by Guy Antibes
She waved her hand, and then nodded. “Whatever works. In this case your goal is to make other’s unable to tweak your own emotional pattern.” Farthia put a finger to her lips. “I think that’s how Malden would explain it.” She gave her head a little shake. “We will go through various scenarios. Playacting, if you will, to practice.”
Pol thought such an exercise would be boring, but as Farthia explained situations and began to badger Pol, he realized that he could turn suppressing his emotions into a game. If he could keep from making an outburst, then he won. The key was recognizing such situations, but Pol quickly found out that any social situation could be made into a game.
Farthia suggested a test the next morning.
~
Amonna had just sat down at the table in the family dining room. A servant walked in to take her breakfast order, and Pol decided to have much the same thing. He hadn’t seen Amonna since the announcement.
“How are you this morning? Are the preparations close to finishing?” Pol said.
Amonna rolled her eyes. “You don’t know how much work all of this is. I had to be measured for eight dresses. Eight! The Emperor will only be here for three or four days.”
Pol smiled. “I’ve never been measured for a dress before, so I can only imagine.”
That made Amonna giggle. He had missed talking to his only friendly sibling. Since the other three had stepped up their campaign against him, he rarely saw her.
“What are you laughing about?” Grostin said as he opened the door and stepped in. “Do we have to order today? I don’t have much time.”
Pol didn’t like Grostin’s attitude or his whining, but he set his deeper emotions aside and attempted to suppress those emotions.
“Pol told me a joke. More of a funny comment, really. It made me laugh,” Amonna said.
Grostin grimaced and pulled the cord. He posed in a ridiculous way, tapping his toes impatiently, waiting for a servant to appear. It looked ridiculous to Pol, and he just about laughed. But he only laughed deep inside and kept his expression as calm as he could.
The door opened and Honna stepped in. She made a face when she saw Pol sitting at the table. “Why are you here? I thought you had taken to always eating with Malden Gastonia, your nursemaid.”
Pol struggled to give his sister a bland smile. “Why are we all here? For breakfast, of course.”
Amonna giggled again, and received glares from Grostin and Honna for her trouble.
The game seemed to be working.
“Where is Landon?” He would be the true test, Pol thought.
“Practicing on the field, where else?” Honna said. She put her hand to her mouth. Pol knew that his oldest sister had slipped up and answered Pol in a normal fashion.
“Oh,” Pol said. “All I’ve trained for is swordplay for the fourteen-year-olds. I imagine he will be competing in multiple events.”
“All the events,” Amonna said. “Grostin is only doing swords like you.”
“Unlike Pol,” Grostin said. “I will win.”
Pol would normally have taken issue with the comment and said something he would later regret. He stayed silent as he thought his emotions through and decided to say nothing.
Grostin and Honna quickly ate and left Amonna and Pol finishing their breakfast.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she said.
“So bad?”
“You were actually civil this morning. Usually you get all red in the face and stomp off.”
“I do?” Pol said.
Amonna bobbed her head up and down.
“Hmmm.” He struggled to maintain his outward state and not let the anger he felt get the better of him. “It’s time for class. I hope to see you later.”
“Oh, King Astor of South Salvan arrives at the castle today. Father sent a bird to him the day after Mistress Wissingbel returned with her news. He is bringing his daughter Bythia to meet the Emperor Hazett. I think Father hopes that Landon will be taken by her. She’s only a little older than Grostin and just at a marriageable age.”
Pol felt his breath taken away. The reality of Landon’s elevation to king made Pol’s stomach turn, but he continued with the game. “I look forward to meeting her.” Pol forced a smile when he rose and bowed to Amonna. As he walked out of the room, he hoped his face hadn’t turned as red as it felt at the moment.
He reflected on his actions in the breakfast room. Pol knew he had done well, but he detested how he had to grovel, for it seemed like that when he controlled his emotions. It made him feel like he was lying, but he hadn’t uttered a single falsehood.
Pol had made sure to choose his words carefully and not react. It startled him when Amonna had actually noticed. He had never realized that he had been so emotional, but as he thought back to his reactions in past confrontations with his siblings, he had always fallen victim to his siblings’ tweaking of his pattern, making Pol get upset and flee from the room.
They had all probably gotten a big laugh out of teasing him and making him mad in the past. He hoped he could make that stop. He now looked at the concept of controlling his reactions as a defensive tool in dealing with his siblings, and that thought made the deception palatable.
He walked into the classroom to see Malden and Farthia Wissingbel in an embrace, which they quickly broke.
“Excuse me,” Pol said, feeling that he had intruded on something he shouldn’t have, and that made him breathe faster. “I am here to report back from breakfast.” He kept his eyes averted from the pair, still standing together, and sat down. “Would you both be interested in learning how I succeeded in keeping my emotions hidden?”
Pol looked out the window. He reminded himself that the game was still on. He had never, ever considered the relationship between Mistress Farthia and Magician Malden to be a romantic one. He concentrated on his breathing, and once it was under control, he blinked slowly and turned to face the pair of them as they sat down on the other side of the map table.
