House of Lust (39 page)

“I mean – do you think she’s pretty?”

Amne looked at Argan.  “Oh, I see.  Do you?  Are you finding women more interesting now?”

“I always find women interesting – and men.”

Amne grinned and ruffed her brother’s hair.  “I was teasing you.  Do I think she’s pretty?  Hmmm…. she has character and strength, and I can see that would make her attractive to some men.  Pretty?  I suppose in a way, yes.”

“I think she is,” Argan nodded.  “Not like your kind of pretty, but still pretty.”

Amne rested her chin in one of her palms and regarded her brother intently.  “So, Argan, tell me what kind of pretty we are.”  She smiled.

“Well,” he thought for a moment, looked up at Amne who was still smiling with that twinkle he liked, then grinned.  “You’re bright pretty.  Metila’s dark pretty.”  He saw puzzlement wash over Amne’s face, so he thought deeply on explaining it better.  “You’ve got really big bright eyes, really lovely eyes, and big bright hair, like ripe grain stalks in the fields, and a really lovely smile that makes me smile too,” he smiled as her mouth widened with pleasure.  “And – and it’s like the sun coming out when you do that.”

“Aw, Argan!” Amne fought back a sob.  “That’s one of the loveliest things anyone has said to me!”

“Really?  But it’s true,” he protested.  “I mean…” he floundered for words.

Amne took hold of him and hugged him close.  “You don’t need to explain, Argan, you wonderful brother!”

Argan nestled against Amne, enjoying the closeness.  He had missed the mischievous, naughty woman, and in fact found he rather liked being pressed against her chest.  Amne broke the hug and held him at arm’s length, looking at him intently.  “So you like Metila too, eh?  Tell me why you find her pretty.”

“Oh, she’s got dark eyes that – make me want to look at them.  They’re not bright like yours, but dark and it’s a sort of, oh how can I say it?  A sort of attracting dark, I want to get close to them.  When she smiles its nice too, but not as nice as yours.  She doesn’t smile that often.  She’s much more serious.  There’s a kind of pretty about her I can’t really describe, but I like being with her and looking at her.  It’s like something not being said but you can hear it.”

Amne looked at Argan in surprise.  “Well, that’s something I never thought of before – and how expressive!  You do surprise me, Argan.  I think you’re becoming quite a thinker.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, not at all.  Use your brains, and you’ll be alright.”

The door opened and in came Amal.  She stopped, put her hand to her mouth and began apologising.  Argan waved her in and told her who Amne was.  Amal knelt and bowed her head.

“This is Amal, Amne.”

Amne nodded, it had to be.  “Amal, stand up; let me see you properly.”

The Bragalese girl obeyed and looked nervously at Argan who smiled encouragingly at her.  “Your majesty, I am honoured to meet you.”

“Thank you.  I have heard about you, Amal, and am pleased to have met you at last.  How do you like looking after my brother?”

Amal smiled shyly at Argan.  “I wouldn’t wish to be working for anyone else, ma’am.  He’s so kind and friendly.”

“Yes he is that – and don’t go blushing again, Argan, you’re like a repeating sunset today.”

Amal put her hand to her mouth, partly as a reaction to someone scolding the prince, and partly to cover up a sudden urge to giggle.  Argan rolled his eyes helplessly.  He had no composure around his sister.  She certainly brought the worst out in him.

Amne had seen the shy look and little tinkling bells went off in her head.  Oh, oh!  She likes him.  Amne smiled widely at Argan which only made him feel more unsettled – but he didn’t know why.  “Argan darling, relax, you’re like a Taboz bow fully drawn back.”

“Um, you’re smiling and I don’t know why.”

“It’s not important, Argan, I’m just happy to see someone so dedicated to you.  Amal, I’m pleased that my brother has someone like you to care for him.  He means a lot to me; he’s such a loveable boy.  I know he’s in good hands with you.”

“Oh yes, ma’am, I would do anything for him!”

