Empire of Avarice (66 page)

“Is mother beautiful?”

Vosgaris winked at Argan. “Lots of people think so. Your
father certainly does.”

“Is she going to put gold on her face again?”

They started walking down towards the far end where a
second corridor ran to either side. Vosgaris shrugged. “I don’t think so; that
was a special make-up for the Tybar ambassador.”

“So we’re not meeting any Tybar, then.”

“Not today. No, I hear its some people from Niake.”

Argan thought for a moment. “I’ve never met anyone from
Niake before. That’s the city across the water, isn’t it? The one I can see
from the roof.”

Vosgaris stopped, the two guards stopping automatically.
“And when, young Prince, did you get up on the roof?”

Argan went red. He’d blurted it out without thinking. He
knew he was not supposed to go up on the roof but one day the workmen sealing a
leak had left the skylight open and a ladder propped against the opening so he
and Kerrin had sneaked up and looked out over Kastan City, the surrounding
countryside and the seas. It had been a breath taking adventure for the two
boys. “Uh…. Vos’gis, don’t tell mother, please.”

Vosgaris put his hands on his hips and looked down at
Argan sternly. “Prince Argan; I’m supposed to make sure you don’t get into
danger. If you do then it’s my neck on the block.”

“Would they execute you?” Argan said in shock, his eyes
wide.

Vosgaris smiled briefly. “Perhaps if you got killed, but
not otherwise. You see, you’re their future; our future, so if anything happens
to you it affects the empire. I don’t want you to go up there again, right?”

“Alright, Vos’gis; but it was fantastic!”

“What was?”

“Going –,“ Argan’s voice dropped to a whisper, “going on
the roof.”

“I never heard you saying anything about a roof, young
Prince. Neither did these two guards here. Did you?”

“No, sir,” the guards shook their heads, smiling.

Argan giggled, his hand over his mouth. “You’re the
best, Vos’gis.”

“Yes I am,” Vosgaris grinned, “and keep telling these
guards that. Especially when I send them out on guard duty when it’s raining.” The
guards grinned, then composed themselves, volgars snapping to the guard
position once more.

Argan followed, a spring in his step, Vosgaris behind
him, shaking his head slightly in exasperation. They turned right and made
their way past doors and alcoves to a pair of double doors at the end. Behind
these was the costume hall, a large chamber with huge windows that looked out onto
the inner gardens of the palace. Floor to ceiling curtains hung in folds of
rich cloth and along the walls in between the many windows were small side
tables, covered in white and purple cloth.

The floor was of wood, uncovered by any rugs, and
hanging from the ceiling were four immense chandeliers. Argan was awed by the
size of the room; he’d never been in this chamber before. He was constantly
amazed at the number of rooms there were, and he knew there were still some
rooms he’d never been to. Those included his parents’ room. He was simply not
permitted to go there. Someone had once said there were three rooms there, not
one. He wondered why. At each end of the costume hall were walls with no
windows or doors. Here were raised platforms with lots of chairs arranged in,
what seemed, an untidy way as if people had just put them down any old how. Argan
stood uncertainly by the door he’d just entered. Five chairs stood in the
centre of the chamber, three facing two. They were posh chairs, or what he
called posh chairs. They had that soft red stuff on – what was it? – velvet.

Vosgaris took up a place by the door and the two guards
remained outside.

“What now?” Argan asked, turning round, his voice
echoing in the chamber.

“We wait.”

“Oh. Can I sit down?”

“Sure, young Prince. One of those chairs over there, one
of the two together.”

Argan wandered to the chair and looked at it. It was a
grown-up’s chair and he settled into it, wriggling a bit. His trousers slid on
the velvet. They were of blue wormspun and felt very thin. His jacket was also
of the same material, and coloured a darker blue and had white patterns on it. He
didn’t like it as much as his ‘normal’ clothes, but this sort of clothing was
supposed to be worn on important occasions. He supposed today was an important
occasion, but just who were these people from Niake?

