Chapter Two.
Roald looked up at the knock on the door to see Cenet, the head clerk, standing there.
'Do you have that list of the Midwinter festivities, your Highness? Sir Gareth is asking for it.'
'Oh right, yes, it's here,' replied Roald, 'hang on.' He put his quill down and began to riffle through the papers on his desk.
'That's odd…' he murmured when his search was fruitless. He rose, crossing to the sideboard where three other stacks of papers sat. 'I'm sure it wouldn't be in these, but I'll check anyway.' Quickly he thumbed through the bundle, to no luck. He stood, arms akimbo, frowning.
'Now what did I do with that?'
'If I may, your Highness…?'
Roald glanced at Cenet. The man was indicating the original pile on the Prince's desk. Roald waved a hand.
'Yes, yes, feel free.'
While the clerk went through the papers again, Roald tried to remember what he'd done with that list. One of the scribes had brought it to him yesterday afternoon, and Roald had promised to look over it before today.
'Ah! I remember!' he exclaimed suddenly. 'I left it in my rooms this morning.' He had not got a chance to read the list yesterday and so had taken it with him to read in bed. But he had been too tired and had completely forgotten about it.
Cenet smiled. 'Very well, Sir. Shall I have a man collect it?'
'No, no- I'll go. I need to stretch my legs. I will bring it to Gareth myself.'
'As you wish, your Highness.' Cenet bowed and Roald went off in search of the scroll.
As he strolled through the palace, the courtiers he passed acknowledged him pleasantly; the ladies curtsying and offering coy glances through lashes, the men bowing or nodding, touching a hand to their hats if they wore them. Roald nodded back to all, murmuring "hello" and "good morning" where appropriate. He ignored the looks from the women; they should have learnt by now that Liam was the flirtatious Conté son.
Unexpectedly, one of the women squealed, making Roald jump. He pivoted. A young boy ran between the courtiers, skilfully dodging the women's skirts and the men's canes. A dog raced beside him, barking occasionally. A few other children trailed behind, in fits of giggles.
Roald stifled a sigh and waited for the boy to catch up. When he came close, he made to dodge around Roald's right. Roald waited and lunged at the last moment, grabbing the boy's shoulder.
Roald held his prize as a fistful of struggling tunic while the dog backed away, whining. He waited for the boy to calm down and when he didn't, Roald spoke, his voice firm and leaving no room for disagreement.
'Enough, Jasson.'
The thirteen year old glared up at his brother. 'You're such a bloody spoilsport, Roald.'
Roald tightened his grip and lowered his voice. 'There are ladies around, Jasson. That language is not acceptable.'
Jasson's dog- a low-bodied, floppy-eared creature- came uncertainly forward, growling a little at Roald's tone. Roald didn't even spare the dog a glance.
'Hush now, Brandy.'
'Leave him out of this,' growled Jasson roughly, shaking out of Roald's hold. Brandy scooted to Jasson's shins, wagging his tail and looking hopefully at his young master.
Roald glanced around, aware of the courtiers' curious looks. Jasson's young friends waited some yards away. 'Jasson, this is not tolerable behaviour. You should be acting more like a young man- a young Prince- of your age-'
'You're not my father!' Jasson cried, fixing Roald with angry eyes. When Roald made no immediate comment, the boy turned on his heel and stalked back the way he had come. His posse collected around him, Brandy in their midst.
Roald watched them go, sighing. That boy was going to bring trouble, of that he was sure. Once he had convinced some women that everything was fine, he went on his way, reaching his rooms without any more trouble.
He looked around the resting area, filled with comfy seats, bookcases and his and Shinko's own personal belongings. He remembered putting the scroll on the cabinet by the door that lead to his bedroom last night. To his surprise, the cabinet top was clearly devoid of any such scroll.
Roald frowned. Now what had happened to that? He was sure he had put it here… He scratched his head and gazed around. The room was relatively neat and there was no elusive scroll in sight.
