He has awful taste, she thought.
She headed toward a table in the center of the spacious chamber. As her daüch fluttered, her black Star Forces uniform could be seen intermittently peeking out from under the sleeves.
The Baron of Febdash was already encamped at the table, which was comically small given the sheer size of the room. Beside him were female servants with demeaningly skimpy attire. No food had yet been laid out, and there were only two lamtych (LAHMTYOOSH, cups) carved out of braiscirh (BRESKEERR, amethyst) on the table. A single chair stood vacant.
The Baron stood up and greeted the royal princess with his head drooped down. Lafier stayed on her feet right by the table and looked square at him.
“Where is Jinto?”
“Jinto?” The Baron raised his head. “Ah, you must mean Lonh-Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder. My father is currently hosting him.”
“Why isn’t your father eating with us?”
“He’s not much of a people person, I’m afraid.”
“If he’s not a ‘people person,’ then why is he playing host to a guest?”
“Because misery loves company, I imagine,” he said enigmatically.
“And what exactly does that mean?” she grumbled.
“Please, don’t let it worry you.”
“How could I not? My mission is to escort Jin... Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder to Sfagnoff.”
The Baron raised an eyebrow at her.
“My, Fïac, don’t tell me you sincerely believe I could wish harm upon Lonh-Ïarlucec Dreur?”
“Frankly, I do sincerely believe you could,” she asserted.
“That is regrettable,” he said, though his face betrayed no such regret. “In any case, please take a seat. I would like to clear up this misunderstanding as we dine.”
“I hope it is a misunderstanding, Baron.”
A waitstaff had already pulled Lafier’s chair out for her, and she took it. Seeing her seated, the Baron did likewise.
“Would you care for some spirits?” he asked.
“I’m on duty. Give me something without scïadéc (SKEEADEH, alcohol).”
“As you wish. May I interest you in some tyrec lachbanr (TYOOR LAHSHBAHN, orange juice)?”
When Lafier nodded, the Baron snapped his fingers. A waitstaff whispered instructions into a mouth-equipped transceiver.
The Baron spoke as he awaited his drink. “So, Fïac Lartnér, I see you call that boy by name. May I ask you also to call me simply ‘Klowar’?”
“No, you may not,” she said curtly.
“May I ask why?”
“Because I don’t want to, Baron.”
The Baron had no retort. He narrowed his eyes at her.
A servant, who was, of course, female, came with a tray containing a rosgiac (ROHZGEEA, decanter) and some jars. The waitstaff picked up the jar of orange juice and took caution and care as she poured its contents into Lafier’s cup. Then, rinméc (REENMEH, apple cider) was poured into the Baron’s cup.
Lafier was thirsty from her hot bath, and so she drained her orange juice immediately. At once, the cup was refilled.
A foreboding silence had befallen the table, but then the appetizers arrived. Pale petals were scattered across the black canvas that was the tray, along with various artistically arranged items of Abh cuisine. Placing importance in aesthetic presentation was part and parcel of Abh dining.
“By all means, please partake.”
“Sure.” Silver chopsticks in hand, Lafier brought something that looked like a leaf to her lips. The flavor of shellfish burst in her mouth. “This is good.”
“I am honored, Fïac.”
“I’m not complimenting you,” she said, with no love lost. “I’m complimenting the chef. I’ve gathered you’re not one to use machines. You use people.”
“How perceptive of you, Fïac. I don’t like machines very much, no. That aside, you seem rather angry, Your Highness.”
“How perceptive of you, Baron. I am angry.”
“Does my invitation displease you that much?”
“Did you think it would ‘please’ me?” She sent an icy glare at the Baron as her chopsticks tore a piece off of a side of rïopoth (REEOPOHTH, smoked thigh) patterned after a rabbit-ear iris.
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“You still haven’t cleared up that misunderstanding, if there even is one to clear up.”
“This is about that Lander boy, I take it.”
“Jinto is an Abh noble.”
“Ah, yes, too right.”
