Salvage Mind (Salvage Race Book 1)

by Jones, David Alan

  “I would never call Princess Kavya a wayward girl,” Ivan said in a conspiratorial voice. “She is Shorvexan and our master’s only child. But she is also headstrong and, if you ask an old slave like me, a bit too intelligent for her own good—and certainly for her station.”

  “Has the princess done something—” Symeon cut himself off abruptly, afraid he might offend the seneschal.

  “Stupid?” Ivan smiled to show he understood the younger man’s hesitancy. “Yes, my boy, she has.”

  “Oh?”

  “I cannot go into details. Your need to know is lacking on the matter. Suffice it to say, Princess Kavya endeavored to meddle in affairs of state, affairs that had nothing to do with her. When Grand Duke Alexei learned of her attempts, he ordered her here to Yaya.” Ivan turned grave eyes on Symeon. “Indefinitely.”

  Symeon felt his eyebrows shoot up. “She is banished?”

  “I wouldn’t call it banishment. More, Kavya is under surveillance. She will remain on this island until her father sees fit to release her, which I doubt he will do anytime soon. But if she manages to prove herself trustworthy and shows progress toward obeying orders, her time here might be cut short.”

  “I see.” Symeon considered the castle with its ornate domes. They reminded him of roses on the cusp of bloom. “I am to help her return to the grand duke’s favor?”

  “Just so.” Ivan pointed a finger at Symeon to emphasize his words. “We need someone to put Kavya’s affairs in order. Her personal finances are a mess, not to mention her utter lack of propriety when it comes to expected norms, and I’m afraid her education, despite years of private instruction, is lackluster at best.”

  “I am to be her tutor then?”

  “Despite what you learned in school, a good seneschal is always his master’s tutor, my boy. It is your job to protect the princess’ interests in every affair, from managing this estate to conducting herself properly in society.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This task requires a deft touch, Symeon. You understand? You can’t barrel into this situation like an ox. It will require subtlety.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “And you are ready?”

  No .

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Keep your head up, serve the princess well, and there is no limit to the heights you will obtain.”

  * * *

  The castle, according to the butler who ushered them inside, had once been called Bellorstok, but Princess Kavya had rechristened it Vysylka upon her arrival three years earlier. Symeon couldn’t be certain—he had little of the old Rus language the Shorvex had brought with them to this plane t— but he thought that word meant banishment, or perhaps refuge of the banished. Kavya’s disdain for the place must have been rife.

  For his part, Symeon found Vysylka’s environs enchanting. The castle’s foreshortened vestibule opened onto a grand audience hall with a floor made of irregularly shaped flagstones laid down like puzzle pieces. Grand portraits of Rurikid aristocrats all the way back to the Great Arrival adorned its stone walls, rivaled only by the many pieces of fine art and furnishings that livened each of the castle’s many rooms.

  “The princess is awaiting your arrival in the east salon,” said the butler, a rotund man dressed in a fine black suit with pleated cuffs. He looked fastidious, but smiled easily and had about him a jovial air as he led the two men along a wide hallway and up a flight of meticulously crafted stairs.

  “May I ask your name, sir?” Symeon asked as they gained the top landing.

  “I am Vlademar , Seneschal.”

  Symeon almost corrected the butler for calling him that until he remembered the title befit his new position. The realization sent a shock of dismayed pleasure through his chest.

  “How is the princess, this afternoon?” Ivan asked.

  Symeon got the impression the senior seneschal wasn’t asking after Kavya’s health.

  Vlademar shrugged one shoulder. “Well enough, sir. No tirades if that is what you mean.”

  “Good. Best not to frighten Symeon off on the first day.”

  Vlademar favored Ivan with a sly, knowing smile that worried Symeon. He got the feeling that, though Ivan rab Rurikid had seemingly taken pains to brief him on the situation with Princess Kavya, the seneschal had left out some vital information. He considered asking, but lost his chance when Vlademar thrust open a set of double doors and marched formally into the room beyond.

