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THE DAYS BLUR TOGETHER. Jeffett stations guards at my door. They follow me wherever I go, listen to all my conversations. I tell them to leave, but while they keep their distance when told, they always keep me in sight. Whatever power they acknowledged I had before is now diminished. They will answer only to the Regent until I take back power from him.
Relka is the only one who still pretends to answer to me, though he does not leave my room except to do the laundry. Food is delivered to my room, even though I don’t ask for it. Even Azman does not visit any longer, not after I yelled at him for betraying me.
I try to go about my normal schedule, but Jeffett often turns me away at the door, telling me to rest. The other nobles agree with him, offering their well-wishes and hopes for my speedy recovery. Some days I refuse to budge, others I end up pacing up and down my living room. The only place I’m not sent away from is the gelanggang, where I slash ineffectively with my parang under the watchful eyes of my guards.
After a week, I return to the market. There, at least, I am welcome. Uncle Dan shakes his head as I go from stacking crates to presiding on one, listening to gripes and settling disputes. It feels like an inverted form of the Regent’s Court. They’re often small matters that have been dismissed by a magistrate whether due to lack of evidence, interest, or funds. Nothing earth-shaking. Nothing that would actually need to involve the law. It’s not just the Tawanan who turn up this time. Many of those with complaints are poor Bayangans who feel they have been slighted by the rich city merchants.
Half the time, all I can do is nod in agreement. The Royal Guard eyes everyone with suspicion, holding them at arms’ length. I don’t doubt that everything I say is being reported back to Jeffett. He makes that clear when he warns me yet again that I should be “mourning in seclusion, not traipsing around the city taking advantage of his grace”. Yet, if I am barred from the Majlis, at least I can do is listen to my people.
Ten days go by in this manner until, sick of my suite, I ignore the food sent up and go down to the dining hall for dinner. There is a troupe playing; I do not recognise any of them.
“I’m surprised Jeffett hasn’t stopped this Mahan practice yet,” I say to Azman.
He sits beside me, stiff and awkward. “Baginda Pa—Tun Jeffett tried, but the nobles complained. They like it too much.”
My eyes narrow at his slip. Are they addressing Jeffett as Raja then? Has he gone that far? Instead, I ask, “Where is this troupe from? I do not recognise any of them.”
“From Bayangan,” he answers. “The Mahan troupes left after the execution.”
I choke on my rice. I knew...I accused Jeffett of murdering Amanah, but having it confirmed still comes as a shock. “When did—who did—what execution?”
Azman frowns in confusion. “Did you not sign off on it?”
Unable to find any napkins on the table, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Gross,” he says, handing me a handkerchief. “I thought you ordered the execution?”
“Not personally,” I reply, after thanking him for the handkerchief. “Jeffett made me sign the decree. He did not inform me of what he did with it.”
He shifts in his seat, looking troubled. “Temenggung Jeffett made the proclamation in the square, then he had that last Mahan troupe leader beheaded. There was a crowd. It was...messy.”
“I see.” No one at the market had mentioned it, but it must have happened before I resumed my trips there.
“I’m sorry, Tuanku. Was he a friend?”
I shrug my shoulders, trying but failing to seem nonchalant. “Just an acquaintance. Do you know what happened to the rest of his troupe?”
“As I said, all the troupes left after that. I have not seen any Mahans around, so I suppose they’re gone, too.”
I hope so, but I cannot count on it. “Who’s in the dungeons?”
His eyes flick up to mine, then away.
“Who is in the dungeons?” I repeat.
He sighs. “I don’t know. But Temenggung Jeffett said you’d ask. I’m not supposed to tell you anything.”
Repetitive actions in the dance catch my eye. I study them, study their movements, scrutinise their hands and fingers, but there is nothing there for me. This troupe either does not know the secret finger code, or they carry no messages. I cannot tell which.
“For the sake of our friendship,” he winces when I say that, “would you please let me know if any of Amanah’s troupe members are in the dungeons?”
Azman’s attention remains fixed on the dancers. The dance is nearly at its end when he says, so quietly that I almost miss it, “What good will it do for you to know?”
“It would ease my conscience.”
He doesn’t reply, just lets me finish watching the dance, then escorts me back to my room.
“I’ll try,” he says. He lingers in the doorway. When I don’t say anything, he moves to shut it.
I force myself to lift my eyes to meet his. “Why?”
“Why what?” He tries to make his face calm, but he’s the first to look away.
“I just need to know why you betrayed me.”
“I thought...” He huffs. “Tun Jeffett convinced me that you were not in your right mind, that your reason was compromised. What was I to think when I saw that letter? Our enemy admitting to using Tun Garett? Proclaiming you were brothers and the best of friends?”
“You couldn’t have asked me first? As a friend?”
“You were compromised.”
“I was grieving.”
“We all were.”
The audacity of his statement strikes me like a physical blow. “They were not your parents.” I slam the door in his face, then lean my forehead against it, trying to stop the tears that flow.
