Prince of Wrath

by Tony Roberts

  Jorqel had been overjoyed and wrote at once to Kastan City, and included further letters to be sent unopened to Zofela. Sannia had written to her family and also to Niake, where Demtro and Clora received her message. Clora had shrieked with delight and Demtro had thought at first she had stubbed her toe on something, and had come running in to see what was wrong, but once he had seen the letter he, too, had been pleased. “Well, Jorqel didn’t waste time in sticking one in the oven.”

  “Sorry?” Clora had asked, puzzled. “Sticking one in the oven?”

  “Never mind,” Demtro had shaken his head. “I hope she’s still alright to come to our wedding in twelve days.”

  Clora had looked at the message. “Oh yes, she is coming. She has written to the governor, she says, to arrange lodgings and an escort.”

  Demtro had been reassured. Their wedding had been the talk of Niake once word had got out that the new princess was going to be a bridesmaid. Gossip had exploded all over the city, and some of the higher echelons had become quite jealous and some underhand remarks had come from them as to why a merchant and a former tavern whore had attracted so much favour from the Koros? The other talking point had been the news that the former High Priest was going to perform the ceremony, another honour on the couple. The scandalous matter of the fact the two were living under the same roof had also been raised by the nobility. Many had pointedly refused to attend, but Demtro had predicted many wouldn’t stay away because Sannia would be coming. People may make noises of disgust and dismay at certain behaviour, but curiosity always got the better of their moral codes.

  Evas Extonos had received his messages from the imperial couple. It had been written on sealed parchment with the Koros crest at the top, and the governor had practically fainted when he realised he would have to arrange security and lodgings for the newest member of the Koros dynasty. Both Burnas and Demtro had been summoned to his office to explain what was going to happen and it had been a fraught meeting with Demtro virtually ordering the schedule and Burnas the guest list for the temple. Evas had weakly accepted the two’s demands and had passed it on to his staff to organise.

  While these messages had been passing around Kastania, Argan had met Velka for the second time, the day after the meal with Amne and Vosgaris’ sister. Both Amne and Vasila were nowhere to be seen that day, and Argan had been dressed by the young Sasia, watched over sternly by Genthe. Argan hadn’t been warned about the visit of the Varaz family, so it was all something of a rush to prepare him. He wondered why nobody had told him, but then he recalled he hadn’t been told about their visit to Kastan City until just before he met them. Perhaps everyone was too busy to remember to tell him these things, he reasoned.

  Sasia fussed over his newest jacket, a soft red item that had just been made. Argan was growing so fast that clothes were becoming too small for him only a season after they had fitted him perfectly. It was his eighth birthday very soon and he was wondering who would turn up then. Would Jorqel come with his new bride Sannia? Would Amne still be there?

  “Does this fit well?” Sasia asked in Bragalese. She felt it easier to speak to him in her native language. Genthe didn’t like it but Argan insisted it was fine as he could understand her perfectly and there would be no misunderstandings between them.

  “Yes, fine thank you. Not tight anywhere, Amal.” He still used her shortened Bragalese name which pleased the girl no end. He looked at his soft cord slippers which were also new. “These feel funny.”

  “Funny? Bad?”

  “No, just funny. I’ve never wore things like this before. It’s like wearing gloves on my feet.”

  Sasia smiled slightly. To laugh in front of Genthe would invite punishment. “That would look really strange if you did.”

  “Yes, I’d walk like an ice-avian, all waddly.” He’d seen pictures of them in his books and Mr. Sen had explained these odd looking flightless creatures actually swam in the oceans in the cold regions far to the south and could only walk very clumsily on land.

  Sasia bit her lip, trying not to burst out laughing. Prince Argan always made her want to laugh, the funny way he said things. He was so unlike the others who she didn’t care for one bit, and the youngest one, Istan, was extremely spiteful and had once pulled her hair. Sasia had almost struck out at him but Genthe, who had been with her, had intervened and separated the two, telling a red-faced Sasia that to strike a prince of the blood was a death sentence, even if the prince had made a completely unprovoked attack on her, which he had.