  “Seneschal Ivan and Seneschal Symeon to see you, Princess.” Vlademar spoke in the tones of a man long inured to the presence of royalty and yet well attuned to his duties. He bowed, one arm across his back, the other his considerable paunch, while Symeon and Ivan did likewise.

  “You may rise.” Princess Kavya, who had been sitting cross-legged upon a plush leather couch, stood in turn.

  Symeon didn’t know what he had expected the daughter of a grand duke to wear. Paparazzi photos and vids always showed her dressed in the latest fashions: slinky, glitzy dresses that probably cost more than ten Luxing on auction, dangerously high heels, and diving necklines. That version of the princess always struck him as vapid and ditsy, though he would never have admitted it to anyone. The woman standing before him looked nothing of the sort. She wore a flattering, conservative business suit of pin-striped gray, a black vest, and a small hat tilted at a confident angle upon her head. Her platinum tresses hung in two braids past her shoulders and shone in the light coming from the room’s large windows.

  Her beauty momentarily stole Symeon’s breath.

  Even more surprising, Kavya crossed the room to give Ivan rab Rurikid a kiss on the cheek. “How was your flight, Uncle?”

  Uncle? For the barest of an instant, Symeon wondered at the term of endearment. Many a young Luxing woman might use that term for a close family friend as a show of affection and respect, but to hear a Shorvexan princess do it took Symeon aback.

  “Short. Just the way I like it, my dear.”

  “Czarina, take the Seneschal’s cloak, will you.” Kavya fluttered a hand at a young Luxing woman whom Symeon hadn’t noticed sitting on the couch. The girl rose quickly, but Ivan waved her off.

  “No, forgive me, Princess; I’m afraid I haven’t time for a social call. I’ve duties to attend this evening. I came only to escort your new man. This is Symeon Brashniev.” Ivan regarded Symeon for a moment, his black eyebrows raised. “Or, I suppose I should call him Symeon rab Rurikid now, eh?”

  Shot through with sudden, unexpected pride and nervousness, Symeon endeavored to stand straight and tall under Princess Kavya’s scrutiny. The shock of hearing his new appellation—his master’s very name applied to his person, as if by adoption Symeon had become part of so august a family—sent a thrill of pleasure wending through his mind and body alike. So much so, he forgot to speak until Ivan turned a questioning look his way.

  “Ah! Princess Kavya, I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to find myself in your service.” Symeon stammered out the words like a child meeting his overseer for the first time. “I hope my work will be of benefit to you.”

  “Indeed.” Kavya watched him with cool, silver-blue eyes that reminded Symeon of the sea on a stormy day. “Let’s hope you last longer than the last five seneschals my father has sent me.”

  Symeon reared back, his spine suddenly stiff. He turned his gaze to Ivan. “Five?”

  “I’m afraid I’m rather hard on my minders,” Kavya said before Ivan could speak. “Your kind seem a fragile lot if you ask me.”

  “There have been others,” Ivan said reluctantly, like a man admitting his lies. “But the princess is jesting with you. She didn’t drive them off. They lacked self-discipline and lost the position due to their own shortcomings. I will remind you now, Symeon, you are here to serve, and serve only. The men before you sought ways to forward their own interests—their own dalliances in some cases.”

  Ivan’s gaze danced over to the young Luxing woman the princess had called Czarina and back to
Symeon, who took the meaning. Czarina’s comely appearance hadn’t immediately caught Symeon’s notice. How could it in Kavya’s presence? But the Luxing was a beauty in her own right. Several inches shorter than the princess with hair and skin as dark as the Shorvexan’s was light, she exuded feminine allure. Like her mistress, Czarina too wore a gray suit, though her ensemble lacked the vest and tiny hat. Nonetheless, the outfit accentuated her curvaceous figure. If Ivan meant the seneschals before Symeon had pursued Czarina without permission, he could understand why.

  “I will endeavor to serve without such dalliances,” Symeon said, keeping his tone self-assured and his gaze resolutely off Czarina.

  “We shall see.” Princess Kavya twiddled two fingers at Vlademar. “See Symeon to his apartment and once he’s comfortable, let him start in on my accounts. Father’s been hounding me to balance the estate budget. Perhaps that will be a good breaking-in point for our new seneschal.”

