Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2)

by Ann Somerville

  “I recall prescribing it before you a good while ago, young man. Don’t be impertinent.”

  Arman essayed an ironic bow. “Begging your lordship’s pardon.”

  “Oh, don’t be a nitwit, Arman, it’s unbecoming. Now, I’ll let you get back to your work. I’m going to lie down until lunch. If you’re free, we can eat together, but if you’re not here, I’ll assume that you’re busy.”

  “Certainly.”

  Arman smiled as he let Lord Meki to go back to his own office. It was good to see his friend in such good heart. Clearly he was still needed by some.

  Gods, didn’t he sound like a brat? More like a lovesick fool whining because his intended had cast him off. Karik had not the slightest reason to like him, considering how Arman had behaved before he’d been hurt. In fact the surprising thing was that the boy had tolerated his company at all. Kei’s fanciful ideas were just that—mere fancy. Karik could not replace Loke. No one could.

  But that led him down paths of memory in which he usually tried not to lose himself, but which today he had no power to resist. For once, he wasn’t thinking about that last day with Loke. Instead, he recalled Loke’s devastatingly polite wit, the way he could make a seemingly innocent remark which was actually a deadly insult. He must have honed himself on the rough edges of Mayl’s servants, for how else could a sensitive child like that have coped with such thugs. Karik was doing the same. Developing a sharp brain as armour against the attacks of the stupid bigots he would always encounter. Stupid bigots like him.

  He always missed Loke but now, particularly, he wished he could hear his friend’s amusing commentary in his always cheerful voice. Like his mother, he had never been really unkind, but neither had he been blind to the cruelties of the world. What if he had lived? Would he have lost that? He had said he had not wished to marry, but would he have found a wife who could have matched him, given him happiness?

  Perhaps Loke had not been interested in women. Arman surprised himself with that idea. He’d never really thought about that to now, but now he did, he realised Loke had never once shown the slightest sign of attraction to the female form. Perhaps the children Arman had fancied he could have had, might never have been, just as Arman would now never be a father.

  He laid the pen down he’d been holding forgotten in his hand, and looked out the window to the garden. Loke’s children. His own. Pipe dreams, fancies. Hopes unfulfilled—but were they crushed, as Kei had said? What would his legacy be? Tijus’s children would remember him, but none would carry his bloodline or anything else. Even Reji and Jena had left their imprint on their boy, and he would pass their thoughts, their memories, their teaching down to his children and theirs. But Arman had no one who would. Until now, he had not believed he wanted that. He thought his soul so blackened that it was better to let his memory die away. His legacy would be the work he achieved in the service of Darshian, but he had not wanted anyone to grieve for him once he and Kei were gone. He did not deserve it. But perhaps it was still something to regret.

  He sighed. This was pointless and gloomy and self-indulgent, and he hated pointless self-indulgence. He threw himself into his work, and tried not to think of anything remotely personal.

  “Arman?”

  He sat up as he heard his lover’s voice. “Yes, Kei?”

  “I have a couple of books in our rooms there. I wonder if you could bring them over if you were planning to come here at lunchtime?”

  Arman had not been going to, but of course he would not refuse Kei’s request. He asked for the names of the books and said he would be there in half an hour, for indeed it was only a few minutes short of noon, although he had achieved so little that morning.

  He shed his robes in the apartment, feeling it was wrong to wear them on personal business—though the other Rulers did so without the slightest misgiving—and found the books Kei had asked for, though why he needed them in such a hurry with the library so close at hand, he didn’t know. He wondered if Kei was planning to sleep in the House tonight, and if he was still going to bring Karik to stay in their rooms. He supposed he’d better find out.

  He was slightly surprised to find Karik already had visitors, two students who bowed low as he entered the infirmary. He acknowledged their respectful greeting, and they said farewell to Karik as Arman turned to Kei. “Here they are.”

  He went to hand him the books, but Kei refused them. “Oh, they’re for Karik. Why don’t you give them to him while I finish up and then we can go eat?”

