“Yes, sir. What will I be doing here? Will I be serving your mistress?”
Mykis gave him an evil looking smile, pleased malice rolling off him, his small eyes squinting at some private joke. “No, you’ll be serving the master. Now be quick about cleaning yourself. My mistress hates dirt and smell, and I run a clean household. I won’t let you filthy Darshianese change that.”
Yes, because of course we all live in mud wallows and eat shit.
The man watched him clean himself, indicating he could use the harsh clothes soap on his own body. Kei didn’t care about the quality of the soap—he was just glad to be clean again. His new clothes still offended Mykis, but when the dirty ones were hung out to the man’s satisfaction, he ordered Kei to follow him again, this time taken to a kitchen nearly the size of Kei’s whole house. Several servants preparing a meal stared at him in frank curiosity. He smiled back, wanting to appear friendly, but no one responded. Mykis shouted something at them in Prijian. “You, listen here. Every servant in this household is your senior, and you will obey every one of them as if my mistress or I had made the order ourselves. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my...sir. What are my duties?”
To his shock, Mykis came up to him and slapped his face. “Lesson one, boy. Do not speak until spoken to, and do not ask questions until I give you leave. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Kei stared straight ahead, unable to believe the man had struck him for such a trivial mistake. He’d clearly waited until he had an audience too. A show-off
and
a bully, by the look of it.
“Good. You’ll be taking the place of my master’s manservant whom he recently lost. You will bring his meals, do his laundry, prepare his baths and his rooms. When you are not doing that, you will do as you’re directed by me or anyone else here.”
“Yes, sir.” Kei bit his tongue. He’d been about to ask where he could put his pack and where he would sleep, but that would get him hit again.
“Now wait here until my master returns. Don’t touch anything.”
“No, sir.”
He was forced to sit like a naughty child while the cook and her assistants giggled and stared and made not entirely incomprehensible comments about him, his morals, his body and his likely habits. He gritted his teeth and pretended he didn’t follow any of it. What kind of people were these, to treat others with such lack of respect? Or was it only hostages made into slaves they treated this way?
He waited for an hour or more on the hard stool, trying hard to stay awake. What was happening to the others? Would he see them again? And who was this man, and this family?
Mykis returned and snapped out an order to the cook’s assistants, who bustled about to obey. It soon became clear they were preparing a tray of food, and when Mykis ordered Kei to pick it up, he guessed he was about to meet his new master.
He took a breath, and got ready for this new challenge.
Arman had a headache that was close to making him stop and bang his head on the ground for relief. He’d expected the meeting with Mari to go badly. He’d expected her tears. He hadn’t expected her to thank him for his kindness to Loke, or her proud, silent grief which was more of a reproach than if she had blamed him, as his father had done, for Loke’s death. Of course, his esteemed father more than made up for the lack once Arman had returned indoors, throwing Mayl’s pregnancy into the mix and being as thoroughly disagreeable and unpleasant as Arman remembered him. Arman sometimes wondered if
he
was a bastard too, since his father had so little interest in him. But no, the dynastic meddlings were proof his father was trying to preserve the bloodline, even if he couldn’t give a damn through whose veins the blood flowed.
Gods.
Mari had broken his heart, but he had no solace at all to offer her, just a lock of hair and the note. He wished she had railed or wept wildly—anything—but her dignity only emphasised the depth of her pain. There was nothing at all he could do for her, not when he could do nothing for himself.
His escort kept well back from him, sensing his foul temper, he supposed, but one of his men took his reins smartly enough when they reached his house, and the other two took up position as usual by the door. “Welcome home, Sei Arman,” his footman said as he strode in.
Arman ignored the pleasantry. “Have someone bring me something to eat and some wine,” he snapped as he walked down the hall, wanting to get away from people for the next...well, year, would be his preference, but hours would probably be all he would get. “And I want a bath in an hour.”
“Yes, Sei,” the man said to his back.
Arman ignored him, continuing to his rooms. He didn’t bother with the farce of seeking Mayl’s welcome, or being ‘surprised’ at her news, which his father had broken with all the grace Arman had come to expect from the old bastard. In his own house, he refused to play meaningless games. Tomorrow, he would visit Karus and hope to be put in a better temper. For now, he wasn’t fit company for himself or anyone else.
He threw his satchel of papers onto his desk and examined the notes and invitations left there in his absence. There was nothing that demanded his attention, and even if there had been, he couldn’t have summoned the energy to care. He’d begun to strip when he heard a knock and curtly told the servant to leave the tray on the table.
“Sei Arman—”
He turned. “What?” Then he stared at the newcomers. “What in six hells is
that
doing in my room?”
His steward bowed. “By my mistress’s order, Sei Arman, this is your new manservant.”
“I think
not
. Get him out of here, and tell me where I can find my wife.”
He stalked angrily through the house in search of her, wondering what idiotic game Mayl was playing now, and how she even
knew
Loke was dead. How dare she, how
damn
well dare she?
She was in her bedroom, one of her maids primping her. He noted the bump and how she had dressed to emphasise it—was he supposed to be impressed? “What do you mean by sending that Darshianese filth to me? Have you lost what is left of your senses?”
“Welcome home, husband,” she said coolly, dismissing her maid with a wave of her hand. “I rejoice in your safe return.”
“Never mind the platitudes, what game are you playing? Who is that man and why do you have a Darshianese hostage in our house?”
She regarded him calmly. “That man is your new manservant—”
“No, he damn well—”
“By the order of Her Serenity herself.”
