Chapter Text
‘If you value me, you will send the boy here.’
It was madness to send such a missive to his Serenity. That was the only excuse for such an ultimatum. Arbelan who knew his response to such matters so well after their years of marriage.
Her decades of relegation. Not for lack of love, but for lack of children.
In the moment though it seemed only logical. She, who could never bear a child of her husband’s blood, and a child of his blood, who had no mother left to him.
Even when she regained herself, and put aside her lonely madness, could still see the logic that drove her to send the request.
For certainly it felt an insult for the boy to be sent away with a traitor to the throne, instead.
-
It was a kindness that his Serenity did not respond to her message in as many words. His temper rarely reached her in relegation.
Arbelan still recalled sitting as still as she could, ears shaking, as he raged. Throwing dishes and screaming at the servants.
Rather than standing up to his advisors when they told him to put her aside.
-
The airship docked to her mast with no warning. A tiny dark child brought down under the hand of the captain.
Neither the airship or the captain bore the Drazhar crest or any sign they bore loyalty to the crown, beyond that which was owed by every citizen to their Emperor.
Still, the captain refused to hand the boy over to her guards. Or even her housekeeper.
Resolute, until she came herself.
Arbelan didn’t understand the insistence until she stood in front of him. The captain giving her a narrow eyed look before moving his hand from the boy’s shoulder to underneath his chin.
Lifting his face so the mass of unkempt curls no longer shielded his eyes. A bruise that turned his gray skin nearly black ran from the bridge of his nose to the edge of his ear. An area with a crest from a ring was bruised darker still.
Was a kindness to bring the lad away merrem. Still, we would know the same won’t happen again.
Arbelan’s ears dipped.
The captain had a rough accent and mode of speech. Had no place judging one of her high birth. Whether his bravado made him brave or foolish, she understood the sentiment.
It certainly was not something we or his father countenanced.
The captain looked at her narrow eyed for a long moment. As though to judge her words truthfulness. Before he let out a gusty sigh, his ears dropping from watchfulness to acceptance.
Crouching so he was closer in height to the boy, he said clear enough that every member of the household could hear.
You’re a good lad. Do your best by the chance you’ve been given. We’ll see to stopping by when we next bring cargo this way.
Thank you, mer.
Barely a whisper. The polite mode of address, all out of order given by a son of the Emperor to a commoner.
She dared not call attention to it. To do so, would be to admit to his trader, who already judged her harshly, that he’d been asked to transport the heir without guard or warning.
Rather than what he likely thought was bringing the child of a country Lord from one estate to another. Still unconscionably foolish, risking ransom as it did. But only likely to raise an eyebrow or ear, rather than set off a national scandal.
Once the captain was back up the mast and the airship away, the boy turned to her and bowed with utmost precision.
This one greets the Arbelan Zhasan.
Instinct had her dip a curtsey as to the heir to the throne.
Though even so young, the boy likely knew the honor would never be his in truth.
-
Arbelan found that having a child among her household was not as she imagined. Either in the time when she’d still believed she would have a babe of her own.
Or the period of mad loneliness that brought Maia to her doorstep.
She saw that he was set up with a maid her housekeeper favored. Arranged for him to eat at a child’s table as she recalled from her own long ago time in the nursery and then left the matter to lie.
-
Only sending discreet word to his Serenity that Setheris Nelar had overstepped his bounds a second time.
Raising his voice against the Emperor and his hand against the Emperor’s heir.
There was no announcement of his Serenity’s judgement against the man. For to admit what happened would imply that a mistake was made in trusting his heir to a traitor.
A quiet death saved face.
-
It was some months into Maia’s time at Cethoree, before she had cause to think of the matter again.
It was rare for a lesser maid to request a direct meeting with Arbelan. The stiff formality of noble household and the alcethmeret underlined how she ran her home.
After the fifth missive insisting that speaking to the housekeeper would not due, she gave in.
Expecting more than anything, she would have to see the woman dismissed.
Barely into adulthood with the flat and broad features that marked her as one of the families that grew up surrounding Cethoree, rather than the refined blood of those that came with Arbelan from the capital. It was only the firm set of her jaw that gave Arbelan pause.
