Prince of Wrath Read online

  Argan held the cloth to his face with one hand, and with his other rubbed the ache on the side of his face where Fantor-Face had smacked him. He felt like crying, but he would not in front of the horrible Istan. At least he’d saved his meat. Once the pain had gone and the blood stopped, he would continue eating.

  The others at the table had stopped, watching as Isbel dressed the scowling Istan down in front of them all. Argan looked at the people who were waiting for the Empress to re-seat herself. Next to Argan, on the other side from his mother, was his half-sister Amne. Amne was soon to be married and was the second child of Emperor Astiras, Argan’s father. Amne was blonde, blue-eyed and thought by many to be very beautiful. Argan didn’t know what made a woman beautiful, but if most said so, then she must be. What he did know was that Amne was wonderful, standing up for him and being secretly naughty with him, like sneaking into the Map-Room or sending letters to their father stopping the Empress dismissing Argan’s best friend Kerrin and his father, Panat, from the palace for what the Empress saw as Kerrin’s fault for the falling accident.

  Then there was the fat tutor, Mr Sen, who knew lots of things. Mr Sen was fond of his food, Argan had decided, and was peering over his face-spectacles at the scene with disapproval. Argan often got that from Mr Sen if he got a lesson wrong. Mr Sen was teaching Argan lots of things, like languages and mathematics or even how to fight a battle. Argan liked those lessons the best because then they would use the war figures Argan had.

  Sat next to Mr Sen was Vosgaris. Vosgaris was Argan’s friend, too. He was the Captain of the Palace Guard, and Argan felt sorry for him, because he always seemed to be in his mother’s bad books. Mother often spoke crossly to him and Vosgaris seemed to go red in the face whenever he met his mother. He went a little red when Amne spoke to him, too, but Amne never seemed to be cross with Vosgaris.

  Then there were the others at the end of the table. Lalaas, the hunter, who was Amne’s guard. Lalaas had told Argan all about how to hunt and spot the different animal tracks since he’d come to the palace. Argan liked Lalaas but he wasn’t as friendly as Vosgaris, although Amne seemed to like him lots.

  Then there was Istan’s tutor, Gallis. Gallis used to be a priest, or so his mother had told him, but had lost the gods. That was silly, Argan reasoned. How could you lose the gods when they were everywhere? He would just have to look that bit harder. Maybe his eyesight was getting bad. He supposed one day he’s have to wear face-spectacles like Mr Sen. Gallis was beginning to get to his feet. He had dealt with the bad-tempered Istan for a little while now, making him behave.

  Isbel waved Gallis back to his seat, then ordered Istan to sit back down with the warning that if he tried another bad thing like stealing food he would be sent to his room. Istan threw himself into his seat and sulked. He decided that Argan was always being favoured by mother. He didn’t know why, since Argan was a softie. Princes should be strong. Argan would never be a good prince. His father was Emperor and he was going to be, too.

  Isbel looked at the assembled diners. “I’m sorry about that. Please continue.” She then returned her attention to the silently seated Argan, quietly waiting for her to resume her ministrations. The nose was still bleeding but the flow had slowed to a trickle. The cloth was more red than white now, and she clucked her tongue in dismay. “Oh, Argan,” she said softly, “what are we going to do about your nose?”

  Argan smiled at her, his face smeared with blood. Isbel’s heart jumped. He had such an engaging smile. One day some woman would fall head over heels in love with that grin. Perhaps it would be young Velka Varaz, the daughter of the noble family who had been introduced to him a short while back? She would have to write to them requesting another meeting. The first hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped, but that was down to Argan getting Velka filthy in the garden. The next time it would be in summer and in a place that would not happen again.

  “Why does it bleed, mother?” he asked, his voice distorted through the cloth.

  “I don’t know, Argan, but we’ll have to find out. The apothecary needs to know its happened again.”

  Argan nodded. Isbel was concerned. Ever since that fall Argan had been subdued. The broken leg had affected him getting about of course, but the headaches and bleeding were more of a concern. The leg was healing, the bleeding was not.

  Amne placed her cutlery in the centre of her plate and leaned over, taking hold of the almost useless cloth. “Alright, mother, I’ve got him now. You eat your supper. I’ve finished.”