I think you would, my little Bragalese lady, Amne mused.  “Tell me, Amal, how old are you?”

“I-I don’t really know, I think about fourteen or fifteen.”

“Same age as Argan.  You are not far off your Growing Through then.”

“N-no, ma’am.  I do not know when that will be.”

“Nobody does, until it happens, or so I’m told.  Metila is tutoring you?”

She nodded.

Amne eyed Argan.  He was in the best possible hands.  “Amal, are you here to clean the room?”

“Yes, my duties in the kitchen have finished – do you want me to return later?”

“Yes please.  I want to spend a little time with Argan.”  Amne smiled winningly at her who curtseyed and left them alone.  “What a lovely servant you have there, Argan.”

“Yes she is, and she’s a very good friend to me too.”

“So what about Lady Velka?  You’re still betrothed to her, aren’t you?  How will she deal with you having that little beautiful servant?  Especially after you and her have her Growing Through experience together.”

“I’ve already written to her about that, but she’s not replied yet.  Anyway, our marriage isn’t going to happen for a while is it?  I’ll make sure Amal remains my servant.”

Amne cocked her head in surprise.  “That’s not the usual way we have personal body attendants.  I have handmaidens, the men normally have male servants.  It avoids scandal, you see.”

“Sis,” he said, and she smiled at the term that Jorqel normally used when he spoke to her.  “That doesn’t stop scandals.  Father and Metila for example, and – ah – you and Dragan Purfin.”

“That was an abduction, Argan, which is different.”

“I mean before that.”

Amne looked shocked.  “What – do you know of that?”

“Court gossip, I heard through a couple of visiting messengers in the governor’s room.  I was surprised, but then they said you and Lalaas were close, and you and Vosgaris, too.  I didn’t understand what they were saying then but since Metila has told me what goes on between a man and woman – well I can guess.”

“Those big-mouthed messengers.  I’ll have their tongues torn out!”

“Amne, it’s alright, I don’t think worse of you – you’re my sister and lovely and I can see why men love you.”

“Agh!  It’s what others think.  If you overheard their gossip, who else did?  I’ll make sure this is stopped; it doesn’t do our reputation any good.  So there’s father and myself, and Istan isn’t exactly our best example, is he?  So the family is looking to you to give us a decent face – and having a sultry Bragalese personal body servant will have tongues wagging like pennants in the wind.”

“Then I shall face my accusers and speak to them.  I’m not going to change my mind, Amne.”

“So I see.  Ah well, it’s your reputation that’ll be dragged through the mud.  Mine is fully soiled, and it’s too late to change that.  I have stopped being a woman of loose morals, by the way.  My experience at the hands of that Purfin man has changed me.”

“And you’re married, and have another baby on the way.  Does it hurt?”

“No, Argan – you do feel odd sometimes, and it gets quite uncomfortable.  When the baby kicks it’s a really strange feeling.  I could be talking away quite happily, and then – ooh!  There are moments of being sick or dizzy or feeling too hot that I could do without.  It’s alright until the birth, then its agony.”

“So why go through it again?  I mean you have two already.”

“Oh, I don’t know – its natural, and I love being a mother.   Helps keep my head firmly in place at times when I need it.  You’ll meet the girls later.  I hope they get on with you.”

“I hope so too – do they look like you?”

“Stana, yes.”

“Oh so she’ll be the really pretty one then.”

Amne chuckled and hugged Argan.  “You’re quite a charmer you know.  That smile, your charm – oh you’ll melt quite a few hearts.”

“Really?  That’d hurt, wouldn’t it?”

“Silly – I meant you’d charm women.”

“Oh.”  Argan grinned.  “Sometimes I take things literally.  Mr. Sen says I do, anyway.”

“How is he?  Still as large?”

“As a fantor.  Oh, don’t go tell him that!  He’d be very upset.”

