Duke Nyra's condition continued to worsen, and the Duchess hovered over Delmara's actions every step of the way.
She fed him honey and water; she lurked overhead.
She tested his legs for sensation; her sharp blue eyes fixed her to the floor.
Little Jon came and went, oblivious to his father's worsening condition. Sometimes he showed off little melodies he'd made on his new xylophone. Sometimes he brought in a box of tin soldiers and played war with Duke Nyra. Mostly, he kept to himself, or his mother's skirts.
Duke Nyra could no longer feel anything below the knee, much less control it. He still couldn't keep down proper food, and his throat burned continually from the bile he expelled. Willow bark was of minimal aid. His eyes and cheeks were sinking in, and his hands shook.
The Emperor sat diligently by Nyra's side as he waited for a reply to his summons.
It would take a few days, they all knew it. What wasn't known was if Duke Nyra would last that long.
Two days after Delmara had arrived, Duke Nyra couldn't feel anything below the waist. He also struggled with coughing fits that ended with him puking up acid. His grip was weak and he spent more time asleep than awake.
The Emperor paced by his bedside at all hours while the Duchess knitted Jon some gloves.
Everyone seemed to be waiting for the inevitable.
***
Delmara was dabbing at the Duke's forehead with a cold wet cloth when his eyes fluttered open.
"Thank you, Your Highness," he rasped out. "Water, please?"
She helped him drink. Some water spilled out the side of his mouth. She cleaned it gently.
"Are we alone?" he asked.
"For the moment. I can summon someone, if you like?"
"No... no. This is fine. I've been meaning to talk to you."
"Oh?"
"You need to ascend the throne."
She blinked at him, frowning. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. Look out for your father, perhaps? Keep him steady? "I'm... sorry?"
"Your siblings, I regret to tell you, are bastards."
Delmara froze. She couldn't have heard that right. "Excuse me?"
"Your mother has been having an affair. For several years now. Almost since your birth, in fact."
"That's ridiculous. That's absurd. The fever must've gotten to you," she said quickly, reapplying the damp rag to his head.
"It's true," he insisted.
"Why tell me? Why not my father? And besides, have you any proof?"
"I don't want your father to kill the children. I still remember Hayranidil..."
Hayranidil was the wife of the last Crown Prince, Aiqing. When Delmara's grandfather seized the Peach in her father's name, Hayranidil and her children had been a few of the many casualties.
Duke Sinnal's men had killed her children and then raped her. The little princess Fengna had been dragged from her father's bed and split from shoulder to hip. She was just six years old. The baby prince, Jingnan had been dashed against the wall, his fragile skull smashed until there was nearly nothing left.
Delmara knew the story. She'd had nightmares of Ruyi, Aiqing's younger brother doing the same to her family if he should ever return to Jiǔguó.
"My father would ne--" She couldn't finish the word.
'Every night I kill him in my sleep,' her father had said it a thousand times. About Aiqing.
Delmara recalled the bruises on her mother. The slap-stung face she carried at times.
He would.
He would kill her mother and her siblings.
Her blood ran cold.
"Do... do you have proof?"
"My secretary. He knows."
"Where is he?"
"Visiting his family. We were going to decide what to do after he returned. You must take the throne. Benley is not eligible for the throne."
Benley was her younger brother. The Crown Prince. A boy of thirteen.
"Father isn't dying. There's still time. We'll talk more about this later. You need to rest."
"I don't have time, Princess." He sighed, coughing. "I love your father. But I know of his anger. It runs deep, like in all the Tarab line. He can't know, but you must make him choose you as his successor."
"Old man, this is absurd. I have no power."
"You do," he urged. "Your father listens to you. He respects you. When the time comes, you must make him choose you."
The door to the room opened, and his eyes shut.
"Did I hear speaking?" the Duchess asked.
Delmara froze, unsure at first what to say. The entire topic was treason. "He's worried that Benley isn't ready. He's also worried about little Jon," she lied, tongue dry.
The Duchess's eyes narrowed. "Why would he be worried about Jon?"
