31 - Drawing in Wine, Milk and Cold

I knew which cell he was in. I knew who he was and why they had him in a cell. To truth-drug scrape every last scrap of military information out of him – that was why Triadas had been recalled from actually launching the attack. Though I couldn’t imagine why he was just talking to Raikas… um… it was really Shefenkas. I supposed I should start thinking of him like that.

I had a pile of books and records, pertaining to Yeoli, on my favourite ebony and silver desk, in the Electrum Chamber. My father had, indeed, sent personal safe conducts to Shefenkas, and the other rulers as well. The copies were in the book under my left elbow. It made me sick. The other countries would know… they must realize how little father cared for their opinions. His word would not be worth the gold ink or wax used to seal an agreement.

I held open ‘Lives of Notables’ folded open on the other side, onion-skin paper soft under my fingers. This was the most recent edition but there was no etched image of the Yeoli Semanakraseye. My finger traced the odd, blocky symbols of their language, each one a separate syllable… or close. Then the translation. Ivaen Chevenga Shae-Arano-e. Semanakraseye. No wonder he knew so much about taxes and how to be a ruler; though he’d argued with me when I called him a king.

I had to shut the book, and pull the top of the desk closed and locked it. It was time to join father on the balcony again, to nurse with him. It explained why He was so happy.

“My beloved adjunct! I have some incredible news for you!” He let go the nipple of the black woman He’d been nursing on as I was taken onto the lap of another. The thin bluish milk from her wet nipple drooled down shining on her dark skin, brighter than the momentary gleam of it on His lip before he licked it away.

“Illustrious Father?” I laid my cheek against my pale blond woman’s full breast and looked at father over the curve of it, like looking out from behind the breast of a statue. She smelled warm and sweet and her touch was comforting and careful as it would have to be… but I could feel how impersonal it was. I even imagined I could feel despite and hatred and fear in it. Surely I had a good imagination.

“You have impeccable taste in fighters as pets! Just as I, of course, but your fighting-dog, Raikas is actually the missing Yeoli Durakis, can you imagine My Mahid actually failing so spectacularly? It must have been partly his animal skill that saved him. Well, they’re all dead, so I won’t have to worry about appropriate punishments for failing Me.”

I sat up, pushing myself upright against the woman’s body, as though startled. “He IS?”

That amused him and he waved an expansive hand at me, actually beckoning me to join him on the black woman. His enveloping hand grasped my elbow in what I was sure was supposed to be a loving pinch. He never knew or cared what bruises He left. “Try this one. Her vintage is very sweet. My Chamberlain has had the most marvellous idea to feed them all differently, so their milk tastes of it!” Another slave poured a stream of wine over the woman’s breasts for the two of us, to spice latching on.

I took in the wine and milk, closing my eyes because looking across to see father’s intent gaze, so close, as his mouth worked on suckling was somehow too much. Her nipple against my tongue was textured almost rough but felt good. I only had to suck a time or two because my father clamped down on his nipple, making the woman quiver, and pushed me off. “Go on. Go back to yours.”

“Yes, father.”

A moment later he decided he’d had enough and let go of her, so he could keep talking to me. I rolled my eyes over at him and let go rather more gladly, I think, than father. “We scraped every Yeoli in the city, my son. We have one of his escort as well, the Wolf. Yes.” A slave came in and carefully cleaned my father’s face with a cool, scented towel. And then his hands. “I decided that General Triadas needed to hear Shefenkas’s information so called him back to help scrape him dry. But I’m not sure I like the idea of ransom… I could bleed their treasury dry right at the beginning of the war and that would be good tactics, but I'm entranced with the idea of owning him first, before I own his country.”

He planted a hand between the nurse’s breasts and pushed off her to get up. She held steady though I think the grayish cast to her darker skin was her paling. Why was I noticing all these things? Seeing them just made my life ugly and I didn’t want it to be ugly. It was supposed to be beautiful. I blinked my eyes and tried to look at the stone and gold all around me and it all looked flat and worthless, the people all around me like painted paper cutouts. I didn’t feel real. Father headed back into the Imperial Chambers, to settle down in the sitting area, the gossamer silk curtains billowing as He passed through them, like smoke from a burning city.

I could still feel my heart beating, and the stretch of my lungs as I climbed to my feet and followed Him, but I didn’t even want that. What I wanted was a hug from someone who wasn’t creating piles of dung painted gold all around Him. He was still talking. “…dose him with it so he doesn’t try such errant nonsense as trying to escape. He’s obviously not the sort that would be put off by a little thing like a flogging, or watching some okas fool die for him.”

“I beg your pardon, illustrious father? Forgive my wandering attention…”

“Hmph. I SAID, I have ordered 1st Amitzas to administer a deterent to Shefenka’s escaping, the Germ of the Head. He gets the antidote when he wins fifty fights. As you saw, son, he’s an excellent fighting-dog. He was fun to watch fight before. It will be MUCH more fun to watch now.”

“Ah. Yes. What’s the Germ of the Head, father? I’ve never heard of it.” My gut was clenched tight and I could hardly swallow. How could He? How could He just say such things and not think it touched anyone around Him? It was as if all of us, all around Him, weren’t real. As if what He said and did to us all didn’t matter. I couldn’t help thinking of something out of Aras’s Holy Book. “Command thy men as I command thee. Understand their pains and pleasures and lives as I do. I judge as thou actest. Treat thy command as expendable and I will treat thee likewise.” And a whisper in the back of my head… “If you are good to them, they won’t hate you.”

Father stopped at a small table, to admire the new glass sculpture He’d just had made, of the singer, who wasn’t here today. He ran a fingertip over the smooth, clear glass face, the finger almost covering it completely. I wondered for a moment if the boy had fallen out of favour yet, but it was only a flash of thought. “The Germ of the Head. Let me instruct you my addendum. It is a substance injected into the head of the chosen bearer, you’d have to ask the Pharmacist exactly how he manages that without just making idiots of the recipients… and there it sits and grows. I understand it can take up space the size of a fist before it kills someone. Usually a pair of years, so I understand… it depends on the recipient. The antidote is supposed to kill it, though in that time it won’t be important any longer.”

“I am instructed, father. I am most grateful for your attention.” I stood as He sat down in His favourite chair.

He set his chins on his hand, gazing at me. “I have heard no complaints from your tutor, my son, but if you attend with as little attention as you did to Me just now, there will be trouble. You will, one day, when I ascend, be Imperator and my duty to the Empire is to ensure you are properly prepared.”

I tucked my hands behind, knotting my fingers together. I desperately wanted to chew on my hair or set those fingers picking at my clothing or jewellery but could not. Not under his direct gaze like that. “Yes, Illustrious father.”

A decisive nod. “Make sure you do, my addendum. You are too old for baby things, coming up on your second threshold. I will have to take more attention to your education.”
I wanted to swallow the wash of saliva in my mouth but managed to look eager. “I am at your disposal, father!”

He waved me away. “Yes, yes. I will think of this again, one day soon. Run along and play for now.”

“Yes, father. As You say.”

I was cold. The whole building was cold. My friend was locked to a Mahid table in the coldest part of the palace in one of the darkest, dimmest pits dug into the stone, all alone. Even as I walked through hot bars of sunlight flooding along the corridors I had the shivers and gooseflesh all along my arms. My soul was cold.