“Where do you want to take these children?” he asked abruptly.
Ewan had expected some kind of an introduction. “Home. To their mothers and fathers.”
The fat man smiled. “But what if they do not have parents anymore? Where do they go?”
With the shock wearing off, one of the children started to cry. Other children started to fidget. The sailor with the whip looked toward the fat man uncertainly, his eyes pleading. There was a definite murmur in the crowd now. He could hear the Oth Danesh stirring. Matters were slipping out of control.
The fat man raised his arms and waved them in a quick motion. The crowd silenced in one breath, all of them instantly, sailors and grubby slave children, the disgruntled merchants, even the wounded attacker. Ewan felt the fine hairs on his nape tingle. He immediately understood what had just happened.
Magic.
Ewan felt hot panic begin to distract him. This reprieve was temporary. He could not afford to lose the initiative.
“So they are orphaned? Their parents were killed?” he insisted.
The fat man shrugged. “Sailors don’t ask. They have been doing this for generations. It’s their way. It’s their life. You want to change their lives? You will decide the fate of thousands on a whim?”
“This is wrong,” Ewan growled.
“What is, landman?”
“You cannot make children into slaves!”
That smile again. “Look around you. See that sailor with hair like Parusite wheat? See that one with eyes blue like the sea? There, red hair. A man dredging on a ship with that freckled, pasty skin, he gets sunburned all the time. But he is a son of the Oth Danesh. He was born somewhere else, but his life, his family are here.”
Ewan did not like this fat man. Most of all, Ewan did not like the cruel truth of his words.
And there was magic, too.
The Oth Danesh gestured and started walking. The crowd parted. Ewan followed, reluctantly leaving the docks behind him. There was a crushing weight in his chest, the knowledge he was leaving those children to their awful fate, but he knew he must follow this fat man. He knew that there was more at stake than a ship hold of orphans.
I have come to seek answers. No one promised that I would love them.
The fat man edged lazily, yet with surprising grace, around stacked goods, food stalls, clusters of men standing and arguing. The crowd of onlookers trailed a short while after Ewan, glaring, wondering, but then stopped. Soon, the racket returned, and life resumed.
The stranger introduced himself. “I am Naman. We will not be staying here.”
Ewan stopped walking. “You know Toraan?”
Naman nodded. “Yes. Yes. We have been waiting for you.”
“Where are we going?” Ewan asked. He looked up at the cliff, staring at him with its thousand little black eyes. The dirt lane leading from the docks became a flight of rough steps carved into the rock, bleached white by the sea. The small dock city ended there, and Cliff City began.
“We will go where you seek answers. And we seek your return.” Naman stood under a short balcony that looked like a blister, masonry draped in bright-colored clothing.
Ewan frowned. “Return? I have never been here.”
“We will talk,” Naman teased.
“Under one condition. I promised to have a pair of stolen children returned to their mother. She is alive, and they are not orphans. This must be done, or I will not come with you.”
Naman put a finger to his lips. “How old?”
“Babies,” Ewan offered.
The fat man moved away, placed a bare foot on a step. “That will be done.”
Ewan had no idea what he was getting into. He could barely understand how this strange place worked, how these Oth Danesh minds worked. He had not expected to see a fat man use magic in public. He had not expected to have to push down his conscience into a dark place. Ayrton would never have given up on those children. And neither would he. But fighting the pirates at the docks would have gained him nothing. Perhaps, if he allowed this magic-wielding Naman to take him somewhere, he might learn about himself, learn about his dreadful powers. There would be time for making good later.
He hoped.
A gull swept above the bulbous rooftops of the chaotic dock area, screeching. Ewan looked up at the hill and its accusing eyes, back to the eroded snarl of sunbaked houses and their strange, colorful occupants, to the docks and the swaying ships. The dynamics of this place unnerved him. After the realms, he could not find peace, could not find the order he expected. Something had changed after he passed those blocks of stone, lying about deserted in the dusty prairie, and he did not know what.
He hated having that gut feeling again.
The gods must all be dead, he suspected, but it seemed as if the world paid no notice.
I must know who I am. If the gods had cursed him, he wanted to know why. And why he still lived. What purpose was still left for his monstrous being? He had stopped Damian twice, locked him away in the Abyss for good. But that did not seem to be enough. There was more.
“Lead the way,” he told Naman.
The fat man clapped. “The climb is long. But you do not tire easily, I suspect.”
Ewan said nothing. He felt a flake of urgency stir in his stomach. It was a grain. A tiny, tiny grain.
CHAPTER 12
James soaked in the pool, enjoying the water. The day was exceptionally hot, and he was willing to forgive the little nips the resident fish gave him in return for such a splendid cooling experience.
He was relaxed, totally at ease. He could almost ignore the four statue-like guards standing by the slender columns, and the stone-faced manservant holding towels and waiting for James’s mark to approach. Not a woman in sight. Rheanna would not let him have women servants when he bathed.
He held his breath, tightened his belly muscles, and let out a gentle fart. A solemn bubble floated to the surface. He raked the water, pushing the smell away.
