Authors: Carol Berg
Transformation (5 page)
I pointed to the tunic. “Is that for me?”
“Oh, aye. As before. In his chambers. Be quick about it.”
I bowed, took myself to the cistern, and, once the slave master had inspected me and given his approval, started for the palace. As I left the slave house, Durgan called after me, “Watch your tongue, slave. Better than last time.”
I was not averse to watching my tongue. I just wished I knew how to go about it with Aleksander.
On this occasion the bodyguards outside the Prince’s door searched me before I was allowed to knock. As they prodded and poked self-importantly, I heard the disconcerting sounds of glass breaking and cursing from behind the door. At the snappish, “Come,” my fading lash marks stung in warning.
The Prince was throwing things: pillows, statuary, wineglasses and bottles, and the occasional knife. Evidently this had been going on for quite a while, for the priceless Induit carpet was stained with wine and littered with fragments of glass, porcelain, feathers, clothing, and cushions. I worried that I might slice my forehead on the shards, and it was difficult to convince myself to rise up again after my obeisance. So I stayed down. I didn’t want his attention. And, in truth, he seemed to have forgotten me already.
“Intolerable! I’ll see them all dead. Better, I’ll see them all in chains. I’ll send them to the Veshtari Overlord to spread dung in his fields. The Veshtar know how to use slaves.”
“Aleksander, control yourself.” It was the Lord Dmitri, brother to the Emperor. “Your rash behavior has caused this mess.”
“You blame me as Father does. It’s my fault that this city is filled with inbred imbeciles who can’t find their mouths with a spoon, but who dare spy on their Emperor’s son. And I am to accept it? You’re the one who keeps warning me of these Khelid, and now I’m taken to task for speaking my mind in private correspondence. By Druya’s horns, Dmitri, he’ll have me married to one of them, if this doesn’t stop.”
My equanimity, already unsettled by Durgan’s warning, lay in ruins.
“I’m as concerned about the Khelid as ever, Aleksander. But if you’re to be Emperor, you must think before you act. You mutilated the son of the oldest family in northern Azhakstan. You taunted and shamed him—and therefore his kin to the sixteenth degree—setting them at odds with your father and yourself. And to compound your stupidity, you make fatuous threats against your father’s new favorites and trust the letter to one of your attendants who happens to be Vanye’s brother-in-law! How can one intelligent man be so thickheaded?”
“Get out, Dmitri. Until my father revokes my birth, I am your prince. You will watch your despicable tongue or I’ll have it out of your mouth.”
“Zander—”
“Out!”
I glimpsed two well-worn boots, elegantly crafted of the finest leather, standing beside my head.
“Here is your slave, Aleksander. Consider carefully what words you have him commit to paper. I love you well, but I will not stand between you and Ivan. Never think it.”
An oil lamp crashed into the door as it closed behind Dmitri. I knew it was from the combination of shattered glass, rattling brass, and peach-scented oil that splattered over my back. It took all the control I could muster to stay still. It was daytime. The lamp was not lit.
“Insolent, damnable wretch!” I hoped that was aimed at Dmitri. I kept my head to the carpet. I would have preferred to keep it there all day rather than allow the Prince to glimpse the barely healed mark on my face—the abstractions of a rampant lion that threatened to devour my left eye and the falcon that still throbbed on my cheekbone. From the conversation I had just heard, I was much too involved in this unpleasantness—exactly the last place a slave should ever be.
Droplets of oil dribbled slowly down the backs of my legs. How could something so complexly wonderful and mysterious as the human intelligence devise a world so utterly, absolutely absurd?
“Come, take up your pen, Ezzarian.” Anger transformed to cold bitterness. Very dangerous.
“In the map room, Your Highness?” I asked, speaking clearly, not in some annoying craven whisper. I kept my face averted.
