by Coral Walker
The chamber waited.
“Would you, my Prince?”
Marcus smiled innocently. It was a question he hadn’t considered yet, and it seemed to be too remote at the time to bother with. The New Temple of Justice had been conceived many moons ago and was to be built on a rocky plateau next to cliffs at the remote edge of the city. It was still some fantasy in Lord Shusha’s head. How could you possibly put wooden posts into those rocks? Pressing the button sounded light-hearted and easy.
“I prefer a sword, my Lord, if I were given a choice. Feeding to the bokwas …” he frowned and then grinned, “sounds terrible. But I’m afraid I must do what a man must do if he has a family. They must live or die together. Right now perhaps, I should start fattening myself up, in case the rumour turns out to be true, and then I won’t disappoint the bokwas.”
+++
“Are you serious, your Highness? Live or die as a family?” Higo asked as they left the palace, arching one eyebrow.
“Can’t you tell that I’m simply talking common sense? If they are indeed my family, then, of course, I should live or die with them. But, my God, do you really believe that is likely? How could I possibly have married a Rionean princess and have three children with her. Do I look like a father?”
“You do look different. You have three more wrinkles on your forehead. As the saying goes, you get wrinkles from your children. Three of them, one for each.”
“Higo, be honest with me. What would you do if you were me?”
“Pressing the button would be the most obvious choice, your Highness. I would go for that option. And marry Lady Cici and become the King. God bless the King. See how ill he is. He slept through the Court.”
“That would be easy,” Marcus muttered.
The market was bustling by the time they reached it. A few steps away, some Rionean children and women were chained to racks. One of the gaunt-looking women, eyes shut and head drooping, was whining pitifully for water. Although some passers-by lingered and watched, none of them paid the slightest attention to her pleading.
“Give me your water,” said Prince Marcus.
Looking puzzled, Higo handed over his water pouch. Jumping down from the horse, Marcus walked over to the woman. He tipped her head with one hand and poured a large draught of water into her gaping mouth. She gulped it all down and licked her lips greedily with her tongue. The next moment, she opened her eyes and was startled by the sight of the Prince. Her face, piteously blank a while ago, contorted all of a sudden into a display of hatred. She spat at him and shrieked loudly. Her owner, a large bearded man, rushed over and inflicted a couple of hefty kicks on the woman, suppressing her frenzy.
Marcus was taken aback by the vicious assault and, for a while, was lost for words. A crowd was gathering. He felt Higo’s hands on his shoulders, leading him forcefully towards his horse.
“I should have warned you, my Highness. Never be sympathetic to a Rionean woman, especially one of her age.”
“Why?” Marcus asked absentmindedly, seated on his horse. The cowering face of the woman and the sound of the kicks were still fresh in his mind.
“Every fibre of her being is full of bitterness and hate. They lived long enough to see the light of life and then suffered the cruelty of losing it. My mother always told me so. Keep away from any slave of her age. Nobody will want to take her. If you come to the market tomorrow, she’ll be dead.”
“You sound like a philosopher.”
“Lord Tulardigo wanted me to be one of his disciples once, while I was still too young to tell the difference between a philosopher and a teller of tales.”
“He must have seen that you have the potential to be one. But why did you decide against it? All his disciples seem to have done well. One of them, if I remember it right, Lauido, is set to become his successor.”
“Is it such a great future? My mother was right, knowing too much can give you much pain. You might end up not being able to enjoy anything.”
“That’s quite right,” Marcus mused, looking thoughtfully at the middle finger of his left hand. There was clearly a red mark on the lower part of the finger. He must have been wearing a ring for a long time to leave a deep mark like that.
What kind of ring had he been wearing? Where was it now?
+++
Lord Tulardigo waited patiently for silence to return at its own pace.
The Queen gave a sob and sighed, a woman again. “I’d like to confide something, Lord Tulardigo.”
“No, my Queen, hold your tongue, keep it still, and take it to heaven if you may. But don’t confide!” he cried, feeling the pain in his knee as he teetered a small step forward.
“Do sit, my old friend.” The Queen gestured to a high-backed, upholstered chair across the rug and watched him subside into it before she spoke again.
“It is a burden I’ve carried alone for so long, Tulardigo. If it hadn’t been for Prince Marcus’ return and the King’s untimely sickness, I would have kept quiet and taken it to the tomb, revealing it to no one.”
She pressed her hands against her chest as if the burden were a physical thing.
“It’s about Lord Shusha and Prince Mapolos, isn’t it?” Lord Tulardigo suggested in a soft tone.
The Queen stared at him with her amber eyes vacant, as if transfixed by what he had just said. When she recovered her senses, tears kept coming to her eyes even though she dabbed them constantly with a corner of her sleeve.
Poor woman, Lord Tulardigo thought quietly.
The Queen was finally composed enough to speak, “I’m frightened of Lord Shusha. I have a feeling he would do anything to make Prince Mapolos king.”
“Women! Women!” Lord Tulardigo cried inwardly. It was the same with all women — melodramatic and worrying about unwarranted fears.
But he kept a straight face, nodding his head to appear sympathetic. “You do know that it’s impossible. Prince Mapolos was born physically unfit. In no circumstances could he be king — we have a law to prevent that. Unless Lord Shusha can treat him.”
“Do you think he could?” asked the Queen.
