by Tony Roberts
“Ah!” Metila cried out and her eyes went wide, staring at the ceiling. “Nih bulethala mi’kechar!”
“What was that?” Isbel asked.
“Ma’am, please, she said ‘you will not take me.’” One of the servants bowed. “I am half Bragalese.”
“Ah, good. Thank you,” Isbel added. She wondered who Metila was talking to and to what she was referring. There was another outburst, and the witch arced her back and screamed once, then fell back and exhaled long and deeply.
Isbel panicked and bent to listen to her mouth. Long slow deep breaths were coming from her, so she was still alive. The apothecary knelt up and shook his head in bafflement. “I really do not understand this, ma’am. She is clearly stronger already – what happened there I do not know, but it would appear she will recover… look…” he pointed in disbelief to the wounds underneath the leaves. One leaf had slipped and the bloodied gash underneath had stopped bleeding. The leaf was shrivelling before their eyes, as were the others, and all fell off, dried out.
There was no sign of the mixture and only dried clotted blood marked the vicious wounds that had disfigured her. Isbel shook her head, then covered her up with the remaining cloths. “Thank you,” she said to the servant girls. “You may go.”
A guard opened the door and came in, then stood back as the servants left. He bowed. “Ma’am, I have just been informed that one of the Bragalese kitchen staff has been found dead in her room on the ground floor. Ma’am – apparently her throat had been ripped out.”
The apothecary and Isbel looked at one another in incredulity.
____
Astiras accepted a bowl of soup eagerly. It was morning and he had been somewhat taken aback to find Isbel sleeping in a chair a few paces from his bed, and even more so a topless Metila slumbering on the floor at Isbel’s feet, some gashes marking her from her left shoulder across to just above her right breast.
Isbel had woken quickly and gone to his side, kneeling by him, asking all kinds of questions, some which he had been unable to answer, some he had been partly able to. He was hungry and thirsty, so Isbel had organised a breakfast. By the time the food had arrived, Metila was conscious, and Astiras was amazed to see Isbel tending her, too.
“Will you please tell me what is going on? I have no idea why she’s here,” he pointed at her, “and why, in Kastan’s sake, you two seem to be the best of friends! Am I dreaming or have I gone insane?”
“You nearly did, Astiras.” Isbel sat Metila in the chair and sat herself on the edge of the bed. She quickly appraised Astiras of what had been going on. “It would seem a Bragalese witch got herself employed in the kitchen and tampered with your food and drink, using low dosage for a while, which slowly sent you paranoid.”
“This is crazy – so why did she do that?”
“It coincided with the Mirrodan plot – she was brought in around the same time I was handed the note about you two having an affair. All this was told me last night after we found her dead in her room. It seems Metila, you have some explaining to do.”
Metila looked pale, but nodded nonetheless. “Witch fight not physical. Witch fight magical. We hurt not by touch but by spell. I hurt by her, I kill her.”
“Ohhh, so that explains it,” Isbel nodded in understanding. “I don’t know how you do it, but I saw those wounds appear out of nowhere.” She didn’t tell Astiras of the potion Metila had given him initially. She would see if it did actually work. “Then my best assessment is that the Mirrodan tried to break our marriage up after stumbling across the affair when poor old Teduskis mentioned it to Goltan here some time a couple of years ago. They got Goltan to employ the witch to tamper with your food in order to drive you insane.”
“But why bother?” Astiras asked, sitting up. He had no memory of the recent past. His mind was still sluggish.
“Easy to solve that puzzle. They remove me if our marriage dissolves, because I then have no power or status. They then send you insane, thus ending your right to rule. They act quickly before Jorqel can get here, and have half the empire in their grip. Lucky you sent Vosgaris down to find out – he didn’t quite do it the way you hoped, but the plot was discovered but only after Alenna was murdered.”
“So why was my food and drink still being dosed?”
“Even with Goltan Mirrodan out of the way, the plot to topple you still went on. There’s still someone intent on getting you out of the way, dear. And me,” she added. “Do you remember anything of the past few seasons?”
