The Exchange Ch. 09

What was Lataa's sentence?

The Empress Dowager was the one to come up with it, and the one to enforce it.

One, Lataa would spend twice the amount of time imprisoned that Inka had, and in the same cell too, and also with the same physical treatment applied every day.

Two, once Lataa was released from the cell, she'd be sent to her apartment and not allowed to leave except for emergencies. How long? Undetermined. Basically, until the Empress Dowager decided it was over, or until the Dowager died and her son decided it was over. During Lataa's confinement, there were certain restrictions.

The first restriction, Lataa's amount of servants would be decreased by three quarters, and her attendant Rahki would be transferred to the Empress Consort's apartment to work as a more ordinary maid. It was assumed that Rahki would be safer there. Anyway, Lahki would have to promote one of her remaining maids as her attendant if she still wanted one.

The second restriction, Lataa's monthly allowance would also be decreased by three quarters. It wouldn't matter how much she begged. She wouldn't be given any more money.

The third restriction, Lataa wouldn't be invited to any major events, not even religious ones.

That little princess was carried off by four guards. Why so many? She'd pitched the nastiest fit. She even tried to attack Rahki, but her own brother shoved her away. She was still kicking, hissing, and shrieking as she was taken away.

Still inside the tent, kneeling before the Empress Dowager, everyone else waited. With a disappointed sigh and perhaps a loosening face, the Dowager turned back to the cloaked Inka. "Little Granddaughter-in-Law, you've been severely wronged. You require compensation. What request do you have? If it's reasonable, I shall fulfill it."

The cloak's long sleeves hung over Inka's hands as they rose against the hidden head, as if she wanted to touch her lips.

Jorun spoke for her again. "My mistress is physically and mentally weak. She wants to recover unhindered, with no visitors unless necessary, but of course she needs regular visits from a doctor."

"Is that all?" the Dowager asked with a gruff yet surprised tone. "Doesn't she want something valuable? A box of gemstones or fabrics? An increase in her allowance?"

"No, Great Dowager." Jorun shook her head and firmly tapped her lap with her hands. "Aside from being left alone, she wants nothing."

All at once, Nitishila's belly felt empty but full. His nasal passages were swollen and his head was throbbing. His fingers trembled vibrated as intensely as drum-skin during a song. His watery eyes tried to focus on his cloaked wife. She was drooping, looking as if she could plunge through the ground and disappear at any minute.

His grandmother's whole body moved with her heavy breath. It wouldn't have been too surprising if her bones had creaked. "This is my decree," she made a low, sweeping gesture here, "unless you, Princess Consort Inka, instruct otherwise, you are not to be disturbed by anyone. You shall have no unnecessary visitors. Now, four of you men, escort Princess Consort Inka and her attendant to her palanquin. Everyone else is dismissed."

But something happened.

As the guards approached Princess Inka, she slid her sleeves down and pulled her hood back.

And her face turned in Nitishila's direction. She'd wanted him to see her, even though she'd wanted to hide before.

Her hair was gone.

Shaved away.

Most of her skin was either blue, purple, yellow, or dark pink. There were also several lines to show where somebody had apparently sliced in.

There was a black eye. Her nose was broken. Her lips were swollen. The fingers on both hands were at horribly disturbing angles.

The Empress Consort screamed. Her husband had to put a hand on her mouth to hush her. The Empress Dowager shook her head and muttered something about how, "She's quiet but still theatrical." Then she left the tent without any more words.

Nitishila moved to step forward. Words tried to come out, but his mother took his arm and shook her head. When Nitishila looked back, Inka was hiding in her cloak again, and she was being escorted away. Jorun was following with outstretched hands, ready in case of a fall.

Inka had known ...

She'd known that she might have to endure such horrible pain, but she'd tried to avoid it. She'd tried to appeal to him. She'd tried to rely on his trust.

But Nitishila hadn't trusted her at that time.

He ran outside the tent and leaned against a tall statue of a rearing horse. As the smooth marble cooled his hot flesh, even through his shirt, he wished rain would come and lightning would strike him down.

His wife, his innocent wife, suffered. The lack of hair on her head wasn't even a problem when compared to the injuries he saw. What else had happened to her body?!

