War has a way of doing that, Saemon thought, suppressing a flinch.
Gavan snorted. "Foolish thing to say. No one should be meddling in the realms of the darker magic. Isn't the fact that none of the Shuran Clan is alive now proof of that?"
A shudder passed through Saemon, racing down his spine. He attempted to ignore it, but it returned again, this time with stronger force.
The Horat-Vu war. Memories slipped through his mind, unbidden. Dying bodies. Blood pooling on the ground. For a moment, Saemon was twenty years old again, and reliving the horrors of unparalleled violence. Not even the Horat-Vu against evil could protect all the participants from giving up their lives. Evil birthed its own monsters, even when Goodness fought against it.
Saemon pulled out of his thoughts with another sip of wine, his glass refilled by a passing servant. Listening to the conversation grounded him again. He tried to focus on the calm way everyone spoke, as if they'd been friends all along.
He could only hope the goodwill would last.
"Speaking of dark magic," Gavan said, motioning for a servant to bring him more wine with a tap of his finger, "did you hear what the Yojin found at Iskawan?"
"Vakums wandering into pits?" Tieng said idly.
"A strange amber powder."
"Oh?" Gavan said, leaning forward in interest.
Tieng did the same. "What was the powder?" he asked.
"No one knows," Gavan said, raising an eyebrow.
"If it comes out of Iskawan, it can't be good,” Tieng muttered.
"Saemon, do you know?" Gavan asked, turned towards Saemon and tilting his head back to study the leader of the Hiwan Clan through dark eyes.
Saemon cleared his throat and reached for a piece of seaweed sprinkled with salt and wrapped around rice.
"No," he said. "I have heard no rumors."
"Do you think it could be Shuran magic?" Tieng asked, his eyes narrowed. "If no one knows what the amber powder is, it would make sense."
"Perhaps," Gavan murmured, then waved a dismissive hand through the air. "But the Shurans are dead. Let their memories rest in the dust where they belong."
"I do not believe an entire clan can be exterminated. Certainly not the Spiders. If any Clan could go on living, swathing themselves where we cannot see until they want to pounce, it is the Shuran,” Tieng said.
"Believe in tales if you like. There are no Shurans left."
"Yes, I agree.” Tieng shrugged. “The existence of any Shuran is a mere tale, just like the Order of the Sacred Triad will be soon enough."
Gavan and Tieng looked up, startled to see Matsu Maeba from the Haku Clan peering at them from two spots down the table. He blinked large, globe-like eyes at them.
Saemon tensed, drawing himself higher in his seat. "What do you mean?" he asked, unable to help himself.
Matsu smiled, pointing to him. "Your edict, Sheng Saemon, has limited religious power and nearly erased the presence of the Triad. Our temple sees hardly any traffic these days. One rarely even hears the name spoke from lips in prayer anymore."
Saemon sucked in a sharp breath. "That's not – "
"It's because of the rumors!" Iwa Tamon shrieked, throwing a hand in the air. She sat next to Matsu, her wide face and tall body seeming to fill the entire chair. "The dark side of religion was manifested, and has frightened all the worshippers. Who wants to give allegiance to gods that hold no order? It's all nonsense if you ask me."
Saemon’s heart jolted, replaying the words dark side of religion over and over again. He shook off his dark memories, hating the memory of the high priestess's voice in his ear.
"This is a celebration," Saemon declared, tapping the table with one knuckle. "A celebration of joy. Such talk shouldn't be allowed. We should forbid politics and religion at such a wonderful event."
All four murmured, and bowed their heads in deference. Saemon relaxed back into his chair, his fingers releasing themselves from white-knuckled fists.
"Samudra," Tieng said, lifting his goblet. "Let's discuss Samudra. Have you heard about the unexplored islands in the west continent? Rumors say that a clan plans to explore them soon. Do you know which?"
Matsu casually turned to Iwa at the same time, as if he'd never broached such a daring conversation in the first place. "The pirate captain Beltran has started threatening the ocean waters again, I hear. Some fisherman believe they saw his sign."
Gavan snorted. "Another legend."
"Beltran is dead," Tieng insisted. "It's been proven."
"I disagree," Matsu said, wrinkling his nose. "Hidden for a while, possibly. But no legend, and certainly not dead."
"That's rich talk," Kenzo called out derisively to Gavan from down the table. "A member of the Horalu Clan speaking to navigation. Ha! What do you know about the sea?"
Gavan snarled. "More than – "
"The ceremony today," Saemon redirected loudly. "Did you find it enjoyable?"
Both Gavan and Tieng sat back, ignoring Kenzo. Kenzo chuckled and turned away, back to a conversation with the Nari clan. Matsu and Iwa fell into a more private discussion on the islands, and Saemon moved the conversation near him to bring about the newlywed’s gift from the emissary of the Haku clan.
Ren accepted the book about the historical implications of the magic used within the Empire with eagerness, running her slender fingers over the cover.
Saemon hid his amusement. Of course the Haku clan would offer knowledge of magical things. What an appropriate gift from them.
The time for gifts passed as a distant tinkling in the hallway became pronounced. Those at the feast quieted, and Ren's expression brightened even more.
A stream of dancers with reddish costumes and fox-like masks on their faces moved into the great hall, surrounding the feast table. A Nari flute band followed, its high, happy trill matching perfectly with the prancing step of the dancers.
A shared feeling of awe moved through those at the feast as the dancers whipped around, reddish silks waving behind them. The dance of the flutes followed the show, making the amassed crowd break into clapping and laugher.
Just as the dancers finished their display and slipped through a back doorway, the sound of stomping boots rang through the air. A contingent of soldiers from the Horalu clan marched into the dining room, swords flashing. Behind them came a line of drummers. The solemn, steady beats of the drums as the soldiers marched silenced, then started again in a driving, steady rhythm. The soldiers flashed and twirled their weapons in time with the music in a stunning and powerful display of dexterity and skill.
Saemon leaned back, appreciating the coordination behind such a feat. His eyes drifted over the table, watching a servant pour yet another glass of wine for Gavan. His gaze advanced, lingering on the full cups of those belong to the Nari clan.
Were they not drinking? He wracked his mind, but couldn't recall seeing a servant refill their glasses again. What about the Ameyas? Further study revealed the same. He frowned. Was the wine watered down? Did someone swap the vintage at the last moment, replacing them with inferior ones?
A glimpse of black hair caught Saemon's eyes and he lifted a hand, signaling Gou Tuen, the imperial chef of the last twenty years. Gou Tuen turned and started his way.
"Sheng Saemon," he greeted seconds later. "How may I serve you?"
"The wine. Is something wrong with it?"
Gou Tuen's brow grew heavy. "No, Sheng. Not that I have heard. We have conducted all the usual taste tests with every batch, and have heard no complaints. Have you?"
Saemon's frown deepened. "No. No one has complained to me."
"Would you like me to change the vintage?"
"No. Leave it. Perhaps I am just a paranoid man on such a great feast. Thank you, Gou Tuen. Your food has been as delicious as expected."
"Thank you, Sheng. Do I have your permission to begin the dessert portion of the meal? My servants are beginning to return with empty glasses as the feast wanes, and we still have much to offer."