Footsteps. The emperor turned his neck and saw it was his wife approaching, swaying dangerously. She was alone.
James waited until she was a step away. “Hello, dear,” he said lazily.
Elegantly, she touched her knees together and knelt primly, not an inch of her skin showing below and around the hem of her hugging silk dress. It only teased him more.
“Are you comfortable?” she asked.
“Couldn’t be any better,” he said.
“You’ve been in the water for almost three hours,” she reprimanded.
James lifted a foot out of the water and stared at his toes. Wrinkled some, but not much. He still had several more hours of fun left.
“Should I be out of the water?”
Rheanna smirked. “Yes. I want to discuss a few things with you.”
James did not relish the afternoon heat. “Now?”
“Now.” She rose and walked a few paces away. She motioned with her hand, and the bodyguards and the towel bearer moved out of earshot.
The emperor rose, and he almost fell. His head swam; his legs felt rubbery. Gingerly, he stepped out of the pool, dripping water on the marble flagstones.
“Anything serious?” he asked, worried.
Rheanna reached for his robe and handed it to him. “Always, darling. You’re an emperor of a realm. Things are always serious.”
James used the robe to dry himself, then donned it casually. A quick look from his lady wife, and he robed himself fully, tying it in the front so only the bottom half of his legs showed.
“What is it?”
“You should not be strutting barefoot through the mansion,” she said. “The floors are dirty, and there might be bits of glass or metal lying about. And if your enemies learn this, they might start spilling poison in your path.”
James realized she had a point. Every time he felt he was making some progress in becoming that much more of a statesman and a lord of the court, she would gently point out to him a dozen new flaws and omissions he
could sort out. Perhaps that was the best way to learn, he mused, in small doses.
“Not your fault entirely,” she added. “I will make sure the help know their ways.” He felt sheepish, and she noticed. “I know you want to be your father’s son, and he was a man of the people. You do win their hearts by your casual manner, but this also means your servants will sometimes forget their station and duty. Could be dangerous for you and them.”
James sighed. “I will think about it. There’s more?”
Rheanna touched his shoulder. “Let us go to our chambers, darling.”
He padded after her, barefoot, soft as a mouse and wet, while she made the sharp clicking noises with the heels of her shoes. His retinue filed behind him silently, following at a safe distance. Various people bobbed their curtsies as he strolled past. If they were amused by his attire, they never showed it.
Inside their fortress of privacy, Rheanna softened her mien a little. “Use the baths next time.”
James let the robe slide off his body. His wife shook her head. He began dressing. Alone. Emperor James did not need anyone to tuck his shirt in.
“I wanted to be on my own.”
She did not argue. She never argued. She told him how things ought to be, and she expected him to accept them, at his own pace.
Strange how a woman’s mind worked, he thought. When he had almost strangled her to death, she should have hated him, or run away; instead she stayed, determined and loyal. Then, she would lecture him on where he ought to bathe or how he should dress with all the calm fury of a cavalry legion putting down a peasant revolt. She deferred to him in public, but she reproached him and offered sound political advice in almost the same sentence when they were alone.
He still had not quite figured out what she truly wanted. What motivated her?
And he still wasn’t sure if they loved each other. He wanted to believe in love, but his short stay at Pain Daye had taught him a lot about dishonesty, about illusions. Emperors could not indulge in romance and silly hopes. At best, it was cold, brutal business, and if you were lucky, you might end up with a friend, someone who respected you and didn’t hide the truth from you.
James wondered what his wife truly felt. They had intimacy; they had passion. She followed him; she believed in him. She was a good friend. All he missed was why. Or maybe that was enough. Maybe that was what women needed. Perhaps they could cling to simple things and make them meaningful. It did not have to be about kingdoms and tens of thousands of lives. It could be something innocent yet wicked, like compassion.
He tried to clear his head. He was not going to conquer the female psyche. But he could use it to help win Athesia back. So, he listened to what Rheanna had to say. He was honored to have a real friend in her.
She realized he had ended his little emotional struggle. She smiled warmly, breaking his heart. There was nothing but pure devotion in her eyes.
“Husband, you’re such a pigheaded little emperor sometimes.”
James grinned, but said nothing. What could he say that would not sound like idiocy?
“Have you decided what you want to do?” she asked, shattering his bliss.
“Not really,” he admitted. The task of convincing everyone they should strike for northern Athesia was more difficult than he had anticipated. Men would agree with him in the meetings, but then, the day after, they would have all forgotten about the passion that had inspired them right then, and he would have to work his charm and authority on them all over again.
His legion commanders still bickered about where he ought to move next. The Caytorean councillors were all in favor of him leaving their land. The Athesians wanted revenge. His soldier ranks, composed of private armies and mercenaries, followed him because he was rich and charismatic, but he could only guess the real depth of their loyalty. He could barely imagine the ferocity of diplomacy and scheming that his wife had to deal with, fighting the silent war of power in his name.
“There’s a great deal of grumbling among the councillors,” Rheanna said. She helped herself to a glass of watered wine from a large table that fronted the huge wall mirror facing their equally enormous bed. The servants made sure James had ample drinks and fruit and sweets at all times.
