Hello! As you may have noticed, I update once a week but I unfortunately missed last week. To make up for it, here is a very long chapter. I also hope to publish the next chapter sooner than usual. Thanks so much to all who are reading an reviewing!
Onward to Chapter 16!
Edmund and Susan had mixed feelings when Peter had told them the night prior that Oraleth had chosen him as valet and that he'd be assisting him at meetings at the Tisroc's, may he soon meet his end, palace. Peter wasn't surprised, though he had hoped they'd be a little bit happier at all he could potentially learn.
"That's exactly it, Peter. Potentially learn. There is no guarantee that you'll get any real information. And what's stopping them from putting two and two together about you?" Susan questioned now as they sat on one of the smaller, side verandas of the Tarkhaan's house. "It's more than dangerous for you to be doing this."
"I don't think I have a choice, Su. It's not like I can tell Oraleth why my brother and sister are uncomfortable with me being there." Peter said as he tugged at his new valet garments that Oraleth had promised him. They were certainly much finer than the rags that he'd been wearing. There were no sweat stains or holes. It was all stiff cotton. The white tunic it was comprised of was what he would say was too big on his chest, while the britches were too short, stopping at the middle of his calf. There was a long, royal blue sash tied around his waist that dangled down near his feet, threatening to trip him. And to top it off, there was a round cap that sat on his head, pushing his ever lengthening hair down even further around his ears and forehead. In all honesty, it was a style Peter had seen on many other servants who had higher up roles. But that didn't make him feel any more comfortable in it.
"I know you don't have a choice," Susan went on, "but I can't help but worry over it."
"I know. If I'm being honest, a part of me is worried, too. But I think Aslan is using this for good. Who knows what could come of this?" Peter said.
Edmund sat quiet through it all, listening, weighing the pros and cons, like his older siblings were giving both sides to an argument. "I think Pete is right. I know it's dangerous and I wouldn't advise it normally, but these are special circumstances. And he bloody well can't say no, otherwise he might end up in a much worse position. Besides, we've all been praying for Aslan to do something, surely this is the start of it if he hasn't already been moving."
Both Peter and Edmund looked to Susan. Her arms were crossed but she looked more like she was holding herself together than anything else. Her brows were drawn in worry and she gave both her brother's a pouty kind of look that said she was still unsure. So Edmund added,
"Lucy would agree with us. She would agree with Aslan, no matter what the danger be."
Susan dropped her arms at the mention of their little sister. "Yes, I've no doubt she would. I know you two are right."
"And Lucy. She is right, too." Edmund smiled.
"Lu is always right," Susan sighed wistfully. But then her tone changed to something a little sad. "Speaking of which, it's her birthday soon. I've been keeping up with the date. It's only a couple of days away."
Both Peter and Edmund felt a sudden weight on their shoulders. They reminded themselves that Lucy wasn't really alone, no matter how upsetting it might be to her or them that they were not with her. But she was safer where she was. Still, didn't make things much easier for them when they really missed her and home.
Peter was about to say something on the matter when he was interrupted.
"Who is Lu, and why is she alone for her birthday?"
Peter, Susan, and Edmund all whirled around. Tullah's questioning voice came out of nowhere as she was suddenly wheeled into the doorway leading to the veranda. For a moment, all three Pevensies were stunned into silence, unsure if they had just condemned themselves. They looked to each other, a secret conversation playing out. How much did she hear?
"More importantly," Tullah went on, oblivious to their fear, "why is she always right? She sounds just like myself, which makes her someone very much worth knowing. Though that name. Lu. That is unfortunate."
The elder Pevensie's composed themselves quickly, feeling the coolness they display in courts and battles and negotiations reach them with swiftness.
But it was all lost the second Edmund said, "She is our little sister. And her name is–is...Luca. Lu is only for short."
