Prince of Wrath (33 page)

“No I’m not,” the dressmaker said softly. “I would not have dared make a dress that didn’t do you justice, my lady. I take great pride in making the best possible outfit for whoever hires my services. For you, look, the way the wormspun fabric flows over your hips into your waist, oh my goodness! It’s simply gorgeous! Every woman who sees it will positively turn green with envy!” She emphasised her words with over-elaborate waving of hands and an over-the-top facial accompaniment. “I’ve made sure the fabric is tucked in under your breasts so that it spreads up tightly over them, showing that you are a beautifully proportioned woman. Oh, it’s so magnificent!”

Amne ran her hands over the soft and smooth fabric. It was a delight to touch. “But it shows too much of my figure.”

“And is that a bad thing, my lady? You have an enviable figure. The gods have blessed you, truly they have! Why shouldn’t you show off to the whole of Kastan what you have? I have used certain fashion elements from the east. I’m told the ladies of Somor are all using the split down the legs from the knees for their weddings that I’ve put in here. And blue is so your colour too!” she beamed, throwing her arms wide.

Amne chewed on her lower lip, mollified by the dressmaker’s words. She examined the dress that ran from her breasts up to her collar. It was finished off by diamonds sewn into the edging, an expensive but nice touch. “Oh, it’ll have to do!” she finally breathed out heavily. “I hope nobody mentions how big my bottom looks in this; if they do there’ll be the heavens to pay!”

“My lady will have a wormspun train behind her,” the dressmaker said. “You have tried it on?”

“In here? There’s no space, silly! It’ll be fitted in the morning, so I’m told, at the same time my hair is being fixed. Oh! I’ll be glad when its all over, I can tell you!”

The dressmaker looked sadly at Amne. “Oh, ma’am, don’t say that! It’s your special day. You’ll look magnificent, mark my words.” She beamed again, interlocking her fingers nervously. “You’re happy with it then?”

“Yes, yes,” Amne said testily. “You may go now, thank you.”

The dressmaker curtseyed and backed out of the room. Amne sighed and then faced her two handmaidens. “Get me out of this thing. I’m tired of wearing it. I suppose I’ll have to go through the whole damned ceremony tomorrow. You two clear about how to hold my train?”

The two girls nodded. They’d been drilled mercilessly by the empress and were heartily sick of the whole thing. They were looking forward to the celebration, partly because of the spectacle that it would be, and partly because it would finally end the empress’s constant search for the perfect wedding. Everyone was tired of it all.

Amne puffed out her cheeks once she was divested of her dress and the girls had hung it up properly. She quickly donned her normal day clothes, a much more informal dress and low felt boots. This had lace on the lower sleeves and collar and was open at the neck to halfway down her chest. She liked wearing it for the looks she got from Vosgaris whenever she met him. She never passed up the opportunity to tease him with her physical charms. She quite enjoyed it, in fact.

She was late for the family get-together in the day room, and hurried out of her chamber. Lalaas was there, pacing up and down, and he hurriedly stepped alongside her. “All done?”

“Oh gosh, yes!” Amne said with feeling. Lalaas smiled. Amne felt another pang in her heart. Why couldn’t it be Lalaas she was marrying on the morrow? She would look forward to everything, dress fitting, making her way to the temple, the vows, and all if that were the case, instead of The Corpse, as she now often thought of Elas. Now, children with Lalaas – that would be so wonderful! She was certain he’d be a wonderful father, teaching them the outdoor ways and hunting and weapon handling. Useful skills. She hoped to the gods that her children with Elas – the thought made her shudder – wouldn’t inherit his traits. Wouldn’t that be awful? Stone-faced, humourless, over-serious, religious. Gods! She almost giggled at the unintended irony of her thoughts.

“Glad to be finished with the whole fitting thing then, Amne,” Lalaas said, happy Amne was smiling for once. She’d been very stressed these past few days and it had got quite fraught what with the empress’ mood and Elas seriously reminding everyone of the importance of the coming ceremony.

