Khaster was silent for a moment. He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand your interest in me. I am unremarkable, a failure. I am riddled with anxiety and I’m a coward. It cannot be disputed.’
‘If you insist,’ said Almorante, ‘but that too can be changed. You are admired, even among your self-indulgent colleagues, for your honesty, your compassion and your integrity. These men, they lack those qualities, yet they respect them in you. Why? Why don’t they just laugh at you, when you muddle and fuddle your way through life here? You call yourself a coward, yet you were the only one courageous enough to stand up to Bayard and curb his excesses. People were in awe of that. Then, you had the most coveted boy in Magrast in your bed and you cast him out with a curse. Normally, this would invoke only savage hysteria. But no. When Khaster Leckery behaves like a frigid virgin, people only worry and wonder what to do.’ Almorante leaned forward. ‘Don’t let past hurts rule your life. Learn to live again. Forget the Palindrakes for now. And Bayard. Find yourself. Then the time may come when you can avenge your hurts.’ He paused. ‘One day I will give you Caradore, Khaster. I promise you this. Trust me.’
‘I am overwhelmed,’ Khaster said. ‘This is too much to take in.’
‘I disagree. Get used to it.’
Khaster watched the prince warily as he took a drink from his cup. Almorante’s remarks, though vague, suggested he thought that one day he would be emperor. This was treason. How could Almorante trust him with these intemperate words? Because the prince had a keen instinct concerning men, which he could depend upon implicitly? That must be it. The promise he had given was the one thing Khaster wanted more than anything. Almorante knew a Caradorean’s price. He had named it. That’s why he trusted Khaster. And Khaster, in his heart, knew he could trust Almorante too. He smiled.
‘Yes?’ said the prince.
‘Yes,’ said Khaster flatly. ‘That is the answer. Yes.’
Almorante nodded. ‘I am gratified and you will not be sorry.’ He put down his cup. ‘Tayven dearly wants to see you. Might I send for him?’
Khaster paused. ‘No. That is something that cannot be changed.’
‘I am intrigued. What is your objection?’
‘His gender.’
‘But your other friends are male. What’s the difference?’
‘There is one, you know there is. I can’t look upon a boy in the same way you do.’
‘Well, of course I cannot argue with that. But what troubles me is that if you are so rigorously strict in your affections, why won’t you see the poor creature? He is wretched. He feels he’s wronged you.’
‘By repeating everything I said to him to you? That doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to see him.’
‘Tayven did not come sneaking to me, spilling secrets. I knew there was something wrong. I had to prise it out of him. I think, Khaster, that you desire this boy and you cannot bear it, because it goes against your moral code. Your hatred of love between men is racist. You hate it mainly because Magravands don’t, and you loathe everything Magravandian.’
‘If you think this of me, then whyc?’
‘Oh, be quiet. I know your feelings for my country and my people. I don’t blame you. I’d probably feel the same in your position. But you’re never going to progress in life until you can conquer certain aspects of yourself, which have been carried in the blood of Caradoreans for generations. You make yourself a slave. Open your eyes. Wake up. Cast off the shackles. You can start with one small thing. It would be the first step to a greater freedom. If you want the boy, have him. How can it harm you?’
‘I don’t want him.’
‘I can see it would be easy to become very annoyed by you,’ Almorante said. ‘So I’ll withdraw from this argument. However, it is my wish that you attend my next gathering in a week’s time. You will be there, of course.’
‘Yes, your highness. I will be there.’
‘Good. Finish that drink and go. I have work to do.’
Khaster drained his cup and stood up. He bowed. ‘Thank you, my prince. I cannot believe it, but you have given me hope.’
‘Such was my intention.’
Khaster inclined his head and went to the door. As he opened it, Almorante said, ‘Tayven is a celebrity in Magrast, because of his association with me. Uttering his name at the moment of climax was bound to amuse the whore. You do not desire him, of course. You know best. Until the rest days, Khaster. Fare thee well.’
