Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2) Page 27

  It was mid-afternoon before everything was finished. Arman had already passed on his reasons for returning to his father’s house, and now he was no longer needed, he felt he should go back as soon as he could. He offered to speak to Urso’s wife, but Yuko said she was simply too upset right now. He would pass the offer on, though.

  Yuko really wanted to get on with his tasks, and Arman was more a hindrance than a help to him at this point. The only question was how to get him back to the house without inviting another attack. Reluctantly, he agreed to a disguise of sorts, wearing a scarf over his distinctive hair, and a borrowed cloak over his Darshianese dress. He rode back on a jesig, accompanied by a Darshianese soldier in plain clothes, and the journey passed without incident. As the soldier took the jesig back on a leading rein, Arman walked into the house, wondering what reception he would get.

  “Arman! Oh, thank the gods you’re safe!” Mari cried, as he walked into the library. “But you’re hurt,” she said, touching the dressing on his forehead.

  “Nothing serious,” he said, brushing her fingers away gently and looking at his father, still seated behind the desk. “I’m sorry for the worry.”

  “Never mind that, Arman. Mari, perhaps we could have...I was going to say pijo, but I think something stronger. Some wine, or even some spirits, if we have any, and if you would be so kind?”

  “Yes, of course. Arman, are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I have a headache. Nothing more serious, but alcohol would be appreciated.”

  She nodded and left them. His father waited for him to speak. “How much have you heard?” Arman asked finally, fidgeting a little under his parent’s stern gaze.

  “That there was a riot and you were slightly hurt. Then the message from the embassy saying you were all right but would be back later. Mari has been distraught.”

  “I’m sorry. It was rather more serious than that.”

  He explained quickly as his father’s expression grew more and more grim. “Mekus,” his father said as Arman finished.

  “Yes, I think so. I could kill him with my bare hands, I’m so angry.”

  “You would have to get in line, my boy. Gods, that man perverts everything a senator should be, everything loyal Prij should want in their senators. And now? You’ll fight this custody suit?”

  “I have no choice, Father. I just don’t know how it will play out.”

  His father shook his head. “It will be unpleasant, to say the least. Such things are always filthy businesses, and the gods know you’ve given Mekus enough mud to fling at you.” He sighed. “Now, tell me the truth. How badly are you injured? You’re wincing.”

  “Am I?” Arman rubbed the back of his head where a huge lump was forming—with distaste, he noted he had dried blood in his hair too. “It’s the headache, more than anything. The worst is the knock to the head. The rest are bruises and these cuts.”

  “Hmmm. That he would dare attack my son—any of our class—in this manner. It will go down badly, even though it’s you.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Father. There were plenty of our class there to see it happen and I doubt any of them would cry if I had died rather than Urso.”

  “Be that as it may, I intend to remind people that it could be them or their children that Mekus might use such a weapon against. He’s not popular, Arman. He’s gone too far.”

  “Yes, agreed. But, Father, I don’t want this brought on your head, or Tijus’s.”

  “Oh give me some credit. I’ve been playing fools like Mekus for forty years. I can’t stop everything he’ll try against you. But he will cease trying to outright murder you or he’ll find that not even her Serenity can protect his position. I still have a little influence, you know, and our familial connection to her Serenity is by blood, not by marriage,” he said with a wolfish smile. “And Tijus is popular. Ironically, it’s partly because people felt sorry for him having a brother as appalling as you.” It was Arman’s turn to smile, the first he’d managed that day. “But now they respect him for the capable man he is. Any hint this vendetta will turn on him, or me, and I assure you, Mekus will regret it.”

  “Then I’ll leave it to your judgement. Oh, thank you, Mari.” She’d come in and handed him a goblet full of wine spirit. He would be drunk if he consumed it all—Mari didn’t drink hard liquor and had no idea of quantities—but he sipped it and was glad of the warmth it gave him. His father accepted a goblet also. Mari held a wine glass tightly in her hands, staring at him with worried eyes. “I’m all right. I promise.”

  “I hope so. I couldn’t bear anything to happen to you.” As well, she didn’t need to say.

  “I won’t pretend I wasn’t in danger, but I’m all right. It’s the poor fellow who was killed who needs your sympathy. He left a young daughter and a pregnant wife. It’s very sad indeed.”

  “Oh, gods,” Mari said, looking stricken at his words, but it wasn’t surprising since, after all, she knew quite personally what such bereavement meant. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Thank you, but no. The embassy and the Rulers will make sure she wants for nothing. But her husband should not have died. Unfortunately there’s not much we can do to catch his killers.”

  “All this lawlessness and rioting,” she said, shaking her head ruefully. “We used to have a stable society. What happened to it?”

  “It was never that stable. I know, I used to help police it. But the army used to have better control over things, and organised riots are new. I fear you may have to get used to them if you stay in Utuk,” Arman said, looking across her at his father, who scowled. “Forgive me, but it’s the truth. These mobs can turn on anyone at any time, and at whomever their masters direct them.”

  “Masters? Arman, are you saying what happened today was ordered?”

