Empire of Avarice (49 page)

“And your dress is simply magnificent. Your dressmaker
should be complimented.”

Sannia bowed her head, then looked up at him, her eyes
twinkling. “Mother is very skilled, my Lord.”

“Your mother? Well, please pass on my compliments.” He
admired the dress – or, rather, the woman it was covering – a little more. Crimped
lengthways down from her waist, it was of dark blue and looked very light and
almost seemed to dance off the floor when she moved. From her waist the dress
rose up to the breastbone and then parted into two directions gradually
widening to cover her shoulders and then plunging over to her back. She was
fairly generously proportioned on top and a large silver necklace hung from her
neck, adorned with what looked like clear rock crystals. Her hair hung in a
single equine tail style down to her shoulder blades and her head was dotted
with sparkling glass beads that reflected the candlelight.

He glanced at her hands. The nails were coloured with a
blue dye as was the current fashion but they were not long. Good, she uses her
hands. Plus one. He bowed once more. Behind her yet another party was waiting,
and it wouldn’t do to monopolise one over others. The two arm-clingers excepted
but they weren’t even an outside bet. They weren’t entered in the race. “Pleased
to make your acquaintances. Make yourselves comfortable. Dinner will be served
shortly. I’ve made sure there are enough servants around to cater for your
needs,” he smiled and switched his attention to the next group. Mother, father
and daughter, by the look of things.

As Walis brushed past, carrying yet another tray of
goblets, Jorqel cleared his throat and in an undertone, muttered: “Sannia
Nicate, plus six.”

Walis nodded slightly and carried on.

The new couple, dressed in matching deep rich red with
silver buttons and tassels, presented their waif of a daughter. “Your
highness,” the father said in a deep, slow voice, “Avan Cantreli of Lodria. We
own lands along the River Mendar. May I present my daughter Tobiza?”

Tobiza curtseyed, her face red. Shy. Hmmm, maybe one for
cuteness, but a public figure embarrassed? Minus one. “Lady Tobiza,” he said
neutrally, tugging at the clinging arms determined to hang on no matter what. At
least it’s giving my sword arm extra training, he thought ironically. He
finally freed his arm, a process that brought a frown of disapproval from both
Lord and Lady Cantreli, directed at the pouting Helane, and kissed the
proffered hand. He looked at her face closely. Nice; smooth skin, no sign of
disease or infection. Lovely eyes, plus two for those! He smiled and straightened
and his arm was immediately recaptured. “Where did you get those earrings?” he
asked, nodding towards the small sea shells encased in silver hanging from her
lobes.

Tobiza went deeper red, matching the colour of her
parents’ clothes. “Oh, your h-highness, there are many shells along the river
close to our estate,” she stammered, smiling nervously.

Jorqel wondered how old she was. Probably not long out
of tuition, by the looks of things. Certainly the youngest by far. “Indeed? Perhaps
I should see that for myself some time?”

“Oh, yes, your highness!” Tobiza gushed.

“’My lord’, after the first greeting, Tobiza,” her
mother said reprovingly.

“Oh,” Tobiza looked dismayed and sweat broke out on her
face.

Jorqel could see she was in distress for the social
error, but he chuckled. “I’m not offended, Lady Tobiza, so don’t concern
yourself. Your first social attendance?”

“Y-yes, my lord,” Tobiza said, her eyes fixed on his.

She’s got the most stunning eyes. Some man is going to
drown in those one day, he thought. He had to control his breathing. Now he was
a prince he had to show much more social etiquette and courtesy than before. You
could get away with much more as a son of a noble; they gave you so much more
latitude for wayward behaviour, mainly because as an heir of an estate, you
were the great hope for the future to carry on the family name. As a prince,
you had to show imperial grandeur, splendour and lead by example, so taking
Tobiza by the hand and leading her outside to the nearest haystack wasn’t going
to endear him to anyone these days. Maybe his men, but they were the exception.