Opposite him was a long, waist-high table with a number of parchments and books and he wondered if someone- Shinkokami, or the servants- had unrolled his list and placed it with these others. He checked; no, the papers were all personal letters and notes, not work based.
Roald sat down, thoroughly confused. What had he done with it? If he hadn't been so tired last night, no doubt he'd remember now.
No, he told himself, if you hadn't been so tired you would have read the list and taken it with you to Uncle Gary this morning, ready to present him with your opinions.
He sighed. It wasn't like the clerks couldn't put another list together; chances were, they had rough versions of the list anyway. But that wasn't the point. He was the Crown Prince- he couldn't go about misplacing important documents when people relied on him.
He looked at that broad cabinet again. If he was a betting man he would have put serious money on the scroll being there. It was pretty obvious it wasn't though; the polished wood was bare except for a lace centrepiece and a small vase of violets grown in the new Royal hot house by the plant mages at the University.
Perhaps… Roald stood, determination setting his jaw, and went to the cabinet. It stood on four little round feet and bowed outwards in the middle, its corners strengthened by metal coverings.
Roald went down on his knees and pressed his face to the floor, trying to see beneath the cabinet. It was dark underneath, with odd-shaped shadows.
There was a gap of nearly three inches between the furniture and the floor- just big enough to slip a hand in and bungle around. He touched numerous relics, but no scroll. Pulling his arm out, he grimaced: the cuff of his silver-grey shirt was covered in thick dust. He tried to brush it off, but it just seemed to stick.
An idea came to Roald and he rubbed the fingers of his right hand together until an egg-sized globe of blue light fluttered there. Now he pressed his cheek to the floor again, sending his Gift out to illuminate the shadowy corners. Like he had felt, there were a number of little treasures that would have to be retrieved later- coppers, boiled sweets, beads from a broken necklace, a scrap of paper- but no scroll.
Roald sighed and was just about to draw his Gift back in when something caught his eye. There- in the corner! He brightened the light.
'Ah, there you are.' Smiling, Roald extinguished his light-globe.
The scroll had fallen down the back of the cabinet and was caught between one of the feet and the wall. Roald shifted his body so that his stomach and chest was pressed against the wall, and tried to reach behind the cabinet.
Grumbling, the Prince pulled his arm back out. The gap was too small; the chest would have to be moved. He braced himself, half kneeling, half crouching, using his chest and arms to lever the cabinet out of its position.
Roald gasped as one of the metal corners bit into his shoulder. 'That hurt!' he told the offensive piece of furniture.
Yanking again, he cringed as the forgotten vase on top rocked. He held his breath. There was a tinkling noise as the fragile glass shattered. Roald closed his eyes momentarily- trying to ignore the fact that that vase had been a wedding gift- and gave the cabinet a final shove.
He took a moment to stand and assess the damage. The vase had broken, and the violets lay neglected across the top. One flower had fallen to the floor and Roald looked on it with shame. His gaze moved back to the glass splinters, and he realised with a sudden horror that the flower water had spilled over the white lace mat and stained it. He put a hand to his face. The lace had been a present from someone too (he couldn't remember who, although he seemed to think it was foreign).
Shaking his head, he returned to the troublesome scroll. He could reach it easily now but as he pulled it out, something else caught on the paper and dropped by his feet.
Roald scooped it up, slipping it over two fingers so that it rested in his palm. It was a delicate bracelet and at the sight of it, something in his memory jogged.
Intrigued, Roald moved to the couch as he inspected it, placing the scroll on the low table in front of him. Elegant knot patterns were worked in fine gold strands and were interspersed with tiny, perfectly shaped beads. He ran a thumb over a bead of amber, one of ruby, sunstone, tigereye, coral, garnet, citrine, diamond- and the rare gem sphalerite. All were reds, oranges, yellows- warm colours, wonderfully offset by the honey-coloured gold and the smaller, sparkling diamonds.
