Prince of Wrath (58 page)

“Tell us about Jorqel’s wedding, Amne,” the empress decided to change the subject hastily. “I’m eager to hear how it really went, as is your father.”

“And me!” Argan said not wanting to be kept out of things.

“I don’t,” Istan said.

“Oh, Istan, don’t be such a misery,” Isbel scolded him. “We all want to hear. Go on, Amne.”

Amne related the wedding to them all, and for a while she held the table with the story. Argan was enthralled, giving her rapt attention. Both Vosgaris and Fostan were, too, although they were less interested in the story than the story teller. The rest, however, listened with interest except for Istan who sulked the whole way through. Only his father’s stern look on one occasion prevented him from spoiling the moment with a tantrum, so he contented himself with keeping his expression of hostility fixed on his face. Amne pointedly looked everywhere else during her retelling.

After she had finished the others chatted about it while Amne sipped on her drink, enjoying the attention of both Fostan and Vosgaris. She had done her talking, now it was the turn of Vasila. Astiras encouraged her to tell her tale of journeying to the fortress and her destruction of the arms cache at Rhan.

Vosgaris beamed with pride at his sister’s success, while Waylar questioned Vasila about the Venn priests and their role in that society. Vasila asked Astiras as to what he thought those bars had been on the wagons.

Astiras grunted. “Sounds like currency bars to me. An army costs money and its wages are often carried in the form of metal bars. The commander orders the melting down of them into coins at payment time. I think you destroyed quite a lot of potential money there. Well done!”

“Yes, a good job,” Vosgaris agreed. “How much time do you think my sister has gained us?”

Astiras waved a hand slightly. “I don’t know but it must be a couple of seasons at least. Now winter is due in a short time I don’t think Venn will be able to march until the spring. I wonder if they know who was responsible. I think they’ll have their suspicions but can they prove it? No.”

Vosgaris grinned at Vasila, then asked whether Mazag would stand by Kastania should Venn invade. Astiras nodded. He waved at Amne. “Thanks to my daughter here, Mazag are strongly allied to us and that includes coming to our assistance should we be attacked. The alliance does not extend to us declaring war on another, just being attacked by a third party. That is good enough for me, and buys us more time. By the time Venn tries its luck at us, I plan to have made Zofela a hard place to crack.”

“You have made lots of progress even from the time I last saw this place,” Amne said. “I’d like to go ride out the day after tomorrow and look around. I hardly had time to take everything in when I rode here from Bukrat.”

Astiras looked at Isbel who shook her head slightly. “I’m not sure that’s an entirely good idea, Amne. There are still some – brigands – on the loose outside this valley. We’ve had an isolated case of robbery in the past few days and Captain Vosgaris here is presently investigating it. Although he has not yet brought me up to date,” he finished staring intently at the captain.

“Apologies, sire,” Vosgaris said hastily, “but that’s because there is nothing that has been uncovered. There has been no trace of who did it, despite a great many scouts being sent out. I have received no other reports of robberies, and perhaps it is because it was a merchant who was attacked and robbed. My suspicions are that it was a personal attack from a possible rival, but I have no proof.”

“All the same, I don’t think it’s safe enough to allow Amne out on her own around the rim of the valley,” Astiras insisted.

“Oh, father, Vosgaris can escort me – he’s capable and we won’t be very far. We’ll keep Zofela in sight at all times. I just want to see this place before the snows come and before I return home. My last memory of this place was not good and I want to replace it with something more beautiful and pleasant.”

“Hmmm, what say you, darling?” the emperor asked Isbel.

Isbel regarded both Amne and Vosgaris for a long moment, her mind suspicious. “Why not the Sub-commander and an escort of the KIMM?”

Amne held her step-mother’s look for a moment, then shrugged. Her plan to get Vosgaris alone seemed doomed. “Yes, why not? They need exercising.” She saw Vosgaris scowl briefly before returning his attention to his soup. His disappointment was just as much as Amne’s which pleased her. “Are you up for that the day after tomorrow, Sub-commander?”