“It’s not just about him. Did our vessel really need inspection? Is there really a fuel shortage? My doubts have only multiplied, Baron.”
“Inspection? Oh, I was lying about that,” he admitted breezily. “There is more than enough fuel, and your vessel is not undergoing inspection of any sort.”
Lafier was hardly surprised. She knew her “warm welcome” was far from genuine from how she’d been pulled away from Jinto.
Regardless, she didn’t put down her chopsticks. She ate up the rest of the appetizers and pushed her tray to the side.
“Why did you lie?”
“Because you would not have come to dinner otherwise, Fïac Lartnér.”
“Of course not. We must make haste.”
“That only confirms that it was right to lie.”
“Is that so? Well, let me tell you, I don’t like being deceived.”
“I imagine not.”
“Now that your little lies have been exposed, I can and will take my leave of this place.”
“About that, Fïac.” The Baron drank the last of his apple cider. “Could I have you postpone your departure for just a little while longer?”
“If I say no, would you still be willing to send me off with no hard feelings?”
The waitstaff brought a small porcelain bowl. It was autonn fimhaimer (OHTOHN FEEFEMAR, sea turtle soup).
Lafier removed the lid and savored its sweet fragrance.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t,” the Baron replied. “I must ensure you stay here, even if by force.”
“Until?”
“Until an Empire ship arrives. Or, in other words, until the safety of my domain is secured.”
“But there’s no knowing when that will be.” She tilted the bowl and slurped up all of the rich, hot broth.
“Indeed not.”
“So you intend to keep us here until then.”
“Yes.”
Lafier scowled — but confusion preceded ire. What in the heavens was the Baron scheming?
“I’m not plotting treason or a rebellion, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said the Baron.
“No. Your deeds are not so upright as a rebellion,” she sniped.
“It is truly a shame.” The Baron hung his head, but his lips curled mockingly. “My family line is a short one, and so ‘upright deeds’ may ill suit me.”
Lafier paid the Baron no heed as she tucked into her broth.
With a glance, Lafier noted that the Baron had barely touched his food, as his dish of appetizers hadn’t been taken away. Lafier briefly suspected he may have poisoned her.
No, don’t be foolish, she thought. He would have poisoned the appetizers if he wanted to poison her at all. And he would have needed to somehow poison only her portions. There was no need to poison her; this was the Baron’s estate.
The broth was followed by dérslumh bausr (DEHRSLOOF BOHS, trout dumplings). The trout were genetically engineered to be tiny.
“Well, are you going to tell me?” she needled him while she peeled away the fried-brown dough concealing the fish within.
“About?”
“About why you’re keeping us. Is it a grudge?”
“Don’t be absurd, Fïac Lartnér; so long as I have you here, I intend to treat you with nothing but the utmost hospitality. Why would I seek to cause you harm...?”
“That’s precious. I’m not so sure you fully grasp the consequences of your actions.”
“I assure y
ou I do. All I want is to protect this domain.”
“How does keeping us here protect your domain?”
“The Sfagnoff Marquessate is a large nation. The United Humankind must know its location. My barony, on the other hand, is young and of miniscule size. There’s an extremely large possibility they’re not aware it exists. A regular ferry stops by only twice a month. And I would like for them to remain ignorant of the Febdash Barony. But what if they were to observe a ship emerging from the Febdash Gate? Presumably, they would glean that there’s been a fief their information network failed to catch wind of. They might even destroy this microscopic domain in a fit of pique.”
“But we passed through the Febdash Gate to get here. How do you know they haven’t already spotted us?”
“They may have. But one chance is already one too many. I cannot afford to give the enemy a second.”
“That seems rational enough.”
“I’m glad you agree.” The Baron nodded animatedly. “That is why, Fïac Lartnér, reluctant though I am, I must insist you prolong your sojourn at this mansion until I can be sure the enemy has been swept from our vicinity. If the enemy fleet is repelled, then you won’t be kept waiting for too terribly long. And if it isn’t repelled... I suppose you will have to wait until the Empire recovers this land.”
