Across the hall, a sitting chamber had been done over into a cenacle; hurrying servants filled a table with plates, cups, and decanters. Galvus and Omos were already there, sipping wine and talking. Just as Adred came in, Abgarthis returned, leading a file of additional servants. Adred seated himself across from Galvus, while Abgarthis took a chair beneath a window.
“Please, eat,” he indicated. “Fill yourselves. Whenever you’re finished, we can see Elad.”
“He isn’t in council?” Galvus asked, reaching for a small loaf of bread.
Abgarthis shook his head. “Council has been suspended for two weeks; some of our ministers and lawyers are looking into preliminary plans for setting up the workers’ sirots.”
Galvus glanced at Adred—a look of bemused interest—then asked Abgarthis about the changes he had seen in the capital: the armies of the poor living under the docks, the animal excrement flung at the palace, so few ships making dock.
Abgarthis sighed heavily. “Do you really want to hear about all that now?”
“Certainly,” Galvus replied.
But explanations were held off as Orain entered, smiled to everyone, and moved to sit beside Adred.
He helped her with her chair, and a little thrill went through him at the scent of her perfume and the aroma of her freshly washed hair, which fell forward in golden spirals as Orain slid her chair into place. Adred grinned at her and made some comment as he poured a cup of tea for her. Orain gently brushed his hand as she reached for her tea.
Plates of rice and vegetables, pork ribs and sausages, pheasant and duck invited them to dine in a fashion they had become unused to. Adred finished his tea and opened a decanter of wine; tasting it, he nodded his approval to Abgarthis and remarked on the excellence of it. Abgarthis, before thinking about it, told him that it was from the Diruvian vineyards and agreed that it was splendid.
Galvus cleared his throat; Adred set down the wine. Abruptly realizing what he had said, Abgarthis ventured awkwardly: “I hope that knowing that does not…alter its excellence for you.” He tried to make light of it.
Neither Adred nor Galvus took offense and assured Abgarthis of that. But the comment opened the door to the prince’s pursuing all that had occurred in his absence.
Abgarthis, complying, moved from his window chair to the table, poured himself a cup of the white Diruvian, and sat beside Orain. Glancing from one to another of them: “Elad, of course, will tell you whatever you wish to know. But I suppose I can sketch in things for you.” He recounted the assassination attempt, jumped back to tell of Queen Salia and her father, the imbur, then gave some details of Elad’s recovery and his very sincere change in attitude that accompanied his recuperation. Abgarthis briefly passed over his own “retirement” from the council. “It’s true that Elad and I had a falling out; both of us spoke too hastily. I refused to retract what I’d said, and his pride could not countenance such…insubordination. We are friends again, however, and, in fact, I’m sure he would reinstate me in the High Council if I were to request it. But things have an odd way of happening for the better. Elad seems better able to trust me simply because my voice does not become recorded in the daily reports. The two of us can speak more openly in private. He needs that.”
As empty plates were pushed aside and new decanters of wine passed around to refill cups, Galvus looked the minister in the eye and asked, “And is there any word of my father?”
Silence followed his question. Abgarthis looked from Galvus to Orain; Adred noticed her hands trembling on the table. She removed them and hid them in her lap.
“Again,” Abgarthis was forthright, “I’m sure Elad can fill you in on all the details. But you know that Prince Cyrodian was responsible for ordering…Queen Yta’s death? Yes.… He was hidden in exile at the time. We learned later that he had taken refuge with King Nutatharis of Emaria; Elad’s queries to Lasura were never answered. Some in council wanted to storm Lasura by force and capture the prince that way. But only eleven days ago, for whatever reason, Nutatharis sent a dispatch to us through our ambassadors in Lasura: he had ordered Cyrodian arrested and returned to Athad.”
“He is here now?” Galvus asked.
Adred watched Orain.
“No. But we received notice today from the officer charged with returning him. They had just left Port Arsol.”
Galvus smiled a strange smile. Gently he rotated the stem of his wine goblet between his fingers. Omos, concerned, wordlessly place a caring hand on Galvus’s arm; Galvus nodded to him, then said to Abgarthis, “It just occurred to me—it means nothing, but it is curious—that for whatever different reasons, mother and I left here around the time father was sent away, and now we’ve returned just about the time he’s come back. Odd.”
Orain coughed slightly, self-consciously; everyone glanced at her sympathetically. She shook her head. “Perhaps,” she remarked, “it’s as Lord Abgarthis said. That things have a way of happening for the better?”
Thoughtful silence met her observation; then Abgarthis stood, drummed his fingers on the table and advised: “If we’re ready, I can send word to Elad. Or would you like to go out into the gardens? I believe he and Salia may still be taking their exercise in the west garden.…”
* * * *
They made their way down one of the shaded walkways, passing a Khamar standing at guard, who nodded politely to them. And Adred, as he glanced around the lush garden, heavy with the scents of roses and chrysanthemums, shaded by ash trees and willows, noticed other imperial guards on duty at various strategic points.
Abgarthis led the way. Behind him walked Galvus and Omos, then Adred and Orain. Orain, enjoying the beauty, was walking quietly; when she noticed Adred’s eyes on her, she lent him a slender smile and quietly slipped her hand into his.