Fostan Telekan bowed. “It will be an honour, ma’am.”

Isbel glanced at Vosgaris once more. Was there something going on between him and Amne? If so, she would certainly have something to say about that. Punishments were severe for adultery, and more so for those high up in society. That’s not to say it didn’t go on, but it was simply not done for those of the ruling House.

She felt slightly disappointed in Vosgaris even as the thought passed through her mind.

One of the improvements made within the empire over the past few years was the messenger system. Now messages could be sent swiftly by rider throughout the lands and they could reach most places within ten days or so of their dispatch. One of the consequences of this was the setting up of a dedicated corps of messengers, a special unit paid for by each province who rode along the newly repaired roads and linked the major cities and towns with better communications.

The increase in letters meant more time was spent by the governors and their staff in reading the morning messages and communiques, and on some special occasion an imperial edict. Many of the letters were general messages, but some were personal and for the eyes only of individuals rather than to be passed on to the populace or the military.

Lalaas read and re-read Amne’s message to him. It had been brought to him by one of his guards and not via Prince Elas. That had alerted him to the fact it was a special message, and when he opened it in the privacy of his own quarters the night he had been given it, he saw it was what was equivalent to an apology from the princess. She had regretted their disagreement and she said that she would look forward to seeing him on her return with a resumption of their friendship as it had been before she had left.

The guard captain smiled gently to himself. Amne was hard work but she was a woman whom he found attractive and one he longed to be in the company of. The fact she was one of the imperial family and married made no difference; he knew he would not dishonour himself, her or any social rule. He knew she wanted him but he was resolute in keeping that aspect of their relationship out. Amne may dabble with other men, and he knew she did, for her marriage was an unhappy one, but that didn’t mean he loved her any less. She had a strange kind of magnetic pull over him, and he wondered often why it was. Yes, she was beautiful but Lalaas had known other beautiful woman but they had not appealed to him; beauty of face or physique was one thing, but beauty within was what called to him. Sometimes she was a spoilt child, and her temper was explosive, but he looked beyond that, and her indiscretions, and loved her for the person she was. He guessed he always would, to his dying day.

Another who read and re-read a letter was Thetos Olskan in Turslenka. Grief was his main emotion as he went over and over the letter, cursing his unfeeling and stupid reaction to Metila. Oh, how he wished he could go back to that day she left him! He had cried tears of bitterness and regret the nights he lay alone, and that was not something he had done for many, many years. He was a veteran soldier and a tough ruler, but the loss of his woman hurt him deeply, and he knew he was entirely to blame.

She had told him she had come to him voluntarily, and saved his life, and had stayed with him thereafter. She had never been made a slave; she had willingly served him, and he should remember that. Now he was treating her like he did not care for her, only for him, she had to go. She would stay away for a while, then send him another letter and give an address to send a reply to, and she would read his letter and see whether he was worth returning to.

Thetos did not understand fully. He had been rough, brutal and cruel to her, and she had seemingly enjoyed it, but the last time he had been particularly selfish in not wishing her to put weight on, and her remark about his weight had hit home deeply, for he no longer had his youthful figure. Too much easy living and sitting about had added to his waistline, and he recognised that. His clothes no longer fitted him and he needed new ones, larger ones, and his armour was too tight.

Clothes were one thing, armour a completely different matter. It was far more expensive. Should he exercise more? Be less of an overweight man and try to slim down? He knew it would be hard. He so wanted Metila to ask if he wanted her back. It would be an overwhelming yes. His sense of loneliness was more so now she had gone, and he often walked to her door where her potions and herbs still hung or were stored, and looked in, hoping to see her sitting there mixing some of them in her industrious way. He had never been an attractive man, but he had been strong and fearless and that had made up for it; women had not been unknown to him. But after his injury and the loss of his hand, he had only been with Metila. He wanted no other woman but that lithe, sensual, wicked Bragalese witch.

Sadly he turned away and made his way back to his desk where yet another request from some damned land holder sat awaiting his response. Letters, letters, letters. Damn them all to the back pit!

