Chapter Ten:
After a month in the palace, Marie began to go stir crazy. It wasn’t that her days were uninteresting—au contraire, most days were fascinating, if embarrassing—but that they took place in the same locations. Marie wanted out of the palace—desperately.
It would be Rheidan who offered her that escape. She was packing up her writing utensils to go to her lesson with Master Karash when Hannon poked his head into her room.
“Milady Marie, Master Rheidan is waiting for you at the door.”
“Oh!” Marie froze. Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Hannon. I will be there shortly.” When he closed the door, Marie tied shut her satchel, started to leave, then hesitated. She hurried back to her mirror and glanced at herself. She fiddled with her hair a moment before turning away.
Her heart did a flip-flop in her chest as she rushed to the entrance of the suite. What did Rheidan want? She had a lesson to go to today!
She stepped outside. Rheidan lounged against the wall, but straightened immediately when he saw her. He had changed from his normal black garb into a dark blue robe. She thought it looked nice on him. “Rheidan, hi!” she said breathlessly. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled. “Well, I had promised you that you would get to meet my family.”
Marie’s face fell. “Oh, Rheidan, I would love to, but I have a lesson with Master Karash today—”
He shook his head, his smile widening. “Not anymore. I talked with Karash. He’s willing to let you skip a day.”
Really? That didn’t sound like Karash. Marie narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
Rheidan laughed at her expression. “I promise you honestly have the day off.”
“Hmm.”
Marie’s eyes fell to the ground. She mulled it over for a moment. “Are you sure you want me to meet your family?” Her eyes flicked up to his.
“Of course.” He extended his hand.
Marie glanced back toward the suite. Barnabas wouldn’t like it. Neither would Pamela or Darius…All the more reason to go. She turned back to Rheidan and took his hand. “I’d be delighted to meet your family.”
After a month of relative silence, the city seemed unnaturally loud. The shouts of passersby, the braying of animals, and the cheers emanating from the amphitheatre vibrated in Marie’s ear. The chariot jostled, clattering loudly, and Marie leaned a little closer to Rheidan, her grip on his arm tightening.
“A flower for the lady?” a boy bearing pink flowers shouted. Rheidan glanced questioningly at Marie, but she shook her head.
They passed by the boy and into a busy market area, where merchants immediately besieged them. Rheidan refused all offers with a shake of his head. He stayed stony-faced until they had left the market area and entered a quieter part of town, one where large stone walls flanked both sides of the street.
“This area of town,” he explained, “is called Varia Hoilla. Almost every Lord Councilor lives here.” He urged the horses through an ornate gate, and the chariot entered a lovely garden. Not far away stood a villa made of white stone. Marie’s eyes flicked over it. It wasn’t as magnificent as the palace—obviously—or even Lord Daenlyn’s manor, but it looked very welcoming nonetheless. Rheidan turned to face her and offered her his hand as she stepped out of the chariot. “Welcome to the Deiämoniquen Household.”
A laewin rushed up to take care of the chariot, and Rheidan escorted Marie into the house, where they were immediately ambushed.
“Rheidan! Rheidan!”
Rheidan whirled around. Two redheaded bombs exploded out of an adjoining room, slamming into Rheidan, who laughed, embracing them as they hugged his knees. He glanced up at Marie, his eyes glittering. “Marie, meet Kraiden and Porsin. Despite their entrance, I assure you they are completely harmless.”
One of the boys backpedaled away from Rheidan, glaring. “Hey! I am not harmless!”
The other boy glanced at him and sneered, “Yes, you are.” He paused, and an offended look crossed his face. “But I’m not!”
They glared at each other for a minute, and then threw themselves at each other in the same way they had thrown themselves at Rheidan. They rolled on the floor, each scrambling to best the other. Marie had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. Beside her, Rheidan just shook his head, a pained expression on his face. “This is why my father doesn’t often invite the other Lord Councilors over.”
Marie grinned. “Don’t worry about it. We were all that age once, were we not?” Her eyes fell to the twins again. One boy was tearing at the other’s hair. The smile faded from her face, replaced by a concerned look. “They’re not actually going to actually hurt each other, are they?”
“No,” said Rheidan, grabbing her hand and tugging her down the hallway. “They’re best friends. They just have the urge to beat each other up every once in a while.”
Marie wasn’t reassured, and she opened her mouth to say something, but another female voice beat her to it.
“Kraiden! Porsin! Stop immediately!” A girl with long red hair appeared so suddenly that Marie blinked and stepped back, startled. The girl swept down the hallway toward them, her dress swooshing against the floor. “Rheidan, you shouldn’t indulge them!” she scolded, shooting him a glare as she brushed past them.
