He breathed a sigh of relief, and for the first time in his life knew he no longer had to look over his shoulder to the past. Only the future mattered now.
Amemun held up his glass to the light, admiring the color of the fine red Storian wine. He sipped it carefully, enjoying its full body and woody aroma.
“We have nothing like this back home,” he said.
Orkid offered his friend a smile and drank from his own glass. “Trade is one of the things we will improve. Usharna was loath to surrender the crown’s monopoly on luxury goods such as wine; it added so much to her revenue. I could never make her understand how reducing restrictions would increase the flow of commerce and so increase her revenue in the long term.”
“She was shortsighted, then.”
Orkid shook his head. “In some ways perhaps. She could be hidebound, with monopolies for example, but in other things she was remarkably progressive. After all, she made me chancellor, the first citizen of the kingdom not from Kendra itself to hold such high office.”
“To our benefit,” Amemun said without irony.
“To the benefit of Grenda Lear as a whole,” Orkid pointed out without pride.
“As your brother, the noble Marin, foresaw all those decades ago when you were first sent to Usharna’s court.”
Orkid nodded. “Aye. Farseeing, indeed.”
“What of our co-conspirator? Do you think he will cause you trouble?”
Orkid shrugged. “I had hoped to tie Dejanus to me even more closely, but Areava announced his promotion without consulting me. From her point of view it was the right thing to do, but regrettably it happened before I could suggest it to her myself. Dejanus is not the most brilliant man I’ve ever met, but he’s not stupid. Knowing that I was working on his behalf would have confirmed our relationship.”
“But you have a hold on him anyway. His secret past is enough to ensure his obedience, surely?”
“Perhaps. But don’t forget Dejanus now has a hold on me as well. We are like two great bears with their mouths around each other’s throat.”
“So how do you intend to proceed to the second part of the plan?” Amemun asked.
“Sendarus has been doing most of the work unwittingly for us, but it may require a little prompting on our part. The people will soon be demanding Areava provide an heir, especially after the events of the last few days. And fortunately for Aman, King Marin’s son is available.”
“And if the queen marries him, a day will come when the kingdom will be ruled by someone with the blood of both Kendra and Aman.” Amemun grinned into his glass. “A pity your brother had no daughter. Then Berayma could have lived.”
Orkid shook his head. “No. His closeness to the Twenty Houses meant he would never have married outside of them. Areava was our only chance.”
“And what of Olio, and that Harnan fellow?”
“I thought I knew Olio. He was always such an inoffensive boy, lurking timidly in the background, but I did not give enough credit to the relationship between him and his sister. She has needed his strength since Berayma’s death, and he has provided it without hesitation. I must work on him, bring him around, make him trust me as much as his sister does.
“And Harnan is so devoted to his duties he does not always see what is going on around him. He and I have always worked well together. I see no reason for that to change.”
Amemun pursed his lips. “There is one other matter Marin has asked me to report on. The Keys of Power. I do not think he was aware they were to be divided between the heirs. You should have warned him.”
Orkid grunted. “I had hoped to convince Usharna not to proceed with her plan, and for a long time thought I was succeeding. Given another day or two, I might have won her around, but…”
“But now they are apart. They have lost their power. If Areava and Sendarus have issue, we will want the Keys brought together again.”
“You forget, Amemun, that Lynan was wearing one of the Keys. They can never be together again. Their power is broken.”
Amemun’s face clouded. “This is dark news.”
“The individual Keys hold some energy, I’m sure. They may work still, though not as effectively as in the past. Other rulers have survived without such tokens. So will Areava’s heirs.”
“Other rulers haven’t had such a large kingdom to administer,” Amemun pointed out. “And power or no, they still have an influence over the people. We must work to unite the surviving Keys.”
Orkid held up his hand. “Patience! There is more than enough for us to deal with at the moment. The Keys can wait.”
Amemun nodded reluctantly. “I hope Marin sees it the same way.”
“He will forget all about the Keys when Sendarus and Areava are engaged,” Orkid said.
“Oh, aye, there’s no doubt about that.” Amemun raised his glass. “For Aman!”
“For Grenda Lear,” Orkid replied.
Olio left the palace as surreptitiously as possible, not wishing to be seen by his sister or any member of the Royal Guards. Under present circumstances they would have insisted on providing him with an escort, but Olio needed time alone, time to think, time away from the palace itself and everything it represented.
He wandered for a while along the wide avenues of the higher, richer districts, but gravity and inclination slowly drew him down into the old city, the heart of Kendra. He was dressed plainly, and the Key of Healing was hidden beneath his jerkin. In the crowded streets no one looked closely enough to identify him.
Olio reveled in the anonymity. No one fawned over him, no one expected him to respond to a salute or greeting. He was no more than a citizen of the city, and this meant more to him than his official rank. Like Areava, he believed heart and soul in the kingdom, in the good it had achieved, in its civilizing influence and the peace it had brought its many millions of inhabitants. But he was also aware of how much more it could achieve, given the will and determination. Around him were signs of poverty: people living in the streets, poor sanitation, children laboring away at a hundred different crafts from cobbling to sail making. He walked carefully along rises and curbs to avoid stepping in human and animal excrement.
In time, he found himself in a short alley darkened by the leaning roofs of the old timber houses that lined it. Garbage and filth clogged the worn, shallow drains on either side of the cobbled paving. Two children dressed in little more than rags ran past him, squealing with laughter as they went. An old man sat in a doorway, trying to mend a tattered shirt with a bone needle and coarse twine.
Olio paused. He looked up and around, counting the houses. Twelve along one side, eleven on the other. He wondered how many families lived in each. One or two, maybe more? Say three to six members for each family. In a space no longer than fifty paces or wider than thirty, there probably lived between a hundred and two hundred people, many of them children, and many of them would not live long enough to reach adulthood.
This is also Kendra, Olio thought. This is also the kingdom.
He started to walk on when he caught sight of a familiar cloak. Its round owner was just stepping out of one of the old houses the prince had been considering.
“Well, well,” Olio said loudly, “M-M-Magicker P-P-Prelate Edaytor Fanhow.”
The prelate turned, obviously not expecting to meet anyone who knew him. His expression showed twice as much surprise when he recognized the prince. He bowed uncertainly, still not quite believing his eyes.
“Your Highness! What are you doing down here?” He looked around curiously. “And where is your escort?”
“I am walking, sir, taking in the sights. And as for escort, why, I have n—n-none.”
“No escort?” Edaytor scurried to the prince’s side, and took his arm. “Then, your Highness, stay close by me. I will see that you come to no harm.”
Olio laughed lightly. “Why should any harm come to m-m-me?” He looked up and down the alley. “I see no thieves or scoundrels. We are quite safe, I think. At any rate, you yourself have no escort.”