  Arman frowned at him. Had his lover brought him over here just to bring Karik some books? A little annoyed, he walked to the bed. “These are for you,” he said stiffly, putting the books on the covers. Karik had been cleaned up and a nightshirt put on him, no doubt in honour of his visitors.

  “Th-thank you. Wuh-will you sit?” Karik started to cough. Irritated at having been the cause of it, Arman handed him the mug of water sitting on the side table, and wished Kei would hurry up.

  Karik again indicated he should sit, so Arman did so, though he didn’t have time for this. He shot a glance at his lover, who had his back turned to them. Karik swallowed some more water, and tried to sit up a bit more. Arman helped him. “You told me about that game—kesi?”

  “Kezi, yes, what about it?”

  “Uh...I wondered if you were going to teach me it today?”

  “Karik, I’m busy.” The boy looked at his hands and a faint blush stained his cheeks. Arman suddenly realised what he was trying to do. “But of course I will. I need to fetch the kezi board from my office. Are you sure you want to do this today?”

  Karik looked up, an eager expression on his face. “Yes, I’d really like that. I’m feeling so much better...but if you’re busy....”

  “I can make time. If that’s what you want. I don’t want to impose on you.”

  “You aren’t. You’re the one helping me. How can you be imposing?”

  “Am I just a way of avoiding boredom? I can find another to teach you the game.”

  Karik reached out for his hand. “Please? You said you would tell me about your friend too. I want to know about him...and about...the other boy who died...all of it.”

  “It’s hardly a pleasant story.”

  He was given the benefit of the boy’s wide, green-eyed gaze. “Kei told me what happened to Jik. I want to know more about it, about why you did that. I want to know about my mother, and Mekus, and how you met Kei, and...why you were so angry when we left Utuk. Please?”

  The boy certainly didn’t lack courage, though his common sense might be questioned. “These are not small things, Karik. I don’t want to toss them out for entertainment. I will speak of them if you will listen, but not if it’s just to pass the time.”

  “No, I promise to listen. I know they’re painful subjects.”

  Arman was surprised and not a little pleased at that response. “Very well. I’ll try.”

  “Do you need us to talk like this, or will you care if I stutter?”

  The slight bitterness in Karik’s tone wasn’t particularly directed at him, Arman guessed. “Whatever makes you comfortable. Your stutter doesn’t offend me, only I fear that it makes some people think you’re far less intelligent than you are.”

  Karik squeezed his hand. “Are you and K-Kei h-having lunch now?”

  “Yes we are. Master Kei, a moment of your invaluable time?”

  Kei came over with an eyebrow raised at Arman’s sarcastic politeness. “How may I serve his lordship?”

  “I was wondering if Karik could be taken into the garden for lunch.”

  “He’d make a tender morsel, but I’m not sure I could eat him at one sitting.”

  Karik rolled his eyes at his uncle and gave Arman a look of pure disgust. “He’s s-silly.”

  “Yes, he is. Answer the question, you annoying creature.”

  “Huh, a bit more respect, Lord Arman, if you please. I think we could probably arrange him to go out in a chair. Karik, it’ll hurt to b
e carried, do you want to do this today?”

  “Yes, please,” Karik said promptly, looking so eager that Kei laughed.

  “There’s your answer. Arman, if you can get him out to one of the long benches with a back to them, maybe that one under that big tree to the side, I’ll bring pillows and blankets. But I don’t want to hear a word of whining from either of you, do you hear?”

  “No, Master Kei.”

  Karik grinned up at Arman. “Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing. I remember how sick of the bed I got when I was hurt. But this is going to be painful.”

  Arman got the distinct impression Karik knew he wasn’t just talking about the physical pain. “I don’t mind if the benefit is worth it.”

  “I hope it is, for both our sakes.”

  Seeking Home: 20

  “You know, I didn’t think it was possible for someone to grin continuously for fifteen minutes,” Kei said, ruffling Karik’s hair, which only made his smile widen. Karik couldn’t help it. Yes, the transfer had hurt like he could barely believe, though Arman had been as careful and gentle as any one could possibly have been, and even now he was in pain just from being moved and the new position. But he was out in the fresh air, it was a beautiful day, and the garden was full of lush scents and lively sounds. It felt good to be alive.