  Isbel was about to object, but Amne’s eyes held her for the moment. She was genuinely concerned for her younger half-brother. Isbel knew the two got on famously together, and to some degree she disliked that; both for the fact they encouraged each other’s mischievousness, and also out of jealousy. Isbel and Amne didn’t see eye to eye on many things and it had been the cause of recent antagonism between them, and why Argan seemed to prefer the company of Amne, who was not the best role model, escaped her. “Thank you,” she said and allowed her step-daughter to take over the care of the young boy.

  As she glanced across the table she saw Vosgaris’ eyes fixed on Amne’s open tunic top. She cleared her throat and caught his eye. The stern look of disapproval caused the captain to turn red and he bent to examine his plate instead of Amne’s cleavage. The others were busy eating, except Lalaas who rolled his eyes and tried to send a placatory look to the Empress, but Isbel wasn’t in the mood to be mollified. Her look was enough to make Lalaas find his meal more interesting.

  Amne called for a glass of water and a servant brought one. Amne dunked a new cloth in it and began to clean the mess up. Argan smiled at her, his eyes bright. Amne smiled back. She hoped that when she had a child after her marriage, that he or she would be like Argan. She certainly hoped it would not inherit her husband-to-be’s humourless traits. By the gods, she’d teach the child to have some spark. Elas Pelgion may be well thought of as a future governor or general, but as a marriage partner he was not what she would wish for. Still, there were some advantages, and she would fight hard to make sure they came about.

  “Now, Argan, that’s better. No getting excited, you promise?” she asked, leaning over him, displaying more cleavage. Vosgaris’ head bent even lower a few seats away.

  Lalaas thought he was going to eat directly off the plate if he carried on like this. There was only one thing to do about his new friend. It may not be the best thing to do, but by the gods the captain needed help. They had begun as rivals, but Lalaas had quickly realised that befriending the palace guard commander would be the best thing for him, since he had none here in the palace.

  Amne returned to her seat, looking at Lalaas for a moment. The former hunter returned her look blandly. Amne smiled briefly before accepting her dessert from a hovering servant. She wasn’t oblivious to the way men looked at her, and to be honest she enjoyed the attention – the mischievous side of her made it appealing. Ever since returning from the diplomatic mission to neighbouring Mazag she’d realised that she was desirable to men, and would use that to her advantage. She was a princess and that made her untouchable to all but one, the betrothed Elas Pelgion, so she felt safe in flaunting her femininity. That was the cause of the friction between the Empress and her, but Amne thought she could handle her. So far she had.

  As the diners broke up, Lalaas waited for Vosgaris. Vosgaris was also Argan’s guardian, while Lalaas escorted Amne. Before their respective charges reached them, Lalaas leaned close to the captain. “When we’re off-duty, I want to have a talk in the canteen.”

  Vosgaris looked surprised, then nodded. Argan would soon be sent to bed and then he could relax. Lalaas wouldn’t be that much longer, since Amne generally had time alone in her chambers after supper.

  So it was a short while later that Lalaas wandered into the dining area of the barracks attached to the rear of the palace. Vosgaris was already enjoying a cool ale and indicated a spare chair for the princess’s bodyguard. Other soldiers were relax
ing having a drink or eating their evening meals. Vosgaris sat away from them, at one end which was reserved for the officers. The men did not mix with their superiors.

  Lalaas waved to the barkeep before sitting down wearily. Part of his temporary duties now included teaching Argan the finer points of swordplay, while his normal martial tutor, Panat Afos, was suspended awaiting the Emperor’s reply to Amne’s letter. Amne had pointed out to Argan that Panat had been appointed by the Emperor, not the Empress, and therefore their mother could not dismiss the man and his son without the agreement of their father. Isbel had flown into a rage at her perceived undermining of her authority by Amne, but Panat and Kerrin were still in the palace, albeit almost under a state of house arrest. Argan and Kerrin had not been allowed to see one another since the accident.

  “Tiring day,” Vosgaris commented, regarding his friend.

  “Boring, more like,” Lalaas replied. “This palace posting is driving me mad. I’m a hunter, a scout. I work best outdoors, not stuck in here minding my manners and bowing to whoever may suddenly pop along from out of nowhere.”

