Free The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison Page B

the knot, then the lines of the nesecho, lingering over the tiny pointed face of the animal carved into it. Then he handed the vellum back to Csevet and clasped his hands together behind his back.
    “Well?” Csevet said.
    “Is suncat,” said Oshet.
    “We beg your pardon?” Maia said.
    “Little animal. Is suncat. Live along southern coast. Friendly. Always curious. Kill snakes and rats. Many ships have suncat. Is very good luck.”
    Maia held his hand out, and Csevet gave him the roll of vellum. He looked carefully at the nesecho, seeing the way the suncat had been carved to appear as if it were playing with the cords, seeing the bright happiness the carver had put into its face.
    “What does it mean?” Csevet said impatiently.
    Oshet’s massive shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Is good luck,” he said. “Is friends. We have nesecho, given by closest friend on ship when we left.” He tugged a cord bound around his belt and pulled a nesecho out of his pocket. It was a little larger than the suncat, and Maia recognized it by the scales carved on the rounded back, even before Oshet turned it so he could see the squared, smiling, tongue-lolling face of a tangrisha. “Tangrisha is protection,” Oshet said. “Suncat is…” His face screwed up into a scowl as he tried to find the right words. “Is wish for great happiness.”
    Maia wanted to ask more questions, about nesechos and about Oshet’s ship and about why the ambassador would be sending him a wish for “great happiness,” but Csevet pursued, single-minded, “And the knot?”
    “Is knot for important message,” said Oshet, tucking his tangrisha back in his pocket. “But is message to emperor.”
    “Are there protocols?” Maia asked hesitantly. “Is it wrong to cut the knot?”
    Oshet’s eyebrows shot up, and the twitch of his ears made his earrings jangle. “Is no need, Serenity. Pull gold bead. Knot will untie itself.” He paused, then added, “Nesecho is gift, always.”
    One of the strands of cord had a gold bead knotted at its end. Maia had assumed it was only decoration. It is but one more chance to feel ignorant, he told himself, and tugged the cord, surprised despite himself at how swiftly the knot unraveled. He freed the vellum from the cord and quickly tucked cord and nesecho in his pocket before anyone could tell him he ought not to.
    “Thank you,” Csevet said to the gardener. “You may go.”
    Oshet nodded to Csevet and bowed deeply to Maia. “Serenity.”
    “Thank you, Oshet,” Maia said, remembering to smile, and only then turned his attention to unrolling the vellum.
    The letter was written in a strong hand, the letters small and well formed, with elaborately swooping heads and tails. Not a secretary’s hand. The salutation was, To our most serene imperial kinsman, Edrehasivar VII, and Maia got no farther, looking up at Csevet in a certain amount of shock. “Kinsman?”
    For once, Csevet was also at a loss. “The ambassador is not a blood relative of the Avar.”
    “He must mean our mother’s mother,” Maia said. “But we know not her name, nor her family.”
    “He’s certainly never mentioned it before,” Csevet said, very dryly.
    “It would scarcely have been a political asset,” Maia said. He meant to sound dry, too, but his voice was merely weary. “Well, let us see what our kinsman wants.”
    The letter was brief:
    To our most serene imperial kinsman, Edrehasivar VII, greetings.
    We extend our deepest condolences on your loss and wish to assure you that Barizhan will not hold you to the trade agreement which we were negotiating with your late father. It is our greatest and most cherished hope that relations between Barizhan and the Ethuveraz will move beyond peace to friendship, and in that hope we sign ourself yours most obediently to command,
    Vorzhis Gormened,
Ambassador of the Great Avar to the court of the
Emperor of the Ethuveraz
    Maia looked helplessly at Csevet. He could identify the presence