“I told you he learns quickly,” Malden said. The magician tried to suppress a smile, but Pol could tell he was amused by Pol’s embarrassment.
“You are telling me something I didn’t know? But this is impressive.” Farthia moved her eyes from Malden to Pol. “Proceed.”
The story didn’t take too long, and Pol didn’t leave anything out, talking about what he felt and how he reacted. “I continued to practice the game when I walked into the room.”
Farthia blushed. “And you won, Pol. You really won. How do you feel about it?” That sounded more like a question Malden might ask.
“It’s not that I’m lying, but it is some kind of deception, isn’t it?” Pol said.
Malden nodded his head. “I’m glad you are that perceptive. It is closer to restraint than deception, but look how you survived in the breakfast room. Could you have controlled the situation if you had lost your temper? There were certainly opportunities to do that.”
Pol knew he had just demonstrated what Malden had told him before about controlling the pattern without using magic. “I maintained the pattern rather than disrupt it, didn’t I?”
“If you want, think of it as a weapon of survival. Your siblings know it well enough, but not at the conscious level that you do now. There is a proper time to tweak the pattern, non-magically, but it must be done with the consequences firmly in your mind beforehand. They perceive it as teasing or something worse, goading you to a precipitous action that makes you look small in their eyes.”
“Pre-meditated, but I accept the fact that I’m smaller than all of them.”
Farthia’s face brightened up. “Premeditated, good word! Malden is right. Continue to practice until it becomes less of an effort. You might not like to hide your emotions, but the consequences of a lack of control outweighs the pain, and you have already had to feel more than enough of that pain.”
“Oh. So my siblings aren’t perfect at this kind of thing?”
Malden looked at Farthia and nodded
to Pol. “In a social setting they are when they want to be, but they can be provoked to break out of control. You’ve done that before when you’ve argued with them, and they lost their tempers.”
Pol thought on the magician’s words. “So if I had learned this a few years ago, none of this would have happened?”
Malden moved his head from side to side as he weighed Pol’s conclusion. “Perhaps not so intensely, but with the throne of Listya suddenly at stake, your very existence is viewed as an impediment to them. Your behavior will not change that.”
Pol wasn’t very pleased with Malden’s reply. “I’ll have to think on that.”
“Now,” Farthia stood. “It’s time for Malden to leave and see to Hazett’s visit while we go over sums.”
~~~
Chapter Eight
~
POL JOINED HIS MOTHER AS SHE WALKED with two ladies-in-waiting. He had an afternoon free, since his father had called Mistress Farthia and Malden to provide him with additional counsel prior to the Emperor’s visit.
“Are you distributing alms?” Pol said.
His mother nodded her head. “I do it once a week, and you know I’ve done it for years. Why?”
“Can I go along? It has been a long time since I went with you.”
The grin on his mother’s face gave him the answer. They walked to together to the kitchens.
“Siggon’s wife prepares the baskets,” Molissa said. “My ladies-in-waiting choose the recipients, so it won’t take too long.”
Pol took his mother’s hand. “This is something that you don’t need to do.”
Molissa smiled, a bit too condescendingly in Pol’s estimation. “I feel more like a human if I do something like this. I know it’s just a gesture, but I’d rather make the gesture than cloister myself in the castle. Your father gets out to inspect the city and the kingdom, and I don’t want to just do needlepoint all day long.”
Pol followed her to the kitchens. Eight guards were grouped around a table filled with baskets. Each guard picked one up as the queen approached them.
“Who has the list?”
One of the guards spoke up. “I do, Your Majesty. We’ll be going to Bangate South. It is the roughest area in Borstall.”
Pol’s mother nodded. “It’s not as if it’s the first time I’ve set foot among the lowest of my people. My son will be joining us,” she announced proudly to all in the kitchen
The guard bowed. “As you wish, Queen Molissa.”
“I’ll catch up to you,” Pol said. He ran to the armory and strapped on one of the sharpened practice swords and slipped a knife in his boot. He caught up with the small procession before they left the castle grounds. Pol slid up to walk beside his mother.
“You added some paraphernalia,” she said, looking down at the sword swinging at Pol’s side.
“Just a few weapons. I’ve trained on the sword. I’m not particularly good, but I’ll feel better escorting you with something to defend your honor.”
“What about us, My Prince?” one of the ladies-in-waiting said.
“I will do my best to protect all three of you.” Pol couldn’t help but grin.
The women giggled, which surprised Pol. He didn’t know how to take the laughter. Did they discount his ability to defend? Pol had to admit that the guards would do any fighting if they chanced upon a street brawl, but since Pol was capable, carrying a weapon made him feel more useful.
“It would be better to stay out of our way, Prince Poldon,” the lead guard said, “but stay close to the ladies, just the same.”
‘Just the same’ meant that he could be a line of last defense. The women began to talk amongst themselves, and Pol turned into a hanger-on for the long walk to the southwestern edge of the city close to Bangate, the southwestern exit.
As they walked through Borstall, people bowed and praised the queen. Pol guessed they had seen her pass by plenty of times, but Pol had never been to this part of Borstall before, other than to proceed directly out Bangate towards the Royal Hunting Preserve. At least he had an inkling of how common people lived by accompanying his mother.