The door opened and in came his mother, wearing a long
flowing dress of gold. Her hair had been tied up into a high shape and then it
dropped down her neck. There was a small tiara in her hair. Her arms were bare.
Golden bracelets and a necklace glittered in the light, and she appeared to
glide across the floor towards Argan. The boy stood up and watched as she
approached. He looked at her very closely.

“Something wrong, Argan?” Isbel asked, full of
curiosity.

“Are you beautiful, mother?”

Isbel stopped, surprised. “Well, I don’t really know;
that’s for others to say. Why do you ask?”

“Vos’gis says you are.”

Isbel’s eyes went wide and she turned round, looking at
the palace guard captain. “Do you, Vosgaris?”

Vosgaris paused for a moment. Argan could have dropped
him into the cess pit by accident. “Ma’am.” It was neutral and could be
interpreted a dozen ways.

Isbel regarded the young captain for a couple of
heartbeats, then bowed briefly. “Thank you.”

Vosgaris smiled briefly, then looked over her head and
resumed his guard position. Isbel turned back to Argan. “And you, Argan, look
very handsome.”

“Do I, mother?”

“Absolutely. Now, we’re here to meet a family called the
Varaz from Niake. They are nobility like ourselves.”

“Are they important?”

“Possibly. We need their support. We have to be friends
with noble families, or else they won’t want us as their rulers, you
understand?”

Argan nodded. “So we’ve got to make friends with them
today?”

“Yes, in a way. There are three of them, the father,
mother and their young daughter. I understand she’s called Velka, and is five. I
would like you and her to make friends.”

“Yes, mother.”

Isbel smiled and nodded at Vosgaris who opened the door
and spoke to the guards outside. Argan looked up at his mother. Her eyes were
surrounded by a slight colouring on her skin of blue. “What’s that on your skin
mother?”

“Make up. It’s supposed to make me look more beautiful.”

“But you’re beautiful anyway. Why do you need more?”

Isbel chuckled and hugged her son. “Argan, you’re very
sweet. Why not make myself even more beautiful? It makes people want to like me
even more. So when I’m meeting people I want to make friends with, I try to
make myself look as good as possible.”

“I bet you’ll make lots of friends,” Argan said, nodding
with emphasis.

“We hope so. Now, you’re to follow what I do, stand and
sit when I do. Say nothing unless you’re spoken to, is that alright?”

Argan nodded, smiling up at his mother. Isbel leaned down
and kissed his head. “You’re a lovely boy, Argan. I love you.”

“And I love you too, mother,” Argan smiled.

Isbel felt a swelling in her bosom. She took a deep
breath and composed herself. What a contrast there was between her two sons;
how could this be so? The door opened once more and in came three people,
hesitating at first, then walking towards them. The man led, a stout, fleshy
man with a beard turning grey with age; the woman to one side, short, dark and
wide-hipped. Holding her hand was a young girl with her brown hair tied in a
braid circling her hair and wearing a one-piece white dress that went to her
calves.

The three stopped five paces from Isbel and Argan and
paid obeisance; the man bowing low, the two females curtseying as per imperial
protocol. Isbel bowed slightly, denoting her superior position, as did Argan. Vosgaris
sauntered slowly up to a position alongside the five chairs and stood silently,
his arms behind his back.

Isbel indicated the Varaz family to be seated, and they
did so. The young girl, Velka, sat in the middle with her mother, Mara, to her
left and her father, Loban, on her other side. Isbel sat, as did Argan, and he
put his hands on his lap, waiting to hear what his mother would say.

“We are honoured to be here, your majesty,” Loban said. “Thank
you for allowing us to see you.”

Isbel bowed again. “It is good to meet other Houses, and
to forge closer ties. The empire has been ill served in the recent past by
inter-House rivalries. We have seen to all our costs what that means.”

“Indeed it does, ma’am. May I introduce my wife, Mara,
and my daughter, Velka?”

More bows. Argan was beginning to think they would all
get neck pains by the end of the day.

