As much as he wished to maintain a light tone of voice, he knew that Belisar’s main goal in life was to bring happiness and prosperity to the Underbelly.
For him; this was a moment he had been hoping for, all his life. Now it was there, he was stunned.
Initially, Dax had hoped they could discuss some other matters, but he realised that he had underestimated the gravity of the new developments to the Underbelly.
Once they had been hugged repeatedly by Belisar despite their best efforts, all that was left, was to drink the bottle they had brought.
Then, another one Belisar opened.
Then, the one a placated Riquinho produced.
Then, nobody could remember.
Nocturnia opened her eyes.
She had no idea where she was.
Well, it was a bed. A big one.
The first thing she saw was Dax only a few inches away from her.
He must have sensed her thoughts, as he opened his eyes as well.
Or rather one eye only.
“Did we…?” Nocturnia let the question hang in the air.
Dax squinted at her with his one half-open eye.
“I have no idea. Once I feel human again, I will attempt to recover your memories of last night. Or mine. Ouch,” he groaned, massaging his temples.
“One question, dear Sister. On a scale of one to ten; how bad is your hangover?”
Nocturnia buried her head into her pillow.
“Fifteen.”
“Lucky girl.”
“Shouldn’t we get back?” Nocturnia used up all her energy to formulate a question.
“Shhh. Just go to sleep and shut up, please.”
For once, Nocturnia didn’t have the energy to fight him, and obeyed.
Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island
The last rays of sunshine cast their light through the half-lowered blinds onto the bed. Gloria’s head was propped on her hand while she watched the sleeping Tolzan beside her.
All her worries of the last days had long evaporated. She had been somewhat embarrassed to call a Royal Council Meeting in the Month of the Monkey. It wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t customary, as there were no House of Houses Meetings during the summer months. Thankfully, the Council Members didn’t seem to object, and most importantly; Tolzan came.
Gloria tried to ignore the annoying thought that seemed to surface regularly after their last scheduled encounter. A niggling little voice kept reminding her, that Tolzan did not express any kind of sign that he intended to initiate a meeting with her until the autumn.
Nevertheless, that’s why female inventiveness had been created by the Gods; to overcome minor obstacles like these. She mentally patted herself on the shoulder for having created an opportunity to meet, and dismissed any doubts by blaming them on Tolzan’s shyness.
The reward was perfect; a glorious afternoon full of passion.
Tolzan stirred, and opened his eyes.
“I beg for your forgiveness, Your Majesty. I seem to have nodded off, for you are an expert in sapping my energy,” he smiled at her.
“No objections whatsoever, Governor. You have definitely earned a little rest. Pray tell; do you have to be exceptionally outstanding at everything you do?” she sighed and caressed his hair.
“I aim to please, Empress,” he took her hand, and breathed a kiss on it.
“Such perfectionism has to be rewarded by more than a snooze. How would you feel about a promotion?”
He turned to his side, and propped his head up.
“Gloria darling, seeing as I’m already the Governor of your country, I would say, that my chances for a promotion are rather slim.”
“I disagree,” she replied with a mysterious smile.
“Do you want to create a new position for me? If so, I could suggest some. Some, we haven’t tried yet,” he grinned.
“What a temptingly filthy Pyonian reply. We can come back to that later. Nevertheless, there is one position you could be promoted to; the King of Pyonia.”
Tolzan seemed to be taken aback.
He didn’t smile, he didn’t say anything. He looked Gloria in the eyes, and she could feel her blood running cold.
“We could do it. It’s up to us. It would be perfect,” she said.
He sat up, and got out of the bed.
“What’s wrong? I thought it’s what you wanted as well. Say something. Please,” by now she was mortified. She had never seen him like this.
“It is not possible,” he replied, and started to get dressed.
“Why not? Mordan is but a boy. From what I’ve seen, Pyonians adore you. You would be their perfect King,” she stood up, and donned her night robe.
“I’m sorry Empress. It can’t be done, for I’m engaged to be married,” he said.
Gloria felt as if the ground opened underneath her.
“You… you never told me,” she stuttered.
“You have never asked me.”
“I don’t believe this… How could you do this to me? You let me believe that you loved me.”
“What was I supposed to do?
You don’t say ‘no’ to your superior.
You seduced me, and I went along.
You made me kiss you at the Wintersky Festival, and then you did the same in the Conference Hall.
Your intentions were clear.
I didn’t want to jeopardise my position.”
Gloria stared at him as if she had seen him for the first time.
“You bastard,” she whispered, tears of humiliation stinging her eyes.
“I’m truly sorry if I disappointed you, Empress. I would fully understand if you wanted to appoint a new Governor.
I will do my best to make it easier on you, Your Majesty.
I would like to hand in my resignation. This is in fact why I would have come to the Capital, even without you inviting me for the Royal Council Meeting. Please rest assured that I have prepared Vice-Mayor Reedheart for his role as the new Mayor-Governor.
My upcoming marriage would make it impossible for me to remain the Governor of Pyonia,” he explained in a detached voice.
