Yuko sent a message later that day to say Arman and Karik were booked on a boat leaving at sunset the following day, that Lord Meki had been informed, but that Kei was away on his monthly inspection at the prison island and would not return until late the following day. A message would be given to him, of course. Yuko also reported that Karik, although in good health, seemed very subdued and unwilling to talk about his experience—did Arman want to have him to stay at his father’s, or should Yuko keep him at the embassy with his family? Arman was happy for Yuko to take care of Karik. He was sure the ambassador’s genial company would be kinder to a boy of Karik’s reticent character, since in truth, Arman wasn’t sure he could show much patience for him right now. The price to free him had been too high for Arman to dismiss it easily.
He said none of this to his family. Instead, once the children had been sent to bed in the guest room, the adults gathered around the fire—a ridiculous thing in Utuk in such a warm late winter, but cosy nonetheless—with glasses of wine. Mari sat at his father’s right side, her hand on his arm in an affectionate manner—Arman couldn’t help wondering if they slept together. Both were old-fashioned, very conservative people in their upbringing, but still, Mari had been a beauty in her day and was still lovely in her old age. His father was tall, distinguished and straight-backed despite his arthritis, and had lost none of his well-bred looks which Tijus had inherited more than Arman had.
Surely the joys of lovemaking were not beyond them, and Arman for one would never censure them, married or not. After all, he wasn’t in a position to pass judgement. Both had been widowed a very long time, and they deserved their happiness. But he was still his father’s son enough that wild urs beasts would not rip the question from his tongue.
There was no question about Tijus and Temir. Tijus had always adored his wife, and they were among the most affectionate Prijian couples Arman had ever known—not, he mentally amended, that this was much of a compliment, considering the number of arranged marriages, and how few of them had led to genuine affection between the couples. Thinking about this, Arman realised there was a question he wanted an answer to. “Father, how did you meet Mother? I mean, why did you not have an arranged marriage?”
His father frowned. “It was arranged. I’d known her before, of course—our families met all the time, as they tend to do. But my father and hers brokered it, as is normal. Fortunately, we respected each other from the start, unlike so many young people these days. We both wanted children and grandchildren.”
“Elda had a very sweet nature,” Mari said quietly. “She told me before she was married that she thought your father was such a handsome man, and she would do everything she could to make it a happy marriage.”
His father laid his hand over hers. “And she did. As did I, or so I tried to do. The gods know how I failed in so many ways. Her great sadness was in not having a daughter as well as sons. She wanted a big family—we both did. If only she had been granted her wish,” he added sadly. Mari looked at him with sympathy in her eyes. “Kei reminds me of her, you know.”
“He does? I’m not sure I should tell him that,” Arman said, smiling at Kei’s probable reaction to that comment.
“Why ever not? He has Elda’s compassion, and love of life. If only he were a woman,” his father said, sighing.
Tijus chuckled. “Now that, you really shouldn’t pass on, brother. Though it’s a shame you can’t have children with him.”
“I couldn’t anyway, Tijus. The gifted are infertile. He can’t have children, nor can Karik’s parents. That’s the real shame of it.”
“I didn’t know that,” Temir said, looking surprised. “How sad. None of them at all can have children?”
“Not a one. But I would rather have Kei and no children, than Mayl and a dozen, thank you. Not every wife is as amiable as you, Temir, or as Mother was.”
“Mayl is spoiled,” his father said dismissively. “Never expected to put herself out for anyone, and never would do.”
“Would you have made that match for me had you known that?” After all these years, the resentment over his failed marriage had dulled considerably, and though it sickened him to think of Mayl herself, he was no longer angry at having been pushed into the match. He was just curious as to why. “I knew even before the wedding she had a foul temper and was prone to mistreating servants.”
“But I did not know that, and now I wish you had told me. Though I disliked her father, she seemed a perfectly reasonable choice, and her line is impeccable, you have to admit that. Her mother was quite a pleasant lady, so I recall, and Mayl always behaved demurely when I met her. I didn’t realise you knew any different. Why didn’t you say something?”
Now, Arman had to wonder the same thing. “Because I thought it was what was required of me, and that you would be angry if I withdrew.”
“It sounds,” Tijus said dryly, “as if a few well-chosen words would have saved a lot of people a lot of misery over the years.”
“But then you would not be so happy with Kei,” Mari said. “I believe you did the right thing, in honouring your father’s wishes. A dutiful son is a blessing.”
His father snorted. “Yes, but a foolish one is not. Did you really think I would force you into a marriage with someone you disliked that much? Good gods, what a monster you thought me.”
Arman bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to do my duty as a son. But as Mari said, that act led in a roundabout way to many things that are wholly good, so I can’t regret it now.”
“Except you have no heir. You might regret that later, you know. Children can occasionally be of some slight comfort in one’s old age.” Tijus grinned at the comment.
“No doubt. Perhaps I should take Karik as my heir since he’s mine on paper, but I rather think Reji and Jena would object.”
“Hmmm. At least the boy seems to have surmounted his bloodline, that’s one miracle.”
“And Sei Mayl has been punished by the gods for her infidelity, since her second marriage has not been blessed with offspring,” Mari said, her lips pursed disapprovingly.