Susan and Peter could have slapped him upside his head out of pure reaction. But what they didn't know was that it was a gut instinct for Edmund to tell Tullah. He felt similar to how he felt about Peter being okay to go to the court of the Tisroc. Aslan was watching over them. And he knew he was always watching over Lucy. So there was no harm in telling the old woman, was there? The feeling of trust he felt towards her crept back into him – no matter how hard he had been trying to suppress it since he'd met the Tarkheena. This wasn't the first time he'd let important information slip to her. And it was so unlike him to not be able to play with a strong poker face and quick thinking skills, holding in what shouldn't be known to others. It was only now that he started to think it was what Aslan had intended all along. Still, it didn't make him feel much better when Peter and Susan looked at him with a mix of incredulousness and fear.
When the servant pushing Tullah stopped her wheelchair in front of them, Susan interrupted, trying to sway the conversation away from their family. "I'm sorry Tarkheena, I was not aware that you were finished with your appointment. I would have been there to steer you back to your chambers."
Tullah waved a gnarled hand to hush her, while also dismissing the other servant, clearly not wanting to get away from their current topic. "I am plenty able to take care of myself. What I want to know is why I have yet to hear of this little sister, Luca." She looked exasperated when she asked, "Are there any more of you?"
"No, mistress. It's just the four of us." Edmund answered.
She eyed them meticulously. "Hmm. Come here then you three. No, no, Surenah you need to be in the middle for me to see properly. Petryn, you on her right, my left. Edden, other side."
As the three moved around to the order of her choosing, the Tarkheena leaned forward and surveyed their faces.
"Yes, yes, I knew there was something missing here. A connection that makes your looks all fit together. I imagine she favors you, Petryn. Am I correct?"
Peter smiled, knowing that since she was born people had said Lucy had his temperament and smile. "I have been told so, yes. But she is actually a mix of all three of us, I should think. She has mine and Surenah's eyes, hair darker than mine, but lighter than theirs," He pointed to Edmund and Susan, "and, well, Edden's nose." Here he flicked Edmund right in the nostrils.
Tullah smiled with annoyance at his antics while Edmund swatted at him and Susan tried not to be caught in the cross hairs.
"And how old is she turning?"
"Twelve." Susan said, breaking up her brothers.
At that, Tullah was overcome with a far off look. Her brows furrowed and she cleared her throat. "That is, a very important age for a young girl. Particularly in Calormen. Is she in this land as well?"
"No, she is back in Archenland."
Tullah paused, leaning back in her chair. "I see. I'm sure you miss her." She cleared her throat once more and changed the subject. "Well then, tell me why it is she is always right? As I said, this is a trait I am well acquainted with myself and I'd like to know how one so young came upon such wisdom?"
Once again, all of the Pevensie's felt unsure about how they should answer. What would be too much, what would give them away? But yet again, Edmund felt like the truth would be the best answer to give, as it usually had proven him to be. And he was certain now that Aslan was telling him to do so.
"It is her faith in Aslan. She trusts him, even when we haven't. He watches over her. I guess it is not so much as she is always right, but rather that she is always right to trust in him."
Tullah look surprised at hearing him so openly speak the name of Aslan, though she wasn't affronted like most Calormene's would have been. She was curious. A curiosity that seemed always growing when it came to the three in front of her now.
"I have heard a great deal of that name in my travels. It seems that most people consider him a benevolent god. Calormenes seem to know better. What makes you so certain in your faith?"
"What makes you certain in yours?" Edmund countered, forgetting what any good Tarkheena would consider his place. Thankfully, Tullah's not so good of a Tarkheena as she is an interesting one.
"Ah Edden, that's where you've made your mistake. I have not made you privy to my faith."
"I've heard you speak praises of Tash."
"Seems that is what a good Calormene does. It is tradition. We are so used to praising his fearsome name that it is done without realization. See? I did it just now. But do I believe it? That is the question. Think on it, that is what our great philosophers do, and you are one who thinks, are you not?"
All of the Pevensie's were surprised, to say the least, to hear her speak like this. Was she saying that her faith in Tash had begun to feel ill conceived, or that she simply had no faith at all? Or, did she just want to trip up those she spoke to by playing the devil's advocate, proving she was the victor of this particular mind game?
