by Jon Monson
In the middle of the Hall, an oak table capable of hosting an elaborate feast sat empty. The wood was polished to a sheen, yet not a single plate graced its top. The chairs were tucked in, obviously not expecting any guests this evening.
Aydiin realized the family was unlikely to use the room for a more intimate dinner such as tonight’s as the servant led him through the massive structure. This would be used to entertain foreign ambassadors or celebrate great events. He was grateful that his arrival didn’t count as either – he dreaded the idea of mingling with a large group of Genodran aristocracy. He knew it was coming, but tonight at least wouldn’t be spent making awkward conversation with noblemen.
Without the thick carpets present in the corridors, Aydiin’s footsteps cracked and echoed loudly in the largely empty room. If the Hall had been full of nobles making polite conversation, his entrance would have gone unnoticed. However, as he was the fifth and final guest, every footstep seemed to grow louder and louder in the near-empty room.
The western wall was made completely of glass, and a large doorway opened up to a large open terrace with sweeping views of the palace grounds. In the distance, the Pharone Mountains loomed, their rocky peaks covered in perpetual snow. Over a hundred leagues away, they took on a hazy blue appearance through the atmospheric perspective. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought about the monastery nestled in one of those peaks and how he should be making his way towards it rather than dining with the Doge.
As he walked out onto the veranda, he saw Byanca standing with her back to him, wearing the same green silk dress she’d worn at the harbor. She was enjoying the same vista that made him uneasy. To her, it was nothing more than a beautiful view of a well-maintained garden and distant yet majestic mountains.
She turned at the sound of his footsteps and those eyes made contact with his own. Then her face lit up with that wonderful smile, a smile that was directed at - and caused by - Aydiin. The feelings of guilt fled and the Pharone Mountains seemed to grow more distant.
I can’t let myself get too caught up in this. It’s not healthy. He shook his head slightly, hoping to wake up his mind.
“Are you okay?” she asked, smiling at his quick shake of the head.
“Oh, I’m just marveling at the view,” Aydiin lied.
“It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” Byanca said. “I can almost forget we’re in the middle of a city.”
“Your father must be proud of these gardens,” Aydiin said, walking to stand next to Byanca at the veranda’s edge. He looked down into the garden to see meandering paths through lush hedges with fountains and statues interspersed. For a moment, it reminded him of home – the good parts, at least.
The gardens in his father’s palace were lush, an oasis from both the heat and the family politics. The plants there were of the tropical variety, with huge leaves and fruits. This garden had a different feel – a different smell – to it, but it likely served the same purpose.
“I am quite proud, actually,” a strong yet gentle voice sounded behind Aydiin and he turned around to see a middle aged man with greying hair and a decorated military uniform. His face had the weathered look of a man who had spent his younger years outdoors, not of a coddled aristocrat. His smile was warm, extending to his eyes. They were green, the same as Byanca’s, although they lacked the depth belonging to his daughter’s eyes.
“I’m quite glad to see that my future son-in-law appreciates a well-maintained garden,” the man said, offering his hand to Aydiin. “It’s one of the greatest things in this world.”
“Doge Marcino, I presume. It is a pleasure to meet my new father,” Aydiin bent to both knees, placing his head on the floor.
“My son, many would say that very little has changed since the Revolution,” Marcino said, bending down to lift Aydiin to his feet. “But that is one thing that has. I know that bowing on bended knee is a sign of respect in Salatia, but you must remember that I am an elected leader, and I receive my power from the people. Anything more than a simple nod of the head is too much.”
Aydiin grinned sheepishly. He was beginning to realize how little he had actually learned from his studies. He knew plenty about the history of every significant nation, but his knowledge of the niceties that made up proper manners was less than adequate. He barely knew how to behave in Salatia, and now he was going to need a crash course in Genodra.
“I am afraid I will need to beg your forgiveness in advance. I am unfamiliar with Genodran society, and I fear I will offend many before learning properly.”