They moved from the merchant section, closer to the castle, and soon passed tenements. People began to crowd the streets. Families scurried across Bangate Road, and the condition of the buildings began to get worse. The party turned down a lane, and soon the city began to reek with the unpleasant aroma that Pol had associated with the poorer sections of Borstall.
The ladies began to pick their way more slowly along the streets, as waste of all kinds were littered about. A sluice ran down the center of the lane towards drains that were embedded in the pavement every so often. The smell became oppressive to Pol. Even on still days, when some of the city smells invaded the castle, they had never been this bad.
His mother kept the scarf around her neck in place, while the other two ladies pulled theirs over their mouths and noses. The buildings became more dilapidated. Some of the woodwork was bare and showing signs of rot, where others had many layers of paint peeling off.
“Here is the first address,” the lead guard said. He held his basket out to the queen.
“Come with me, Pol,” she said, holding out her hand to stop her ladies-in-waiting. “My son will accompany me this time.”
Molissa knocked on the door, and a toothless woman answered. Pol thought the woman was old, but then as he looked closer at her face, the lack of teeth turned the woman into a crone. She wasn’t even close to his mother’s age.
“Come in, My Queen.” The woman mumbled. “I am so graced by thy presence.” She used formal language, which surprised Pol, and then shuffled back into the tiny multi-story house.
“May I see your baby?”
Baby? Pol thought. This woman is young enough to have recently given birth? His musing was immediately halted when he stepped inside. The smell of human waste mixed with vomit and other smells made Pol rock backwards. How could a person live in such a state? He didn’t put his hand to his mouth, although he felt like gagging. Pol thought of his recent lessons of maintaining the pattern. This time he wanted to maintain the pattern of a polite visitor, regardless of the smell.
Pol had volunteered to come, and he told himself that would learn from this experience. He followed the two women through a front room filled with broken furniture and refuse. They climbed up the narrow, creaky stairway to a tiny room in the front of the house. The baby seemed lethargic in the crib. His mother lifted the baby up and looked into the child’s eyes.
“She needs to go to a healer. There are coins in the bottom of the basket. Don’t show them to your husband until you’ve had your daughter looked at,” Molissa said. “What about your other children?”
The woman’s eyes shot down to the floor. “They are out, My Queen.”
Begging or thieving, Pol thought. How many men would take alms offered by the Queen of North Salvan and use them to drink? But then he looked around at the filthy walls and thought if he lived in this condition when he was older, he might take up drinking.
“I will, My Queen. As soon as you leave.”
Molissa pushed the baby girl into Pol’s arms. “Take her downstairs. We will escort you to the healers right now.”
The woman just about fainted and put her dirty hand to her forehead. “My Queen. I am undeserving.”
“Why?” his mother said with a gentle smile. “All lives are valuable in my eyes. Let’s give your daughter a chance in life, shall we?”
The woman nodded, speechless at the attention from her country’s queen.
Pol carefully preceded the women down to the ground floor and out into the narrow lane. He would never have thought the air in the lane would be appreciated, but compared to the closeness of the stench in the room, he did.
“We will be heading to the local healers. You walk with us,” Queen Molissa said.
Pol held the baby while they walked ten minutes to a local healer’s office. The queen took the infant and its mother followed them insid
e. Pol regretted that he felt relief leaving the house and paced outside taking deep breaths.
The lead guard walked up to him. “It’s always something.” He gave Pol a sympathetic smile. “It looks like you’ve held up well. First time?”
Pol shook his head. “I’ve escorted my mother a few times before, but not in an area like this.” He looked around at the people. Pol tried to find a pattern in South Bangate. The people walked passed them with shifting eyes and frightened looks on their faces as they eyed the guards.
What kinds of lives did these people live? How did they perceive his father, the King, when he lived so well, and they lived so poorly? He continued to observe the passing throngs until his mother touched his shoulder. “Thank you for your help,” she said. “I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
“Just the smell,” Pol said.
His mother scrunched up her nose and smiled. “It was awful, wasn’t it?”
His mother had never shown her reaction to the awful house in front of the woman. If she had, the woman might have instantly gone on the defensive, even with the Queen of North Salvan in her house. Pol thought of how well his mother controlled her emotions. With his mother it was more than emotion, it was deportment, as Mistress Farthia would describe it.
His determination to maintain an even emotional state had nearly succumbed to the city stench. His mother hadn’t spent much time educating him while he grew up, but she had just taught Pol an unexpectedly valuable lesson.
The next seven baskets were given to astonished and grateful citizens. None lived in such dire circumstances as the first woman. They headed back towards the castle, which had just come into sight. Pol looked up at the towers and considered wandering into the kitchens to get some food.
Shouting in the street interrupted his thoughts. Two carts were piled up in front of them cutting off their path. Pol looked behind them and saw a number of shabby men drawing swords. He instinctively pushed the women together and herded them into an alcove between buildings.
He glanced at the lead guard who nodded his approval to him. The guards took positions around the women, drawing their swords. Another four or five men approached them from the carts.
