“Will I lust for you for the rest of my life?” he asked with a defiant expression.
“Believe me, I could have done worse. Now to business,” she concluded their exchange. She hadn’t engaged in as much chit-chat in the last decade as in the last half-hour. She felt utterly drained.
“Firstly; how are your people liking the Kronurian guns, Warchief? Secondly; what are your plans for the Gathering?”
Redbeard’s eyes lit up. He enthused about the weapons and outlined his plans, while trying hard to get some vivid images involving the Matriarch out of his head.
The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island
On the first Festivalday, Mordan lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling of his new Royal Suite, which he had moved into less than twenty-four hours ago.
While it was undeniably luxurious and perfect in every way for his new, isolated status, it put him on the same floor with Octarian, Wolly and Sylvain, which would make it harder to avoid them. At least the servants were more polite here.
He still hadn’t recovered from the turmoil of the last days.
It had all happened very quickly; the King’s official statement that he had adopted Mordan, his new princely title, his move to the Royal Floor of the Academy, and of course the encounter with Rica.
He could tell that the girl was trying her best to remember him, but then she admitted that she wasn’t entirely sure. One thing she seemed to be certain of; that Mordan was indeed her half-brother.
She was mostly like he had remembered the daughter of his mother’s employers; shy and friendly, though the spark she had had when she was a little girl was missing. Which was hardly surprising, under the given circumstances.
Mordan’s worry for his mother flared up again. The one thing in Rica’s story that he did believe, was the journey she had mentioned. It was the trip his mother was supposed to be on. Unfortunately Rica couldn’t tell him anything else. At least it seemed that Fenweed had still lived in the manor; he might have some answers. Thankfully, the Academy Break was only one week away.
A servant entered after a polite knock, and handed him a letter.
Mordan dear,
Meet me at the dock.
I sent a servant to accompany you.
N.
Mordan rolled his eyes, sighed and got dressed. A liveried servant greeted him downstairs, and asked him to follow.
As Mordan stepped out of the Main Building, he could hardly see the dock because of the commotion around it.
‘What the…?’ he thought as he got closer.
A huge metal vehicle, in the form of a swan, was gently swaying on the water of the Canal.
“What is this?”
“Where can you get one?”
“How much is it?”
“Can I get in?”
“How fast can it go?”
People were shouting on top of their voices.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take a leaflet. No need to push and shove, there’s enough for everybody,” a man in a top hat announced. Mordan took one and read it.
Citizens of the Realm!
The future of transportation has arrived to your beautiful continent, straight from Kronuria!
Behold the Metal Swan, the newest Kronurian invention!
It can be yours to own!
For more information, please contact the Kronurian Department of the International Merchant House in the Perentian District of Realm’s Heart Island
“Please follow me, my Prince,” the servant said, and pushed the crowd aside to help the stunned Mordan onto the vehicle.
He stood on the deck, which led to two cabins. The servant opened the door in the back of the Swan. He stepped into a glass-walled, elegant salon.
“What do you think?” Noerelle smiled at him, while the boat started to move.
“How does it work? Is it yours? What’s in the other cabin? Let me look around,” Mordan had momentarily forgotten about everything else, and left.
Noerelle had been expecting curiosity, but she had wildly underestimated the power of the vehicle over Mordan.
After about half an hour, she stood up and followed him. She found him at the steering wheel in animated discussion with the driver.
He was flushed, with eyes sparkling, while listening to the other man, and navigating his way around the barges on the Canal.
“I guess you could master it perfectly in a few weeks if you keep practising… Careful now… A bit more to the left…”
“Khm,” Noerelle said.
“What? I’m driving,” Mordan barked, wiping a drop of sweat off his forehead.
“Would you please take over, Maister? I need to discuss some urgent matters with the Prince,” Noerelle smiled at the driver, pushed Mordan out of the cabin and into the other one, after he finally let go of the steering wheel.
“How on Earth did you get this?” Mordan slumped down in one of the armchairs.
“My father gave it to me. No reputable Kronurian can do without one these days.”
“That’s what I call generous,” remarked Mordan.
“That’s what we call marketing. He will have so many orders within a month that he’ll be probably awarded the title of Grandmaister,” Noerelle laughed.
“It’s a fantastic thing. I want one”
“Why not? You can afford it. I see you have got used to the Royal life-style amazingly quickly.”
“Yes, I got myself a Royal Suite. I can afford that as well, seeing how much money I will save by not going out with my friends anymore. Oh, silly me, I mean the people who used to be my friends,” he said bitterly.
“Mordan darling, it will be fine. When will you learn to trust me?”
“Let me see. Maybe when I’m the First Servant of the Realm. Or the Prime Minister of Kronuria.”
“Good, good.”
“Right. Why did you bring me here?”
“I need to teach you something,” she announced.
“You can teach me something I can’t learn at the Academy?”
“Well, I’m sure they could teach you, but they won’t. That I can guarantee you.
I need you to master your mind, to increase your concentration and to focus your thoughts.”