“No. Right here.” He pointed to a small desk beside the window where he stood. It was a simple piece, made of dark cherry wood, planed and shaped into smooth, elegant lines, far less exotic and elaborate than the other tables and chests in his chambers. Out of place, yet far more pleasing to my eye. The drawer slid open quietly at my touch. Inside it a small, sharp knife lay beside the stack of creamy white paper. While I unstoppered the ink and used the little knife to sharpen the three pens that lay on the desktop, the Prince absentmindedly ran his hand over the satiny, tight-grained finish of the desk, muttering. “Damn you, Dmitri. Damn you.”
“All is ready, my lord.”
I waited a good five minutes while Aleksander stared out of the window, folding his arms in front of his chest, his jaw rigid, in the very posture of controlled rage. When he began to release his words, they were like the first few pellets of sleet spit from lowering clouds, so hard and biting that they would send villagers scurrying to gather in their children and their stock to protect them from the coming fury of the storm.
Sire,I accept your righteous rebuke for my decision to reduce Lord Vanye’s rank. It was a thoughtless act, contrary to the best interests of the Derzhi Empire and reflecting dishonor upon myself as your son and heir, and therefore upon you, my father and my liege. Such result was never, and could never be, my remotest intent. To bring the least blight, the most minute taint of unseemly dispute to your glorious reign or your honored person is so vile a thought I can scarcely voice it, as if by saying the words, my tongue must blacken and fall out with the poisonous taste. Upon the life that you have given me and the honor that you have nurtured in me, such a lapse will not happen again.But for any act beyond this, I accept no chastisement. Vanye purposefully and contrivedly sought to destroy the property of his prince and liege. This is nothing but treason. To treat such a crime with lenience is to invite further affronts or open rebellion. The penalty for treason must be death or enslavement. So I was taught by you, honored sire. Vanye brought this shame upon his family, not I.As for the other matter, it seems but a confirmation of the earlier results. If Vanye’s family are loyal subjects wronged by the Emperor’s justice as they claim, then why is Lord Sierge found spying on his Emperor’s son? This is yet another act of treason to augment and compound the first. A price must be and will be paid for it.My words to my cousin were private, and I will offer no apology for them.I have received your Khelid messenger graciously and heard from his mouth my Emperor’s rebuke. Your choice of a non-Derzhi voice for this most painful missive is, of course, not a matter on which I would dare express misgivings. But I most determinedly resist the long-term companionship with this Khelid lord that you have suggested. The Khelid people may be worthy allies and have a culture deserving our scrutiny, but when it comes to the governing of the Derzhi Empire, I wish for your tutelage only, sire. Not that of foreigners who treat for peace with their sovereign in chains.With all respect and deepest humility,Aleksander, Prince of Azhakstan
A masterpiece. I was absolutely in awe of Aleksander’s craftsmanship and came near blurting out my compliments. To pull in the reminder of the Khelid king in chains ... to couch his own stupidity in such noble sentiments ... I wanted to stand and applaud him. Perhaps the man had more intelligence than it seemed at first. Perhaps he had learned a lesson from the whole nasty mess.
I shook the sand off the letter and prepared wax for the seal. Aleksander pressed so hard he almost squeezed all of the stuff from under his ring.
While I cleaned up the desk, including glass fragments and feathers and the oil that had dripped from my hair and my arm, Aleksander spoke to a servant outside his door. In only a moment his uncle Dmitri entered and genuflected quite formally, expressing his surprise at being recalled so soon.
“I have a mission for you, Uncle.”
“And what is that?”
“I wish you to bear my answer to my father.”
“You jest!”
“Not at all. I can’t seem to trust my messengers not to pry into my correspondence, but you would not dare deliver a letter with a broken seal to your Emperor, brother or no. You are the only one I can trust, therefore, you must go.” The Prince stuck the letter in his uncle’s thick fingers.
The Derzhi warrior was furious. “You young fool—”
“Do not defy me, Uncle. This is not the day for it. I want you on your way within the hour.”