Memory flooded back. Roald had had this made for one of Shinkokami's first birthdays here in Tortall. It had cost him a lot- and he had used his own money, not the Crown's. He had spent many evenings with the craftsmen, helping design the bracelet that would fit his Yamani bride-to-be. He had wanted it to be special and unique, not just a show of wealth.
The jewels weren't only for decoration either: each gemstone held its own power, amplified in the design of the bracelet. The whole piece held a measure of protection and aid of healing to the wearer, something he had never actually told Shinko.
Shinko had been overjoyed by the beautiful piece of jewellery. In a rare act of impetuousness, she had thrown her arms around the surprised Roald and promised to wear it always. He had placed his hands on her hips to steady her, kissed her cheek, and said that he was glad she liked his gift.
Now he brushed the remains of a cobweb from the gold. What was it doing beneath a cabinet? Hurt flooded his chest, and he closed his fist around the delicate gift. Shinkokami obviously hadn't liked it as much as she claimed.
As he stood, Roald shoved the bracelet into his pocket. He picked up the list and started back to Gary's office, reading it as he went.
--
Afternoon strolled lazily around, as it was wont to do, and Roald shuffled his papers, straightened his tunic, and left the office. At this time of day he usually went to visit his Mother, making an appearance, paying his respects, and taking a break from his work.
He had taken Gareth the list of possible Midwinter festivities, giving his opinions. He supported most of what was there: they didn't want to spend too much money on celebrations while they were hard at war, but they needed to give their people hope and strength and faith.
Queen Thayet spent the mid-afternoon with her court of ladies, after a full morning often involved in the war councils. Come afternoon, she would sit or walk or ride, and talk with all of them; her Ladies closest to her and all other female courtiers fanning out around them. Thayet had to keep her court; it was not enough that she merely show in evening entertainments.
Roald liked to visit his mother. He loved her dearly, and she enjoyed his brief company. Sometimes other young men would be present, seducing their sweethearts, or paying their respects to the Queen.
Roald strolled down to his mother's rooms where he was presented officially, and enthusiastically welcomed. His mother waved him over to her side. Today, it appeared, the female court was entertained in delicate embroidery and Shinkokami, sitting on Thayet's right side, seemed to be enjoying herself.
Roald's glance settled on his wife. This was often the first time he saw her every day. If he didn't come to visit his mother, or if Shinkokami wasn't here, they might not meet until dinner in the evening.
Roald nodded to his wife and turned his gaze back to Thayet, approaching her as she beckoned him again. His mother, he knew, did have a softer side which appreciated her children, and pretty dresses, and the odd afternoon spent in such calm activity. Roald peered between his Mama's hands at the delicate work.
'Very good, Mother.' He found it odd that she could find peace in such precise and unenergetic work when their realm was at war.
Thayet smirked at her son. 'Nothing compared to Shinko's.' Thayet sighed as she gazed at her daughter-in-law's work. 'I've neglected my embroidery for other things- not that I regret the Riders, and the schools, and such- and Shinko's needlework is so beautiful. She never fails to amaze me, even after however many years. Look at this, Roald.'
A piece of cloth, fancily patterned, was thrust towards him. Roald raised his eyebrows and murmured some appreciative comments, although he was really no expert. He knew Shinko found an inner calm while working on her intricate embroidery patterns; she really enjoyed it. He also knew his mother had always marvelled at the new Yamani techniques and loved to watch the Yamani ladies sewing, as much as she appreciated their skill with glaive and shukusen and tall Yamani bow.
Inwardly, Roald grimaced. He should have left immediately he found out it was a sewing day. The women always got so ridiculous. Because their hands were occupied, it left them free to gabble about anything and everything that popped into their minds and the room was always full of twittering and laughter and nonsense. Sometimes Thayet's regal air even slipped a little too. Roald understood it was a moment of escapism for her.
Roald snuck a few more glances at his wife, made some more comments to his mother, and managed to escape the sewing room relatively soon. He returned to the offices, there was much work left for the day yet.
When he had been on the border, Roald had found it highly frustrating how he had been so carefully watched all the time. He quite often had felt there was no point of him being there, for all they let him do. It left him feeling restless and utterly useless.