  Because Mari was so gentle and refined, and reticent with those outside her intimate circle, Arman tended to forget she was quite as sharp as his father in her own way. “We...suspect. Someone told certain members of the aristocracy that I would be at the courthouse this morning. Someone—very likely the same someone—told the families of some of my soldiers the same thing. One would question the motive for that, don’t you think?”

  “But that’s...murderous,” she whispered. “They were trying to kill you?”

  “They were certainly trying to harm me—in what way, we’re not completely sure. The result is certainly that I am effectively under house arrest, not that I care when it’s this house,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face for her sake. She was unconvinced by the levity.

  “This won’t go unchallenged, Mari,” Arman’s father said firmly. “And you will come to no harm, I swear. Let’s talk no more of this now, Arman. I’m sure you’ve had a bellyful of it. Did you eat any lunch?”

  Arman realised he had not, and now it had been drawn to his attention, he found he was in fact hungry. That gave Mari something else to be concerned about and she left, promising to bring him sustenance. His father glared at him as the door closed. “Do you really need to frighten her so?”

  “Do you want me to hide the truth, Father? Things just got a lot more dangerous for you all and, I confess, I’m worried. Very worried,” he said with as much conviction as he could muster.

  But his father dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. “Mari’s safety is my concern, my boy. I’ve kept her safe for many years, and I would die before a hair of her head is harmed.”

  “Yes, Father, but I don’t particularly want you to have to die either. I’m sorry. It’s been a trying day. I don’t mean to impugn your abilities, I just.... Pissing Mekus,” he cursed, his hands itching to do physical violence to his nemesis.

  “That about sums him up, yes. Oh, stop glowering and drink up. If I was your age and spirits didn’t make my arthritis flare, I’d join you. Did you speak to Kei?”

  “Yes. He wants to come down. I told him not to. I only hope he listens to me.”

  “He’s got more sense than you, so of co
urse he will.” Arman grinned weakly at the praise, delivered backhandedly as always. His father’s manner no longer made him angry. “There’s nothing more you can do today, so let’s put this aside. It’s upsetting Mari and doing you no good. Tomorrow, we’ll find out what Vekus says, and then determine the path to follow.”

  It had been many years since Arman had had the luxury of being able to let his father take responsibility over his life, and even though it was merely an illusion that he was doing so now, it still gave him a strange sense of comfort. “Yes. Thank you, Father.” He rubbed his forehead tiredly and winced as his fingers hit the bandages. “I must look a mess.”

  “Not exactly up to your usual standards, no. You weren’t expecting any of this, were you? And yet once you would have.”