  Argan looked critically at himself in the reflection of the polished metal dish Genthe held up. It was still too heavy for Sasia to hold. He nodded, as much to get on with it than any other reason. What should he look like? He didn’t know. As Genthe placed the dish down Argan squeezed Sasia’s hand and she smiled shyly at him. Both were standing normally when the old retainer turned round. “Good, well, you can go to your father’s chamber now. They’ll be proud at how handsome you are, Prince Argan.”

  Argan smiled briefly. Was he handsome? Did he want to be handsome? What did it mean to be handsome? He decided to hurry and forget about the uncomfortable feeling he had at the woman’s words. Outside, guards escorted him to the emperor’s chamber, and he was shown in, to be greeted by his mother. “Ah, there you are. What a lovely jacket!”

  Argan bowed formally, as he had been taught. She may be his mother, but she was empress and higher in rank than himself. His father was there too, standing at the far end speaking to another man, and Argan recognised him as Lord Varaz. His father beckoned Argan to greet Lord and Lady Varaz. Lady Varaz sat to one side and next to her was Velka, also seated.

  “Argan, I believe you know the Varaz family?”

  Argan affected a stiff stance and bowed again to each of the three Varaz family members. “I am delighted to see you again,” he said slowly and clearly.

  Astiras raised an eyebrow. He had not been aware how far Argan’s schooling had gone, and it seemed he was being prepped in the right social graces which on one hand pleased him, but on the other he regretted that his young son was having to grow up.

  “My, you are growing fast, your highness,” Mara Varaz said, getting off her chair and curtseying. Velka slipped off her chair and curtseyed also. She hadn’t grown much at all, from what Argan could remember. She still had her brown hair tied in a tight style. Did she have it like that always? Even when she went to bed?

  Argan didn’t know what to say. “Mother says I have grown a hand’s width in the past season.”

  “You’ll soon be as tall as anyone here, I’ll wager,” Loban Varaz smiled, “your highness.”

  “Would you wager on that?” Argan was surprised. He didn’t know people could wager on guessing height.

  Lord Varaz chuckled. “Merely a manner of speaking, sire. We brought Velka along so the two of you may possibly spend a little time together.”

  “Fortunately there are no fountains nearby,” Isbel said.

  Argan wondered why the adults were all smiling. It had been a very embarrassing moment when he and Velka had returned to the palace all covered in mud.

  “Or mud to roll about in,” Lord Varaz laughed.

  Argan thought they were making far too much fun of him. He looked away from the grown-ups and saw Velka was smiling shyly. Well, he wasn’t smiling – he thought they were being meanies. “Well I promise to stay away from water and mud,” he announced. “I have some books in my room that Velka could read with me.”

  “Oh, I don’t think Velka is up to your standard, sire,” Lady Varaz protested.

  “They are picture books, pictures of animals and things,” Argan corrected her. He looked at Velka. “Lady Velka, would you like to see my picture books?”

  Velka nodded, too overawed to speak. She got a nod of permission from her mother and she stepped up to Argan and put out her hand, as she had done so before. Argan decided that was how she liked to be taken to places. He took it, bowed to the grown-ups, and took Velka out into the passa
geway. Guards escorted them to Argan’s room and the prince led the young girl inside. To his surprise, Sasia was still there, tidying up.

  “Oh, I didn’t expect you would still be here…. Sasia,” he said, looking sideways at Velka, then at the servant girl.

  Sasia noted the formality in Argan’s words and knew it was best to be formal back. He had also spoken in Kastanian, probably because the girl with him couldn’t speak Bragalese. “I clean up – Genthe order me. She not happy with me, highness.”

  Argan scowled. “Oh, that’s not good – why isn’t she happy with you? That’s not right. You do a great job!”

  Sasia was encouraged by his words. “She very precise. I not do things fast or right for her.”

  “Ah, phooey! It’s my room and I say what’s right or not. Velka, this is Sasia, my room servant. Sasia, Lady Velka from Niake. She’s a friend.”

