Empire of Avarice (48 page)

“Perfectly, ma’am.”

The empress sat and stared at him for a moment,
wondering whether he was intending to follow her wishes or not; his tone had
been dull and listless, as if he intensely disliked what he had been told and
was not intending to obey. “Captain, your position is not secure here. Remember
that.”

Vosgaris snapped his heels together and said nothing,
staring above her shoulder, beyond the smirking Pepil. Damned court sycophant! The
major domo was assiduously writing down the minutes of the meeting with relish.
Vosgaris looked higher, up at the decorative ceiling. He enjoyed his post at
the palace; it gave him status and a purpose, and despite the misguided
opinions of the empress and the smarmy arse-licking Pepil, he wished to stay. “Ma’am,
may I say something off the record?”

“You most certainly may not, Captain. Whatever you have
to say, it will be recorded.”

“Very well, ma’am. Your son Argan is a delightful boy;
he would be someone I would be proud to call my own son. But I fear you may
hinder his progress in growing up to be a fine young man.”

Isbel sat still, dissecting Vosgaris’ words. Her lips
tightened. “Have you finished, Captain?”

Vosgaris bowed.

“You may go. I shall think on what you have said. Good
night.”

After the door had closed behind the captain, Isbel
sighed and turned back to her desk and the papers that lay upon it. “Damned
man,” she muttered.

“You were too lenient towards him, ma’am,” Pepil said
smoothly.

“Pepil, if I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Pepil bowed low.

“Now go and ensure that all of today’s work is recorded
by your good offices.”

Pepil bowed again and backed out. Isbel glanced over at
the door, now guarded by two of Vosgaris’ men. I wouldn’t be at all surprised
if Pepil asked me what sort of sycophant I would prefer him to be, she thought
acidly. Then, yawning, she picked up the topmost sheet of parchment. A report
from Slenna, from Jorqel. He was holding a celebration ball to mark the
recapture of the town for the empire, and also in the hope he would find a
wife. Isbel smiled tiredly. At least Jorqel knew his duty.

That very same night, across the Aester Sea, far to the
north-west of Kastan, the lights burned brightly in Slenna. All over the town lanterns
and torches burned in the night sky, illuminating what seemed every street. Flags
fluttered in the summer air and people danced in the streets or in the town
square, an area located in the centre of Slenna which in reality was just a big
space where the three main streets met rather than a planned and built square. It
wasn’t even four-sided, so it could be argued that it wasn’t strictly a square,
but everyone described it as such, so that was what it was known as.

Sellers of wines, breads, fruit and other drinks and
foods were doing a roaring trade. Freshly slaughtered animals, bought by Prince
Jorqel and given free to the townsfolk, were being roasted for general
consumption, and anyone who had come in from the surrounding countryside was
welcome to feast. It was a celebration and everyone was included.

The castle was particularly well lit, and huge banners
depicting the Koros family crest, the imperial symbols and the town coat of
arms hung over the battlements. Guards were much in evidence and Jorqel had
arranged a regular change in the roster so that every guard could partake in at
least some of the festivities.

Children ran laughing and shouting around, chasing each
other or a wayward fowl that had broken loose from a cage or had been
deliberately let out to cause confusion. People danced to folk tunes played by
minstrels and the noise could be heard well outside the town walls.

Within the castle there was another celebration, one a
little more restrained than the carefree one enjoyed by the ordinary townsfolk.
Here, the nobility were arriving and being shown into the single large chamber
on the first floor of the keep that had been cleared and turned into a great
banqueting hall. The middle of the room was now dominated by a long table, with
fifty chairs arranged around it. It was a tight fit but the carpenters had done
a fine job. Jorqel had said the old castle was going to be torn down, as he had
plans to build a bigger and better Slenna, so the fact they had sawn through
some of the wooden walls was of no importance.

A dais had been constructed at one end for Jorqel and
the highest ranked visitors, and a smaller, top table had been placed there so
they could look down on the rest. Kastanian society was ranked according to
prestige and honours, and a family could rise – or fall – depending on their
achievements and also how they aligned themselves with other influential
families.

Gavan had excused himself and had gone to inspect the
security of the castle which was virtually impossible, given that parts of it
had been ripped out of the ground to accommodate the huge number of equines and
carriages arriving from Lodria’s far flung parts. Every noble family with
estates in the province had sent a representative, and those with eligible
daughters of the age to marry the heir to the throne of the empire had tried to
outdo each other in dressing the women concerned.

