Chapter 16
You could almost call it a farce. A moment of silence stretched between mother and son, both lost in completely different thoughts.
Seeing his mother smiling, Yoshmut forced himself to calm down.
She didn’t notice. She didn’t catch on. Hah, as if she would. Those trinkets had been rotting in the corner for years, forgotten. There’s no way she could know I sold them.
Puffing up his chest in feigned arrogance to cover the fact that his courage had just shrunk to the size of a pea, Yoshmut spoke.
“It’s surprising that Father is calling for me. Enough for you to send someone to fetch me, Mother. Why does he want to see me?”
At that, Turegen clicked her tongue—“tsk, tsk”—not in true reproach, but more like the indulgent scolding one gives a fussy toddler.
“It would have been better had he called for you alone, but that’s not the case. The Khan has ordered that you attend dinner tomorrow evening, together with the other princes.”
A vein bulged on Yoshmut’s forehead before sinking again. His mother, Lady Turegen, either failed to notice or simply continued sipping her tea in leisure. Even if she had noticed, Yoshmut would have felt nothing but rage.
Damn it! For this? For something so trivial?
He wanted nothing more than to storm out and return to the gambling den. He had already squandered more than half the money he made by secretly selling jewelry pilfered from the inner palace storerooms, and not only had he failed to win it back, he hadn’t even recovered a third.
He had been seething with frustration when his mother’s attendants had insisted he come immediately. Even Anduhu had come to fetch him, saying it must be urgent. Reluctantly, Yoshmut had left, consoling himself with the thought that a short break might change the flow of his luck.
But now, learning the reason, it felt as though his mother had personally cut the rope to the fortune dangling before his eyes.
At that moment, all he wanted was to grab Lady Turegen and shake her until the breath left her body, family ties be damned.
“Prince, did you hear your mother’s words?”
Yoshmut, his head lowered and body trembling with rage, twisted his face into something like a smile as he looked at her.
“…Yes?”
Turegen sighed and slammed her hand against the table, as if to snap him back to his senses.
“The Khan dining with his sons is a rare occasion. If he asks you a question, you must think carefully and answer wisely. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother. I understand.”
“Truly, my son is all I live for. Only if you rise to greatness can this mother finally be at ease.”
“I said I understand, Mother. Stop worrying already. I’m busy—I should be going.”
“Going? Absolutely not. If you go out carousing tonight and feel unwell tomorrow, what then? Will you face the Khan looking haggard?”
“Mother! I said I’ll handle it!”
Yoshmut snapped, practically throwing the words at her, and stormed out.
Turegen half-rose, as though she might chase him, but her maid Homuza hurriedly restrained her.
“Unhand me!”
“Please, Your Grace, calm yourself. His Highness is clearly upset. Let him take some air to cool down.”
Take some air? Turegen’s eyes flashed as she glared at Homuza. It wasn’t the look of a mistress at a servant—it was the venomous glare of an enemy.
“‘Take some air,’ you say? More like the wind from the skirts of cheap women lifting them up for him!”
“Your Grace, how can you say such a thing? His Highness is your own son. Surely he wouldn’t stoop to such vulgar creatures.”
Was this woman serious?
Turegen was struck speechless, though Homuza’s composure was so steady it sowed confusion instead of reassurance.
Could Turegen really be unaware of her son’s habits? That when not drinking or chasing whores, Yoshmut idled away days with good-for-nothings?
Of course she knew—at least in part. But she had convinced herself it was not truly his will. She clung to the belief that ignorant parasites had ensnared her pure son. She had tried so hard to believe that.
And now Homuza, who had faithfully served Turegen since before she married into the royal family, spoke so confidently in Yoshmut’s defense that Turegen almost let herself believe it. Surely her son couldn’t be so debased. Surely not.
Finally mastering herself, Turegen pressed a hand to her flushed cheek. The coolness of her jeweled rings soothed her somewhat, and she slowly nodded.
“Yes. You’re right. My son would never. Of course not.”
“Indeed, Your Grace. Please, let go of these worries now and retire to your chambers.”
Turegen exhaled through her nose, then rose, trailing her ladies-in-waiting as she withdrew. She smiled faintly to herself, picturing her son being praised by the Khan at dinner tomorrow.
The next morning, Argana went early to pay her respects and check on Khan Astrahan’s condition.
If his health fails and tonight’s dinner is canceled, I’ll need to invent another excuse—and that will take time.
Fortunately, the Khan looked well. Better than usual, in fact—lively, with color in his face.
He even asked what she wished to eat, saying he would summon whichever cook could prepare it best.
“Father, I’m happy simply to dine with you and my brothers. Please don’t trouble yourself for my sake.”
“My daughter, how truly admirable you are.”
Pleased, Astrahan Khan went to attend morning court in higher spirits than he had shown in a long time.
Afterward, Argana made her way directly to the Celestial Palace, residence of the Fourth Consort, Sorkate—the mother of Tirsalan.
Sorkate, compared to the other consorts, was younger, frailer, so delicate she seemed as if even a breeze might blow her away.
Catching her unprepared, Argana’s sudden arrival sent her into a flurry.
“I—I’m so sorry! If I had known Your Highness was coming, I would have prepared something—”
“Please don’t trouble yourself, Mother. I was merely taking a morning walk and thought to pay you a brief visit.”
“O-oh… is that so?”
Sorkate let out a nervous breath, her cheeks flushed red as though with fever. She was timid, shy to a fault, and her delicate complexion betrayed her emotions too easily.
“And where is Tirsalan?”
“Ah, well… he’s still asleep.”
“Even with the sun so high?”
“He is still just a child, after all…”
She trailed off, hunching her shoulders as if she might crawl into a mouse hole to hide.
Argana liked Sorkate for her gentle and kind nature, but at times like this she couldn’t help but feel stifled.
With Tirsalan still so young, how can he flourish if his mother is this meek?
Such softness only invited the likes of Turegen and Yoshmut to trample over them, Argana thought grimly.
“H-how… how have you been, Your Highness?” Sorkate asked hesitantly.
Suppressing the urge to lecture her, Argana smiled warmly, as though nothing were amiss.
“I live much the same each day. Ah, but yesterday I happened to visit the Imperial Academy for some business, and the tutors were full of praise for Tirsalan’s studies.”
“Truly? Did they really say that?”
“Indeed. Surely you don’t doubt my words, Mother?”
Argana’s playful tone made Sorkate wave her hands in embarrassment, bracelets jangling delicately against her pale wrist.
“Tir often boasts to me himself, but I fear he’ll grow arrogant if I praise him too much, so I’ve withheld it.”
“I understand your concern, but please, give him more encouragement. They say he’s been working hard every day.”
“Well… yes, a few days ago he came running to tell me he had memorized half of the Dumajisa. I only warned him not to get carried away and to keep working hard. But hearing you say so, I wish I had praised him more.”
Sorkate’s white cheeks flushed a gentle rose.