More letters went from Slenna. Jorqel and Sannia had been furiously using their quills over the past few days, informing all they wished to know that Sannia was with child. At first the newly wed princess hadn’t been sure, but after her cycle had been missed it had removed any doubts, and the older women at the castle who were experienced with birthing soon confirmed Sannia’s feelings.

Jorqel had been overjoyed and wrote at once to Kastan City, and included further letters to be sent unopened to Zofela. Sannia had written to her family and also to Niake, where Demtro and Clora received her message. Clora had shrieked with delight and Demtro had thought at first she had stubbed her toe on something, and had come running in to see what was wrong, but once he had seen the letter he, too, had been pleased. “Well, Jorqel didn’t waste time in sticking one in the oven.”

“Sorry?” Clora had asked, puzzled. “Sticking one in the oven?”

“Never mind,” Demtro had shaken his head. “I hope she’s still alright to come to our wedding in twelve days.”

Clora had looked at the message. “Oh yes, she is coming. She has written to the governor, she says, to arrange lodgings and an escort.”

Demtro had been reassured. Their wedding had been the talk of Niake once word had got out that the new princess was going to be a bridesmaid. Gossip had exploded all over the city, and some of the higher echelons had become quite jealous and some underhand remarks had come from them as to why a merchant and a former tavern whore had attracted so much favour from the Koros? The other talking point had been the news that the former High Priest was going to perform the ceremony, another honour on the couple. The scandalous matter of the fact the two were living under the same roof had also been raised by the nobility. Many had pointedly refused to attend, but Demtro had predicted many wouldn’t stay away because Sannia would be coming. People may make noises of disgust and dismay at certain behaviour, but curiosity always got the better of their moral codes.

Evas Extonos had received his messages from the imperial couple. It had been written on sealed parchment with the Koros crest at the top, and the governor had practically fainted when he realised he would have to arrange security and lodgings for the newest member of the Koros dynasty. Both Burnas and Demtro had been summoned to his office to explain what was going to happen and it had been a fraught meeting with Demtro virtually ordering the schedule and Burnas the guest list for the temple. Evas had weakly accepted the two’s demands and had passed it on to his staff to organise.

While these messages had been passing around Kastania, Argan had met Velka for the second time, the day after the meal with Amne and Vosgaris’ sister. Both Amne and Vasila were nowhere to be seen that day, and Argan had been dressed by the young Sasia, watched over sternly by Genthe. Argan hadn’t been warned about the visit of the Varaz family, so it was all something of a rush to prepare him. He wondered why nobody had told him, but then he recalled he hadn’t been told about their visit to Kastan City until just before he met them. Perhaps everyone was too busy to remember to tell him these things, he reasoned.

Sasia fussed over his newest jacket, a soft red item that had just been made. Argan was growing so fast that clothes were becoming too small for him only a season after they had fitted him perfectly. It was his eighth birthday very soon and he was wondering who would turn up then. Would Jorqel come with his new bride Sannia? Would Amne still be there?

“Does this fit well?” Sasia asked in Bragalese. She felt it easier to speak to him in her native language. Genthe didn’t like it but Argan insisted it was fine as he could understand her perfectly and there would be no misunderstandings between them.

“Yes, fine thank you. Not tight anywhere, Amal.” He still used her shortened Bragalese name which pleased the girl no end. He looked at his soft cord slippers which were also new. “These feel funny.”

“Funny? Bad?”

“No, just funny. I’ve never wore things like this before. It’s like wearing gloves on my feet.”

Sasia smiled slightly. To laugh in front of Genthe would invite punishment. “That would look really strange if you did.”

“Yes, I’d walk like an ice-avian, all waddly.” He’d seen pictures of them in his books and Mr. Sen had explained these odd looking flightless creatures actually swam in the oceans in the cold regions far to the south and could only walk very clumsily on land.

