House of Lust (49 page)

“He’s too busy thinking over everything to pick on any one issue, but I expect he’ll come to regret his appalling treatment of the good Commander.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Vosgaris received some – ah – recompense from your father.”  They stopped by the administration office door.  “But do write when it’s close to your time.  I will come and see the child, and your father will just have to do without me for a while.  Just don’t have it when the snows are at their deepest.”

“I’ll have a word,” Amne patted her visible bulge, “but if he or she is like me, it may well fall on deaf ears.”

“Of that I have little doubt,” Isbel chuckled.  She looked at the two girls.  “Now, shall we see if the cooks have come up with anything tasty in the kitchen?”

“Oh yes!” Kola sang out.  Stana echoed her sentiment.

“You spoil them, mother!”

“Grandmother’s privilege,” Isbel said.  “I spoiled you, too.”

“Yes I remember, and I was so grateful wasn’t I?” Amne said, scolding herself.

“We’ve put that all behind us, Amne, so don’t go beating yourself up over it.”

Amne smiled and kissed Isbel.  “So why aren’t I getting a treat?  I’m eating for two now, remember.”

Laughing, they made their way down the stairs to the kitchen.

The autumn Council session was a heated affair.  The illness of Astiras had galvanised some of the other noble Houses into hasty alliances, each promising the other certain advantages should they take power.  All that achieved was a raft of new rifts as each House became aware of the others’ ambitions and the extent to which each would go to achieve what they wanted, mostly at the expense of their so-called allies.

Arguments raged back and forth, nobles stood across the table from one another pointing accusingly at each other, shouting and denying, as the case may be.  Astiras sat with a vague amused expression, his forefinger along his lips, idly observing the chaos before him.

To either side were Isbel and Jorqel.  Jorqel had been summoned by Astiras to help him in what had promised to be a difficult session, and the prince had readily agreed.  Partly to show solidarity, and partly because he felt it was time he saw his father and step-mother again, especially after the shocking news about his health.

He had come via Kastan City and had visited Amne who had safely returned there and was being attended to by Elas, in his own way.  Jorqel had arrived in Zofela, his first visit there as an adult, two days previously, and had breezed into the evening chamber the emperor and empress had created, utilising one of the spare rooms.  It had resulted in a shuffle and the carpenters had been hard at work but everything was fixed by the time the council members had arrived.

Jorqel had thrown his riding gear down on the floor and made his submission to both as custom dictated, then had collapsed into a spare chair.  Astiras and Isbel were sat in comfortable and nicely upholstered chairs, next to a large fireplace.  The evenings were becoming chilly and it was blazing nicely away.  The bed chambers of each were to either side of this chamber, and they had become accustomed to spending more time together in this room before turning in for the night.  They generally took turns in which bed chamber they spent the night.  Isbel was relieved that Astiras had returned to his old self.  The nasty vicious alter ego was gone, or rather, hidden away again.  He was still hard and decisive, but at least he deferred to her now which made things so much more bearable.

“Father, mother,” Jorqel had said, a sigh of relief escaping him as he had sunk into the chair.  “Oh that’s better – days on end in the saddle becomes torture.”

He had been given a drink and had sipped it appreciatively.  “That’s better,” he had finally declared.  “Good to see you, and that you’re your old self, too, father.  Have all the plotters been uncovered?”

Isbel had flicked her fingers in a gesture of uncertainty.  “We don’t know, but since the death of the kitchen servant, nothing more has happened.  It’s all gone quiet.  Someone must have put the potion into the drinks, because we all drank from the same bottle.  Someone close.  Nobody we can discover, however.  It must have been the same person that delivered the letter to me.”

“Wasn’t that supposed to have been Istan?” Jorqel had said, “at least that’s what you indicated in one of your letters.  I can’t believe it would be him.”

“We have no proof it was him, only the accusation of the late major domo Pepil, and he could have been doing so to try one last time to break our family up.  He was in the pay of the Mirrodan, by the way.  We have found that much out.”

“How?” Jorqel had asked his father.

Isbel had responded.  “Turslenka.  Argan is there and he’s become involved in some investigation into yet another possible revolt.  Some commoner called Slavis is rallying disaffected people to his standard and has promised to march on the city within a year to take over.”

“Oh not again!”