The king and queen were seated in a trellised gazebo in the middle of the garden. Elad rose to his feet immediately upon seeing them and stepped down into the walkway with extended arms. “Welcome! Welcome! Galvus—thank you, please, sit, welcome back! Orain!” They came together in the fragrant shade, Galvus introduced Omos, and Elad embraced Orain (while warning her to be careful of his tender side); then Elad faced Adred. The king took Adred’s hand and shook it firmly, grinned at him heartily and, as though the past were done, thanked him in an almost confidential tone, “Welcome home, Count Adred.”
“Your crown.…”
Elad ushered them up the steps into the wide, oval gazebo, where Salia stood to greet them. But she was interrupted by two fluffy, lively dogs at her feet. She bent to admonish them and exasperatedly looped their silver chains around a leg of the table in the center of the gazebo so that they wouldn’t embarrass anyone.
“The queen,” Elad said, as he moved beside her.
All bowed their heads respectfully and offered their hands as Salia expressed her joy at finally having the opportunity to meet them. Her glance lingered on Orain.
Adred, seeing Salia for the first time, was astonished both by her beauty and her youth. Abgarthis had told him that the queen was renowned as the most beautiful woman in the world. Such exaggerations were commonplace in aristocratic circles, where the daughters of important families were regularly extolled for their wit, charm, and appearance. And Adred knew that beauty was a relative quality: everyone was possessed of his or her own sort of beauty, and the tireless cataloguing of women’s attributes engaged in by some men (including himself, sometimes!) was as silly as the ponderous indexing of racehorses and athletes. And yet Salia.…
What was it about her? Her skin? Her hair? There was something indefinable here, something more than the simple but pronounced fall of her hair, the brightness of her eyes, and curve of her lips. Adred recalled poets; it was as if the human glow of her, vulnerable but honest, shined as clearly in her features as did sunlight. And yet—was there something sad or pathetic in her eyes, in the way she lifted her arm, in her posture?
Adred sat beside Orain on one of the marble benches opposite Elad and Sali
a, and he felt his attention drawn again and again, almost impolitely, to the queen. Her presence, the aura of her—what? Fatalism? Her beauty seemed to fade before the strong sensitivity Salia exuded, as though the outward appearance was only a lure to the world, a temptation or an attraction meant to set in motion other things, other ideas or events or consequences. It was the strangest thing, looking upon a beautiful regal woman and considering such implausible and contradictory thoughts.…
“I realize,” Elad admitted, as all settled still, “that we have much to discuss. And we shall.” He looked at Galvus. “But for the moment, I want to emphasize that I think it important that we all engage in a mutual…exchange of ideas, I suppose we should call it. I think I can speak frankly, can’t I? Our empire seems to be fractioning and new troubles arise every day. It has become clear to me that our old methods of dealing with issues may not always be pertinent or appropriate in regard to these circumstances. But I think the best steps that we could take now would be to set aside our passions and look at things logically and rationally.”
He paused, specifically eyed Count Adred and Prince Galvus, and read their expressions.
“Well…I wanted this brought into the open so that you know how I feel. We have lessons to learn, but I think many good things can come of all of this if we adhere to direction on the one hand and common sense on the other.”
Galvus told him plainly, “I quite agree.”
Elad glanced at Count Adred, who was sitting with his arms crossed upon his chest. He lowered his eyes from Queen Salia, glanced at the dogs under the table, then regarded Elad and told him, “I agree, as well, my lord. I would stress only that we keep in mind our values. We have important values in our empire. We have returned to them in times of crisis. And we’ve been served well by them.”
“Values…yes,” the king replied, letting his gaze linger on the young aristocrat. Then, to Galvus, “Don’t you find that beard to be rather warm this time of year?”
Galvus shrugged. “One gets used to it.”
“Yes, of course.”
They chatted about noncommittal things then. Salia introduced the four of them to her puppies and urged them to visit her pet garden just off the west wing; Elad was seeing to it that a habitat was constructed for her many pets and birds and other animals, for Salia confessed that she enjoyed their company at least as much as she did that of people. Adred found the comment intriguing. Elad casually asked Omos what he thought of the capital—that is, considering what he had seen of it—and Omos replied that it was fascinating and very big and that he didn’t know if he could get used to it all.
When they adjourned, it was with Elad’s insistence that they all feel welcome to make themselves at home that afternoon, visiting the gardens or the royal library or, if they preferred, going to see some of the games and contests at the arena. The games had become very popular; there were horse races and chariot races, boxing and wrestling matches, team sports, dramas and dances. Courses and stages had been set up in the refurbished Kirgo Amax here in the capital, the coliseum, and admittance was free during the afternoon and only a copper in the evening. But Elad told them that he had seats for them in the imperial box whenever they wished to attend.
As Adred and Orain left in the company of Lord Abgarthis, Adred asked whether there had been any demonstrations, acts of lawlessness or violence in the capital; he mentioned again all those jobless and dispossessed outcasts on the wharves.
