Heir's Revenge (Return of the Aghyrians Book 4)

by Patty Jansen

  She said nothing.

  “Don’t you want to live in a nice house?”

  “I have no doubt that Jaeron has already bought that house.” She knew that for certain, through Tolaki, but it wasn’t supposed to be public knowledge.

  When she still didn’t answer his question, he said, “Fine, but don’t tell me that I didn’t warn you.”

  He turned around thundered down the stairs and went into the living room. Ellisandra followed at a slower pace.

  Brothers!

  When she entered the downstairs hall, Darma was letting someone into the house. The man came into the foyer, took off his boots and cloak and chose a pair of house shoes from the rack. Then he came into the hall.

  “Elli.” The deep voice was familiar, and so was his angular face with strong chin. He wore his work clothes, a black tiyuk leather jerkin with gold clasps, done up all the way to his chin against the cold.

  “Jaeron.” She smiled, feeling a bit awkward. He looked so official, like he was still strutting around the commercial district talking to tenants and arranging maintenance works to his family’s many commercial properties. She slipped her arms into her vest, but her skin was still sweaty and the fabric stuck to her, with the result that she couldn’t pull the collar where it was supposed to sit. Her hair, too, looked like she’d been standing in a storm. She quickly pulled the pins out and let her hair tumble out of the bun. “I’m sorry, I’m not very presentable.”

  “You’re always presentable to me.” He gave a stiff little bow.

  “I . . . didn’t know you were coming. I would have . . . made sure that there was tea and biscuits.” Biscuits were good. They would sit by the hearth in the living room in the chairs that faced the little table. He would eat the biscuits and compliment the cook and then they would talk about cooking and wasn’t the season for fish good this year and my, the snow is early this year. Stuff like that. Those were the kinds of discussions that started with biscuits. Although she did still feel very sweet and sticky from the committee meeting, and a little bit queasy after dealing with Father.

  “It’s all right. I’ll come another time to talk to you. I’m here for your brother.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you. We’re having a meeting, and Enzo suggested that it be at his house.”

  “He didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “It’s not really something you should worry about, just boring council matters that we’re discussing. Much less interesting than the theatre, I bet.”

  Was Jaeron part of the Citizen’s Group as well?

  It was one thing that her brother was in one of these spying, male gossiping groups that weren’t exactly legal. Citizens Groups were said to be responsible for several cases of thuggery where some business owner was ruffled up, usually at night after closing up his shop, and demands were made. Most of the stories were vague, but Ellisandra knew that the groups did the dirty work that the council couldn’t legally do themselves. Mainly, they dealt with silencing dissenting voices.

  The idea that her future husband was in a Citizen’s Group made her feel sick.

  “I hear you’re staging Changing Fate.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Now that piece is a challenge, if ever there was one. Much more productive than trying to change laws, politics and boring things like that. Now, I must go, or your brother will be cross with me.”

  Another stiff little bow and he went into the living room.

  Ellisandra looked at the perfect veil of white hair dancing over his leather-clad back.

  She didn’t think they were deliberately hiding anything from her; it was just their usual women-shouldn’t-be-in-politics attitude. Fine. She hated politics anyway, but why couldn’t they at least answer her questions? She wasn’t stupid.

  There was a lot of politics in theatre, after all.

  A small noise behind her made her turn around.

  Father had somehow wheeled himself out of the room, wormed himself from his wheelchair and stood on top of the stairs, holding onto the railing with trembling hands.

  “Father!” She ran up the stairs and grabbed hold of his arm before he could topple face-first down the stairs. It wouldn’t have been the first time that had happened either.

  She took him firmly by the upper arms, feeling again how frail and thin he was. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I may be an old man, but I’m not entirely crippled.” His eyes were clear of the fog that normally clouded his mind. She realised that he’d started an episode of clear thinking just before she left the room, when he reminded her how long ago Changing Fate was last performed. How much had he heard of what Enzo said to her?

  “There is no shame in asking for help. It’s much better than hurting yourself. What do you want me to get for you?”

  “I need to go down.”

  “I can bring up to your room whatever it is you want.” She glanced down the yawning gap of the stairs with a deep-seated no way feeling. She didn’t know if she had the strength to get him down. He hadn’t been downstairs since last spring.

  “No. I have to go down and talk to these young men. I didn’t give Enzo my council position to break down the laws we spent years building up.”

  5

  FATHER WAS NOT to be dissuaded, so Ellisandra helped him down, careful step by very careful step. He was too busy not falling down to answer her questions and trembled with the effort, but as she already knew, his hands retained surprising strength and he seemed very determined. She was hoping that halfway down, he’d change his mind or he’d forget what he wanted. The discussions between him and Enzo about politics never ended well. But when they were finally in the hall, he was as determined as ever to go and give the young men a history lesson.

  Their voices, heard through the door, fell abruptly quiet when she knocked.

  She opened the door into the warmth and firelit glow of the room.