  Vosgaris nodded. “I gave up my post as militia commander to be here. Sometimes I wonder whether it’s been the right move. Better pay, yes, but I’m walking on eggshells, especially around the Empress. She’s very touchy of late.”

  “She’s not getting on with Amne,” Lalaas commented, then fell silent as the barkeep brought his ale on a wooden tray. Lalaas thanked him and took a mouthful of the cool liquid. “Ah! That’s better! The ale’s better here, too, don’t you think? Better than the equine urine they dish up elsewhere.”

  Vosgaris grinned, then became thoughtful. “What do you think will come of this atmosphere between the Empress and the Princess? I don’t know how to sort it out.”

  “It’s not your place to do so. Keep your nose out of it. You’re in charge of security. What worries me more is poor Argan’s bleeding. Every time it happens he seems less well, haven’t you noticed? It gets his mother all of a fluster too, and reminds her of who she sees as being responsible. Ah, what a mess!”

  The palace guard captain had to agree. “He’s just about the best of the lot of them, young Argan. Istan’s a poisonous piece of work. Whoever ends up in charge of his martial training is going to have a tough task, isn’t he?”

  “Hmmm. As long as it isn’t me. Someone told me it’s your birthday coming up, Vosgaris old fellow. The next sevenday, isn’t it? How many is that now? Twenty-four?”

  “Twenty-five. My family has invited me back to the estate to celebrate.” Vosgaris looked a little gloomy. “I have a feeling mother is going to try to push that awful girl from the next estate on me. She mentions her every time she writes.”

  “Isn’t she worth marrying?”

  Vosgaris pulled a face. “Ugh! It’s not that she’s ugly or anything – she’s actually a reasonably good looking woman – but she has a really irritating laugh and is as wet as a Pelponian autumn.”

  “Oh,” Lalaas looked in sympathy at his friend. “So you’re not enthusiastic, then. Well, old boy, as long as you’re single and unattached you’re going to get that sort of thing, and you’re at the age when you nobles tend to get hitched. Continue the family name and all that.”

  Vosgaris looked as if he was going to be sick. “Not to Fulime Kashan, that’s for sure!”

  “Fulime? That’s her name? Ah, old boy, you’ll need to avoid your home then in that case. I can only see you being pressured into marrying the fair Fulime. What you need is to have a birthday celebration to enjoy, not to endure. I’ll arrange something, don’t you worry.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t want a wild party or anything of that sort!” Vosgaris waved his hands in near panic. “Besides, I doubt the Koros would be pleased at the thought of a wild drunken spree in their palace, do you?”

  Lalaas laughed. “No. The Empress would certainly throw a fit; not the sort of woman whose wrath you’d like to be the target of. Now, Amne, she would be a different story.”

  Vosgaris looked at Lalaas with wide eyes, his cheeks staining red. “Damn it, Lalaas, she’s off-limits!”

  “Amne wouldn’t care about that. Imagine her at your party, giving you the birthday boy attention? Especially after she’s loaded up with ale?”

  “Ohhh, shut up, Lalaas! That’s unfair!” Vosgaris looked distraught.

  “Got it bad, haven’t you, old boy?”

  Vosgaris nodded, then looked at Lalaas. “So how in Kastan do you do it? I mean, you show absolutely no – uhhh, what’s the word?”

  “Affection?”

  “Yes! Affection, to her? You go into her room. You must have seen….. more of her!”

  Lalaas felt sympathy for his friend. Vosgaris was trembling. He had it really bad. The man was sweating, sitting in his chair.

  “Oh, we’ve got an understanding,” Lalaas said. “What we went through together has formed a sort of friendship that goes way beyond anything physical. Not many would understand, least of all the Empress. She thinks Amne and I are – intimate.”

  “So do most of the guys here,” Vosgaris said softly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, and they think you’re angling to bed the Empress.”

  Vosgaris groaned and put his hands in his head. “How common is this knowledge?”

  “Oh, nobody says it out loud, but it’s been muttered behind closed doors. You’re not discreet you know, you’re like a love-struck adolescent when she’s around. Not just her, either. You nearly swallowed your tongue this evening eyeing Amne’s chest.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Vosgaris whispered, leaning towards Lalaas. “They were nearly….well, popping out!”