"He... he's just a boy," Delmara said, feeling incredulous. It should be obvious, she imagined, that a father should worry for his son. "The Duke knows he's dying. He won't live to watch him grow. He yearns for him."
"I'll fetch him, then," Duchess Nyra said, sweeping out of the room. She left the door open.
The Duke, smiling, took Delmara's hand.
***
He took his last breath some point before the dawn's first light.
Delmara was woken from her sleep by a handmaiden, Bella Anne, a blonde girl of only ten years.
"Mara," she hissed, shaking the princess. "Mara, wake up!"
Delmara stirred, rubbing her eyes and blinking into the darkness, Bella Anne's face a pale, blurry specter floating before her.
"What? What is it?"
"There's been a guard. Your father needs you. The Hand is dead. Jalynn is getting your clothes."
"What do you mea--?"
Realization dawned on her. Duke Nyra --his condition-- the secret. It all came flooding back to her.
"Get my shoes," she commanded, and Bella Anne dutifully scurried off.
***
Delmara headed to the Tower of the Hand, still in her nightinggown and morning robe.
Both her parents were already there, and the Duchess was sobbing in the Queen's arms, a handkerchief pressed to her face. Darius, her father, was beating his hands against the wall by the door, tears streaming down his face and causing his thick black beard to glisten in the dim light. Little Jon was nowhere to be seen.
Duke Nyra lay pale and still, not moving in the slightest. Even after watching his decline, it was still somewhat shocking to recognize his corpse.
She hesitated, then turned to her father. She hesitantly reached out a hand--
"Delmara!" her mother snapped.
She met her mother's eyes and watched as she shook her head slowly. There was a new bruise blooming across her face.
Her stomach hardened.
Her mother's meaning was clear: let him come out of it on his own.
"What can I do?" she asked, lowering her hand.
"Send a summons to his estate. Use my ring," the Queen, Kabrina, said, twisting the gold signet ring off her finger. "Also summon the High Septon. And Septa Isabell."
"Yes, Mother," she said, taking ahold of the ring. It was deceptively small and warm for something that transmitted so much power...
She scooted past her father and tore into the Duke's personal stationary supplies. She quickly scrawled out two letters, and then hurried from the room.
She was halfway down the Tower stairs before she realized she forgot to seal them and had to go back.
Once the parchments had their share of wax, she hastened down the steps once more, and ran out into the garden.
The sky was turning purple overhead, but the stars were still numerous. Were this any other time, she'd like to paint it out.
Her footsteps echoed across the courtyard as she ran for the Rookery. She threw open the door to the Collegaite Tower, startling the resident Master awake, and headed up another set of stairs. She threw open the Rookery door, sending all the pigeons into a flutter.
She quickly calmed down a few of the birds and sent her letters off.
Master Aaran met her at the door. The wizened old man blocked her in. "Now, see here, Miss, the Rookery is no place for the--"
"I'm here on my mother's orders. Step aside; you're impeding official business."
"Impeding-- I beg your pardon! You can't simply waltz in here and steal my birds willy nilly!"
"Step aside, Master. I need to get through," she ground out from behind clenched teeth. Her patience had woken on the thin side, and he was fraying that delicate ribbon quickly.
"Now, Missy, you will tell me what is so ur--"
"I am the princess, Delmara of House Tarab, and you will step aside. Immediately. My business is not with you."
When he still didn't move, she intentionally walked at him. He didn't feel the need to call her bluff, and leaned out of the way. She swept past and headed for the sept, taking the stairs two at a time.
The royal sept was a deceptively simple, somewhat small-looking building in the castle complex. Its domed roof and four cardinal bell towers were the only things marking it as a religious facility.
Delmara knocked on the heavy wooden door, then entered without waiting.
The Matron was overseeing the Silent Sisters as they did their morning ritual.
"Yes, child?" the matron asked.
"The Hand --Duke Nyra-- is dead," she replied, tongue tripping over the words. She'd sounded... lame to her own ears, but she couldn't think of a way to dress the news up into something more official sounding.