Lord Tulardigo pondered. Lord Shusha was a powerful man with an unfathomable mind. Also his ability to control bokwas and his recent activities with Ertharans had made him very unpredictable. But it was unimaginable that Prince Mapolos could be cured of a hunched back like that. To remove that kind of deformity, they would have to kill him.
Lord Tulardigo shook his head. “I don’t think it’s possible, my Queen. His condition is too extreme. Forgive me if I am blunt. There are doubts in my mind. Why should you be worried if Prince Mapolos becomes the king? Isn’t he the son of you and King Lagos, having the same sovereign right as Prince Marcus?”
The Queen straightened her back. Her gaze shifted from him and fixed onto some point beyond the far end of the room. She kept this pose for a long while, as if there were a lot to sort out in her mind.
“That is the burden in my heart, my Lord. From the first time I set eyes on him as a new-born, I have had the feeling he wasn’t the son I thought he was. It wasn’t because of his infirmity, but because he bore none of a sovereign’s characteristics. He didn’t glow as a king would. Neither when he had a warm bath nor when he was happy, just after being fed.”
“The same fault that deformed him could also have deprived him of the signs of a sovereign.”
“That was what I thought. But then …” she paused, gazing down, “… then … I saw how Lord Shusha laid his eyes on the baby. The gaze, how tender and soft, that look could only come from a father’s eyes.”
For a moment, Lord Tulardigo thought he had misheard, or, when he replayed the words in his mind, the Queen had said something she didn’t mean to. He looked hard at the Queen, puzzling at her composure as if she had made up her mind to stick to what she had said.
Then he gasped, as his throat tightened, making it hard to swallow. “How could that be possible? You aren’t accusing Lord Shusha …” he heard the quer
ulous sound coming from his throat.
She lifted her gaze, lingering on him for a while before lowering it again.
“Yes, I am,” she said in a tone so quiet that he had to strain his ears to hear.
“Where and when?” he asked. The bluntness of this question startled himself. He leaned backwards, ashamed.
To his relief, the Queen accepted the question as if she were expecting it. Without raising her eyes, she answered, “The only possibility was the banquet hosted by Lord Shusha at Cranpumply Castle. It was the third day after the royal wedding.”
“I remember that. The wines, pungent and luscious. Lord Shusha always had the best wine in the kingdom.”
He saw the sharp glance the Queen had directed at him and blushed.
“Many people had too much wine, including King Lagos. So Lord Shusha offered accommodation for the night.”
Lord Tulardigo nodded, remembering. He and his wife Marlarna were among the few that were sober and took their leave before twilight.
“I only had one glass of wine, but somehow I must have fallen asleep like the others and can’t remember a thing. When I woke up in the morning, I was lying in bed with King Lagos … unclothed …” her voice trembled.
There was a long pause before she started again, “I asked my maid later. She said she hadn’t attended me that night because Lord Shusha said I wanted to be alone with the King. The King dropped off before I did and slept like a rock all night and all day.”
“But that is only a theory, my Queen,” Lord Tulardigo licked his dry lips, inhaling the uneasiness in the air.
“It’s only a theory,” the Queen echoed mechanically, her head drooping towards her slender shoulder.
“I understand now, my Queen.” He got to his feet and crossed the floor, his hands reaching out to the Queen. Without moving, she let her hand be held and kissed.
The hand was dainty and smooth. He suddenly felt a dry anger seeping into his chest like acid. He hoped he could do more for this woman than just to kiss her hand to soothe her pain.
“Prince Marcus will be the king,” he heard himself saying, “I will do my utmost to make sure it happens.”
24
Tonight, Tonight
The water splashed.
“Jack, I’m giving you a wash to get you ready for tonight,” said a soothing female voice, sounding distant and muffled.
“Can you hear me? Can you talk?” the voice went on.
Who is she asking?
“Don’t worry if you can’t. My Lady said that’s what’s meant to happen when you’re given those potions.”
There were more sounds of water splashing, mingled with the voice that chattered on. “My Lady checked on you this morning. She looked into your eyes and asked your name. It was funny to see how confused you were — you didn’t even know your own name. My Lady took it as a sign and said you are ready.”
“It will be tonight,” she added after some more splashes.
“I was a bit worried. I said to my Lady that you didn’t look well. Look at you — I could hardly tell you from a corpse. But my Lady said everything is fine. Just wait and see tonight.”
The voice paused; everything went quiet as if she were chewing over the word “tonight”. But then she chattered some more. “Tonight. You should have seen how excited my Lady was. Too excited, if you ask me — laughing one minute and crying the next. I’ve never seen her like that before.”
Her voice turned suddenly into a secretive whisper. “My Lady spent the whole day preparing the blue room, and I had a peek myself. It was all tubes and bottles. Like father like daughter, they are not ordinary people.”
The voice resumed its soothing tone, sounding like a mother with her child, rhythmic, comforting. “After tonight, just you wait and see, everything will be just fine.”
Another splash of water.
He felt it, the tingle of water on his skin, warm, comforting.
Tonight.
Tonight.
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CORAL WALKER was born and raised in China. She holds a BSc in Computer Engineering, MSc in computing and PhD in Computer Science.
From a young age, she loved drawing and making stories. One of her favourite pastimes was to draw faces on her fingernails. Wiggling the fingers to make them come alive, she would tell their stories. It helped her endure the boredom of lessons and get through the school day.
Fully grown now, a wife and the mother of three, in her heart she has changed little — still she is that wisp of a school girl, with characters on her fingers and stories in her head.
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