Three days later, Khaster celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday. Rufus bought him a new jacket for the occasion. From Valraven there was no word. Nor did Pharinet make contact, but why should she? Khaster’s mother, Saskia, sent a long despairing letter, saying how much she missed him, and that Norgance was a tomb, devoid as it was of its menfolk. She lamented her daughter Ellony’s death, and expressed her fears that she would never recover from the shock. Also, she worried about ‘her baby’, Khaster’s younger brother, Merlan, who was at the college in Magrast. Khaster thought she hardly need worry. Merlan, unlike his elders, was not destined to lead men into battle. He was a scholar, and had already been tagged by the imperial government for a post abroad, in an administrative capacity. He was only thirteen. Reminded by the letter, Khaster went to see his brother. He had not visited Merlan since he’d first returned from Caradore and had had to give him the terrible news about Ellony. He’d not revealed his suspicions to Merlan about Pharinet and Bayard then, and had no intention of telling what he knew now. He suspected Merlan might want to talk about their sister, but it seemed the resilience of youth, or perhaps the fact that Merlan was so far from home and had become embroiled in his new life, meant that Merlan was more preoccupied by immediate concerns.
He assessed Khaster quickly in the cloisters of the college. ‘You are making news,’ he said. ‘Gossip concerning Khaster Leckery flies around the city.’
Khaster’s heart sank. ‘No word to our mother, Merlan. You must swear it.’
‘Will you take me to the palace with you soon?’
‘Why?’
‘I wish to make contacts.’
Khaster eyed his brother wearily. He had never been like Merlan, aware, clever, ambitious. ‘I’m sure you’ll need no help from me.’
‘I want to come. I want to meet Prince Almorante and his mages. He has a strong presence in Mewt, and since that’s where I’ll be sent in a couple of yearsc’
‘Merlan, can’t you just concentrate on being a child?’
Merlan narrowed his eyes. ‘Khaster, I’ve had to do the growing up for both of us, it seems. Can I come to the palace? A letter to our mother depends on it.’
‘All right. I’ll see what I can do.’
In the event, Khaster decided it might be safer for him to take Merlan with him to Almorante’s next gathering. He was sure he’d never dare do anything indecorous in front of his brother. Despite the boy’s age, he was astute and alert. As Merlan was rather bookish, and certainly no slinkingly disturbing creature like Tayven, Khaster knew he would be safe from the amorous intentions of any of Almorante’s entourage. A letter was sent to Almorante’s steward, enquiring whether Khaster could bring his brother as a guest. Not really to Khaster’s surprise, because by now he knew Almorante was keen to please him, a reply was received in the affirmative.
The brothers climbed the steps to Almorante’s palace ten minutes late – at Merlan’s insistence because he said he knew the etiquette of these things. Khaster found it hard to believe Merlan was still so young. Dressed as a man, and with all the poise of someone at least six years older, he had learned quickly from his Magravandian class-mates. Khaster felt he could see into the future and observed Merlan doing very well for himself. He clearly had no reservations about working for the emperor. He wanted to succeed in life, at whatever cost.
‘Have you seen Val recently?’ Merlan asked, as a servant took their coats from them in the outer hall.
‘No. We’re no longer on good terms.’
‘Will he be here tonight?�
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‘Certainly not. He’s not part of Almorante’s circle.’
‘I thought he was. He used to be, didn’t he?’
‘Things change, Merlan. This way. Hurry up.’
‘I think it’s important to put our money on the right horse, don’t you?’ Merlan said as they walked along a gilded corridor. Music could be heard faintly from a room at the far end.
‘Explain what you mean.’
‘Well, the princes have their own cliques and areas of power. When Leonid dies, someone else will be emperor. What we have to decide is who that will be, and make them our friend. At the moment I’d put my money on Almorante, wouldn’t you?’
‘Gastern will inherit, you know that.’
Merlan gave his brother a condescending glance. ‘Either you’re stupid, or you think I am.’
‘Don’t talk like that here. Be careful.’ As if the warning was needed.
‘People at school talk about how the empress favours Bayard. She too has great power. Have you ever met her?’
‘Not personally, no. As you’re no doubt aware, I’m as far from Bayard’s clique as it’s possible to get.’
