Author's Note: This story was written for "The First Day of Midwinter Challenge" over at the Tamora Pierce Writing Experiment Forum. The title of this piece may be familiar to people as the refrain to "Angels We Have Heard on High." For those of you who don't know, "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" translates from Latin into English as "Glory to God in the highest." I thought this fit the story and the holiday spirit filling this time of year quite well. Please be warned, though, that this piece (since I wrote it) is a rather dark look at the holiday season in Ozorne's Carthak.
Disclaimer: If I were Tamora Pierce, why wouldn't I be making money from my writing?
Gloria in Excelsis Deo
"Come, they told me. A newborn king to see."—A Little Drummer Boy
The Annunciation
Kaddar Gazanoi Iliniat, possessor of so many titles that, unlike his imperial uncle, he never used them when thinking about himself, stared at his exam paper. He had already written as much as he could remember about Carthak's conquest of various smaller countries two centuries ago and how the diverse cultural groups in those regions had been integrated (with varying degrees of success) into Carthaki society.
Since a vacant expression did not suit the dignity of the Emperor Ozorne's nephew, he knitted his brow into a look of scholarly, lofty contemplation even as he did nothing more than count—for what had to be the thousandth time since the start of term—the five rows of five mahogany desks spaced around him. It was a pity that Master Orgalope had not decorated the classroom with any colorful maps to relieve the blank gray stone of the walls, and possessed a personality about as dull as the drab stone. History would have been fascinating if it had been taught by someone whose greatest talent was not the uncanny ability to make gory battles sound as stale as last week's toast.
Pretending to add a sentence to his paragraph about the suppression of a rebellion against imperial rule in a northern province, Kaddar let his mind drift. Soon, for two glorious weeks, he would be almost as free as his mind. This was his last exam before the holidays. Normally, he would have returned to his mother's estate for her parties, but this year, after an intense bout of negotiations that could have prepared him to serve as a diplomat, he had managed to convince her to allow him to join Master Lindhall Reed, his favorite university teacher, on a research trip to study the anatomy of vultures.
Several of his friends would be going as well. Soon, they would be crouching in the tall savannah grass, the wind blowing the green stalks in their faces as they sketched drawings of the bone structure of Carthak's sinuous scavengers. There would be so much laughter, and, though there would be danger because there was always peril of some sort in Carthak, it would be from animals, not people…
The bell rang, yanking Kaddar out of his daydreams. Grateful that he had not really been making any last-minute additions to his essay, he dropped his quill, as, all around him, his classmates put theirs down.
"Time is up," called Master Orgalope over the rustling that filled the room as the students rolled up their scrolls, tucked their quills into their satchels, swung their satchels over this shoulders, and exited the room, turning their papers in to him as they left, comparing what they had written and speculating on how well or badly they had done on the test.
Kaddar had been intending to return to his quarters to ensure that all his baggage was packed for tomorrow's trip, but, before he could do so, a slight servant boy with smooth skin the color of amber approached him, bowing. "Duke of Yamut?"
"Yes?" Kaddar arched an eyebrow.
"Master Reed requests an audience with you in his study," answered the servant, keeping his head lowered.
"Very well." Kaddar nodded and waved his hand in dismissal. "You may go about your business."
"Yes, Your Grace." With a final bow, the servant scurried off down the passageway.
Wondering if the absent-minded Master Reed had forgotten to tell him to bring some sort of important item on their trip, Kaddar hurried down the corridor, climbed up a flight of marble stairs lined with a gleaming mosaic, and turned down another hallway decorated with silk tapestries until he reached the cedar door with the gold plate engraved with Master Reed's name.
Deciding that, after the tedium of the exam, it would be stimulating to take advantage of the fact that his high rank dictated that whenever he barged in upon a person of lower rank the person of lower rank would have to feign delight at the interruption, Kaddar entered Master Reed's office without knocking or making any other attempt to announce his presence.
Master Reed, who had been humming a merry tune as he graded a stack of essays, glanced up as Kaddar stepped inside.
"You summoned me, sir," said Kaddar, shutting the door.
"No, I didn't." Master Reed put down his quill, and, with ink-stained fingers, popped a grape from a porcelain bowl on his desk into his mouth. "I requested an audience with you."
"You know I would never refuse an audience with my favorite teacher." Smiling, Kaddar sank into an upholstered chair opposite Master Reed's. "It's just a shame you couldn't request an audience with me when I was in the middle of Master Orgalope's exam."
"How did the examination go?" Master Reed placed another grape into his mouth, adding, "Please help yourself. This is a surprisingly good batch of grapes."