“How so?”
“I will be the new King of Covax, Empress.”
Gloria’s knees buckled. She stumbled to the next chair.
“You are marrying my niece, Ariessa Warhorn?”
He nodded.
“Get out of my sight. Now!”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.
Before I go, please let me give you one piece of advice.
Marry Prince Mordan.
Marry him as soon as you can.
It’s the only thing that can save you and your children.”
With that, he took a bow, and departed.
The next hours were like Gloria imagined being tortured by Zego’s minions.
She felt like being dragged through all the pits of Hell.
She was either crying hysterically, or staring apathetically into space.
Suddenly, a thought struck her.
‘The only thing that can save you and your children.’
Was it an exaggerated piece of advice, or a threat?
The more she thought about it, the more it bothered her.
She needed to talk to someone.
Her first thought was her brother, Count Alexey Orangetree, but she knew that he had never been involved in politics, and that he had always valued his quiet life in the Heliodorian countryside.
After a while of feverish thinking, she had finally decided that Tolzan’s ‘advice’ might constitute as a threat against a Representative of the House of Houses.
Her mind was made up.
She had to contact the First Servant and Emperor Lexandros. She hurried towards the Farspeaker Room, but then her paranoia took over. There were too many operators involved in making a call.
Gloria went to her study, and wrote two messages asking for a private emergency meeting in th
e House of Houses.
Then, she asked her most trusted messenger to deliver her letters, and prayed that they would arrive as soon as possible.
Swiftarrow Mansion, Realm’s Heart Island
Mordan entered the room. Noerelle stood at the desk. Scypian sat behind it.
“What was so urgent?” Mordan snapped at Noerelle. He wasn’t in the best of moods since the Beach Camp experience, and she was about the last person he had wanted to see.
“There’s someone here to see you,” she said, casually placing a pistol on the desk.
“What do you want with that thing?” asked Mordan suspiciously.
Noerelle gave her shoulder a casual shrug.
“You might need it. You might not. It’s entirely up to you.” …
There was a knock on the door.
“Enter,” Noerelle shouted cheerfully.
Two men pushed a bound and gagged figure into the room.
Mordan wasn’t prepared for that.
He looked at the emaciated man; he was skin and bones, his long unkempt beard full of bits of food, his hair that brushed his shoulders had been probably unwashed for months.
The man looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.
Mordan could hardly hold his gaze. He suddenly saw what seemed to be recognition in the hostage’s eyes.
“Ungag him,” Noerelle ordered her men.
“Mordan?” the prisoner asked with utter surprise, after he was granted the ability to speak again.
“I would have never guessed that you are behind this.”
Mordan was shocked and confused.
“Do I know you?” was all he managed to mutter. He looked at Noerelle questioningly.
“I don’t understand,” he said, desperately trying to grasp the situation.
“Why are you doing this to me?” the man asked.
Even though he found it hard, Mordan looked at him again.
“Tarquin?” he asked incredulously.
“Who is this man?” Scypian snorted. Noerelle smiled at him sweetly.
“You’ll find out very soon, my darling.”
Mordan was at a loss.
This must be one of Noerelle’s convoluted plans or tests.
In front of him was a man on his knees, apparently held in captivity for what must have been months, maybe years; a man he knew as a boy.
A man who was the son of his mother’s employer; Count Swiftarrow.
He hadn’t seen Tarquin for almost ten years.
They grew up in the same house, yet in different parts of it.
While Tarquin was out taking riding lessons, Mordan helped his mother scrub dirty dishes. While Tarquin went hunting with his friends, Mordan entertained himself walking the moors, imagining what life would be like if he had what Tarquin had; noble parents.
They didn’t spend much time together; the young Lord Swiftarrow was four years older. He had left for the Academy when Mordan was twelve, and he had never returned to Moorfield to visit since.
“Yes, Tarquin… as if you didn’t know it was me.
Are you doing this in the hope of a bigger chunk of our inheritance?
You can have it. I don’t care.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mordan replied, puzzled and horrified at the same time.
“Lord Swiftarrow, let’s suppose he really doesn’t understand,” Noerelle interjected helpfully.
“Why don’t you enlighten him? Gentlemen, please let him stand up and then leave us,” Noerelle said to the men who had brought in Tarquin.
After they had left, Tarquin scrambled to his feet, and looked at Mordan and Noerelle with incomprehension.
“Is this some kind of a sick game for you? You keep me locked up for almost a year and then you want me to explain?”
“Please do… I want to help you,” Mordan said desperately.
Tarquin took a deep breath.
During the long months of captivity, there was always the faintest shimmer of hope.
Maybe, if he played his cards right, today would be his chance to clarify whatever misunderstanding he was a victim to, and get his life back. He had nothing to hide after all.
He realised that in his current physical condition, and his hands being tied behind his back, he couldn’t overpower two men and a woman, probably not even if he reached the pistol on the desk. He knew that his only chance was to tell Mordan everything he could. There was no risk involved; the woman called Noerelle knew everything by now.
