Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dolorosa (Chapter 1) - 'Denial'

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Fiz a rei fu, de halt parage,
mes luin ert de sun heritage.
Seignur, ne vus en merveilliez:
huem estranges, descunseilliez
mult est dolenz en altre terre,
quant il ne set u sucurs querre.

- From Lanval, by Marie de France

On the day of the hostage's arrival the handmaidens came to wake the Crown Prince early. "Rise, good prince, and make haste," they cried, "Her Majesty seeks your presence in the throne room. Your bath has been drawn and your robes are prepared; there is scarce time to waste, for the sun of Tamar is risen, and our guests are on their way."

"And does Zultanekh reckon with mere prisoners?" The young prince grumbled, but got up at once. After all, this matter was not about real prisoners, more a diplomatic exchange. The sun was not yet high when Zultanekh presented to the throne room, where his phaeron sat waiting on her high throne. "Zultanekh bids you hail, my lord Anathrosis, daughter and master of the Black Star."

Anathrosis tilted her head, starlight gleaming liquid off her haloed crown. "Sit."

Zultanekh touched his hand lightly upon his forehead. "I salute you." 

His fingertips grazed above his eyes, as if to shield his gaze from her majesty. Then he pressed that hand to his chest and bowed his head briefly. Only then was it appropriate for the prince to take his place beside his mother's throne, and together they sat in silence, one painfully aware of and one staunchly ignoring the gaps within their noble court.

Gaps of Anathrosis's own making, for better or the worse. Zultanekh's eyes slid over to where the cryptek lords of the dynasty were sitting.
Four empty seats stood out starkly among the masters. He wondered when those absent would return, or if they would, before deciding not to hope.

They had been waiting for almost an hour when a herald's cry pierced the air. "The Ithakans' ship has landed."

"We shall go out to meet them," was the phaeron's sole response. She rose curtly and descended the steps from her throne, followed by her lychguard and two slithering canopteks. That was all that needed pronouncing: soon mother and son were joined by the rest of the nobility, and with them the whole remaining body of Ogdobekh intelligence, the cryptek lords and their followers looking outward with grudging curiosity. Finally they would lay eyes on the subject of Anathrosis's exchange. Finally they would know if it was worth it, the most appalling trade in the history of their dynasty.  

Four of us for one of them. Although that one was no ordinary necrontyr either. For an Ogdobekh head-ransom, none other than a prince of Ithakas would suffice.

Zultanekh's heart thrummed in his chest.

This would be his first time meeting any of the Ithakan princes. He'd heard much about them, as their dynasties were forever spying on each other, but he had never seen them in person or at any visible distance. The one partaking in this exchange was Djoseras, the second-born of Dynast Unnas. The official line was that he was coming to Tamar to study. As second prince he was not immediately required in matters of court, and word was that he was wise and learned beyond his years. It would be good for him to add to his wisdom abroad, and even better if he could help improve the relations between their dynasties, as cold as they had been for some time.

It wasn't too likely, of course. Djoseras was simply the highest degree of hostage Anathrosis had succeeded in negotiating. Her court had been horrified to learn the kynazh was the sole person to be exchanged for four of their best, and had begged her to up her terms somewhat, but she would not hear of it.

"A second prince contains multitudes." She'd remarked, leisurely petting the back of one of her canoptek creatures. "He is at once a gift to his dynasty, a relief to his sire, the endorser of legitimacy; yet other hand he is his elder's nemesis, a threat to his blood, a budded catastrophe waiting to bloom. Doubly so, if he happens to be wise. The Ithakans would be glad to let us take him off their hands for a while."

Her judgement proved correct. Antikef, the Ithakan crownworld, had agreed to the exchange without fuss. For the borrowing of Djoseras they claimed a master of psychomancy, two technomancer lords, and a voidmancer: they would provide the first major injection of technological intellect for Ithakas since the dynasty's secession from the Ogdobekh. It was such a blatantly one-sided exchange that Zultanekh thought there must be something more to Djoseras, if he alone was trusted to contribute as much as four cryptek masters to their dynasty. The kynazh was said to be only fifteen years old, but perhaps he was unearthly strong, or skilled in some art that was lacking to the Ogdobekh. 

Only experience would let him find out. Zultanekh waited, his gaze fully alert and bright. When the silver of their guest's retinue began to glimmer in the distance, he was the very first one to catch it, and sat upright for a better look.

Past the immense coppered pylons they came, the men and women of Ithakas. Halfway down the avenue Zultanekh perceived the size of the group, then at the gates a gleaming palanquin, surrounded on all four sides by white-clad Immortals. They were so light-footed, so bright and ethereal against the stark shades of Tamar, that for a second one might just shut their eyes - but then the moment passed, and the Ogdobekh saw the group for what it was, the humble retinue of a young prince who was entirely within their mercy. As Djoseras did not yet lead his own household, his father's Immortals made up most of the kynazh's guard, followed by a body of serving-people. Neither Dynast Unnas nor his heir apparent were present, nor many of the lords from their crownworld, and those who were escorting the prince did not seem as if they were planning to stay.

Not a picture of military might. But no matter: it had been a long time since any Ithakan had been willing to stand before the Ogdobekh without such posturing. Anathrosis clearly had this in mind as the group came to a stop. "You have tread a long path, Kynazh Djoseras. We welcome you to Tamar."

"I thank Her Majesty for her gracious welcome." Came the reply. A slender foot stepped out of the palanquin, and the kynazh emerged, aided by an attendant on each side. Zultanekh took what felt like his first breath in all his seventeen years of age as Djoseras raised his head, gazing past the jewels and the void-dark hair and the luminous sweep of robes, before downcasting his eyes because this boy - 

- wasn't special at all.

-----

It was half a decan before Zultanekh thought to risk an approach. "What does the aspiring Mistress make of our guest?" 

Nebbeshken, his newest speech-companion and tech-apprentek, silently contemplated his question. She was the daughter of one of the cryptek lords who'd left for Antikef, and the only one who seemed entirely indifferent to that fact: her father did not consider his situation a plight, was her justification, so she would not also. Cryptekhood was so simple unburdened with interpersonal knowledge.

Nebbeshken's judgement was as straightforward as her station. "He would've made a good cryptek. Steadfast. Dedicated. His fame is great in the Ithakan lands."

The Crown Prince chuckled. Nebbeshken and her father had spent several decans in Antikef prior to the exchange, and Zultanekh guessed she'd observed him plenty during that time. "By virtue of his princehood Zultanekh could have figured that much. But let us go back a little. You would make a cryptek of the kynazh?"

"If it were up to me? Yes."

"Why so? What esoteric wisdom does he possess?"

Nebbeshken did not answer the question. "He is dedicated," she repeated instead, stressing only what she felt mattered. "To strive for intellectual labour is hard on foreign soil. Consider his solitude."

And that was all. Zultanekh clicked his tongue, gazed into the distance. At the edge of his sight lay the palatial library, the heart of Tamar's intellectual labours - where their royal guest, as far as Zultanekh knew, was presently sequestered.

Never had he seen Djoseras go in. Never had he seen him come out. He could've been told the kynazh lived there and might've believed it.

A drop of curiosity rippled through his heart. 

It was not like Zultanekh to let such feelings brew. The Ogdobekh faced things head-on, not hid away to contemplate. Yet for the past five days the Crown Prince had been doing exactly that, and he did not know how to begin cutting through this ice. As the high sun rose Nebbeshken left him to attend to her own studies, leaving Zultanekh alone to contemplate this problem over his lunch; he sat idly by, tasting of each course as it came, now and then glancing towards the direction of the library. The cakes and dates and sulphur-wine felt unusually dull upon his tongue.