"The exam went fine." Kaddar shrugged, biting into a grape and discovering that it was quite as delicious as Master Reed had promised. "I wrote the main points about Carthak's conquests two centuries ago, invented a couple of details to add to my academic credibility, and made several generalizations about the time period to provide the illusion that there was a point to my paper. I'm just glad the course is over."
"A gentleman should know history." With a chuckle, Master Reed wagged a finger.
"And literature. And how to identify and appreciate good artwork. And how to wage wars that destroy good artwork. And how to dance without tripping over your own feet or smashing your partner's toes. And how to bow without tempting the emperor to behead you. And how to eat without using the wrong fork at the wrong time." Kaddar smirked. "It seems a gentleman should know how to do everything but draw the bone structure of a vulture, but I'm looking forward to researching that."
"That's what I wanted to speak with you about." Master Reed's expression clouded in a manner that, in Carthak, usually meant another powerful noble had been killed for a treasonous activity that might have been real or might have existed only in Emperor Ozorne's vivid, paranoid imagination. "The head of the university received a message from the emperor about you. The head feels that I should be the one to tell you that your uncle expects you to spend the Midwinter holiday at court. He wants you in attendance at his festivities from tomorrow night onward."
"I already have plans for the holidays." The words burst out of Kaddar's lips before he could think about what he was saying—a habit that could kill him at court, he knew. Yet, he wasn't going to court. His mother had taught him that the farther he was from the emperor, the more likely his body was to remain unpoisoned and his head attached to his neck.
"The emperor won't be refused." Master Reed sighed. "You know that. Everyone does."
"Of course." Kaddar pressed his lips together bitterly. "Everybody has to drop everything at his whim. The more people have to change their plans to accept his so-called invitations, the more powerful he is, and, with him, everything is always about proving his might."
"His Imperial Majesty loves Midwinter." Master Reed coughed absently, wiping the ink on his fingers across a piece of parchment. "Midwinter is a time for family, and you are His Imperial Majesty's nephew."
"His Imperial Majesty doesn't love Midwinter because of the rebirth of Mithros." Kaddar scowled. "He loves the holiday because it is an excuse to host extravagant parties glorifying himself, so everybody can worship the real sun god—Emperor Ozorne."
"You must never say such things at court." His absent expression fading entirely, Master Reed leaned forward, whispering anxiously, "Every word you say at court will be eavesdropped upon, and every movement you make could be interpreted as an insult to His Imperial Majesty if you aren't careful. You are close enough to the throne for your uncle to view you as a threat, and for others to be jealous of you and long for your destruction."
"I know that." The resentment melted from Kaddar's face, replaced by a polite blandness. "My mother taught me that. I shall be a cautious, well-mannered liar. I shall bury my real self until it is safe to resurrect it."
"Good." Some of the tension coiled in Master Reed's forehead eased. "I've seen too many of my favorite students killed or exiled because they threatened or displeased His Imperial Majesty in some way. Don't swell their ranks, or I'll be very put out with you."
"The thought of your displeasure chills me more than the thought of my uncle's." Snorting, Kaddar told himself that if he turned the danger his uncle represented into a joke, he could lose the rage that pounded through his veins when he considered how Emperor Ozorne could rearrange his life on a whim. Moments ago, he was about to depart on an exciting research trip, eagerly anticipating laughing with real friends. Now, he would be spending his days amidst the glamor and the perfume of the imperial court, surrounded by fake smiles and brittle laughter, forever aware that his uncle could order his death as easily as his presence at a banquet. "It seems I shall be spending my holiday studying the anatomy of a different kind of vulture."
"We'll have to compare notes upon our return to the university." Master Reed offered a smile that said more than words could have, which Kaddar regarded as the perfect re-introduction to courtly society. "Make sure you send a messenger to your uncle telling him how honored you are to accept his gracious invitation."
"I suppose next you'll be telling me to make certain I'm wearing my feet before trying to walk out of my quarters." Kaddar snickered. "I'm not as stupid as you seem to think."
"Oh, I know you aren't stupid." Master Reed popped another ripe grape into his mouth. "But you are rude."
"Rude enough not to tell you that I'll miss you over the holidays, even though I shall." With the ghost of what he realized would be his last genuine grin in weeks, Kaddar stood to leave Master Reed's study.
"I'll miss you, too," Master Reed shouted after him as he shut the door. "See you next year."