“Where do you want me to start?” he asked with resignation.
“Six years ago, when I left Moorfield,” Mordan said after a few seconds of contemplation.
Tarquin nodded.
“You left for the Academy…” Tarquin’s gaze wandered towards the ceiling in an attempt to recollect all the necessary information. He slowly shook his head.
“No. It all started years before you went to the Academy.
For as long as I could remember, father had tried to keep me away from my step-mother. Not that Arpya had ever done anything to me… Father had been adamant, nonetheless.
I hardly saw her; she kept to a separate wing of the manor. She had some regular visitors, and never left the house.
When I was about to leave for the Academy, father sat me down and made me promise never to return. He also made me promise, that if anything happened to him, I would look after Carda and you.”
“Carda?” Mordan asked.
“Yes. Carda. Ricarda. Rica. Our sister,” Tarquin replied in annoyance.
Mordan’s head started to swim.
“Our sister?” he stuttered weakly.
“Yes, our sister.
During our conversation, father had told me all about his marriage to Arpya. He had been a widower with a son – me, – and his future wife, my governess; your mother.
He was a travelling merchant, dealing in rare artefacts and antiques. His customers were wealthy nobles who he had visited on a regular basis. Lady Arpya was one of them.
When my mother got ill, father started to drink and to gamble.
He said that Ruby… your mother, was the one who gave him a new perspective on life. Unfortunately, their new love didn’t make his debts go away.
One day, Lady Arpya made him an offer. She said that if he married her, he could move into her manor, and live a life of luxury.
All she wanted was his name. Nothing more, nothing less.
Father didn’t want to accept, but Ruby was pregnant with you, and they had nowhere to go. Or hide from all of father’s creditors. So father said yes, and they got married. Lady Arpya became Countess Arpya Swiftarrow, and she kept her word. Father and Ruby could live like a couple under the roof of the house that had been called Swiftarrow Manor from then on. It wasn’t a real marriage; it had never been consumed.”
“Until Ricarda was conceived,” Noerelle interjected helpfully.
“Well, yes. Father didn’t talk about that,” Tarquin admitted.
Mordan slumped down in a chair and buried his head in his hands.
He wanted to clear his head.
He had been listening intently, but at the same time he tried his best to ignore the thought that wanted to form in his mind; one that he hoped would never surface.
Tarquin didn’t seem to notice and went on.
“After I finished the Academy, father and Carda came to meet me in the Capital. Father told me that I had to leave the Realm until such time that it was safe for me to return, and introduced me to a man who practically smuggled me out of the continent.
Last spring he sent me a message that I could come home, and that we were safe at last, as Arpya had passed away. He wanted me to be there when he could finally tell you, that you were his son, and that you would inherit a third of his fortune.
I’d told him before that he should have told you already, but he feared for your safety as well. I had always obeyed him, but I thought that he had developed some kind of paranoia a
bout his late wife…
Until I arrived at our old house.
Which was when my imprisonment started…
Why? What have I done to you?
Where’s my father and where’s Carda?
Do you keep her in a cell somewhere as well?” Tarquin shouted with renewed energy.
Mordan was hardly listening.
He couldn’t fight it anymore; the memory of the night in the tent when he had done it, mercilessly invaded his mind.
Nothing else was getting through to him.
‘Rica… Carda… Ricarda is my sister…I have raped my own sister,’ the same thought pounded in his head over and over again.
Noerelle casually walked up to the desk, and took the pistol.
“Prince Mordan, you might not grasp the implications of our situation,” she said calmly.
Mordan looked at her as if he had just realised he wasn’t the only one in the room.
The realisation that he had violated his own sister, made him feel sick. The fact she was only his half-sister didn’t help matters in the least. He felt bile rising, clutched his stomach, and sank to the floor.
“Mordan dear, you have a decision to make,” Noerelle’s voice sounded to him as if she was talking to him from under water. He looked up at her with loathing.
“What do you want from me?”
“You have two choices; you can let your brother go free and trust in his good nature to forgive you and to never seek revenge for all the injustice that has happened to him. He might even agree to never reveal to the World that King Scypian is not your real father,” Noerelle pondered.
Tarquin’s eyes lit up.
“I won’t, I promise, I don’t care about those things. I’ll leave the Realm; you can have everything you want. I just want to find Carda and go,” he pleaded.
Noerelle slowly shook her head.
“Aaaah, Lord Swiftarrow, that might be somewhat problematic,” she said with regret in her voice.
“Is she dead?” Tarquin looked at her with panic in his eyes.
“Oh, no, she’s alive. And safe.
But you see, gentlemen, what would happen if our sweet Rica met her brother Tarquin?
The good brother, who would treat her like a sister.
And not a lover, like her other brother did,” Noerelle sighed.
“Shut up!” Mordan shouted.
“What have you done to her, you bastard?” Tarquin howled.
Noerelle pushed the pistol in Mordan’s hand.
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