“That’s nonsense my dear boy,” a woman in a red velvet dress interjected as she came around the corner. Her heels clicked on the stone floor as she practically glided to a stop next to Marcino.
Aydiin assumed this to be Lissandra, the Doge’s wife and Byanca’s mother. She looked very much like an older version of his betrothed, with red hair and soft white skin. Only the eyes were different. Lissandra had dark brown eyes, almost the color of coffee. Byanca’s green eyes obviously came from her father.
“You assume that we Genodrans have very little contact with foreigners. Unlike Maradon, Palmas is a veritable melting pot of the world, and the nobility will be more than patient with you as you learn our customs.”
Lissandra spoke slowly, enunciating every word. Aydiin was unsure if she always spoke with that lofty tone or if she was only doing so for the benefit of a man who obviously spoke with an accent different from her own. Either way, Aydiin knew when someone was being condescending. Apparently, Byanca was also good at knowing when her mother was being condescending. With an uncomfortable chuckle, she placed her hand firmly on her mother's arm.
“What my dear mother is trying to say is that we're all sure your manners are wonderful and you'll learn quickly.”
“That’s not at all what I meant. I -”
This time, Marcino broke in before Lissandra could expound on what she had actually intended.
“Aydiin, I really must show you the rest of the veranda. It’s the latest addition to the palace, and I’m quite proud of it. We’ve taken to eating most of our meals out there, at least when the weather permits. We should have another month or so until the first winter storms force us inside.”
The two men walked toward the much smaller table on the terrace where the family would be taking the evening meal. Three male servants dressed just like the man who had fetched Aydiin from his rooms rushed to and fro with silver plates, the contents of which were hidden by delicately crafted silver cloches. The servants were trying not to trip over a young man fiddling with a wooden top.
“This is my son Cael,” Marcino said, gesturing to the boy.
Cael looked up and smiled at Aydiin as he stood and brushed himself off with all the awkwardness of a boy beginning to enter manhood. He had red hair and green eyes like his sister, but he had yet to grow into his nose and ears. A smattering of freckles under his eyes and a wide smile gave him a look of innocence. He walked over to Aydiin and stuck out his hand, a move that showed how uncomfortable he was in his quickly growing body.
“It’s a pleasure, Aydiin,” Cael said. “Byanca hasn’t been able to shut up about you all afternoon. I had to come out here just so I could think.”
Aydiin wondered if his bride-to-be heard that.
“I’m glad to meet you, brother,” Aydiin said as he took the young man’s hand firmly. He reminded himself not to bow. “Is that a topac that you’re playing with?”
Aydiin referred to the wooden top in Cael’s other hand. It was hand-carved and looked similar to the one he’d played with since childhood.
“Yeah, I picked it up from a Salatian merchant just the other day. I can’t seem to figure it out.”
“Well, you’re in luck. I’ve been playing with those since before I could walk.”
Aydiin wound up the string on the peg attached to the top of the topac. With a flourish of his wrist, the top hit the marble floor of the veranda spinning.
“Woah,” Cael exclaimed.
“I was just about to give up on that thing. Can you teach me how to do that?”
“Of course,” Aydiin said, happy to be making a positive impression on Byanca’s family.
“It will have to wait, Cael,” Marcino interjected. “Dinner’s ready, and you know how Gretchen hates it when we let the food get cold. She’ll claim that we don’t appreciate her hard work and suffering – she’s a true artist, after all.”
Marcino and Cael began moving towards the table laden with food. The smell was inviting, and Aydiin followed the two men’s lead, trying to observe every little action. The butterflies in his stomach didn’t want him to act like a fool again, and dinners in every country offered plenty of opportunities to do just that.
The women sat down first, followed by Marcino and Cael. Aydiin hurried to do the same and his chair squeaked as the legs moved along the stone floor. He blushed and his eyes immediately turned to Byanca, her smile showing barely concealed amusement at his discomfort.
Marcino sat at the head of the table, with Lissandra at the foot and Cael to his side. Aydiin sat across from Byanca, the sight of her face doing little to stiffen his resolve.