The Epiphany
"Welcome back to court, Duke of Yamut and Count of Amar," said the coal-black slave in the palace guest room Kaddar had been escorted to, prostrating himself upon the sleek tiger-skin carpet as Kaddar entered the chamber. "My name is Uzochi, if it please Your Grace. His Imperial Majesty has sent me to wait upon Your Grace for the duration of your stay at court as sign of his favor. He hopes that Your Grace will use me instead of your personal slaves, and he is confident that Your Grace will be satisfied with my work."
Kaddar understood that this was the verbose and subtle way of saying that Uzochi was a spy—probably one of many—that the emperor had dispatched to watch Kaddar every minute of his stay at the imperial court. Doubtlessly, even his trips to the privy would be reported upon to Emperor Ozorne.
"I'm honored by the emperor's favor and only hope to prove worthy of it." Keeping his tone and face inscrutable, Kaddar pretended to focus his attention upon examining the chamber. It was a cavernous, elegant room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all polished rose-colored marble with streaks of azure. Cushioned divans were placed in a circle around a window. A maple desk with a comfortable chair was situated beside another. The bed was a delicately craved four poster with soft cotton sheets and a silk comforter. "You can begin pleasing me with your work by helping me prepare for tonight's banquet."
"Of course, Your Grace." Uzochi nodded. "May I rise and lead you into your dressing room?"
"You may." Kaddar inclined his head in confirmation, and Uzochi stood.
"Here is your dressing room, Your Grace," announced Uzochi, bowing Kaddar into a small, lilac-scented dressing room off the main chamber.
As he stepped into the room, he saw that the tiled room was furnished with a silver bathtub; a long mirror; a bureau filled with cosmetics, perfumes, and soaps; and a rack with folded brocade robes and towels hanging from it.
"The theme of tonight's banquet is astrology," Uzochi commented, deftly slipping off Kaddar's clothing. "Rumor has it that Lady Varice has outdone herself with the decorations for tonight's party. His Imperial Majesty has demonstrated his favor for you by having his finest tailors make an outfit for you to wear to tonight's festivity. It is hanging in the wardrobe next door. I hope that you will allow me to dress you in it once I have finished bathing you."
"I don't plan on dressing myself," Kaddar replied haughtily, letting Uzochi guide him into the warm water a slave must have dumped into the silver bathtub before they had entered the dressing room.
"His Imperial Majesty would never violate the rules of hospitality by forcing you to do so, I assure you, Your Grace." Uzochi poured a scented, liquid soap onto a washcloth and began cleaning Kaddar with the slow, gentle movements of a well-practiced personal slave. In Carthak, a good personal slave could always make a bath feel like a massage, thought Kaddar, closing his eyes, and leaning his head against the cool, silver rim of the tub. He hadn't wanted to come to court, but reclining in the warm water amid the scented soap bubbles with his head resting against the cold brim of the tub was a sort of paradise on earth, appealing to and seducing all the senses. No wonder people fell for the emperor's charm when he could offer pleasures like these in abundance.
"I'm sure that His Imperial Majesty is always the perfect host," Kaddar agreed in a frigid, distant tone that he hoped made it plain he did not want to have to make any more casual conversation with the slave his uncle had sent to spy upon him. "His Imperial Majesty is perfect in all things. I hope that I have never so much as implied that wasn't the case, but if I have, I pray Mithros will strike me dead for my blasphemy."
Apparently adept at discerning when a noble wanted to be served silently and when a noble wished to be entertained with chatter, Uzochi continued washing Kaddar in quiet. The slave only opened his mouth again when he had finished scrubbing every inch of Kaddar to say, "I have finished bathing Your Grace. If Your Grace would be so kind as to step out of the tub, I can slip a bathrobe over Your Grace. Then I can escort Your Grace into the next room where I can dress you for the evening's celebrations."
Without a word, Kaddar stepped out of the tub, then permitted Uzochi to towel him dry and wrap a brocade bathrobe about him. Once he was robed, he and Uzochi returned to the main chamber, where Kaddar saw that another slave must have laid the outfit he was to wear to the evening's party.
"I hope that this costume pleases Your Grace," remarked Uzochi, holding up clothes of deep maroon silk with the bows and arrows of Sagittarius embroidered in gold upon the sleeves.
"It pleases me." Kaddar eyed the spy of a slave icily. "I'm waiting to be dressed, man."
"His Imperial Majesty has ordered the murders of many of his relations," Uzochi whispered, pulling off Kaddar's robe and beginning to dress him in the fine costume. "Some of them were so young, so handsome."