Edmund thought he knew, and he did love mind games.
"I think you believe in something. It would make the pain you suffer with your malady meaningless without it. But what it is that you believe, I am unsure. But perhaps so are you. It is clear you are a woman of immense knowledge, having spent so much time travelling, as well as using that library of yours. You want to believe in something, and if you've heard of him than you know that Aslan sounds like a much kinder option than the one you've been given all your life. Maybe now you just want to hear it coming straight from someone else's mouth."
Tullah was ready on the defensive. "Once more, you are too bold, Edden. A trait your family seems to thrive upon. But as I said the first day I met you, I am willing to allow it, so long as our conversation is stimulating. Why are you so sure that that lion would be the kinder option? Lions are predators, boastful, hungry."
"Not this one. If you listen to his words, you will know he is not looking to harm, but to heal. To protect with the strength and fierceness of lion, while being as gentle as a lamb towards those he defends."
"And that feels like strength to you? Gentleness, kindness? Are not men sinful creatures? Aren't they lacking what would make them deserving of such things?" Tullah asked.
"Of course we are." Edmund replied, feeling her words as if they were personally directed towards him. And just like that, Tullah became witness of what Peter and Susan knew was showing – Narnia's Just. "It is for that very reason that kindness, gentleness, forgiveness, are the harder options to give. Making the person who offers it all the stronger in the end."
Tullah's mouth was open, ready to respond, but was then promptly shut. She sat thinking, mulling over what he'd said. "But what of justice? Certainly there needs to be punishments for those who willfully do wrong."
"This is true." Edmund said, something in his face reflecting a wisdom one his age shouldn't have. "But sometimes the mercy that is given is enough of one. It hangs over them, a constant reminder of the grace they received but do not deserve. But it is not a heavy burden to bear, but rather a welcomed one. One that gives way for change, betterment, humility. It is a lesson. Which often proves greater than punishment."
Tullah tilted her head back, surveying – once again – the three before her. "You are very strange Northerners. Very strange indeed. Not at all like any slaves I've ever encountered."
Oraleth had given many strict orders to Peter as they made their way to the meeting with the Great Council. Along with being quiet and not looking any one person in the eye, he was to show humility and loyalty to Oraleth and Calormen. How he was expected to show that without being allowed to speak and without seeming a sniveling lacky, he wasn't sure. He supposed it was just to be seen in him by being allowed to hold the parchments that Oraleth came with. According to the Tarkhaan, they were filled with information and notes from previous meetings and were not to be seen by him or anyone outside of the council chamber. The fact alone that he was given charge of them showed Oraleth's trust in him, though Peter felt the man trusted him much less than he wanted people to believe. After all, along with all his orders Oraleth had reminded Peter at least five times of the very real threat that lay upon him should he not act accordingly. Oraleth was not one to trifle with.
Peter prayed for safety and wisdom, and it felt all the more needed once he came upon the palace. It was gaping across the sky, hiding the first few stars of the night that had just begun to appear. Open flames in sconces lined the walk up and each corridor he went down. Armed guards all wearing pointed helmets wrapped in turbans stood in masses, scimitars glinting in the firelight.
As it was in the Tarkhaan's home, grand paintings and tapestries and treasure of gold, silver, and diamonds boasted of wealth and power. Only here there was a gaudy amount of such. There was no room left unfurnished or not gilded.
There were slaves of all different levels running about, some dressed in clothes similar to Peter's own. All were hunched with bowed heads. Many missing their tongues, unable to speak. They crept quiet as a mouse through the rooms and halls, almost entirely unheard, despite the vaulted ceilings echoing Oraleth's and Peter's own footsteps.
Peter kept his bearings as they wound around and up curving staircases. It felt particularly hot inside with all the open flames and his new, thicker clothing. Even more so once he saw other Tarhkaans walking in the direction he and Oraleth were.