She sauntered away from him, back into the colossal anteroom. James burrowed into his wardrobe, searching for a suitable jacket to match his blue silk. He was slowly getting the hang of colors and styles.
He joined her in the foyer. The room was splendid in the best Caytorean fashion: a writing table of some rich black wood in one corner, a drinking table in the center of it surrounded by five leather sofas, a large hearth that hadn’t been used in months, but you couldn’t miss the intricate motifs carved in the stone, or the pair of large vases growing some ornamental plant, or the gigantic windows that let in ample daylight so you hardly ever needed a lamp until the late evening hours.
Even now, James was slightly daunted by this opulence. A year ago, he could not have imagined his home would be a palace, that his sleeping chamber would be adjoined by half a dozen others, each serving its own function. The funny part was, this was not an imperial palace. It was only the wealthy estate of a councillor, and his accommodation was not much different from what hundreds of other councillors enjoyed. The only thing he had changed was to remove the large family portrait of its previous owner. He did not fancy Otis staring at him accusingly every time he walked into the room.
Rheanna had sat down in one of the leather sofas and crossed her legs. James sat opposite her, feeling somewhat awkward.
“You must leave Pain Daye soon,” she stated.
He patted the thick armrests. “Will you be coming with me?” Empress Rheanna, he thought.
She shook her head. “I cannot, dear. I must remain here and make sure the trade continues. I have been away too long from Eybalen as it is.”
There was that, too, he realized. Rheanna had been away from her city for more than a year now. Sooner or later, she would have to go back there. But she belonged at his side, in Roalas, even farther away than this place. What did that mean for their future? Would they live apart, husband and wife on paper only? He did not like that prospect.
“So what am I going to do?”
“You will secure northern Athesia. That will buy ample credit with the High Council. It will also convince them you’re eying the prize to the west and not east.”
It took him a moment to realize what she meant. “They don’t think I would choose to conquer Eybalen?”
“Why not? Besides, it would not be as if you were conquering. Coming to stay. Permanently. You’re now married to Caytor, through me.”
And you are to Athesia, through me. He bit his knuckle, thinking. “All right, northern Athesia. What then? Politically?”
Rheanna reached forward and put the glass on the table. He stole a quick glance of her breasts. “Once you secure your foothold in Athesia, I will be able to convince everyone to pour more money and support in your favor. You should leave someone loyal to govern Pain Daye, perhaps Sebastian. He has his own business in the capital, but I will go back and govern it for him—as well as make sure our own enterprise continues running well.”
James nodded, trying to see the same vision she did. “And Rob?”
She blinked meaningfully. “You will need a sidekick. Make sure he does not exert too much bad influence on you. It’s one thing being a wealthy Caytorean and behaving like a pig. It’s another being a young emperor trying to gain everyone’s trust. You cannot afford to do the same things he does.”
James liked being humbled sometimes. But this was almost too much. He felt like a child.
“And when will I see you again?”
“I will not be gone for long. But I must show my face in the offices now and then, or my adjutants and secretaries will take my absence for granted and start falsifying the finance reports more than usual. Soon, they will each have their own villa, and I’ll be left wondering how come the bank is bankrupt.”<
br />
The emperor scratched his head. “I think I understand.”
Rheanna smiled softly. “I am sure you do. Being a leader of a nation is not much different than leading a successful guild or a merchant house. At first, you must do all the hard work yourself, but once you become a trusted leader, you can delegate. Athesia is your final test. Once you conquer Ecol and Bassac, you will have removed all doubts from your followers’ hearts, Athesians and Caytoreans alike. You will become everyone’s favorite. And then, you can step back and be the emperor you are.”
It sounded quite simple. But one thing nagged at him. “My father won all his battles.”
She arched a disapproving brow. “Did he? Emperor Adam fought for a few months, then spent two decades wielding diplomacy. He made a point of slaughtering the Feorans and Parusites, but then let fear and reputation do their job. When he took Roalas, he left the city as it was. Darling, you cannot be an emperor and fight every little battle. That’s why you have soldiers.”
There it was, he realized. He had won half the Caytorean society to his side, and now he must step back and let things sort themselves out. After being a man of the law, he found the idea disturbing. After having defeated the Oth Danesh, he felt almost nervous about relinquishing the power to his subordinates. He did not quite trust them, Xavier least of all. How could he let that man out of his sight?
But deep down, he knew he must. His wife was trying to help him understand the one reasonable course of action. He could not dedicate himself to counting troops. He must think on a broader scale.
For as long as he lived, uncertainty and the fear of betrayal would be his companions. That was the toll of leading a nation, it seemed.
It was no longer about the survival of a lone, frightened boy in a foreign realm. It was no longer about winning the hearts of young, impressionable men, or leading a regiment into the fray like some hero from the books. His work revolved around much bigger affairs, and he really ought to pay more attention to business meetings and deals. He had to focus on the never-ending list of guests that came to Pain Daye. For now, Rheanna was taking care of it all, but she expected him to learn someday.
The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) Page 12
