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MY LIFE IN MAHA SOON begins to take new shape. Besides my morning spar and my afternoon dance practice, I spend a lot of time in prayer, though sometimes I don’t even know what I pray for. After that initial block, and the subsequent release from guilt, it is enough for me that I am able to access the Temple, to freely study the Firman, and to just sit and try to hear His voice. I want to say that I find peace and clarity, but I don’t. Everything is still in limbo; my life has stopped halfway and is waiting to start again.
During my free evenings, I find myself wandering through the streets of Maha. The city is still recovering from its devastation—there are stark reminders of war in the abandoned buildings, uncleared rubble, and the silence of the streets.
Maha’s population has been decimated, not just by death, but by the number of refugees who have yet to return—those with ties to Impian and Suci have gone to rebuild their lives there. The Tawanan population has reduced to a handful of families.
So much vibrancy has been lost.
Just like I found refuge by the beach in Bayangan, staring with longing at the city-state I grew up in, now I sit on the Mahan pier staring towards the land that has exiled me. I do not know why I do this, why I must always long for the things that I do not have. I should appreciate the opportunity I have here, back in the land of my birth, but it seems like I have left my heart behind. I never expected this to happen.
It’s funny how you miss something once you no longer have it. The long walks through the market, Azman making stupid jokes at my side. The heart-to-hearts with Uncle Dan in the months after my parents’ deaths, the friends I made at his stall. Holding our mock courts over crates of potatoes, getting to know the people I claim as mine. I’d often grumble that I felt useless then, but I feel even more useless here. I even miss the cold, stone Bayangan Castle—its narrow, winding corridors have become home in a way the Mahan Palace’s wide, open spaces never will again.
The day Amanah’s troupe returns to Maha is the day my world crashes again. It has been half a year since anyone has heard from them, half a year since their leader’s head was sent home to Maha. Now, the troupe—what’s left of it—sails into port with grim faces and dark news.
I’m called into the meeting, Amanah’s co-leader, Suraya, refusing to speak unless I am there. Mikal hasn’t called for the full Majlis, only inviting his three closest advisors: Bendahara Siti, Laksamana Rizal, and Temenggung Hakim.
I enter to hear Temenggung Hakim asking, “Why should he be here? Isn’t this private information that shouldn’t be shared with the enemy?”
He glares at me as I take a seat.
“I, too, want to know why,” I say. It’s been a long time since I have been involved with a meeting or council of any sort.
“Because what I have to say involves him,” Suraya replies.
I stare at her, recognising her as the one who had stumbled against me—and most likely slipped Mikal’s note into my pocket.
“Well, he is here now. So, speak,” Bendahara Siti says.
Suraya nods. “We travelled through Bayangan on our way back. After we lost Amanah, we went into hiding for a while. I wanted to find the fastest way back, but we didn’t have the funds to hire a boat. In the end, we spent our time playing at the various kampungs around the city.”
“What’s this got to do with anything?” Temenggung Hakim interrupts.
Suraya ignores him. “The common people do not support Jeffett’s rule. In every kampung, there were people who sheltered us, ketua kampungs who kept us safe, even when the Regent’s soldiers came to search for us.” She turns to me. “And they want you back, Raja Yosua.”
I gape at her. “But the nobles—”
“The nobles suck up to those who give them money. If the people revolt and put you back on the throne, they’ll turn their allegiance to you,” Mikal says, a sour look on his face.
“Raja Yosua, Bayangan needs you,” Suraya says. “All Jeffett cares about is war. The people have lost so much—he’s raised the taxes again, and he’s conscripting everyone above the age of fourteen. These are boys, children, that he’s taking from their families and training to kill. Many of the small kampungs are going into austerity. They don’t have enough people to work the farms once their children are taken away, and there’s no one else to hire because everyone who is of age and healthy is required to serve in the army.
“They may not know you, but they’ve heard of you. They’ve heard of how you held court in the Tawanan market. That you listen and care. And they know that if you were still in power, none of this would have happened.”
“What do you think I can do?” I hate the way I sound petulant, but fear and doubt will not let go of my heart. “I cannot return to Bayangan without Jeffett knowing. And if you forgot, the moment I set my foot on Bayangan soil, I’m as good as dead. The nobles who sympathise with me have already stuck out their necks once to buy me my life—I don’t think they will do it a second time.”
“We can discuss that later,” Mikal says. “Is there anything else, Suraya? You implied earlier that you have a piece of key intelligence.”
She looks away as if to gather her courage. Then she looks me full in the face. “We know who killed your parents, Raja Yosua.”
My muscles tighten. A hunger grips my belly. Hunger for justice, hunger for violence, a yearning for something to destroy. “Who?”
“It was all a matter of the keris,” Suraya says.
“You know who it belongs to?” I lean forward in anticipation.
“It belongs to you.”
“What? I’ve—”
She holds up a hand. “It belongs to the royal family and was on display during the Regent’s Festival. Baya’s own keris.”
“So that’s where I’ve seen it before.” I settle back in my chair, releasing the tension in my muscles.
Mikal grimaces. “And why you thought it bore your family crest.”
“And you made that connection where no one else could?” It seems improbable that out of all the investigators assigned to the case—Uncle Jeffett included—none realised it.
“It’s not that no one else could,” Suraya says softly. “It was that no one else would. They weren’t allowed to voice the suspicion. All inquiries into that matter were suppressed.”
“They didn’t want to accuse me.”
She shakes her head. “Anyone could have stolen it from the display during the festival. It wasn’t particularly well-guarded.”
“If it was stolen, we still don’t know who did it.” No one had reported the loss, not that I recall.
“The keris in question was on display the whole day and stored afterwards, but someone took it out late that night. That person is the murderer.”
“And that person was stupid enough to just sign it out?”
Suraya smiles. “He didn’t think he would be suspected. After all, he’s been taking things out of the treasury for years without ever returning them. But when the keris was found at the site and brought up in the investigation, he tried to destroy the records.”
“Who? Just tell me.”
She slides over the Register of Precious Items from the Bayangan Castle Treasury.
I stare at it in confusion. “How did you get this? Didn’t you say it was destroyed?”
“A servant stole it and gave it to us before it could be destroyed.”
I frown at her. “Why would—”
“There are people in the castle who are loyal to you, despite the danger.”
“But why? They know I’m a heretic.”
“They don’t care about that.”
Mikal makes an irritated sound. “Quit stalling, Yos.”
I lay my hand on the cover of the register, glaring at Mikal.
“You know I’m right.”
I deflate. He is. As much as I want to know who murdered my parents and desecrated their bodies, I’m stalling because I am afraid of finding out the truth.
I open the book, flipping to the end and scanning the entries for the keris in question. I find it in the middle of the page.
I stare at the name because it doesn’t make sense. There’s howling in my ears, a sense of discombobulation, the way I’d disconnected on the day I saw my parents’ bodies. But this seems worse somehow, not just a senseless tragedy.
This tragedy has terrible, undeniable purpose.
Beware traitors. Beware traitors. War is coming.