Is that truly how a member of the royal class was treated when suspected of a crime? What happened to the common civilians?!

Nitishila's eyes hardened as he sniffed his sadness into a pocket of his mind. This new distraction did what it needed to do. It kept him from blubbering like a weak little thing. He needed to go to his father.

He waited an hour or so to give the Emperor some room to breathe. Then he requested his time. When he was admitted inside, and when the Emperor was looking down at him with his stern expression, Nitishila asked to have the interrogation methods used in the cells evaluated. Changes would have to be made.

But unfortunately, that distraction didn't last long.

Nitishila was soon back in his apartment, sinking into a low couch and pressing his henna covered hands to his frustrated eyes.

Inka didn't want anyone to visit her.

Which meant she didn't want him to visit her.

She might curse his name in her sleep!

Nitishila's chest panged as he remember how glorious Inka had looked just before he had men take her away. Her face was so rosy and sweet. Her eyes were like rare jewels. Her hair was glorious.

And now ...

Now ...

***

Jorun went into the room where the loom was kept, and she found her mistress alone on a stool, hopelessly gazing at the practically neglected thing. There weren't any threads attached to it. The last tapestry she'd been working on had been cut away and rolled into a drawer somewhere, incomplete and unlikely to be taken out for a long time.

Inka's fingers were in tight splints and bandages. She couldn't lift anything, couldn't even grip anything. She wasn't wearing a cloak. She was in a simple but elegant winter outfit. A white headscarf, which was more popular among desert women, was wrapped and pinned over her head and neck. The fabric's pale color, or lack of color, depending on one's viewpoint, only heightened the angry colors of her bloated features.

"Oh Mistress, please don't idle in misery." Jorun gently took one of her covered hands and only lightly allowed her fingertips to tap it. "This is a victory for you. You've put yourself in a loving corner of everyone's heart. You've been proven to be the innocent one, and now you're terribly pitied. There's significant power in being a victim."

Inka's better eye closed as she exhaled and looked down at her bandaged feet. The native women preferred to wear thin stockings or socks during this time, but Inka was normally physically comfortable enough to ignore the custom. That didn't matter, though. She could walk, but her feet were still in such a terrible state that they'd needed medical attention. No bare feet allowed.

"It's true," Inka said. "Being a victim is oddly desirable. In some circumstances, it's the best route to wealth or status."

"Everyone in your new family has already starting ordering gifts for you," Jorun said, "or that's what I've heard."

"Pity gifts." Inka opened her eye and looked back at her loom. "They aren't required to give them, but they will." Cautiously, mindful of her limits, Inka got to her feet. Jorun let her hand hover close to Inka's waist.

"I wonder what His Highness will send to you," Jorun said as they walked.

Inka didn't offer a thought on that.

Because anything Nitishila would offer her wouldn't be good enough.

***

Half a month passed on. Princess Lataa had served her time in a cell, and she'd been taken back to her apartment. Inka happened to see her being carried there. No palanquin at all. A group of men literally held her cloaked body up.

The weather was still cool, but winter would be over soon. The people could hear spring's echoes from not very far away.

Nightmares were common. They often had Inka waking up with cold sweat all over her skin and a panicked feeling in her mind; then she'd weep for a few minutes. All she could think of to do was pretend those nightmares never happened. That didn't soothe her well.

Inka could see and feel a short layer of blonde fuzz on her head. Vaguely, she wondered if her mental health was making her hair grow slowly. Her thinner surface wounds had mostly healed, and she needed less bandages, but she still had her splints.

Her nose had been forcibly straightened by a physician, but it still looked dark and unpleasant. Overall, Inka's face and body was much less swollen than before (and there had been plenty of wounds on her body that she didn't show anyone in that tent). However, she was still discolored, even around her eye and lips.

The sight of her aroused pity. Her servants fussed over her like she was a baby. Inka didn't mind too much, but she hated feeling helpless. She couldn't eat without assistance. Inka wasn't accustomed to this, and she didn't want to be.

Gifts from the family arrived. The Empress Dowager sent her packets of tea that had been approved of by several doctors. The Empress Consort sent her a few jars of the rarest creams that were said to minimize scars. The Emperor sent her a recipe and ingredients for a potion meant to keep the liver clean, which would also apparently keep the skin beautiful.