Amne collapsed into gales of laughter.  She took a few moments to get under control and wiped a tear from the corner of an eye.  “Argan, you always make me laugh.  That’s another attractive trait you’ve got.  Making women laugh.  Here, let me really look at you a moment.”  She stood up and Argan obediently stood.  She held him by the shoulders and gave him thorough examination.  Slim hips, legs strengthening up.  Shoulders still narrow but they would fill out in time.  Chest the same.  Nicely proportioned, though.  Smooth skin.  Shoulder length brown hair, clear, intelligent blue eyes.  Firm jaw.  Beginnings of hair there?  Mouth not too wide, firm looking lips, straight nose, not too wide, eyes spaced well.  Eyebrows soft and dark.  No blemishes.

“A handsome young man, that’s what you are growing into.”

Argan smiled.  “I’m supposed to say thank you, aren’t I?”

“Yes, so go on.”

Argan suppressed a giggle.  “Thank you,” he said, forcing himself to be serious.

“Good.  Manners count for a lot, even when you don’t feel like thanking someone.  Even if they’re behaving like a right old
moklar
, you must be polite.”

Argan burst into fits of laughter.  “
Moklar
?” he finally said.  “That’s – “

“Yes, I know what means.  Oh yes, I forgot; you’re fluent in Bragalese.  Really strange, isn’t it?  I know a tiny bit, but not much.  I’m more fluent in Mazag.” 

“Then you’ll be helpful down in Zofela with our allies.  We still don’t know if the Venn are going to move or what, and they are not replying to our messages, according to the governor here.  He’s in constant touch with father, you know.”

“I’ll be surprised if he lets me visit him, but I’m determined to go.  After all, he hasn’t seen his granddaughters, and it’s about time, you know.”

“Amne,” Argan said hesitantly.  “You might not want to go to Zofela anyway.”

“Oh?” she pounced on Argan’s tone.  Something didn’t sound right.  “What is it?  Something wrong?  You know something, so come on, tell me.”

Argan hung his head, then looked his sister in the eye.  “Mother wrote to me.  I got the letter here.”  He went to a small set of drawers, fiddled with the back and operated what was clearly a secret switch.  A small drawer popped open on the side and he picked out a letter, folded.  He passed it to Amne.  “She wrote to me but I can’t see why you can’t read it.”

Amne took the yellowed sheet and flipped it open.  The message was not a lengthy one but it contained enough to make Amne’s mouth turn down.  “What is wrong with the stupid man?  Has his affair with Metila addled his brains?  I don’t like this, Argan.  Mother and father fighting each other – that’s not good for the empire.  She thinks his mind is going?  And this accusation against Vosgaris…. hmph!”

“You don’t believe them, then?”

“Do you?  I know Vosgaris is a bit of a fool for women, but if father had any certainty that he and mother had been fooling around, then Vosgaris would have been arrested, not sent as a liaison to the Mazag!  Father isn’t one to tolerate that sort of thing…. unless he’s doing it of course,” she added bitterly.  “Maybe the strain of being emperor has got to him.  I must go sooner rather than later, having seen this.” 

Argan took the letter back and popped it back into his secret compartment.  “Mother sounds very upset.  It seems father is treating her badly.  That’s unfair.”

“Of course it is.  I’m going to go down there and tell him exactly what I think of him!”

“I thought you and mother didn’t get on that well?”

“Oh, we have clashed, yes, but even she doesn’t deserve that!”  Amne fumed over the news, but not really over the treatment to her step-mother.  It was her father’s treatment against Vosgaris that she was really upset about.

It was six days later that news arrived from the frontier.  The Venn army had moved, and was passing into southern Bragal, sending out wide ranging scouting parties to lay waste before them so that the main army had nothing to oppose them in their march through the countryside.

Zofela exploded into activity.  The Black Flag was raised and a diplomatic messenger was sent to both Bukrat and Rhan, the former professing support for the alliance, the latter protesting at Venn’s violation of the ceasefire and the invasion of sovereign Kastanian soil.  Nobody expected Venn to reply; it was just a legal and diplomatic formality.

