Prince of the Blood (28 page)

James spoke aloud, “A grand display, isn’t it?”

Erland nodded. Nothing he had seen so far in the upper city of Kesh spoke of anything less than excess. In contrast with what they had seen in the lower city, it was even more overwhelming. In even the most minor detail, richness and opulence was the order of the day. Where something base could suffice, it was replaced by something noble: gold in place of common iron, gems in place of glass, silk where cotton would be expected. And after passing through more chambers and halls, he knew the same held true for the servants. If a man was needed, he not only must be fit and able, he had to be handsome. If a woman were to be seen walking through the halls, even by chance, then she must be lovely and young—already Erland was convinced he had seen as many truly beautiful women in this one day as he had his entire life before.
A few more days of this, thought Erland, and I’ll welcome the sight of a plain face.

Reaching a massive pair of doors, gold leafed over all, the officer who led them brought the metal butt of the staff down on the floor, announcing, “The Prince Erland, the Earl James, the Countess Gamina, and the Baron Locklear!”

The doors swung open wide, and through them Erland could see a vast hall, at least a hundred yards from where they stood to the opposite wall, and against that distant wall, a high dais rose, upon which sat a golden throne.

Out of the side of his mouth, Erland said, “You didn’t tell me it was a formal reception.”

James said, “It isn’t. This is a casual, intimate dinner.”

“I can hardly wait for formal court.” Taking a deep breath, Erland said, “Well, then, let us take a bite with Her Majesty.” Stepping forward, Prince Erland led his advisors into the hall of the Empress of Great Kesh.

Erland marched purposefully and directly down the center of the hall. The sound of bootheels cracking against the stone floor seemed alien—a loud and brash intrusion in this hall where the soft leather of sandals and slippers was the norm. Worse, no one in the hall now spoke; all eyes were upon the retinue from the Kingdom of the Isles. He focused his mind on the task at hand. As James had instructed, he had mourned Borric’s loss on the road, and while the hurt was still there, it was now a constant dull ache in the background of his daily existence rather than the searing hot pain it had been at first. He was Heir to the Throne of Isles and he must not for an instant forget his duty.

Upon the dais, before a golden throne, a pile of cushions had been placed. Lying upon this was an old woman. Erland tried to look directly at her, yet not stare, and found the task impossible. Here, reclining upon cushions
before the mightiest throne in the known world, was the single most powerful ruler in the known world. And she was a tiny, withered woman of unremarkable appearance. Her costume was similar to the customary short white kilt, though hers was long, reaching past the knees. Also her belt was studded with magnificent gems that caught the torchlight and sent sparkles dancing upon the walls and ceiling. She wore a loose vest of white fabric, clasped in front by a golden brooch set with a stunning pigeon’s-blood ruby. Upon her head rested a diadem of gold, set with sapphires and rubies equal to any the Prince had ever seen before. The ransom of a nation rested upon the body of this old woman.

Her dusky skin couldn’t hide the pallor of age. And her movements were those of a woman ten years more than her seventy-five, but it was her eyes that made Erland sense greatness, for they still had fire.

Dark eyes, with lights as brilliant as those in the sapphires and rubies upon her brow dancing in them, regarded the Prince as he walked along the aisle between the diners who shared the evening with the Empress. Around the base of the dais a dozen low tables had been placed in a semicircle, and around each round table, reclining upon cushions, were those whom the Empress deemed worthy of such honor.

Erland came to stand before the Empress and bowed his head, no more than he would do to his own uncle, the King. James, Gamina, and Locklear bent their knee, as they had been instructed by the protocol officer, waiting the signal to rise.

“How fares our young Prince of the Isles?”

The woman’s voice was lightning cutting through a languid summer’s afternoon, and Erland almost jumped at the tone of it. That simple question contained nuances and meanings beyond the young man’s ability to articulate. Overcoming an unexpected attack of panic, Erland
forced himself to answer as calmly as possible, “I am well, Your Majesty; my uncle, the King of the Isles, sends his wishes for your continued good health and well-being.”

With a chuckle, she answered, “As well he should, my prince. I am his best friend in this court, have no doubt.” She sighed, then said, “When this business of Jubilee is over with, return Kesh’s fondest wishes for the Isles’ continued well-being. We have much in common. Now, who is this with you?”