Your ladyship. I know it is untoward for me to speak with you such, but the housemistress says she can’t authorize my request, and it is urgent.
I see.
Then after a long pause while the young woman’s eyes skated from the floor to just below eye contact, Arbelan gave a more formal response.
You may continue.
The young master, he seems ill suited to Cethoree. This one hoped you might request one of his mother’s household be brought here. As he speaks often of being in better health when at Isvaroë.
Arbelan cocked her ears up, curious. She’d seen little of the boy in his time here. He was old enough to be out of leading strings and too young to be a true member of the household.
An ill child should still have been raised to her attention. Long before a maid barged in.
What did our housekeeper say of your concerns?
He’s had a great shock, and simply needs more time. It would be best he adjust to a proper elvish household.
Implied but not said was that there were no goblin staff in Cethoree above the position of stable hand or scullery.
A direct maid to the heir would be of some great upheaval.
I will think upon the matter. You may return to your charge for now.
The maid’s shoulders sagged. Her curtsey was deeper than needed. Likely she’d known requesting a direct audience risked dismissal.
Which lent further weight to her concern.
-
Arbelan used the contacts she still had at court to make discreet inquiries as to anyone from Chenelo’s household who might be interested in a new posting.
She’d expected little response, but her conscious pricked her every time she considered putting the matter fully aside.
Looking in on Maia underscored the maid’s concern. Despite his darker gray skin, he had a yellow tinge that spoke of ill health. The better arranged hair and finer clothes only highlighted the greater frailness than he’d first shown coming off the airship.
It was known his mother was of ill constitution. Perhaps it was a matter of allowing the boy to die out of sight that caused his Serenity to send the boy away with a traitor.
If he died under Setheris Nelar’s watch no one would have commented on the man being executed over the matter.
If he died under Arbelan’s watch, things would be more fraught.
-
The goblin woman, when she came, came on a cart along with the normal monthly delivery of goods to the household.
As such, it took some long discussion before anyone informed Arbelan that someone had come on her invitation.
They eyed each other warily after introductions were made in the pink receiving room. No one sure if the matter should be seen to in entryway as a lady greeting her staff or a formal setting meant for a lady greeting an invited guest.
She was a stocky thing, heavy breasted and dressed in clothes better suited to a farmer’s wife than a lord’s maid. Arbelan could not decide if she should believe the woman’s claims to have been an upper maid in Isvaroë.
Finally, the door swung open, allowing in Maia and his maid.
The goblin woman’s eyes swung away from Arbelan, landing on the young prince. Her ears immediately dropped as she lowered herself not into a bow or curtsey but to open her arms to the child.
Little prince, no one told me you’d taken ill.
Maia rushed to her with the same lack of formality. Arms wrapping tightly around her neck.
Osheto!
His shoulders rose and fell for a long time. As though with sobs. Though there was no sound of crying.
Still the blatant show of emotion added to Arbelan’s discomfort.
Merrem Osheto stood after a time. Easing Maia’s arms away from herself. She bowed in proper depth for a maid of the household to its lady.
Thank you for the offer to be part of the household, Ethuverazhid Zhas.
No formal offer had been made. But, in the face of Maia’s attempts to hide his face in Merrem Osheto’s skirt, Arbelan felt uncomfortable pressing the matter.
We thank you for accepting.
-
A nursemaid to see the prince through his ill-health acquired, Arbelan thought the matter settled.
Until she was summoned to the household’s kitchen, with some great discomfort by a flustered maid.
I’m sorry my lady. But the housemistress can’t get them to agree and the nursemaid-
The maid paused for a long time. Gaze gone furtive and her ears dipping almost flat against her head before finally she whispered
She is speaking of treason, my Lady.
That indeed required a more personal touch.
-
Merrem Osheto stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on hips and Maia half hidden behind her skirt. Her ears were up in obvious temper. Even had the raised color on her cheekbones and nose not been obvious.
The head cook was in a similar state. Hand clenched tight around the handle of a broad cleaver as he attempted to use his greater height to tower over the maid.
