The Courtesy of Kings | ☑ Queenkiller, Kingmaker #2

37.2

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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.