Empire of Avarice (82 page)

Isbel had sucked in her breath in incandescent rage. “So
that’s it, is it? You’re conspiring to undermine my authority? Where is that
going to get you, Amne?”

Amne had stood up straight, and had looked Isbel
squarely in the face. “When you can see that you’re being utterly cruel to both
Argan here and Kerrin, then perhaps you’ll regain our respect. It was an
accident. Boys will be boys, mother, and Argan had a bad fall. He didn’t die,
and he’ll put it down to experience. But please do not deny him the one friend
he does have here.”

Isbel had stood closer to Amne. “Get out, Amne, and go
attend your wedding plans. I have to say something to my son in private and it
is not for your ears, or yours, either, Captain. Out.”

Vosgaris had shaken himself and had stood up, apparently
off-balance, but he had sneakily held out his hand and grasped Argan’s
shoulder, squeezing it in encouragement. Just before he had turned away, he had
winked at the pale Argan who had caught it and had smiled weakly back.

Vosgaris had bowed low to Amne and had indicated to her
to precede him out of the room. Amne had smiled in pleasant surprise and had
led him out. As Vosgaris had passed out of the room Amne had stopped suddenly
so that he had bumped into her bottom, and Amne had looked at him as he had begun
to apologise in the corridor. He had then stopped as he caught Amne’s slight smile
and her coquettish look. She had leaned close to him so that the guards outside
the door couldn’t hear. “Careful Captain,” she had whispered, “or you might
find you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he had said softly, realising she had
deliberately made him collide with her. “I would look forward to it.”

Amne had fought the urge to giggle. Then they’d heard
Isbel’s voice through the door, and Amne had leaned forward to hear better. Vosgaris
had stood in the marbled corridor, waiting patiently. What Amne had heard had
surprised her, and had filled her with new respect for Argan. Just a small boy,
not quite eight years of age, and he’d stood up to his mother, but of course
Isbel had had her way, at least for the moment.

So now Amne was coming to see her little brother, to see
how his healing was coming along. She approached the day study door which was
opened for her by one of the palace guards, and Amne breezed into the room
which was brightly lit up by the sun’s rays. Argan looked up in surprise, and a
pleased look broke out across his face. “Amne!”

Amne waved him to remain in his chair; the boy had been
struggling to his feet. “Oh, Argan, stay there, you silly thing. You’re not to
spend the effort in getting up if you’re going to sit down again right away!” She
bent down and kissed him on the cheek. Argan didn’t mind. He liked Amne. He
wouldn’t let his mother kiss him so readily, although he knew she would have
her way, but it was so embarrassing. Amne was different. She was so – bright
and cheerful. And a little naughty, too, which he liked. Not naughty in the way
Fantor-Face was, but naughty in a kind of I’m-not-supposed-to-be-doing-this
way.

Amne sat in the chair next to him. “So what are you
reading about?”

“Religion.”

“Ugh.”

“Yes, boring stuff. I’m supposed to be the chief priest
of the province I rule, when I get to be a governor. I’m not a priest.”

“None of us are, Argan. What it means is that you are
the head of the Temple in your province; you are the leader of the people and
the people are supposed to follow the gods, so you must be seen to do the same
because everyone will look up to you.”

Argan frowned. “But shouldn’t the High Priest or the
Head Priest of the city temple do that?”

Amne rested her arms in her lap and looked thoughtful. Across
the room Mr. Sen was peering at Amne over the top of his small eye glasses. He
was keen to hear how she explained the difference. Amne smiled at Mr. Sen, then
turned her attention back to Argan. “The priest is what we call the spiritual
leader. He calls to people’s faith and beliefs. But we are what are called
secular, that is non-religious in our duties. Do you understand, Argan?”

“What – not priests, more like soldiers or teachers?”

“Yes,” Amne beamed, “we’re not part of the Temple. But
because we are the ruling family of the empire, we must be both the political
and religious leaders.”

Argan sucked on his lower lip. “Do we tell the priests
what to do as well?”

“Ah,” Amne leaned back. “That’s more difficult. A strong
leader could, but you would have to be very strong to argue against a priest
like High Priest Burnas.”

