by Tony Roberts
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.
“And your dress is simply magnificent. Your dressmaker should be complimented.”
Sannia bowed her head, then looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. “Mother is very skilled, my Lord.”
“Your mother? Well, please pass on my compliments.” He admired the dress – or, rather, the woman it was covering – a little more. Crimped lengthways down from her waist, it was of dark blue and looked very light and almost seemed to dance off the floor when she moved. From her waist the dress rose up to the breastbone and then parted into two directions gradually widening to cover her shoulders and then plunging over to her back. She was fairly generously proportioned on top and a large silver necklace hung from her neck, adorned with what looked like clear rock crystals. Her hair hung in a single equine tail style down to her shoulder blades and her head was dotted with sparkling glass beads that reflected the candlelight.
He glanced at her hands. The nails were coloured with a blue dye as was the current fashion but they were not long. Good, she uses her hands. Plus one. He bowed once more. Behind her yet another party was waiting, and it wouldn’t do to monopolise one over others. The two arm-clingers excepted but they weren’t even an outside bet. They weren’t entered in the race. “Pleased to make your acquaintances. Make yourselves comfortable. Dinner will be served shortly. I’ve made sure there are enough servants around to cater for your needs,” he smiled and switched his attention to the next group. Mother, father and daughter, by the look of things.
As Walis brushed past, carrying yet another tray of goblets, Jorqel cleared his throat and in an undertone, muttered: “Sannia Nicate, plus six.”
Walis nodded slightly and carried on.
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nbsp; The new couple, dressed in matching deep rich red with silver buttons and tassels, presented their waif of a daughter. “Your highness,” the father said in a deep, slow voice, “Avan Cantreli of Lodria. We own lands along the River Mendar. May I present my daughter Tobiza?”
Tobiza curtseyed, her face red. Shy. Hmmm, maybe one for cuteness, but a public figure embarrassed? Minus one. “Lady Tobiza,” he said neutrally, tugging at the clinging arms determined to hang on no matter what. At least it’s giving my sword arm extra training, he thought ironically. He finally freed his arm, a process that brought a frown of disapproval from both Lord and Lady Cantreli, directed at the pouting Helane, and kissed the proffered hand. He looked at her face closely. Nice; smooth skin, no sign of disease or infection. Lovely eyes, plus two for those! He smiled and straightened and his arm was immediately recaptured. “Where did you get those earrings?” he asked, nodding towards the small sea shells encased in silver hanging from her lobes.
Tobiza went deeper red, matching the colour of her parents’ clothes. “Oh, your h-highness, there are many shells along the river close to our estate,” she stammered, smiling nervously.
Jorqel wondered how old she was. Probably not long out of tuition, by the looks of things. Certainly the youngest by far. “Indeed? Perhaps I should see that for myself some time?”
“Oh, yes, your highness!” Tobiza gushed.
“’My lord’, after the first greeting, Tobiza,” her mother said reprovingly.
“Oh,” Tobiza looked dismayed and sweat broke out on her face.
Jorqel could see she was in distress for the social error, but he chuckled. “I’m not offended, Lady Tobiza, so don’t concern yourself. Your first social attendance?”
“Y-yes, my lord,” Tobiza said, her eyes fixed on his.
She’s got the most stunning eyes. Some man is going to drown in those one day, he thought. He had to control his breathing. Now he was a prince he had to show much more social etiquette and courtesy than before. You could get away with much more as a son of a noble; they gave you so much more latitude for wayward behaviour, mainly because as an heir of an estate, you were the great hope for the future to carry on the family name. As a prince, you had to show imperial grandeur, splendour and lead by example, so taking Tobiza by the hand and leading her outside to the nearest haystack wasn’t going to endear him to anyone these days. Maybe his men, but they were the exception.
She was too young and inexperienced. Give her a few years and she would be a candidate, but not now. Jorqel looked around. “A bit crowded in here, isn’t it, my lady?”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Tobiza smiled.
Jorqel thought she would say the same if they had to stand on each other’s shoulders to fit in. He bowed and waited for the next arrivals. The Cantreli family moved off, her mother leaning towards her and no doubt scolding her for her slip. Jorqel hoped she wouldn’t be held accountable for not being chosen as his future bride. She was too young and nervous. He needed a strong woman with humour, a good work ethic and the physical ability to both work hard – the job of empress was not one for sitting back and being lazy – and to bear him sons to carry on the lineage. With that thought he mused on the likelihood of his line providing the emperor after him. The empire held that the new emperor immediately announced his successor just in case of a sudden unexpected death. It had happened before, and civil war had been the result. So now everyone knew who was to succeed the current emperor.
Some disliked the practice, and averred that it encouraged the successor to hasten the incumbent’s end, but against that it at least ensured a smooth succession. By naming his son, Astiras had assured that there would be no attempt on his life from that quarter. There were, however, many within the empire who hated dynastic lines, mostly amongst the other noble families. Jorqel pondered briefly how this was to be addressed, but that would have to be discussed when he was emperor, not before. Who he would name when he became emperor was up for debate; he hoped he had a son of the age by the time Astiras passed away, but if not, then he would have to name another, and that would probably mean his son – if he had one – would miss out.
