“I should teach you. Widen your repertoire.”
“Maybe later,” said Rao. Lata was waiting, and although she did not look impatient, there was a slight arch to her eyebrows that suggested she wasn’t well pleased with the delay.
They rented palanquins to carry them from the pleasure house to the traditional Ahiranyi mansion where the lord they were meeting lived. Servants led them to a receiving room, where he was propped up by pillows on a low divan. There were vibrant red lilies carefully arranged in pots by the lattice windows. One pot sat by the side of the divan, a splash of color next to the old man’s pale robes and the white blanket spread across his legs.
Lata had arranged this introduction, making subtle inquiries via the sages in the city who had received support and patronage from Ahiranyi highborn. There were always people who valued the conversation of a sage and sought to learn something of the scholarship each sage carried with them. This man was Lord Govind, the last male scion of an ancient Ahiranyi highborn family, who had expressed interest in Lata’s teachings and wanted to meet her and her patron.
Today, Rao was that patron: Lord Rajan, Prem’s cousin and a Saketan highborn with scholarly leanings. He reminded himself of this as he and Lata offered Lord Govind their greetings and respects.
Lata gave an elegant bow before kneeling down by the divan alongside Rao. She had carried gifts with her: books, written in her own hand, bound in silk. Rao could not imagine how long it would have taken her to complete such large manuscripts, the hours by lantern light, but she handed the books over willingly. She described their content as she did so—the tales she had gathered, the philosophies she had recorded and dissected—much to Lord Govind’s obvious delight.
“These are a humble gift, my lord,” she said. “But a gift nonetheless, from my patron Lord Rajan, who heard of your interest in my scholarship with great joy and interest.”
“Ah, a gift from your patron! I see, I see. How generous of you, Lord Rajan,” Govind said genially, taking the silk-bound books from Lata with hands that trembled. He placed the books upon his lap, pressing a frail finger reverently against the surface of silk. As he did so, Rao had a sense of how Govind would read those books when he was alone: slowly, savoring each page, cupping the spine to protect the fragile pages.
“It is a priceless thing, knowledge,” Govind continued. “But the hours of work put into creating these are worth coin of significant measurable value, and that I appreciate even more. I thank you for your time, sage.” Lata bowed her head in response, accepting his praise.
“What prompted such generosity, Lord Rajan?”
“Many things, Lord Govind,” Rao said with a smile, allowing a little edge of a Saketan accent to inflect his words. Verisimilitude was important, after all. “But the joy of pleasing a fellow scholar cannot be underestimated.”
Govind gave the mildest snort. “Parijatdvipan lords rarely visit Ahiranya for intellectual discourse.”
“So I’ve been told,” Rao said. He wondered if Lord Govind knew that Prem and his entourage were living in a brothel. He decided not to ask.
“They come here to do things that would be considered improper, beyond Ahiranya’s borders,” Lord Govind continued. “For example, I did not think Saketans considered it proper to travel with young women they are not married to. Did you bring no female elder as chaperone, Lord Rajan? For shame.”
Ah. Rao had not even considered the impropriety, not as he should have. He had assumed there would be maidservants present in the room to attend on their master and his guests, but Lord Govind had waved any servants away upon Lata and Rao’s arrival. And he and Prem had traveled with Lata enough that the strangeness of being alone with her had long since eased.
Despite himself, Rao felt his face go hot. It was tempting to keep his smile fixed, to wear it as a mask, but instead he allowed his face to grow solemn, and gathered up the sort of words and phrases he’d need to shave away the barbed edges of this conversation.
But Lata spoke first.
“My own teacher educated Lord Rajan’s sister,” Lata said. “That makes us family of a kind, my lord, in scholarship.”
“Cousins in scholarship?” Govind asked, eyebrow raised.
“The bond of students who share a sage can be greater to us than a bond of blood,” she said. “Or so many sages believe. In my eyes, it is entirely honorable to be in his company.”
“And in the eyes of society?” Lord Govind murmured, something chiding in his quavering voice.
“Parijatdvipa is not an empire of unified values, my lord,” said Lata, smiling.
“Indeed. Indeed it is not.” There was a shrewd look in Govind’s eyes. “Well, it’s no business of my mine,” he added mildly, as if he had not justmadeit his business. “You want something from me, I think, Lord Rajan. Perhaps you intend subtlety. But I am an old man. I have no patience for such games any longer.”
Although Lord Govind was certainly old and frail, Rao did not think he lacked patience for politics. But Rao did not say so. He sat straight, clasping his hands before him with the neatness of the lord he was meant to be—a lord used to wielding pen and ink rather than sword, and leaned forward. Spoke.
“I seek a wise man’s counsel, Lord Govind. You are my elder, a man who knows the… often tumultuous politics of Ahiranya intimately. I wish to understand Ahiranya’s politics somewhat—better.” These words were a risk. But when Lord Govind did not freeze in fear, did not react as if Rao was going to drag him before the regent as a traitor—only narrowed his eyes slightly in interest—Rao pressed on.
“We understand there are Ahiranyi highborn who fund poets. Singers. Scribes and sages. And… other rebels.”
“Funding art should not be rebellion,” Govind said, with what struck Rao as false mildness. “It should merely be a sign of culture.”
“The rebels in Ahiranya do not simply write poems or sing songs,” Rao pointed out. “We hear things in Saketa, also. We are aware of violent resistance. Of merchants and highborn of importance to the empire, murdered.” He paused, thinking of the man he was meant to be, right now in this moment. “We are all three of us interested in scholarship, my lord, is it not so?”
Govind tipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Then let us speak as scholars,” Rao said. “Theoretically, of concepts that have no bearing on what we may or may not truly do.”