“Like father.”

“Ah-ha, like father. Or like you did against mother.”

“She still said she was going to make Kerrin leave,”
Argan’s face fell. “I think she’s rotten.”

“Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. Kerrin and his father
are still in the palace.”

Argan looked confused. “But weren’t they supposed to be
gone by now?”

 “Hmmmm….maybe,” Amne said, a mysterious smile on her
lips. “I told mother that since Kerrin’s father was an old soldier-colleague of
the emperor, it should be his decision whether or not Kerrin and his father
should be told to leave. I think father would be very cross with mother if he
found out she dismissed his old friend, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Amne!” Argan grabbed his half-sister and pulled her
to him with such force it surprised her. Laughing, she allowed herself to be
engulfed in the biggest hug she’d had for years. “You’re brilliant!” he said,
his voice muffled in her hair. She was also aware he was crying. She squeezed
him gently and rubbed his back a few times.

Eventually he pulled away, his face wet with tears but
beaming the biggest smile ever. “You’re just the most wonderful sister ever!”

“Well, I’m your only one.”

“You’re still the best.” Argan wiped his tears with the
back of his hand, then sniffed loudly. Mr. Sen tutted from across the room.

“Princes use their cloth to blow their noses, young
Argan.”

Argan mouthed Mr. Sen’s words in a wildly outrageous
mime, pulling a very funny face. Amne giggled and buried her face in her hands.
Mr. Sen looked at the pair in a confused manner, not having seen Argan’s
imitation of him.

Amne passed Argan her cloth and he loudly blew into it. When
he went to return it Amne shuddered. “Oh keep it, Argan, I’ve got many more
where that came from. I don’t want it back now you’ve used it anyway.”

“Oh yes. Not with my nose-runnings in it.”

“Ugh! Argan!” Amne said in dismay. “Do you have to be so
disgusting?”

“Sorry,” Argan stuffed the cloth into his pocket. “So
what did mother say?”

Amne smiled. “She didn’t like it but agreed to write to
father and await his reply. I said that if she didn’t write I would.”

“Oh Amne, you’re so good.”

“Mother needs to understand she can’t just go ahead and
bully everyone like she has. She’s the same with my wedding, so busy organising
it I don’t know the half of it, I’m sure. But I wanted to see if you’re fit to
come. I wouldn’t want you to miss it for anything.”

“I won’t. Just as long as I haven’t got to sit next to
Fantor-Face.”

“Call him Istan, for Kastan’s sake, Argan. Mother would
be scandalised to hear you call him that!”

“Sorry. It’s just that he’s such a Fantor when it comes
to eating!”

“He does eat very quickly,” Amne conceded, “but please
call him Istan in front of everyone.”

Just then the door opened and Isbel appeared. She saw
Amne and her face clouded. “Oh, you’re here,” she said curtly.

“Am I not supposed to be, mother?” Amne asked in an
overly sweet way.

“Amne, a word please, in private.”

Amne sighed and stood up. “The wedding’s in thirty days.
The Spring Equinox. You get yourself fit, Argan, because I want to see you as
the smartest one there, you understand?”

Argan nodded and picked his book back up again. He waved
to Amne who walked to the door, then hesitantly at his mother. Isbel smiled
briefly at Argan, then shut the door behind her as she followed Amne out and
down the corridor to the first room on the left.

It was one of the other study rooms but not being used
that day. Amne swung her bottom onto the top of one of the tables and sat
facing Isbel who remained standing. “Well, mother, speak.”

Isbel’s teeth were set on end by the tone in Amne’s
voice. “I’d appreciate a bit more respect from you, Amne Koros, when you speak
to me. Your attitude is beginning to bore me, and get on my nerves.”

“Mother, of late you’ve become quite the bossy type; you
really don’t allow anyone to have any say in anything. You bullied poor Argan
over the Kerrin thing and as for my wedding! It’s like you were getting
married, not I!”

“That’s because you don’t appear to take anything seriously
anymore.”

