Chapter 41
Sheiji, Inon and Jihaad walked together down the hall that led to Fa-Ying’s rooms. The doctor was waiting for them. “May we go in and see him?” Sheiji asked.
“Yes. He is doing much better and can stand to see his son. I told him you and Jihaad were coming,” the doctor said.
The doctor opened the door and Sheiji and Jihaad walked in. Inon entered shortly after, carrying a tray of refreshments. Fa-Ying was sitting up in bed on a pile of pillows. He was pale and weak, but his eyes were more focused and he smiled when he saw Sheiji.
“So you are king now, Sheiji?” he smiled. “I wish I could have been there.”
“He made a marvelous speech, Fa-Ying,” Inon told him. “And Jihaad placed the crown on his head himself. I suppose you know that Sheiji made Jihaad his advisor until you are well.”
“Ah, my son. Yes, the doctor told me,” Fa-Ying turned his attention to Jihaad who stood nervously at the back of the room. “Come forward, Jihaad.”
Jihaad stepped forward and took his father’s shaking hand in his. He had waited years for this day and now he could think of nothing to say.
For a long time, the two stared at each other. At last, Fa-Ying whispered, “You look just like your mother, Jihaad.”
“And you look just like she said you would, though older,” Jihaad replied. “I feel I know you, though I’ve never met you. Mother told me everything she knew about you.”
“But I know nothing of you,” Fa-Ying answered with tears in his eyes. “I fear I have only a short time to get to know you.” Jihaad, too, had that fear, but he ignored it. If it was true, there wasn’t time to dwell on death.
Seeing that Fa-Ying was well, Sheiji motioned to Inon that they should leave father and son alone to talk. They said goodbye to the doctor and returned to Sheiji’s room.
Sheiji walked down an unfamiliar hallway, deep in thought about the reply he had received to a letter, written several weeks before. He was now headed to visit Mirala, poor girl, who had been living alone with her maids in the large Court of Women for nearly a year. He wondered how she had faired under Sui-Tsai’s rule. He had heard from the servants that she was well, only lonely and homesick. Sheiji had not been to visit her since he returned, but he had not forgotten about her. The letter in his hand was proof to that.
Arriving at the door to the Court of Women, Sheiji knocked. He heard a scuffling and shuffling inside as Mirala’s maids hurried to open the door. “De l’a?” Sheiji heard a frightened voice ask through the door in Hevanan. The voice repeated itself in Tekelonnese, “Who is it?”
“Sheiji-Yueng,” Sheiji replied. “I wish to speak to Mirala.”
The door was hastily opened and Sheiji saw Bina Manda, Mirala’s cousin, rapidly fluttering her eyelashes and smiling at him. “How can I help you, Vua?” she asked in a dreamy voice.
Sheiji remembered Mirala telling him that Bina wanted to marry him. “I wish to speak to Mirala,” Sheiji repeated.
Bina turned away quickly, but not before Sheiji saw the look of hatred on her face. “Mirala!” she called harshly. “Come here!”
Mirala obediently appeared from another part of the room. She walked with soft steps and downcast eyes. Again, Sheiji thought she looked like a timid mouse, this time, in the presence of a cat. Mirala raised her eyes and noticed Sheiji and her eyes held a look that Sheiji could not define.
“Bina, I wish to speak with Mirala alone. You may leave us,” Sheiji told her. Scowling, Bina stomped away. “Mirala, won’t you sit,” Sheiji offered. They both sat and Sheiji fingered the letter in his hand, wondering how to begin. Mirala stared at the floor in silence.
“Mirala, before I left, you told me you did not want to marry me,” Sheiji began. “But that you wanted to marry Mansa Kada. Is that still true?”
“Sa, yes, Massu,” Mirala replied in a whisper. She raised her eyes and looked at Sheiji. They were so large and round, unlike the small, narrow eyes of the people of Imatsuro. Sheiji realized that she had changed. She had grown up. She no longer looked babyish, but very pretty.
“Do you miss your family, Mirala?” Sheiji asked gently.
“Sa, Massu,” Mirala said mournfully. Her eyes turned to liquid and her body began to sag. She tried to stop the tears, but one choked sob escaped and all the solitude and homesickness of the past year, so carefully bottled up inside, poured out in a flood of tears.
Sheiji laid his hand on eleven-year-old Mirala’s shoulder and let her cry while he figured out how to proceed. After a time, her sobs quieted and Sheiji said softly, “You don’t have to marry me. I wrote to your father and he says your mother is desolate without you. He agreed to break off the engagement if you wish and let you marry Mansa.”
Mirala stared at him in shock. “You would let me go home?” she asked. “But then, who would you marry?”
Sheiji looked into the distance, wondering the same thing. Who would he marry if Sahima didn’t return? “I have found my first betrothed,” he told Mirala. “Yes, I will let you go home and marry whomever you wish. And I will even invite you to my wedding when I marry Sahima.”
Mirala smiled shyly, “Dyamam mas,” she said. “Thank you very much. When do I go home?”
“I will write your father again first thing tomorrow morning,” Sheiji told her. “We will arrange everything. Very soon, you will be in your homeland once again.”
Mirala’s smile widened to a grin and she bowed to Sheiji, thanking him over and over.
“Now, don’t let Bina be too harsh with you,” Sheiji smiled. “I’ll be back to see you soon, but I am very busy.”
“Massu?”
“Yes, Mirala?”
“You have been looking for Korin, no?” Mirala asked.
“Yes, I have,” Sheiji answered. “Do you know where he is?”
Mirala nodded and pointed wordlessly to a serving maid who hovered at the edge of the room. Mirala smiled proudly and spoke one word, “Kaminari.”