When word came the next day that the king was summoning her, Sabina steeled herself. There could be no evidence. She had only to insist that she knew nothing. She was the queen. He could neither torture her nor throw her into prison. Polytimos was His Majesty’s only flesh and blood, but he was also the child of her, the mother of all the people. Did His Majesty think his wife so foolish and undiscerning that she would try to hurt so precious a child out of mere jealousy? When she said this with tears in her eyes, adding that as a woman with a barren womb, she would rather go and hang herself than suffer such a misunderstanding, there would be nothing he could do. Of course, His Majesty would not care whether she went and hanged herself, but he could hardly tell her to her face to do so.
She had thought of nothing else on the way. Yet the first words out of Roandros’s mouth left her at a loss.
“Why do you think I summoned you?”
“I do not know.”
“Indeed? I thought that if you were honest, I might reconsider.”
“I conceal nothing from Your Majesty.”
“Good. Then bring Polytimos and Erektina here at once.”
Sabina bit her lip lightly and widened her eyes in surprise.
“Why do you give me such an order? I, too, am more concerned than anyone for the prince’s safety, but I do not understand why you ask me where he is. I love Polytimos as I love myself.”
“Yes. Since you love him so much, you need only bring him here. I want to see the prince without so much as a hair on him harmed. Erektina, too, of course.”
“Your Majesty, that is quite beyond me…”
Roandros suddenly seized his teacup and hurled it. Sabina almost fainted. The cup shattered, and hot tea splashed over her clothes. Roandros shouted.
“You dare deceive me! You put your brother up to spiriting them away, didn’t you? Confess at once where you’ve sent them!”
Sabina froze. For an instant, she instinctively shrank back, afraid that Roandros might strike her. He had been indifferent to her, but he had never treated her contrary to proper etiquette. Now he behaved no differently than he would toward a slave. For a moment, she wished he would go back to being indifferent as usual. The words almost escaped her.
Sabina was afraid of beatings. Her mother had been her father’s third wife. Because she enjoyed his favor, his first wife, Sabina’s senior mother, would pick quarrels over one thing or another and whip her. Even when Sabina was about to run to her mother, the crack of the whip sent her quickly back. She prayed desperately that none of the blows would fall on her as well. At the same time, thoughts tumbled through her mind. What if her mother died from those beatings? Would her father avenge her? Why could Sabina not rush forward and shield her mother? If her father loved her mother, why did he allow it to happen?
In the end, not once had she run to her mother as she was beaten. Fear of the whip had been too much for the little girl to bear. Her self-loathing had turned into a desire for revenge. Once, she had obtained a dagger and sharpened it every day, swearing that she would someday stab her senior mother to death. But she had never taken revenge.
Her father had died, yet the woman still stood as the family’s senior matriarch. Her eldest son, Herodion, had inherited the house. Sabina had become queen. No, precisely because she had become queen, revenge against her own family was beyond imagination. Sabina herself knew better than anyone how foolish it would be. Herodion ruled the family as their father had, and he was Sabina’s most important ally.
Her mother was no longer whipped, but whenever she changed clothes, the marks were still visible. Remembering those scars, Sabina’s brow trembled. She had hated Roandros’s indifference. He was so indifferent that she could neither quarrel with him nor grow angry with him. He had never given her more than formal words. Once, returning from a banquet, he had asked a court lady, “Are you the one I see?”
After years like that, Sabina had come to feel like a ghost. She had deliberately behaved viciously, hurt herself, beaten court ladies, and broken furniture, but not even those acts drew such words from Roandros. What she did, what she said, merely slid over his ears and never entered his heart.
She had wished he would hate her instead. She had wanted to do something that would shock him. She had wanted to be loved even before she wanted to be treated as queen. She had wanted to prove that she was no ghost drifting through the palace, but a living person who could wound him. And yet, the moment her old fear of beatings returned, she found herself thinking indifference had been better. What had all those years meant? Had her anger then been nothing but a tantrum?
Sabina sprang to her feet and picked up a broken fragment of the teacup. She tried to stab herself in the neck. As she had expected, Roandros caught her arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Leave me be. Can’t you leave me be, as you always have?”
“This won’t solve anything!”
Sabina tried several times to wrench free, then, unable to do so, glared at Roandros and wept. He took the fragment from her hand and threw it away. A servant came running at the noise. Roandros turned and thundered,
“Get out!”
Aghast at the scene in the inner chamber, the servant fled at once. When Roandros released her hand, Sabina collapsed into a chair and sobbed behind her hand. Because the king had been quiet until now, she had foolishly hoped that he might let the matter pass.
“Do you think you have even the freedom to die before you tell me where the prince is?”
He had not saved her because she mattered. At that moment, Sabina bit her lip and resolved that whatever happened, she would never forgive Erektina and Polytimos. Until now, she had wanted only to see them gone from her sight. That had changed. Even if they never returned to the palace, she would pursue them to the ends of the earth and kill them.
“Your Majesty, hear me. What I am about to tell you is the truth, without a single falsehood.”