Astiras had chuckled.  “Worry not, we have Olskan there to keep an eye on things, and Argan is enthusiastically delving into the search for him, overturning all possible hiding holes in the city.  During this, he came across the old Mirrodan Guild Hall and amongst the documents found there was one listing payments to Zofela, and it was a case of simply checking the banking house here.  Pepil deposited three large payments around the same time.  He spent most of it but it was way beyond his retention salary.  Greedy little man was preparing for his retirement.  I suppose he realised he had only a few years left and needed the security of more wealth after he would have left our service.”

“Well that best not happen again, father!” Jorqel had said seriously.  “Who is keeping a firm control on financial records?  Frendicus?”

“Yes, and we’ve got a more efficient group of clerks now.  I’ve created an auditors’ section and they spend their time making sure everything is in order.  It’s not popular but I have little choice.” 

They had spent some time on discussing various matters, and now while he sat next to Astiras at the Council meeting, Jorqel was as well appraised of the overall situation as he could possibly be.  He looked at his father for permission to intercede but Astiras shook his head slightly.  The emperor was listening in on the accusations and the protestations, garnering free intelligence on the various Houses.  Such information would normally not have been so easy to get, and would have cost lots of money in bribes and fees.  He looked sideways at Isbel.

The empress was not enjoying the uproar.  She much preferred a civilised talk.  However, Astiras was hosting the session therefore it was his decision as to when to bring the shouting to a halt.  She looked to her left.  Three places down was Vosgaris.  He was here representing the House of Taboz, because his father was trapped over in Venn.  Since the war had resumed, Venn had closed all borders and all merchants in Venn territory could not leave.  In fact no word had come and one could only assume he was now a prisoner.  Vosgaris was clearly worried but had to do his duty.  He’d written to Astiras for permission to travel, given the earlier warning from the emperor, and he’d been given a complete and full pardon.

Isbel had been especially delighted, and her correspondence with the Commander of Bathenia – as he was being described now – had shown he was actually enjoying his duty in Niake.  He still exchanged coded letters with the empress, and had expressed his regrets at what had transpired, but he understood the situation and would remain her loyal subject.  Isbel noticed he had not mentioned the emperor at all.  Vosgaris was still furious at his treatment, clearly, no matter that Astiras had been drugged.

He had admitted to her that being posted to Niake had been the best thing for him for a long time.  The ghost of Alenna haunted him still, and Zofela only served to reinforce it.  Hence he was reluctant to attend the Council session, but duty was duty and Vosgaris was dutiful, if nothing else.

Now he sat there silently, waiting for order to be restored.  One of the other nobles, Grasim Klimets, leaned over the table and addressed him.  “And what of the Taboz?  Will you honour your father’s promises to stand by our side in this matter?”

“What matter?” Vosgaris said heavily.  Dealing with Governor Extonos was one thing; the man was an idiot and could easily be threatened into compliance.  These people were another matter altogether.  “I am not aware of any standing agreement.  Father is trapped in Kral, or Riliyan, and I do not know when I’ll see him again.”

“You will vote in our favour on any issue here that we support.  It was agreed.”

“Not by me, Lord Klimets.”

“You have an obligation to uphold the wishes of your father.”

“Not if it goes against my instincts.  I represent the House of Taboz and I declare that any past agreements are null and void.  You will have to deal with me, unless of course you can contact my father.”

“Damn you, you turncoat!  Don’t expect to get any favours from us!”

“The thought pleases me greatly, Klimets.”

The aged Lord furiously slammed his hand onto the tabletop.  “You’re nothing more than a temporary head; once your father gets back I shall make it clear just how disrespectful you are.  With any luck you will be disinherited.”

“Not a likely contingency, Klimets.  I am the only son.”

“There are other branches – your uncle’s, for example.  We could influence the succession.  You may well find yourself out of an inheritance.”

Vosgaris shrugged.  “Whatever will be will be.  I command nine hundred men, all well-trained.  How many do you have access to?  Twenty?  Thirty?  Be careful with your insults or I might lay waste to your estates.”

Lord Klimets paled and sat down.  Vosgaris remained in his slumped position but gave the older man the benefit of an unfriendly look.  “I’m tired of being treated like some child, or disregarded.  I have got full imperial confidence,” he flicked a finger at the Koros sat at the end of the table, “to run Bathenia the way I see it should, and it is my men who keep you and your family safe and sound at night.  So don’t go talking to me of alliances and agreements.  The only agreement I have is with the emperor and empress here, and they are the only ones I will give deference to, certainly not you, or any of these squabbling infants here.”