The moment of relief came when dinner was announced and the two arm clingers had to be sent to their places, disappointed and sulking. They weren’t happy but Jorqel was overjoyed, that was of course after his fingers stopped tingling. He sat opposite the Kolos family, wondering at the similarity of the name to the Koros, and whether they had a shared origin or not. They didn’t look similar to him or his father, but that was no sure indication. To his left and right were minor nobility from Slenna; it had been thought not proper to sit any of the prospective brides to be next to him as that might indicate favouritism, and Jorqel was mindful not to upset any of the nobility in the region – with the exception of the Duras of course. Since they had provided an emperor in the not too distant past they regarded themselves as superior to the families that had not, and believed they had the right to the throne once again. Clearly they saw the Koros as upstarts.
The meal went without incident and small talk dominated both tables. The servants made sure the diners were well fed, and the precaution of short cutting the time it took food to get to the dining hall by sawing a hole in the floor in the next chamber and raising food on trays up through the ceiling of the chamber below meant potential waiting times were halved, and food kept hot.
The warm summer evening meant diners could wander outside to talk after the meal and many took advantage of this, desiring more space out of the uncomfortably hot chamber. Jorqel avoided the two arm clingers who, having been reunited with their families, had to remain with them. The prince had to circulate and even the Grathan and Sendral families had to admit their daughters had been somewhat over familiar with him.
This allowed Jorqel to speak to the other daughters in a more relaxed manner. He found Mala Hemminon a bright, interesting girl, but she had a few too many irritating mannerisms and he excused himself from her after a discussion on the history of Lodria which, although he found interesting, went on far too long for his liking. Mala also had a habit of interrupting him and he had no wish to try a conversation with someone wouldn’t listen to him.
The lights of Slenna winked below him and he took a draught of the soft wine of the islands, grown to the north of the Lodrian coast, and listened for a moment to the sounds of laughter floating up to him from the streets. He smiled briefly, and wondered if Gavan was enjoying himself. His excuse in going to check the guard had fooled neither him nor anyone else. He just hoped Gavan would be in a fit state to report to him the following morning.
“Wishing you were down there, my Lord?” Sannia Nicate said at his left elbow.
Jorqel grinned and bowed briefly to her. She curtseyed back. A few guards stood close but they were relaxed. They were of his own personal guard and would fight to the death for him. They had just come on duty after partaking of the nearest street celebration, but hadn’t drunk too much as per an explicit command from Jorqel. “As a prince I have duties to perform. It wouldn’t be seemly to drag all you ladies down there amongst the more – uninhibited – commoners.”
“It may cause a few problems, Lord,” she smiled. “But not with you, I believe?”
Jorqel chuckled. “I wouldn’t be shocked by what I saw, shall we say? But I can just see the expressions on the faces of some of those up here if they were to chance upon what goes on there. Have you enjoyed yourself this evening, Lady Sannia?”
“Yes, thank you. It was interesting seeing my rivals at first hand.”
The prince sipped some more wine and appraised the young woman. “A couple tried a little too hard to impress me.”
“Oh yes, those two! How are your arms? They were holding on very tightly indeed!”
“I’ve still got them attached to me, surprisingly.”
Sannia giggled, her hand to her mouth. Her eyes crinkled. Jorqel found he liked her more and more. Could he spend the rest of his life with such a woman? Perhaps
. He needed to know her better first, and to see what her hopes and beliefs were. He nodded out over the town which was so well illuminated that most of the buildings were easily identifiable, and beyond them the sea glittered in the moonlight. “Slenna will need rebuilding. My seat of power will be here for the next few years as I look to put Lodria back on its feet and make Slenna a worthy gem along the west coast of the Aester.”
“May the gods smile on your wishes, Lord. That will need money. I hear the empire is exhausted, financially. Father is always complaining that prices are too high and funds are too short.”
“He’s not wrong in that, Lady Sannia. I’m always asking Kastan for funds and not getting half of what I need. Mother is holding onto the purse strings very tightly.”
“No preferences then through blood, Lord.”
Jorqel shook his head. “My blood mother died when I was young; the empress is my step-mother. Oh, we get along fine, but it’s not the same, as you can understand. Still, she knows what she’s doing. Any wife of mine would have to be the same. I wouldn’t want someone who is unable to assist me in running this empire.”
Sannia bowed slightly. “That would be only right, Lord. Running a household, so to speak.”
“Yes, a very large one! And with plenty of unruly children!” Both chuckled.
The guests began to leave and Jorqel made his way to the stairwell that led down to the bailey and the waiting carriages, shaking hands and bowing to the leaving guests. A few made late attempts to sway his mind as to their daughter, and Jorqel did promise most that he would visit their estates in the near future. This was not only to see the daughter again, but it would serve to check on the estates of the nobility, both to see for himself their state and financial condition, and to let them know that he was in charge and had them in mind. The Koros would be a hands-on dynasty, not distant half-gods shut away in their ivory towers who took their money and nothing else.