"Hail Zultanekh, mighty Hammer of the Black Star! Grant us the honour to sit with you a while."

But not so with company. The shadows of five lords fell over the table. Zultanekh smiled, his green eyes languid with pleasure.

Those lucky few were closer to him than any other. There was Volodukh, the third son of Tamar's voyevod; at eighteen he was the oldest of the group, while the rest including the Crown Prince were one year younger. With him came Avdokep, the scion of a military judge, then Hepat a posadnik of an Ogdobekh coreworld. Yemeleth, too, whose family had served as standard-bearers for generations; finally Neferthor, who was soon to return to the nemesorial academy. All five were on familiar terms and Zultanekh would have called them friends. He greeted one with a kiss, caressed another, bade them sit with him at the roundtable.

The Crown Prince did not yet have a proper retinue of his own. Anathrosis had always been wary of uprisings, a fear from which neither her heir nor his men were exempt. But he was still a royal and all manner of nobles flocked to him, begging him to collect them as he might collect trophies, to polish them and make them shine and display them for the world to see. Zultanekh asked nothing of them and so they gave him everything. They flirted among themselves and with Zultanekh, entertained one another sportingly - some had lain with the prince in his nascent adulthood, though only in play, not in any permanent promise. Though their aspirations were high he had not felt the need to temper them, and today was no different, drinking and laughing under the grove.

He might've misplaced his interest in Djoseras entirely had a lord had not reminded him. "So how does our guest from Antikef fare, exactly? Has anyone seen him since he arrived?"

Volodukh nodded over his goblet. "Twice, coming from the library. The kynazh speaks very little."

"Overwhelmed by Tamar's graces, surely." Hepat glanced askance at the others with a smile. "But for five whole days? And not even offer greetings to the Crown Prince?"

"On that matter, Patya, Zultanekh must defend him somewhat. The kynazh is here for our dynasties' sake, not mine. Perhaps he thought it wiser to keep his head down, to be dutiful and quiet as his people need him to be."

"Is it wise, though?" Yemeleth giggled, nestling himself against the prince's shoulder. He was light-haired and as luscious as a vineyard and Zultanekh often forgave the cruel streak in him, not that he had been foolish enough to show it much. "Why shouldn't Kynazh Djoseras have to greet the Crown Prince, when he is so generously provided for? Is it not virtuous to show deference to one's hosts? It would be a terrible shame for him to earn a negative reputation through his silence, for a princely being is bound to attract attention, at home or out of it."

There was some sense in this. Yet the question remained as to how they could convince the kynazh of this truth, and how they should speak to Ithakans at all, as a distaste for the rebel dynasty had long been ingrained in their hearts. "One of my tutors was Ithakan." Neferthor weighed in as a suggestion. "He was very stern-minded but scrupulously fair, and they told me he was the swiftest whom had ever wielded his weapon on the academy's grounds."

"They told you? Zultanekh takes it that Therochka has never seen him fight."

"Never? Not so, Crown Prince. But he was a master of bladecraft - impressive, but far from our ways." A wry smirk lit up the aspiring nemesor's face, echoed by those around him. When it came to weapons the Ogdobekh had always ranked their own warhammers higher, favouring raw force and decisive bluntness over something as fussy as a blade. "He was a man of the House of Erebur, which is a cadet branch of the royal house of Ithakas. Perhaps one might open a dialogue about that with the kynazh?"

Avdokep took for himself a slice of date-cake, stuffed richly with spices and sweetened chopped nuts. "But then we ply on him expectations, do we not? He may not know nor care at all, and then we'd have nothing to talk about. Let us simply call on him and see what he has to say."

Spoken with all the grace of a man who wanted to charge in there at once. Volodukh frowned. "We need not all demand his presence at the same time. Send one representative, no more."

"Why, Volodya!" Yemeleth hid a smile. "You think he's going to feel ganged up on?"

"His words have merit." Zultanekh had heard enough. He took to heart the wisest parts of their advice and stood up to address them all. "Friends, you have argued your case well, and spoken most rightly of Zultanekh's honour. Yet the kynazh has not been here long, and his rank must also be respected. As Zultanekh is the only other prince in Tamar, he shall go meet the kynazh today, and have you introduced at a later time."

Now that a decision was made he would not hesitate. He bid the lords goodbye with a kiss on each hand - an additional one on the forehead for Avdokep ('gentle Dusik'), and on the mouth for Yemeleth ('sweet Melechka') - before he departed. "Tell him to come play with us!" Yemeleth called as he left for the library, his merry laughter seeming to ring in the air long after they were out of sight.

On the way in he ran across Nebbeshken again. She already had two large stacks of tomes before her, poring down at the pages through a reading-glass. "Zultanekh intends to pay our guest a visit. What does the Mistress make of this notion?"

The apprentek did not even look up. "Needless."

"Ah! - Is it a bad idea, then?"

"Indifferent does not mean bad." Nebbeshken's golden eyes met his green severely for a moment. "Nor immoral, nor a failure. But the Crown Prince will not find him sporting."

Zultanekh shrugged and turned away. "This one will take the risk."

The kynazh had been given a reading room for his own use at the south tower of the library. He was permitted to come and go at all hours, regardless of if the library was open to visitors or not, and no one else was to use it for the duration of his time at Tamar. No one, that was - unless they should be the supreme rulers of Tamar. Zultanekh ascended the steps and approached the sole guard at the door.

"Announce me." He demanded. The Immortal tensed uncertainly, and he raised his voice a little. "Does the Ithakan not recognize this face? The Crown Prince would fain meet with your master."

"Pakhet." A quiet voice came from behind the door. "I shall receive the prince. He may enter."

A haughty pride filled Zultanekh's chest. There wasn't a may about it, he could just break in if he wanted to. But he did not dwell on it, for although the guard couldn't help glancing furtively at him, she did step aside and bow down in respect. Zultanekh marched in without further ado and beheld the sight within.

The spring sunlight was fading softly past the window. Tamar was a wintry planet and the days were brief at this time of the year, and the nights were very, very long, apt for solitude. The reading room seemed comfortable, though a tad minimalistic for Ogdobekh standards. It had two chairs and a writing-desk where the light was brightest, and free-standing shelves where one could line up their books; a brazier for warmth, some lights along the wall, the usual fundamentals. There were no other adjustments made for or by the kynazh, save for a water jug and a drinking glass placed by the windowsill. And in the middle of all this stood the second prince of Ithakas, surveying a brocaded scroll weighed down on both ends - most studious, and most serene, his golden hands paled in the light.

He smoothed the scroll's surface. Raised his head, then beheld Zultanekh's presence.

"Good afternoon to you, Crown Prince. I am late to offer you my greetings."

"Indeed you are." But it was enough for Zultanekh that Djoseras acknowledged it. Like all royals he knew the importance of decorum, but he wasn't so bound up by rules that he really believed the kynazh had intended him offense. "Yet it would hardly have been better for Zultanekh to impose himself too quickly. How does the kynazh fare in Tamar? What of his accommodations?"

Djoseras smiled faintly, and turned his head towards the window. Though he was not yet of age, he spoke as formally and eloquently as a well-educated noble in adulthood. "They are well. I am staying in a room in the Western Palace. I like to watch the blackwoods from there."