And Kaddar, also so young and handsome, would be reunited with his uncle before the December sun set. What did the slave expect him to do? Flee the room swearing that he would not meet the emperor after all? Leaving the court without Emperor Ozorne's permission was a wonderful way to ensure you never traveled to anywhere but the grave. Anyway, Kaddar had already heard tales of all the murders his uncle had commanded since ascending to the throne. Assassinations were part of the backdrop of Carthaki life as much as the heat and the sun were.
"You forget yourself, slave," snapped Kaddar, as the slave finished dressing him and began applying eye shadow to his lids. He was determined to demonstrate his loyalty to his uncle. The slave would be able to report that Kaddar, even when provoked, spoke nothing that could be constituted as treason. At court, Kaddar would guard his tongue before he lost his head. "To speak against my uncle is to speak against Carthak."
"Do you think that you will be safe here, Your Grace, when they were not?" Uzochi hissed, as sibilant as a serpent. "The imperial court is like a love-apple, beautiful, rosy-red, and alluring to the senses, but poisonous, so poisonous. The very silk on your skin might be poisoned. The soap that scents your bath. A flask of perfume. The goblet of wine you drink at a banquet. Any piece of food you are offered. There are a thousand ways to die painfully here, infinitely more than on a battlefield."
"Enough, slave," snarled Kaddar, lying through his teeth. "Only justice is done at my beloved uncle's court. None who are loyal to him have cause to fear him."
The Last Supper
The imperial ballroom was draped in black velvet spangled with thousands of stars made of gold and glittering crystals. Spaced at equal intervals around the chamber were intricate mechanical devices- including a charging ram with ivory horns, a pair of swimming fish with opalescent scales, a golden lion tossing a mane of silk-representing the houses of the zodiac. At each sign, a beautiful slave girl tended a cascading fountain of wine and a table of crystal platters piled high with eel pastries, roast duck soaked in hot peppers, smoked herring, tarts with ham and cheese, and snails dripping in garlic butter.
"Greetings, beloved cousin." A hearty voice called out from behind Kaddar as he grabbed a golden goblet embedded with rubies to fill it with wine from the bubbling Virgo fountain.
Turning around, Kaddar spotted Abioye, Prince of Siraj, dressed in green silk with embroidered bull horns on the cuffs of his sleeves, approaching the Virgo wine fountain through the twirling masses of dancing courtiers. Prince Abioye and Kaddar were not technically cousins, but the complexities of Carthaki etiquette allowed those of higher rank to exaggerate bonds of kinship when addressing those of lower status.
"Greetings, Your Imperial Highness." Kaddar bowed. "It's a pleasure to see you again."
"I'm glad the emperor persuaded you to emerge from your scholarly bubble long enough to indulge in our Midwinter celebrations." Elbowing Kaddar's ribcage in what was doubtlessly intended to be an amiable fashion, Prince Abioye filled a gold cup embedded with amethysts with wine from the fountain. "What have you been studying at the university, anyway?"
"The relation of men, animals, and plants to one another with a matching course in law. I also enrolled in a history class this term, since Master Lindhall Reed insists that a gentleman should be well-versed in history." Now that Prince Abioye had filled his goblet, Kaddar, as permitted by the gods of protocol, loaded his cup with wine as well. "I've also been using my Gift to create plants for some of Master Reed's animal habitats."
"Have a dish of smoked salmon soaked in olives, Your Imperial Highness," said the lovely slave girl serving at the Virgo station, placing a steaming plate of fish in the prince's hands. "His Imperial Majesty ordered it made especially for your pleasure."
"History, you say," Prince Abioye observed, accepting the food from the slave girl without so much as a nod of thanks. "What time period did you study?"
"The conquests and rebellions in the northern provinces two centuries ago, Your Imperial Highness," Kaddar answered, wishing that the prince hadn't been intrigued by the subject he had found least stimulating.
"Rebellions are always an interesting study." Prince Abioye took a sizable forkful of salmon and washed it down with a swig of wine. "Tell me, dear cousin, did you ever take your nose out of your books long enough to think whether the revolts of the past could be repeated?"
"Surely, Your Imperial Highness, the point of studying history is to avoid the mistakes of the past." Kaddar nibbled on a snail dipped in garlic butter and thought that it tasted like oppression. If he had been eating stew he had made over a campfire with his friends, the stew, no matter how fatty the meat, would have tasted like freedom. Thinking that he would not let Prince Abioye trick him into saying anything against the emperor, because even if the prince could be trusted—and Kaddar was pretty sure his mother would say nobody at court could be trusted any further than he could throw them in a monsoon—there were always the rumors that maintained that Ozorne had slaves trained to lipread that constantly spied on his guests for him. "Rebellions are always mistakes and often deadly ones."