“Can we survive here for that long?”
“My star fief possesses a glaicec (GLEK, hydroponic plantation) and a basébh (BAHSEHV, cultivation ranch). There will be no shortage of food. However, resources are limited, so our chefs may not be resourceful enough at times to prevent some level of dissatisfaction.”
“And what if the Empire never recovers it?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. The lord of this little domain has enough to deal with already.”
“I think it’d behoove you to spare your future some thought.” Lafier was intent on the task of plucking the dough and the fish even as she spoke.
“Whatever might you mean?”
“You’re obstructing the passage of a connecting vessel that’s on a military mission. The fief you worked to protect might be ousted from the Empire.”
“I think not. I did everything out of a passion for my domain. My actions will be condoned by the Scass Lazassotr (SKAHS LAHZAHSOHT, Supreme Court of the Empire). At the very worst, they will levy a fine.”
“Even if the Sfagnoff Marquessate comes under attack before they could be forewarned thanks to that passion of yours? Is the Supreme Court that magnanimous?”
“I’m sure that’s of no concern. The greater Sfagnoff area is highly trafficked. Someone will alert them to the enemy’s approach, and it need not be you, Fïac. As such, what fault, pray tell, can anyone find in my deeds? They will believe the testimony of those who will attest that I graciously accommodated you. It shall be sworn on the name of Ablïar.”
“Do NOT speak that name,” snapped Lafier. “You’d NEVER understand my family’s codes of honor.”
“Yes, quite.” The Baron bowed with superficial politeness. “Do forgive me, Fïac.”
Lafier ignored him.
A waitstaff quickly whisked away the half-eaten dumplings she’d put aside for disposal.
“Enough about me. What’s become of Jinto?”
“Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder is with my fathe—”
“Best not talk nonsense, Baron. I believe I told you I don’t enjoy being deceived.”
“I understand.” The Baron shrugged. “Due to our young friend’s lacking the qualification to receive the hospitality owed to a real noble, he has been dealt with in a way befitting a Lander like himself.”
“How many times must I repeat myself? Jinto is a noble,” said Lafier. “You also seem to be laboring under a unique view of what being an imperial citizen entails. I’ve never seen imperial citizens as abject and servile as your servants. It’s as painful to witness as a cat forced to do acrobatics.” Half the reason she said that was so the ladies in waiting could overhear.
“Not even Her Majesty the Empress herself can meddle in the affairs of a lord and his servants. Let alone you, Fïac Lartnér.”
“That is true, but it does spark my interest in what you think is a ‘fitting’ way to deal with a Lander.”
“Please, it is nothing to fret over, Fïac Lartnér,” he stonewalled her.
The next course was boiled pumpkin stuffed with meat and vegetables. Lafier’s eyes were glued on her pumpkin and its cinnabar scalych (SCAHLYOOSH, serving table), but she continued addressing him.
“Listen to me, Baron. You have a domain to protect, and I have a scoïcoth (SKOYKOHTH, mission) to carry out. That mission is to take Jinto to Sfagnoff safely. If anything happens to him, then you can forget all about the Supreme Court, because you’ll have me to answer to.”
“I’m afraid I can’t comprehend your fixation on that Lander.” The Baron shook his head with exasperation. “Why do you obsess over him so?”
Lafier shot him a hateful stare. “If you’ve served in the military, then you must know that the mission is sacred. But that’s not all — this is also my first mission. If it were to serve my mission, I would see your precious little domain get burnt to cinders.”
“That won’t come to pass,” said the Baron, unfazed. But that coolheaded veneer was all too transparent.
Lafier took two or three bites of the pumpkin, savored it, and stood up.
“Ah, Fïac, this is a palate-cleanser. There is more food to come...” said the waitstaff, dismayed.
“Give the chef my thanks, and my apologies. I’ve had my fill. Please tell her it was sublime.”
The Baron clapped. “Guide Fïac Lartnér to her bedchambers.”
Two servants who had apparently been waiting nearby slipped out. They were, of course, female.