Zultanekh clicked his tongue, unimpressed. Once upon a time that palace had belonged to one of his uncles - not that Zultanekh had known him, not that anyone talked about that nowadays - and he knew it had far from the best apartments in the palatial complex. The palace was scarcely used save for basic maintenance and the occasional guest, and the trees Djoseras had mentioned were but a slender row lining the back of the garden walls. Hardly a picture fit for princes.

"Zultanekh fears those lodgings are inadequate. Too cold in the winter and too hot in summertime, with only two worthwhile bedchambers to boot. I shall petition Anathrosis for a better location."

"I asked to stay there myself. I need very little: some food, some water, and room enough to lie down and sleep." The kynazh spoke in such meditative tones, more suited to a cryptek sage than a young prince of a dynasty. "One only sets down in the mortal realms briefly ere we depart. What would I need larger lodgings for?"

But to actually covet the way of crypteks, that was not the royal way. If that was what Djoseras had meant, in any case. "Is it not correct for a prince to seek wealth and glory? Zultanekh thinks it is."

"But to seek it as a guest at the expense of my hosts? I had already feared my visit would burden your court at this time."

"The Ogdobekh would scarcely be impoverished for your care." Zultanekh waved off the other's concern, as well as the distinct sense of annoyance that had begun creeping up within him. "But we have drifted off course. Our phaeron has made it known that the kynazh is studious, yet it would be unseemly for us to provide nothing else for your enjoyment among the coppered worlds. Zultanekh would invite you to get to know some of his lords, to attend to our games and visit the sparring grounds, outside of your excursions to the library."

Djoseras lowered his head. His hair was as black as midnight and he wore it rather short, in contrast to Zultanekh, whose rich red waves came down to his shoulders. For the sharpest fraction of a second Ithakan silver glittered in his ears, then faded as he moved beyond the sunlight's reach.

"I would ask for some time to get used to Tamar's climate first. Yours is a very cold world."

"Indoors, then? Zultanekh keeps a fine selection of wines and sweetmeats for his guests, and his palace brews the best medukha in the crownworld."

"What's that?" Briefly an inquisitive gleam rose to the kynazh's eyes (which were dark, as dark as stars), though that too was gone before the other could appreciate it. "Something with honey, I assume."

"Does the kynazh assume correctly? He does. It is honey wine, as light and sweet as can be." Zultanekh smiled broadly. "Our dynasties may have been at enmity for a long time, but we are not here to war, nor to exchange fighting words. Why should we princes be ill at ease with one another? Come and join us, kynazh."

Djoseras laughed softly. (In hindsight it was a very sad laugh, a fact that took Zultanekh too many decans to understand.) "Regretfully, I am not too interested in games. My life in Antikef was hardly different to the life I have been sent to live in Tamar; I could hardly be a good sport or fancy myself a warrior. But I thank you for the invitation." 

Zultanekh frowned. He was beginning to feel run round in circles. "Then why not just say that from the start? Be honest instead of making excuses."

"Ah, did it sound like an excuse? I do not speak Ogdobekh very well."

"It is perfectly passable." And it upset the Crown Prince somewhat. Ogdobekh was one of the more difficult tongues among the languages of the loyalists. Zultanekh hadn't expected Djoseras to speak it fluently at all, and even if the kynazh's skill was lacking, they could have communicated in the speech of the Triarchy instead. But so far this was simply not the case, and modesty verging on deception was not something he wished to praise. "The kynazh is sufficiently learned in it, in fact, that his statement comes across as another excuse. Protest, if you have the speech for it, complain or curse if need be, but Zultanekh will not see a fellow prince hide behind mollifying words. That is not our way."

There was a rustle at the desk as Djoseras unraveled the scroll further, followed by two clicks as he weighed it down again. Even as they talked the kynazh was surveying the manuscript, and he would finish doing so if it was the last thing he did. Regardless of Zultanekh's sincerity or his directness of speech, he was simply not a priority over whatever Djoseras was studying at the moment. The young prince smiled, almost as if he'd sensed the other's displeasure, his expression half amused and half placatory. "Am I that good? I thank His Highness for his praise."

Zultanekh narrowed his eyes. "I say you will look at me when I speak."

That did the trick. The kynazh looked up at once, startled. Their eyes met in mid-air, and they stood there surveying one another for a while.

Prior to this Djoseras had not looked at Zultanekh properly once. He was better visible under falling dusk than under bright light. The kynazh was as slender as a blade's edge, his poise impeccable from the tops of his shoulders to his neatly-booted feet. He had a warm complexion sadly unfavoured by the climate of Tamar, while Zultanekh was paler, suited to the chill of his crownworld. But it was the latter who wore the more colourful robes, spanning each day with shades of gold-trimmed browns and reds and purples; Djoseras, on the other hand, seemed a demonstration of contrasts more than a noble prince.

At present he was wearing a high-collared tunic and a black cloak above it, his shades bold and uncompromising. The tunic appeared pure white at first glance, but was actually finely embroidered with pearls, silver threads and small tassels patterning the fabric throughout. The cloak was fastened to his shoulder with a circular brooch, silver and opal arranged in the plainest geometry; that was his only jewelry, aside from his silver earrings and an arm-ring locked above his right elbow. Quite the contrast with Zultanekh's copper torques, his rings of carnelian, the heavyset golden hoops in his ears. Crystalline, was Zultanekh's initial judgement of him, followed swiftly by -

Insubstantial.

Disappointment clouded the prince's heart. The lines of Djoseras's body were too fine and fragile for Ogdobekh sensibilities, the gleam of his silver too forlorn. The dynast Unnas was known to be a colossus, but it seemed his second son was the opposite; Zultanekh didn't want an Unnas in his crownworld exactly, especially if the rumours about the dynast's raging moods were true, but he did believe princely men had to be strong. (In that Parik the firstborn of Unnas shared the greater resemblance, but it would be a long time before Zultanekh could see that for himself.) In fairness he was only fifteen, there would be time for him to mature - but right now, Djoseras was just some boy who needed protecting, not an equal for Zultanekh. He would've respected Djoseras more had the kynazh shown him a raw strength, or at least was built as powerfully as him.

Instead he was standing there offering Zultanekh riddles. "Khalkogennetos."

That was his formal honorific, copper-born, a uniquely royal referent for the Ogdobekh. Zultanekh drew a sharp breath. "Yes."

"Why do the Ogdobekh dot their circle-glyphs?"

The Crown Prince stared. "What?"

Djoseras gestured down at the scroll, the text of which was indeed Ogdobekh and the circle-glyphs dotted at their center. Except Zultanekh didn't need to look, he knew that was how his dynasty did it. Those dots amended no vowels nor consonants, nor were they punctuation; just a decorative element, hardly worth mentioning, at least until Djoseras looked him in the eyes and insinuated his ways were weird and that he needed an explanation. "This development seems to have occurred after the secession of Ithakas. I've looked at texts from before that time and none of them have the dots, but the change occurs almost precisely to the year we departed. I do not know why this shift happened nor who was responsible for the change. Might the Crown Prince be able to explain?"

Zultanekh was speechless. Djoseras tilted his head.

"Is there a philosophical significance to it, perhaps?"

-----

This was a very, very strange boy, indeed.

-----

It was not lost on the Ogdobekh court what kind of studious hostage they had. Many were surprised Djoseras was taking his role so seriously. The nobles balked to hear it, ever suspicious that the kynazh was a spy; the cryptek lords, on the other hand, were impressed by the prince's diligence. Nebbeshken had been right. His pursuit of intellectual labour did fascinate, and doubly so in hostile lands, enough to overlook enmity.