  “I’m h-happy, that’s all.”

  Kei grinned too. “You’re an odd lad, if being invalid and carted around like a sack of beans makes you happy.”

  “Oh, leave him alone,” Arman said. “He’s enjoying his freedom, aren’t you, Karik?”

  Karik nodded. For the first time in nearly two weeks, he didn’t feel like he was on the verge of dying if he stopped concentrating. Everything looked brighter to him, the colours more vivid, and had he never noticed how astonishingly lovely the sky was before? The world was such a beautiful place this day.

  Two servants approached them, one bearing food, the other a board and a small sack. Arman took careful charge of the latter items, placing them on Karik’s seat out of harm’s way. Kei took the tray of food. Karik noted ruefully it was soup again for him. Kei saw his look. “Last day, I promise. Once you can get up and walk to the latrine, you can go on normal food.”

  “That first crap is going to be a pain in the arse, pardon the pun,” Arman said, and Karik chuckled at the crudity and the heartfelt way Arman had said it—he was obviously speaking from experience.

  “You can be very vulgar for a Ruler, Arman. I thought Karik was supposed to be getting polished up here in Darshek.”

  “It’s a simple fact. Nothing vulgar about the workings of one’s bowels, or so you keep telling me.”

  “Ah, I see I am condemned by my own words,” Kei said, shaking his head. “Eat up, Karik. You need to replace what the fever and infection took out of you.”

  It was at least different soup than he’d been eating before and very good, and no one attempted to feed him, which was also good, although he had to eat left-handed since his right arm was injured. Kei and Arman sat peacefully next to each other as they ate. He was pleased to see them so happy together—whatever problem they had had, and which had indirectly led to his being hurt, had clearly been resolved. “I want to move you to the Rulers’ House in a day or so, Karik. How do you feel about that?”

  “Is that allowed?” His mouth was full—that was his excuse for using Neka’s help again.

  “Of course it’s allowed. Arman is allowed to have family and friends to stay, and then we can be close to where we work and still keep you out of mischief.”

  “You’ll be very welcome,” Arman said. “The hospitality of the House is at your service. Lord Meki is anxious to reward your bravery in saving my life.”

  “Oh.” Karik was embarrassed by the praise. He hadn’t really thought he was being brave at all. He hadn’t had time to be scared—he just acted on instinct. He said as much to Arman.

  “It makes no difference. You kept your wits about you and acted without hesitation. It was a virtuous act—unless of course you consider it of no importance that you stopped the man from killing me.”

  Karik flushed at Arman’s tone, but Kei slapped his lover’s knee. “Don’t be horrible. Of course he doesn’t think it unimportant, and neither do I. Karik, I will always be in your debt.”

  “As will I,” Arman added. “I’ve not thanked you properly, but I do so now. Thank you. You have been a blessing on me.”

  Karik hardly knew where to look. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled.

  “You’re embarrassing him, Arman,” Kei chided. “Right, you two look nice and comfortable so I’m going to see what havoc my people have caused while I’ve been otherwise engaged, and then I might drop over and see Lord Meki. How did he seem to you?”

  Arman put his bowl aside. “Well, I thought. Less tired and he’s definitely taking things easy.”

  “Nice to see that he’s finally listening to me,” Kei grumbled. “But I’ll go and reinforce the message. Do you mind if I sleep in the infirmary tonight?”

  “Do you mind if I join you again?”

  “You don’t need to sleep there for me, uncle Kei,” Karik protested.

  “Well, I do, you see, because Jena said she’d wring my neck if anything else happened to you, and since I’d rather not have my neck wrung....” Kei grinned again. “It’s just this evening, and if you handle walking well tomorrow, we can move you back to the House in the afternoon.”

  Karik gave up. Kei wouldn’t go against his Ma’s wishes. Kei clapped his hands. “Then I’m off.” He kissed Arman and got to his feet. “Now play nicely together.”