‘Things are available to you that are not available to him. He won’t like that.’
‘I’ve a suspicion about what you mean by that remark, which I shall ignore.’
They had come to the great doors, beyond which lay a splendid salon. As Khaster and Merlan walked into the gathering, Khaster reflected on how different social occasions were in Magrast than they were in Caradore. For a start, there were no women present. In the upper classes, the social mingling of sexes was sporadic, but appearances were deceptive. Merlan was right. Tatrini, the empress, was a powerful woman. She might not attend all male gatherings, but it was no secret she knew everything that transpired at them. Khaster missed his women-folk, even more so because he felt they were removed from him forever, even those who still lived. How could he go home again now? He was married to Pharinet, yet he couldn’t bear to see her. She too no doubt dreaded the possibility of him taking his next leave in Caradore. Perhaps he should write to her, try to salvage something from the situation, some kind of civilised understanding. This thought cheered him and his smile was genuine when Almorante gestured for him to approach.
‘So this is your younger brother,’ the prince said, inclining his head to Merlan. ‘You look alike.’
Khaster glanced down at Merlan. Surely not? Yet the young man beside him was far from the scruffy student with ink-stained fingers.
‘I am honoured to meet you, your highness,’ said Merlan, full of confidence.
‘You are to be stationed in Mewt, I hear,’ said Almorante, who had no doubt researched Khaster’s family in the very recent past.
‘That is true, your highness. I look forward to it. They say Mewt is an amazing land.’
‘It is indeed. And you are fortunate tonight, because Lord Maycarpe is with us. He is the governor in Akahana, home for a short visit. I will introduce you to him presently.’ He turned his attention to Khaster. ‘And you look well, my friend. I am pleased to see it.’
Khaster couldn’t suppress a shiver of pleasure to be described as this prince’s friend. No doubt ears all about the room were tuned to their conversation. ‘The last time you saw me I was in the grip of a vicious hangover,’ Khaster said.
Almorante raised an eyebrow. ‘I would like you sit by me at dinner this evening. It will be served shortly.’ He clicked his fingers so that a servant scuttled over with a tray of drinks. ‘Enjoy yourself in moderation, Khaster. Mingle. Be sociable.’ He smiled and departed.
Merlan took a glass of wine off the tray and handed one to his brother. ‘I can’t believe it. You were always in Valraven’s shadow, now this. Almorante calls you his friend! You must have worked hard. A favourite of an imperial prince. I’m in awe.’
‘I am not a favourite,’ Khaster said. ‘And it’s happened by accident rather than design.’
‘He must think you’ll be useful,’ Merlan said. ‘If you’re sensible, you’ll make sure you are.’
Khaster sighed. ‘Our roles should be reversed. You’d thrive on this.’
Merlan laughed, then said, ‘We have great opportunity for our family here. The Leckerys have always been secondary to the Palindrakes in Caradore. We can change that. Valraven has made mistakes.’
‘No he hasn’t,’ Khaster said. ‘Don’t make too many assumptions. We have to tread carefully.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ said Merlan.
Two of Almorante’s younger brothers were present, Celetian and Roarke. In the scheme of things, only three of the imperial sons had desire for leadership, Almorante, Gastern and Bayard. The others – for the moment at least – were content to ally themselves with the powerful sibling they most admired. Of the emperor’s eleven sons, three were still children. Bayard had only one fraternal ally, Prince Wymer, who was rumoured to be as dissipated as Bayard himself. Of the rest, Princes Eremore and Pormitre were of Gastern’s circle. Relations between Gastern and Almorante, and their respective cliques, were warmer than those between Bayard and anyone else. The Malagash family was suspicious and paranoid about each other. Privately, Khaster found it farcical, whilst being aware that because the Malagashes were powerful, their tantrums and preferences could affect a great many others.