Prince Nitishila sent her a package of pearl powder as an extra ingredient for more skin care products and a crate of mushrooms that were supposed to be very healthy. Inka chose to divide the pearl powder and mushrooms among her highest ranking servants instead of using them herself. She even made a point of dictating a letter that said she did so, and she had it sent straight to her husband's apartment.

It was the first time since her exoneration that she'd sent Nitishila a letter. He'd sent her several, however, along with sweets, which Inka hadn't eaten. She'd done the same to the sweets that she'd done with the pearl powder and mushrooms. In fact, when she dictated the letter concerning the pearl powder and mushrooms, she also included how she'd never eaten the sweets. Jorun had to remind the higher servants that they shouldn't become accustomed to this charity. Either Nitishila would quit sending presents or Inka would forgive him. Either way, this was temporary.

The rest of the month passed too. Spring began. Bees were a more common sight. The air was thicker. Inka's hair was only slightly longer, but still frighteningly short. Inka's fingers were unfortunately still broken. Nitishila stubbornly sent her more treats and the most apologetic letters. Again, Inka gave the treats to her highest servants and ignored the letters. She was fairly certain that Jorun had them burned, but she didn't ask.

It didn't matter that she was supposed to be on good terms with her husband. It didn't matter that they eventually had to join to conceive a child. Inka didn't want anything to do with him. On most days she'd refused to ever say his name.

Inka knew her place in this palace. She hadn't merely showed up and gotten married. She'd carved a hole for herself with her bare hands and cuddled inside. Inka had hoped Nitishila would've believed in her and be willing to carve a little for her. But he didn't.

That sort of husband wasn't worthy of her affection.

***

"You can't exactly share this present with us, Your Highness," Jorun whispered after leaning in and smiling.

On this morning, Inka was standing outside. A maid held a parasol over her head. Some men were on a shaded patio, assembling a metal frame and an adult-sized swing. It had been sent by Nitishila.

According to the latest letter, he thought that when Inka's fingers were fully healed and she had regained her strength she should have a pleasant time swinging. A doctor had told Inka after the splints would be removed, which shouldn't happen yet, she'd have to practice using her fingers. She wasn't ready for a swing yet, not that she wanted to use it.

"If a maid is found using this swing," continued Jorun, "it could reflect badly on you."

The urge to groan was strong in Inka. She ignored it, though. "You shouldn't have told them to build the swing."

"Are you going to tell them to stop now that they're almost done?"

Inka turned her covered head away. "It might be better to have it built, but nobody's allowed to use it."

If Nitishila happened to peek in this direction ... and he noticed that nobody ever used the swing ... well, that might be satisfying.

Back inside the apartment, Inka watched Jorun play a card game with Dey. Technically, this was keeping their mistress entertained, similar to playing an instrument or dancing for her. If that meant that the women would have fun as they served Inka, well that would just be one of the perks that came with working for her.

Eventually, Jorun happened to say, "I heard something from the pond."

Dey's eyes slid upwards as she laid a card on the table. "I might've heard it too."

Inka knew it had to be at least somewhat interesting. "It would be rude of you to not share this information with your mistress."

Sliding a card to one side, Jorun said, "Apparently, the interrogation methods used on prisoners has been combed through. From now on, they're meant to use less damaging methods."

"Mistress," Dey said as she took a card from the deck, "if anyone's ever falsely accused again, then they won't suffer as terribly as you have."

"His Highness was the one to go to the Emperor and request the examination." Jorun also took a card from the deck. "He might've been horrified at our mistress' injuries."

Inka looked up at the colorful, painted ceiling and pretended she didn't care.

Dey and Jorun spoke of lighter things then.

Later, Inka sat at a window and surveyed the pretty plants outside while Jorun hand fed her little savory treats. Inka barely knew they were savory, though, because she didn't taste them. Her brain was too filmy for her to taste anything.

"Your feet are in much better condition," Jorun said as she picked up a cup of water. "I hope the doctor will recommend longer walks soon." She put the cup to Inka's lips.

Inka drew the water in, swallowed, and said nothing.

Gently setting the cup down, Jorun put a hand to her small bosom. Her green eyes turned quite impish. "If your husband happens to see you walking, he might dawdle outside your apartment, even though he won't be able to enter."

