Vekus was in a gloomy mood—he’d heard some details of what had happened to Urso, but had come out of the courthouse too late to see the rioting. He’d had reports, and wasn’t surprised at the restriction imposed on Arman. “I’m sorry to say that it is likely to make little difference to the success or failure of our defence to this suit,” he said, laying the documents down for Arman to read. “As you know, the presumption under our law is that the father’s claim to a child, particularly a son, is paramount. Denying that claim rests not only on past unfitness, but a continuing inability to raise a child in the correct manner and that there is a better alternative. Such cases rarely succeed, but if any could do so, this could. It’s a most comprehensive complaint about you and your behaviour.”
Arman picked up the documents and began to read. The further he got into it, the more coldly angry he became, until he slammed the papers back onto the desk. “What scurrilous nonsense! I never slept with Loke! Or with Kei while he was a prisoner, or while I was!”
Vekus shrugged. “They say they have witnesses who will testify to improper behaviour. I need to read their affidavits. This is just a list of their objections to you having the boy, but it isn’t enough to accuse you of such indiscretions because removal of custody may not be treated as a punishment for past crimes. That precedent is well established. However unwholesome, the more damaging charge is of abandonment. Handing your son over to others to raise is highly unusual unless, as you know perfectly well, both parents are dead. So, Sei, I need to know your reasons.”
Arman’s jaw tightened as he remembered the time when he made that decision. “I wasn’t in a position to raise a child on my own. Jena offered to raise him, and she made a far more suitable parent than I would have done.”
“I see. Forgive me, Sei Arman, but that would seem to only strengthen their argument against you. Could you not have hired a servant to raise the boy in your own home? Or left him with Senator Armis? They will ask both these things. One would think you disliked the child for his own sake.”
“I disliked—still dislike—his real father,” he said through clenched teeth, “but I can hardly admit that, can I?”
Vekus laid his pen down. “I beg your pardon—did you say real father? Sei, you swore an affidavit just three days ago that you honestly believed that you were the boy’s father. Are you telling me you perjured yourself?” Arman nodded, ashamed to have to admit it. “And you’re telling me you made me a party to your perjury? Do you have any idea what would happen to us if this became known?” The lawyer’s words ended in an anguished squeak.
“Don’t be ridiculous—do you think Senator Mekus is going to spread it about that he was fucking his present wife while she was still married to me?”
Vekus swallowed. “Sen.... Forgive me, but.... Sei Arman, you have been very dishonest with me. You place me in an untenable position. I should not continue to act for you, but if I stop...good gods, man!” he burst out, “you could get us both hanged!”
“Well, if they didn’t hang me as a traitor before, they won’t hang me for being a cuckold now,” Arman said coldly. “Will you please control yourself and your voice? Yes, I perjured myself—it was the only way to get Karik out of Mekus’s clutches. Mekus won’t expose me because it gives the bastard the perfect defence against any counterclaim I would make of his own moral unfitness. Not that I can prove anything now—his damn daughter is dead and she was the only one I would have been able to get to testify about the affair.”
Vekus was still looking rather pale. “If it comes out...Sei, this simply cannot be brought up.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Arman snapped. “But it explains why I handed the child over. Is there anything we can do about that at this point?”
“Not a thing. However, it would be entirely irrelevant if you were to take Karik back into your custody now—”
“Then I’ll say I’ll do that. That’s simple.”
Vekus shot him a glance. “And perjure yourself once more, Sei? You interrupted me. It would be irrelevant, except for the additional matter that Karik has been raised without any cultural or religious education. Can he speak Prijian?”
“No,” Arman said, his heart sinking. “And before you ask, no, he knows nothing of the gods, or our history. He barely knows what the sovereign is.” This was bad. Raising a child as a heretic was a far more serious matter than being accused of sleeping with one’s servants. “Is it too late to remedy that?”
“Again, if you were to take him back into your care and raise him correctly, that would probably be sufficient answer. But you cannot simply claim you will do that, Sei. You would have to raise him here in Utuk and Senator Mekus would be within his rights to have the boy examined every few months to see you were carrying out your responsibilities.”
“Here? In Utuk? I can’t! What about my father,” he asked in desperation. “Can he not take the boy into his charge?”
Vekus shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. When the father is insufficient, the paternal grandparents’ claim is inferior to that of a competent mother, especially when supported by a sufficient husband or parent—she has both. The only way around that would be if you could prove she is unfit—and it would appear that you have ruled out that possibility by your claiming of the boy as your true son. Even if she didn’t want to raise the boy herself, her father and husband have a superior claim to Senator Armis, because your failure taints the rest of your line.”
Arman groaned quietly. It would mean two years in Kuprij, away from Kei—away from his life, and among people who hated him. “You forget I was told to leave this island by her Serenity herself. I’m not sure I would be allowed to remain even if that were an option.”
“I haven’t forgotten, Sei. That was to be my very next point. If you were actually required to live in exile, we would have an easier task as you would have the perfect answer to the charge of raising Karik away from Kuprij, but in point of law, you are living in Darshek purely voluntarily. As you were never officially banished, it is the personal hostility of her Serenity which is the sticking point. I believe it might be possible to ask for her forgiveness, however.”