“I’m focusing one right now,” Mordan said with a nasty squint, helping himself to a glass of sparkle, offering one to Noerelle as well.
She laughed, but then her expression changed.
“This is serious. We didn’t plan to involve you to such a degree at this stage, but due to certain circumstances, we had no choice. If I don’t train you, you could endanger the whole operation and every single one of us.”
“Who is everybody else and what the Hell is all this about?”
“You will find out when it’s safe. It’s for your own protection.
I won’t lie to you; I depend on your success as well. Your success is my priority.
I know that you had to make some sacrifices, but have you not benefitted from our co-operation already?”
Mordan raised his hands in defeat. She had admitted that she was using him, but at least in a reassuring way.
“Fine. Just remind me; why do I need to do this? And what exactly do you want me to do?”
“You need to learn how to put everything into the deepest corner, at the back of your mind when you’re around Academy members.
You can do it by focusing your thoughts on something else.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise the Academy members…”
Mordan snorted.
“Will read my mind? Oh, please. Because they are mages, witches or warlocks?
You know, for a second I thought I could take you seriously, but now we’re back from where we started.
No, that’s not true.
It’s getting worse.
There is a lovely place for people like you. It’s a luxurious estate in the outskirts with many attentive staff. It’s discretely called the Royal Sanatorium
of the Mentally Exhausted. It’s insanely popular amongst the crazy and the rich.
On second thoughts, I should have myself committed for even listening to you,” Mordan ranted.
“Are you finished? Haven’t you learnt about the Mage Wars of 501?”
“Yes, I of course I have.
One of the megalomaniac Stingers wanted to get rid of their political enemies, and had burned thousands of healers and scholars on the stake. People were accusing each other of witchcraft, nobody trusted anybody.
The population of the Realm had been decimated in all the hysteria.
And that was nothing compared to the death toll of the next epidemic, when there were no healers left who could have helped the sick.
I’d say that was a quite good lesson for humanity. Bloody morons.”
“Yet, the Academy has prevailed,” remarked Noerelle.
“Yes, because thankfully they didn’t manage to wipe out every single person who had some common sense. What’s your point? That the mages had gone into hiding for a few decades, and then had re-emerged miraculously out of nowhere once that war had ended, pretending not to be mages? Sure, that’s what happened,” Mordan tutted.
“Fine. How do you think the prosecutors make people confess?” Noerelle asked.
Mordan rolled his eyes.
“They can read people very well. Not their minds, their behaviour. And of course there is the Prosecutor’s Brew that every accused has to drink before the court hearing,” he said.
“A serum that miraculously makes you tell the truth. That you believe,” Noerelle smiled.
“Apparently, you haven’t been out with friends drinking enough times. There is a rather unmiraculous serum that loosens tongues; it’s called alcohol.
Why on Earth wouldn’t I believe, that there is a purified version of it that makes people talk?
If you don’t mind, I chose to believe in chemistry more than in magic. Are we done?”
He stood up and went to the cabin door.
Noerelle sighed.
“I promise that Maister Schiffman-Hilltop will give you a driving lesson every time you have focus-practice with me.”
“Damn you,” Mordan said after a few seconds, and sat back down.
Realm’s Heart Island
On the second Festivalday of the month, the day of the Windscale Ball, Gloria had thought that her biggest problem would be deciding what to wear for the event.
She was sitting in her barge, on the way to see Queen Mother Lunea Sunflare for a light, pre-ball lunch. They usually brought each other up to date on all the Royal gossip before any social events of importance. The happenings of the morning left her stunned though.
Gloria had decided that the fling with Mordan would have to come to an end.
After the ball of course.
She had finally accepted the fact that her affair with Octarian was over, and that there was nothing she could do about it. He had come to see her a few days after the Wheatfield Festival. He had been very polite, but also very determined. He had told her that he would be courting Ariessa Warhorn. Gloria had been very understanding, and agreed that she would need a more experienced man on her side.
Gloria was rather unpleasantly surprised when Mordan had been announced an hour before she had to leave.
She was about to lecture him about basic etiquette, but he apologised so profusely that she didn’t have the heart to scold him, and gave him ten minutes to share what was apparently so important that he had risked his head being bitten off.
The first nine and a half minutes Mordan – or apparently Prince Stinger - told her the unbelievable story about his heritage.
The last thirty seconds he saved to propose to her.
At least he had the decency not to ask for an immediate reply, which was just as well, as she was rendered speechless. He obediently left after his time was up, making sure he could still come to pick her up in the afternoon.
The barge was quickly approaching the Sunflare Palace. Gloria’s mind was still buzzing with dozens of questions. She would have to investigate the truth to Mordan’s story.
Would it be enough to send one of her men to gather some information?
Probably not. She decided to pay a visit to the Lord of the Underbelly – heavily disguised, naturally.
Gloria always thought it was a pity that Belisar enjoyed the company of Ladies strictly outside the bedroom. She smiled at the thought of the big man. The air of danger he exuded made him utterly irresistible, even at his age. She was sure that he made a number of lucky men very happy.