Soon it emerged their phaeron was not indifferent either. After several decans Anathrosis called for a symposium. Her best-learned lords were present, as were Zultanekh and his inner circle. Djoseras was there, too, to study the Ogdobekh approach to debate; this in turn attracted other curious attendees, because strangeness beget scrutiny, and not every lord in Tamar had yet had the chance to see the kynazh. A farce, Zultanekh thought as he caught a glimpse of the younger prince, surrounded by a fuller hall than ever before. For him, as well as I.

"'Defenseless are the dynasties without the word, as it is well known; but it is worse to be in possession of the deceitful word, which destroys souls and renders good weapons dull.'"

But what of it! Zultanekh need not mind, for his was the most stable part of this performance. As an Ogdobekh prince he had more worth as a warrior than a scholar, yet as a future king and politician he must not seem ignorant. For that reason they'd had him at symposia since he was twelve, thrice a year like clockwork. At various points in the meeting his teachers would introduce a topic, ask him to debate it or say what he knew about it, and examine his knowledge that way.

"What is the nature of this deceit, Your Highness?"

"Slander, leading to unfaithfulness, then eventual treachery."

Rote memorizations, questions and answers. His tutor in ethics nodded in approval, while Anathrosis observed them silently from a distance. "And the examples relating to each?"

"Between individual lords, one may speak pleasantly to another's face, but let loose malicious and harmful words behind his back. This erodes trust not only between those lords, but all who bear witness to this deceit. What would prevent them from learning the same if this falseness goes unpunished?"

Zultanekh paused. He glanced between his tutors, then where Nebbeshken was sitting, then resumed. "Should such men and their distrust overflow a palace, a world, a dynasty, that authority will swiftly fall into ruin. It is one thing to boast, but defamation must be not indulged, nor should betrayals of trust in ruling kin or court or household. 'Those who use their words wisely shall not fall, and escape the doom and decay of their bodies', so the book says."

"Eloquently recited, my prince. Let us turn-"

"Stop." Anathrosis's command cut abruptly across the hall, just as the tutor was about to pass the discussion to someone else. The men paused, their elderly faces beset with an entirely new sort of bewilderment in that she had never done this before. "Turn where? Is that all that is to be had from that passage? 'With that wisdom and strength they shall stand by the right hand of their lord, and they will win for him good victory when he comes to judge the false dynasties'. He left out the very purpose of the verse, not a mere word or two. Yet you say you are finished?"

Zultanekh cursed inwardly. She was right, he had forgotten - but he couldn't see how that part was vital to his understanding of the book, nor why it should merit her personal attention now. If there was a different reading of the passage he was unaware of it. "Are we in disagreement over the purpose?" Anathrosis continued to press. "Good lords, why do you not speak? What have you to say, Lord Penub? Huinephet, Shem, Sebayt?"

"Your Majesty," Penub stammered, lowering his head. He was a tutor of rhetoric and Zultanekh had never seen him so lost for words before. "I... It is true that the quotation was truncated. But the aspects quoted by the prince already are a reference to the Seventh Invocation, which encourages us to devote wise words and the undecaying self to our masters-"

"Wretch! Implication is neither invocation, nor understanding. How could you let pass such an omission? Will you have taught him to speak so loosely as a king?"

"Forgive us, noble Matriarch!" Sebayt, the historian, had gleaned further argument was pointless. He burst out of his seat and prostrated himself on the ground at once. "We were presumptuous. This is wholly our error. We misjudged who would attend this symposium - we - we assumed-"

"Misjudged? We would not call it that." The phaeron laughed coldly. Her mocking gaze fell upon Zultanekh, then straight towards Djoseras - the very representative of a false dynasty, at least as the Ogdobekh saw it. "What you are is afraid of children."

An oppressive silence settled in the hall.

Zultanekh felt no fear. Neither sadness nor anger, or even frustration assailed him. He wasn't much of anything, truthfully, other than cold.
His gaze slid over to his fellow children. Zultanekh's lords retained just enough of themselves to look agitated, although they dared say nothing before their phaeron's will. Kynazh Djoseras sat unmoved. Nebbeshken looked bored, her glasses mildly askew upon her face, shielding her eyes behind lenses of slivered green quartz. If there was outrage bursting to escape in this room, it belonged to the nobles and cryptek lords - and that was just rich, wasn't it, he was a prince and he owned nothing, not even his own humiliation. Dejectedly he listened to the tick-tick of his mother's canoptek constructs, some arthropodic and some serpentine, which were the only guards she kept by her side at all times.

She didn't trust people enough for that. It wasn't like her to want to interfere in necrontyr affairs.

Only when she felt the need to force and shape to her will.

"Take heed, Crown Prince. Today we shall lesson you in their stead."

Anathrosis leaned back on her throne, one hand lazily caressing the back of a canoptek construct that had wound itself around the armrest. "Of course one should not lie, lest it harm one's dynasty. Of course one mustn't slander, lest it double back on one's reputation. But that alone is a child's understanding of a lie. For seventeen years you saw how those rules are bent and broken in a court, not merely that of ours, but of every dynasty loyal and disloyal. It is not merely sufficient to punish the lie and reward the truth, but to reckon what manner of words was used to tell that lie - indeed, what speech they used to tell it, lest strange tongues brew dissent."

Too late, and too fleetingly, Zultanekh remembered how Djoseras had greeted him (I do not speak Ogdobekh well). Realized the statement had nothing to do with truth-values, that it couldn't have, because of the people who looked at him as Anathrosis did. "Yes, my phaeron."

"Consider the Nephrekh, who command total obedience where the light of their three suns fall. Yet they are understood nowhere else, for they have no unity between their spoken word and the written, and little of their ways have made it beyond their kemmeht. Also consider the Sautekh, where every slave and charlatan has learned to think for themselves; their malachite throne is forever defiled by conflict, but they have allies for their every cause, because they spread the word of the Triarchy everywhere they go. Do both approaches have their merits? Yes, they do. Would we do best to strike a balance in the middle? Indeed we would. Truly we weep for your cause, Crown Prince (she did no such thing), that our kemmeht is not as ordered as it was in days of yore: punish the unfaithful, yes, oust the liars, but also see to it our speech is unforgotten, and moreover that it is used wisely where it is taught."

Conquest. That was what it was about. Of course it all boiled down to that, conquest. (If Djoseras was still wondering why the Ogdobekh dotted their circle-glyphs, he had his answer now: because it was a uniquely Ogdobekh thing to do, no matter how small, the textual proof of their supremacy.) Everyone knew that when Anathrosis came to the throne, she had inherited the last war between the Ogdobekh and Ithakan territories; everyone knew she'd been forced to give it up, having initially lacked the political finesse and support from her court to keep it going. She had since made up for it in territories and treasures won from elsewhere, but the wound of Ithakas haunted her still. Up till now she had maintained a diplomatic tone, but someday she would try to quash them, as a dozen kings had tried before her.

None of their victories had been total. She would be determined to make hers so. Zultanekh sympathized, but the extent to which she needed this to be his problem exasperated him; she would let him know at every possible moment that he served his dynasty, and if that meant a lifetime of nitpicking and humiliation, then so be it. Anathrosis perceived his wavering. She chuckled, slowly.

"Zultanekh."

Resentment like a darting serpent shot through his veins. Zultanekh looked up but gave no response. Before his defiance his phaeron smiled, almost gentle if not for the steel of contempt in her eyes. "How many times in a year do you think about studying?"