He indicated Lafier. “Her Highness is tired. Make sure she reposes right away. You two wait by her side until she falls asleep.”
So he wasn’t going to let her get close to the vessel no matter what.
“I already know the answer, Baron, but do you have any men among your servants?”
“No. I can’t stand the thought of Lander men beside me.”
Lafier’s lips curled.
Those who loathed the Abh typically believed that they never smiled when they ought to, and did smile at the most flabbergasting times.
This was, however, a wild misconception.
The Abh smiled during times of joy, laughed during times of mirth. But the reason this misconception came to be was that the Abh also smiled when face to face with the object of their hatred.
It was too intense to merely call a derisive smile; it was more akin to the brilliant blossoming of a poison flower. It was a grin of disdain intertwined with provocation, a broad beam that could not be mistaken for an expression of affection. Their enemies detested it, calling it “the smile of the Abh.”
“Now I have yet another reason to despise you,” she said, as her smile widened.
Chapter 10: Sairhoth Ghinter (SERROHTH JEENTAR, Jinto’s Indignation)
Jinto awoke, his head groggy. The blood in his brain had been near enough replaced by mud.
Where am I again...?
Lids heavy, he cracked his eyes open. A wooden wall with a carved relief of vines came into view — which was sideways, because he was splayed on a rigid cot.
What am I doing in a place like this?
One by one, his memories flooded back.
He’d arrived at the main building of the estate through a long walkway leading from the spaceport section, and was told he would be escorted to the lavatory. That was when he’d been separated from Lafier. He’d thought it natural that he’d use a different lavatory from her, so he assented.
But as soon as he lost sight of her, somebody pressed something against the back of the neck, and the world grew dark before he had any chance to shout or fight back...
Dammit! That rat bastard! It had been a servant who had taken him down, but it was no doubt on the
orders of the Baron of Febdash. The drug had been administered with a needle-less injection.
Jinto sprang up. He was angry at the Baron, but he was also worried about Lafier.
“Finally come to, eh, fanaibec (FAHNEB, boy)?” A voice, from right near him. Warily, Jinto looked in its direction, only to find an old man wearing the daüch of a noble. He seemed well-past 70 years old. His physique was solid built, and he was spry and healthy. His hair was as white as a sun-bleached skull.
“Who’re you?”
“You oughta introduce yourself before asking people’s names.”
Yes, true.
“My name is Linn ssynec-Rocr Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder Ghintec.”
“The noble prince of a countdom, you say? Deary me! You don’t look Abh to me!”
“You don’t look Abh, either,” said Jinto, keeping his guard up.
“Nope. We must be birds of a feather. Name’s Atausryac ssynéc-Atausr Lymh Raica Faibdacr Srumh (AHTOHSRYOOA SYOON ATOHS LYOOF RECA SROOF, former Baron of Febdash, Sruf). Used to be the second-ever Baron of Febdash.”
“Then that’d make you the current Baron’s...”
“Father, yep.”
“What do you want from me?” asked Jinto, his words laced with anger.
“Want from you? Me? All I did was scurry to your side after they’d tossed you in here with me.”
“Please don’t play dumb with me!” Jinto raised his voice.
“Calm down, would ya, boy? Ahem, I mean, Linn ssynec-Rocr Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder Ghintec. My son must be up to something, but believe me, I ain’t got the foggiest.”
“What? But how can that be…?”
“What can I say? That’s the deal. Look, I’m trapped in here, too. How would I know what happened to you?”
“Trapped?”
“Yep, and this is my cell. I live pretty good, but still, no freedom. That’s a jail by anybody’s definition.”
“All right, fine, then tell me, is Lafier... am I the only one who’s been carried here? Did you see a girl, too?”
“A girl? No, just you. Is she your girl?”
Jinto ignored that query. He looked at his wrist, but it was missing. “Where’s my compuwatch!?”
“Beats me. I didn’t take a thing. My son musta taken it.”
Princess of the Empire (JNC Edition) Page 18