She looked up at Roandros through tear-wet eyes. When he nodded, she rose and sat in the chair.
“I thought the only way to clear this terrible misunderstanding was to take my own life. Since Your Majesty has stopped me, I shall venture to speak, however wretched it may be. You say that I instigated the concealment of the prince and his mother, and you name my brother as the man who did it. But not one of my brothers has entered the palace this year, or even last year. I have not seen their faces more than twice. How could men who have not come to the palace conceal the prince and his mother?”
Contempt crossed Roandros’s face.
“I have no interest in how you and your brothers conspired or what scheme you devised. I had the whole royal city searched thoroughly, and then had those who left through the gates investigated as well. Every gate captain swore he had seen no such woman and child. But one of the soldiers guarding the Full Moon Gate reported that last night his captain let a man and a suspicious woman out without recording them. So I dragged the captain in and asked who they were and why he had let them out in secret. His loyalty to them proved very slight. He confessed before I had cut off so much as a finger.”
Until then, Sabina had not imagined any of this. She could only stare up at Roandros, her eyes wide. At his next words, even her throat seemed to freeze.
“He says the man was Laban, the queen’s youngest brother.”
Metion, or rather Laban, obtained a horse and rode it to his family’s residence, arriving around noon. It was the mansion of his elder brother Herodion, son of Ekenos, one of the five richest men in the royal city.
Ekenos, who had died four years earlier, had seven children: Herodion, Claudion, Belinos, Dunan, Sabina, Emerina, and Laban. Ekenos had three lawful wives. Laban was the only child of his second wife.
She had been frail, and for a long time had no children. Though second in rank, she had lived without raising her voice even once. The first wife, proud of having borne three sons, treated her like a maidservant. When she gave birth to Laban, she said she could now close her eyes without regret. Not long afterward, she did.
Ekenos took particular pity on his youngest, motherless son. Unlike the other children, whom he raised strictly, he let Laban live as he pleased. His brothers, nearly twenty years older, did not trouble themselves about him, thinking that he could hardly threaten their positions.
Once he grew up, people said Laban was unlike the family he came from. His brothers had the arrogance and coldness peculiar to the nobility. Laban, by contrast, readily mixed with those beneath him, did not shrink from physical work, and knew how to enjoy plain clothes and simple food.
Above all, he loved to travel. He would set off without even a destination and fail to return for a year at a time. When Ekenos fell ill and looked for the youngest son he especially loved, hundreds of messengers went racing even into neighboring countries. Fortunately, word reached Laban in time. He hurried home and was able to receive his father’s last blessing.
His other brothers were not pleased that he had been present at their father’s deathbed when he had done nothing for the family. Fortunately, Ekenos had not favored his youngest in the inheritance as well. He had been a wise man. Had he done otherwise, his brothers might have used any means to drive Laban out, or even kill him.
Laban intended to return secretly to the mansion, meet the secretary, entrust him with the management of the land left in his share, collect money for his travels, and leave at once. He almost succeeded. It was no great difficulty to move through the great estate, with its dozens of buildings, without being seen by his brothers and sisters.
But just as he entered the courtyard, he remembered Ema in the stables. She was a horse his father had cherished and left to him. With the family brand and her strikingly fine appearance, he could not take her while fleeing, but he wanted at least to say goodbye. He went into the stables, gave Ema a handful of sweet grass, and came back out. A man was just entering through the main gate.
He was someone Laban recognized from the palace. Laban tried to turn quickly away, but it was too late.
“Lord Laban! Come at once. Her Majesty summons you.”
Damn, he thought, but it was too late for regrets. Queen Sabina had never once summoned Laban to the palace.
Naturally. They were two people who should never meet again. Why else would the queen call him? There was only one reason.
Since becoming queen, Sabina had met Laban only once. It had been on the day she first returned to visit her family, a year after entering the palace. She had heard words she could not endure and flown into a rage. They had never met again. She had changed since then, and her brother would have changed as well.
After word came that he had arrived, she waited for him to enter the inner chamber. Somewhere inside her belly, a sharp ache stirred. She hardened her resolve. It was her brother’s fault. This was no time to sink into thoughts of the past.
Laban entered the queen’s quarters with his eyes lowered, unwilling to meet Sabina’s gaze. But when he realized that Roandros was seated beside her, he immediately prostrated himself, touching his head to the floor three times. Then he approached on his knees and put his forehead to the king’s hand. The king lightly pushed his head away. Laban withdrew, still kneeling.
“I humbly pray that Your Most August Majesty may enjoy boundless prosperity and victory. Upon the earth that depends upon Your Majesty, may the sweet river flow unceasingly from generation to generation, and may loyal descendants be born. May the flames of rebellion be extinguished, and may the glorious star of Iskand forever watch over Your Majesty.”
Neither the man offering those extravagant praises nor the man hearing them so much as moved an eyebrow. It was custom, but above all, both knew there was not a trace of sincerity in the words at this moment. Roandros spoke without delay.
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