Arman looked up at Tijus, who looked at his father. “You know, that’s odd, now you come to mention it,” Tijus said slowly.
“You don’t think...?” Temir said.
“Would she have stooped that low?” Arman’s father asked.
“Mayl? Define ‘too low’,” Arman said in disgust. “Kei said she was even eyeing him up, and she despised him. Er, sorry, Mari.”
“I don’t know where you men got the idea I’m so sheltered,” she said, wagging her finger at them all. “It’s not like I’ve never heard of the concept before. Just because I don’t approve, doesn’t mean I don’t know. But why would she take two lovers? What about the risk of being caught?”
“What risk? She had her servants to protect her and they did a damn good job for four years. She might not even have had two lovers—perhaps Karik was the result of a temporary dalliance.”
Tijus looked at Arman. “Clever, don’t you think? She lines up Mekus in case you set her aside or Mekus succeeds in his ambitions, which he did. She can hold Mekus’s supposed child over him if he threatened to expose her, and use it as a lever to get him to marry him if he’s the least reluctant.”
“And we all know he’s too damn arrogant to work out he’s not the father,” Arman said with disgust. “At least it explains why the boy hasn’t inherited the looks from that side, which is his good fortune, of course.”
Temir frowned. “But the risk—you could have exposed Mayl as an adulterer, Arman.”
“She knew he would not,” his father said. “Even I knew my son would not bring such scandal on himself and our house that way, not unless severely provoked. If you were a less honourable man, she might have been playing a more dangerous game.”
Arman raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You do recall I’m the filthy traitor general, the shame of our line, don’t you, Father?”
“I am hourly remin
ded of it, my son,” his father snapped back, but with the hint of a smile in his eyes. “Not even the Lord Commander actually believes you did it for monetary gain or position. He bends my ear on the subject whenever I go near him, the pompous old windbag—he still thinks Kei cast a spell over you for his own immoral purposes. “
Arman had to laugh. “Maybe Kei did at that. He’s quite the magician at some things.”
“Arman,” Mari asked, “would you have taken Karik as your own to raise if you had realised that Senator Mekus was not his father?”
He was surprised at the question, and had to think about it. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Kei would have taken him regardless, I know that, and made a wonderful parent. I suppose I’m less confident that I would have done. The boy, I think, has had a much happier life with the couple who raised him. But he might have suffered less prejudice with a Prijian father. Or more.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, and it’s really too late for second thoughts.”
“You could adopt a child,” Mari said, somewhat diffidently. “There must be orphans in need of a home in Darshek.”
“Actually, fewer than you would think. Because fertility is so low, families are always very jealous of any children left without guardian and no child is allowed to grow up unwanted. The number of children I’ve heard of without any family at all since I’ve lived up there I could number on the fingers of one hand, and in every case there were more families willing to take them than were needed. Adoption carries no stigma, you see.”
“Would that it did not with so many people here,” Mari sighed. “One sees such cruelty even to step-children. People should realise that the bloodline is not all there is to a child.”
Arman coughed and couldn’t meet her eyes. He’d been guilty of exactly that prejudice with respect to Karik, and now, it seemed, unjustly.
“Perhaps Prijian society will learn from its neighbours,” Temir said, sipping her wine. “I couldn’t bear the idea of Eren and Tije being mistreated if they had to be taken in by another family, should something happen to Tijus and me.”
“Actually, Arman, that’s something I wanted to ask you about.” Arman looked at his brother. “At present, Father and Mari would be their guardians should the worst happen—”
“But I’m too old to be chasing after youngsters,” his father interrupted in a gruff voice. “You and Kei would be much more suitable.”
Arman blinked. “Er, Temir? What about your sister and her husband?”
She looked at Tijus, who answered. “We’ve talked about it and we think you and Kei would be better. If you would agree, of course. But it sounds like you don’t want the responsibility of a child, let alone two.”
“It’s not that—” Arman stopped. Was it just that he was too lazy to be a father? “Let me ask him. Kei adores children, they adore him. He would make up for a lot of deficiencies on my part.”
His father made a derisory noise. “Such modesty is not only unbecoming, it’s utterly ridiculous.”
“Maybe so, Father, but you forget Kei is male and Darshianese. Tije will be a senator one day. Doesn’t that matter to either of you?”
“The safety of our children matters most.” Tijus’s expression was grave. “Let me be frank, brother. I don’t know that there will even be a senate when I come to hand over my position to my boy, and I don’t know that I would want him to be part of one such as it will be then. I won’t desert my country, but I won’t force a destiny on my children. Tije will be free to choose as I was—”
“Wait—you chose?” Arman looked at his father in bewilderment. “But surely you insisted.”
“To what purpose? To serve reluctantly is to serve badly. Tijus, I’m proud to say, wanted to serve his country, and has done so honourably. Much good it has done him though.”
“So it will be up to Tije,” Arman’s brother said firmly. “If he decides he would prefer to live in Darshian, or follow another destiny, it’s up to him.”
“Unusually enlightened of you, brother,” Arman murmured.