“My son, Prince Argan.”

More neck pains.

“Ma’am, may I say we have been very impressed with our
visit already. We have heard so much about the new vibrant Kastan since your
House has taken the throne, and we can only agree this is so,” Loban commented.

Isbel smiled briefly. “Thank you, Lord Varaz. Now, tell
me about your House and your estates. Are they in good condition? Do you need
any assistance? What fears to you hold of the Tybar over there in Bathenia?”

To Argan the next few moments the grown-ups talked were
of things he didn’t really grasp, and he lost interest in them. He looked at
the small figure of Velka. She squirmed on her chair and smiled at him, her
cheeks staining red. Argan grinned back. He saw she was as uncomfortable as he
was. Velka lowered her head and looked at her feet, interlocking her fingers
tightly. Argan knew he had to maintain a calm appearance, as his mother had
impressed upon him many times, and what had been told over and over again in
his tutor lessons. So the fact he was bored and wanted to be elsewhere should
not show to others. Maybe Velka would like to be elsewhere too? She was younger
than he, and just a little older than Istan. Would she be as annoying as Istan?
What did girls like to do? Did they play the same games as boys? What
differences were there between girls and boys? Argan realised he didn’t know. He
did know grown-up ladies had boobies – he smirked despite himself – and men did
not, and they wore dresses and had longer hair, but that was all he knew.

Velka had longer hair, even though it was wrapped around
her head. He wondered if it hurt like that. He would have to ask her. She
didn’t seem to have boobies. Maybe only grown-ups had them. He thought girls
didn’t like soldiers, as women didn’t become soldiers. So what toys did they
have? The lack of little girls in the palace meant Argan had little experience
of them. He thought of Amne; his memories of her were hazy now, but he’d been
in her rooms and had been amazed at the things he’d seen there. Lots of soaps,
flowers, sweet smelly things like perfumes and stuff women put on their faces
to make them look beautiful. A bit like his mother, in fact. He guessed his
mother must have the same in her rooms. He’d once found one of the things women
wore around their bodies that pushed their boobies up, and had placed it across
his tummy and chest, staring in amazement at the way it flopped limply against
his flat chest. How did women manage to walk around with them? Surely they
would be too heavy! There were too many things for him to find out. Sometimes
it made his head hurt.

Suddenly his mother’s voice brought him out of his
reverie. “Argan, perhaps you would like to show Velka the garden out there?”

Argan looked at his mother in surprise, then nodded. “Yes,
mother.” He slid off his chair. He had been told how to behave in front of
visitors, especially important ones. It was very important to stick to this
sort of behaviour, he’d been told. So he bowed stiffly in front of the tiny
Velka. “Velka, would you like to see the garden?”

Velka squirmed again, smiling shyly. “Yes, please,” she
said in a thin, high-pitched voice. Her parents smiled proudly at her. They
encouraged her to follow Argan over to one of the long windows that Vosgaris
was opening, and Argan saw to his surprise it was in fact a door that looked
like a window. How interesting!

Velka put a hand to her mouth and slowly approached
Argan. Without being asked, she put her other hand into his, and Argan looked
up in surprise. His mother and the Varaz couple nodded and smiled, and since
they were happy about it, Argan grasped her hand tightly and led her out into
the enclosed courtyard where the gardens were.

It was shaped in a rectangle and quite big, or so Argan
thought. He’d never been out here but had seen it from the windows before. High
hedges ran around the paved walkway that formed the edge, next to the walls,
and straight paths ran into the middle where a big stone fountain stood,
squirting water up into the air and down into an immense stone basin. Grass and
plants made up the majority of the garden area, and wooden posts held up
climbing plants that grew up and over the walkways. Wine-fruits were grown
here, he knew, but as it was now winter there were none. They would grow in the
spring.

Although it was cold, the two children were happy to be
out of the stuffy room and to Argan at least, the stuffy conversations. What
the grown-ups were talking about he had no idea, but it was more fun out here
in the garden.