Peter noticed their valets and servants that had come with them. It seemed all the Tarkhaans but Oraleth had more than one with them. Each valet and servant had a different color sash tied about their waist – like Peter's blue one – meant to indicate their master's family. Peter, though a king and one who came from a position of power and respect, felt much more belonging to those with sashes than those their colors represented.
Soon, Oraleth and Peter were in the middle of a group of seven Tarkhaan's, but whose servants more than doubled their numbers. Other than their usual formal greetings, the men didn't speak much, but there were lingering eyes on him and Oraleth.
All were led to an arching door that stood ten feet tall and was studded with thick, twisting iron designs and inlaid gold. Two guards stood before it, stoic and silent. They did not allow entrance until one man made his way to the front of the group.
He was a hulking figure, with a face full of a jet black beard. His clothing was not the usual style of the Tarkhaan's, but rather a military uniform dripping in ribbons and medals. The scimitar at his side was larger than those of the guards. The air about him was commanding, imposing, and unwilling to be lessened.
"Enter, my comrades. We've much to discuss." He said, voice both booming and level.
Peter noticed how some of the Tarkhaan's servants found their place against the wall, instead of entering the room. He wondered if he was supposed to do the same until he caught Oraleth's eye. It was a warning look, and one that prodded him on forward. So, Peter complied.
The room they entered was much smaller than what he'd have expected. It was still decorated with loud colors, but its walls were covered in plaques commemorating historical victories, declarations of war, and treaties of surrender made out to Calormen from various provinces they'd conquered. There were heads of animals besides numerous weapons on display, with one particularly jagged looking saw-like thing encased in glass. It still had blood and what Peter could only assume was guts on it.
The large iron table before them was rectangular and had just enough high back seats surrounding it for all of the Tarkhaan's to sit down. Peter noticed that the valets – now there was only one present for each Tarkhaan – pulled out the seats for their masters. Peter followed suit and then stood a few steps behind Oraleth against the wall.
Once all were seated, one of the armed guards that had stood at the door closed it, locking it shut with a resounding echo. All were silent for a heartbeat or two.
"You have my greatest welcome, my esteemed friends and fellow countrymen." Said the man in the military uniform. "There are few greater honors than to be granted the blessing from our exalted Tash and our inexorable Tisroc, may he live forever, to stand in such a room with so many men of honor and dignity. It is a Calormene's crowning glory and an emblem of success, wealth, and virtue."
Next, he called on Shandeer Tarkhaan to stand. Peter recognized the name and knew he was who Rineeda was taken to. He couldn't help but noticed how Shandeer's haughty gaze leveled itself on Oraleth as he stood and addressed the group.
"Thank you, General Khentei. You and your Tash given cunning and wit are surely to thank for our recent successes over in the Southernlands. It is an honor and blessing, one inexplicably gifted, like stars raining from the heavens above that..." Peter rolled his eyes as Shandeer he went on, and then the next Tarkhaan, and then the next. For being called together for great means he thought they sure wasted time on empty boasts and vanity. It was actually making him feel less and less anxious as they continued their airs, that is, until one man near the end of the table stood.
He was a stout and plump kind of man. His beard was short, stubbly, and stained an ungodly orange color and his face was so round that there was barely a neck to be seen. His name was Agnodis. He was a diplomat, and, as Peter knew, one of the worst picks for the job.
For he had come to Narnia only two years prior.
Peter immediately took his eyes off the man, remaining quiet. He knew Agnodis was much too arrogant to pay attention to someone he considered a slave. That much was clear when he was in Narnia, always acting disgusted and afraid and better than every one of Peter's subjects – among other of his many repugnant and intolerable behaviors.
Peter prayed he wouldn't recognize him, should he happen to look in his direction. Suddenly, keeping his head down sounded like a wonderful idea.
Agnodis went on and on for nearly five minutes, flouncing about with his words about how great an honor it was to be there. He made eye contact with every single Tarkhaan in the room, but, as Peter had thought, made no action to even act as if he noticed Peter or any other valet.