  “Sixteen years living in a peaceful, ordered society will do that to you,” Arman said, sighing. He set the goblet down. Already he felt the effects of the alcohol—he hadn’t consumed spirits since he’d left Utuk and he was no longer used to them. He was getting tipsy in front of his father and looking to him for moral support at the same time. He really was in trouble.

  ~~~~~~~~

  When he took his place for dinner that evening, Karik knew immediately something had changed. Mekus, usually so sour and displeased looking, had a smirk on his face, and the expression on his mother’s face could only be described as satisfied. Karik sat in silence as usual while the over-rich food was served, and wondered when the interrogation would commence. But nothing was said, somewhat to his surprise, although Mekus and Karik’s mother carried out a laughing conversation which verged on the rude. He was obviously unable to follow it, yet was equally obviously the subject of their discussion. He concentrated on cutting the meat while wishing they would serve smaller portions and not smother all their food in highly flavoured sauces so he didn’t leave the table each night feeling vaguely ill. At least no one expected him to finish everything, which was his instinct but simply beyond his stomach’s ability to cope.

  “We have good news for you, Retis.”

  Karik looked up, hope sparking suddenly into life. “I c-can go home?”

  As soon as the words left his lips, he knew he’d made a mistake. Mekus’s eyes narrowed. “This is your home, boy. Here, with your real mother. And in a very short time, it will be established beyond all legal doubt that you belong here in Utuk with her.”

  Karik’s hand clenched around his fork. He didn’t have a reply to this which would not invite a verbal—or even physical—attack. But Mekus wasn’t content with his silence. “Well, boy, aren’t you pleased? You surely have nothing to complain of in your treatment in this house. I’ve been more than generous, considering who your father is and what he’s done to your mother and to our nation. Although, after today, I fancy he might be less ready to force his odious presence on our islands.”

  “Wuh-what happened?” Something about Mekus’s unpleasant smile made his stomach knot up. “Is he hu-hurt?”

  “Let’s just say that he’s been forcibly reminded that he’s not welcome in Kuprij. Do not speak of him, Retis. I asked you if you were happy here.”

  Karik stared at his plate. What should he say? To lie would be to betray his parents...but they had told him specifically to lie, had they not? Do whatever it takes, they said. “Y....” He had to force the word out and it wasn’t just his stutter that was stopping it. “Yes.” He hated himself for the lie, whatever his parents had said.

  Mekus passed his answer to his mother immediately, and she smiled at him approvingly. “There, you see? You are wanted here, and valued. Take care you remember that. Now, tomorrow, a court official is going to come and talk to you. You will cooperate and answer his questions truthfully.”

  “Y-yes, senator.” He lowered his gaze to the table. His appetite, what little there had been, was entirely gone. What had happened to Arman? And was Mekus telling the truth, that he was going to be trapped here? “P-Please, wuh-will I be able to c-contact my...J-Jena?”

  “Who?”

  “My...fuh-foster mother.”

  “Don’t be stupid, boy. What does a Prijian nobleman want with savages?”

  Karik glared angrily but remembered his situation, managing to bite back the comment he was going to make. His mother asked her husband something and he spoke to her. “Your mother doesn’t understand why you would want to cling to your false parent when your real mother is here with welcoming arms. Well? Answer her, boy!”

  “I.... I m-miss.... I l-love....”

  “Are you placing the claim of those heathens above those of your natural mother, Retis?”

  Karik looked up and realised how much danger he was in. Mekus was clutching a knife in a threatening manner. Karik had never seen him strike anyone, but he believed him quite capable of it. “N-no, senator,” he lied.

  “You had better not. Your position here is extremely privileged. Once this sorry mess is over, I will have you presented to her Serenity herself, an honour not granted to everyone, I assure you, and certainly not to any of those brown-skinned creatures. What do you say to that, hmmm?”

  “Th-thank you,” he muttered, as he gulped down his sorrow and despair. Would they really keep him from contacting his mo...Jena for two years? Looking at Mekus, Karik was very afraid they would. He was even more afraid he would lose his soul if he had to remain with these people for that long, blood relatives or not. But he was in a position of weakness. If Arman had failed, that was his last hope gone. Now he was truly alone.

  Voyaging: 16

  Arman woke with a headache, a slight hangover and a profound sense of depression. He wished Kei was there to help with all three, because he missed him so very much.

  But wishing for things he couldn’t have, wouldn’t help him. He summoned water for the bath he’d been too tired and fed up with life to take the night before and then sorted through his closet for clean clothes. If he was going to be here for another two weeks and confined to the house, there was no reason not to plunder his old wardrobe.

  The bath eased a few of his aches. Bruises were beginning to show against his pale skin, and he hoped they would be gone completely before he saw Kei again. His lover would not be pleased to have the matter concealed from him, but at least Kei would not have the worry of it. Besides, old instincts died hard and winning a battle was all about concealing weaknesses, exploiting one’s strengths, and hoping the enemy would fail at a crucial point. So far the enemy had the upper hand, but that wasn’t necessarily a permanent situation.

  He wondered how Karik was dealing with it all, and if he had any idea what was going on. Arman felt the same flush of anger he’d experienced the day before, knowing this entire situation and Urso’s death was ultimately attributable to Karik’s loose tongue. But that wasn’t really fair. It was he who’d awoken the curiosity in the boy and failed to satisfy it. They both bore a responsibility for Urso’s death. Since Karik was a child, it wasn’t really possible to lay it at his door.

  But then his mind made the connection with another sixteen-year-old who had caused another death, a death which had brought Arman a great and enduring pain, and his dark mood turned even more melancholy. He needed to find some company or he would work himself into a funk. He dried himself and plaited his wet hair into order, a task that only served to lower his mood further since it was usually something Kei insisted on doing for him. The bandages on his forehead had got wet so he took them off, something he regretted not long afterwards as he came into the dining room for breakfast. “Blessed gods, Arman,” Mari said, her hand over her heart. “Your face.”

  “Oh—sorry, does it look bad?”

  His father, already eating his usual frugal breakfast, snorted. “You look like a prize fighter who’s lost a hard match. You’ve succumbed to the local fashion again, I see.”

  “I don’t have any other clothes clean. Father, I’m not in the mood for your jousting.”

  His father looked at him, then nodded. Once, such a remark would have led to
an argument. Arman was so very grateful their relationship had repaired itself to the point where it did not. “Sit down and eat. You may as well accept you’re in this for the duration. We’ll try and make the imprisonment not too unpleasant.”

  Arman grimaced at the joke, although he appreciated the attempt to leaven an unpalatable situation. It wasn’t his father’s fault this was all going to take longer than he wanted. As he ate, his father asked him what he thought of a proposed extension he was planning to the Garok vineyard, and since Lord Meki’s son had recently done something similar, Arman was really interested in the project. When Mari slipped out of the room, he barely noticed her leaving, and he was shocked when she returned some time later to say Vekus was here. Arman hadn’t realised how swiftly the time had passed. His father had managed to thoroughly distract him—and he knew his father well enough to know it had not been by accident.

  “Use the library. Or the garden, as you prefer,” his father said as he stood. “I’ve work to do in my office. You can look for me there when you’re done.”

  “Wait—don’t you wish to attend this?”

  His father grunted. “And you a military man. Keep your superior weaponry for the hardest part of the battle. I’ll see you later.”

  Arman’s lips twitched in an almost-smile at his father’s self-assurance. He didn’t know if his father would be much assistance in the fine details of the custody dispute, but there was something to be said for having such a respectable parent at one’s back if one’s character was to be disputed. As indeed, it certainly was.