Chapter Text
Idra looked out of the window. Down below in the courtyard some of the guards were arguing, and the noise was irritating. The Hezhethora had been drilling early that morning, closely watched by the Drazhada armsmen, who affected to disapprove of the display as mere showing off. (Idra felt they were not entirely incorrect.) He was tempted to throw something at them all, or at least shout at them for disturbing his concentration. He had letters to write, something he did not enjoy and had left for too long. He wanted to get the most important one over and done with before he wrote his sisters.
The thought of Mireän and Ino made him smile. It was surprising how much he missed them. His sisters were several years younger and could be extremely irritating at times, but the three of them had been closer since they lost their parents. After their mother’s exile they had become a little isolated, as the parents of Mireän and Ino’s playmates avoided the Alcethmeret nurseries, perhaps concerned for their own children’s safety, or else not wishing to be seen to condone the emperor’s action. Idra had lost friends too. The initial shock of Sheveän’s treason and fear for himself had worn away, but it still rankled that their mother had acted without any consideration at all for the consequences of failure for her children, particularly the little girls, who were too young even to clearly understand what she had done, and had only recently lost their father.
He settled for closing the window firmly. He picked up his pen.
Dear Cousin Maia
He had written once before during the past few weeks and had decided to be informal, but not too informal. Just in case anyone happened to read the letter before it reached the emperor.
I hope thou art well and the empress is faring better now.
We have been in Amalo almost three weeks, and it’s certainly a great contrast to Valno and the south-western plains. I think thou wouldst enjoy Valno. The prince was most hospitable and his home is very comfortable. He took me hunting.
The temples are extremely ornate, particularly the Valn’Ulimeire, which is also surprisingly large. I’m not sure why the worship of Akhalarna requires such vast and highly embellished ulimeires. The ceremonies were impressive but long, though I enjoyed the musical festivities and the dancing.
He couldn’t think of anything particular to say. The prince enjoyed his wealth and seemed little interested in his principality except as a source of income. But perhaps it was unfair to judge on a few days’ acquaintance. He grimaced, realising Maia had warned him about that very thing.
I admit I did want to get away from the palace for a while. Not that I haven’t ever done so in the past, but I thought this would be an opportunity to experience a little independence and take time to think of my future. I’m not sure how well that’s working, but I have an idea I hope thou might’st consider.
I’ve been very much struck by the contrast between the Prince of Thu-Evresar and the Prince of Thu-Athamar. Though of course the situation of Thu-Evresar, being largely rural, is very different from such a populous place as Thu-Athamar with great cities like Amalo.
Prince Orchenis had asked him some penetrating questions, addressing him in familiar fashion as if to remind him he was hardly more than a child. “Why has the emperor sent a goblin guard with thee? Is it because he does not trust thee, or is it to show his princes that he owns thee, or to remind them that our more favourable trading relations with Barizhan are due to our new emperor? Why art thou here at all, indeed, in the emperor's stead? Art tasked with reporting on the problems of Thu-Athamar? Or art thou simply sent to undertake those errands the emperor wishes to avoid?”
Idra did not allow his ears to betray him. He didn’t know Prince Orchenis well, but this was the kind of questioning to which life at court had accustomed him.
“The emperor may have several motives for asking us to visit here – and we assure you we were not ordered to do so – but his suggestion was that we might learn something useful about the ordering of a large and populous principality. As you know” (for Orchenis had been present at the ceremonies), “we recently came of age, and hope to find useful occupation as Prince of the Untheileneise Court.”
“Do you indeed?” said Orchenis, looking at him narrowly, and Idra noted the lapse into formality with a certain satisfaction.
“We have enjoyed travelling by airship, we confess,” he said. “It’s the first time we have had the chance.”
This evoked an even narrower scrutiny. “And art not frightened off by thy father’s fate. So. It seems thou art in Edrehasivar’s confidence. Thou wouldst perhaps enjoy visiting the airship manufactories.” It was barely a question, but Idra assented politely.
“I am of course well aware of the emperor’s concerns,” continued the Prince, “and indeed I am not unhappy for thee to understand some of the challenges involved, which thou mayst wish to discuss with His Serenity. Thou shouldst by all means carry thy report back to him.”
Unexpectedly, he smiled. “He is proving a most active emperor of the Ethuveraz.”
Perhaps this is a discussion for thy rose gardens rather than a letter. However, if I had a principality to run, I would prefer to follow Prince Orchenis’ example, in spite of the difficulties he faces.
This was the awkward part. It was not that Maia wouldn’t be understanding, but he didn’t want to risk sounding pathetic. He started again.
I know thou wilt say that I am of assistance to thee, at least occasionally, but I feel I have little purpose at court. I am Prince of the Untheileneise Court, but it’s the emperor who hears all appeals and makes all judgements for the court. I know this is how it was in my grandfather’s day, but I wonder perhaps if it wasn’t always so? (I don’t really like to ask Leilis, who would probably know, in case he makes too much of it.) Of course it’s a different situation, but here in Thu-Athamar the Prince only hears the most serious cases in his principality personally. Wouldst thou consider making a change and allowing me to take on the smaller disputes of the court? At least until there is a new Prince and he reaches his majority? I know such disputes can be time-consuming and thou canst not enjoy listening to them and I think I could be helpful. I’ve been at court all my life and I think I’m reasonably well educated in at least the basics of the laws. I know I’m young and would need to study further and perhaps work with thee before I could actually hear any pleas.
Should he point out that Maia had been only a little older when he became emperor and had all the weight of the empire dropped on him? No, that would surely be redundant. Maia had never been particularly inclined to treat him as a child. He would be far more likely to tease him about the necessity for further study, given Idra’s expressed happiness at escaping the schoolroom. Idra smiled at the thought. Working with Maia would be a pleasure as well as an education.
If it’s impossible I will understand, of course. Or if perhaps thou hast another role in mind.
He read the paragraph through and shook his head. He was rambling. He sighed and decided to rewrite it later. The last part might require more than one draft as well.
With that in mind he started a new page.
I have another thought. not a request exactly because although I know this is not a matter for my personal preferences, but I know thou art responsible for arranging my marriage, since my father’s death. I understand the Corazhas and plenty of other people are anxious that I enter into a betrothal, and I expect they have not hesitated to press thee on this subject. As thou mayst readily imagine, I have met several young women during the past weeks whose relatives, at least, were keen to introduce them to me. At least no-one actively ran away from me. I have particularly enjoyed the company Perhaps I might be able to suggest Prince Orchenis introduced me to his young wards, who I remember from court, although I didn’t know them well and of course it’s nearly three years ago and they’ve changed. I found them pleasant company, particularly the middle girl, Nazhan, who I liked, who is very attractive, who seems very sensible, who is of an appropriate age, I understand. Maybe a little young. Though I expect a betrothal would be at least a year anyway.
Perhaps I’m sure I’m making thee pinch thy nose and say there’s never an escape from the Tethimada. But the Tethimada house was extirpated, and I know thou likest hast a high regard for Prince Orchenis. Maybe she could be included in thy considerations? Of course if thou thinkst it inappropriate I will understand.
There was a tap at the door and Leilis Athmaza looked in. “Prince, the courier is leaving in a few moments.”
Idra looked despairingly at the last page. Clearly it wasn’t going to be any easier to write this than to discuss it face to face. He screwed up the paper and made a note at the end of the previous page.
I have to finish because the courier is leaving soon. There is another matter, but I think it’s better kept for the rose gardens.
Idra