“Never!” Arman said, slapping the table. “I’d swallow molten metal before I grovelled to that bitch.”
The lawyer waved his hands frantically at him. “Sei Arman! Lower your voice, I beg you!”
Arman subsided. He was putting the household at risk by his anger, which was unforgivable. “Apologies. However, I doubt Mekus would let his daughter-in-law grant that forgiveness but after all this time, I also doubt any move will be made to officially exile me—especially not if it strengthens my hand in this.”
Vekus closed his file. “Then it would appear Karik will be spending at least the next two years as a citizen of Kuprij.”
“Is there nothing we can do?”
Vekus sighed. “We can try and assemble some character witnesses, and argue your right to allow carefully chosen people to raise the boy on your behalf. But with a hostile court, Mekus’s position, your own state of disfavour...I have to warn you, the matter does not look hopeful.”
“Do your best, Vekus. What do you need from me?”
Vekus opened his file again. “For now, the names of anyone who might be able to support your character credentials. They need to be Prijian, of course,” he added dryly.
“Would the support of the Darshek Rulers help at all?”
“Not in the least. In fact, it will only make it worse, Sei, I’m sorry.”
It was a depressingly short conversation. Arman racked his brains but couldn’t come up with more than a handful of names, and most of those, he was sure, would hesitate before putting themselves under scrutiny for his sake. He dared not ask any of his former army colleagues. Everyone else who mattered to him and who knew him well was Darshianese.
Vekus bowed. “I’ll set things in motion. I will also see what other challenge we can make to this claim. I have a colleague with a little more experien
ce in these matters and though he will not act for you, he will advise if I ask it. For now, good day, Sei.”
Arman let him out, then went back to the desk to look over the copies of the documents Vekus had left him. Mekus and his squalid spies had left nothing out and invented what they could not discover. The thing that angered him the most were the accusations about Loke, and about Kei as a hostage and then as a healer while Arman had still been injured—he would have to do what he could to prevent these stories being aired in a public court. It would hurt Mari and he would not allow that. He would endure any hardship to spare her that pain. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just his own endurance he had to consider.
He put his head in his hands. He never expected things to come to this, not sixteen years ago, not two weeks ago when he had set off from Darshek. Just when he thought he had plumbed the depths of Mekus’s lack of moral scruples, the man sank a little lower. It was amazing, really.
He sighed and stood. Now he needed his superior weaponry.
His father was looking over the plans for the estate which would be Tijus’s when his father died, and where Tijus had lived for much of his married life. “You look disheartened.”
“I feel it,” Arman said, sinking heavily onto a chair. “Tell me, how would you feel if I moved back to Utuk for two years until Karik became a legal adult?”
His father sat back and considered the question. “I would say that you had forsaken your heart and your duties, and while you might do one, you would not do both. I take it you are at least half-serious.”
“It would seem there is nothing else that might succeed.” Arman explained as succinctly as he could, while his father listened carefully. “So unless Karik has suddenly acquired the ability to speak perfect Prijian, and can reel off all the gods and their place in our history, and unless Jena suddenly becomes blonde and blue-eyed, they will never let me take him back to Darshek.”
“If I weren’t involved in the case, I would have to admit they would be correct to do so. The boy has a right to his heritage.”
“He has a right to be raised with love and consideration first, and that’s what he’s had for sixteen years,” he replied with rather more acerbity than he meant to. “Better a happy savage than a miserable nobleman, don’t you think?”
“It’s possible to be both noble and happy, though I know you won’t believe it. But let’s not rake over all wounds. There is the small matter of Kita banishing you.”
“It was never a formal edict of exile, nor was I ever actually proclaimed a traitor.”
His father shook his head. “You’re not seriously contemplating this, are you? What about Kei? What about the fact you are to be made a Ruler?”
“I thought you would say my primary responsibility is to retrieve an error I made before I gained all those things. I owe Jena and Reji a good deal. I can’t just let their son be left in Mekus’s hands—I can’t leave any child there. Kei would feel exactly the same, I know that.”
“The boy can endure for two years, surely. Did Vekus say his paternal family would have any rights to visit or supervise in that situation?”
“I honestly didn’t ask. All I know is that you wouldn’t have a superior claim to Mayl’s father, who’s as bad as Mekus if you ask me.”
“He certainly used to be. If you are really contemplating this, you need to discuss it with your people in Darshek. For my own sake I would not object to your presence here, but I would object anyway because this is not the place for you any more. Your home is north, your heart is north.”
Which was nothing less than the bare truth, of course. “My duty lies in the south, it seems.”
“That didn’t stop you before.”
Arman glared at his father, looking for any sign he was poking at him for running off to Darshek all those years ago, but there was nothing other than calm enquiry in his blue eyes. “The circumstances were quite different then, and you know it. I need to go to the embassy. I want to talk to Kei, and to enquire about Urso’s wife. May I borrow a jesig?”
“Of course. Take Malos with you, and be discreet for the gods’ sake. If any of Mekus’s people see you, there will be trouble. I’ll send a note around to Tijus—I think it might be best if he came here rather than the opposite, at least for the next few days.”