“What?” He stared at her, perplexed. “Why would Kita...? Do you have a hand in this, Mayl? Because by the gods you go too far this time.”
“Of course I don’t,” she snapped at him. “I found out Loke was dead when the soldiers turned up at our door. Here is the note from Senator Mekus if you don’t believe me.”
He certainly didn’t but after reading the note, he was forced to accept Her Serenity, meddling again for who knew what reason, had seen fit to foist one of the enemy onto him. “Very well, do with him as you like. I don’t want him as a manservant.”
Her expression became brightly spiteful. “Oh, but I can’t do that, Sei Arman. Her Serenity’s orders are very specific. He’s to be
your
page. Do you want to tell her you’ve spurned her gift, or will that duty fall to me?”
He could still turn the man away, but Mayl would contrive to have the fact conveyed, however indirectly, to Kita’s ears. “I suppose you imagine he will sleep in my room too?”
“Of course. Unless you want people to speculate Loke shared your room for a reason other than the fact he was your page.”
He gripped her shoulders. “That won’t be a rumour that will start from you, will it, my
dear
wife? Because once that hisk runs, others might chase after it for company.”
She shook him off. “There’s no need to be violent. I merely point out the truth. Anyway, what difference does it make who serves you? The man is fair, sound of limb, he speaks a little Prijian—it’s not like you need more. Her Serenity obviously wants us to civilise him.”
“Fine,” he spat. “You do it. He can bring my food and my bath and other than that, I don’t want to see him or discuss him. He’s yours to look after.”
“As you wish.”
He indicated her stomach with a wave of his hand. “I see you wasted no time in spreading the word about your little bastard. My father actually took me to task that he heard it from you before he heard it from me.”
She gave him a wide-eyed look of false surprise. “Oh, that
was
impolite of me, wasn’t it? But I knew he’d be so pleased to hear the news, I couldn’t deprive him of the joy.”
He shook his head in disgust. “Leave me out of your games. You have what you wanted, don’t push me.”
“As if I would,” she said sweetly. “By the way, his name is Kei, of Albon.”
“Who?” For a moment, he thought she was naming her lover.
“Your new servant, of course. He has a name. They’re only mostly savage, you know.”
“The day, Sei Mayl, I need lessons on the Darshianese from you, I will take my sword and run it through my stomach. Until then, kindly stick to the things you actually know about—infidelity and plotting.”
She sneered at him again as he turned to leave. Gods, could this day get any more appalling?
~~~~~~~~
Kei didn’t know who was more horrified, the ‘golden general’ or himself, but Sei Arman probably had a slight edge in the ‘most angry’ stakes. What in hells was that damn woman doing? Was she unaware of how this man felt about Kei’s people? Was this how a successful general was usually rewarded?
He was dragged back to the kitchen, but oddly, Mykis wasn’t surprised or put out by the rudeness of his master. Kei was simply informed where he could draw bath water, and that he should attend his new master in an hour—told by the water clock in the kitchen—to provide him with enough hot water to fill a hip bath. What a hip bath was, he had no idea. The sniggering of the servants increased when Mykis told them what had happened—Kei didn’t need to know Prijian to work that out. It seemed Sei Arman was not well liked by his servants. Perhaps he had to have slaves sent to him because he was so hated, which didn’t bode well for his own term of imprisonment.
Gods, he was tired. Every limb ached and his hands shook slightly from fatigue, but he wasn’t allowed to sit idly this time. The cook indicated by gesture he should take the slops out to the midden, then set him to scrubbing pans in water so hot it was close to scalding. No one offered him any of the food being prepared, or indicated how he should even obtain a meal. He didn’t want to ask. He’d had enough abuse for one day, and going to bed hungry was something he could endure. If he had a bed at all, that was.
Mykis returned, and struck him across the shoulders with his cane. “Don’t you see the time? Your master has been waiting half an hour for his bath!” He struck Kei again, who was tempted to take the cane and snap in half, or possibly shove it up the horrible man’s nose. “Hurry up, you useless boy!”
“Yes, sir,” Kei muttered, hastily rolling down his sleeves and heading to the taproom. Mekus obviously expected him to go on his own this time—perhaps Mykis didn’t want to risk the wrath of his master again.
He struggled with the fully filled bucket of hot water down the halls, desperately trying not to spill anything on the mosaics, and found the door. He knocked and heard a curt “Enter”. He did so, and bowed. “Your bath water, my lord.”
The general turned, and gave him a glare. “Don’t just stand there, put it into the bath.”
“Um...where is it, my lord?”
The general’s lips tightened as he got up from his desk and indicated a covered box, the lid of which unfolded to reveal a metal container, slightly raised. “Fill it and get out of my sight. You’ve forgotten drying cloths and soap, bring them on your return.”
“Yes, my lord,” Kei said hastily, anxious to get away from this man’s roiling, sickening hatred.
It took two more trips to fill the bath to the general’s satisfaction, and then the man rudely told Kei to leave and not return for two hours. In that time, he was set again to cleaning dishes and scrubbing huge, food encrusted pots. There were over a dozen servants in this house, and every one of them came in to have a good look at the new arrival. Their opinion of him was universally unflattering, and keeping his temper in the face of their verbal insults and gestures was difficult. With some relief he noticed two hours had passed and he could escape, although whether the general was actually better company, he couldn’t really say.
He found the man dressed in a kind of long robe, which Kei assumed was for relaxing in one’s bedroom since it looked too heavy to sleep in. He stood waiting for instructions, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to be doing. It was nearly midnight, by his reckoning, and he’d had no real rest for nearly two days. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue.