Prince of Wrath (57 page)

“Prince Argan, ma’am.”

“Oh, let him in!”

Argan smiled as he entered past the clearly disapproving domestic. An elderly Bragalese woman who had made the mistake once of making a naughty comment in Bragalese when she had been asked to clean up a spot of mud on the floor of a passageway. Argan had asked her what it had meant in her own language and she had gone bright red. He still didn’t know but he would ask Amal when the opportunity came. He might understand the language but there were some things he still didn’t, and he guessed they were words that shouldn’t be used.

Amne was sat on her bed, dressed in white undergarments. A few clothes lay draped on the edge and it was clear she had or would be trying them on. “Hello Amne,” Argan said. “I hope I’m not messing up any dressing up plans?”

Amne stood up and put her arms out wide. “Come here and hug me properly!”

Argan grinned widely and threw himself into the arms of his sister. She hugged him tight and after a moment she stepped back and looked at him closely. “You’re getting taller. You’re up to my chest now.”

Argan nodded. He had been momentarily taken aback when his head had been pushed into Amne’s boobies but he had managed to breathe by bending his head up. Amne guessed what had happened and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “So how are you finding life in Zofela?”

Argan sat down on the bed and Amne sat with him. The domestic hovered, an air of disapproval cloaking her. Amne dismissed her and the domestic huffed out of the room. “It’s a bit colder here, and not as comfy.”

Amne nodded. “It’ll get colder, believe me. You’ll need plenty of winter clothing. Your studies coming along fine?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Sen says I’m doing very well, and Panat says my mar- mar- martial,” he concentrated on pronouncing the word properly, “training is progressing well, but I’m a bit behind because of my injury. I’m going to be allowed to ride tomorrow, and that’s going to be scary!”

“It’ll be fine, Argan,” Amne reassured him, “riding will get easy after a while. I can do it with no problem, and you’ll find its so much better getting around on equine back once you master it. As a general you’ll need to ride anyway.”

Argan nodded. “Yes I’m going to be a general. That’s scary too. What about you? Did you see Jorqel get married? What was it like?”

Amne laughed. She so enjoyed Argan’s bright enthusiasm; it was such a contrast to the dullness of Elas and the others in Kastan City. At least with her mother there she’d enjoyed crossing swords with her, but even that pleasure had been denied her once the empress had left. “I’m fine, Argan. In fact tomorrow I’ve got to do lots of things and see various people, it’s part of my new role as imperial ambassador. Prince Elas runs Kastan City and Frasia and I travel around the empire visiting people on behalf of the family and pass on very important messages.”

“Oh, isn’t that dull? Why can’t an ordinary messenger do that?”

“Special messages need special messengers. I’m a special messenger, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes, you’re a princess! That’s very special!”

“So, tell me, Argan, how are you really? I was so upset when I was told you could die, and I think it’s the work of the gods that you still live. I’m also told you can now speak Bragalese. How is that possible when you’ve never been given any lessons?”

Argan shrugged. “I don’t know, it just happened after Metila cured me. She’s Bragalese, so maybe she passed on some of her thinking to me? All I know is she saved me and I’m happy she did that. It was a horrible time, all those nosebleeds and headaches. Now I’m better and can think straight, and I feel so much stronger.”

“You seem a little more grown-up, that’s definite.”

Argan pulled a face. “I don’t want to be a grown-up. It’s so ploppy.”

“Ploppy?” Amne laughed. “It doesn’t have to be; only if you let it, believe me. There are those around you who would have you behave like a stuffed jacket, but be yourself, Argan. I won’t let anyone tell me how to behave, not even father!”

“You stand up to him? Wow, that’s scary, isn’t it? What if he shouts at you?”

Amne grinned. “I shout back.”

“Ooh, you’re brave!” Argan noticed little bumps on Amne’s arms. “You’re getting cold – shouldn’t you dress?”

“Yes I ought to – here, help me.”

Argan looked confused. Amne picked up a dress of blue wormspun. “There’s nothing to it, you need to know how a woman dresses anyway, so its time I showed you. Look, take this by the hem at the bottom, like this, yes that’s it, and draw it up so the whole thing is flattened, then slip it over my arms and head. I’ll put them up.”

Argan stood on the bed and slipped the dress awkwardly over her arms, and watched as it slid easily down her arms and torso. Her head appeared through the top and she smiled at him encouragingly. She stood up and the dress slid easily down past her hips and knees, to end at her ankles. She next pulled her hair out from the dress and shook her head. Her fair hair flowed and Argan thought it was like a field of edible grass. He said so. Amne laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re so lovely, you know. It’s such a pleasure being with you. You’ll make a woman very happy.” Her face clouded for a moment and Argan was going to ask her what was wrong, but she suddenly switched moods again and twirled, the dress hem flowing. “What do you think?”

“It’s great,” Argan said, wondering what else he ought to say. Dresses weren’t really his thing. “Your boobies are showing a lot.”

Amne pressed the front of her dress down and looked. “Hmm, they are. This is cut for someone less endowed than me. Someone clearly didn’t take the measurements properly. I’ll have to have a word with the dressmaker when I get back. Tchah! Its nearly indecent!”

Argan looked on, fascinated, as his sister tried to adjust her front but it wouldn’t conceal her breasts any more. They were half exposed, a little more than society really allowed. Her undergarments were only just hidden. “Is that bad?”

“To other women, yes. I suspect the men will like it.”

Argan grinned. “Vos’gis will.”

“Oh, him! He’ll not be able to look anywhere else, that terrible man. Father won’t approve, that’s for sure, and mother will be scandalised. I think I’ll leave it as it is.”

“Really? Won’t you get told off?”

“Who by? I’ll wear a necklace in any case. It’ll help distract roving eyes. That’s a tip for you, Argan. If you have something that people can’t avoid looking at but you want them not to see, put on something else that catches their eyes. I have a nice big necklace in my portable case over there; bring it to me will you?”

The bag was brought over and Amne opened it. It spread into two equal halves of a display case and in it Argan was fascinated to see an array of gold, silver and jewel-studded items. Rings, bangles, earrings, necklaces. “Wow, that’s a lot!”

“And worth a lot of money, too. Thieves would do anything to get their hands on this.”

“They wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh they would,” Amne said, “if they had the chance. Here, this one. Hold it up in front of me please, Argan.”

Argan found the gold and blue-stone necklace heavier than he thought, and his eyes widened in surprise. He looked over the necklace, catching the light of the oil lamp and reflecting it. Amne pointed at the two ends in Argan’s hands. “See that hook on that end? It goes through the hole – the eye – on the other end after it goes round my neck. Try it.”

She turned round and bent her knees so Argan could reach without difficulty. She guided the necklace around the front and waited for Argan to fumble with the catch, his fingers warm on her neck, until he said in triumph that he’d done it. Amne straightened and turned round. “There, how does it look?”

“Very nice! All sparkly and dangly.”

Amne smiled, and thought it might help divert some of the attention away from her breasts, although it was highly unlikely in some cases. “You’ll have to get ready for the dinner pretty soon, but before you go, let’s chat a little more – I really miss you.”

So they spoke a little more, each bringing the other up to date with what had happened in their lives until Argan had to leave – his name was being called in the corridor and one of the guards pointed out he was in Amne’s chambers. Genthe and Sasia were to get him prepared for the meal so he bade his sister farewell for the moment and dutifully returned to his own room just along the passageway.

Amne’s domestic returned to prepare her hair and make-up, looking with a slight moué of disapproval at her dress.

It wasn’t long before Isbel added her disapproval when Amne arrived in the dining chamber, a communal room vacated of everyone for this particular occasion. Guards stood at each of the three doorways and servants brought in each course. Argan was seated next to Amne with Istan opposite, the two siblings kept apart. Vosgaris was next to Istan and Astiras was at one end, Isbel the other. Vasila was next to Vosgaris and on the other side of Amne the KIMM young officer, Fostan Telekan. The other diner was the court cleric, Waylar.

“It’s not often that I have the opportunity to eat with most of my family these days,” Astiras smiled, waiting for his goblet to be filled with a vinefruit red before raising it. “I wish to make a toast to my family – may each of us prosper and bring Kastania great success and happiness. To the Koros.”

Argan lifted his beaker, a fruit juice, and copied the others, watching closely what they were doing. He felt it was some sort of important moment, so he did his best to follow the others. Istan looked at the rest and pointedly refused to drink. Argan thought his brother was a silly sulker. Amne flicked her hair and caught Vosgaris staring at her cleavage and decided not to embarrass the poor man. Instead she turned to Fostan Telekan. He was dressed smartly in his best off-duty uniform of dark blue with silver buttons and shoulder stripes to denote his rank. One broad silver woven thread denoted him as the first rank of officer in the Kastanian army – a sub-commander.

Fostan felt overawed, especially in the presence of the emperor, empress, princess and young princes. He didn’t know what he should do or say, and the ravishingly attractive woman next to him made his legs shake. He had no idea just how stunning she really was until she had turned up in her dress, her golden hair set in curls and a band of gold inset. She also had the biggest pair of blue eyes he’d seen. How he didn’t swallow his tongue he didn’t know.

“You look very smart, Sub-commander. Is the vinefruit to your liking?”

Fostan willed his tongue to spring into life. He couldn’t do much about the colour that flooded across his face. “Ah, yes ma’am,” he managed to say. “It’s the best I’ve had.”

“I agree,” Amne nodded and looked down the table to her father. “Where did you find this vintage? Surely they didn’t have it here when you captured this place?”

“The gods above! No – those savages would have drank it in a flash, not knowing its value. I got this as a gift from the Mazag ambassador. Interesting fellow, if a bit uncouth.”

“This is a Mazag vinefruit?” Amne looked at the glass she had with surprise. “My experience of Mazag drinks are that they are heavy, sharp and full.”

“They clearly have others. No doubt they had wanted to get you drunk previously – was that in Bukrat?”

“Yes, it was. I couldn’t drink much! Their soldiers quaffed it as if it were mere water!”

Astiras grinned. He turned to Vasila, dressed in a neat dress of dark red tied at the waist. There was no plunging neckline for her, merely a more acceptable and sober attire accentuated with a narrow necklace of silver with a single red stone dangling at the front. Her short hair had grown slightly, so it didn’t look too mannish now, and was in fact quite neat and tidy. It had been slightly styled by one of the domestics, leaving a longer part down her neck and in front of her ears. “And you, Vasila? After your exertions of the recent past, I bet you’re happy to be here drinking a decent Mazag.”

“Yes, sire,” the young woman smiled, relaxing a little. She had been happy to pass her report to Vosgaris who had given it to Pepil, and even now the major domo was poring over it, getting one of his clerks to copy it, ready to send to Kastan City. “It was a little frightening, but at the same time exciting.”

“Hmmm,” Astiras looked thoughtfully at her. “You like the exciting life, do you?”

“Yes sire, a life of domestic serenity does not appeal to me.”

“Hmmm… you and I must speak further on this. Tomorrow, shall we say?”

Isbel frowned. “Astiras, I hope you’re not planning some insane mission for this young lady! The Taboz family are good friends and putting their daughter in danger won’t go down well.”

“Oh, have no fear on that! It’s domestic, not foreign. I suspect young Vasila here will jump at the offer.” He smiled widely at her and Vasila grinned back, feeling the power of the emperor, as well as his obvious charm. Astiras knew how to influence people, especially women.

Isbel pulled a slight face and turned to Amne. “So how is your husband, Amne? Does he send his regards to us?”

“Of course, as always. We’re very happy indeed, mother.” Amne held Isbel’s look, daring her to contradict such an outrageous lie, smiling even wider when Isbel accepted it. Isbel looked as if she had tasted something foul. She was reminded just how argumentative Amne had become. Good thing she was staying only a few days.