Sasia bit her lip, trying not to burst out laughing. Prince Argan always made her want to laugh, the funny way he said things. He was so unlike the others who she didn’t care for one bit, and the youngest one, Istan, was extremely spiteful and had once pulled her hair. Sasia had almost struck out at him but Genthe, who had been with her, had intervened and separated the two, telling a red-faced Sasia that to strike a prince of the blood was a death sentence, even if the prince had made a completely unprovoked attack on her, which he had.

Argan looked critically at himself in the reflection of the polished metal dish Genthe held up. It was still too heavy for Sasia to hold. He nodded, as much to get on with it than any other reason. What should he look like? He didn’t know. As Genthe placed the dish down Argan squeezed Sasia’s hand and she smiled shyly at him. Both were standing normally when the old retainer turned round. “Good, well, you can go to your father’s chamber now. They’ll be proud at how handsome you are, Prince Argan.”

Argan smiled briefly. Was he handsome? Did he want to be handsome? What did it mean to be handsome? He decided to hurry and forget about the uncomfortable feeling he had at the woman’s words. Outside, guards escorted him to the emperor’s chamber, and he was shown in, to be greeted by his mother. “Ah, there you are. What a lovely jacket!”

Argan bowed formally, as he had been taught. She may be his mother, but she was empress and higher in rank than himself. His father was there too, standing at the far end speaking to another man, and Argan recognised him as Lord Varaz. His father beckoned Argan to greet Lord and Lady Varaz. Lady Varaz sat to one side and next to her was Velka, also seated.

“Argan, I believe you know the Varaz family?”

Argan affected a stiff stance and bowed again to each of the three Varaz family members. “I am delighted to see you again,” he said slowly and clearly.

Astiras raised an eyebrow. He had not been aware how far Argan’s schooling had gone, and it seemed he was being prepped in the right social graces which on one hand pleased him, but on the other he regretted that his young son was having to grow up.

“My, you are growing fast, your highness,” Mara Varaz said, getting off her chair and curtseying. Velka slipped off her chair and curtseyed also. She hadn’t grown much at all, from what Argan could remember. She still had her brown hair tied in a tight style. Did she have it like that always? Even when she went to bed?

Argan didn’t know what to say. “Mother says I have grown a hand’s width in the past season.”

“You’ll soon be as tall as anyone here, I’ll wager,” Loban Varaz smiled, “your highness.”

“Would you wager on that?” Argan was surprised. He didn’t know people could wager on guessing height.

Lord Varaz chuckled. “Merely a manner of speaking, sire. We brought Velka along so the two of you may possibly spend a little time together.”

“Fortunately there are no fountains nearby,” Isbel said.

Argan wondered why the adults were all smiling. It had been a very embarrassing moment when he and Velka had returned to the palace all covered in mud.

“Or mud to roll about in,” Lord Varaz laughed.

Argan thought they were making far too much fun of him. He looked away from the grown-ups and saw Velka was smiling shyly. Well, he wasn’t smiling – he thought they were being meanies. “Well I promise to stay away from water and mud,” he announced. “I have some books in my room that Velka could read with me.”

“Oh, I don’t think Velka is up to your standard, sire,” Lady Varaz protested.

“They are picture books, pictures of animals and things,” Argan corrected her. He looked at Velka. “Lady Velka, would you like to see my picture books?”

Velka nodded, too overawed to speak. She got a nod of permission from her mother and she stepped up to Argan and put out her hand, as she had done so before. Argan decided that was how she liked to be taken to places. He took it, bowed to the grown-ups, and took Velka out into the passageway. Guards escorted them to Argan’s room and the prince led the young girl inside. To his surprise, Sasia was still there, tidying up.

“Oh, I didn’t expect you would still be here…. Sasia,” he said, looking sideways at Velka, then at the servant girl.

Sasia noted the formality in Argan’s words and knew it was best to be formal back. He had also spoken in Kastanian, probably because the girl with him couldn’t speak Bragalese. “I clean up – Genthe order me. She not happy with me, highness.”

Argan scowled. “Oh, that’s not good – why isn’t she happy with you? That’s not right. You do a great job!”