  Vlademar looked momentarily pained, as if he had seen another man kicked between the legs, but quickly schooled his expression.

  “Thank you, Princess.” Symeon bowed before turning to Ivan rab Rurikid. “And to you, Seneschal, for the honor of escorting me here.”

  “My pleasure, young man. Good luck.”

  “This way, Seneschal,” said Vlademar, motioning toward the exit.

  “Are the estate finances that bad?” Symeon asked once he and Vlademar were well down the adjoining hall.

  “I wouldn’t know, having no head for business myself, Seneschal. But I will say it wasn’t affairs of the heart that tripped up all your predecessors.”

  “Oh?”

  “No, sir. The last one killed himself after three months trying to right the princess’ books.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 4

  Symeon made his first real mistake as Seneschal the next morning during his initial tutoring session with the princess. Having grown up a slave on an insignificant farm in an insignificant province, he knew little about the education a woman of Kavya’s stature might possess. Based on his lessons in school, and Ivan rab Rurikid’s hints, Symeon suspected her of being woefully ignorant.

  As one of his professors was fond of saying, “Expecting your master to know a thing is folly. Supplying that thing before asked is anathema.” Thus, Symeon vowed to take nothing for granted when it came to his lady’s grasp of current politics and the state of the empire. In fact, he assumed her ignorance on every subject beyond the latest fashions out of Bastrayavich.

  “Are you seriously asking me to name the twenty-two krais?” Kavya lifted one delicate eyebrow at Symeon. Seated behind a massive wooden desk in the castle’s great library, she looked more the professor than he.

  “I don’t mean to offend you, Princess.” Symeon sketched a hasty half bow from his seat across from her. “I mean only to conduct a preliminary estimation of your current knowledge.”

  “And I suppose Ivan put you up to this? Tutoring me, I mean.”

  “Yes, Princess.”

  Kavya pushed a wayward strand of hair from her face. She wore it loose today, which seemed to annoy her, though she made no move to pin it back. “Of course he did. No doubt that would be my father’s command through him.”

  “I—” Symeon hesitated, uncertain what might raise the lady’s ire. Mention of her father, even from her own lips, made the skin just above her nose wrinkle. “I must assume that is the case, Princess.”

  “You don’t have to call me by my title every time you address me.”

  “It is proper etiquette, Princess.”

  Kavya huffed an exasperated breath at the library’s high ceiling. “I suppose that is another topic Ivan ordered you to tackle with me?”

  Symeon glanced at the tablet in his hands, his cheeks growing hot. “It is one of the items on the agenda he sent me, yes.”

  Czarina, who sat on one of a dozen reading couches arranged about the expansive room, giggled, though she managed to keep her gaze on the holo display she was watching.

  “You find this humorous, Czar?” Kavya cast a faux look of disgust at the handmaid.

  “Oh, ma’am, I wasn’t laughing at you. It was this program I’m watching.” Czarina contrived a look of perfect innocence as she shook her head in negation.

  “You’re watching the live stock exchange. I doubt you saw anything funny there.”

  “House Vasilyevich’s portfolio fell twenty percent?” Czarina grinned like a child who has told her first joke.

  “Your sense of humor astounds me,” Kavya said.

  “I’m sorry, Kav, it’s just the very thought of some first-week steward trying to school you on politics and economics—it’s a farce.”

  Symeon stiffened in his seat. He glared at Czarina, who appeared not to notice, and turned back to Kavya. “Princess, if I have offended you, I promise I didn’t mean it. I have been assigned a duty here. Yes, by your father, but also by Ivan rab Rurikid, whom I greatly admire. I can’t perform that duty unless I know where I stand.”

  Czarina made a cooing sound. “Oh, Kav, do have some mercy on the poor man. He’s so cute when he’s earnest.”