Marie turned to watch her lean down and pluck one boy off the other. “Will you stop?” she exclaimed in exasperation. “This is not how young noblemen are supposed to behave!”
The two boys mumbled something unintelligible, and the girl shooed them away. She turned around, and her eyes landed on Rheidan. She scowled. Her gaze fell on Marie, however, and a bright smile lit her face. Her whole demeanor changed.
“You must be Lady Marie!” she gushed excitedly, striding forward. She curtsied a few steps away and laughed delightedly when Marie attempted to do the same. “Oh, don’t worry about it! You’ll learn in time! Come with me, come with me!” Much to Marie’s dismay, she looped her arm around Marie’s and glanced at Rheidan. “Father is in the library with Juliel. He wishes to speak with you. I’ll take care of Lady Marie!”
Rheidan glanced questioningly at Marie, who smiled somewhat nervously to let him know it was okay. As he left, the girl turned to face her. “I’m Terrah, by the way, Rheidan’s half-sister. He has told us so much about you!” She steered Marie down a hallway and into a sitting room, where a laewin had set down a platter of cakes. “Please—sit!” She fell into a low chair in a wave of rustles, and Marie did the same, eyeing her. Terrah reminded Marie so much of Jennifer that Marie had a difficult time accepting her relation to Rheidan.
“Well,” started Terrah, pouring a thick amber liquid into a small cup, “I am sure you are tired of people asking you about the land you come from, so I won’t delve into that too much. Rheidan has already told us much of what you and Lord Barnabas have told him, but I’m not quite sure if I believe any of it.” She looked at Marie plainly, the implication quite clear that if Marie was willing to talk about Earth, Terrah would only be too happy to hear about it.
Marie inwardly groaned. She had been asked to explain Earth quite often. Then again, she was far-sighted enough to see that her life might be easier if Rheidan’s little sister liked her. “Well, I might be able to clarify a few things…”
Terrah beamed at her.
Marie spent the rest of the day at the Deiämoniquen household. Lord Deiämoniquen, Juliel, and Rheidan came down to join Marie and Terrah sometime later. Marie could see immediately what Rheidan had been referring to when he said his father was in ill health. The Lord Councilor’s skin hung in bags from his cheeks, and his eyes were filmy with the first stages of blindness. His tongue, however, proved to be as sharp as ever, and poor Terrah was on the receiving end of it more than once that afternoon. Toward Marie, however, he was reserved and polite, and she had a feeling he was treading cautiously around her. She understood…It wasn’t exactly as though Rheidan had brought home a nice, Maretzian lady.
As for Juliel…he loo
ked like Rheidan in miniature, down to the smile, Rheidan’s best feature. In a few years, she thought, he’ll have girls giggling all over him. She glanced at Rheidan out of the corner of her eye and, predictably, blushed. The only member of the family not present was Rheidan’s older brother, Garshaun, who was out of town on business. Terrah breathlessly assured Marie she would get a chance to meet him once he returned.
Most of the afternoon Marie chatted with Rheidan’s family in the sitting room. She spent one or two hours satisfying the family’s curiosity about Earth, and as always, Marie found herself bumbling over explanations.
“So…” Terrah said disbelievingly, “You prevent a disease by giving people the disease?” She exchanged a worried look with her father, as if to say, what sort of lunatic did my brother bring home?
“It’s not quite like that,” Marie said, exasperated. She pondered the problem a moment. What type of comparison would they relate to? At last she said, “You know how if you eat something sweet, and keep on eating it, it will eventually make you sick? Whereas, if ingested in small portions, it won’t really do much?”
They nodded.
“Well, vaccines work on the same principle. In very small amounts, and I mean incredibly small—teeny, minuscule—the disease won’t really hurt you. It’s only when you’re given a significant dose of it that you get sick. So we use vaccines to give us a tiny amount of the disease. Our bodies learn how to fight the disease from that small injection, and then if we actually get the disease in significant amounts, our bodies remember how to beat it.”
Silence followed her explanation. Terrah looked downright incredulous while Lord Deiämoniquen considered her thoughtfully. At last Terrah laughed, “I don’t know whether to think that’s insane or ingenuous!”
Other things about Earth Marie honestly couldn’t explain. Cars?
“I don’t know how they run,” she admitted. “Something to do with combustion and pistons…er, well, something like that.” She shook her head ruefully. “You’d have to ask one of our engineers.”
Planes?
“Huge, metal contraptions that hold hundreds of people and zoom through the air…”
Submarines?
“They’re these metal bubbles beneath the sea that people can live in…”
And forget trying to explain concepts like microwaves:
“You put your food in this box, and the box heats it up.”