The responsibility of meeting and greeting the hopeful
arrivals fell to the castellan, a middle-aged man with the name of Fostan
Carras, a survivor of the rebellion who had refused to fight the imperial force
and as a result had kept his head. Alfan Fokis had thought highly enough of him
to keep him in his post despite his sympathies, and Carras had shown Jorqel,
since Slenna’s recapture, that he was good at his job. He knew the castle
inside out and although was horrified at the mutilation of the walls, he knew
that whatever was built afterwards would surpass what was here before. Any
residence of the heir to the Kastanian throne must be grand enough to house
him, and Slenna at that moment was sadly lacking.

Jorqel was dressed in his finest. He had demanded to be
dressed in the best quality cloth from Slenna’s clothiers and they had risen to
the task. The prince had promised the clothiers that in the new Slenna they
would have a shop in the best street, a place any merchant would sell their
soul for.

Along the inside walls of the banqueting hall, smaller
banners of Kastania, Slenna and the Koros hung in colourful competition, highlighted
by the dozens of candles flickering in wall brackets or from circular iron
holders suspended from the ceiling. Each new arrival was presented with a
goblet and invited to partake of the drink of their choice. They were arrayed
to the left of the entrance opening, the door having been removed as it had
been in the way of the rearrangements. All made their way to the prince to be
greeted and make his acquaintance, and to show off any daughter in an attempt
to catch his eye.

Jorqel was the centre of attention, as expected, and he
had an array of young unmarried women hanging onto his every word clustered
around him. Any young man would have happily given their right arm to be in his
place. Each girl was beautifully made up, her hair brushed, combed and either
plaited or tied into fashionable shapes, complimented by ribbons, clasps and
gem stones. Each had a long dress that reached the wooden floor, gathered
around her waist to make it look as narrow as possible. Necks were left open as
far down as decency permitted so that necklaces of incredible quality and value
could be fully appreciated. Matching earrings dangled and dazzled, as did
smiles that evening.

Jorqel didn’t mind being the focus of all the attention;
he knew he would have to get used to it in the future, and he was smart enough
to know this was expected of him. It wasn’t just him on show tonight; it was
the new regime of the Koros. He had spoken to many people already that evening,
and had been courteous and kind to all. Nobody would be treated differently,
that night, not even the Duras family, a name that to him stood for treachery
and shared the responsibility for the current state of Kastania.

He had seen seven of the potential brides and spoken to
each. It wasn’t just their beauty he was interested in. If he were to spend the
rest of his life with one of them, then it would have to be with someone he
liked, rather than a stunner who was an absolute she-canine. He knew that he
was attractive to women; he had never lacked attention from women, even before
he had become a prince, so he knew there would be no lack of women to choose
from once the time came to marry. The only thing he found wearisome was the
silly giggling of two of the girls. They seemed to spend all their time doing
in his presence.

They were hanging not only onto his every word, but also
his arms, and come what may were not going to be prized away. Jorqel thought
that he might have to ask his personal surgeon to perform some sort of
amputation before bedtime. Helane Grathan and Zana Sendral were the two
concerned, both dark haired and made up so much that he was willing to believe
their preparation had begun the sevenday previously. It was difficult to see
whether they were truly smooth skinned and attractive underneath the
plastered-on make-up, but it must be of good quality because so far it hadn’t
cracked, despite their repeated giggling.

He had spoken to both but the responses they had given
had made him believe his own equine had more conversational skills. Fortunately
the two charming ladies had no idea of what to say to him so he was fairly free
to speak to others in front of him. These had included the fathers of the two,
and they were beaming joyously at the attention he was giving their daughters. Jorqel
smiled at their reactions. The one good thing that their close attention had
done was to convince him neither was suitable to be his future wife – and
beyond that, the future empress of Kastania.

Currently the two families before him were the Nicate
and Duras. Fathers and daughters. Valsan Duras was a brooding, heavily built
man and he gruffly introduced his daughter, Alenna. Jorqel bowed, pulling
Helane and Zana down with him and they had to hastily readjust their feet. As
he returned to a straight stance he caught the eye of the Nicate girl smiling
with amusement. Jorqel returned the smile and then had to return his attention
to Alenna Duras.

She was dark, slightly shorter than he – but he was
willing to bet she had high heels underneath the long dress – and had a narrow
face with a strong nose and wide lips. The lips were a shame but since she was
a Duras he had little intention in marrying her anyway. He was more inclined to
remove her father’s head and mount it as a trophy over his castle. He had been
surprised Valsan Duras hadn’t taken part in the insurrection of Alfan Fokis. Maybe
he had financed it. He made a mental note to find out tomorrow.

“Lady Alenna, a pleasure to meet you,” he said in a
neutral manner.