Astiras roared for his Council of War to assemble in the hall; no absenteeism was permitted, no excuse allowed, save perhaps death, but even then he yelled that would be debateable.  Isbel looked at her sweating husband, convinced more and more there was something not quite right about him.  “Astiras, do you want me present?”

“What?” he whirled on her, his eyes narrowed.  “Oh, yes.  I need you to write the logistics and pass it to the appropriate offices.  I want you to work closely with Pepil on this.”

“I will not,” Isbel countered.  “You may command me but on this point I shall absolutely refuse.  That evil slimy trouble maker is going nowhere near me.”

“You will do as I tell you, Isbel.  I am emperor.”

“And I am empress.  No.”

“Pepil is a loyal servant of Kastania!”

“No he is not.  He is a loyal servant of Pepil.  If you cannot see that then your mind is addled.  Why don’t you marry him instead of me?  I’m sure he’d make a perfect wife in your eyes, always obedient and supine.  You don’t want someone like me with an independent mind.”

“You go too far, woman!  I shall settle this with you later.  In the meantime you can stay here and do what it is you do, sending letters out.  I shall have Pepil stand by my side instead – at least I can count of him doing what he is told.  Hmph!  I don’t know what has got into you recently but I don’t like it one bit.”  With that he stamped out, leaving Isbel to puff out her cheeks.

“I was about to say the same about you, Astiras,” she said quietly.  She sighed and looked at the scribes with her.  They were unremarkable men, two who had been members of the army that had taken Zofela those years ago and now had reverted to their pre-army careers of quill pushers.  They would follow her commands without question.  “You heard the emperor,” she said heavily, “we are to send letters.  Prepare messages to be sent to all provinces, citing we are once again at war.  Address them to Prince Elas, Prince Jorqel, Governor Olskan, Governor Extonos and the castellans of Kornith and Niksos.  I shall sign them.”

The two men obediently bent to their tasks, quills scratching on parchment.  While they were occupied, she began a message of her own, addressed to Captain Vosgaris.  She smiled.

Down on the ground floor, Astiras was holding the floor, as usual.  He stamped about, growling.  The senior officers were arranged around him, listening to his booming voice.  Pepil stood to one side, making notes on a wax covered slate.  “Those motherless eunuchs are cunning,” Astiras slammed a fist into his palm.  “Their path takes them through our lands but close enough to Mazag to give us all doubt as to where they are intending to end up!  They could go south towards Branak and seize that fortress, thus cutting Valchia off from the rest of Mazag, or west into Valchia itself, or turn north and attack us here.”

“Their task could be something we have not thought of up to now, your majesty,” Ganag Meri, the Mazag ambassador, said, sitting in one of the chairs off to one side.

“What?  What would that be, Ambassador?” Astiras demanded.

“They could be cutting a swathe of destruction through southern Bragal, so making a barren desert separating Mazag from Kastania, isolating you.  This could be a precursor to a full attack on Bragal, making a Mazag intervention on your side impossible in the future.”

“Good gods – that is a possibility.  Yes, Ambassador, you could be right.  It could be also a feint, directing our attention there while a sneaky secondary attack comes in elsewhere.”

“We do not have any indication of any other Venn army close to our borders, sire,” Landec commented.  “The size of this Venn army is larger than the one that came to Zofela before, and is very big for a feint.  I would say it’s likely to be an invasion force.”

Astiras scowled.  “I’m tired of being in this position; we need to expand the army.”

Pepil stirred.  “Sire, can the treasury support that?”

Astiras jutted his jaw out belligerently.  “It will; I’ve finished with sucking up to the money counters and shopkeepers.  Time we built up the army.  If nothing else it’ll give those leg-wetting Talian afterbirths something to think about, and it’ll give us more opportunity to strike into their territories.  All we’re doing at the moment is hiding behind our walls hoping nothing nasty will come our way, and we have to lean for support on our allies.  Mazag may not be able to come to our help next time this happens, so I want a bigger army here!”