  “Oh yes, she’s admirably equipped and knows it too, the naughty girl. She loves teasing you, you know that? Got you well and truly worked up.”

  Vosgaris groaned. “I can’t help it, Lalaas! I can’t sleep at nights, I’m full of thoughts about both of them! What am I to do?”

  “Become a eunuch. There’s a specialist in Kastan City, so I’m told.”

  “Oh, thanks! You’re a great help. Cutting my balls off isn’t what I had in mind!”

  Lalaas grinned. “I’ll think of something, worry not. In the meantime, I’ll plan a nice quiet birthday celebration for you in your quarters, alright? Just a couple of us. Nothing more.”

  Vosgaris nodded, hoping that the quiet celebration would be enough to take his mind of both the women here in the palace and his mother’s intentions to trap him into a marriage he didn’t want. He wasn’t looking forward to his birthday.

  ____

  Argan smiled up at his mother. She had tucked him into his bed and was sitting next to him, on the bed itself. Argan liked it when either she or Amne did this. Occasionally one or the other did, and he wished it happened more often. He was feeling tired and a little headachey, but always after a nose bleed the head felt better – for a while. He knew he would sleep but he’d probably have the dream about falling which always made him wake up with a fright. On those occasions he held onto his rag toy Skidus, a cloth doll made to look like an equine. Since his accident his planned riding lessons had been postponed. That was something he didn’t like. He wanted to learn how to ride, and he sometimes talked to Skidus, asking if he minded if Argan rode him. Skidus never objected, of course.

  Isbel worried about the boy. He was looking quite pale these days. Damn that stupid ladder, and damn Kerrin. There was definitely something wrong inside Argan that the apothecary couldn’t cure. She hoped that whatever it was, it would clear up in time. “Now you’ll sleep safe and sound tonight, won’t you, Argan?” she asked, stroking his soft cheek.

  “Yes, mother,” he replied, looking up at her. In the half-light of the oil lamp to one side and above the bed, her face was partly in shadow. He studied how the darkness moved across her features when she moved or talked. It was fascinating. “Why does Istan act horrible to me?”

  Isbel sighed. She didn’t know quite how to respond to that dir
ect question from her son, mainly because she had no idea what went through the younger brother’s mind. “Istan’s still very young, Argan, and he doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do most of the time. You’ll see, once he gets a little older he’ll calm down.”

  “But I never behaved like that when I was younger, mother!”

  Isbel couldn’t argue with that point; Argan often said things that were incontrovertible. He had a very bright mind. “Don’t worry about him, now. I want you to rest and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow you’ll learn a bit more sword-skill and study more on the provinces of Kastania.”

  “I want to see Kerrin,” Argan said.

  “Now, you know that Kerrin is not allowed to see anyone at the moment. He’s still in disgrace from your fall, and you’re not to mention him, alright?”

  “Mother it’s not fair,” Argan said, squirming in protest. “Everyone else says he shouldn’t be kept in his room; why can’t you let him out? He didn’t do anything!”

  Isbel slid off the bed. “I’ve told you before that I’m not going to talk about it anymore, Argan, so please don’t keep on about it. My mind is made up and it’s not going to be changed, no matter how many times you go on.”

  “Aw, please, mother,” Argan felt tears welling up. It was really so unfair! “If he says sorry won’t you let him out? I miss playing with him!” He couldn’t keep the tears back any longer. He was tired, he wasn’t feeling well and Istan’s smack had unnerved him. It was all too much.

  Isbel turned the oil lamp down a notch, then moved towards the door.

  “Mummy!” Argan sobbed.

  Isbel’s heart broke. She turned and lay back on the bed and held the crying boy, her own tears running down her cheeks. Argan clutched onto her, his body shaking with sorrow, whimpering into her chest. “Shhh!” she almost blew the sound into his hair, kissing him softly.

  “Please,” he squeaked. “I promise never to go on the roof ever again. Please.”

  Isbel felt torn. She hated the impasse she had put herself in, and thought on how to resolve it without making herself look foolish. “I’ll speak to Kerrin and his father, Argan. Tomorrow. I promise, alright?”