Dmitri dipped his knee again. “My lord.” Then he stomped out of the room. I would not have been one of his slaves at that moment for an extra year’s rations.
The Prince did not stop my cleaning, even when I moved from the desk to the couch, where I had seen him recline. He was tapping his foot and staring out of the window again.
The man who arrived next was so bulbous his gold breeches and vest could scarcely contain his bulk. One could get nauseous from watching the undulating waves of gold satin. His scant hair was swept across the pink ball of his head into a braid of a most unnatural color of red, and it had been a goodly while since the fellow had seen the desert from the back of a warhorse. Amazingly enough he could sweep a bow as gracefully as a slender boy. “Your Highness, all blessings of Athos and his brethren upon you this glorious day. How may I lend my poor talents to the service of my most gracious lord?” His speech was bulbous as well.
“We are having special guests this evening. I wish every first-degree noble of the House of Mezzrah to receive a personal summons from my Lord High Chamberlain. From his very lips.”
The florid face was a bit disconcerted. “From my—”
“From your lips, Fendular, from your lips. I believe there are some nineteen of these gentlemen. You are to greet them with my heartfelt good wishes, my promise of leniency in all our dealings, my most sincere respect, my desire to treat with them, to hear their grievances, and heed their wisdom ... whatever particular flatteries you think appropriate. You are wise in these matters as I am not.”
Another bow. “Your Highness is too generous with—”
“You will tell them that I wish to receive them as soon as possible and introduce them to the Emperor’s Khelid emissary, Korelyi. In fact, they will be in my reception rooms no later than four hours from the next striking of the clock.”
“Four—”
“Your life is forfeit, Fendular, if even one of these lords is not present. And I will not have them brought by force. They must come willing, despite any ... misgiving ... they may have about my favor. Do you understand me?”
“Indeed, my lord.” The man had lost a good deal of his robust coloring, and had, indeed, sagged into his clothes a bit like a slip of gold leaf set too close to the forge.
“What anxiety is this, Fendular? You understand these northern nobles as no one else in the Emperor’s service understands them. You know the right words to bring them.”
A straightening of the overburdened spine. “It shall be done as you command, Highness. I am honored by your confidence.”
“Good. And because these lords may be apprehensive—some scurrilous rumors that they are out of my favor—you will arrange for suitable gifts of greeting to await them upon their arrival. Fine gifts. Once I have received our guests, we will surprise them by having them dine at my own table with my Khelid guest. You will give the necessary orders?”
“Of course, Highness.” Fewer words as the tasks of the next hours grew impossibly complex.
“Be off with you, Fendular, with all haste.”
“Your Highness.” Another bow, not quite so sweeping, and the Chamberlain backed toward the door.
“Oh ... one more thing,” said the Prince.
“Yes, my lord?”
“You need not invite Sierge, Lord Vanye’s brother-in-law. I am issuing his invitation myself.”
Fendular withdrew with his orders and was quickly replaced by a tall, thin Derzhi warrior dressed smartly in the Emperor’s green livery. His face was shaped like a shovel, narrow at the top, spreading into a flat wide jaw. The Prince acknowledged his crisp bow.
“You value your appointment as the palace guard captain and the trust I bear you, do you not, Mikael?”
“My life is yours, as you know, Your Highness, since the day you were fifteen and saved—.”
“You have told me many times that you will neither question nor falter in your duty, no matter what I ask of you. For the honor of your Emperor and your Prince. This is still true?”
“I would sooner fall upon my sword than fail you, my lord.”
“Following my instructions to the letter will suffice. You are to take a troop of well-armed guardsmen, and exactly four hours from the next striking of the clock, you are to arrest my attendant Sierge of the House of Mezzrah at his home. The charge is treason. He is to be taken directly to the public square of Capharna and hanged. Without discussion, without announcement, without forewarning to his family. Absolutely without delay of any kind. Do you understand me?”
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