Once he and all the others finished their repeated airs, they finally got down to business and Peter inwardly sighed in relief.
"We've been called here on account of our breaches in borders." General Khentei said, sticking out a hand and waiting as his own valet scurried to hand him one of the scrolls he was carrying for him, like Peter was for Oraleth. "As we all know, our neighbors to the North have been invading our water ways and entertaining the idea of crossing the Great Desert. Archenland's Navy and Army both claim no knowledge or responsibility, as stated here in the missive I received just this morning. They state with the foolishness of knaves that they have not sent nor given allowance for such things, proving they are either liars or incapable of handling their own men."
Peter's ears we peeked the whole meeting, and he found it hard to look and act like he was not hanging on every word, filing away every piece of intel he could.
"What of the reports from the gate keepers of those singly crossing the desert?" One Tarkhaan – Grenahde was his name – asked.
"They've gone through their records. Unfortunately, there's too many of our countrymen who cross into the city every day to keep track of anyone who does not belong. But we have been questioning the guards and they believe there are leads worth looking into. A peddler, and a few fishermen have turned their eyes upon suspicions." General Khentei answered.
"What of Narnia?" Oraleth asked and all eyes turned to him. "We keep speaking of our Northern neighbor, but Archenland is not the only one and we know them to have a close friendship with the cursed land of talking beasts. If history is correct, they even have a shared familial lineage of their kingship."
"That is so," Agnodis piped up, shoving himself up straight in his chair. "Their younger boy king spoke of it when I was sent there. I should believe that he thought telling me would scare Calormen into thinking twice before invading, knowing they'd most likely have ascertained a mutual alliance with the Archenlanders."
"I'm sure he did." The General laughed. "Though he was unaware that children masquerading as royalty are more amusing than fearsome, indeed. Even with an alliance. No, the real threat that Narnia poses is just what Oraleth said. They are a land of talking beast, meaning devils and cursed magic!" He paused as if for emphasis, then asked with a growing furor, "We all remember the great winter, do we not?"
All the men around him nodded and vocalized their memories with loud mentions of "How could we forget?" and "Indeed!" and other curses I won't bear writing down. With their reinforcement, General Khentei went on.
"None from our land stepped foot on Narnian shores for at least one hundred years! Their witch Queen is supposedly dead, having been killed by their demon they hail as a god, and who put mere children on the throne in his stead. Their threat is magical and the unknown. They've many mysteries that would serve Calormen for longer than the mere century they knew! We all know the patient plan has been to invade, but we need to gain more knowledge of them before we move to. Especially now. Once we've that secured, there is nothing to stop us from taking both Narnia and Archenland. Yet, we've struck upon a problem. I've sent messages to Narnia, addressed to their audacious High King, and no acknowledgement from him or his lesser siblings has come."
Oraleth squinted. "They have not answered at all? Surely they are not that foolish."
General Khentei leaned in over the table. "Oh no. I've received a response," He motioned for his valet to hand him another parchment. This one held the broken seal of Narnia. The General threw it on the table. "But it did not come from any one of their leaders! They treat us with such disrespect as to have a regent respond!"
The men in the room up roared in disgust at the slight.
Peter leaned in, trying his hardest to make out the signature of the regent. If this letter was not from Lucy, then he could only assume she was busy looking for him and their siblings. That, or too heartbroken at losing them to take charge of the duties that now solely fell upon her young shoulders.
Peter pushed passed the uncertainties swirling in his mind that the thoughts conjured, instead trying to focus on the parchment. He could only make out the beginning of a name, an eloquent "T" he assumed started the name Tumnus, before General Khentei snatched it up, quieting the affronted and disgruntled Calormene.
"We strategize on how best to infiltrate, make friends, learn secrets."
"And what does our Tisroc, may he live forever, say of this? What are his orders on how to go forward?" One Tarkhaan questioned.
Another piped up, "Yes! What are his commands? He has made his desire to obtain Narnia quite clear in the past but he is strikingly absent here tonight."