Who seemed unimpressed by the attempt.
The tension was such that the whole room had ground to a halt. Only the sound of the fire crackling and bubbling pots left to show the place a working kitchen.
Whats toward?
Arbelan asked the room at large as she swept in.
This mu-
The cook only cut himself off when he looked up to realize it was the lady of the house who’d asked.
That did little to hide the fact he’d almost used a slur against goblins in the presence of the half-goblin heir to the throne.
Arbelan raised a single eyebrow, and cut him down with the withering look she’d learned at her mother’s knee.
There is little call for that. We would see this matter handled civilly.
She start-
One of the second cooks stepped between the fighting pair, ushering the head cook back. Whispering softly enough Arbelan could pretend not to hear his demands for the man to hold his tongue.
Arbelan used the space to turn her attention to Merrem Osheto.
We were told you had concerns of treason?
If she expected the goblin woman to back down under such direct questioning, she’d sorely mistaken the woman’s character.
She turned to Arbelan, back straight. Met her eyes without a hint of embarrassment.
What else should I call it when I find the man has been feeding the little prince food he cannot eat for months? And when he was told, he refused to address the matter?
The food is healthy enough-
Arbelan raised a hand. The cook cut off mid sentence, whether because of shame or because one of his staff shut him up, she didn’t turn to check.
You say he cannot eat the food? Explain.
Instead of addressing Arbelan directly, Merrem Osheto turned to the housekeeper.
How old would you say the prince is?
The woman squirmed visibly. Not liking to be pulled into the matter so clearly beyond her station. Only responding when it became clear the nursemaid would not continue until she received an answer.
Perhaps six?
Nearly nine.
Now the housekeeper’s eyes roved over the prince. Ears dropping in obvious distress.
He was nearing a growth spurt when he left Isvaroë. He’s grown not an inch and lost half a stone.
Arbelan had little familiarity with the way young elves or goblins grew, but it was clear from the way the kitchen sprung up in whispers and concerned looks that this was a matter of some great weight.
Every meal since I’ve been here has been full of northern foods, goblins are not known to easily eat.
Eyes swung in mass towards the head cook.
The prince assures me that he brought the matter up a few times when he first came into the household’s care and was told he must learn to adjust. What place is it of a cook to tell a prince how he must eat?
A valid question, though not phrased in a way Arbelan would have preferred.
I do not recall such a request or concern being brought to my attention?
The cook puffed himself up like a cock.
I shouldn’t think of troubling her ladyship on the matter of a picky child.
I see.
Arbelan looked over to the housekeeper, who gave a small nod.
If it is too much trouble for you, then other arrangements for a head cook can be made. Maia you will begin to eat with me in the main dining hall, so that such concerns cannot be considered a matter of mere pickiness.
Maia moved away from his nursemaid to bow properly.
We thank you.
Arbelan acknowledged it with a nod. Before sweeping her eyes over the kitchen at large. The space sprang back to life, as servants rushed to avoid her judgement.
-
At evening meal that night, in addition to the usual dishes of meat and vegetables, a flat serving tray with a fish cooked in a delicate clear broth was brought out.
Placed in pride of place near where Maia was seated at her left hand.
The boy ate three bowls from it. In addition to small portions of the vegetables. Refusing even a bite of the thick cream-stewed meat.
-
Arbelan authorized the hiring of a second cook from Isvaroë on Merrem Osheto’s recommendation.
Over the next months the food changed, no longer clearly delineated between Goblin and Elvish fair.
The cream sauces became a little lighter, made with fruits or goats’ milk in the goblin way. Though cooked to Elvish recipes.
Breakfast, as the least formal meal, was the only one where Maia regularly ate in the fully Goblin way. Fish and rice to Arbelan’s breads and creams.
Whether it was simply better food, or the fact the staff now knew Arbelan was observing more closely, the boy quickly began to regain his health.
Gaunt cheek’s bloomed with a child’s fat, which quickly turned into height.
The household no longer felt haunted by the ghost of a dying child. Rather, on most days it was filled with soft laughter or calls of a high piping voice.