“Prince Jorqel,” she said, her voice husky. Plus one,
Jorqel thought, his face straight. “The pleasure is mine.” She smiled,
revealing a row of perfect white teeth. Plus two. Behind her, Valsan continued
glowering. Minus one, Jorqel mused. Father is as charming as a castrated
rodent.

He rolled his eyes left and right. “As you can see, I’m
unable to kiss your hand, please forgive me.”

The two girls giggled again. Alenna sized each up in a
moment. “Perhaps I could arrange for a couple of cages for your pets as a
wedding gift?”

Jorqel pursed his lips. Minus one for diplomacy; plus
one for humour. He looked at the Nicate girl who was trying not to burst out
laughing. Her eyes were sparkling. Plus one already over there. Maybe two with
her figure. He looked back at Alenna. “Lady Alenna, I do not intend that the
subjects concerned become a permanent fixture here, so you may forget such a
generous gift.”

“Shame,” Alenna smiled at the two girls, still
blissfully ignorant that they were the subjects of the conversation. “They add
so much to your wardrobe.”

“I’m not one for radical fashion trendsetting, believe
me. How did you find the journey to Slenna?”

Alenna pouted. “Beastly! And I’m surprised you’re making
your Court here, of all places! This is such a backwater. Are you really
intending to remain here?”

Snob. Minus one. “For the immediate future. Lodria needs
rebuilding and a careful hand to oversee its full return to imperial control. After
that, well who knows? There are places to return to our rule like Slenna and I
may well be sent to fight more wars.” He smiled.

“Oh, that’s horrid!” Alenna exclaimed, drawing wide-eyed
looks from the two arm-clingers. “Surely you can get some warrior-type to do
that for you? Father here does that, don’t you, father?” she took hold of
Valsan’s arm and pulled him alongside her. Valsan came forward reluctantly and
sized up Jorqel, grizzled veteran against fresh-faced youngster.

“Lord Duras,” Jorqel bowed slightly.

“Prince Jorqel,” Duras said, with just a slight catch to
the first word. Clearly he resented Jorqel’s status.

“You are not a fighting man?” Jorqel asked, surprise in
his voice.

“Why fight when you have those to obey your bidding? Surely
a safer course of action?”

Jorqel overlooked the lack of respect in Duras’
statement. “Safer, but less heroic. Better to lead by example than to vow to
fight until the last drop of your retainers’ blood.”

Duras fixed his teeth in a false smile. “Until later,
Prince Jorqel,” he said in a strained voice and pulled his daughter away. Jorqel
heard her protesting but ignored the two and instead turned to view the Nicate
family members who had been waiting patiently behind the Duras. He felt a
presence at his elbow and turned to see one of his servants, a short man called
Walis. Walis was native to Slenna and had been a recent addition to the
household. The short man hovered around with drink refills and Jorqel leaned
over to speak to Zana. “Could you please take one of those goblets and hold it
for me, Lady Sendral?”

Giggling, Zana did so. As she took the goblet, Jorqel
leaned close to Walis’ ear. “Duras, minus one” he whispered. Walis nodded and
moved away. He was keeping score and writing them down, and later Jorqel would
study the figures. He straightened and smiled at Lord Nicate and his dazzlingly
dressed daughter. “Welcome, Lord Nicate and Lady…?”

“Sannia,” she said, curtseying.

Jorqel got a good look down her cleavage as she bent
forward. Goodness…. Plus three he thought quickly. “And what part of Lodria
have you travelled from to be here this evening?”

“North-west, close to the coast,” her father said
smoothly. “Shipping is my game. I really must bring to your attention the
pirate menace there. It’s making my business very difficult, sire.”

“Please do. Sadly not tonight, but a letter to me would
be welcome. Tonight I’m pleased to make the acquaintance of your beautiful
daughter.” This time the clinging irritation would not stop him and he wrenched
his arm free despite a valiant effort from Helane, and took Sannia’s hand and
kissed it, his eyes rising to meet hers. She smiled again, her eyes shifting to
the right at a pouting Helane.

Jorqel straightened, and his arm was immediately
reclaimed. Jorqel rolled his eyes and Sannia put her hand to her mouth, her
eyes crinkling. “As you can see, Lady Sannia, I’m somewhat restricted this
evening.”

“No matter, I see you’ve got them right where they want
you,” Sannia said in good humour. “Beautiful jacket,” she noted, eyeing his new
outfit. “Locally made?”

“Why yes. It’s very comfortable. Wormspun.”

“Of course; only the best for royalty,” she said. Lodria
imported the wormspun fabrics from Bathenia or Frisia, not having any recourse
to the raw material themselves.