As Almorante had promised, he introduced the Leckerys to Lord Maycarpe, who was a tall saturnine man in his late thirties. His skin was bronzed by the hot sun of Mewt and his fingers were adorned with rings bearing the lion-serpent motifs of that exotic country. Merlan behaved impeccably, at once polite, assertive and respectfully curious. He encouraged Maycarpe to talk about Akahana, flattering the man discreetly. Khaster could not help but admire his brother’s cool manipulation of the situation. It would help ensure things went well for him when he was finally stationed abroad. Khaster had never been one for such behaviour. Maybe Merlan was right. Khaster had been in Valraven’s shadow since they’d been small children. It had crushed him. And for what? Ultimate betrayal.
The gathering moved into an adjoining room, where a long table gleamed with silver cutlery in the light of a thousand candles. Almorante sat at the head of the table and gestured for Khaster to sit on the first seat to his right. So far, there had been no sign of Tayven Hirantel. Perhaps Almorante was being considerate of Khaster’s feelings. If so, this accommodation seemed to be going too far. What was the prince’s motive? Merlan was seated some distance away, next to Lord Maycarpe, and some other dignitary from the imperial government in Mewt. He was clearly in his element and had forgotten his elder brother was present. In Caradore, Merlan might be regarded as precocious, a prodigy perhaps, but one who needed to be kept in his place. Not here. The Magravandians were aware of the boy’s talent and intellect.
Khaster sat among a clutch of princes, two of whom he’d barely spoken to before. Now, whether voluntarily or not, Roarke and Celetian realised the sense of being pleasant to him. They always had half an eye on Almorante, like dogs currying favour.
‘You seem more at peace with yourself,’ Almorante said softly to Khaster, leaning close.
‘Truce might be a better word.’
Almorante laughed, leaning back again. ‘Better than none.’
Course after course was brought in; dishes smothered in rich sauces, and spices imported from Mewt. Almorante indulged in polite conversation, never once touching upon any sensitive subject, either personal or political. He invited Khaster to other events in the future, even a soiree with the empress, which should be interesting. Khaster had no fear that Valraven would be there, but Bayard certainly would be. Carefully, he mentioned this to Almorante.
‘Don’t worry about Bayard,’ the prince said. ‘He is an effete hedonist, with pretensions to power. He has far too little self-control ever to have it. He is a great one for foot-stamping, and always has been. Mother has indulged him, of course, which hasn’t helped. He is the gilded one, the pretty one. Our father barely acknowledg
es his existence.’
‘Our father is embarrassed by him,’ said Prince Celetian.
‘Enough of that,’ said Almorante quietly. ‘It is time for entertainment, I think.’ He made a discreet signal.
While servants moved soft-footed around the room, removing the remains of the meal, others lit dim lamps around a raised platform opposite to where Khaster sat. A troupe of musicians came in, carrying harps, drums and wind instruments. ‘I hope you will like this,’ Almorante said.
Khaster was alerted by the tone of the prince’s voice. ‘Why?’
Almorante put a finger to his lips. The musicians started to play, a rhythmic yet languid tribal dance. A figure appeared among them, swathed in a long dark cloak, and a face mask of dangling silver disks: the garb of a Cossic mystic. The Magravandians were fond of reproducing the entertainments of their conquered lands. The cloaked figure sat down cross-legged upon the floor in front of the musicians, and began to sway. Then a voice purred out, singing a haunting incantation. Khaster knew that voice. Tayven’s. He half rose from his seat, but Almorante’s right hand flicked out and grabbed his left wrist in a painfully strong grip. ‘Sit still,’ he said. Khaster remained rigid. Almorante would not let him go.
The song changed, became more conventional, and the words burned into Khaster’s mind. Could they possibly be addressed to him? The song was about the stupidity and waste of self-hatred, about realising the wonder of life, of becoming free from fear and misery. Khaster had the feeling this had all been staged. His first instinct was to be angry, but then Almorante murmured, ‘Ah Khaster, do you not see? It is up to you entirely how you react to this. That is your control over the outcome.’
‘Did he ask you to let him do this, or was it your suggestion?’ Khaster asked.
‘He asked me,’ Almorante said with a shrug. ‘He wants nothing more than to tell you his thoughts. After the way you treated him, he deserves nothing less.’
The song ended with the words, ‘I forgive you.’
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