by Kirby Crow
It matched what Jochi had said. Now it was Scarlet’s turn to frown. He did not like the idea of Hilurin being slaves to anyone. Cestimir touched his arm.
“It’s just a tale, Keriss. Anyway, the story goes that the Nauhin, the Shining Ones, held dominion for a very long time, and were known throughout Nemerl, until they made the mistake of letting the Anlyribeth –that’s what the little people were called– use their magic. The Anlyribeth stole the magic of the Nauhin to break free of them and fled beyond the ice, but the departure of the Anlyribeth sundered the kingdom of Rshan and brought catastrophe. It split the land in half between the Kalas Nauhin, the southerners, and the Fanorl Nauhin, the northern kingdom. It was a very dark time and little is known of it. Since then, Rshan has had nothing to do with Byzantur, because that is where the Anlyribeth were said to have settled.”
“But... Byzantur is thousands of years old. Do the Rshani hold grudges so long?”
“Not that I’m aware of, although you could not prove it by this royal court. But no, it is more of a superstition now than a punishment or fear of any real threat.”
The tale amused and irked Scarlet. “Surely there’s no harm in a great and powerful kingdom like Rshan trading simple goods with peasants and villagers.”
Cestimir grinned. “I agree. Yet if one should suggest in front of the Barons that we open up trade with Byzantur, you would believe it was a plan to turn the world upside down and shake all the people off.”
“You have to make the idea taste sweeter to them,” Scarlet suggested. “Show them they’d profit from it.” He pretended to weigh an invisible coin pouch. “From the stories I’ve heard back home, even our Flower Prince has to do that before he can get his nobles in the right mind.”
Cestimir’s expression turned polite. He was indulging him in listening, Scarlet saw, but he was also interested. “How?”
“Well... I know enough of business to know you buy low and sell high, otherwise I’d never make a copper. If you have trade with the Morturii and the Minh, how do you know all the goods actually come from there?”
Cestimir’s brow arched. “They don’t?”
Scarlet saw the ornamented long-knife on his belt. “That’s Morturii scrollwork on your blade, but where do you think they came by the iron to make it?”
His mouth quirked. “Byzantur?”
“Just so. And I’m sure there are other examples. You’ve probably been trading with us second and third-hand for generations and just didn’t know it. Probably been paying twice what you should, too, because to get Byzan materials you’ve had to use a middleman instead of going straight to the source. Even stinking middleman merchants have to eat.”
“That’s very astute, Keriss,” Alexyin had closed his book and was watching them with interest from the shadowed corner. He looked very imposing in his plain wool, a stark change from the usual silks and velvets, and with that stern brow like a shelf over his eyes.
“Shining Ones save us,” Cestimir said, looking from him to Scarlet. “We live in a vacuum. I have no more brain than a woodlouse or I would have realized that already. It makes perfect sense.”
Alexyin’s stern manner softened. “Don’t swear, Cestimir. I happen to think you have a very good mind, and so does your lady mother.”
Cestimir pinned the older man with a look. “And my elder brother, what does he think of my mind?”
Alexyin simply folded his hands, and Cestimir turned the same look on Scarlet. “Well?”
Scarlet cleared his throat. “I... I really don’t know. He doesn’t discuss his business with me.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Yes, but not in the way you might think.” Scarlet traced the scrolling design of the chair back with a fingertip. “It’s not that I care so much about what goes on in the palace or with his family. I only want him to trust me enough to confide in me.”
“You really didn't know he was a prince, did you?” Cestimir asked. “I think that's marvelous. It reminds me of some of the old romances, a disgraced prince meets his true love in a far land where no one knows who he is.”
Scarlet looked at Cestimir blankly. “But he's not a disgraced prince. Is he?” he asked in confusion.
Cestimir blinked and paused. “Oh, no, those are the old romances.”
“Oh.” Scarlet was at a loss, at that moment very certain that Cestimir was hiding something from him. “Well, I don't know if it’s like a romance or not, but I do love him,” he said defiantly, as if Cestimir would mock him for the admission.
Cestimir grinned. “Good. You are worthy of a prince’s love.”
The panel squeaked a bit as it rolled away from the wall, and Jochi was there. “Ser Keriss,” he said, his tone relieved. “Forgive my long absence, but Prince Nazheradei awaits you.”
Since he had not been able to see Liall in days, Scarlet rose hastily and bowed. “It’s been an honor to meet your Majesty. Truly it has.”
Cestimir inclined his head. “Promise you will come and talk with me again. I want to hear more about Byzantur.”
“I will.”
Jochi gave the closed panel a backward look as they left the alcove, then he studied Scarlet. “I believe you have won another friend.”
“I like him. He seems very straightforward. For a Rshani.”
“I believe that he is,” Jochi agreed. “And much underestimated.”
Scarlet’s mind was on the awkward pause between he and Cestimir, and he intuitively sensed that it had something to do with the question Jochi would not answer before. “In Byzantur, the firstborn inherits the throne,” he said innocently. “Is it different here?”