"Whenever the symposium nears, my phaeron."

Anathrosis almost choked on her laughter. Sometimes he truly believed she wanted him dead. "The Crown Prince is too modest!" Huinephet protested. "My phaeron, this one has sat by the prince's side from his childhood. One could not have asked for a better student of ethics, nor another so inquisitive, he-"

"No, kind master." The prince maintained his stare. "Zultanekh has spoken his truth." 

Anathrosis laughed coldly. "How blessed we are to have such an honest son!"

The canoptek slithered off the armrest. Its tail glistened in the light for a moment, then vanished into the shadows as the construct tucked itself into a tight shape around the phaeron's feet.

"Five years ago we commissioned this book from the scribes of Gheden. The Crown Prince has sat with it for three years. What hope is there for our dynasty if he cannot recall the choicest lessons from it?" Anathrosis made a gesture, bidding one of her heralds to rise. "Bring us a list of the prince's reading materials. We shall see what his tutors have allowed him to waste his time on."

"Your Majesty." Shem spoke, near tears in his plea. Frustration ailed his every move, for he was a forgemaster more than a tutor, and knew better than most that Zultanekh's strengths lay in the physical world. "The prince's disposition is excellent, and he is presently the finest warrior who walks the halls of Tamar. Your servant begs you to watch him with patience and affection - he is your only son-"

Anathrosis turned ghastly pale. Turned red just as swiftly, her eyes burning with rage.

"What did you say?"

It was starting again. Zultanekh shut his eyes tiredly. He had long lost count of how many times they had been through this.

"So that's what this is about! Our only son, the sole precious heir! Now you seek to wound the deepest, bitterest place within us!"

Something weaker than rage and stronger than despair sank leaden in his chest.

-----

Once upon a time Zultanekh had had relatives. Uncles and aunts, some cousins too, who had gladly banded together to elevate the dynast's youngest child to the throne. The firstborn had died of the pestilence, and the second would not give up his love-marriage; the third and fourth wanted little more than laze about in their coreworlds, and the fifth was a gambling degenerate. Heavy was the head that wore the crown and none of them desired more weight than they already had. Anathrosis was on the throne as soon as her father lay cold in his sarcophagus - they'd thought she'd be controllable, that with her very young age and the war raging in the background, she would have no choice but to be hopelessly dependent on their advisors.

For a time, it worked. Unfortunately for them, Anathrosis grew up. When she came of age she sired Zultanekh and solidified the line of succession. All of a sudden real power was in her grasp, and the moment she had it she brought down calamitous rage upon her elders, burning their palaces and striking their faces off the tomb-friezes for ever. Not even the weak were spared. For a long time they held back the details from the young prince, but eventually Zultanekh learned how she'd slain the sickly and crippled in their beds, the beloved consorts and children who perished in gallows and fires and exile.

Only Zultanekh lived, because he'd been born purely to justify her existence. His was the only life she could let live if she were to survive.

Now the Ogdobekh royal blood was a trickle, shared between sire and heir. Never had there been a more solitary phaeron on their throne. Distrust had distorted Anathrosis, and she became increasingly ornery and paranoid and unpleasant to be around. She balked at mentions of marriage, refused all other children, and she never, ever forgot it when anyone dared suggest she'd brought her condition upon herself. And now she was doing it again, and as long as she was phaeron she was going to keep doing it, right up to her deathbed and unto the tomb. The necrontyrs' beliefs in gods and afterworlds had lessened since the days of the Homeworld, but if a Hell ever did exist Zultanekh thought her ravings would suit it perfectly. He opened his eyes and rejoined the perceptive world to see the forgemaster weeping by his mother's feet. "This one has spoken in error. I deserve death. I only beg of you that my error does not taint my family-"

"After what we have established, you would know the importance of family, would you not?"

But for now the immediate fires of rage were quelled in her heart. Anathrosis sat back, disgusted, but unwilling to pursue the matter unto death. "Sit and speak no more. We will return to scholarly matters. What remains to be discussed?"

Sebayt bowed to her again. "Historical frontiers, my phaeron, from the past century to the five before. We had prepared a review of Thoktian conflicts prior to the establishment of Meghoshta."

"These were the most significant conflicts between ourselves and our neighbours, we are sure." Anathrosis responded dryly. She dismissed the flushed-faced historian with a gesture. "Since the importance of speech has come up, Crown Prince, we would ask you of our conquest of Perramesh. Threescore years ago we won it for our fringes and both dynasties attempted spoken diplomacy. What can you tell us about it?"

"Zultanekh is ignorant of this history, my phaeron. May her Majesty forgive."

"Why don't you know?" She pressed. Zultanekh stared silently past her shoulders, more unwilling to speak than unable. "'Twas a blessed time when divided domains came together at last. Or is the Crown Prince less invested in that type of merriment?"

She stared meaningfully over his head and towards the young lords, who all avoided her gaze as best as they could. "What of you, apprentek? You are better learned as a companion."

Nebbeshken looked at her, unblinking. "Not my field. Ask an Ithakan."

Anathrosis glared at her as if she wanted her struck dead. Nebbeshken stared back, almost daring to be struck down. But unlike the others, the phaeron could say nothing more about this insolence, since everyone knew she had deprived Nebbeshken of enough already. Anathrosis herself had empowered the cryptek conclaves at a young age. The brief absence of their masters they would tolerate, but a direct threat to their kin never.

The phaeron did not enjoy thinking about this. "Fine." She said curtly, then took the offered advice. "Kynazh Djoseras. We would discuss with you the matter of Perramesh."

Djoseras inclined his head. "This one thanks you for the invitation, honoured phaeron. But I fear Her Gracious Majesty has no need for my opinions."

"So the prince assumes his host's intentions? What a haughty child."

"What would this achieve?" Djoseras asked. "Would you have me defend the defeated? Make me curse the conquerors in front of you? Is there a philosophical significance to this exercise?"

"Of course there is, kynazh, let us be candid with one another."

The other Ogdobekh lords were staring between them in confusion, but Anathrosis was neither confused nor annoyed by talk of philosophical significances. If anything, she was motivated. "What good will you be in the future if you cannot defend yourself to us now? Are the sons of Unnas not the bastion of Ithakas? When you are grown you will have to treat with a thousand discrepancies, to defend the indefensible and keep face in front of injustice. To you, we are the ones who are unjust."

She smirked. "We shall not even ask Djoseras to be Djoseras, if the prince finds it undignified. Speak to us as the nomarch of Perramesh, who faced down great adversity and left behind much for the Ogdobekh to think about."

Djoseras gazed at Anathrosis for a while, seemingly blank-faced. But Zultanekh knew that look: it was the exact way he'd looked at Zultanekh when the Crown Prince had demanded he face him as they spoke. Had they been nearer, he almost fancied he would be able to see the kynazh's thoughts flowing glacier-slow and cold through his veins. Djoseras was a mirror. He knew how to show what others wished to see. 

"Defeated he was, but not broken." He said at last, and lowered his eyes in a knowing little smile. "Melos by name and from a worthy house, especially by fringeworld standards. When the Ogdobekh came, one could easily have supposed a man in his position would turn against Antikef. But he did not, as I will not. He did not flee, but faced the invaders and spoke thus: proceed."