She nodded to herself; yes, visiting him was one of the best ideas she had had in weeks. Belisar would give her advice and information of her new country – and her suitor. She felt better already.
Gloria’s thoughts returned to Mordan. She sighed. She wasn’t ashamed to admit to herself that his new title did make him a more appealing option than before.
Was it enough though?
So he was the bastard son of a potentially dethroned Empress’ husband.
Not very glamorous. Still, Royalty is Royalty. Besides, he was a Pyonian. Should she become the Empress, the locals might warm to her a bit more with Mordan as her husband.
As a backup option it was not to be sneered at. But what if she didn’t get the Pyonian throne? She would have to think about it all. But not today.
Gloria had had some rough weeks behind her; she decided to have a pleasant lunch with Lunea, and enjoy the ball in the evening.
After a few oysters on crushed ice and a glass of sparkling wine, Gloria and Queen Mother Lunea were quickly exchanging new snippets of gossip. It was just what she needed.
“I still can’t decide. Gloria dear, you have to help me. Shall I wear the gold lamé dress or the silver with the pearls?
I know, I’ve been a Sunflare for almost three decades, but I’ll always be a Moonstone girl; I just don’t feel comfortable in gold,” Lunea said with an apologetic smile.
“It’s decided then; wear what you’re happiest with, dear,” Gloria said, thinking that she had concluded the matter.
“Yes, but maybe particularly tonight I should wear Sunflare colours. The hopefully joyous event might take place, and I don’t want to be wearing the wrong attire for that,” Lunea pondered.
Gloria was certain that by the ‘hopefully joyous event’ the Queen Mother didn’t mean the ball itself.
Lunea noticed Gloria’s confusion.
“Oh, oh, you might not know yet; we haven’t had the chance to chat for a while. Octarian might build up the courage to propose,” she said with a hopeful smile.
Gloria blinked; to avoid any embarrassment, she decided not to think or say anything before she was in the possession of all the necessary facts.
“Silly me,” Lunea laughed.
“He is considering proposing to Princess Ariessa tonight.
I know, it only has been a month since their courtship has started, but then again they have known each other from the Academy for years.
Octarian had already asked Emperor Xisar’s permission to propose to his daughter.”
“That’s wonderful,” Gloria whispered.
The jab to her chest was so sharp, that she found it hard to breathe. Fortunately, Lunea was too busy adding some drops of lemon to her oyster to notice.
“I must admit that for a while we thought you would be the new addition to our family,” she giggled.
“We?” was all Gloria managed to utter.
“Yes, Lexandros and I hoped that it could be possible, even though we both agreed it was wishful thinking that you would have him. Oh well, ultimately it had to be Octarian’s decision.”
Gloria could feel red mist descending on her.
If Emperor Lexandros Sunflare and his queenly mother hoped for something, they didn’t hope for it silently.
Knowing them both well, she was certain that Lexandros expressed his wishes in forms of orders and decrees.
> Lunea was seemingly more timid, but with her simpering passive-aggressive way, there was hardly anything she didn’t get, if she really wanted it.
Which meant that Octarian for once went up against his brother’s and mother’s wishes, and chose that horrible brat over her, present Duchess Summerwind, possible future Empress Gloria Stinger.
She could make him King of Pyonia, while a marriage to Ariessa would mean that he would remain a simple Prince.
It occurred to her that Octarian wasn’t interested in the least in becoming the ruler of any country. Still, it was outrageous.
“That is uncanny,” Gloria did her best to force a smile on her face.
“Octarian proposing on the same day that I have been proposed to.”
“Oh by the Gods!” the news came so unexpectedly to Lunea that she broke out in fits of coughing, unable to decide whether to spit out the oyster in her mouth or to swallow it.
Gloria put on such a perfect performance of the blushing bride, that even the harshest critics of Ermelia would have applauded her.
As soon as Gloria was finished and dabbed away some ‘tears of happiness,’ Lunea rang some bells, clapped her hands and gave orders to half a dozen servants.
She had always fooled most people with her doting mother attitude; only a few knew just by how much she had been affected by court affairs and politics.
Before Gloria could react, an impromptu Royal Family Assembly was called.
Lunea grasped the implications of Gloria marrying a Stinger, a fraction of a second before she did. Gloria cursed herself for her letting the fear of her pride being hurt override her common sense.
The usually unavailable Emperor Lexandros II stormed in, kissed her hand and beamed at her.
“Gloria dearest, this must be one of the greatest days in history! Congratulations! You are truly a genius, my dear. Not only might we have one of our own on Pyonia’s throne in your person, but you could succeed in what none of us could since the War; placate the Pyonians…
What more; they will be delirious to see one of theirs on your side whether you will be Empress or not. It hasn’t happened in ages that a Sunflare noble has wed a Pyonian Royal.
This is just… ah… just fantastic…
Equimancer's Realm Page 17