“Is the box hot?” asked Rheidan.
She grimaced. “Well, not exactly…”
Or credit cards:
“They’re about a finger-long and half a finger-short, and you slide them against this machine and it acts like money…”
Terrah’s dumbfounded expression was enough to make her give up.
The sky turned purple-red against the western horizon, and the Deiämoniquens invited Marie to join them for dinner. Rheidan sent a runner to the palace to inform Barnabas of Marie’s whereabouts, and within an hour, Marie found herself eating by candlelight in the gardens. There Marie turned the tables, and a good portion of dinner passed with Terrah happily explaining different aspects of Maretzian life.
“…and if boys cannot afford a private tutor, they go to a public learning house twice a week until they are eight so they can learn how to read and write.”
“What about girls?” Marie asked pointedly. “Do they go too?”
Terrah peeked up uncertainly at her father, and he nodded. “Well,” she said hesitantly, “Girls don’t go to public learning houses. Generally those who can afford it are taught by private tutors, but those who cannot do not learn. They will only learn how to read if someone in their family teaches them—which does happen, occasionally.”
Terrah glanced at her father again and added on, “Most girls in wealthier families are taught enough to be respectable ladies of the household, which means they have to be knowledgeable about certain subjects. We often get much of the education the men get.”
Terrah hesitated, then leaned forward and lowered her voice, “Rheidan told me you are being taught to read Maretzian by Master Karash. Is that true?”
Marie opened her mouth, but Lord Deiämoniquen beat her to it, smirking.
“Yes, it’s true.”
Terrah straightened abruptly. She smirked. “You obviously don’t know how lucky—or unlucky, I suppose—you are.” Her eyes glittered with mirth. “Master Karash is one of the most respected teachers in Melei-Argalla, but he completely disapproves of female education. You’re the first female student he’s ever had.”
This didn’t surprise Marie. “That explains the look he gave me on my first day of lessons.”
She immediately wished she hadn’t said it, but instead of looking affronted, Rheidan’s father snorted with laughter.
“I would pay to see that man teach you! Misogynistic brute!”
Rheidan snickered and explained quietly to Marie, “Father has always disliked Master Karash.”
Marie had gathered that.
As dinner wound down, Kraiden and Porsin started yawning widely, so much so that the dinner party eventually transferred to a comfortable sitting room, where the twins started badgering their father for someone named ‘Bello.’
“Bello, Father! I want Bello now!” Kraiden—or was it Porsin?—tugged his father’s robe.
“Yes,” exclaimed the other. “Bello!”
“All right, all right!” exclaimed Lord Deiämoniquen at last, holding up his hands in surrender. “I will summon Bello. But I think tonight you will have to settle for a historical story.” His eyes flicked to Marie.
“Aw, but Father—”
“No buts,” said Lord Deiämoniquen sternly. “I insist.”
The twins scowled, but eventually nodded.
“Bello is a family servant,” murmured Terrah by way of explanation, upon seeing Marie’s confused expression. “Not a laewin. He tells the boys a story every night before they go to bed.” She gave Marie a significant look. “I think tonight we will get to listen as well.”
Beside her, Rheidan leaned back. “Bello is a good storyteller.” He smiled contentedly. Marie suspected she had just found the origin of his extensive knowledge of Maretzian lore.
Terrah leaned close to Marie and murmured in a low voice, “Rheidan was just like those two when he was little, begging for Bello.”
Marie had the sudden mental image of Rheidan tugging at his father’s robes, begging for a story. She burst into a fit of giggles. Rheidan eyed her suspiciously.
Within minutes, a tall, elderly man with a shock of white hair entered the room, smiling magnanimously down at the boys. His eyes flickered briefly to Marie, the expression on his face curious, but the boys’ excited cries of “Bello!” brought his attention back to them shortly.
Bello sat down, staring each boy in the eye in turn. “Well, sons, what story do you want to hear tonight? Babelo the Brave? The Weeping Witch? The Red Eye and the House of 1000 Faces?”
The two looked at each other. The one on the right crinkled his nose. “You have to tell a historical story,” he informed Bello glumly.
The other boy bit his lip. Silence fell as each considered the possibilities, their brows furrowing. Bello clasped his hand together and waited patiently.
Lord Deiämoniquen leaned forward. “What about the story of Herodina and Eliathus?”
“Ugh,” groaned one of the twins. “Love story—boring!”
“No love story!”
Terrah considered Marie for a moment, then turned to Bello. “Then what about the Ascension of Emperor Sidriel?”
Marie straightened.
The twins turned to stare at Terrah, then glanced at each other questioningly. At last they nodded. “Okay.”