Erland made introductions, and when that was done, the Empress surprised them all by sitting up slightly and saying, “Countess, would you do me the courtesy of approaching.”

Gamina flashed a quick glance at James, then moved up the ten steps that put her before the Empress. “You of the North can be so fair, but I have never seen your like,” said the old woman. “You are not from the area near Stardock originally, are you?”

“No, Your Majesty,” answered Gamina. “I was born in the mountains north of Romney.”

The Empress nodded, as if the response explained everything. “Return to your husband, my dear. Your looks are lovely in their exotic fashion.”

As Gamina descended from the dais, the Empress said, “Your Highness, a table has been set aside for your party. You will do me the pleasure of dining with us.”

The Prince bowed again and said, “It is our honor, Your Majesty.”

When they were seated at the indicated table—the one closest to the Empress save one—another courtier appeared and announced, “Prince Awari, son of She Who Is Kesh!” The Prince who had met Erland that afternoon made his entrance from a side door that Erland assumed came from another, different wing of the palace than the one in which his party was housed.

“If I may advise His Highness,” came a voice from
Erland’s right, and he turned to find that Kafi Abu Harez had insinuated himself between the Prince and Earl James. “Her Majesty, may she prosper, considered your potential for discomfort at so many new things and instructed me to sit at your side and answer whatever questions you might have.”

And discover what it is we are curious about
, came Gamina’s thoughts.

Erland nodded slightly, and to Kafi it appeared he was merely considering this, but Gamina knew he was agreeing with her. Then the courtier cried, “The Princess Sharana!” Behind Awari came a young woman near Erland’s age from her appearance. Erland felt his breath catch in his throat at sight of the Empress’s granddaughter. In this palace of beautiful women, she was stunning. Her dress was in the fashion of all others he had seen, but like the Empress, she also wore the linen vest—and her allure was heightened by more of her being hidden from view. Her arms and face were the color of pale almonds, turned golden by the hot Keshian sun. Her hair was cut at the forehead and shoulders, square and without fashion, but she wore a long braid in back, interwoven with gems and gold.

Then the courtier shouted, “The Princess Sojiana,” and Locklear almost came out of his seat. If the Princess Sharana was loveliness in its first bloom, then her mother, Sojiana, was beauty at its height. A tall woman of athletic stature, she moved like a dancer, each step designed to show her body to maximum advantage. And an exceptional body it was, long-limbed, flat stomach, and ample breasts. She had the look of fullness without hint of fat, of softness over firm muscle. She wore only the white kilt, with a golden girdle rather than the white belt. Around her arms two golden serpents coiled and around her neck she wore a golden torque set with fire opals, all of which
set off her dusky skin. Her hair was the brown of wine-soaked wood, red as abundant as brown. And from a face as striking as her body, eyes of the most startling green regarded her mother.

“Gods,” said Locklear, “she is astonishing.” The desert man concurred. “The Princess is conceded among the most beautiful of the trueblood, m’lord Baron.” There was a guarded tone in his observation.

James looked at Kafi with an odd, questioning expression on his face, but the desert man seemed unwilling to speak. After enduring James’s stare a moment, he took note of Locklear’s rapt attention to the Princess as she came to stand before her mother, and at last said, “Lord Locklear, I feel the need to add a note of caution.” He glanced back at the Princess Sojiana as she reached the dais, and whispered, “She is the most dangerous woman in their court after the Empress. And that makes her the second most dangerous woman in this world.”

With a defiant grin, Locklear said, “I can well believe that. She is breathtaking. But I think I could rise to the challenge.”

Gamina gave him a dark look at the crude joke, but the desert man forced a smile. “She may give you the opportunity. It is said her tastes are … adventuresome.”

James didn’t miss Kafi’s true message, even if Locklear was too enamored of the woman to listen. James gave Kafi a slight nod of thanks for the warning.

Unlike Awari and Sharana, Sojiana did not simply bow before the Empress and retire to the table set aside for the Imperial family, but bowed and spoke. “Is my mother well?” she asked in a formal tone.