Jochi’s expression went bland and he gave Scarlet a droll look that told Scarlet that his teacher was not deceived. “You have a quick mind, ser.”
Close-mouthed Rshani’s indeed. “I crave your pardon,” Scarlet said wearily. “I meant no offense.”
“Hm, no. You just meant to catch me in an unguarded moment in the hope I would reveal something I have pointedly been told not to tell you.”
“Told by Liall?”
Jochi sighed again. Jochi’s manner may have been mild, but he was no fool. He put his hand on Scarlet’s shoulder. “Perhaps the prince will choose to explain this matter to you,” he said, his tone suddenly sympathetic.
“Can I ask you one thing, at least?”
“I will endeavor to answer,” Jochi said carefully.
“Keriss kir Nazheradei . What does the kir part mean?”
Jochi’s face went neutral again.
“Ah,” Scarlet said, sounding very much like Liall. He had trespassed again. “I see.”
“Here we are,” Jochi said brightly and with relief, and opened the door to the antechamber. He escorted Scarlet through, as if an assassin might be lurking there.
Inside, Liall was reading a book on the lounge with a silver cup on the table next to him. He looked up at their entrance and asked Jochi a question in Sinha. Jochi shot a look to Scarlet and bowed and answered Liall shortly before withdrawing.
Liall sat up and studied his lover. “What have you been up to all day?” he asked casually, as if they had just parted company a few hours before, and as if there had not been words between them. “Jochi did not go into detail about his plans.”
Stinging at his cold greeting, Scarlet wished he had some way to nettle Liall back. He’d also spoken Sinha to Jochi with him in the room, excluding him from the conversation, which was rude. “I met your brother.”
Liall went stiff. “Vladei?” he growled.
Scarlet took a seat beside him. “I don’t know any Vladei. I’ve never met him. I’m talking about your brother, Prince Cestimir.”
“Cestimir?”
“Cestimir. He’s not near as stuck on himself as most of the nobles are. I liked him.”
“You like almost anyone who isn’t unkind to you,” Liall groused, shoving his book further aside.
“Well now, that makes me sound simple.”
&nb
sp; Liall’s expression did not lighten, and Scarlet could see that he was irritated and out of sorts.
“Well, you are simple, and I mean that in the best possible way. You have a kind and clear heart and you tend to think the best of folk until they prove otherwise.”
“I’m a good enough judge of character to know when I’m in danger from thieves and murderers,” Scarlet retorted, stung by Liall’s words.
“Which reminds me; you never did explain what murderous thieves you encountered on your way to Volkovoi.”
“Oh, the crew of the cargo ship that carried me across the channel,” Scarlet said, dismissing that. “It was months ago. Anyway, I like Cestimir. He seems very direct. And he’s got a wicked sense of humor.”
“Does he? That’s good to know.”
Then, because Scarlet’s pride had been dented often since his arrival, he added; “And Alexyin said I was astute.”
Liall was startled. “Alexyin?”
“Yes, and stop repeating every name I give you. Why do you sound so surprised? Is it really that amazing that one of your folk would think I have a quick mind? Without you there to make them say it, that is.”
Liall withdrew and looked ashamed, his attitude losing the edge of anger that had been skirting his mood all day. “I may be overprotective of your safety here, but I never said you were stupid.”
“Do you know Alexyin?” Scarlet asked, deftly changing the subject.
Liall paused for a moment before answering. “I do, and from Alexyin, what he said to you was a great compliment. He used to rap my knuckles when I made mistakes at sums.”
Scarlet tried to imagine anyone rapping Liall’s knuckles. “Oh. A very brave man, then.”
Liall narrowed his eyes. “I believe someone has regained his capacity for impudence.”
“I’m never impudent,” Scarlet said, and elbowed him.
“Stop that, you little thug,” Liall said, laughing as he took hold of Scarlet’s wrists. His grip was firm, but his eyes were gentle at last. This was the man Scarlet knew. “So, you liked Cestimir,” Liall said. “And he was well behaved?”
“He called one of the ladies a poisonous bitch.”
“Dare I hope it was Shikhoza?”
“It was.” Scarlet leaned against Liall’s chest and stretched his legs out. “My feet hurt and I’m beginning to recognize the corridors by the tapestries. I’ve spoken to more people who don’t understand Bizye than I can count. Or who pretend they don’t,” he added, remembering the queen’s deception.
“If they are pretending, it is their loss.” Liall shifted so that they were stretched out together. “The less I must share you, the better.” Liall caught Scarlet’s elbow this time before it hit the target and poked him several times in the ribs.
Scarlet yelped. “No more, I surrender.”
“Very wise. Now tell me of this conversation with Cestimir.”
“He wants to see Morturii,” Scarlet said and settled in to tell him all of it.
Scarlet was not sure what Liall thought of Cestimir when he had finished, but overall Liall seemed pleased. “I have been avoiding Cestimir,” he admitted. “I should speak with him this evening.”