  A slight grin touched Kavya’s lips, the only part of her skin that exhibited anything like the color pink. “Fine, Seneschal, let us discuss the empire so that you may gauge my understanding of its inner workings, shall we?” She stood to pace the room, ticking off points on her fingers as she spoke. “Our empire is broken into twenty-two states, or krais as the ancients would have it—though most people call them duchies now—each headed by a grand duke.” With that she rattled off the name of each krais, its capital, as well as its grand duke and whatever sort of deputy they employed, and its major economic exports.

  Symeon sat stunned for a moment before he remembered himself. “Yes, impressive. Few enough citizens know them all.”

  “Symeon.” Kavya stopped pacing to look into his eyes. “I am twenty-four years old, and the daughter of the most powerful grand duke in the empire. I’d be an utter fool if I didn’t understand how that empire functions.”

  “You can’t much blame him,” Czarina said, her attention back on the holo device in her hands. “Most children of grand dukes really are utter fools.”

  Kavya nodded and heaved a sigh. “I suppose that’s true.”

  Symeon glanced at his tablet. “And, I assume you’re aware all the lands, domestic and interplanetary production, and comestible goods in the system belong to the emperor?”

  “And we, as his faithful stewards, are charged with protecting those assets, yes.” Kavya leaned her backside against the nearest couch. “Would you like for me to recite the alphabet next?”

  “Princess—”

  “Seneschal.”

  Symeon stood from his chair in order to perform a proper bow. “I apologize for offending you, Princess Kavya Rurikid. Will you forgive me?”

  Kavya considered him for a moment, her near silver eyes never wavering. “Stand up. Have you studied the writings of Greggor Yavanivich Topel?”

  “The second century economist?” Symeon tilted his head to one side, nonplussed.

  “He said the diversified economies of Phoenix serve to keep the emperor on his throne. As the various grand dukes vie for power against one another, all the time manipulating assets not their own, their struggles serve only to make the emperor wealthier and more powerful. Because, as one economy of scale sinks — ”

  “—another rises, but always the movement favors the crown,” Symeon finished.

  “I know my history, Symeon, probably better than you, just as I know my economics, my theory on the peerage, and my sociopolitical climate. I understand your mission here—to right my estate and probably my mind—but I know things you were never taught in your school for servants, because I live the realities of this empire every moment of my life.”

  Symeon chose not to bristle at the princess’ words. If she knew Topel, she knew more than most practicing economists. Besides, he had no intention of infuriating h
er. He was Luxing, bred to serve. He wouldn’t start his life’s work by earning the enmity of his mistress. On the other hand, he wasn’t about to let her call his education into question.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Lady, but wasn’t it Titus Stebenmarch who said, ‘The wisdom of common experience grows dull without the study of its application.’”

  “Is that what you learned in school? The application of knowledge?”

  “It is all we strive to achieve as seneschals, Princess.”

  “Tell me, did this application you speak of help you decipher my estate’s budgeting errors last night?”

  Symeon looked away, chagrined. “No, Lady, it did not.”

  He had spent the better part of the previous night examining Princess Kavya’s finances and had, so far as he could tell, made no real headway in the matter. The challenge lay not in the size of the princess’ holdings—he had tackled problems of immense scale in school—but rather in the impossibly complex structure previous managers had applied to them. Kavya owned thousands of shell corporations, many of them stacked within still more complex financial instruments meant to protect her from market shifts. Though Symeon had excelled in finance at school, his training hadn’t prepared him to unravel what felt like a world-bending knot of confused assets and liabilities. Almost, he could understand his predecessor’s choice to die rather than face so daunting a task.

  “I believe balancing my estate budget is number three on your little list, is it not?” Kavya pointed at the tablet.

  Symeon looked aghast for a moment before he caught himself.

  Kavya chuckled. “You think I haven’t seen that list? I own this island, Seneschal. My father can try to hide his messages all he likes, but his attempts won’t work, just as you won’t work if you can’t unravel our financial problems within the next three months.”

  Kavya had the right of it. The list of demands Ivan had passed to Symeon from Grand Duke Alexei stipulated he must balance the estate’s books within three months or lose his position permanently. It appeared the grand duke had lost patience with both the previous seneschals’ failed attempts at righting things, and the imperial tax collector’s office imposing massive penalties and fees for money owed as far back as ten years.