"No need to proceed with flowery words and speeches." Likewise Anathrosis's tone became reflective and distant, recalling a history she had never lived, but was essential to her station. "For we would not be believed, and we will not ask you to believe, with the soldiers and weapons we have already brought upon your shores. Perish the thought, too, that you can talk us out of this: that because you had done us no harm, nor stripped us of our copper, we will accede and leave you alone. Such matters depend only on the strength you wield. The strong always do as they will, and the weak suffer what they must."

"Since you dispense with rights and speak only of profit, we have a word of advice." Djoseras replied. "You will profit best by sticking to what is fair and right, as our neighbouring dynasties would agree. It is a commonality of those stars that those in danger must be treated fairly, and that rule benefits you as well, for if your rich dynasty should fall you would immediately become the target of the heaviest vengeance and an example for all to mediate upon."

Anathrosis smiled. "Perramesh would be long perishéd before our dynasty is fallen. That is not our concern."

"Whether it falls a hundred or a million years hence, what I said will still be true."

"We are content to take that risk. Now we hope for your seamless integration into our worlds, and that you will preserve your own, in a way that benefits both us and yourselves."

Djoseras blinked. "And how could your rule and our enslavement turn out to be equally good as the other?"

"You would gain by surrendering before your destruction, and we should gain by not destroying you."

"And you will not abide that we should be neutral? Allied to neither dynasty, but equal in grace?"

"That we cannot permit. Your grace is far more dangerous to us than your hostility." The phaeron sat forward, her voice gentle and almost sympathetic if not for her pitiless mien. "Think of where you are located. Think of whence we've come. Receiving your grace with both hands would appear as our weakness, not just to you but all our neighbours, whereas your hostility will be accepted as proof of our strength."

"Do you believe there is no concern for you in our advice?" Djoseras, on the other hand, stayed emotionless. Had any Ogdobekh lord been forced to role-play a defeat of this length, they would have answered the insult with their fist or their hammer long ago, perhaps even if the command came from the phaeron herself. "If our interest and yours happen to coincide, it would do well for you to hear us out. Do you not see that the neutral worlds will bear witness to your ravage? That they will conclude you will do unto them as you wish to do unto us, and that time will breed enemies and injure your confidence? The fortunes of war do not necessarily prefer the strong. The more you test it, the more likely you will be to suffer its downsides."

Anathrosis laughed coldly. "May that thought preserve you in the midst of peril!"

But she was won over. Disgusted, but at the same time impressed by Djoseras's conduct. It was as if the prince had singlehandedly purged the tension she'd built up towards her court during their exchange, and now she was left staring at him like a distant island, unable or unwilling to muster the will to fight.

"Good!" She exclaimed at last. "You are well-learned, guest! Bright is the future of Ithakas, though the past you spoke of was ever darker. Unnas would be blessed to have one son like this, and yet there's you, Parik his firstborn - ah, and the youngest, of course. Were they taught to reason as you were? We would guess so."

She did not wait for Djoseras to answer. "If we'd had half a dozen kings' sons hanging in the wardrobe there would scarcely be an Ithakas! - But is it too late for that now? It is. We can only make the best of our circumstances. We will attempt this assembly again in twelve decans' time." Just then the herald ran in with the list of Zultanekh's reading materials. "A dialogue about virtue... a theoretical text on the world prior to the uatth-ur... a treatise on poetry. Romances. Many. Adventures, follies, idiocies... and one about the soul. What sort of drivel have you been letting him read?"

Anathrosis snorted with disgust and threw down the list. Yet something about the last item caught her eye, and she visibly hesitated before issuing her command. "The one about the soul's workings he may keep, and the practical dialogues. Take the rest away and prescribe him more time in the palace's library. See to it that he uses it wisely. You are all dismissed."

"The kynazh must be proud." The barb in Zultanekh's voice was evident to all as the princes left the symposium. "No Ithakan has won our phaeron's favour before. However shall we reach peace without your eminent wisdom?"

Djoseras shook his head. His voice was soft, washed out, almost.

"I did not like how your tutors were chastised. They were mindful men and were treated unjustly. I ask the Crown Prince to give them comfort."

"Surely they deserve none if they have lessoned me so badly." It was going to be so awkward, the next few lessons with his teachers. Zultanekh did not think this out of pain but a terrible, weighted resignation, and his helplessness only forced his anger elsewhere. "But would the kynazh believe Zultanekh if he said she'd never cared about this before? He doubts it."

Who was Djoseras to talk of what he liked or didn't like, anyway? As if this was his home, as if he had a choice.

"If she cares for it now, there is only one thing for it, Crown Prince. You must study."

Or to comment on his affairs. "Insulted and lectured by an Ithakan! Zultanekh would rather you had thrashed him honestly."

"It is not an insult." Djoseras insisted. Zultanekh snorted in disgust. "Read the histories between your neighbouring dynasties. Of the trades you established with the Thoktian worlds, the thousand years of dispute with the Sarnekh. You need not learn their speech or sympathize with their ways, but you must know-"

"Let us on our way, kynazh! We've had quite enough of you for one day." Hepat interrupted angrily, and barged past Djoseras to claim his place next to Zultanekh. "Pay no mind to the boy, good prince. I am sorry that our phaeron has treated with you so harshly."

"It is what it is, Patya. You could not have stopped it, nor the rest of our druzhi."

Yemeleth had picked up his pace to join them. He sidled between both men and took the prince's arm, laying his golden head softly against his shoulder. "It pains us to see you tormented. Of course princehood comes with responsibilities, but must you suffer needlessly for it? Not at all. We will take care that you do not."

That made the Crown Prince cackle. "What! Even from his studies?"

"Why should the Crown Prince seek out his own displeasure?" Came the reply. Zultanekh brushed it off at the time - but the longer he thought about it, later that night and beyond, the more he began to feel that wasn't a normal response to his plight. It was one thing to despair over Anathrosis, but it didn't seem correct for them to suggest he shouldn't study at all, simply because they thought it might please him better to hear it. No good would come of his disobedience. Surely they knew this.

But maybe it was just nerves. Come morning he went to ask an expert about it. "What would the Mistress advise? Do tell."

Nebbeshken hummed dryly, tapping her bronze-ringed fingers against the bench. They were alone in the courtyard. (She always preferred to meet one to one, for she thought little of Zultanekh's lords, and they did not much like her presence either.) If she thought Zultanekh foolish, or felt sorry for him for what had transpired at the symposium, she didn't show it at all; she took him at face value always, and while Zultanekh could scarce expect her coddling, he appreciated her honesty more than he could say.

"Contact with the Sarnekh was first. Chronologically."

Though she was appallingly truncated about it. Zultanekh stared at her for almost a minute before the threads of her logic wove themselves together in his brain. "You side with the kynazh?!" 

She tilted her head in the direction of the library. "Ground floor, east end. Begin under slovo. Law codes and treaties mostly."

The prince groaned, burying his face in his great hands. "Wonderful."

He just hoped nothing more would trouble him from this. From Djoseras, from his lords, anybody.

-----

But the lords did make trouble. Witnessing Zultanekh's humiliation spurred them to his defense. This meant singling out the problem, which to the lords meant they would not permit Djoseras his peace: it started slow at first, confined to whispers across the library, odd glances through the window, or laughter stifled beneath a palm, but quickly snowballed beyond what was acceptable. Two decans had passed before the Crown Prince became aware, and by then it'd already escalated to an invasion of the kynazh's reading room, the prince silent in his chair and his water jug shattered before his feet. 

Avdokep was swollen with pride. Zultanekh did not bother with inquiries. "Leave."