“Then you had best discuss that with the taxman and the treasury, sire.”

“I will, once this Council is done.  Now,” he turned back to his officers.  “I want patrols sent out in force all over the countryside.  Alert as many villages as you can, south, north and west.  I want that damned invading army shadowed and reports sent back daily.  How many they number, their disposition, who is leading it if possible, how much they travel a day and so on.  I want details, gentlemen, details!  Any questions?”

The officers either shook their heads or said nothing.  Astiras grunted.  “Very well.  Have all units trained up here, I want all slackness eliminated, bad habits discarded.  They’ve been lazing about all winter – now is the time to shake them up.  Shake them hard!  Dismissed.”

Astiras climbed the staircase, wincing at the aching in his thighs.  Another sign of his advancing years.  He fretted at that; he was getting too old too fast.  His work was not done, and he felt time was running out for him.  In a bad mood he entered Isbel’s day room.  “I want Frendicus to give me the treasury figures – now.”

“A little politeness wouldn’t go astray, Astiras.”

“Damn you, Isbel, stop – fighting me!  I’m not in the mood.”

“You never are these days.  I don’t know what’s got into you but it’s nothing good.”

“If you don’t like it then retire and let me rule in peace!”

“You’ll never get that.  Besides, who will do your paperwork behind you while you play soldiers?  Who will sooth the ruffled egos of the other Houses that you keep on upsetting?  One of these days you’re going to upset one person too many and everything we have worked at these past ten years will come crashing down about our ears.  I wish you’d tell me what it is that is on your mind.  You’re like a
kroll
with a headache all the time.”

“Oh stop nagging me, woman.  I haven’t got the time.  I need that information now.”

Isbel sighed and nodded to one of the clerks.  “Go fetch Frendicus please.  Tell him the emperor is anxious for the treasury report.”

The clerk left with alacrity.  Isbel turned to the other.  “You may as well go to lunch; I’ll deal with the issuing of the letters.”

Astiras said nothing until the door shut.  “I have the feeling you have schemed to have us two alone.”

“Yes.”  Isbel stood up.  “I will not retire, as you put it.  I shall remain at your side – reluctantly – because of Argan and Istan.  My two sons deserve at least a chance of becoming decent generals in our administration.  I have little doubt that you’d overlook both in favour of Jorqel or Elas should I no longer be here, and they are my sons.  As their mother I am looking after their best interests.”

“Then stop fighting me and obey my commands.”

“There you go again; obey.  Obey, obey, obey.  You make me feel like some servant.  I am second in this empire, not some kitchen scullery maid, so start treating me with the respect I deserve.  If you really think Pepil was right with his accusations then go ahead and arrest Vosgaris and banish me, otherwise you’re speaking out of your expanding behind and are just bullying me without any justification.  Personally speaking I’d arrest Pepil for spreading sedition, but clearly he’s your favourite at the moment and fireproof.”

Astiras fumed.  “After those seasons of you treating me like you did….”

“Oh, Astiras!” Isbel slapped the tabletop.  “Stop behaving like you’re five years old.  Spite and petty revenge does not become the emperor of Kastania!  I have every justification in my outrage, because it did happen.  The difference is Pepil’s little list was just speculation, rumour and groundless tittle-tattle.  Little sniggerings in corners of rooms.  He’s not capable of anything else, that
kivok
.”

“It’s for the good of the House that I’ve sent him away; if I keep you two apart then there’ll be no more rumours, can’t you see that?”

Isbel stood close to her husband.  “I do see that, unfair though it is.  But your treatment of me is not justified.  In all that time that Pepil listed, Vosgaris and I never did anything untoward.  Oh, yes, I comforted him, as he was mourning his wife’s death, killed, I may add, because of him following your orders.  Do you know how outraged the Taboz family will be once they find out?  They are our staunchest supporters, and now you’ve put a spear in the wheel with them!  I’m fed up with clearing up your mess; I’m more like your mother these days than a wife, and I do not like it one bit.”

