems to have developed some special area in his mind that lets him-"
Griff held up a hand. "I believe you. I just don't know how we can ask a king to travel so far to help us without any benefit to his own kingdom. I can pay him, but I imagine he has plenty of riches of his own."
Matrinka had to agree. More than he can imagine using in a lifetime. "Tae will come." She felt certain of it. "For the chance to see old friends and for the challenge." She lowered her head, grief assailing her again. "And he should hear about… Kevral from… mutual friends."
Darris headed toward Matrinka instinctively, then stopped and looked at Griff.
The king did not seem to notice, lost in thought. "What do you think, Darris?"
"I think…" Darris said softly, his attention still fully on Matrinka. Her sorrow clearly pained him. "… Matrinka's suggestion is sound." He fluttered his hands just over the lute strings, walking the boundaries of teaching without singing. He had the right to voice an opinion, but he had to make sure he stated only known information. "As you said, we will need to win over our prisoner; so, when it comes to watching him, we should use only those guards capable of maintaining neutrality. It would be too easy, and utterly understandable, for the prisoner to suffer abuses."
Griff appeared shocked at the mere suggestion, though he did not argue.
"Meanwhile, I'll try to make friends and establish some communication with music. By the time the king of Stalmize arrives, we should have a firm foundation for him to work from."
Griff still did not look convinced. He spoke slowly, "Fine, then. I'll start working on a letter for the messengers to run to Stalmize." He headed for the door, then turned, "Darris?"
Darris froze in position, obviously torn between his obligation to his king and to soothing Matrinka.
Matrinka knew Griff had two reasons for wanting the bard's company. Griff had become much more assured in his speech, though he still dropped into simplicity at inopportune times. He needed the bard to oversee the letter, possibly even to write it. His other need was less obvious. Without Darris at his side, he would be forced to suffer Rantire again.
"Go," Matrinka instructed Darris in a whisper. "He needs you more."
Darris sighed softly, nodded stiffly, and followed his liege from the room.
King Tae Kahn of Stalmize wove, full-speed, through the banister railing, gliding through openings that seemed too small to accommodate a cat. Most of the servants ignored his antics, accustomed to them. Only the maid, Alneezah, stood by with a block of ice, prepared to nurse the bruises he occasionally stamped on his skull. So far, he had not let her tend him, believing he deserved whatever pain his mistakes earned him.
Imorelda sat on the bottom step, twitching her tail.*I miss him,* she whined for the twentieth time that day. It had become a mantra, her first thought in the morning and her last at night. She slipped it into every mental conversation.
Long past tired of the game, Tae responded without sympathy.*You're a cat, by all gods.You have the memory of a soupspoon.*
Imorelda turned a circle on the stairs, ending with her back toward Tae and her tail twining enormous S's of agitation.*I have a fine memory. Better than yours. And I miss him.*
Tae snorted, stopping his practice to stare at the tabby's back.*You don't even remember his name.* *Subikahn,* the cat snapped back immediately.*His name's Subikahn. And you made him go away.*
The echo of his son's name in his head irritated Tae more than he expected. He missed Subikahn far more than Imorelda could.*Leave me alone.*
The cat said nothing more, but her tail continued to lash.
They had argued this point too many times to do so again. As the days and weeks, then months, went by, Tae had tried to fool himself into thinking of this as just another normal separation. If he did not dwell on the memory, he could convince himself that Subikahn was in Erythane, basking in the love of his mother and the grueling lessons of his torke. But things always happened to remind him of the truth. When Imorelda was not moaning about Subikahn, his spies brought information about the escaped Renshai traitor. They had caught up to Talamir twice. Both times, the Renshai had defeated them, leaving a spray of corpses in his wake. Tae no longer wanted Talamir killed, but retrieved alive. The Renshai did not deserve a quick, painless death. He had caused too much suffering not to endure some himself.
Alneezah approached. "Sire, have you hurt your head?" She removed a chunk of melting ice from her bucket with tongs.
"Many times," Tae admitted. "But I'm fine, Alneezah. Thank you." As if to demonstrate, he dove through the railing again.
Alneezah watched, expressionless, the ice still clutched in her tongs.
Tae rolled to his feet. "Why do you do this, Alneezah?"
Alneezah tipped her head. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, it seems to me that you're the one doing something odd."
"Indeed." Tae could hardly deny it. "But I meant hover over me. Keep me safe. Nurse my wounds."
Alneezah shrugged, as if Tae had asked the most obvious question in the world. "If I didn't, who would, Sire? You have no mother, no sisters." She added, blushing as she did so, "No wife." She glanced at Imorelda. "And the love of your life has no hands."
Tae followed her gaze. "She's also mightily selfish." *Hey!*
"She's not selfish, Sire." Alneezah defended Imorelda against her liege. "She's a cat. She's only doing as cats do." *She's right, you know.*