“Rot! I do, but I don’t have your humourless approach. It’s
my wedding and I ought to have at least some say in the colours or the flowers
or who I would like to be present.”

“Amne, I really don’t know what happened to you on your
journey to Bukrat but you’re far too frivolous these days. You really should be
a lot more serious about such matters. And, may I say, your behaviour around
the young men is quite….inappropriate!”

Amne made a show of being surprised which fooled neither
of them. “Mother, you do say the most hurtful things!”

“You’re going to be married soon. You’re one of the
ruling family and I’d like you to conduct yourself in a more dignified manner. Flirting
with the men in the palace is certainly not the behaviour I’d expect from a
princess who is about to wed. Please remember who you are and who you
represent.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me remembering who I am. I know
very well who and what I am. Anyway, it’s all very well you telling me to be
serious; I’m about to marry someone who takes seriousness to an art form. I’d
have more fun with a corpse.”

“Amne! Don’t you ever call your future husband a
corpse!”

Amne folded her arms under her breasts. “I didn’t. But
now you mention it…”

“Don’t!” Isbel snapped, pointing a shaking finger at her
step-daughter. “You may be able to wrap your father around your little finger
but I’m not that easy to manipulate. You try to throw your weight around with
me and you’ll come unstuck. Now go get yourself to the dress-maker. They want
you for another fitting session.”

“Oh, not another! I might as well wear the wretched
thing I try it on that many times!”

“Oh do stop grumbling, Amne. You’re becoming worse than
a petulant child.”

Amne huffed and flounced out, muttering under her
breath. Isbel remained in the room for a few moments, then sighed and followed
her out into the corridor. Vosgaris was standing by the door to the study where
Argan was still reading. She looked at him for a long moment and he locked eyes
with her, then looked away and stood straighter.

Isbel shook her head, more to herself, and walked back
to her office where the administration of the empire was done. So many pieces
of paper, requests, policies, things to do, repair, consult, change, bring in,
abandon, modify, research, command. It tested her to the limit and she could do
without her step-daughter behaving in an unfit manner. That Lalaas had much to
answer for, so it would seem.

With the ending of winter, much more would now come in. Roads
would need repairing. There was the new year budget to work out. The major
works currently going on had drained the treasury’s profit and it looked like
they were going to have to accept over a thousand furims of loss. The port that
served Kastan City, Galan, was now undergoing an expansion. Trade was vital and
the port clearly too small and inadequate for what was expected to flow to the empire,
so extra warehouses, jetties and shipbuilding facilities were being
constructed. Niake had just had its official temple finished and now was going
to begin the building of a new town hall. Kornith was having a new small temple
built within its walls while Jorqel was constantly begging for more funds to
expand Slenna. To be honest, Isbel wanted to help him more than any other but
she had to be seen to be fair, so Jorqel was only given half of what he’d asked
for. Slenna was transforming but much more slowly than the prince desired.

In Turslenka, the crusty veteran Thetos Olskan was
overseeing the building of their town hall and in far-off Zipria they were even
more ambitious. A stone castle was well under way and would be finished within
the year. It was a lot of expenditure but it was more symbolic than practical,
for it gave a clear message to the Ziprians that the Koros were not going to
neglect them. They may be far away but were regarded clearly as a vital part of
the empire.

Isbel took her seat and looked at the mass of documents
on her desk. The two clerks in her office were industriously writing away,
processing the requests, complaints, submissions and all other letters that
came to the palace. It seemed everybody wanted something. Isbel’s mind wasn’t
really on those; rather it was far away in Bragal. It was on her husband and
the siege. She fervently hoped it would soon end.

____

Astiras Koros was thinking much the same thing at that
moment. He was dressed in full battle armour, standing on the wooden platform
outside his headquarters, watching the approach of the Bragalese contingent who
were wading through the sea of mud that stretched to the walls of the town. Teduskis
stood next to his emperor, holding the imperial flag. More soldiers stood
nearby, weapons bared, presenting a tough, unyielding front to the visibly thin
and suffering rebels who finally came to a halt thirty paces away, their own
flag hanging limply on the rude pole they had hacked from a dead tree.