“Kauljen,” councilwoman Koben said, saluting Hilo deeply and without any of her usual smug maternal manner. The woman seemed truly nervous, wetting her lips and fidgeting with her shawl. “My heart aches for your loss. Our clans and our families have opposed each other in the past, but losing a loved one is a universal suffering. Please accept the deepest condolences of the Koben family.”
Ayt Ato followed Koben Bett’s lead, saluting Hilo solemnly. He cleared his throat. Without any cameras around, he seemed uncertain of exactly where to stand and which direction to face. Ato glanced warily at all of the No Peak guards nearby before speaking. “Kauljen, I wish we were meeting under different circumstances. My aunt, Ayt Mada, has asked me to convey her assurance as Pillar that she’s questioned my cousin and his friends and found them innocent of any ill intention in this tragedy.”
The three men in question, Koben Ashi and his two Fingers, came forward and lowered themselves to their knees in front of Hilo. Their heads were wrapped with gauze and bandages. With eyes downcast, they each offered up a small black wooden box in their uplifted hands.
“Kauljen,” said Koben Ashi. “I beg forgiveness for failing to save your son from the scheming of clanless dogs who tried to bring down both our families. I hope it brings you a small measure of comfort that your son’s killer suffered greatly before I ended his life. I nevertheless deserve to die, but if, in your great mercy, you spare my life and those of my blameless Fingers, I will be relentless against our mutual enemies.” The words came out stiffly and with little inflection, having clearly been rehearsed.
A flicker of familiar emotion crossed Hilo’s face—a wrathful light across the eyes, a twitch of the mouth. For a moment, everyone watching on both sides thought he might draw his talon knife and kill all three men where they knelt on the pavers. And why not kill Ayt Ato as well, while he was at it? The courtyard was immobile with held breaths. Koben Ashi paled but kept his eyes on the ground. The black box trembled slightly.
Then the shadow of violence was gone from Hilo’s eyes. The Kobens had not come with any protection, but they had counted astutely on the fact that the Pillar of No Peak would not cast any taint of bad luck on his son’s funeral. Hilo reached out and took the black box containing Koben Ashi’s severed ear. He accepted the ears of the two Fingers as well. He did so without speaking a word.
“May the gods shine favor on you for your mercy, Kauljen,” murmured Councilwoman Koben. All of the Kobens retreated as hastily as decorum allowed, their relief palpable. It wasn’t merely fear of No Peak’s retaliation that had caused them to distance themselves from the incident so forcefully and to take the extraordinary step of humbling themselves before the Mountain clan’s greatest enemy. Ru had been a jadeless stone-eye, barely out of his teens. The Kobens were a proudly traditional Green Bone family with political clout and their sights set on clan leadership. Any implication or even lingering suspicion that they had broken aisho might severely tarnish their reputation. Kaul Hilo’s acceptance of their gesture was an exoneration. A statement to everyone that there would not be war.
Everyone in the Kaul family knew it wasn’t the decision Hilo wanted to make. But it was what Ru would’ve wanted. Ru had always championed compassionate causes, always maintained that No Peak bettered not only its own Green Bones but all of Kekon. His faith had been absolute. He never doubted that his father could make anything happen. In the wake of his death, Ru would never want his family’s actions to harm ordinary people and reflect badly on the clan.
_______
Wen stood silently by her husband’s side at the funeral and accepted condolences from the long line of mourners. She leaned heavily on her cane, but she no longer cared whether she appeared weak. She was weak. After two days and nights of vigil, she could barely stay upright. But she would do this—she would bear this miserable duty with Hilo.
Ru always knew his father loved him. Hilo has that at least. Wen couldn’t say the same for herself. If only she could have one last minute with her son, she would ask him to forgive her for being so hard on him all these years. She would tell him that every time she’d been critical or impatient, it had been her fault, not his. She’d worried for him because he was a stone-eye. She’d seen herself in him, and on some shameful level she’d begrudged him for not being the heir she’d hoped to bear. Now he was gone, and she would never get the chance to tell him that she was proud of him. Ru had always seen himself as whole, even when she could not. He’d been confident and generous and he’d never allowed discontent over his deficiency to define him, the way she had.