Astiras squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I remember my trip to Pelponia. In fact I seemed better down there. I got back here, and ah, removed Istan’s troublesome accomplices, and then that’s about it.”
Isbel gave him a condensed version of what had been going on and what Astiras had done. He put down the bowl and sat up in disbelief. “I did what?”
“Ask the admin office. Ask Frendicus. Ask Captain Bevil.”
“Captain Bevil? What in the fiery pits of all the underworlds have I done?”
“As I said, you nearly went insane. Amne is here with her girls, by the way, and you need to mend some bridges with her. Oh, she’s pregnant, by the way. She’s going to be leaving in a day or so.”
“Pregnant?” Astiras saw Metila nod, a smile on her face.
“And do I take it, Isbel, then that you and Metila here are no longer going to kill one another?”
Isbel looked at Metila. “A change of heart. Besides, I believe having a Bragalese witch as an ally is definitely essential.”
Metila nodded again. “Metila help Landwaster family.” She sucked in her breath and touched her wounds. “Will take days to heal. I will stay here few days, then visit old friends near here, then return to Thetos.”
Astiras grunted. “Well in that case I should be getting to my duties…”
“Oh no, you don’t, Astiras Koros,” Isbel said firmly. “You are going to rest and speak with your daughter and grand-daughters. I will take Metila to a room of her own, and you will convalesce fully. I am running the empire very nicely thank you, and you are to ease yourself into it at a walk, not a full-blown run.”
“Yes ma’am!” Astiras rolled his eyes and sank back onto the bed. He was grateful for this, however, for the room had started to spin. Best he lay there and rest as Isbel had said. Odd, his anger and resentment towards her about how she had treated him over the Metila affair had gone. Maybe it was because the two women had called a cease-fire.
Isbel draped Metila’s tunic over her shoulder loosely, and walked with her a short distance to a free guest room. There was plenty of room and Metila was grateful to have a room to herself. She needed healing time. Isbel told her she would not be disturbed but there would be a guard nearby if she needed anything.
“All will be good now,” Metila said sleepily. “Landwaster will love you.”
“Thank you Metila – you didn’t have to do that you know, but you did and I’m grateful for it.”
Metila nodded and pulled Isbel down to her and kissed her again, a repeat of the kiss of last night. Isbel didn’t resist and joined in, their tongues seeking one another’s. The empress eventually lifted her head and looked at the witch in puzzlement. “Why?”
“Contract, Bragalese way.”
“But – between women?”
“Yes. Bragalese women have other women when agreements made. Our way.”
Isbel wondered about that. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“Bragal people not speak to outlanders of it. We not have agreements with outlanders. Only women make agreements like that. It is our way.”
Isbel stroked Metila’s hair. “Rest, Metila. That’s two of my family you have now saved. I cannot thank you enough.”
The witch squeezed Isbel’s hand. “You good lady. You need love. I give you him again. He thought contract more than just that. He foolish.”
“So I’m beginning to understand. It’s not love what you do, but a sealing of a contract.”
; Metila smiled. “Woman understands, man not.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Isbel left her and wandered back to the main corridor. What was she going to do now? She felt in a cleft stick – Vosgaris or Astiras? Not both – she had a hard decision to make and it wouldn’t please the poor Commander. She needed to speak to Amne.
The princess was supervising the packing of the group’s belongings. Everything seemed to be needed to be supervised. Why was it nobody could actually pack things the way she had told them, properly? The girls were hardly helping either, running about excitedly. Another journey, back to the palace. They had enjoyed their time away but they wanted to be back in their familiar rooms with their familiar belongings.
“Your highness,” a guard bowed next to her. “The empress would like you and the small princesses to attend upon her at your convenience.”
Amne rolled her eyes. Why he couldn’t say her step-mother wanted her now she didn’t know. She thanked the man and hunted down the two girls, busy playing tag around a water trough. “Come on girls, grandmother wants to see you.”