Aydiin watched Marcino take a napkin and place it on his leg, and Aydiin followed as quickly as he could. A livery-clad servant came around, and lifted the cloche off his plate, revealing an abundance of lettuce, small tomatoes, and sliced cucumbers with some sort of sauce.
So this is salad, he thought. Aydiin had heard of the Genodran concept of starting the meal with vegetables. He looked down at his plate and saw not one but three forks. Panicking, he looked up at Byanca just in time to see her take the smallest from the outside edge. Doing the same, he gingerly stabbed some lettuce and cucumber and placed them in his mouth.
The sauce - or “dressing” as Lissandra called it - was thick and creamy, and not at all to Aydiin’s taste. It reminded him too much of putrid milk with a few spices added in. Clearing his mouth with a quick sip of wine, he took another bite so as not to stand out.
“Eye-Dean,” Lissandra began, thoroughly pronouncing every letter in his name. He could see Byanca tense visibly as her mother began to speak. “Was it interesting growing up in such a primitive city? Cael has always wondered what it would be like to not have indoor plumbing.”
She gave a high pitched laugh at her comment.
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Cael replied with his mouth full of salad. “I just thought it would be interesting to see a city that doesn’t have automobiles racing around the streets.”
“Well, I’ve never really known much different,” Aydiin shrugged. “I would imagine it’s a lot like the Genodran countryside – lots of horses with wagons, everyone using a chamber pot. Maradon does have a sewer system of sorts – it’s just not as sophisticated as the one in Palmas.”
“Well I guess even barbarians have to let their waste run somewhere,” Lissandra said.
That led to an uncomfortable silence, and Aydiin bit his tongue as everyone else suddenly became very interested in their salads. Lissandra smiled as she also returned to her plate, obviously pleased with herself. The crunching of lettuce became the only sound at the table, mixed only with a few crickets singing in the garden who hadn’t gotten the message that summer was quickly ending.
Aydiin was only half-way through the salad when servants began to bring in more covered dishes. This time, Aydiin recognized the dish of large boiled noodles covered in a white sauce and grilled chicken. Maradon had a handful of restaurants featuring foods from various countries, and Genodran pastas were becoming quite popular in the Salatian capital. The new food seemed to help everyone forget about the discomfort from Lissandra’s question, and Aydiin could feel the atmosphere around the table become more relaxed.
“Father,” Byanca said after wiping her mouth delicately on a cloth napkin. “Aydiin’s read Thibauld. Haven’t you, Aydiin?”
Aydiin had to shake himself from the joy he felt at his name being pronounced on those delicate lips. He looked up from his plate to see those green eyes boring into him, a smile at the ready. Then he realized he should answer.
“Oh, yes, of course I have,” Aydiin stammered. “I quite enjoyed his Discourse on the Nature of Political Power.”
“Isn’t that book forbidden in most countries?” Cael asked, his mouth full of pasta.
“Of course it is. That’s why so many people have read it,” Aydiin winked. “My father noticed it in my personal library once – he wasn’t amused. Yet here I am, still with my head attached to my shoulders.”
“My formal positions is to always preach the doctrines of the Revolution,” Marcino said. “But privately, I can understand why your father would much rather keep Thibauld’s ideas about who actually holds power away from the thoughts of his subjects.”
“Dictators tend to dislike being told that they have a contract with the people and it’s their right to replace said dictator when that contract isn’t fulfilled,” Aydiin said. “I think Genodra is a prime example of a nation’s potential when people are given that freedom.”
“Yes, it’s just too bad the revolution in Pilsa ended in such a disaster,” Byanca added. “I think it put too much fear into the rest of the world.”
Genodra’s revolution had been far from clean, but it had lasted less than a year and hadn’t resulted in the destruction of its cities. By the end of the brief civil war, the republicans had found themselves in control of a small yet thriving nation. The policies set in place giving freedom to the people resulted in nearly unprecedented economic growth.