Inka had to tell her. "I don't want to see him."

"Hm?" A silk flower in Jorun's hair bounced as she tilted her head. "You don't? Aren't you trying to twist out his love?"

Inka shook her head. "His love is diluted. It's not worth having."

"What will you do when you've healed, then?"

Watching a bee hover over a flower, Inka replied, "When I've healed, then he may visit to copulate, but I won't be an ardent wife. I won't be quenched unless he needs to think of another woman in order to rise in my bed."

"Oh." Jorun put her hands in her lap and looked out at nothing. The round tip of her nose wiggled. "You ... you haven't forgiven him."

"Certainly not."

With wincing eyes, Jorun asked, "What could he do to earn your forgiveness?"

"There's nothing that could be done."

Jorun shivered as if she'd been thrown into a blizzard. "Won't ... won't you show him your mercy? He honestly thought you had evil intentions."

Inka actually slapped her helpless, bundled hand against her thigh. "The evidence was deficient for such an argument. He let his anger lead his judgment. He's unworthy of me, let alone this empire."

"Your ... Your Highness?" Jorun sounded so amazed. She leaned back and put a palm to her cheek. Her eyes blinked slowly. "Your reaction ... you ... in view of another person ... you displayed anger!"

What?

Inka looked down at her hand. It was such a pitiful thing. And she'd used it to make a furious gesture. How strange.

Inka was a human. She had emotions. But she disliked showing them to people, at least not in an obvious way. And this man, this easily tricked prince, he'd somehow affected her this way.

Perhaps this was inevitable. He did drive her to madness in the bedroom, after all.

It was then that Inka decided she hated that man. She hated him even more than Lataa. Lataa was simple to deal with, nothing Inka couldn't trample. But Nitishila was something new and irritating.

***

When summer blasted everyone's senses, when Inka's hair was a little bit rounder on her head, she sent the Empress Dowager a letter declaring that she would be willing to have visitors again. Inka had written the letter herself, although she did so very slowly, and her handwriting was sloppy. Some things were still difficult for her fingers. She couldn't remember the last time she'd tried to use a needle without failing.

Who was the first visitor to Inka's apartment? It was obvious. The question didn't need to be asked.

Nitishila arrived with an outfit worthy of his status. Deep red pants and strings of gems on his body. Pearls and emeralds. A short black vest, open and framing his bare chest. Henna on approximately forty-five percent of his visible skin, patterns with sharp zig-zags and tiny squares with a few walnuts. His hair was in multiple thick braids that had golden wires weaved in. A small turban with fluffy black and brown feathers was tightly wrapped on his head.

And there was a smile that Inka knew was forced. His eyes were too weak for a genuine smile.

Inka refused to directly speak to him. She hardly even looked at him.

Nitishila brought a gift with him. It was a smooth black box with a lacquered image on the lid, a twig with some carpenter ants walking on it beside a pink rose. When Mamun pulled the lid up, Inka didn't look inside. She purposely turned her head and stared at a wall. She heard Jorun draw a hiss through her teeth. "Oh, Your Highness," the redhead said with a humble tone, "aren't these brooches lovely?"

"Oh? There are brooches in that box?" Inka shrugged. "The Empress Consort would have better use for them. She's still so dangerously beautiful."

"You've spoken as if only the beautiful are allowed to wear jewels," Nitishila said as he reached over to touch Inka's shoulder. In the least discreet way, she used her backside to slide her cushion of a seat away from him. Nitishila cleared his throat and continued. "In truth, beauty isn't a factor. I had men travel long distances to find and purchase these black opals, and then I had the cleverest artisans use them to make these brooches. I didn't do this for the sake of beauty. I did this because I thought my wife would fancy them."

"Jorun, did you hear something?" Inka reached up and put her unsteady fingers on her headscarf, as if she was uncomfortable and wanted to tug it away. "Was it the wind? A bee? Perhaps a mouse?"

She heard the box's lid snap down with a thick noise. Then there was Nitishila's tired voice. "Leave the brooches here. I'll return to my apartment."

As soon as Nitishila and his attendant were gone, Jorun took the box in her hands and held it under Inka's face. "He didn't take them back, Your Highness. He wants you to have them. Your own father never offered such generosity."