Stupid. Weak.
“Tuanku?” Relka lifts his head from where he has been dozing by the window.
“It’s nothing, Relka. Have you been in here the whole time?”
He straightens, rubbing his eyes. “I went to the kitchens for dinner. Ibu is working there with Tanya now.”
Guilt tugs at my heart. “Jeffett called in the debt.”
He hangs his head.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything. I know I promised—”
“It’s not your fault. They’re to work in the kitchens for three years to pay it off.”
“And your father? Sulaiman?”
His face falls.
“Relka, what happened to your father?”
“Ayah is missing. That’s why Temenggung Jeffett wants them close. So they can’t run away. He’s—” He stops, putting a hand over his mouth.
“You know where he is,” I blurt.
His eyes widen but he doesn’t deny it. He drops his hand, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
“You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want to jeopardise his safety.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Go back to sleep, Relka.”
He goes to lie down on his bed. The mattress is thin, like the one I used to lie on in Maha. The sheets are faded, tearing. He curls up, using his arm as a pillow. It’s too warm for a blanket, but the early hours of the morning can get chilly.
I go into my bedroom, pick out a fat pillow and a woven blanket from amongst the many I have. He sits up as I approach. I gesture for him to stay where he is, then bend to pass him the pillow. He hugs it to himself. The blanket I place at his feet in case he needs it later on.
“Sleep well, Relka,” I say.
“You too, Tuanku.”
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I WAKE UP THE NEXT morning even more upset than when I went to bed.
Enough. I’ve had enough of this.
Even if Jeffett has the upper hand, there must be something I can do. He can’t just override everything I say. It’s not like I’m a child. None of the Majlis DiRaja will—or should—stand for that no matter how they respect his age and his length of service, no matter that he is Regent now. I am still Raja. Where is the line between upholding my authority and being respectful of my seniors?
The line is here.
I make my way down to the dungeons, ignoring the uneasy whispers of today’s guards. Azman hasn’t brought me a reply, although he said he’d try. I’m sure he will try, just as I’m sure that Jeffett will block him or dissuade him somehow. I need to know for myself that none of Amanah’s troupe members are being held prisoner.
“Tuanku, you can’t go there,” one says as I approach the large wooden doors that lead to the cells.
I glare at him. “Why not? This is my castle, is it not?”
“Yes, Tuanku, but...but the Regent—”
“Is not the Raja, no matter his current authority.” Rolling my eyes, I try to push past, but both of them now bar my way. “Move aside,” I demand.
“Tuanku, no one is allowed entry into the dungeons without the express permission of Regent Jeffett.”
“Why? What is he hiding?” I challenge.
“Nothing, Tuanku.”
“Then I see no reason why I should be denied entry. Step aside, or I’ll have you disciplined.”
The guards wince.
“Tuanku, the Regent would have us dismissed. Forgive us...but we must follow our orders.”
“But I am your Raja!”
“Yes, but you have ceded your authority to me for the moment,” Jeffett says from behind me.
I turn to face him. How did he know I was here?
“Yosett, Yosett. What am I going to do with you?”
“What’s your game, Jeffett?”
“Nothing, Yosett,” he raises his hands, palms up in a show of innocence. “I should be asking you what your game is. What is in the dungeons that you need to see?”
“The real question is what is in the dungeons that you do not want me to see?”
“The last time you were here, you did not handle it well. I do not want to offend your sensitivities.” He smirks. “Remember how ill you felt after watching Han’s interrogation?”
“Torture, you mean.”
He wiggles his hand. “You do not have the stomach for the things we need to do for answers.”
I hold his gaze, steely-eyed. “Jeffett, even if you are my Regent, I still have authority over you. You still have to obey me when I give a direct order.”
His lips flattened into a thin line. “Do I. And what is your order?”
“I wish to see for myself who you are holding in the dungeons at this moment.”
Jeffett sighs as if I am greatly inconveniencing him. “Fine, as you wish, Raja Yosua.”
He waves the guards away and they step aside to let him pass. I follow him, cheeks burning with indignation. The guards fall back into formation behind me. He approaches the soldier standing guard at the cells and says something to him. The soldier nods and then lets us through.
I follow, fists clenched, down the corridor. The cells lining both sides of the corridor are empty. It gets darker and darker the farther in we go, the stench and heat curling around me again until I want to retch. But I force myself to continue. We walk right to the end, Jeffett holding up a lamp that he’d picked up somewhere along the way.
“Have you seen enough?” he asks.
How does he not react to this smell? I hold a hand over my nose, peering into the gloom. There is no one. All the cells are empty. The troupe is gone. Thank Kudus.
“Yes, thank you.”
We make our way out again and I barely suppress a shudder as we pass the cell where he’d had Han strung up and beaten.
“Now you see why I do not want you to wander down here?” he says, noticing my reaction.
“I can handle it.”
He chuckles in reply.
I head to the courtyard, breathing in the fresh air and watching the nobles and servants going about their business, wondering what I have really achieved.