“They are sporadic—but there are certain areas of the capital you’d be wise not to visit,” the minister told him. “There was a scene last night, apparently, at one of the arena gates.” Abgarthis shook his head. “Hardly a political matter. All the seats were sold out, and a great number of people insisted on getting in.” A few aristocrats had graciously given up their boxes so that several spectators could be seated; but one of them was stabbed during the excitement. That act of generosity probably wouldn’t be repeated soon. “Count Adred, there is a strong feeling of tension in this city right now,” Abgarthis said. “We are waiting for change to come, and this is how we wait.…”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As they walked up the steps into the palace, Adred told Abgarthis that he would take the remaining hours of the afternoon to visit the capital: he was eager to see firsthand some of what was transpiring in the city (yes, he would stay clear of the troubled areas), and he wanted to give thought to matters before speaking further with King Elad that evening. Also, Adred wanted to buy himself some new clothes; the attire lent him by the palace did not quite fit him.
“Have it altered to suit you,” Abgarthis urged him. “Don’t go to the expense of buying everything new.” And then it occurred to him: “I suppose you’ll be stopping at your banking house for funds?”
“Yes. I’d planned on it.”
“Before you leave, then, let me see about something first.”
Adred was perplexed. “Why? What’s the matter?” And then it occurred to him. “I’m a criminal.”
Abgarthis told him, “You’re a revolutionary. When you were arrested in Bessara, all your property and funds were immediately appropriated by the government.”
“Then what can be done?”
“Elad and I already agreed that if you succeeded in your enterprise in Sulos, all charges against you would be waived and your property returned. We took no legal action, Adred, to absorb your property; we merely posted a notice in our ledgers and informed the bank to withhold your account in the name of the throne.”
Adred made a face but nodded his head.
“Give me a moment and I’ll draw up an imperial forfeiture, and you can take it with you.” He glanced behind the young man to where Orain was just coming. “I’ll be only a moment.”
Adred asked him, “Does this happen very often?”
“Quite frequently, nowadays, I’m afraid. The throne is dissolving estates every day and using the funds— Oh, to return property in this way? No. No. Not very often. In fact, you are…unique, Adred. But I have long suspected that.”
“I’ll presume to take that as a compliment, Abgarthis.”
The minister laughed and went off down the hall, his stick tapping beside him, as Adred turned to Orain. “You look tired,” he said gently. “Didn’t get much sleep on the trip here, did you?”
“I’m afraid not. And it’s so warm.… Adred—are you going into the city now?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind if I came along? I don’t want to go out alone.”
“Not at all.”
She looked up as Abgarthis returned. The minister’s expression was drawn as he approached and handed Adred a folded document with a number scribbled on one side. “This was the amount in your account, correct?”
“Yes, that’s all of it.”
“It’s a substantial sum,” the minister remarked. “This…becomes rather confusing, but I should tell you that when Elad signed his proclamation staying any executions for acts of political dissent, he faced some angry voices in the High Council, and to placate several of those men, he agreed to an amendment that retains twenty percent of a convicted—”
“Twenty percent!” Adred did a quick mental calculation. “That’s almost thirty thousand in long gold!”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” Abgarthis nodded. “But that twenty percent is put into a fund, an insurance fund to protect any businesses lost or any property damaged—”
“Twenty percent!” Adred complained hotly. “That’s my family’s money! The bankers are stealing it, Abgarthis.”
“Adred, after all, you were arrested as a revolutionary, and Council felt—”
“Council felt,” he interrupted bitterly, taking the document from Abgarthis, “that even if the world ended tomorrow, the bankers still have to make the largest profit from it that they could! Isn’t that what Council felt?”
Orain said quietly, “Please, Adred.…”
“I wouldn’t put it precisely in those words,” Abgarth
is temporized.
“But it’s true, isn’t it? ‘Insurance fund’!”
“The government,” Abgarthis reminded him, “is the most important business in this empire. And businesses are not moral, my friend. Or even honest.”
“Or even necessary!” Adred complained, putting the paper inside his jacket. “Their almighty money. Their almighty profit. Abgarthis, where the world would be now if the gods had created us solely for the benefit of profit? Would it be a good investment, do you think? Have you ever wondered about that?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“The hell with it,” Adred grunted, reaching for Orain’s hand. “Where are the gods going to get their twenty percent? From their priests?” He started walking away, Orain beside him; she gave Abgarthis a look of sad resignation.
“Perhaps—” Abgarthis called, and Adred turned to look at him “—perhaps their investment was not specifically a financial one. Perhaps the gods intended to make a spiritual profit from their enterprise?”
“Then they’re bankrupt, Abgarthis,” Adred told him. “They’re out of business. They’re as bankrupt as this empire is.”
* * * *
By the time Adred had finished his transaction at his banking house, his anger had begun to subside—even though he snarled at Orain (as he helped her into the carriage), “These banks don’t perform functions for society! Society performs functions for them!” But she refused to dwell on the unfairness of it and tried to lift Adred’s spirits. She was grateful to be alive, given everything that had happened, and reminded him that he should be, as well.
At the tailor’s, she helped him choose his new clothes, and then they continued on to the mausoleum where his parents’ urns were kept. There, he lay a white rose before each one and muttered a small prayer.
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