The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) (64 page)

Rheanna…she looked more resplendent than ever. Tonight, she was wearing dark blue silk and white gold jewelry. Her back was exposed, and he was instantly aroused when he saw her. But he kept quiet and politely aloof, as was expected of him. Rheanna still avoided him somewhat. She must have sensed the musk of other women on his skin. If she were offended, she never showed it, but her actions did speak of a certain cooling of relations between them. The time apart had made him rethink his feelings for her. It was confusing.

Having sex with a different woman almost every day dulled his senses. Even so, he only felt the sudden throb of excitement in his loins when he saw her, no other woman. Well, her and Nigella, which was off-putting and arousing at the same time.

Perhaps he was behaving like a heartless bastard. She had given him no reason to dislike her. He could never spot anything but honesty and dedication in what she said or did. He had been too quick to dismiss her as an instrument of control unleashed upon him. Now, months after that hasty, defensive judgment, he was beginning to regret it.

He would amend the ties with her. He drank some dry wine, red and ancient.

Master Neal was quite drunk, but he still managed to be rather noble about it as he discussed trade with some Caytorean merchant. Master Angus was dozing, head on the table. Sebastian rose with an excuse, going to relieve himself.

For a moment, James was alone, forgotten. In that moment, he felt the weight of all the food and drink he had forcefully ingested in the past four hours rear like some strange beast and punch him in the stomach. He swallowed hard, keeping the nausea down. It was too hot inside. He had to get out.

James rose and walked out of the huge dining hall, ignoring people around him. He needed some fresh air. Apart from several plainclothes bodyguards, no one followed him as he took a random path through the estate. With each step, his breath eased and his head cleared. Soon, he found himself leaning against a cool wall, staring at the Dream Garden. He had gone here in the first days of his stay at the mansion, but only now was he learning to appreciate it.

The place was truly lovely, a botanic paradise with pebble walkways and ponds of exotic fish, safely protected from the elements by a large glass dome that lent a summery feel to a garden long past its due. Even now, most of the plants were in full bloom, as if the season was only beginning and not ending.

A cold breeze weaved through the garden, blending with fragrances, wrapping him in a minty cloak. While the roof was sealed, the archways were open, allowing fresh air in, with swinging latticework panels that could be closed to keep the rain and sleet out. He breathed in deeply, savoring the moment.

He heard steps. Another man, roughly his size and maybe a bit older, approached. Like himself, he carried the slightly unsure gait of the mildly tipsy, one who knew his limits in drink and often tested them. The man was dressed like a proper city nob, with a white suede coat with silver lapels and soft gray trousers. Half a year ago, James would have laughed. Now, he estimated this kind of attire might win someone an extra five minutes with a banker or a guild master.
How things have changed
, he thought and suppressed an echo of sadness.

The other man leaned against the wall three paces away and nodded in quiet greeting. James returned the gesture. This man was his guest, but out here, they were just two men recuperating from the evening’s toll.

“Smoke?” the man in the white coat asked.

James waved his hand. He was not fond of smoking. It was a big-city habit.

They didn’t speak. The bodyguards eyed the man, watching his gestures, but he just leaned there, relaxing, puffing smoke rings, eyes closed.

More steps. James looked down the corridor and saw a woman approaching, young, supple, with lovely, bouncy breasts, smirking demurely, and as she passed by, James noted, an ass as sweet as an apple.

James bit his lower lip, his blood warming. He looked at the other man. The stranger in the white coat was making small slap-like gestures with his arm. James nodded in approval.

The woman pretended she was not aware of their lewd gestures and rounded a corner, going back to the festivities. James didn’t know her, so she must be another guest. Apparently, she did not know him either. No young woman ever missed a chance to chat to the emperor of Athesia, even if she were long and happily married and with a full litter of kids. There was always a sister or a cousin who might catch his eye. Being a prospective emperor made him the most desired bachelor in the realms. It was flattering, but it was also tiring. He could never be quite sure if the attention and affection were genuine. There was always someone more skilled than him in the game of seduction and deceit.