The servants shut the door on the lord's excuses, citing insolent behaviour from the Ithakan guards, the kynazh's presumptuous attitude, something or another about Anathrosis. Zultanekh gazed upon the broken shards for a moment before raising his head. "This is a dull sight." He said, and gestured towards a servant, who stepped forward with a carafe of sulphur-wine they'd brought for his luncheon. "Zultanekh will be sure to discipline him. May the kynazh overlook the youth's insolence and accept this instead."

Djoseras did not look at him. "I do not really drink wine, Crown Prince. It is better spent elsewhere."

Zultanekh's features hardened. His jaw set firmly, like that of a sculpture.

Then he threw the carafe down and shattered that into pieces.

"Who would have thought a separatist would prove an ingrate," He shouted, then stormed out of the room altogether. More maddening yet was the fact this had gotten the kynazh to look around, and he'd had the gall to look at Zultanekh like he was the exasperated one. Zultanekh did not feel great about it - he was downright regretful, actually, before he'd even left the shadow of the library behind - but the anger broiled in him until he got to complain to his nearest companion about it.

By chance, it was Nebbeshken. She listened, seeming just as listless, but set him straight when he stopped talking. "Ithakans dilute their wines. It's how the Lawmaker did it. Core belief."

"By the fiery crucible!" Zultanekh huffed. "Why would he do such a thing?"

They had great pride in their sulphur-wines, the Ogdobekh. He'd never heard of anyone not drinking it as it was. "He thought pure wine muddied the mind and affected judgement. Not wrong," Nebbeshken was saying. "Best give him the water, if he must have one or the other."

"Well, that's-"

But the apprentek's words had a way of deflating him. Zultanekh tried to analyze why he was so bothered about this, and concluded it wasn't Nebbeshken, nor the wasted wine, nor even the circumstances Djoseras had been in when he'd walked into the room. No one had ever said no to him before. Not even when they really should have, not even for something as trifling as a drink. Even his mother would rather mock and criticize than say a blunt no - and that wasn't the way the Ogdobekh did things, all this dancing around the point. Nobody around him was afraid to turn down and clash and refuse, only for him, because of who he was. "That's stupid." The prince muttered at last, glaring at the carpeted floor.

Nebbeshken's eyes gazed severely into his above the bronzed rim of her glasses.

"It is not for a kynazh to care what a knyaz' thinks." 

Zultanekh heaved a deep, deep sigh.

Whose side are you on, exactly? He might have grumbled - but bit his tongue, for Nebbeshken had summed up his problem in one sentence. A question of etiquette this might be, but not a war of opinion. He could force objects upon the kynazh or make him exist in situations, but he would never convince him that the Ogdobekh ways were better, and he was wasting his time raging about misunderstandings. But if only everything could feel so straightforward all the time. The wrongs and rights of behaviour, always categorized as neatly as Nebbeshken put it.

Oh he so hated to yield, this Zultanekh. He'd been forced to make so many concessions ever since Djoseras came. He resented that, and more so the fact that historically, that was just what relations between the Ogdobekh and the Ithakans were like. (And yes, he could say that, he'd upped his reading a lot lately.) After the initial war of secession that had severed Ithakas from the becoppered worlds, whispers had been abound in the West that the Ogdobekh were tyrants, vying for cruel and merciless superiority. But the way Zultanekh saw it, they had no reason to think this when his dynasty was so soft on the Ithakans. Ithakka the Lawmaker had fled with the worlds best enriched with metals and minerals, and the Ogdobekh hadn't punished him as much as they should have. He'd made off with their technologies, he'd stolen their dynastic title, warped and evolved until no one thought a kynazh was anything but an Ithakan nowadays. 

But the Ogdobekh knew the truth. Now they made do with grandiose titles and epithets, but never got back what was originally theirs. Never mind hostages, it was Zultanekh who was truly displaced: a kynazh was a real and storied being, but a knyaz' was an outdated word in dusty tomes, taken out and polished only for the sake of edicts. It was all very well for outsiders to condemn the Ogdobekh, but to the Ogdobekh the Ithakans would always be the oathbreakers, diluters of wines and titles. Having thus lamented the relativity of morals, Zultanekh sighed once more, and decided to try his luck again next day.

It went better that time. But also worse.

(Exactly how much worse, he would not appreciate until later.)

Zultanekh and his water jug arrived to another rabble the following morning. Yemeleth was there, and Hapat and Avdokep were there, a small band of their combined retinues clustered outside the kynazh's window. Since Zultanekh had expressed displeasure towards them being in the library, they would camp outside of it, and was demanding the young prince answer their demands. "How haughty and arrogant is the kynazh of Ithakas! You reject our prince's goodwill and speak out of turn at every step. We who keep faith with him demand you respect his authority."

Rather to Zultanekh's surprise, Djoseras answered, his voice drifting out of the open window like ice floating serenely down a river. "Hardly disrespectful to stay where I was allocated."

"Oh, my!" Yemeleth laughed. His demeanour was sweet but there was a wicked pleasure in his eyes. "So you will not so much as take a glance, Kynazh Djoseras? Does the might of our crownworld fail to impress you? What a shame. We had so hoped you would feel at home."

His speech became more thoughtful, even kindly in its tone. "Wouldn't the kynazh know his own history better than most of us? Ithakka, too, was once in the care of a lord of Tamar; he spent his youth here in the crownworld, and was treated most generously by his patron, from whom he learned our ways and our rule of law. And now his descendent sits where he used to sit. Don't you think there's something to be learned from that?" He smirked. "We are all the same people, no matter how badly your ancestors have misplaced your heritage. Why can we not take pride in the things we used to share? We are not so distant from you, kynazh, among us are lawmakers and nemesors and standard-bearers no different to the ones you will command in the future. Pray look upon us and Prince Zultanekh in a better light."

Djoseras wasn't having it. He would not come to the window, but his tone was colder than ever.

"I will not bandy words with a pretender. When you yourself have borne the standard for your prince, bled for him and stood with him in the looming dark, then you may address me."

Hepat clasped a hand to his mouth. (Whether in shock or to hold back his laughter, Zultanekh later regretted not investigating.) The others, however, were plainly outraged. Yemeleth turned pale, then rapidly reddened in his fury.

"Says the child who is also here under his father's honour! You are a disgrace, kynazh!"

At that Zultanekh's patience was drained. He commanded a nearby guard to take the water jug to the kynazh and physically pulled Yemeleth away by the arm. "Cease this at once." He said sternly as soon as the kynazh's window was out of sight. "Is Melechka unaware Djoseras is the phaeron's guest? Why invite trouble? Do not bother with him."

Yemeleth would not yield. "The Crown Prince has changed," he protested. "You were ever merry with us before the kynazh came, and at the training-grounds an undefeated champion, eager to thwart anyone who stood in your way. Now he throws your grace and generosity back in your face, and you are letting it happen - tell me, why must you endure this outrage?"

"So it is Zultanekh who lets it happen, is it? Watch your words." The prince warned. "Zultanekh would remind you that the boy is a prince, and that the Ogdobekh do not raise their hammers in unequal vendettas. Has Melechka the mettle to challenge him to a duel? To pay a princely sum for his grudge, if it goes poorly for him?"

The lord turned his face away, practically scarlet in his shame. He could not pay - it was true - he'd not yet had the chance to be a man of honour, that was all his father. "And he complains about Zultanekh's conduct." Scoffed the Crown Prince. "Zultanekh endures this outrage, he says - and yet he's the one arguing with a windowpane, inviting insults that he has no way of answering! Pah!"