  “Go sit on a thurl’s nest,” Arman said peaceably. “Karik and I are just going to play a quiet, civilised game of kezi. We don’t need your supervision.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” Kei said, bowing low and winking at Karik. “Don’t stay out too long—Arman, I’m trusting you to keep an eye out for Karik’s welfare.”

  Arman waved him off impatiently, and shook his head as Kei loped off across the grass. “I have no idea what he thinks I’m going to do to an invalid,” he said, failing to sound as cross as he was trying to. “Are you finished with that?”

  Karik handed him the bowl, and Arman stowed their dishes on the tray, shoving it under the bench for safety. “Now, kezi. Are you sure you’re up to...?” Karik gave him an annoyed look. “Ah, very well.” Arman smiled as he pulled out a worn looking board covered with circles and symbols, and caressed it as he laid it on Karik’s knee. “This was Karus’s board. It’s the same one he taught me to play on.”

  “Your...friend?”

  “Very much my friend. My tutor, my mentor. My surrogate parent for much of my life.” He touched the board again, and his eyes softened. “I miss him still.”

  “Tell m-me about him?”

  Arman laid the pieces out on the board. “He was born in south Darshian, and had a Darshianese nurse maid, would you believe? That was before the invasion, of course, but there have always been some Prij living in the south. When he was fifteen, his father took a position in Utuk and moved the family back. He spoke Darshianese perfectly, and taught many noblemen, including myself, to speak it too. Even today, you can tell those in the senatorial class who had him, or whose parents or tutors had him as a tutor because of their accent.”

  So that explained it. He’d wondered.

  “He had a small school, with a class of no more than five or six of us at a time. He seemed to know everything, and you could ask him anything without him taking offence. He was the first adult I ever knew who would admit to not knowing something, and who said it was all right if I didn’t either, so long as I was prepared to look for the answer. He was the first person who ever made me feel like an adult.” He looked up. “My father...well, my father and I were estranged over a stupid misunderstanding that drove us apart for nearly twenty years. Being stubborn and proud runs in my family, unfortunately.”

  Having met the man, Karik could imagine that very eas
ily. “But you love him?”

  “Very much. I will forever be glad we ended that quarrel.”

  Karik nodded as he picked up one of the small game pieces. It was shaped like a bird, some kind of large-winged, sharp-beaked predator, but not of a type he knew. The carving was very fine, worthy of anything Risa had ever made from gike plum, though it was not a wood Karik had seen before. “And Loke?”

  Arman was silent for a few moments. “Let’s...play a little before I speak of him. Now, the piece you are holding is the kez, and the movement it makes is called kezin-ge.”

  Arman carefully explained the rules of what was obviously a very complex game, which Karik was quite sure he would never remember. It was based on the idea of birds and ground predators, each with special abilities and movements, matched but dissimilar. The object was to ‘kill’ as many of the other person’s pieces as possible, which was by no means easy, nor was keeping one’s own pieces in play. Arman said they would use the simplified rules that beginners usually played by—even these required more concentration than Karik had used in nearly two weeks.

  It took very little time for Arman to acquire all Karik’s pieces, of course. “Hard g-game,” Karik said. He reached for his water cup and Arman helped him to it.

  “Yes it is, one requiring a slow, measured planning. Impetuous sorts do very poorly at kezi. They like officers in the Prijian army and navy to play it, since it develops a good approach to strategy.”

  “You’re g-good?”

  Arman smiled. “Moderate. Karus was the master, of course. People came from all over Kuprij to play it with him.”

  He fiddled with one of the pieces, lost in his memories, looking a little sad. Karik had never seen him like this—so open, with no stiff pride or formality. He felt he could ask anything and Arman would answer it. That didn’t mean it was a good idea to pry into the past without a care for the effect on Arman. It was like Kei said—he seemed rather fragile right now, looking very tired with the faint blue shadows under his eyes, clean shaven for the first time in days but still looking rather less well-groomed than his normal meticulous appearance. Just as Karik would with any wounded animal, he needed to take care not to add to his pain.