Nineteen strange, tall ships were hard to conceal, especially near a port as busy as Tuslu, and that was why Keranta suspected that this plan to anchor them off to the northeast of Kalo Laku and land only a few smaller rowboats opposite the port was Lubik’s idea. Not Adanul’s, certainly. Had it been Adanul’s, undoubtedly the entire fleet would have announced itself to the whole of Jewaktana with the thunder of half a hundred fire lances. This close to the capital, a good sailor could bring such news of Adusinate ships to the usurper in a quarter of a moon.

It was both a blessing and a curse. The likelihood of discovery grew greater and greater as they passed through the outlying islands and into the imperial core, soon all the way to Nuritjuka, yet Keranta did not fear. Not for himself, at least. Rather, it was Bariti who occupied his thoughts and anxieties the most.

The dreams of holding her in his arms had only grown more vivid with each day he put between himself and the pitiful rock where Daruntala had left him to die those moons ago. And what had Bariti and her sisters been left to back in Lewangwati? Suspicion, intrigue, all that he had hated of the court, and more. Bariti was cunning and unbreakable; this he knew well. Still, Keranta put more of his trust in weapons, whereas words and tradition could be so easily broken.

War was simpler, he thought, looking out across the beach on Kalo Laku. Much simpler than politics. Salt-air filled his nostrils; he sucked it in, one deep drought after another, as if enough of it could drown his rage. Anchored out beyond the reefs lay one of the smaller Adusinate ships, called Nuvel by Lati, the Kalawi-born slave who by chance spoke the strangers’ harsh tongue. The translator, Lubik, and a handful of the other soldiers stood nearby, hands on their weapons and eyes snapping to everything from birds to the sound of wind in the twisted palms up above.

The strangers were right to be afraid, but not here. Not yet.

Kalo Laku was small, lumpy at the ends and narrow in the middle, shaped somewhat like a landed fish, and its value to the empire was more as a navigational marker than for any other quality or resource it may possess. For this reason, Keranta had urged his servant Ahala to hide here in the days before Daruntala’s men had forced him into exile. No matter where Keranta came to be, Laku was easy enough to find but not interesting enough to draw the usurper’s eye. So had been the hope, at least.

Only a few moons had passed since his arrival on distant Kalo Malut and escape with these strangers. Still, Keranta feared that his absence had left a void sufficient for Daruntala to clean out the friends and allies he had once had scattered throughout the southern end of the empire, including here on Laku. Including Ahala, if he had not hidden himself well. But just as that fear began to build and the sun arced higher and higher toward its zenith, Keranta heard a voice he had almost convinced himself not to hope for.

“You know, it’s hard not to miss all those ships of yours. Not from upriver, at least.” Keranta turned to see Ahala making his way across the sparse scrub grass at the edge of the sand, looking all too pleased given the circumstances. A broad smile split his whiskered face, revealing a missing front tooth where the others were stained red and dotted with gold pegs. Only their short time apart had caused some fat to collect around the man’s waist. His step was sprightly, as if he had begun the morning early with a bit too much palm wine. Perhaps he could not begrudge his servant a few comforts, but that was then; now their true work was at hand.

“And you know another man of my station would have your tongue for such familiar speech,” Keranta replied as he clasped his servant’s arm. Keranta could not say who this other man was and what he might value more than directness and an eye for strategy, so could only speak for himself. At this moment, though, certain appearances must be maintained. His gaze flitted from meeting Ahala’s to Lati, who stood amidst the Adusinate soldiers without the usual Kalawi finery he wore aboard ship. Here, he and Keranta could only look like ordinary sailors.

Ahala raised his eyebrows slightly to confirm he understood, then dropped to his knees.

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“His servant greets the holy presence, highness. I am his to command.”

“Come,” Keranta replied, looking to the soldiers but more so to Lati. “You are to deliver a message.” He thought he heard the translator whispering to Lubik, who stood with his hands crossed and his right hanging close to the sword hilt at his waist. Adanul was nowhere to be seen.