Bello leaned back. “Ah,” he said, “The story of our esteemed Emperor Sidriel.” He looked at Lord Deiämoniquen for permission, which he gave with a slight nod, took a sip from a glass of water, and began:
“The title of Maretzian emperor passes from firstbo
rn to firstborn, as you well know, but Sidriel was not the eldest child of his father. In fact, he was the youngest, the eighth son his father had. His father had married twice. His seven eldest sons were born of his first wife, and after that wife died, he went into mourning for several years. It wasn’t until he was already very old that he fell for a young lady in court. He married her, and a year later she died giving birth to Sidriel.
“Sidriel didn’t look much like his older brothers, and he didn’t act like them either. Where his brothers were loud and rash, always warmongering, Sidriel was calm and patient, quick on his feet and even quicker in his mind. His father favored him, so much so that his older brothers grew jealous. One can’t blame them: who would like to be compared to Sidriel? But such comparison was inevitable. It is very easy to imagine how frustrated grown men must have been to be overshadowed by a four year old, and finally, when Sidriel was only six, one of his brothers attempted to kill him.
“The old emperor did not take it well. He was furious with his murderous son, and as a punishment, had him thrown in jail, where he died within a few years. To protect Sidriel, the emperor had him sent away from the palace and surrounded by guards at all times.
“But young Sidriel disliked being confined, so he escaped his guards repeatedly and scampered about the countryside, meeting people from various towns, learning their trades, even encountering some lords and ladies. Everyone was so impressed with him that news of his escapades reached his father even from afar, and his father’s love for him grew.
“The brothers could take it no more, so at last one of them journeyed into the countryside, determined to get rid of Sidriel himself. He found the house Sidriel was staying at and crept inside in the dead of night. The son was a skilled fighter, one of the best warriors in the country. His skill was legendary. Sidriel was doomed.
“No one heard from or of Sidriel for weeks, and in the palace his brothers rejoiced. Then one day a package arrived for them—a trunk. They opened it, and inside they found the body of the prince sent to kill Sidriel. Sidriel was eight.
“The princes were furious. They didn’t understand what had happened. In their rage, they sent another down to kill him, and a few weeks later the same thing occurred. The body of the second prince arrived, locked in a trunk. The next time, two princes went down to kill Sidriel, and within two weeks two trunks were delivered to the two remaining princes.
“The oldest prince, who had been instructed in the ways of the court, gave up the game, at least for a while. He knew his father was dying. It would only be a few more months before he had the throne, and then he could send an entire army after Sidriel, if he so wanted.
“The other prince was not as wise, an all brawn no brain type of prince, so he stampeded off with the best of his guards, and of course, within a couple of weeks, the expected trunks arrived.
“The oldest prince’s gamble, however, paid off. Within five months his father was dead, and he was emperor. He turned his attention to Sidriel, and in his fury he sent a band of soldiers after him—150 trained warriors, men who had seen countless battles and had the scars to prove it. On a beautiful cloudless day, they left Melei-Argalla with the intent to kill the young prince, and the whole city watched as they passed over the crest of the hill and out of sight. And that was the last time anyone ever saw them. No one knows what happened to them, and to this day Sidriel has never told anyone.
“A month passed, and the new emperor grew uneasy. Where were his soldiers? When would they bring him the body of his hated brother? His thoughts flew to the trunks that had borne the bodies of his brothers, and fear settled in his heart. He increased his personal guard. He had a warrior in every hallway. He sent agents into the city to search for Sidriel. Every boy between the age of 7 and 12 was rounded up and thrown into prison. Sidriel’s most noticeable features were his eyes and hair, so every blond-haired, blue-eyed boy was killed. Boys”—Bello’s voice deepened menacingly—“Boys your age were thrown into the arena!”
Kraiden and Porsin shrank back.
“But”—Bello’s tone lightened—“Sidriel was nowhere to be found. The new emperor’s madness knew no bounds, and his thirst for Sidriel’s blood extended to the whole of Maretzia, and soon boys were being snatched up left and right. Chaos reigned in some areas. The people hated their new emperor. How could he do such a thing to his own people? Kidnap their sons? Slaughter them?
“Then one day, as the denizens of Melei-Argalla woke up to go about their daily activities, they noticed an interesting addition to the palace gates: the body of the emperor. Sidriel had come. Even to this day, so many years later, the details of what transpired that night are unclear. But what is clear, is that from that day onward, Sidriel has ruled Maretzia. That very morning, in the amphitheatre, the guards who had hunted him down swore fealty to him, with the citizens of the city watching. Sidriel was ten.”
Bello concluded his story and leaned back, smiling. The boys cheered.
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