The matron clapped her hands twice, then took two steps to the side. One of the attendants took her place, and they bowed to each other.
The matron then approached Delmara and pulled her aside. "Has he been moved?" she asked in an almost whispered tone.
"No, Mother."
"Has he been disturbed?"
"I don't know, Mother."
The matron crossed herself in the Lim-ish fashion¹. "Has there been a physician to see him?"
"Not as of yet."
"Good. Good," she said, nodding solemnly. "When we are done here, we will be there. Child, no one is to touch him. Light some incense. Frankincense and myrrh. Black hollyhock and lily."
"Yes, Mother."
"Bless you, Child, that you should have to deliver this news."
"It is... my honour."
"Bless you. Go."
***
Delmara returned to the Tower of the Hand, clutching an armful of incense boxes. She eased past her father, who was now sobbing against the wall, and began positioning the sticks and their bases. The two women were nowhere to be found.
Within a short period of time, the air became heavy with the softer scents of funeral spices and flowers. Still, the dark undercurrent of sickness pervaded.
Hesitantly, she reached out for her father.
He flinched and lashed out at her, nearly shoving her.
"Papa," she whispered. "Papa, please..."
His bloody hands shook on his knees as he wept.
"Papa, my dear... Papa?"
She sat next to him and sighed. Slowly, she reached for one of his hands.
His whole body tensed, but he didn't pull away. Slowly, she drew his hand onto her lap and started gently massaging his fingers.
The stone floor was uncomfortable, but she made herself sit without fidgeting. She tried to focus fully on her father and his condition.
He was hiccuping and breathing in short, shallow gasps. His blue eyes were bloodshot and puffy.
When his right hand had lost its tension, she moved to his other side and worked on his left. When his hand relaxed, she moved to his shoulders.
"Papa?" she tried again.
His head lifted slightly.
"Papa, the Silent Sisters will be here soon. They're going to take care of him, okay?"
His head dropped.
"He... he..."
"I know," she whispered. "I know. And he loved you very much."
By the time the Silent Sisters arrived, His Excellency, the Emperor Darius of Tarab, was seated beside the body of his foster father, the Duke Nyra. His hands were wrapped in fresh bandages, though the knuckles were slowly turning red as he gripped his silk pajamas.
***
Jalynn and Bella Anne dressed an exhausted Delmara in a plain white chiffon dress. They forwent jewelry this once, though they used simple perfumes. Vanilla and lily.
They braided orange chrysanthemums into her dark hair, then donned robes of white silk themselves.
Dressed in the mourning attire, all three headed down to Court for the formal announcement of the Duke's death. They were, as according to custom, barefoot.
***
The throneroom was an impressive construction of red marble and white granite with the occasional touches of gold, silver, natural wood, and jade. The great cavernous hall had been shaped in such a way that anyone anywhere could hear his Excellency speak at regular tones.
Great pillars lined the hall's outer walk. These pillars were overgrown with ivy, but between the gaps in foliage, you could make out carved creatures and the occasional bejeweled eye.
At the end farthest from the entry doors, stood the Jade Throne beneath a giant glass window made to look like a lotus blossom in full bloom. Encircling the window was a carved Eastern dragon --or Loong-- with two great sapphires for eyes and long rubies for claws.
The throne itself was on a raised dais of red lacquer and gilt trim. A great slab of jade comprised the square base. A long, rectangular jade board composed the backing. Loong were carved across the front of the throne while large scales were carved into the back. Gold filigree flitted across the base and head. Garnets and onyx were encrusted at several vertices.
Next to the throne sat a tall-backed wooden chair. Ordinarily, that seat would hold Duke Nyra, the Hand of the King. This seat was empty, save for a single white candle.
Many people milled about the hall, conversing in low tones, but Delmara felt apart from it. She gazed into the pond at the base of the throne's dais and watched as the koi swam about, completely unbothered by mortal deaths.
One of these fish had always stood out to her: a slender white with pink splotches across its back. The fish was named Afu, and had lived for seventy-five years thus far.
Afu swam close to the surface and seemed to watch her.