The turmoil in neighboring Pilsa resulted in the fracturing of the nation. With a much more determined king, the civil war had lasted for years. With its largest cities destroyed and much of its population displaced, the new republic collapsed after only a few months.
Today, Pilsa was ruled by a few dozen warlords, each vying against the others for control. Impoverished and oppressed, the situation of the common people was worse than ever. Whenever Thibauld’s teachings were mentioned in Salatia, people would think of the mess in Pilsa and return to their oppressed but peaceful lives.
“Oh, this conversation is terribly depressing, not to mention boring,” Lissandra chirped. “Can we please talk about something besides political philosophy and those barbarians in Pilsa?”
Lissandra smiled, looking expectantly around the table. Nobody met her sickly-sweet stare. Aydiin could hear what her tone meant – deep, thought-provoking topics were not proper at the dinner table.
“Well, fine. I guess I’m the only one who has anything of interest to say,” she said after no one responded and turning towards Aydiin. “Duke Farnese is holding a ball tomorrow night. Aydiin, you simply must attend. The cream of society will be in attendance, and it will be the perfect event to announce your courtship with Byanca.”
Aydiin suppressed a shudder, forcing a smile onto his lips. Balls were something he avoided whenever possible in Salatia, and he had hoped a country where the common people supposedly ruled would shun such extravagant displays of wealth. He was beginning to think that very little had actually changed in the revolution.
He wondered if warlords in Pilsa still held balls. True, the country was racked with war, but it might be worth it to avoid the stuffy events where noblemen schemed while their wives gossiped. The thought almost put a real smile onto his face.
“Of course, Lady Lissandra,” he finally said. “I wouldn’t miss it. It sounds...fun.”
Chapter 13
Doesn’t he look marvelous?” Lissandra cooed.
“Yes, I think he looks quite dashing,” Byanca responded with a smile.
Aydiin stood atop a small platform, both arms raised to the side as a short, balding tailor worked on his tuxedo. The man’s little shop was clean and orderly with a selection of samples hanging from racks. Byanca and Lissandra sat on plush armchairs, the latter observing quite closely while the former did her best to hide amusement.
Compared to his loose-fitting cotton robes, the
wool jacket was oppressive, even in the relatively cool air of the Genodran autumn. The coat was tighter than he liked, constricting the free movement of his arms. The pants were far too snug, and he felt confident that any physical activity beyond walking would result in the seams tearing in several places.
I wonder if I’ll be in any position to influence Genodran fashion towards something a bit more comfortable, he thought, trying not to sigh.
This was Aydiin’s first morning spent shopping for clothes, and he had no desire to repeat the experience. Shoes were being custom made for him at a shop across the street and Lissandra had mentioned something about a haircut afterwards. He was essentially a prisoner with some hope of parole.
“Oh, I just love a man in a good tuxedo,” Lissandra said to her daughter. “It’s so refined, nothing at all like the rags he showed up wearing.”
Aydiin was beginning to notice that his future mother-in-law liked to talk about men as if they weren’t present. She had made quite a few disparaging remarks about her husband at the dinner table, and she had spent far too much time talking about his own grooming than he liked during their shopping trip.
“Oh, I like his other clothing,” Byanca said, giving Aydiin a quick wink. “It has a certain mystique about it.”
“Well, I guess it was fine for carousing around the desert,” Lissandra said, “but now that he’s here with a more refined sort, he needs proper raiment.”
Aydiin held in another sigh when a rapping at the window caused everyone to look up. Barrick stood outside, grinning and holding a set of breakfast pastries. He walked through the door, a mock look of pain on his face.
“I can’t believe you lot left me alone at the palace. I’m as fun to shop with as anyone else.”
“Sorry, Barrick,” Aydiin replied. “I didn’t think you’d be in the market for a tuxedo.”
“I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to watch yeh squirm all morning!”
Barrick wore his matching tweed trousers and bowler hat with a white shirt and suspenders. He looked every bit the entitled son of an Albonan merchant that he was.