  “Elli?” Enzo sounded annoyed.

  His friends gave Ellisandra and Father suspicious looks, including Jaeron, who frowned at her in a I’d-have-thought-better-of-you way.

  “Father insisted on joining you.” And Father was still the official head of the family and couldn’t be refused.

  Enzo jumped up from the chair by the hearth that had always been Father’s. Ellisandra shuffled with him through the room.

  Apart from Enzo and Jaeron, there was Diantho Hirumar, who was a cousin of Aleyo’s, and one of the Tussamar twins, she didn’t know which one, Raedon, she thought.

  The pungent smell of menisha brew hung in the room, and a carafe of the orange liquid stood on the table. It was half-empty, too. Jaeron balanced a glass on the armrest of his chair. Raedon held a cup of the liquid, which he swirled in a “challenge me if you dare” way. So that was why they didn’t want tea.

  Ellisandra disliked it when men drank. They’d get loud and shout a lot, and sometimes they’d fight. Traditionally, brew was only served in the bathhouse for social occasions when people would sit around in the steaming water and talk, but more and more young men used it to prop up their gatherings.

  At meeting her eyes, Jaeron’s mouth corner moved up in a most unconvincing smile. The other two young men looked, of all things, at Father’s stubbled head with expressions of disapproval. Yes, she’d ordered it shaved to save herself and the staff from the agony of having to wash and comb it. Father sat in his chair all day, and he used to get this massive knot at the back of his head and would fight anyone trying to comb it out.

  Endri men could be so funny about their hair. Women were allowed to put their hair in a bun, but the men had to wear it loose. Cutting a boy’s hair was a punishment. Cutting a man’s hair was like unmanning him.

  Ellisandra made sure Father was comfortable and that he had a cloth to wipe the right eye that kept weeping. He wanted tea and none of that rubbish that you youngsters drink while eying the carafe on the table, so she said she’d ask Riana to br
ing him some. Then she bowed and left. No one spoke until she had closed the door behind her.

  She hesitated with her hand on the door handle, wondering if she should listen. Father was speaking, but his voice was too soft to understand the words.

  Then Enzo’s voice came loud and clear through the wood of the door. “That is a very old-fashioned view that doesn’t apply to today’s situation.”

  Father replied, his voice more firm this time, but she still couldn’t hear it well enough to understand all of it. Something about old laws, about Foundation and honour.

  “I don’t agree. Literal interpretation of Foundation Law is something of the past.” This was one of the other men, she didn’t know who.

  Father said, “That proposed law means that you are dismantling all the safeguards that were instated in the past. We’ve been through this before. Families defaulting on their responsibilities or doing outright criminal things. Bribery and other financial shenanigans. No, I know that you’re too naïve to believe that this can happen, but it has happened, and it will happen again. When it does, you want to be able to remove councillors, even High Councillors. Foundation was instated exactly because there was too much concentration of power and money in too few hands. Endri and Nikala are not masters and slaves to each other. According to Foundation—”

  “Father, Foundation is dead! It’s been dead for years. No one takes any notice of those old laws anymore. All the Foundation families except us have left town. That’s why we’re changing it.”

  “It is not about the families. It’s about the structure.”

  “The structure arcane. It relies on honour. And you know what honour means? It means gossip. As long as people don’t gossip about you, you can get away with it. There is no enforcement. It won’t work. It isn’t working.”

  “Because young men don’t have honour anymore.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “You have no respect for the older generation, young man. If you did, you wouldn’t argue for these crazy deals. No, the Nikala and lower Endri class won’t understand it. They only see Foundation Law’s impediments to their power. But this is not about power.”

  “It’s about making Miran work.”

  “Son, you’re so far under their influence, you don’t even see how this can never work. Nemedor Satarin and Asitho Bisumar are not men who have Miran’s best interests at heart. They want to keep their fist on Miran’s credit system as a means of keeping citizens dumb and isolated. As a means to make themselves rich.”

  “They’re stopping us from being invaded by foreigners.”

  “The foreigners are not the problem! As if there are any foreigners who’d even want to come to Miran. We have a problem right here in our own council. These men are trying to break down laws that have worked for generations. They are doing this with shady means, using standover tactics with Citizen’s Groups, to intimidate people into agreeing, to profit for themselves.”

  “We do not. We’re reforming an arcane system that doesn’t work and hasn’t worked for years.”

  “So changing credit laws to enable all Endri families who have left Miran to get big payouts for unused credits they’ve accumulated isn’t selfish? Who’s going to pay for it? Do you even understand the system before you try to break it with your shady activities?”

  “There is nothing shady about what we do.”

  “Trying to con your sister into giving information she isn’t free to give isn’t shady? Heavens! Where did I raise a son like that—”

  “I didn’t do that.”