Isbel caught Vosgaris’ eye and nodded in approval.  The Commander put a finger to his forehead in a minor salute, then winked.  Isbel kept a straight face but felt a warm glow spread through her.  Astiras leaned over to her.  “The Commander appears to have forgiven me for his ill-treatment.  We can count on his support, yes?”

“Yes, dear,” Isbel said.  But only if I say so – he would turn on you in an instant if I asked him to.  She looked down the table to where the old Lord Pelgion sat, arguing with a neighbour.  “The Pelgion family are firmly ours, as are the Varaz.  The Bosua too,” she indicated a swarthy, middle-aged man with dark hair jabbing the top of the table in emphasis.  “And thanks to the greedy opportunism of some of the other Houses, we’ve got a few more supporters than we had earlier this year.  Your illness appears to have benefitted us.”

Astiras grunted.  “Don’t ask me to keep on doing that – I have no wish to be controlled by some magic-wielder.”

“Don’t worry dear, I hated you when you were under her influence.  You don’t recall our arguments, but I do, and I don’t want that to happen again.”

Astiras sighed and straightened.  He disliked being reminded of something he couldn’t recall.  “And of course the Nicate,” he spotted Sannia’s father shaking his head in the face of a passionate outburst by Lord Kanzet, clearly trying to sway the man’s loyalty.  “Alright, time to calm things down.”

He sighed and stood up.  “Gentlemen, my Lords, can I please have order?”

A few listened and sat down but much of the disputing went on.  Astiras slammed his hand down three times on the table.  “Enough!  You’ve had plenty of opportunity to speak to one another, now it’s time we conducted our Council session in an orderly manner.”

Gradually the hubbub subsided and the delegates slowly sank into their chairs, but there were a lot of displeased people there, judging by their expressions.  Isbel was interested to see the body language of some; former friends and allies were now almost sitting with their backs to one another. 

Astiras stood.  “Lords, fellow nobles, friends.  Welcome to the second Council session of the tenth year of my reign.  You will know, of course, my eldest son, Jorqel,” he indicated the serious looking prince, “and my wife, the Empress Isbel.  Now, please do not be concerned as to my health; I am, as you can see, fully recovered and back to normal.  The plot to reduce me to an incapacity has failed, and those responsible have been caught and punished.”

Isbel resisted the urge to look at her husband; there was still at least one involved who had not been caught.

Astiras looked across the faces.  “This period of incapacity was well handled by the Empress here, and in any event Prince Jorqel here was ready to step into my shoes, so to speak, should I have been found incurable.”  He leaned forward.  “So you can imagine my dismay when I learned of the behaviour of some of my esteemed guests here today.  Forming hasty alliances against Jorqel and my wife.”  He wagged a finger at them.  “Shame on you.  I thought it was made clear that my successor was secured?  This was done, may I remind you, with the full agreement of the Council at the time it was first held after my accession?”

“Sire, not all agreed to this, if you recall,” Lord Kanzet spoke up.

“Ah yes, the unholy alliance of the Fokis, Duras and Kanzet.  I remember it well.  How did it end?  Lord Duras slain as a traitor, you, Lord Kanzet, gave up any claim to the throne.”

“So you keep on reminding me at every opportunity, Koros,” Lord Kanzet snapped.  “Be aware that no matter how many of the Houses here agree to whatever you wish, there will always be those who will not accept an unbroken line of Koros emperors.”

“I am aware of that, Kanzet.  Any family wishing to gain a stake in becoming emperor will have to marry into our line.  The Pelgion and Nicate families have already taken that step, and the Varaz are scheduled to do so when my son Prince Argan is old enough.  We need a secure and stable line of succession, one not prone to civil war or strife.”

“In time past we all had an equal chance to have a vote for an emperor,” Lord Anglis objected.  “I do not agree to be frozen out like this just because there are not enough children to be sold off at a marriage auction!”

Voices broke out along the table.  Astiras rapped his knuckles on the wooden surface.  “Alright, Anglis, calm down.  As you know Jorqel here has four children, and Amne two with a third well on the way.  In ten years there’ll be plenty to interest even the Anglis.”