  The two girls looked at each other, then Sasia bowed stiffly. It wasn’t a full acknowledgement but enough to denote her lower position. Velka cared little for that; she was gripping Argan’s hand tightly for comfort. She found it all quite unsettling. She thought she was going to have a quiet play time with the prince but the presence of the servant had unnerved her. She also spoke strangely and looked different from other girls she’d met.

  Argan seemed to notice the atmosphere getting strained. “Let’s get some books out and look at them. C’mon, no more tidying up or bowing and rubbish – you are both my friends and we’re going to have a nice time looking at pictures of animals.”

  Velka nodded. That sounded good. Sasia was intrigued – she had never seen any books with animals in before, so she watched as Argan grabbed a couple from his trunk and dropped them on the rug in the middle of the floor. He lay down and waved the two girls to lay down, one on either side of him. He flipped the first book open and an array of brightly coloured and well-drawn images greeted their eyes. Both girls were fascinated by them, and Argan explained what they were and what they did. The three became engrossed in the images and didn’t notice the passage of time until there came a knock on the door and it opened to reveal Isbel. She looked at them in shock. “Argan! Why are you showing that servant girl your book?”

  Argan sprang up. Once again, judging by his mother’s tone, he had done something wrong, although he couldn’t see exactly what was wrong with looking at books. Behind him the two girls were scrambling to their feet, Velka coming alongside him and reaching for his hand, Sasia hastily putting the books away, then moving to the far side of the room as quietly as she could. “We were only looking at animals, mother. I was showing both Velka and Sasia what they were. I was teaching them…”

  He got no further. “I shall speak to you further on this later, young man. Velka, your mother and father are going now so you should rejoin them in the big chamber. You, girl, I presume you have duties to attend to? Then get to them.”

  Argan caught Sasia’s eye and looked sympathetically at her. Sasia fled out of the room. Isbel pursed her lips tightly and gestured for Argan to follow her back to the main imperial chamber, Velka still clutching Argan’s hand.

  There was nothing said about the matter back in the room but Isbel motioned for Argan to remain there while the Varaz family said their goodbyes and left. Argan had a dread feeling in his stomach and it made him feel unwell. Another of mother’s tellings-off was coming; he hated them. Astiras had picked up that his wife wasn’t happy about something and waited by his desk for whatever it was.

  Isbel returned and stood before Argan. “Well?”

  Argan said nothing. What was there to say? He had no idea what he had done wrong.

  “What has he done, dear?” Astiras spoke with an ill-concealed long-suffering tone.

  “Don’t adopt that tone with me, Astiras Koros. Your son here has only stooped to entertain Bragalese servant girls.”

  “Really?” Astiras straightened. His first thought was that’s my boy! He thought better of voicing that, however, as Argan was too young to understand that sort of thing and Isbel would be less than amused, to say the least. He decided to defend the visibly upset child, however. “And what is so awful about that, dear?”

  “Don’t ‘dear’ me, Astiras Koros! He should not associate with servants – especially Bragalese servants! Familiarity does not do us any good at all.”

  “Perhaps you should address the young man directly, Isbel, since he’s standing there looking as if he’s been accused of treason.”

  Isbel sucked in her breath. She had to compose herself hurriedly, only just managing to stop herself venting forth a torrent of anger at her husband. “How can he possibly learn how to be a prince if you do not show him by leading by example? If you treat this sort of thing lightly, then he’ll go thinking it is fine to do it with everyone! Before we know it his room will be full of waifs and strays from the streets!”

  “Argan,” Astiras addressed his son, who turned to look him straight in the face, “why did you have this servant girl in your room?”

  “She was already there, father, when Velka and I arrived.”

  Astiras switched his attention to Isbel. “Well, that’s cleared that up, dear; she was already there.”

  Isbel fumed. “You know damned well that’s not all there is to it! I saw them all, lying side by side, like legumes in a pod!”

  “Lying side by side? Where, and what doing?”

  Argan looked up defiantly. “Reading my book! We were looking at animals, father. I cannot see what is wrong with that.”

  “Do not defy me, Argan Koros,” Isbel said warningly.