“And what of the king’s city?” Keranta asked, trusting his servant’s discretion. Ahala picked something out of his teeth and spat it on the ground.

“Last I saw,” he replied, “the usurper couldn’t give away the king’s treasury away fast enough. He knows he needs allies and soon.” The two of them spoke near the edge of the strangers’ hearing, just far enough that they need not raise their voices over the sound of the waves at their back but close enough for Lati to overhear.

“Does he suspect then that I will come for him?”

“I’m sure he suspects many things, including your wives. Buni has already fled upriver to her father.”

Interesting, Keranta thought. There was no way for him to know if this meant the dead king’s first wife was summoning her kin for a counterattack or if she only took this as a reason to disentangle herself from the webs of lowlander intrigue. Surely she would not have abandoned her three eldest daughters if there remained any path to saving them. Still, Daruntala’s armies had been enough to best even Keranta. If the uplanders had sufficient force to best them alone, then Keranta had never heard tell of it. But that would not stop him from promising that such a force would join them in retaking Nuritjuka, if saying so could make Adanul more confident than he already was about an attack on the city.

“Send word to them if you can,” he said. “And to all my allies.” Any I still have left, he thought ruefully. Power was fickle and clung to those whom it willed. While he could not blame many who saw Daruntala as the stronger of the two in Keranta’s absence, it would not stop him from killing any whose allegiance he could not sway back.

“Of course, highness.” Ahala’s voice dropped to a whisper then. “Only hurry; knowing Bariti’s temper, you may come back to find yourself a claimant again.” This drew a laugh from Keranta. No matter how much he worried after her, he had to remind himself that his wife was not born of weakness either. Raput cowed many islands to his power back when Keranta was still nursing and Buni herself was of the kin that brought forth warriors unnumbered whose axes and bows still caused the Kalawi coast to shake with fear at rumors of their approach. If there was any soul who Keranta could trust to keep the capital safe and herself with it while he yet strove to return, it was Bariti.

He turned to Lati and the Adusinate soldiers at his back.

“I would write,” Keranta said. Lati relayed his words on to Lubik, whose voice sounded gruffer than usual. Several of the strangers hunted in bags and removed nothing until Lati pointed instead at one of the soldiers and then a stand of bamboo nearby. Straightaway, the closest soldier to it had grabbed ahold of one arm-witch stalk and began hacking at it with a sword. When the wood gave way, he gave a tube of it and his sword to Lati, who split it lengthwise into a piece roughly the size of Keranta’s hand.

Keranta took it with a nod and held out his other hand to receive his servant’s knife. His inscriptions would only be crude but they would have to do for now. He set the tip of the blade into the green wood to begin on the first character.

At that, Lubik said something that sounded like a question and Lati took a place looking over Keranta’s shoulder.

Of course, he thought. Whatever he wrote would need to be understood by Bariti and none else in the unlikely event that Ahala did not survive to place it in her hands himself. Even the Adusinate would need to read it only as a letter of love without other meaning. He thought for a moment and then pushed the knife a fingernail’s depth into the wood until the white flesh underneath showed through.

My thoughts ever return to you. A night without you is a night without a moon. May all the gods see you safe until we meet again.

Lubik asked something and Lati responded with what must have been the contents, though if he understood their true meaning it was impossible to say yet. Ahala took the inscribed bamboo in hand and bowed deeply with raised hands.

“Highness,” he said. “Until we can spill blood together once again.”

“Go with haste,” Keranta replied, and his servant was off again toward the port. Other Adusinate would be there, trading for food, fresh water, and whatever trinkets a sailor from a faraway place could want here. Ahala would be but another local to them and when his sailboat slipped away ahead of Adanul’s fleet, the warning he brought to the capital would spell the strangers’ doom just as much as it would that of the usurper.

He turned back toward their waiting rowboats with the Adusinate soldiers wearing a smile he no longer cared to conceal.