Chapter 11
Sheiji looked quickly around and then said softly, “Mirala, shya,”
She turned swiftly, startled at a new voice. She stared wide-eyed at Sheiji, “Co ma slama?”
“Sa, I speak Hevanan,” replied Sheiji in her language. “May I sit here?”
“Sa! Yes,” she replied shyly.
“Do you like the food, Mirala Tluse?” Sheiji asked.
“Sa, I mean, nu. Not very much Massu,” replied Mirala, calling him by the Hevanan word for king. “It is very spicy and hurts my tongue.”
Sheiji smiled kindly, “You will get used to it, Mirala. But for now, I shall order you something that is…how do you say it…plainer.”
“Dyamam mas, Massu,” Mirala replied.
“You can call me Sheiji, Mirala,” he told her.
Mirala smiled shyly, “Sheiyi…I would rather call you Massu; I cannot say your name. In Hevanan we have no sound such as in your name.”
“You mean the j sound?”
“Sa.”
“Sa, then you may call me Massu,” replied Sheiji.
Mirala smiled. Her translator frowned in the corner.
“Who is your translator, Princess Mirala?” Sheiji asked.
“Her name is Bina Manda. She is my cousin and she is jealous,” replied Mirala.
“Why?” asked Sheiji.
“Because…she wants to marry you,” Mirala replied. “And she would be better for you. I wish the Prince Regent had picked her instead of me.”
“Don’t you want to marry me?” asked Sheiji. “I am a king after all.”
“Nu! I do not want to marry you! I want to marry Mansa Kada!” Mirala cried. Suddenly, she realized what she had said. She looked at Sheiji as if he might cut off her head right there and then. “I did not mean that, Massu!”
“Don’t fear me, Mirala. No one would blame you for not wanting to marry me. I am a foreigner to you. You would have to leave your family, your country, everything that is familiar to you. And I am not even king, but only a child under the thumb of a regent. You would be crazy if you actually wanted to marry me,” Sheiji said.
Mirala sighed softly.
“Who is this Mansa Kada that you love so much?” Sheiji asked gently.
“Surely you have better things to do than listen to me talk,” said Mirala. “I mean, wouldn’t you rather be feasting with your brother and all of them?”
“Trust me, Mirala. I would rather do anything than have to feast with Sui-Tsai. Talking to you gives me an excuse for getting away.”
Mirala looked sadly at the food untouched on her plate. “Mansa and I grew up together,” she began. “When we were babies we played together in the garden while our nurses, who were best friends, talked and watched us out of the corner of their eyes.”
Mirala looked up at Sheiji. He nodded for her to continue.
“Then we got older and he left his nurse. He moved under the watchful gaze of his fighting master. You know all boys begin their warrior training at age five.”
“So young?” asked Sheiji.
“Yes. But he was lucky even to have a nurse at all. Most boys are brought up to be tough. Some believe that if boys have nurses, the nurses will spoil them, but not his father. We are a warrior nation. We are proud of our warriors. Baby boys are practically born with a spear in their hand and a sling at their waist. So he began his training when he was five and I started mine two years later when I was five, though I was trained in home-making.”
“How old are you?” asked Sheiji.
“Ten,” she replied. “Mansa is twelve.”
“Are all girls in your country betrothed at such a young age, or only those at court?”
“Oh, most girls are betrothed at my age, sa. Why, my friend from outside the palace is betrothed now, and she is only nine.”
“When are girls married?” asked Sheiji.
“Whenever they are ready,” replied Mirala. “Usually before they are twelve.”
Sheiji stared at her in horror.
“Is it not so in Imatsuro?” asked Mirala timidly.
“No, in Imatsuro, normal girls are not married before their fifteenth birthday. Though in the royal family it is often different,” Sheiji added. “But go on with your story.”
“There’s not much more to tell. I don’t often see him anymore, but when I do, I always get butterflies in my stomach,” replied Mirala. “But I shall never be able to marry him.”
“What if I refused to marry you?” asked Sheiji. “I could send you back and then you could marry Mansa.”
“Nu,” Mirala said without hope. “My father would never allow it. Mansa is not rich like us and there is no political benefit in a marriage with him. I am princess and he is not of royal blood. He is the orphaned nephew of the lowest lord in my father’s court. I may only marry those of untainted royal blood. His mother was a commoner and his father was the brother of the lowest ranked lord.”
Mirala looked at Sheiji. Her eyes were sadness epitomized and in the corner of each eye sat a puddle of tears about to overflow.
Then she angrily wiped the tears from her eyes and scowled at Sheiji with a mix of anger and sadness. “Oh!” she cried. “Why did I tell you this anyway? I have told no one of my feelings for Mansa before now.”
Mirala turned away with a huff and Sheiji saw her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“I’m sorry, Mirala. I did not mean to make you say what you did not wish to,” apologized Sheiji. “I suppose I was prying into things I had no business knowing.”
He attempted one more apology before she brushed him away with her hand, “Please, go.”
He turned away and let her servants attend to her. He must not think about her, he had plenty to think about without worrying about a little Hevanan princess and her troubles.
Sheiji looked around for Fa-Ying. He sat by the two burly men dressed in black tunics with red leggings and red turbans that Sheiji had seen him with earlier in the evening. A black sash was tied around the waist of the elder of the two and a white sash was wound around the other’s waist. They were the Obokan, an elite band of warriors who would bind themselves to a master and fight for his cause.
Sheiji sauntered toward Fa-Ying and sat beside him on the long carpet strip. Fa-Ying acknowledged him out of the corner of his eye, without interrupting his conversation with the two men. “Are you willing to risk everything?” Fa-Ying was saying in a low voice.
The men had apparently not seen Sheiji, but were thoroughly involved with their conversation with Fa-Ying. “I am willing,” replied the older man, he had a serious face and a large nose that appeared flat on his face. One long knot of gray-black hair fell down the side of his face, though the rest was tucked into his turban.
“I too could be willing…for a price,” replied the younger one. The elder shot him a reproachful look.
“Of course,” replied Fa-Ying. “All shall be rewarded when Ours is on the throne.”
“I do nothing on credit,” replied the younger man. Sheiji did not like him. He had narrowed eyes and a haughty look. He had a way that seemed to say “I am better than everyone.” and he looked down his nose at Fa-Ying.
“Perhaps we can arrange something,” replied Fa-Ying, who was beginning to feel glad he had not told these men all his plans.
“Yes,” replied the younger man.
“Now, I must see to some business elsewhere,” said Fa-Ying excusing himself. He got up and walked to a side door. Without looking behind him, he slipped through it.
Sheiji waited several minutes and engaged himself in a conversation with the man next to him. Then he too excused himself and followed after Fa-Ying.