Could it tell? Could Afu sense her disconnect?
She was sorry that the Duke had died. Truly. But she couldn't forget the citizens suffering from the pox just outside that window.
She listened as the nobility gossiped and stirred. She listened as they spoke their sorrows for Duke Nyra and his family. She listened as they speculated what was to become of young Jon Nyra. Of who would fill the empty chair beside the throne.
Could Afu tell that she cared not for the mutterings while the peasants lay sick and dying? That all this spectacle would be going on for one man while outside hundreds and thousands wept for their own losses?
Her stomach churned, and Afu broke the water's surface. She reached out a hand and slowly stroked Afu's slick back. The fish regarded her for a second, then disappeared into the water.
The gong resounded, and a hush fell across the Court. Delmara rose to her feet and moved to stand in her station with her girls. Everyone else shuffled into their neat little rows as well.
A bell chimed, and then Delmara's mother, Queen Kabrina, and the other royal children entered the hall. Everyone bowed as they passed by.
They were dressed all in white; except for Benley, who still wore his gold lion sash over his mourning clothes. Myrcella and the Queen also had chrysanthemums in their hair, and young Tommen was carrying a basket of them. Kabrina also had a small gold tiara tucked between the blossoms.
Delmara gave the children a small smile as they joined her in line.
The whole of the hall stood at attention, waiting for His Excellency. When the bell rang again, everyone knelt.
Her father shuffled down the aisle, escorting the Duchess Nyra and her terrified son. They, too, were all dressed in white and were barefoot.
Emperor Darius deposited the Duchess, with a kiss on the cheek, with the Queen, and though Tommen and Myrcella made room for him, the Duchess held onto little Jon tightly.
Delmara had never seen her father so pale before. You could've easily mistaken him for the corpse.
His footsteps across the small red arch of a bridge were slow and heavy. He climbed the dais in a laissez-faire fashion, then took his seat on the Great Jade Throne.
The Court sat on the granite floor; the royal family and the Duchess on velvet pillows of goose down.
His Excellency --Emperor Darius of Tarab, King of Jiǔguó, Imperator of Dumas, Heaven's Chosen, and Lord Protector of the Realm-- sat there for several minutes in silence. He gazed unseeingly at the Court. He gazed longingly at the empty chair. He looked over his children.
Delmara gave him an encouraging nod.
He looked away, then tensed.
"Early this morning," he said, voice trembling under itself, "I have lost a beloved friend and esteemed advisor. Many of you knew him. Knew he was great. And wise. And kind. And just. And... and... and everything to this nation. I declare seven days of mourning for Bernard Nyra, Duke of the Vale, and Hand of the King.
"I give all my aid and my love to his family. I wish that you would do the same.
I will see no visitors and accept no requests. You are dismissed."
The Court was silent as he stood, as if everyone was holding their breath, then he walked away, and all the whispering began again.
Delmara watched as many of the Court approached Duchess Nyra and Jon. She watched as the boy sat on his mother's skirt and traced patterns on the stone floor. She wanted to go to him. To offer him a distraction. But she knew that the Duchess wouldn't approve.
Instead, Delmara turned back to the koi fish as her attendants disappeared into the crowd.
Kuan, a great black koi with silver streaks, was lazily swimming in a circle. Kuan had lived three hundred and seventeen years and had birthed² many young.
"Hello," Delmara whispered. "How many kings have you seen? How many more hands? How many plagues? What do you think, Kuan? Do we deserve the gods' wrath?"
She watched as Kuan changed direction, swimming counterclockwise. Delmara didn't know if that was supposed to be a yes or a no.
She sighed to herself, then stood. She rolled her shoulders, then quietly left the hall, trusting Bella Anne and Jalynn to find her when they were done gossiping.
She went to go find her father.
***
¹The Lim-ish fashion of crossing one's self is to cross your index and middle finger of each hand, then to cross your arms over your breast, crossing the thumbs.
²Koi, in this world, give birth to live young. This is facilitated by the eggs hatching inside the mother and the young leaving when they are ready.