The General replied, "Our wise and prudent leader is rightfully wary of the magic of Narnia. He does not wish to upset the inexorable Tash by giving orders for us to meddle in such demonic activity. He wants his hands clean and abstained from such vile. One as high as he should not be having to do the dirty work of soldiers, anyway. He has therefore allowed full authority to the Council on how best to handle the beastly people. As he stated to me only this evening, whatever happens between our lands is solely held in our hands. Should we stumble in our endeavors, he will not be harmed in the downfall."
"That way he can claim no knowledge of such affairs should we fail." * Oraleth said, reading between the lines. "But we will not fail our master."
"Rightly so." The General acknowledged him.
A grunt of pleasure erupted from the other end of the table. Peter was not surprised to see it came from Agnodis. "Then we start with engaging the silent leaders of Narnia. We could send a diplomat or two, perhaps? I do have a great reputation as such. I would be most delighted to be granted the honor of weeding out the vulgar secrets that those barbarians store behind the walls of Cair Paravel. I would also be most intrigued to view their monarchy in work again. Four leaders is not a wise choice, indeed. It is telling evidence against the stupidity of their foul lion." Agnodis said, adding. "I remember there are many beauties to lay one's eyes upon in that land. And judging by the stories of their growing Queen, and what I remember of her, I would say no doubt. Not to mention, there is another girl. A younger queen who is still youthful enough for breaking her of her barbarian habits and ripe for the grooming. After all, Calormen deserves all their riches for itself."
Peter felt an angry rising in him quickly and with heat. But apparently, so did Oraleth, as he bit in, rather harshly for one Calormene to another, "What folly it would be to do such a thing!"
When all stared at him, he paused, realizing his mistake. Clearing his throat and in a much softer tone he added, "It would not be cordial to intrude unexpectedly. Or without the proper allowance by their kings or queens. If we were to send diplomats over just as their monarchy uses a regent to respond to letters of political importance, they might by privy to our reasonings."
That received many a head nodding's, from all in fact, but Agnodis, who was looking rather red.
"Wise words, Oraleth." The General said. "We need to use other strategies for now, and should the opportunity present itself, or if Narnia's true leaders continues to be silent, then perhaps we can make way for...diplomacy. For their own welfare, of course. Calormene's do not forego others in need of leadership and a firm guidance. We are much too inclined to giving."
All the Tarkhaan's in the room laughed heartily. The General, feeling rather pleased with himself, went on.
"But onto the matters of handling their magic. We cannot be too prepared. Once we make our way into that pitiful little country and uncover their darkness, we gather our greatest magicians and priests from the temples of Tash. We have them conduct their ceremonies, calling upon the name and power of our god, and finally wield the beastly land's magic against its own once and for all – just as those children did to their Witch Queen! And then Narnia will be conquered and taken for the name of Calormen!"
Once again, all the Tarkhaan's in the room were in agreeance, shouting out and slamming meaty fists onto the table, celebrating a victory that had yet to take place. All too soon they were caught up in their revelry.
"Yes, yes we will strip the country of all their foul creatures!" One Tarkhaan yelled.
"We will cleanse the earth with their blood!" Another howled.
"We will force their child monarchy to their knees as we plunder!" A third shouted.
As the ruckus grew into a din of commotion like a drunken clamor, Oraleth stood, raising a hand and booming, "And may their High King watch as all of his wicked kingdom be condemned, before we slit his throat in glory to Tash!" He received a louder cheer from his countrymen.
Peter felt sick, but was already planning his move of attack.
By the time the meeting had ended and they had made their way out of the palace, guided through the night by the lit torches, Oraleth lost all of the buzz he had been running on moments ago, as if a balloon deflated. He was suddenly deep in thought, silent on all matters, looking heavy laden and serious. Peter too was deep in thought after all he had overheard. Both had much to think on.
The pair were so quiet in fact, that the Tarkhaans Shandeer and Grenahde did not hear them when they approached the curve in the walkway the two Tarkhaans were standing in, just outside of the palace. But Peter and Oraleth certainly overheard them.