Nigella’s advice pounded in his head, second nature by now. He made sure he kept his cock safely away from the rich and noble. But even so, every flirt, every lie, every empty little promise felt like a long and exhausting duel. His thoughts focused on the bucktoothed witch. He shook his head and thought of Rheanna. What did he really feel for either of them exactly? He had no answer.

“There are only two things a man should die for, his country and a woman’s ass. And the country thing is optional,” the man in white said, breaking his reverie.

James grinned. “I guess you’re right.” The stranger stubbed out his cigarette. He looked relaxed, totally at ease. James liked that. “She probably didn’t know who I was,” he said, then as an afterthought, added, “Do you know who I am?”

“Sure do,” the stranger said without blinking. “You’re the rightful heir to the Athesian throne, the future emperor, or rather the current emperor waiting to get to his land, an emperor in exile, if you will, although since you’ve never been there, you can’t really be exiled, can you?”

James was liking this man more by the minute. “And you don’t see the need for honorifics?” he asked casually. Most people would take the simple, honest question as a reprimand for neglecting the proper titles, but the man in white did not misconstrue the meaning.

“I don’t see why. My presence here is statement enough. I guess another ‘Your Highness’ will hardly impress you.”

James pursed his lips and nodded. After so many phony smiles and flatters, hearing the truth was like dipping his balls in icy water, cold, refreshing, shocking, and exhilarating.

“Besides,” the man continued, “you probably don’t want to be called Your Highness.”

James stepped closer. He almost tripped; his legs were rubbery from too much alcohol and weird food. “Why is that?”

“Well, two reasons. One, your father never quite insisted on fancy honorifics. He was a practical man with a practical style. Titles never meant anything to him. He counted on trust and friendship, and that was all that mattered. I guess he chose to be an emperor because he understood what the title would mean to his people and the neighboring realms. Might be he planned on carrying on with his conquest, but then suddenly he changed his mind and focused on building and protecting the one region he ruled.”

It was fascinating to hear about his father. He had never known him, except old and exaggerated stories, well spiced before they reached Windpoint. His mother had never talked about him, most likely deliberately. Even now, the truth of his heritage hurt like an old broken bone, a dull tingling that came and went when the weather soured.

This stranger did not look that old, which made the intimacy of his knowledge about his father all the more intriguing.

“Did you know Emperor Adam?” he asked. Calling him
Father
aloud felt awkward, especially now.

“I did meet him a few times,” the man admitted, but did not elaborate. He craned his head. “You do look like him. Sharper features, though.”

James chose not to press, for now. It would not do to appear too eager, like a child with a wrapped gift he must not open. There would be enough time to ask questions later. He had lived without his father for almost eighteen years. A few more days would not matter.

“What’s the second thing?”

“Ah.” The man bobbed his head knowingly. “Technically speaking, neither ‘highness,’ nor ‘majesty,’ not even ‘grace’ will work. All these are historically wrong. Incorrect. Because the realms already have their supreme ruler.”

James frowned. This was starting to sound like the type of thing drunkards told when excited. But the stranger spoke clearly. If he had sampled some of the nine hundred wines, it did not show that much.

“Who would that be?”

“It used to be someone you won’t find in most history books. But he was the ruler of all the realms, including the lands belonging to what we call nomad tribes and desert people and many others. It was a brief reign. In the end, the supreme ruler was forced to abandon the realms, but he never did abandon his claim. And it was never annulled by the string of kings and monarchs that came after him. In theory, you are all impostors or, in a better case, throne keepers.”

Neither Blackwood nor any other of those historians mentioned something like this. You had the proper old stuff, romance, patricide, treason, assassinations, power marriages, and alliances forged with spite, malice, envy, and greed. The nations changed names. The languages evolved. The letters shifted. The borders snaked across the map. But no book spoke of a supreme ruler fleeing the realms with an apocalyptic vow to return one day.

“You seem to be well versed in history,” James said after a while.