“Then go or shut up.”

“I’ve already told you, and you’re now starting to sound like one of those mimic avians, saying the same thing over and over.  Gods – you’re becoming so utterly boring!  Go have your war, I know what’s upsetting you,” she said suddenly, the clouds parting in her mind.  “You want this war, you want to be fighting it, not the Mazag.  You’re humiliated that we cannot fight our own wars.”

“Bah, you’re just guessing, Isbel.”

“A good guess I’m willing to bet, too.  You’re itching to get into battle.  That’s what’s frustrating you, that and your silly getting even with me behaviour.”

“Isbel, I don’t want to argue – “

“You were prepared to argue when it suited you, Astiras.  I think you’ve lost sight of what’s important.  Your family is, and you’re turning on them.  You haven’t sent a reply to any of Amne’s letters.  I have had to, and she’s due to arrive here in a few days.”

“What?  In the middle of a war?  How stupid!  What is she thinking of?  What does that idiot of a husband of hers think he’s doing letting her roam about the countryside at a time like this?” Astiras raged, waving his arms about.

“Oh calm down, for Kastan’s sake.  She set off before this all boiled up.  You clearly haven’t read any of her letters.  I don’t even think you’re aware your two granddaughters are with her, do you?”

“What?” Astiras’ eyes bulged.  Then he looked guilty for a fleeting moment before blustering and waving his arms some more.  “Oh, yes of course I did, it slipped my mind what with all this going on.  How ridiculous; she’s entering a war zone with a Venn army on the rampage and war scouts riding far and wide.  She could well jeopardise her life and those of the girls.  Tell her to turn back and return to Kastan City.  Damned daughter, she’s always doing something to upset me.”

“Astiras, I shall write to her as usual.  We’ve already prepared letters to all provinces.  Do you want to sign them?” she handed him a pile of papers.

“No – no, you take care of that.”

“And contacting the Mazag army?  They’ll need to be given the information as soon as possible.  I do have a messenger standing by – on your orders,” she added sweetly.

Astiras glared at her, then cleared his throat.  “Yes, yes, do that.”

“You’re lucky to have such an efficient administration, husband dear.  I would appreciate some show of thanks from you.”

Astiras grumbled.  “You’re doing a fine job Isbel; don’t push it.  I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment.  Stop that idiot daughter entering Bragal, and that’ll take a fair amount off it.”

“I doubt we can stop her, Astiras; if she’s already on her way I don’t think she’ll want to turn back.”

“Oh, damn it all to the pit of fire!  Let me send a letter to Olskan, telling him in no uncertain terms to keep her away from the Bragal road.  I’ll authorise him to arrest her if necessary!”

“She wants you to see the girls, Astiras, that was the tone of her letters.  You’ve not seen any of your grandchildren.”

“And is that my fault?  I’m trying to keep this empire together and my family seems to think it’s not important!  Gah – family.”  He turned as the door opened and Frendicus entered, bowing low.  He presented the emperor with a sheet which Astiras snatched and glared at.  “How accurate is this?”

“As accurate as I can possibly ascertain, your majesty.”  Frendicus glanced at Isbel who smiled behind Astiras’ back and nodded in reassurance.

Astiras’ eyes roamed over the figures.  “Treasury 22,000 in the black.  That’s excellent, Frendicus.  More like it.  Another 3,000 increase on last half-year’s figure.  Plenty of building works ongoing but most paid for already, I see.  What’re the new projects?”

Frendicus bowed and indicated Isbel.  “Sire, the empress has those.”

Isbel was already speaking as Astiras whirled round, not giving him time to dominate the conversation.  She was damned if he was going to belittle her efforts.  “A temple in Kornith, Vazil sent a successful plea in order to keep morale in Pelponia up.  They are very devout there and the building of one will please them no end.”