“You could say that. I’ll be so glad when its all over and mother can stop fussing over me like some manic fowl. Oh I tell you, Lalaas, I wish I was with you out in Bragal right now! It’s been horrid since getting back; Elas, mother, the ambush, and poor Argan lying up in his bed not able to get up and about. It’s so heartbreaking seeing him like that.”

Lalaas nodded seriously. “There’s little hope for him, then? I hear the rumours.”

Amne caught her breath, then, seeing a half-open door to the right, peered in and, seeing it empty, pulled a surprised Lalaas in with her. She slammed the door shut and threw her arms round his neck and buried her face in his chest. She finally let go and sobbed into his tunic, releasing all the pent-up frustrations, fears, annoyances, bitterness and anger. She sobbed for quite a long time and Lalaas just held her, breathing in the fragrance of her hair. He knew this was something he just had to allow happen; she would finish in her own time and until then it was best he did nothing but stand there for her. He was conscious of the spreading wetness on his tunic.

Finally she stopped and pulled away, although she still held onto his hands. Her face was blotchy and swollen and wet with her tears. Her eyes were red and she needed her sleeve cloth. She cleared out her nose and wiped her face dry. “Oh, what a silly thing I am, crying like that.”

“No, Amne, you’ve been very uptight these past few days, and I can’t blame you! I wouldn’t be in your place for anything. There’s no being silly about it.”

Amne smiled. “Oh, Lalaas – you always say the right things.” She went to say something else but Lalaas put a finger to her lips.

“Don’t say it Amne; I know what you’re going to say, but it’s best you don’t, mm? What if ears hear?”

She kissed his finger and pulled away with a huff. “Being married to The Corpse won’t change the way I feel about you.”

Lalaas grinned. “Just don’t mention me too much in front of your husband to be, or he may well get rid of me.”

“Huh! Let him try! He’ll wish he never even thought of doing such a thing if he even speaks of it! You’re going to be right behind me tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Too right,” Lalaas nodded. “In my best parade uniform.”

“Oh, it better not be too good or I might abscond with you and leave my darling husband-to-be at the dais!”

Lalaas guffawed. “And have the entire imperial guard chasing us all over Kastania? Not a good idea, Amne! And think of all the gossip, too!”

Amne smiled wryly. “No matter what I say you’ll not give in to temptation, will you?”

Lalaas shook his head. “I’ve told you before; you’re a princess and no amount of wishing will change that. You have to marry a nobleman. I cannot dishonour you, your family, the empire or myself. You are fantastically attractive, Amne, but I will not disgrace myself – and you – by making love to you. Anyway, you must be a virgin on your wedding night, is that not so?”

She sighed. “Ahhh Lalaas. You’re so noble and honourable. Maybe that’s why I find you so attractive. You must think I’m terrible, wanting you like this!”

The hunter smiled gently. “No. I love you too much to think that badly of you. Now you’d best get with your family; they’ll be wondering where you are!”

“Just watch out if in the future Elas and I part; you’ll be first on my list.” She wiggled her body and opened the door. Lalaas shook his head good-naturedly and followed her out, gently closing the door and following her down the corridor. The day room wasn’t far and two guards outside showed the room was still being used. Leaving her bodyguard outside Amne entered and sat in a chair that had been set aside for her.

She was surprised to see Vosgaris there, standing next to Astiras and Jorqel. The three seemed to be having a conference of some sort. Isbel gave her a cool look. “Everything sorted to your satisfaction, Amne?”

There was an edge to her voice. Amne was glad that she would be leaving shortly after the wedding. The atmosphere between the two of them was becoming decidedly wintry. It could only get worse. “No but it’ll have to do. No time left to change things, is there? What are those three talking about?”

“Security for your big day tomorrow. They want to make sure everything is perfect.”

Amne threw up a hand and then rested her head in it. “I’ll be thankful it’s all done and finished with by this time tomorrow! Where’s The Corpse?”

“Amne, I wish you would not call him that!”

Amne fixed her teeth in a grimace. “Where’s my darling husband-to-be?”

“He had to leave. He said he had some last minute affairs to settle with his family and of course, being the correct man he is, will spend the night at his family estate outside the city.”