The girls obediently fell into line and Stana was picked up by Amne and carried up the stairs. The growing baby inside her was making her feel more uncomfortable now, and she was looking forward to returning home and spending the autumn and winter preparing herself for yet another birth. She actually thought of Elas too.
Isbel held out her arms for the girls and they ran to her. Amne stood back and waited, then got a hug too. “Everything alright, mother? Has Metila managed to do any good?”
“That’s what I wanted to show you,” Isbel smiled. “Come on everyone, I want to take you to see him.”
“He’s better?” Amne grasped Isbel’s hand. “Really?”
Isbel nodded and led them to the chamber. Astiras smiled tiredly as he caught sight of Amne, then looked in wonder at the two girls standing shyly by their mother’s side. “Hello, its Kola and Stana, isn’t it? How are you?”
Amne leaned sideways to Kola. “Remember your manners, Kola.”
Kola curtseyed and spoke. “I’m fine, thank you, sir.”
Stana just held Amne’s hand tightly. Amne stepped closer, looking carefully at her father. He seemed much more relaxed and at ease. “Well, father, you gave us all a fright, I can tell you. I hope you’re back to your own self.”
“I appear to be – the person responsible has – ah – passed on. Metila did one of her magic tricks, so it seemed. The woman’s unbelievable.”
Amne glanced at Isbel who nodded. “So it’s safe to mention her in your presence then, mother?”
“Yes,” Isbel said, running her hand over Astiras’ forehead. “Metila and I have come to an understanding. She’s recovering in her room; I don’t think she’ll be up to seeing anyone until tomorrow.”
Astiras held out his hand and Kola took it hesitantly. The emperor smiled and asked how the young girl was finding the adventure of travelling. Stana stood wordlessly, watching everything, then Astiras spoke to her and she nodded when she was asked if she was enjoying the visit.
Astiras was happy but exhausted, and soon he sank down to sleep, an untroubled, peaceful one. Outside Amne turned to Isbel. “So what about you-know-who?”
Isbel nodded. “Poor man, I’m not going to be able to foster any attention upon him now Astiras is back, body and soul. I hope he understands. I’ll write to him.”
“I will too. Poor man, as you say. He’s not lucky in love, is he?”
Isbel took Amne by the arm and led her down the passageway, Stana holding Amne’s hand and Kola Isbel’s. “Perhaps no, but who else has,” and she lowered her voice, “bedded a princess and empress?”
Amne smirked. “Mmm… as you say, he’s prepared to wait until recalled from exile over in the west. Give him plenty to do. Has father regretted what he’s done?”
“He’s too busy thinking over everything to pick on any one issue, but I expect he’ll come to regret his appalling treatment of the good Commander. I wouldn’t be surprised if Vosgaris received some – ah – recompense from your father.” They stopped by the administration office door. “But do write when it’s close to your time. I will come and see the child, and your father will just have to do without me for a while. Just don’t have it when the snows are at their deepest.”
“I’ll have a word,” Amne patted her visible bulge, “but if he or she is like me, it may well fall on deaf ears.”
“Of that I have little doubt,” Isbel chuckled. She looked at the two girls. “Now, shall we see if the cooks have come up with anything tasty in the kitchen?”
“Oh yes!” Kola sang out. Stana echoed her sentiment.
“You spoil them, mother!”
“Grandmother’s privilege,” Isbel said. “I spoiled you, too.”
“Yes I remember, and I was so grateful wasn’t I?” Amne said, scolding herself.
“We’ve put that all behind us, Amne, so don’t go beating yourself up over it.”
Amne smiled and kissed Isbel. “So why aren’t I getting a treat? I’m eating for two now, remember.”
Laughing, they made their way down the stairs to the kitchen.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The autumn Council session was a heated affair. The illness of Astiras had galvanised some of the other noble Houses into hasty alliances, each promising the other certain advantages should they take power. All that achieved was a raft of new rifts as each House became aware of the others’ ambitions and the extent to which each would go to achieve what they wanted, mostly at the expense of their so-called allies.