She was too young and inexperienced. Give her a few
years and she would be a candidate, but not now. Jorqel looked around. “A bit
crowded in here, isn’t it, my lady?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Tobiza smiled.

 Jorqel thought she would say the same if they had to
stand on each other’s shoulders to fit in. He bowed and waited for the next
arrivals. The Cantreli family moved off, her mother leaning towards her and no
doubt scolding her for her slip. Jorqel hoped she wouldn’t be held accountable
for not being chosen as his future bride. She was too young and nervous. He
needed a strong woman with humour, a good work ethic and the physical ability
to both work hard – the job of empress was not one for sitting back and being
lazy – and to bear him sons to carry on the lineage. With that thought he mused
on the likelihood of his line providing the emperor after him. The empire held
that the new emperor immediately announced his successor just in case of a
sudden unexpected death. It had happened before, and civil war had been the
result. So now everyone knew who was to succeed the current emperor.

Some disliked the practice, and averred that it
encouraged the successor to hasten the incumbent’s end, but against that it at
least ensured a smooth succession. By naming his son, Astiras had assured that
there would be no attempt on his life from that quarter. There were, however,
many within the empire who hated dynastic lines, mostly amongst the other noble
families. Jorqel pondered briefly how this was to be addressed, but that would
have to be discussed when he was emperor, not before. Who he would name when he
became emperor was up for debate; he hoped he had a son of the age by the time
Astiras passed away, but if not, then he would have to name another, and that
would probably mean his son – if he had one – would miss out.

The moment of relief came when dinner was announced and
the two arm clingers had to be sent to their places, disappointed and sulking. They
weren’t happy but Jorqel was overjoyed, that was of course after his fingers
stopped tingling. He sat opposite the Kolos family, wondering at the similarity
of the name to the Koros, and whether they had a shared origin or not. They didn’t
look similar to him or his father, but that was no sure indication. To his left
and right were minor nobility from Slenna; it had been thought not proper to
sit any of the prospective brides to be next to him as that might indicate
favouritism, and Jorqel was mindful not to upset any of the nobility in the
region – with the exception of the Duras of course. Since they had provided an
emperor in the not too distant past they regarded themselves as superior to the
families that had not, and believed they had the right to the throne once
again. Clearly they saw the Koros as upstarts.

The meal went without incident and small talk dominated both
tables. The servants made sure the diners were well fed, and the precaution of
short cutting the time it took food to get to the dining hall by sawing a hole
in the floor in the next chamber and raising food on trays up through the
ceiling of the chamber below meant potential waiting times were halved, and
food kept hot.

The warm summer evening meant diners could wander
outside to talk after the meal and many took advantage of this, desiring more
space out of the uncomfortably hot chamber. Jorqel avoided the two arm clingers
who, having been reunited with their families, had to remain with them. The
prince had to circulate and even the Grathan and Sendral families had to admit
their daughters had been somewhat over familiar with him.

This allowed Jorqel to speak to the other daughters in a
more relaxed manner. He found Mala Hemminon a bright, interesting girl, but she
had a few too many irritating mannerisms and he excused himself from her after
a discussion on the history of Lodria which, although he found interesting,
went on far too long for his liking. Mala also had a habit of interrupting him
and he had no wish to try a conversation with someone wouldn’t listen to him.

The lights of Slenna winked below him and he took a
draught of the soft wine of the islands, grown to the north of the Lodrian
coast, and listened for a moment to the sounds of laughter floating up to him
from the streets. He smiled briefly, and wondered if Gavan was enjoying
himself. His excuse in going to check the guard had fooled neither him nor
anyone else. He just hoped Gavan would be in a fit state to report to him the
following morning.

“Wishing you were down there, my Lord?” Sannia Nicate
said at his left elbow.

Jorqel grinned and bowed briefly to her. She curtseyed
back. A few guards stood close but they were relaxed. They were of his own
personal guard and would fight to the death for him. They had just come on duty
after partaking of the nearest street celebration, but hadn’t drunk too much as
per an explicit command from Jorqel. “As a prince I have duties to perform. It
wouldn’t be seemly to drag all you ladies down there amongst the more – uninhibited
– commoners.”