“I am well, my daughter. We rule another day in Kesh.”

The Princess bowed and said, “Then my prayers are answered.” She then moved to sit beside her brother and daughter, and the servants entered the hall.

Dishes of remarkable variety were presented one after the other, and Erland had to consider what to try every minute or two. Wines were brought forth, dry and sweet, red and white, the latter chilled by ice brought down from the peaks of the Guardian Mountains.

To the Keshian, Erland said, “Tell me, then, why were the Imperial family members last to enter?”

Kafi said, “In the strange way we in Kesh do things, those of the least importance enter first—the slaves and servants and minor court officials, who make all ready for the highborn. Then, She Who Is Kesh enters and takes her place upon her dais, then come the others of noble birth or special merit, again in the order of least to most important. You’re the only ranking noble in attendance besides the Imperial family, so you entered just before Prince Awari.”

Erland nodded, then found himself struck by an oddity. “That would mean his niece, Sharana, is—”

“Higher in rank in this court than the Prince,” finished Kafi, glancing about the room. “This is something of a family dispute, my Prince.”

And something he doesn’t wish to speak of here
, added Gamina. Erland gave her a glance and she said,
I’m not reading his thoughts, Highness. I would not do that with anyone who did not give me permission, but he’s … announcing it. I can’t explain it better, but he is straining to not speak about many things
.

Erland let it drop, and began asking questions about the court. Kafi answered in much the same way a bored history teacher might, save when questions could lead him into funny, embarrassing, or scandalous anecdotes. He was revealed to be something of a gossip.

James chose to let the others do most of the speaking while he sifted through the answers Kafi gave. While the meal continued, he pieced together hints and tantalizing bits of this and that and fitted them into the pattern of
what he already knew. Kesh was as complex as an anthill, and it was only the presence of this hill’s queen, the Empress, that maintained order. Factions, old national rivalries, and age-old feuds were facts of Keshian court life, and the Empress kept her Empire intact by playing off one faction against another.

James sipped a fine dry red wine and considered what part they were to play in this drama, for he knew as certain as he knew boots hurt his feet that their presence would be seized upon by someone to further his own political ends. The question would be who would try the seizing and what his motives would be.

Not to mention how such a person would attempt to employ Erland’s presence in court. It was clear that at least one faction in court wanted Erland dead and war between the Kingdom and the Empire. James glanced around the room, then tasted the dry red wine again. As he savored it, he considered that he was a stranger in a very strange land and he would quickly have to learn his way around. He let his gaze wander, studying faces here and there and found more than a half dozen faces studying him in turn.

He sighed. There would be time. He doubted there would be trouble the first night they were in the palace. For if he were in charge of murdering Erland, he would do so when there were more guests to throw off suspicion and the effect of the death would do more to ruin the Empress’s Jubilee. Unless, of course, he amended, it’s the Empress herself who wishes Erland dead.

He instantly dismissed the notion. If the Empress wanted Erland dead, she wouldn’t have sent a band of cutthroats in the desert; she’d have waited until they were someplace quiet and simply had a few hundred fanatic followers from one of her Imperial Legions waiting for them.

He picked up a delicately seasoned piece of melon off
his plate and ate it. Savoring the taste, he decided to let matters of state go for a few hours. But less than a minute later, he found his gaze wandering again about the room as he sought some clue, some hint of where the next attack might originate.

T
HE LOOKOUT POINTED
.

“Farafra!”

The Captain called to trim sails as they rounded the headlands and came into view of the Keshian seaport. A sailor at the rail turned to Borric and said, “Some fun tonight, eh, Madman?”

Borric smiled ruefully. From behind, the Captain said, “Get aloft and make ready to reef in sail!” The sailors jumped to obey. “Two points to port,” commanded the Captain, and Borric turned the large ship’s wheel to bring the ship to the indicated heading. Since joining the crew of
The Good Traveler
, he had earned the grudging respect of the Captain and crew. Some tasks he did well, while others he seemed to have no understanding of, but he learned quickly. His sense of the ship, and shifts in current and wind, learned while sailing small boats as a boy, had earned him the job of helmsman, one of three sailors the Captain allowed the task.