"He thinks he is proving something, indeed. Did you hear him in there tonight? And that slave girl he gave me – pah! That was what he called a gift, but what a wise man knows as bribery. He believes one like me to be unsuspecting enough to not see past his schemes for climbing back up to his place among us." Shandeer said.
"Yes," Grenahde agreed. "He does appear to think we are all just as trusting as his fathe-"
"As who?" Oraleth interrupted fiercely, jolting out of his quietness.
Grenahde nearly jumped as he turned around. "Oh, my lord, I-I was only speaking of-"
"My father, was it?" Oraleth bit out. Grenahde suddenly seemed to be as mute as the slaves inside. He could no longer find the words to say. So Shandeer interceded.
"We were only speculating on who a man in our position can trust. Certainly your father, if he were here, would agree that this is a most troubling dilemma. A burden that weighs heavy on the mind and senses. Yes indeed, your great father would be the man to ask, considering he was so very trusting of the same slaves that killed him. Such a pity about that revolt. You can never know the strength of the grip you have, can you? Sometimes we throttle too much, other times, not enough. Either way we lose if we can't get the perfect hold over those we command." Shandeer stated with both the opulence and venom of a Calormene.
Peter looked to Oraleth. Suddenly his rage at Arovi and his threats towards him made much more sense. His father's slaves had killed him. In the Tarkhaans eyes, betrayed him. And now Oraleth was grappling with the fear of not letting the same thing happen to him.
"As the Grand Vizier I'm sure my father would have a fair amount to say on the matter, but he was much too enlightened to entertain such insults." Oraleth said.
"I meant no offence, Oraleth," Shandeer said with a tsk. "I only mean to say that he would be one of wisdom on such matters, considering I'm sure he would have gained much knowledge on who to trust, had he lived. But I've no doubt you are learning from his mistakes." Here he looked at Peter. "I haven't seen this one before. I would be careful, if I were you, Oraleth. You can never know what our pets really think of us."
Peter bristled but kept calm. He had a slew of wise words to bestow on Shandeer about how one treats those they rule over, but he knew he couldn't say anything. Thankfully for him, Oraleth spoke up before he accidentally did.
"Petryn is a loyal and humble servant. He readily knows his place amongst others. The question is, do you?" He bit out with the sort of tone that holds an air of authority. "Do not forget that your family was below mine before my father's demise and still is. You are only a fish flopping on the deck, dancing about for the thing you want most. Other's may be deceived by your wiles, but I am not and I will remember this once my family and I are securely seated back amongst your greaters."
For the first time Peter could tell that Oraleth had gotten underneath the skin of Shandeer, instead of the other way around. Seeing this too, Oraleth turned to go, but Shandeet opened his mouth once more.
"Is this one a mute like your father's? My valet isn't. I know better. For it is wiser to rule them by fear than by a choke hold. The boot hovering above their necks is just high enough that they can breathe, but low enough that they constantly fear the uncertainty, knowing at any moment it may come down. But our old Grand Vizier wasn't wise enough to understand that. He beat and punished until it was turned on him, never leaving any room for the imagination."
The muscle in Oraleth's jaw twitched violently at his words, illuminated by the licking flames of the nearby torches. Shandeer simply breathed out a laugh, adding, "Remember Oraleth, a mute is one who has already betrayed his master, hence the punishment. But one with a voice? Well, he can sink many a ships, crumble any tower, no matter how high – but hasn't yet. Because they fear. My slaves know the repercussions if they speak, rendering them mute before I even raise my blade. It proves a fascinating and helpful corrective. I am interested in seeing how you handle your slaves. Will you fall prey to those you own? Or will you remain the predator?"
Thanks for reading!
* This was a similar behavior that the Tisroc has in HHB when he allows Rabadash to attack Archenland but says he will not claim any knowledge of it should he fail. Which he did. Ridiculously so. It is cowardly and similar to how Pilate acts when handing Jesus over to be crucified. He too claimed no fault and said he washed his hands clean of it.