  “Alright, enough,” Astiras frowned at his wife. “I can’t see anything heinous in that – and so what if he’s trying to educate a Bragalese servant? They need it. Perhaps if they’re taught by our people, then maybe they won’t be so inclined to rebel.”

  “What’s heinous, father?”

  “Oh, bad, terrible. Another word for it.”

  Argan nodded and looked at his mother. “I like Sasia, she’s a friend.”

  “You cannot be friends with a servant. A Bragalese servant!”

  “You didn’t want me to be friends with Kerrin, too, mother. Why don’t you like me making friends?”

  Isbel opened her mouth, then shut it. Astiras sighed. “I don’t see what he’s done wrong, Isbel. As a dynasty, I don’t want to be remembered as an untouchable unreachable stand-offish House. I want the people to be able to see us as their leaders, their protectors, their guardians. We’ve had a terrible long horrible war with the Bragalese, and believe me I know more than anyone else just what it was like, and I would dearly love to bring these people to a union with Kastania. If we keep on treating them like animals then they will keep on behaving like them. We must show them that we are good people, people they can live with and share Bragal with. So if Argan here treats this – Sasia? – with kindness and respect, that’s one Bragalese who will not look upon us with hate and contempt. Imagine that repeated hundreds and thousands of times over.” Astiras sat heavily on the edge of his desk. “I tire of having to keep on watching our backs here. I want Bragal to be part of the heart of the empire. Maybe our son has shown us adults the way to do it? I don’t know.”

  Argan looked at both his parents. It didn’t seem so bad now that his father was speaking up for him. He felt such happiness inside; he’d never really heard his father speak about him like that before. He hadn’t realised until now just how much he loved him.

  Isbel was silent for a moment. “I – I’m afraid of Argan being hurt or… worse,” she whispered. “I’ve heard so many dreadful things that went on here in the rebellion. I’m surprised there are people left alive! And – and those people you’re keeping as slaves… doesn’t that go against what you’ve just said?”

  Astiras pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Hmmm…. somewhat, yes. Oh alright, I know you and Amne are dead against slavery; that’s one thing you two can agree upon, and if it stops the two of you snarling at one another then I’ll keep every o
ther blasted one a slave. I don’t want to show these damned rebels I’m weak; if I let them go then they’ll think I’ve gone soft and who knows another cursed uprising pops up. I’ll think on it.”

  Isbel put her hand on Argan’s shoulder and smiled at him. “It’s alright Argan, you can be friends with Sasia – it was just that I thought she was going to hurt you.”

  “She would not. She thinks I’m her master and has made a promise. What do you call it?”

  “A vow?” Astiras offered.

  “Yes! She made a vow to me.”

  Astiras raised both eyebrows. “Well that is something! Isbel, I know these people and that’s as good as a blood oath. You’ll be happy to know that Sasia will protect our son to the death.”

  Isbel stared with wide eyes. “Indeed? In that case – you have my blessing, Argan.”

  Argan smiled. Astiras reached out and tousled his hair. “Nicely done, Argan. I’m proud of you.”

  The boy smiled even wider, almost overcome with joy. “I love you father, and you too, mother.”

  Isbel gasped in pleasure and threw her arms round him. Astiras looked at them both with arms folded. “And I love the pair of you. Now you get on with your day’s duties, Argan, a prince’s work is never done, you know, just like an emperor’s. But I don’t want you to ever think I haven’t got time to see you, clear?”

  “No, father,” Argan said, and practically skipped out of the room. Isbel eyed her husband. “I think you’re going soft in your old age.”

  “Bah, don’t you go saying that, Isbel Koros, or I’ll behead ten slaves just for the heck of it.”

  “You don’t fool me for one moment; you’re just an old softie at heart. You’ve lost your bite.”

  “Oh, I have, have I?” Astiras said ominously, and strode forward, grabbing a shocked Isbel. He pulled her over to his desk, the empress protesting and struggling, but Astiras had her caught tight. He bent her over the desk and hauled up her dress. Isbel shrieked and cried out for him to stop, but Astiras was having none of it. He bared her left buttock. “Lost my bite, mm?” and he leaned forward, avoiding her flailing legs, and sank his teeth into it.