Mon felt a thrill run through him, to hear such words from his brother's mouth. Aronha wasn't just standing up for him-he was asserting something so outrageous that Mon was frightened for him. How could he make such a claim?
"Bego and I have noticed it," said Aronha. "Why else do you suppose Bego risked his own place at the king's table in order to introduce Mon's words? I don't think Mon realizes it himself. Most of the time he is uncertain of himself. He can be persuaded easily; he never argues. But when he truly knows a thing, he never backs down, never, no matter how much we argue. And when he digs in his heels like that, Bego and I both know well, he's never been wrong. Not once. I would stake my honor and the lives of good men on the truth of what he says today. Even though I think the dream was not his own, if he says it's a true dream and the people are the Zenifi, then I know that it's the truth as surely as if I saw old Zenif with my own eyes."
"Why do you think the dream is not his own?" asked Father, suddenly wary.
"Because he never said it was," said Aronha. "If it was, he would have said it. He didn't, so it wasn't."
"Whose dream was it?" demanded the king.
"The daughter of Toeledwa," said Mon immediately.
There was an immediate uproar at the table, partly because Mon had dared to mention the name of the dead queen at a celebratory occasion, but mostly because he had brought the counsel of a woman to the king's table.
"We would not have heard that voice here!" cried one of the old captains.
Father raised his hands and everyone fell silent. "You're right, we would not have heard that voice here. But my son believes that the message of that voice needed to be heard, and so he dared to bring it; and Ha-Aron has declared his belief in it. So now the only question before this council is: What shall we do, now that we know the Zenifi are calling to us for help?"
The discussion immediately passed beyond any realm where Mon would be consulted, and he sat down, listening. He scarcely trusted himself to look at anyone, for fear he would break discipline and show a smile of such relief, such gratification that everyone would know that he was still only a child, the second son.
Husu opposed sending any sky people to, risk their lives rescuing the Zenifi; in vain did Monush argue that the first generation, the one that had rejected all human association with angels, was surely dead by now. As they discussed the issue, with other counselors chiming in with their own points, Mon risked a glance at his brother. To his chagrin, Aronha was looking right at him, grinning. Mon ducked his head to hide his own grin, but he was happier at this moment than he had ever been before in his life.
He turned then, to glance at Bego, but it was bGo who whispered to him. "What if a hundred die, for this dream of Edhadeya's?"
The words struck Mon through the heart. He hadn't thought of that. To send an army so far into Elemaki territory, up the endless narrow canyons where ambush was possible anywhere-it was dangerous, it was foolhardy, yet the war council was arguing, not about whether to risk it, but whom to take on the raid.
"Don't ruin the boy's triumph," murmured Bego. "Nobody's making the soldiers go. He told the truth and he did it boldly. Honor to him." Bego raised his glass of mulled wine.
Mon knew to raise his own glass of twice-cut wine. "It was your voice opened the door, Ro-Bego."
Bego sipped his wine, frowning. "None of your middlebeing titles for me, boy." bGo grinned-a rare expression for him-and said, "My otherself is beside himself with pleasure; you must excuse him, it always makes him surly."
Father proposed the compromise. "Let Husu's spies guard Mon-ush's human soldiers until they find a way past the outposts of the Elemaki. From what we understand, there's chaos among the kingdoms in the land of Nafai these days, and it may be far safer than usual to get in. Then, when Monush passes within the guarded borders, the spies hold back and wait for them to emerge again."
"How long?" asked Husu.
"Eighty days," said Monush.
"It's the wet season in high country," said Husu. "Are we to freeze or starve? What is the plan?"
"Keep five men there for ten days," said the king. "Then another five, and another, for ten days each."
Monush raised his left hand in agreement. Husu raised his left wing, but muttered nonetheless, "To bring back worthless bigots, yes, I'm sure that's worth the trouble."
Mon was surprised that Husu was allowed to speak so boldly.
"I understand the anger the sky people feel toward the Zenifi," said Father. "That's why I take no offense at the mockery in your acceptance of my proposal."
Husu bowed his head. "My king is kinder than his servant deserves."
"That's the truth," muttered bGo. "Someday Husu will go too far and the rest of us will pay for it."
The rest of "us"? He must mean the sky people as a whole, thought Mon. It was a disturbing thought, that somehow the sky people would all be held responsible for Husu's audacity. "That wouldn't be fair," said Mon. bGo chuckled softly. "Listen to him, Bego. He says it isn't fair- as if that means it couldn't happen."
"In the secret heart of every human man," whispered Bego, "the sky people are nothing more than impertinent beasts."
"That's not true," said Mon. "You're wrong!"
Bego looked at him, bemused.
"I'm a human, aren't I?" demanded Mon. "And in my heart the angels are the most beautiful and glorious people."
Mon had not been shouting, but the intensity in his voice had stilled all other voices. In the sudden silence, he realized that everyone had heard him. He looked at his Father's surprised expression and blushed.
"It seems to me," said Father, "that some of the council have forgotten that only those with the king's ear can speak here."
Mon rose to his feet, hot with shame. "Forgive me, sir."
Father smiled. "I believe it was Aronha who said that when you dug in your heels, you were always right." He turned to Aronha. "Do you stand by that?"
A bit uncertain, Aronha looked his father in the eye and said, "Yes, sir."
"Then I believe it is the opinion of this council that the angels are indeed the most beautiful and glorious people." And Father raised his glass to Husu.
Husu stood, bowed, and lifted his glass in response. Both drank.
Then Father looked at Monush, who laughed, stood, and lifted his glass to drink as well.
"The words of my second son have brought peace to this table," said Father. "That is always wisdom, to these ears, at least. Come, have done. The council is over and there is nothing more for us here except to eat-and ponder how the dreams of young girls, brought by young boys, have set in motion the feet and wings of warriors."
Edhadeya waited for her father to come to her small room to talk with her as he did every night. Usually she was happy that he was coming, eager to tell him how she did in school, to show off a new word or phrase in the ancient language, to tell him of some adventure or gossip or achievement of the day. Tonight, though, she was afraid, and she wasn't sure which she feared more-that Mon had told Father of her dream, or that he hadn't. If he hadn't, then she would have to tell him now herself, and then he might pat her shoulder and tell her that the dream was strange and wonderful and then he would just ignore it, not realizing that it was a true dream.
When he came to her doorway, though, Edhadeya knew that Mon had told him. His eyes were sharp and searching. He stood in silence, his arms bracing the doorframe. Finally he nodded. "So the spirit of Luet is awake in my daughter."
She looked down at the floor, unsure whether he was angry or proud.
"And the spirit of Nafai in my second son."
Ah. So he wasn't angry.
"Don't bother explaining why you couldn't tell me this yourself," said Father. "I know why, and I'm ashamed. Luet never had to use subterfuge to get her husband's ear, nor did Chveya have to get her brother or her husband to speak for her when she had wisdom that others needed to know."