Arguments raged back and forth, nobles stood across the table from one another pointing accusingly at each other, shouting and denying, as the case may be. Astiras sat with a vague amused expression, his forefinger along his lips, idly observing the chaos before him.
To either side were Isbel and Jorqel. Jorqel had been summoned by Astiras to help him in what had promised to be a difficult session, and the prince had readily agreed. Partly to show solidarity, and partly because he felt it was time he saw his father and step-mother again, especially after the shocking news about his health.
He had come via Kastan City and had visited Amne who had safely returned there and was being attended to by Elas, in his own way. Jorqel had arrived in Zofela, his first visit there as an adult, two days previously, and had breezed into the evening chamber the emperor and empress had created, utilising one of the spare rooms. It had resulted in a shuffle and the carpenters had been hard at work but everything was fixed by the time the council members had arrived.
Jorqel had thrown his riding gear down on the floor and made his submission to both as custom dictated, then had collapsed into a spare chair. Astiras and Isbel were sat in comfortable and nicely upholstered chairs, next to a large fireplace. The evenings were becoming chilly and it was blazing nicely away. The bed chambers of each were to either side of this chamber, and they had become accustomed to spending more time together in this room before turning in for the night. They generally took turns in which bed chamber they spent the night. Isbel was relieved that Astiras had returned to his old self. The nasty vicious alter ego was gone, or rather, hidden away again. He was still hard and decisive, but at least he deferred to her now which made things so much more bearable.
“Father, mother,” Jorqel had said, a sigh of relief escaping him as he had sunk into the chair. “Oh that’s better – days on end in the saddle becomes torture.”
He had been given a drink and had sipped it appreciatively. “That’s better,” he had finally declared. “Good to see you, and that you’re your old self, too, father. Have all the plotters been uncovered?”
Isbel had flicked her fingers in a gesture of uncertainty. “We don’t know, but since the death of the kitchen servant, nothing more has happened. It’s all gone quiet. Someone must have put the potion into the drinks, because we all drank from the same bottle. Someone close. Nobody we can discover, however. It must have been the same person that delivered the lette
r to me.”
“Wasn’t that supposed to have been Istan?” Jorqel had said, “at least that’s what you indicated in one of your letters. I can’t believe it would be him.”
“We have no proof it was him, only the accusation of the late major domo Pepil, and he could have been doing so to try one last time to break our family up. He was in the pay of the Mirrodan, by the way. We have found that much out.”
“How?” Jorqel had asked his father.
Isbel had responded. “Turslenka. Argan is there and he’s become involved in some investigation into yet another possible revolt. Some commoner called Slavis is rallying disaffected people to his standard and has promised to march on the city within a year to take over.”
“Oh not again!”
Astiras had chuckled. “Worry not, we have Olskan there to keep an eye on things, and Argan is enthusiastically delving into the search for him, overturning all possible hiding holes in the city. During this, he came across the old Mirrodan Guild Hall and amongst the documents found there was one listing payments to Zofela, and it was a case of simply checking the banking house here. Pepil deposited three large payments around the same time. He spent most of it but it was way beyond his retention salary. Greedy little man was preparing for his retirement. I suppose he realised he had only a few years left and needed the security of more wealth after he would have left our service.”
“Well that best not happen again, father!” Jorqel had said seriously. “Who is keeping a firm control on financial records? Frendicus?”
“Yes, and we’ve got a more efficient group of clerks now. I’ve created an auditors’ section and they spend their time making sure everything is in order. It’s not popular but I have little choice.”
They had spent some time on discussing various matters, and now while he sat next to Astiras at the Council meeting, Jorqel was as well appraised of the overall situation as he could possibly be. He looked at his father for permission to intercede but Astiras shook his head slightly. The emperor was listening in on the accusations and the protestations, garnering free intelligence on the various Houses. Such information would normally not have been so easy to get, and would have cost lots of money in bribes and fees. He looked sideways at Isbel.