“Must we eat in that great, drafty hall tonight?” Scarlet asked, yawning. “I don’t feel like figuring out all that silverware again.”
“You will not dine in the hall tonight and, thankfully, neither will I. I have a private meeting with several barons and I want no crowds to influence them.” His fingers slid through Scarlet’s hair. “And no beautiful Hilurin to distract them.”
Scarlet’s eyelids were getting heavy with the warmth of the room and the comfort of Liall’s arms. “Uh huh.”
“I shall wake you when I return?” Liall ventured.
“And I’ll hit you with a pillow if you do. My feet feel like I’ve just walked to Rusa in slippers. I didn’t do enough walking on the ship. My soles have grown soft.”
“Do not wait up, then. I will dine with the barons and attempt to re-forge some of those old ties. You would be surprised at what deals can be made over a good plate of stew.”
“No I wouldn’t.” Scarlet yawned again. “I’ve made a few of those m’self.”
6.
The Hunt
“Gentlemen,” Liall called loudly. “Please, we must have order.”
The ceiling of the great hall was vaulted like a dome, painted blue with many patterns of stars etched in silver and gold. Liall stood on a high dais before a great stone casement that overlooked the lands below, the draperies thrown back to reveal the blue twilight of the Rshani day. Before and below him was a sea of brightly-garbed nobles and barons and courtiers, all talking at once, all angry or demanding or frightened of what the future would bring.
And they have only me to comfort them, Liall thought drolly. Well, he had disappointed them before. “Order!” Liall thundered from his high place.
The quibbling of the Barons died down and all eyes turned to Liall. Disgraced or no, he was still the Blood Prince. Talk had gone from to trade tariffs under the old king and whether they would remain the same, to disputed borders between Maekva and the Lower Kingdom, and even to irrelevant remarks about Cestimir’s youth and style of dress. Truly, they would argue over anything. Liall was weary of it, and yet he knew the Barons said these many lesser things because they were unwilling to say the greater thing: that they did not trust Liall to hold the reins for Cestimir and then hand them meekly over when his time was done.
Liall could not blame them. After all, he would have been king in Cestimir’s place if fate had been kinder. Or crueler, depending on how one saw the matter.
The Baron of Tebet –Ressanda by name, a bearded, heavy-set man with a blunt manner– sat with his pretty daughter Ressilka at his side, as unlike her as moon to sun. The presence of such a young woman in a Baron’s council was unusual, but Liall understood Ressanda meant for her to inherit his title, so none objected. In Rshan, one did not necessarily inherit by gender. The young girl was lovely, tall and slender, with golden hair that held just a hint of strawberry. She was also obviously intelligent, watching every inhabitant of the great hall with solemn, discerning eyes, and Liall foresaw a great stir at court with her at its center.
She saw the prince looking at her. Instead of lowering her blue-painted eyes, she blinked slowly and held Liall’s gaze, seeming in no particular hurry to look away. Liall was distracted when Cestimir, seated at his right hand, slid him a scrap of paper. He broke eye-contact with the fetching young woman to look at it.
Pretty?
Cestimir was looking at his brother unsmilingly, and Liall sensed a ripple of displeasure coming from the boy. He crumpled the paper in his fingers and reached for a pen, dipping it in the pot of ink to scrawl his own message back.
Cestimir looked down at the little flame-flower Liall had drawn and hid a smile as he deftly crumpled the paper in his fingers.
Baron Ressanda stood heavily –he was a great, barrel-chested man with a shock of pale and unruly, red-gold hair– and bowed his head to Liall. “Prince Nazheradei,” he began “I know tempers are short and we all grow weary of this long debate, but I must ask: provided the barons rule to support Cestimir’s claim, when would he be ready to ascend the throne?”
Liall glanced to Cestimir. As his advocate, he was positioned in the center of the long, raised table that overlooked the hall. Cestimir’s young face was tranquil, a small-half smile arranged on his features and one still hand poised on the table: perfect, princely composure, and it had not wavered for over two hours.
“In truth,” Liall said, looking at Cestimir, “he is almost ready now.”
Cestimir’s eyes flickered with mild surprise, and Liall wondered if any had given him cause to doubt his brother’s confidence. “I cannot predict the future,” he went on, “but I see no reason why he could not inherit before his twentieth year.”
A murmur of satisfaction moved through the barons, and many nodded as if they had settled somet
hing in their minds. They needed a timetable to decide which way to follow the wind. There had never been a great deal of support for Vladei, and none loved him. Yet, change and uncertainty foments unrest and Vladei could still play that to his advantage, if he dared.
Many barons were stirring and there was a sense of finality in the way some gathered up their papers and shifted their hapcoats. Liall took the chance to end it on a good note.
“We will adjourn for the evening,” he announced, and gave the hall a pleasant smile. “Prince Cestimir extends his gratitude for your attendance.” He bowed to the hall and was relieved that Cestimir stood and bowed with him. Nadiushka had trained the boy well.