Yet, at home, in the palace, miles from the border in Corus, he felt even worse. Now he wasn't even nearby if he was needed. After his wedding, he had been asked to stay in the capital over winter. The King had travelled up to the border, heavily protected, for a short time, returning before the passes blocked or the sea became too dangerous to travel on.
Roald had stayed in Corus- but he felt strangely traitorous. He was leaving his men, his people, his friends, to fight the battles while he sat on plush cushions in the palace, twiddling his thumbs. He wanted to be there, with them.
When the killing devices had stopped moving that day in summer, most Tortallans thought the war would end soon. Unfortunately, they had been wrong. Maggur continued to push, but without his magic machines he no longer held the advantage. His men were unskilled in wars and tactics, knowing only the instinctive spirit of raidings.
But they were fierce, and they were learning. The Tortallans could hold them, but they couldn't defeat them. The war was at a stalemate.
While the war continued, there was plenty of work for Jonathan, Thayet and their close advisors. They needed to keep the realm working; they needed to make sure the harvest came in, that they had enough weapons and supplies for those men doing the hard work on the border. They needed to keep the support of the courtiers, and the merchants, and the commoners. They spent hours in war councils, communicating via mages with those in charge along the border.
Reports had to be made. Jonathan had to know the state of his realm, in all its aspects: the health of its land; the damage to the crops so far; the state of his peoples moral; how many commoners had been innocently caught between the warriors; how many warriors had fallen; how many horses they had lost; how many healers had over reached themselves; how many families in the gentry were no longer so supportive of him and his queen. Every little detail had to be covered and considered and analysed. He had to keep the kingdom running smoothly.
He had pulled the realm through the Immortals War; there was no doubt in Roald's mind that his father could do it again, supported by Thayet.
Above all the monarchs couldn't let anyone see how worried they might be. They had to stand tall and strong, certain in the Gods' approval so that their people had faith in them.
The problem with doing all this was that it opened a sure pathway for a very stressful life.
Roald was of an age now where he was all too aware of what his parents went through, and how stressed they could be. He was also all too aware of how he would one day hold his father's position. He wanted to be as ready for that inevitable day as he could be, and he also felt a need to help his parents as much as he was able to; he had the ability, the skills and the power- why not use his time wisely?
So Roald took to helping with little things as often as he could. It wasn't long before he found Uncle Gary who was in charge of all the King's affairs, and from Gary Roald really got started. It helped the Prince deal with his feelings of uselessness, it made him feel like he was contributing in some small way.
Day in, day out, Roald came and dealt with the trivial, every-day housekeeping issues, relieving his parents of that job. He knew that left his parents more time to deal with the crucial war problems and if he was helping them, he didn't mind working for hours on end.
Uncle Gary didn't quite understand, he knew that, especially when he started coming every day. But nothing his adoptive uncle could say would convince Roald to do otherwise. Roald never let it slip that it was a way he could keep himself occupied.
'Roald?'
The Prince looked up from the document concerning a new trade route. Uncle Gary stood in the door and, surprised, Roald glanced at the window. The light had faded; it was evening already.
'I'm coming, Uncle. Let me just…' Roald bent his head again, furiously scribbling. Standing up, he blew on the ink to dry it and set it aside. A glance across the room told him tomorrows work was ready and waiting. He grimaced; the workload never decreased however hard he pushed himself.
'You'd better go and smarten up, Highness.'
Roald glanced down at himself, Gary was right. His clothes had become crumpled from sitting down all day, his hands were ink-stained, and his skin felt clammy. He noticed that his uncle had changed already and was smartly dressed in brown and russet red.
'I'll tell your Father you're on your way,' replied Gary as they parted. The older man went on to the dining hall while Roald hurried back to his room.
--
A/N: The next chapter really gets going with some solid Roald-Shinko interaction. It should be posted shortly.
Just to verify Brandy (Jasson's dog) is my own creation.