“It may cause a few problems, Lord,” she smiled. “But
not with you, I believe?”

Jorqel chuckled. “I wouldn’t be shocked by what I saw,
shall we say? But I can just see the expressions on the faces of some of those
up here if they were to chance upon what goes on there. Have you enjoyed
yourself this evening, Lady Sannia?”

“Yes, thank you. It was interesting seeing my rivals at
first hand.”

The prince sipped some more wine and appraised the young
woman. “A couple tried a little too hard to impress me.”

“Oh yes, those two! How are your arms? They were holding
on very tightly indeed!”

“I’ve still got them attached to me, surprisingly.”

Sannia giggled, her hand to her mouth. Her eyes
crinkled. Jorqel found he liked her more and more. Could he spend the rest of
his life with such a woman? Perhaps. He needed to know her better first, and to
see what her hopes and beliefs were. He nodded out over the town which was so
well illuminated that most of the buildings were easily identifiable, and beyond
them the sea glittered in the moonlight. “Slenna will need rebuilding. My seat
of power will be here for the next few years as I look to put Lodria back on
its feet and make Slenna a worthy gem along the west coast of the Aester.”

“May the gods smile on your wishes, Lord. That will need
money. I hear the empire is exhausted, financially. Father is always
complaining that prices are too high and funds are too short.”

“He’s not wrong in that, Lady Sannia. I’m always asking
Kastan for funds and not getting half of what I need. Mother is holding onto
the purse strings very tightly.”

“No preferences then through blood, Lord.”

Jorqel shook his head. “My blood mother died when I was
young; the empress is my step-mother. Oh, we get along fine, but it’s not the
same, as you can understand. Still, she knows what she’s doing. Any wife of
mine would have to be the same. I wouldn’t want someone who is unable to assist
me in running this empire.”

Sannia bowed slightly. “That would be only right, Lord. Running
a household, so to speak.”

“Yes, a very large one! And with plenty of unruly
children!” Both chuckled.

The guests began to leave and Jorqel made his way to the
stairwell that led down to the bailey and the waiting carriages, shaking hands
and bowing to the leaving guests. A few made late attempts to sway his mind as
to their daughter, and Jorqel did promise most that he would visit their
estates in the near future. This was not only to see the daughter again, but it
would serve to check on the estates of the nobility, both to see for himself
their state and financial condition, and to let them know that he was in charge
and had them in mind. The Koros would be a hands-on dynasty, not distant
half-gods shut away in their ivory towers who took their money and nothing
else.

The servants began clearing up as the last left, and
Jorqel stood in the doorway looking at the mess with dismay. Bottles, plates,
food and crumpled hand cloths lay everywhere. At least, unlike the street
parties, comatose party revellers weren’t included here.

Walis came up to him and stopped with a bow. “Lord, your
tally list.”

Jorqel took the sheet of parchment and thanked the man,
who smiled and moved off. Jorqel walked slowly through the refuse-strewn room,
peering at the marks on the dull yellow material. It confirmed what he was
feeling inside.

Sannia Nicate was clearly the leader.

The following morning, in the palace of Kastan, Isbel
sat at her desk in her day room, ruminating over the day’s schedule ahead of
her. Breakfast had been a strained affair, Argan not speaking nor looking her
in the eye. He was certainly unsettled and Isbel found it impossible to break
through the barrier he had put up. It cast a cloud over her thoughts. Pepil and
Frendicus stood to either side of her, waiting on her commands, while other
palace officials sat on the other side of the desk ready to take messages
should they be required.

There came a knock on the door and it opened, to show
one of the minor officials under Pepil. Pepil excused himself and went over to
the official and they exchanged briefly. Pepil came over to the empress. “Your
majesty, there is a Panat Afos outside wishing to speak with you. It appears he
is very insistent. He has with him Prince Argan, Captain Vosgaris and another
child.”