“Shame,” Amne said off-handedly which brought another scowl of disapproval from Isbel. She caught Vosgaris’ eyes and winked at him. The captain reddened and pointedly looked at the emperor who was making some point, emphasising it by jabbing a finger into his other hand. Vosgaris nodded, saluted and strode towards the door. He flicked a look at Amne and Isbel and bowed stiffly. Amne, unseen by the empress, mouthed a brief kiss at him. Vosgaris’ eyes widened and he seemed to go even redder, then hurried out.

“Now that’s dealt with, we can have a nice family get-together,” Astiras said, going to his chair next to his wife and sat down, smiling at Amne. “Not long now, daughter. Excited?”

“Oh yes, father, I can’t wait,” she said with a sweet smile. Isbel’s face was a picture.

“Wonderful,” Astiras rubbed his hands together. “Nothing like a family wedding to bring people together! We need this, badly. People are beginning to get used to our reign and expect better things now. The honeymoon period is over. They want an end to the austerity, and end to the civil wars. They need cheering up. A damned good wedding is one way of doing that! And Jorqel here, hopefully,” he looked hard at his son, “will have one of his own later this year. I hear you’ve arranged to take the mounted archers here back over to Bathenia with you?”

Jorqel looked at his father cautiously. “How did you find that out, father? Yes, I only thought of that this morning after spotting them practicing. Elas spoke to me of their part in the rescue of sis here a short while back, so I thought I’d borrow them for my campaign.”

“Next time ask, son.” Astiras waggled a kindly finger at Jorqel. “We have a pecking order and I’m top of the pile.”

“Astiras,” Isbel said in a deep voice.

“Uh, in military matters,” he grinned, winking at his wife. Isbel huffed. “Cheer up dear, you can have a wonderful day tomorrow crying into your lace. Amne will be unforgettable.”

“She’s that alright,” Jorqel quipped. Amne punched him on the arm and poked her tongue at him. “Ouch. What you been doing to toughen that up? Wielding someone’s sword?”

“I wish,” Amne said in an undertone. “No, Jorq, a bit of riding, outdoor stuff, carrying round an assortment of wedding clothes. That’s enough to put muscles on anyone!”

“You two never change,” Astiras observed. “Very well, Jorqel, I agree to you taking the mounted archers. If it means ending this damned insurrection and rescuing your beloved, then by all means take them. Admiral Drakan has the space to take them. You going to sneak the lot on at night? It’d make a heck of a lot of noise!”

“No other option, father. I don’t want anyone seeing me leave. I tell you what; could you impound all vessels in the harbour for a day? It would mean there’s no chance of anyone getting a message across to the rebels in time.”

“Hmmm…. Yes I can’t see why not. A bit of a snap inspection, that sort of thing. I’ll go tell the harbour master after this chat.” He took hold of Isbel’s hand and smiled at her. She smiled back. “Then your mother and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Oh, you two!” Amne said. “At your age too!”

“Do you mind?” Isbel said, offended. “I’m not that old! You’re not the only one with feelings, Amne, remember that when you next open your mouth without thinking first.”

Amne pulled a face and looked away. Astiras cleared his throat. “I want to speak to you all about the condition of Argan. He’s not getting better, and is fading fast. Even the apothecary has admitted that there’s nothing he can do.”

“I know,” Amne looked at her father, distressed. “Isn’t there anything anyone can do? Surely there’s something!”

“As a matter of fact, there may be someone.” Astiras paused for a moment. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about this, not even Isbel. He’d visited the young boy that afternoon and had been shocked by his condition. A desperate situation called for a desperate solution, and there was only one thing he could think of. “In Turslenka, there’s this servant of Thetos Olskan, the governor. She’s Bragalese and versed in medicines. She’s something of a healer, completely unorthodox, but if anyone can save my son, then she can.”

“Bragalese?” Isbel said, frowning. “You think a Bragalese can save our son?”

“Why not? She’s loyal to the governor, and has assured me personally of her loyalty to me and the throne of Kastan. Thetos swears by her, and I have no reason to doubt his word.”

Isbel looked doubtful. “You know there are rumours of witchcraft amongst those women, Astiras.”