“Certainly.” Arman didn’t want to put Temir or the children at the least risk, and he didn’t trust Mekus not to try something, senatorial residence or not. Regretfully, he probably would not now be able to visit Mari’s little school for the same reason.
“Don’t look so downcast. You’ve barely begun this battle.”
“Yes, Father, but I pride myself on judging which I can and cannot win, and this does not smell of success.”
“Perhaps your senses are blunted after all this time. Who did you suggest as character witnesses?” Arman listed the few he had come up with. “Hmmm, I think I shall pay some calls over the next couple of days.”
“Please don’t put yourself in danger for me—you have to live here, I don’t.”
“I think you forget, general, that you’re in my battlefield now. Get on with your tasks and leave your doddering fool of a parent to deal with his own affairs, will you?”
“I meant no offence,” he said stiffly as he stood to go.
“Don’t be so damn sensitive. If you can’t handle me, how do you propose to deal with a court grilling? Now, go on.”
Arman bowed. His father was right—if he couldn’t handle a little sarcasm, then Mekus would eat him for breakfast.
The embassy was closed to all but essential business for the day as a mark of respect. Nonetheless, there was no objection to Arman entering, and when he was admitted to Yuko’s office, the ambassador looked wearily glad to see him. “Ah, you decided to risk coming over. I hope you are feeling better.” Arman made an equivocating motion with his hand to indicate he was, somewhat. “Good. Is there something we can help you with?”
“Yes, and I also wanted to know if I could assist you or Kerti. I’ve got two weeks at least of enforced inactivity and I confess, it goes against the grain.”
“I can imagine. She might welcome assistance in getting her affairs in order but really, she just wants to go back to Darshek as soon as she can. The sad thing is that Urso was due to return in two months—before she became too pregnant to travel.”
It was these little ironies which always made the grief harder to bear. “Does she blame me for what happened?”
“Not at all, and nor should she.” He rubbed his eyes. “I have to call on that odious woman later this morning.” He looked up. “You said you needed something yourself?”
“Ah, I need to talk to Kei, but if it’s inconvenient today, it can wait until tomorrow.”
“No, it should be fine. Misi’s very upset but so is everyone. We’ve never had anything like this happen to us before, though it’s always been theoretically possible. It feels a little like we’re back in the war.”
Arman felt a familiar, useless twinge of guilt. For him, the war had never really ended. Every day he was conscious of trying to make up for his crimes, although he believed he would never succeed in doing so fully. “I think the time has come to increase your security, certainly. I can advise on that, if you like. I’m sure the Rulers would have no objection to my helping you.”
“No, but her Serenity might. Still, what she doesn’t know, won’t choke her.” He grimaced again. “I really don’t want to meet her this morning. I always come back with a headache, and if Mekus is there, I fear I’ll be stirred to protest less than diplomatically.”
“I wish I could help there, but I think my presence would make things worse.”
“Oh, you think so?” Yuko said with a trace of humour. “Ask the clerk outside about Misi and let her know what arrangements you need. I’d go with you, but I’ve got so much to do here.”
Arman raised his hand. “I’ll manage. I’d also like you to make a formal request for me to see Karik. I can’t see any
legal reason I should be kept from doing so, since I’m now acknowledged to be his father.
“I’ll do that, certainly, but I’m sure they’ll have some reason to deny the request. Mekus does pretty much what he wants, it seems. Was that everything?”
“Yes, that’s all. But tell me this—hypothetically, if I were in Utuk for the next two years, would I be of any possible use to you?”
Yuko blinked, laid his pen down, then stared at Arman. “Hypothetically? I can think of several things that your skills would be invaluable for. But one, Lord Meki can’t spare you, and two, Kei would kill you—or me. Or both of us. Is that what you’re considering? For the boy?”
“Considering as a last resort, and yes. It seems the only hope I have of getting him away from Mekus’s clutches is to return to Kuprij and take personal custody of him. It is not,” he added dryly, “my preferred option.”
“I imagine not,” Yuko murmured. “Gods, Arman. Could you bear it?”
“Once...I would have said not. But things have changed since I was last here. It’s a possibility, though I really don’t want to do it.”
Yuko sat back. “Well. I wasn’t expecting this at all. You know Lord Peika was very keen for you to help set up and run the embassy in the beginning. If you hadn’t been so determined to settle in Ai-Albon, and if her Serenity hadn’t wanted your head on a pike, I think he’d have pushed much harder. But two years...until Karik turns eighteen?”
“Exactly. My father...is elderly. It would benefit him as well, I think.” Though his father would not care for that presentation of himself. “We have other options, but none look promising. I just thought I would ask. Your answer is at least unequivocal.”
“Please don’t tell Kei I talked you into staying. Annoying a healer can lead to a short and unpleasant life.”
“So he tells me. He almost never carries out his threats, you know,” Arman added with a slight fond smile as he thought of his lover, his heart already heavy at the idea of not seeing him for such a long time. Two years. Surely it was endurable. Wasn’t it?
Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2) Page 28