Chapter 33
Kartak told her that as soon as he received word from the confidant he had placed with the eunuch, he would let her know immediately.
After parting from him and returning to her quarters, Argana finished repairing the bow she had been working on in her spare time and then summoned Tirsalan.
“Elder Sister!”
“You came quickly.”
Though wrapped in a pifungui and even with a hoshi (bolkki, a type of winter headgear), his pale little nose and cheeks were red with cold.
Argana instructed the maids to stir up the brazier and bring warm tea, then spread a fur cushion and seated Tirsalan upon it.
Perhaps because he felt pampered, Tirsalan sat shyly yet with a slightly proud air.
“Elder Sister, why did you call me?”
“What do you think the reason is?”
Tirsalan tilted his small head to the side.
“Uh… to check whether I’ve been studying hard?”
At her younger brother’s innocent reply, Argana burst out laughing. Yet at the same time, deep within her heart, fury toward Yoshmut boiled up.
That anyone could harbor the thought of harming such a young and ignorant child was itself unforgivable.
“Close your eyes.”
“My eyes?”
Tirsalan squeezed them shut, then pressed his hands over his eyelids as if that alone were not enough.
“Like this?”
“Yes.”
Argana quietly drew out the bow she had hidden behind her back and set it on the table. She placed beside it specially smoothed arrows with elegant fletching and a leather quiver embroidered in fine detail by the artisans.
“You can open them now.”
Tirsalan dropped his hands and opened his eyes. The moment he saw the table, he fell speechless. His eyes grew wider and wider until at last his mouth opened in a grin nearly reaching his ears.
“This… this is mine, Elder Sister?”
“Whose else would it be?”
Mouth agape, Tirsalan picked up the bow with trembling fingers. Its supple yet cunningly shaped curve, the taut string that seemed strong enough to cut anything, and the small plum blossom pattern carved into the nock were truly beautiful.
“I want to try shooting it! Can I shoot it right now, Elder Sister?”
“Of course, of course.”
In his excitement Tirsalan forgot even to wear his pifungui and dashed outside.
While the maids cried “Your Highness!” and scrambled after him, Barta chuckled softly as she brought Argana’s pifungui.
“Prince Tirsalan has already grown into such a fine boy—holding a bow of his own now. Time truly flies.”
“You… you’re still young yourself, yet you sound like an old woman.”
“But whenever Your Highness looks at Prince Tirsalan, your eyes are the same. Like one watching a son—or even a grandson—with fondness.”
“Me?”
“Indeed. Would I, Barta, dare lie before Your Highness?”
At her playful jest, Argana also laughed, yet the words “like a son or grandson” did not feel insignificant.
Was it because she herself had been pitying Tirsalan without realizing it, that Barta could sense such feelings?
This won’t do. First, it won’t help Tirsalan’s growth. He’s already too gentle because Empress Sorcate spoils him so much. The prince of Dar cannot be merely kind-hearted…
Thus Argana resolved that she herself must give Tirsalan stricter discipline.
But that small resolve did not last even a single moment.
For when she saw her youngest brother struggling with the heavy bow, her heart overflowed with the urge to encourage him.
“Elder Sister…”
After loosing barely two arrows, Tirsalan turned to her with a tearful face.
“The bowstring is too heavy—I can’t pull it back. Couldn’t I have a lighter one?”
“I would like to give you one, Tiltir, but for practice this weight is just right.”
“Aw… but then I won’t be able to shoot handsomely before Mother.”
“What use is it to shoot a light bow handsomely right now? A prince of Dar must be able to wield even the hardest weapon as if it were part of his own body.”
“Like you, Elder Sister? Do you think I’ll ever reach that day?”
Argana patted her insecure little brother’s shoulders firmly with both hands.
“Of course, Tirr. But to reach it, you must train diligently.”
“Yes, Elder Sister.”
Clutching the bow tightly, Tirsalan’s lips quivered. His cheeks flushed as he looked up at her.
“…If I train diligently, could I become as strong as Brother Yoshmut… or even stronger?”
Seeing her smile at his words, Tirsalan’s spirits sank at once. Surely she would say, How could you ever surpass him?
“Yoshmut? He is nothing to fret over.”
“…What?”
“If you can master that bow at will, someone like Yoshmut won’t even be worth worrying about.”
Argana’s confident tone struck with force.
Just as soldiers on the battlefield had once staked their lives after hearing her speeches, her words became a fiery spark in Tirsalan’s tender heart.
“Do you truly believe that?”
“More than believe. Tirsalan, you are the son of the Khan who rules a great empire. Words like ‘Can I?’ are unfit for a child of the Khan. If you remember Father, you must say you can do anything.”
“Father…”
“And your mother as well. Empress Sorcate lives relying only on you—how could you utter weak words before her?”
Tirsalan bit his lip. Determination lit his youthful face.
“I’ll train hard, Elder Sister. And with this bow, I’ll catch a great leopard to present to you!”
“Good. I shall look forward to it.”
Argana spent a while watching and encouraging Tirsalan as he eagerly began his practice.
She thought to let him grasp only the proper form and then stop before he injured his hands on the first day—lest Empress Sorcate be distressed—when Barta suddenly hurried over.
“Your Highness, someone has come from Lord Kartak’s residence.”
Argana’s golden eyes flashed sharply.
“What message?”
“They asked that you come immediately. What shall be done?”
“Of course I must go. It’s important.”
Another arrow of Tirsalan’s wobbled toward the target and fell short.
Argana looked at him with half pity, half fondness, and said,
“Let him practice just half an ik more, then bring him in. Have the maids rub mihwayu and sanok ointment on his hands.”
Barta teased,
“Mihwayu, perhaps, but sanok ointment is very rare, Your Highness.”
“Precisely why I said to use it. If the child comes back with even a scratch on his hands, Empress Sorcate will surely blame me.”
Barta laughed softly.
“They say Empress Sorcate dotes too much on the Prince, yet it seems Your Highness is no less indulgent with him.”
Though she claimed it was for Sorcate’s sake, Barta well knew Argana’s heart was genuinely moved to give her brother the precious balm.
“Tch.”
When Argana, her thoughts exposed, made a playful gesture as though to smack her, Barta rubbed her hands together in mock alarm.
“I’ll never do it again, Your Highness! If you struck me, I would drop dead on the spot!”
“You’re being extra dramatic today. Anyway, after tending his hands, give him a snack as well. But mind his weak stomach—don’t let him eat too many rich foods.”
“Yes, Your Highness. But will you be fine without my escort?”
“It’s fine. I’m only going to Kartak; there’s no need for more. Just take good care of Tirsalan.”
“Yes. Please return safely.”
Argana cast one more glance at her younger brother’s back, then turned straight away.
The eyes that had been so gentle when watching him now gleamed like those of a lion staring at a buffalo.
This time, Yoshmut, I will drive you from the palace without fail.