  “Yes, you did. I was there, and I heard you, although you love to discount me as just an old man and a fool. I’ll tell you something, because I’ve seen this all before. The council members are all in each other’s pockets, and this law is only going to make that worse. There is no good in a system that does not allow a measure for appeal and that places no controls on the top level of government. No matter what Asitho Bisumar and Nemedor Satarin say, it is a bad idea and if you don’t see that, I have failed as a father.”

  “Father, for once just listen to us. We need urgent action. Yes, we’ve been planning to change the laws for some time, but just recently, something else has happened: someone has started taking credits out of the Ilendar account.”

  “Well, hmph, they’re entitled to use it.”

  “The Ilendar Traders’ account, Father. They don’t live in Miran anymore. They can’t spend money unless they’re spending it in Miran. We haven’t yet found out where that money is going, but there’s been quite a lot of it spent.”

  “What of it?”

  “Do you know how much money sits in those accounts?”

  “Money will be freed and put back into circulation. How is that a bad thing? Worry about the important things.”

  Ellisandra turned away from the door. Although she’d heard most of these arguments before, there seemed to be a new bite and urgency to them. This was bigger than the older generation against the younger one, often framed in terms of tradition against modern ideas. This was about Foundation. Why was Enzo so worried about the Ilendar account? They might not live in Miran anymore, but it was their money and they should be able to use it. Why was it a problem that someone had been spending this money?

  In the dining room, she found her younger brother Jintho at the table, looking at papers spread out over the table in front of him. He was scribbling on some documents and another untidy stack lay next to him.

  Riana had made an effort to set the table, but had to leave the plates to the side where his papers weren’t.

  He looked up and smiled at Ellisandra when she came in.

  “Just as well Enzo is busy.” If nothing else, Enzo would throw a fit if the table wasn’t set properly.

  Ellisandra sat down, and Riana came in and put a plate of soup in front of her. She put Jintho’s in the middle of the table, and she unloaded a bowl of steaming, freshly-baked fish bread from her tray as well as tea.

  Jintho picked up a pale bread roll from the bowl, and promptly dropped it.

  “Ow, that’s hot!”

  The roll tumbled over his paper.

  “You’re so impatient, Master Jintho,” Riana said. “Wait until I bring the tongs.”

  Ellisandra said, “Can you bring some tea to Father? He’s in the living room.”

  Riana turned sharply to her, eyes wide. “With master Enzo and his friends?”

  “Yes, he is. Give the tea to me and I’ll bring it if there is a problem.”

  “Master Enzo told me not to disturb them.”

  “I told Father that someone would bring his tea. They won’t mind if you come in to do that. If they do, come to me and I’ll make sure Father gets his tea.”

  She swallowed. “Certainly, mistress.”

  “Riana, Enzo does not rule this house.”

  “He as good as does.”

  “That still doesn’t give him the right to scare you.”

  “Master Enzo gets very angry.”

  “If he does, send him to me.”

  She swallowed again, nodded and left the dining room. She would have to talk to Enzo about this—again. Seriously, did so many servants leave because Father leered at them or because Enzo scared them?

  Ellisandra studied the papers on the table. The closest sheet was a form of some sort. Official name, date of birth. Jintho had even listed his birth name Iztho. It used to be such a popular and common name in Miran, but after the betrayal of Miran by Iztho Andrahar, a lot of parents had renamed their young sons. The only young men still named Iztho were those Mirani who had left Miran at that time. Her father had just never made the name change official.

  Looking back on that time, the signs of his failing health had been clear for a long time. Just no one had ever noticed that his forgetfulness could have a cause that would get worse with age.

  “What is all this paperwork anyway, brother?”

  Jintho started stacking the papers. Some of them were folded at
the corners or had stains across them. “I’m applying for a commercial licence.”

  What? “What happened to becoming an artist?”

  He looked up sharply. “You ask me that, you, who have told me time and time again ‘to get a real job’? You can’t have it two ways, sister. Look at me, I’m applying for something that isn’t an art project. Why aren’t you happy?”

  “It’s a bit . . . sudden. I thought that the bathhouse had contracted you to do a mural.”

  “I can do the mural and apply for a commercial licence.”

  “All right.” Except it wasn’t all that long ago that he’d argued anything that paid him a regular salary would be selling his soul and interfere with his creativity. It had been a big argument, too. Enzo had gotten involved and the two had almost come to blows.

  She wasn’t going to go there today. “What’s . . . changed?”

  “Nothing. Just me and some friends are thinking about setting up a shop.”

  “Thinking.” She tried not to sound sarcastic.

  “Yes.”

  “Not actually doing?”

  “Well, we’d have to find somewhere to rent first.”

  “What would you be selling?”

  “Clothes.”

  She couldn’t help it, but started laughing. “Clothes? I mean—look at you.”

  “What about me?” He spread his hands. He was wearing an old shirt that he’d had for many years. Frequent washing had faded the red dye into a kind of grey-red. At least Darma had recently patched the holes in the elbows.

  “You don’t look like someone who sells clothes.”

  “I wouldn’t be selling them. I’d be designing them.”