It was the harshest he'd ever been to Yemeleth. But with good reason. Zultanekh's authority was second only to Anathrosis, but he desperately needed him to understand that gap was extremely vast, and that they should not put pride over common sense when they knew she suffered fools poorly.

"Forgive us." The youth replied - then came the glimpse of a tear, and that longing look, that had moved Zultanekh so often when he'd had a younger heart. "Our phaeron intends for you to do great things. First this change, and so many others to follow... The neighbouring dynasties require your diplomacy, one day you will assume the regency of Tamar, you may even be wed very soon. But the boy cares nothing about that - he disrespects you so openly, and yet you must continue to attend to him as a guest. That is difficult for us to bear."

Zultanekh sighed. He did not have the best patience for jealousies - but not even he could deny the political landscape around them was changing. Developments that had been dormant for the past few years were coming back into play, and some of those would translate as major life events for Zultanekh, whether he was prepared or not. His stomach twinged as he thought of the only time they'd attempted to arrange a betrothal for him, the memory just as shameful now as it had been back then.

They had both been thirteen. She had been of the Mephrit, the fourth daughter of their then-phaeron. They were too young to be actively in courtship, but had thought each other quite seemly. As soon as they were sixteen years old, the courts agreed, they would be wed; at his young age, Zultanekh had felt no more about the betrothal than the instinct to be kind, and had gone as far as to meet her in the Mephrit worlds a few times. Yet that agreement was destroyed in a matter of months, as the girl came down with the bloodsickness. 

Anathrosis immediately withdrew him from the contract, citing doubts she could live long enough to wed him and bear him children. She said it exactly like that, as if she believed the princess was at fault for becoming ill, and needed the entire galaxy to know about it. Naturally the Mephrit phaeron was wroth to hear those words. Perceptible cracks appeared in the relationship between the dynasties, only papered over when a better match was found for the princess among the Kardenath. Zultanekh, on the whole, had been mortified.

That was the first time he'd truly had to deal with his mother's discourtesies. She did not seem to care for the damage this did to his reputation, stating only that it would improve with time. She was right, of course - Zultanekh had been too young to be actually held responsible - but she could've also not put him in that situation in the first place. From this one incident Zultanekh foresaw the ways Anathrosis would use him in the future, and he saw he was not as protected as he'd thought, which might've shaped him into the merry yet careless youth he was now. Around then, too, was when Yemeleth entered his life - Hepat, too, and all the rest - because those lords' sons were the only people who empathized with his pains.

They wished to raise his dignity. They knew what it was to be lonely. He had often excused their lack of wisdom in return for that understanding.

"That is all well, Melechka, but arguing with the kynazh will solve nothing. Zultanekh will advise you to step back from this matter."

But no longer. Now he was in the middle of another interdynastic tension and he had to tread carefully. "What would you do with him, even if you could provoke the kynazh out of the library? Make him apologize for his attitude? That will not go well. Zultanekh fears the path you tread, that at the end of it, only the wrath of Anathrosis would await you."

That was Zultanekh's mistake, appealing to Anathrosis's power instead of making it clearer that he wanted the lords to leave the kynazh alone. But the phaeron was to be feared and Yemeleth seemed to understand, so he didn't realize it at the time. "Let the kynazh stay where he is, for he need only be tolerated until the cryptek masters return. We shall make merry on our own until then."

Yemeleth looked up at him longingly. "May we seek you still, my lord?"

"Because you are Zultanekh's joy and pleasure, you may." The prince replied, and sealed the deal with a kiss on the other's forehead. But deep down he was wary, as he'd seen his lords were not as compliant as he'd thought them to be, and the bitter anxiety Anathrosis had instilled in him at thirteen reared its head again. Merrymaking was well and good, but the message from his phaeron was clear that Zultanekh was not to spend most of his time doing that, and he was not as confident as he ought to have been that the young lords would understand. And any frustration resulting from that, of course, would be directed right back at Djoseras - if not to his face, then behind his back, tarnishing his name among the Ogdobekh.

But what idiocy was this! Zultanekh was the Crown Prince. What was it to him if a nemesis took the blame? 
Zultanekh shook his head. He was just too generous for his own good. Of course his friends didn't recognize him for his fists of strangesteel, since unlike his mother he hadn't sought to wield them very often. Zultanekh had once thought that proper, as it was not for a princeling to exceed his king's power. Now that the order of his world was being contested, he wondered if he should've been more forceful after all; but when would he have done that, why would his lords have angered him like that, when he'd known his place and they'd known theirs and everything had been so good before Djoseras entered the scene.

It was all very tiresome, to say the least.

Despairingly Zultanekh thought about just walking away. To return to his thoughtless life and disregard Djoseras entirely. His melancholy lasted but a second before his stubbornness reminded him that he was not to run from his problems. Besides, since Anathrosis had forcefully appointed him to the library, avoiding the kynazh would be very difficult indeed; no, Zultanekh must keep his pride. There was no better deterrent against unreasonable behaviour than to nip it in the bud from the start.

And to do that, he had to be present. So he moved in. It was as simple as that, at least for a time.

Before all of this, Zultanekh had read with his tutors. He moved his efforts to the library, and had his tutors report to the phaeron he had done so. He used to close out his afternoons with physical training sessions, now he did that first thing in the morning, so that the daytime hours were free for his studies. He took Nebbeshken's advice and began browsing down the alphabet, starting with Sarnekh-Ogdobekh relations, and when he ran across Djoseras doing similar things he would acknowledge him a glance and a nod.

Djoseras seldom spoke to him and Zultanekh did not go out of his way to do so. When his lords stopped by to see him, he met them outside, drawing their attention away from Djoseras. The lords did not try to provoke the kynazh, Zultanekh got to have a break without annoying his mother - and surprisingly, Djoseras seemed to trust him more once he'd seen Zultanekh would give him his peace. After a while the he even began to initiate conversation, although it was always about studious matters (and not very energizing). Zultanekh would send him little things as a courtesy, drinks and treats and writing materials, and only sometimes thought Djoseras was an ingrate if they were refused. It was an uneasy peace, but it appeared to be everyone's peace, and that was a rare state for the necrontyr indeed.

It wouldn't last, of course. But it didn't need to. One day Djoseras would leave Tamar and Zultanekh wouldn't have to do this again. If Ogdobekh-Ithakas relations turned hostile once more, further down the line, the princes might even have to go to war. Either way, Zultanekh would not have been an embarrassment to his dynasty in dealing with Djoseras, and that was all that mattered.

No one could blame his conduct.

-----

"Why are you doing this?" Djoseras asked him once. They were standing at the opposite ends of a bookshelf, the kynazh with his arms full of law-codes, Zultanekh gazing out of the window where his admirers were standing in wait. He had promised them a luncheon but was only half in the mood, and the kynazh's inquisitive look bothered him, like he'd been caught feeling something he shouldn't be. "It befits the Crown Prince little to tend to my care. Already your court thinks poorly of my presence, it could do you no good to be seen with me."

Zultanekh thought about explaining all of this. The lords, the chip in his pride, the fact the Ithakan prince was constantly illuminating aspects of the world unfamiliar to him. Declined, partially because he didn't yet have the language, and also because he feared to let Djoseras into his thoughts.

"My mother favours you greatly." Was all he said in the end, and he turned his back fully to the kynazh, the last of the morning shade darkening his blood-red hair. "Could Zultanekh stand to learn from your conduct? Perhaps. In any case, his home is here, and he will go wherever he wishes. Pay him no mind."