Tijus only grinned. “Oh, I’m completely beyond hope having you as a sibling. People expect eccentricity from me and breathe a sigh of relief when I act with sober responsibility. The worst they will say about Tije if he decides not to be a senator is that he takes after his uncle, and I think he would see that as a compliment,” he said, raising his glass in ironic salute.
But then he added in a more serious tone, “Will you ask Kei about the guardianship? We live in such uncertain times, and father, I’m sorry to say, is really too old to be troubled by such a burden now.”
“Of course. Send the papers on to me anyway. I’m certain Kei will agree and by the time I get them, I will have spoken to him.” He bowed his head. “It would be a honour, but one I would gladly avoid for the sake of your continued well-being.”
“Enough of this gloomy chatter,” his father said abruptly. “Tijus, ring the bell for the maid, and let’s have another glass of wine.”
“Armis, your arthritis.”
“Oh, damn my arthritis, Mari. Indulge my delusion of being young and able to eat and drink what I want for just one night, for the gods’ sake.” She sighed, and he patted her hand, before leaning over and whispering something in her ear which made her smile.
Arman thought they looked very sweet together and grinned into his wine cup. Kei would be so pleased to learn of this development—he’d always hoped to match make for the pair of them.
It was his turn to sigh. The one thing this evening lacked had been his lover’s presence. Even without Kei, he would almost name the feeling inside him as something close to happiness. But tomorrow he would leave, and he had no idea if he would ever share an evening like this again. What really surprised him was that he would never have believed he could ever have wanted to.
~~~~~~~~
For the look of the thing, Arman sent a note to the embassy the following morning to ask if Yuko needed him to come down earlier than would be required to collect Karik and proceed to the ship, but when the reply came that his presence wasn’t necessary, he was relieved. Tijus’s children wanted to spend as much time with him as they could, which Arman found endearing. He had missed so much of their upbringing, and while he hoped it would never be necessary to exercise the guardianship he had all but agreed to, he knew if he had to do so, it would only enrich his life. He realised now what he had given away all those years ago when he had handed Karik over to Jena, and what he had denied Kei. It was too late to change that decision, but if the worst happened, he would be proud to be a father to his brother’s children.
Mari asked, rather diffidently, if Arman thought he might have time to visit the school after all, and his father and brother had firmly insisted that he should. After the court case had passed without physical threat, Arman rather thought they could risk a discreet visit to Karus’s old home. It was somewhat of a crush in his father’s calash, but there was a comfortable intimacy in having his niece perch on his knee, Tijus’s son on his father’s lap. He’d sat like this with Kei’s niece and nephew, but never his own. There had never been the informality in his father’s house when Arman had been growing up that would have allowed such a thing, and it was a sign of how mellow his father was becoming. But he had missed so much of that process too.
“Are you all right, uncle Arman?” Eren piped. “You look so sad.”
“Eren, don’t be rude,” her mother said.
“It’s all right, Temir,” Arman said peaceably. “Concern is never rude, Eren. Your uncle Kei taught me that.”
His niece smiled in gratitude for his support. “Are you sad?”
“Yes, I am because this evening I have to go away and not see you all for a long time. I shall miss you all a good deal.” His father was watching him closely, but chose to be rather inscrutable, as if he wanted to know what more his son would say.
“Why don’t you visit us, uncle Arman? Does uncle Kei not like boats?” This was Tije, a little older and thus able
to speculate with more authority.
“It’s not that, Tije. It’s...uncle Kei has a very important job in Darshian and so he needs to stay there and do it.”
“But Father does an important job here, and he visits you,” his nephew said with devastating accuracy.
“Tije, that’s—” Temir started to say, but her husband put his hand over hers. It seemed Tijus wanted to know the answer too.
“Yes, he does,” Arman said. “But when your family visit Darshek, you’re made welcome. That wouldn’t be true if uncle Kei and I were to come here to visit you. Not,” he added hastily as Tije drew breath to argue, “that you and Grandfather and Mari wouldn’t. But other people.”
“You mean the people who make fun of us because of you?” Tije said. “The ones who Father said were worthless, stupid old men?”
Arman’s father coughed. Mari hid her mouth. “Er...yes,” Arman acknowledged.
“But you wouldn’t be visiting them. Had Uncle Kei ever even been to Utuk?”
“Once. A long time ago.”
“Did he like it, uncle Arman?” Eren asked. “I don’t remember him coming to visit.”
“No, it was long before either of you were born. And no, he probably didn’t like it because he was very unhappy when he was here.”
“But he might like it now,” Tije persisted. “Will you ask him, uncle Arman?”
Arman’s father was still watching him. “Well, Father? Would it be wise for me to return?”
Tije was looking at them in puzzlement, but like the intelligent child he undoubtedly was, he waited for his grandfather’s answer. “I think,” Arman’s father said carefully, “a time might come when it will be possible. But it’s equally likely that it will grow too difficult.” Arman understood what he was not going to say in front of the children. So much depended on the stability of Kita’s rule, and that teetered on a knife-edge right now. “Tije, your uncle has responsibilities and it’s not fair to badger him into abandoning them.”
Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2) Page 32