The man in white fished another cigarette from his pocket and a piece of flint with an ornate silvered grip. He rubbed the stone against the wall, striking sparks. The tip turned red. He pressed it against the herb roll and puffed. Fragrant, if somewhat acrid smoke wrapped around him. Matches were easier, but this man aimed for style.

“The best,” he said shamelessly.

Any other time, any other person, James would have never mentioned divine things, but the knowledge and questions burned inside him, and he yearned for true friendship.

“What about prophecies?” Nigella’s words echoed in his head. Did he have a friend yet?

The stranger was silent for a while, smoking, thinking. “I’ve read my share.”

“And what about magic?”

“I’ve seen my share.”

Fascinated, James rubbed his nose. Such an open admission was worse than admitting to beating your elderly parents. But this man did not seem afraid or even slightly miffed.

“What kind?”

“Blood magic, herb magic, proper Sirtai stuff, all kinds. Ancient magic, too.” The man nodded twice.

More footsteps. It was Councillor Otis himself, flanked by armed guards and a servant bearing a tray with a porcelain pan and a towel. “Your Highness, we’ve been looking for you. You’re missing the celebration. Norm the Fire-Breather is performing in your honor right now.” The tone was polite, but there was no mistaking the unspoken command laced in it.

“Councillor,” the stranger in the white coat greeted. He knew Otis.

James filed this piece of information for later, even more intrigued now. But then, his slow brain caught up. Of course they knew each other. All of Caytor’s rich and important knew one another. It was a fairly small and exclusive circle.

“Greetings,” Otis replied, his tony icy and formal now. “May your winter be short.”

“Hardly ever snows in Eybalen,” the other man said. “It should be a good autumn and an even better winter.” He looked at James. “We shall meet again for the year’s turn, I presume?”

Otis said nothing in return. He pointed back toward the festivities. “Shall we, Your Highness?”

James considered the witty exchange. “I’ll be there shortly. I know the way.”

The councillor knew he was being dismissed. Pursing his lips in a subdued show of agitation, he retreated.

The servant remained. “Chamomile tea, unsweetened. And a towel, Your Highness.”

James understood. Apart from mortal danger, the quickest way to sober up was to breathe in hot tea fumes. Cleared the head almost instantly.

“Put it down there. Thank you.”

The servant left too. The emperor turned to his mysterious companion. He had a thousand questions, but they would take more than a short break during the Autumn Festival.

“Why did you come here?”

“To pledge my support for you, of course. I believe you will need my assistance.”

“Why is that?” James tottered and leaned against the wall.

“My business in Eybalen is insurance,” he said.

James was not quite familiar with that line of profession. “What does that mean?”

The stranger stubbed out his second cigarette. “I sell people hope, in return for a small fee. You see, when people have something really valuable, they don’t wish to lose it. Be it theft, fire, or just wear, they come to us. They ask us to evaluate their property and insure it. We take a small sum of money, just a fraction of what it’s worth. In return, we promise people to pay them back in full should their property ever get lost. Sounds like a bargain, does it not?”

James considered this for a moment. “It sure does. For them.”

The stranger grinned. “It would bankrupt us if all people lost all of their property all at once. Luckily, only a small percentage of items gets lost. In total, we pay back far less than we take in commissions and collateral. It’s a game of statistics. Odds, if you will.”

“And…?” James cooperated.

“And you are a very valuable investment that must be insured. I believe you already have your physical security taken care of. I can’t help you there. But your mind will benefit from my assistance. Have no illusions, I’m betting on you in this game of power. We’ve already had a good start. We share the same taste in women.”

James had to admit the man had charm. He really liked this fellow. The only piece missing was why an Eybalen insurance man would take such a personal interest in him.

But the stranger in the white coat could read thoughts, or at least dumb and obvious facial expressions. Being drunk sure didn’t make you cryptic.

“Because I have met your father, I know what he was capable of, and I see the same qualities in you. Besides, my grandfather had the honor of serving under your father. It would be an honor if I could do the same thing.”