Paul Kearney - Kings of Morning

‘Then you must threaten him with the loss of it,’ Orsana said sharply, a hornet-sting emerging from the honeyed voice.

Kouros collapsed onto a tall cushion. ‘I know, I know. Dyarnes must be handled more carefully. He is of the old nobility. If he thinks we compromise his honour, we will lose him utterly.’

Orsana smiled. ‘Well put. We also know he despises Rakhsar — ’

‘I am not sure he does not despise me as well, Mother.’

‘He is of the Asurian tribe. They despise everyone from beyond the Oskus, and always have. Play on his pride, and on his command. What about his second?’

Kouros brightened. ‘Ah, Marok. He is ambitious, and he has enough of the Magron blood in him to make him insecure. A great horseman — no-one can ride a Niseian like him. And he loves women.’

‘Then I do not need to draw the picture for you any further. A gift of two beauties, one four legged, one two-breasted. That will start the thing. A gift from the prince cannot be refused, and gives him a sense of debt.’

‘I do not need some kind of tutorial, mother. I have known Marok and Dyarnes since I was a boy.’

‘As they have known you. They must be certain that the boy is no more, that a king stands in his place.’

Kouros shifted uneasily in the depths of the cushion, plucking at his blue robe as though it had offended him.

‘Then you must give me more money. My father thinks it is good for a prince to rub along on a pittance; it imbues character, he says.’

Orsana raised one eyebrow. ‘Very well. I am having a draft drawn up today on the Arkanesh House. You shall have some of that. But do not make too big a splash with it, Kouros. You must not draw your father’s attention.’ Then she all but chuckled at the idea of Kouros splashing money around. Her son looked at her sourly.

‘When have I ever — ’

‘Yes, yes — that virtue not even I ever had to instil in you. No-one could ever accuse my son of being a spendthrift.’ She smiled at him with something approaching affection. ‘I remember when you were a child. No-one could part you from your toys, even when they were worn ragged. You used to sit alone in the gardens and play with armies of toy soldiers, and give them all names.’

‘You kept me from all others,’ Kouros said, quietly. ‘Even the slaves.’

‘You were the eldest son, the heir,’ she retorted. ‘There was no-one else worthy for you to associate with. I never let any of them forget who you were — never.’

‘I suppose you didn’t.’ Kouros’s face slumped in a kind of sadness, but only for a moment. It clenched again almost instantly into its lines of habitual anger. He thrashed his way out of the cushion and kicked it across the smooth marble of the floor.

‘When I am King, they will queue before my throne to befriend me,’ he said. ‘They will kneel, every one of them, and beg for my favour. Mother, I want Rakhsar to kneel before me ere he dies.’

‘Don’t be absurd, Kouros.’

His face spasmed, then he drew himself up. ‘No — of course — you’re right.’ He turned away. ‘I must go. Thank you — thank you, mother.’

‘Have you no kiss for me?’

‘Yes — yes, all right.’ He leaned over her like a blue thundercloud and let his lips touch her chalk-hued cheek. She touched his face. ‘You are not as other men, Kouros. You must be larger than that.’

‘I know. I have always known.’ He turned, one fist knotted in his robe, then halted. ‘And Roshana. Must she also — ’

‘Roshana must share her brother’s fate. You know this. Were she to marry some high noble, that man would be in a position to make a claim for the throne, however specious. We have been over this, Kouros.’

He nodded. ‘Goodbye, mother.’

‘Call on me this evening. We shall have more to discuss.’

His shoulders slumped. ‘Yes, mother,’ he said, and walked away looking somehow defeated, a shambling mountain.

It was not far, as a raven might fly, from the Queen’s seat at the heart of the harem to Roshana’s apartments. Even on foot, a swift-striding man might cover the space in under an hour, if the Honai were to give him free passage. But it was a great distance in terms of palace politics. One might almost say it was insurmountable.

The twins who were the issue of Ashurnan’s first love were generously housed in a tall, free-standing complex several stories high, whose balustrades were formed by the living limbs of gashran trees, native to the sheerest slopes of the eastern Magron. Here, they sprouted from gaps in the massive stone blocks of the structure, and they had been trained over centuries of wiring and pruning to make of their growth an adjunct to the architect’s vision. The Gashran was an interwoven complexity of stone and living timber, and had been given over to the lesser princes of Asur’s line for time out of mind.

Not for nothing was it set apart from the rest of the palace. Honai patrolled its grounds night and day and questioned or escorted anyone who ventured close; a Great King must needs keep an eye on the doings of his offspring, both high and low. The Gashran was not a prison — it was beautiful, luxuriously appointed, a palace in itself — but it was a monitored place.

Rakhsar and Roshana had lived within the bark and stone of its bewildering arrangements for all of their lives.

Roshana stood now in her own chambers, looking down at the sleeping boy in the bed before her with her komis drawn up around her nose. Above it, her eyes were bright amaranthine lights.

‘Will he live, Barzam?’

The tall Kefre bowed behind her. ‘Yes, lady. He is young, and he has the strength of the undercity in him. I have seen many of his kind recover from far worse.’

‘You will attend to him every day, Barzam.’

The Kefre spread his spatulate hands. ‘Lady, with all due respect, is that really necessary? This is but a hufsan slave, a creature of the — ’

‘You will do as I ask, or I will find a physician who will.’

‘Of course, lady. I am wholly at your command.’

‘Thank you, Barzam. If you have any further instructions for the staff, you may leave them with the steward on your way out.’

Wordless, unseen, the tall Kefre bowed behind her and left noiselessly.

On the other side of the heavy door he was brought up short. Rakhsar grinned at him and clapped him on the arm like an old comrade. ‘Barzam! She has you physicking her new pet, has she?’

‘She seems determined that the creature should survive.’

‘She was always like that. I’ve learned to let her have her way in these things. It’s not often Roshana digs in her heels, but when she does, Bel himself could not move her.’

‘It is always a pleasure doing the bidding of the lady Roshana,’ Barzam said, somewhat stiffly.

Rakhsar took his hand and placed into it a small pouch of doeskin that clinked as it left his fingers.

‘Your patience is much appreciated, Barzam. And your discretion, also. She means no disrespect.’

‘Roshana could not offend me. I delivered her,’ Barzam said, unbending a little.

‘I know.’ Rakhsar winked. ‘I was there.’

He could move extremely quietly when he set his mind to it. He eased the door shut behind him and stood with Roshana’s slim back within arm’s reach. Cocking his head to one side, Rakhsar considered his moment.

‘Do not creep about like that, Rakhsar,’ Roshana said without turning around.

‘I could have been an assassin.’

‘Then he would have the same garish taste in perfume as you.’

He joined her before the bed. They touched hands.

‘Sister, you pick a strange time to take in a stray. One might almost think Kouros planned it this way.’

‘He does not have the forethought.’