Prince Abioye, whose cheeks were suddenly florid, opened his mouth to answer, seemed to choke on invisible food, and coughed spasmodically. Before Kaddar could think to do anything, the prince collapsed and began to convulse amid spilled wine the color of blood and the shattered remains of a dish of smoked fish.
The Ascension
"He has been taken to his quarters." Emperor Ozorne, who had materialized on the scene only seconds after the prince's collapse, spoke softly into Kaddar's ear so that the people around them could not hear. The emperor was wearing a long surcoat of heavy black brocade, jeweled and embroidered in gold with the sign of Scorpio. In his hat, he wore a brooch in the form of a scorpion, worked in silver and with a magnificent ruby etched into its stinger. At his belt, hung an iron dagger in a glistening, gemmed sheath. "One of my own healers is attending him."
Emperor Ozorne's official hostess, Lady Varice, had intervened so swiftly and smoothly that most of the people in the crowded ballroom had not realized what had happened. A gesture from Lady Varice to the emperor, a nod from Kaddar's uncle, and the music, perversely, was louder and gayer than ever. Prince Abioye was whisked away. Slaves appeared as if by magic to tidy every trace of disarry. Those who had seen the prince swoon were assured that the fit was nothing—too much wine perhaps, poor man. All he needed now was a quiet place to recover himself…It would have struck Kaddar as humorous if it hadn't been so tragic.
"I wish to go to him, Your Imperial Majesty," Kaddar said as forcefully as he could while keeping his voice to a whisper. He hadn't trusted or loved Prince Abioye, but he couldn't let a man who had probably been poisoned collapse before his eyes and not try to ensure the person's recovery. "You know it was not just wine that affected him so terribly. He was—"
"Silence, nephew." Emperor Ozorne's face was impenetrable, and Kaddar thought that his uncle's pride was like a polished shield, deflecting understanding, and hiding thoughts, emotions, and human—or inhuman—things beneath it. "It is impossible for you to leave the festivities so early. It would only create further talk, and I fear that if you go to the prince now, you might discover that whatever ails him is quite contagious."
Kaddar swallowed the bile burning up his throat. Prince Abioye, the wretched fool, must have been making a habit of talking about rebellion lately, and the emperor must have taken it upon himself to ensure that dangerous cant ended forever. Kaddar must have been summoned to court just so that he could watch the prince's demise. The emperor would want Kaddar to understand that he could fall from grace into a grave as easily as Prince Abioye had. That was why Uzochi had tormented him with talk of the million ways to be poisoned at court.
Blinded by hatred, Kaddar heard the slave girl's voice echoing mockingly inside his head, "His Imperial Majesty ordered it made especially for your pleasure." His mother, he thought vaguely, would have called Prince Abioye nine kinds of idiot for not recognizing a personalized dish was about a hundred times more likely to be poisoned than an un-personalized one. She would have told Prince Abioye to accept the dish with a smile but to eat not a bite of it. That's what she had been teaching Kaddar since he could eat. Maybe Kaddar should have told the prince that, but someone of lesser rank should never instruct an imperial prince.
"It's likely that tomorrow you will be the new Prince of Siraj, Kaddar Iliniat." His uncle smiled, and Kaddar thought that, if he hadn't suspected the emperor of commanding dozens of assassinations, one of which had enfolded only minutes ago, he would not have disliked the man. Emperor Ozorne was proud, vainglorious, and immoderately attentive to detail—all in all, giving a disquieting impression of a glittering surface like a placid ocean with ferocious krakens swimming in ritualized patterns beneath the soothing waves. Yet, at the same time, the emperor was intelligent and cultured, a genuine lover of music and art, and well-dressed and cleanly in his personal habits, traits Kaddar typically sought in potential friends. "I regret that I haven't paid as much attention to your education as I should have, even though you are my sister's child, but, after tomorrow, that will change. After tomorrow, I will devote myself to remaking you in my image, Kaddar, so that I may be well-pleased with you."
"I will always try to please Your Imperial Majesty." Kaddar didn't know how he managed to say the words as he stared down at the elegant ballroom floor, thinking suddenly that the word trappings bore a disconcerting resemblance to the word trapped. Trapped. That was what he was. Bound by an emperor's commands, limited to utterly inconsequential thoughts of revolt, and his very tongue cut out by the fact he lived in a country where even slaves could read lips.