Lord Daran Simuir, the envoy from Sewen did not look like he's had a good night. His clothes are rumpled and his brown fox eyes are tired and bloodshot. He and the other members of the prince's escort had spent the night confined to their quarters and subjected to an extended interrogation. As a result, he looked exhausted, uneasy, and frightened. Despite that exhaustion, he rises to his feet with a bow when Jhan and Sozha are let into the parlor of his suite. "Lord Warden, Lady Archon," he said politely. "Please forgive my appearance, last night was long and stressful."
"It was indeed a long and stressful night," Sozha says. She holds out two envelopes. "The Great Assembly will be convening to discuss the actions of your prince. We will be demanding reparations."
Lord Simuir, suddenly pale and sick looking, took the letters with hands that trembled slightly. "Lady Archon, I will deliver these letters to the king myself. My king will do his utmost to preserve this alliance despite this grievous assault. I ask only that we be allowed to take the prince's remains back to Sewen." The diplomat is clearly struggling to keep his tone even despite his evident horror.
"Remains?" Sozha asks with blank confusion. She frowns and looks a question in Jhan’ direction. Jhan has a suspicion of what the diplomat is imagining but doesn’t speculate out loud, only offers a slight shrug that makes Sozha’s eyes narrow a bit.
While this silent exchange occurs, the Sewen noble starts to look even more ill. He casts an uneasy, disturbed glance between Sozha and Jhan. He swallows. "There aren't even remains?" he asks in a stricken voice after a few moments of tense silence.
"There are no remains because the prince is not dead," Jhan says. A very petty, vindictive part of him is taking a certain mean satisfaction in the noble’s reactions and he isn’t very proud of it--but he doesn’t actually feel very guilty about it. He’s just aware that he probably should feel guilty. "Who told you the prince had died?"
Lord Simuir blinks, clearly confused, but the confusion shifts to a more hopeful expression. "The prince is alive?" he asks. "I--we assumed that the prince died as a result of his assault on your lordship's person."
"I was able to disarm and subdue him without major injury. At most he received a few bruises during the scuffle," Jhan says. "He's currently confined to quarters until he's calmed himself." In an unthinking afterthought, he adds, "it's not as if the prince was formidable enough to use lethal force."
Lord Simuir blinks at that, nonplussed and looking very much as if he wasn't sure whether or not to be insulted on his prince's behalf. "Thank you for your restraint," he says. "When we were awakened in the night, we assumed the worse."
"My apologies that the sequence of events wasn't clarified for you," Sozha says. "The Lord Warden and the Assembly wish to maintain friendly relations with your king because we have an enemy in common and because we have had friendly relations with your people for many years. We will however need to renegotiate both the marriage contract and the terms of our alliance."
Lord Simuir looks even more out of his depth. "Renegotiate the marriage contract? I'm not sure I understand your meaning, Lady Archon." His tone is questioning.
"Your side asked for a marriage alliance," Jhan interjects. "Your prince signed his sister's name. For the sake of courtesy do we pretend he's a proxy and make a simple exchange, or do the bows I made with your prince before my ancestors constitute a valid marriage?"
"Lord Warden," Simuir says, his tone careful and still confused. "Am I to understand that the renegotiation of the alliance hinges not upon whether there will still be an alliance but rather on whom you are married to?"
"Archon Pyr probably wishes it was the former, but yes exactly," Jhan says. "For the time being, Prince Caris will be treated with all the courtesy due my spouse. Once a decision is reached and renegotiations and reparations are made, we can proceed from there."
"You would consider marriage to another man to be a valid marriage?" Simuir asks. "Marriage alliances are for the creation of blood ties between allies via heirs. With all due respect, another man cannot provide you with an heir."
"This issue is something that can be discussed when we begin renegotiations," Jhan says. "However, it should be noted that in my case--children are not likely." He'd had lovers in the past, both brief affairs and long-term associations, but none of them had fallen pregnant. "To my knowledge, I've never fathered any children. If my spouse wants to become a parent, they will need to adopt or negotiate for a second spouse to join the household."
Lord Simuir frowned. "I see," he says after a pause. "The Seweni nobility often takes concubines in the case of an infertile wife, but I'm not sure how such a thing would solve the problem of an impotent husband." The Seweni noble flushes then, and he seems to suddenly realize the inappropriate nature of his comment. "Er. I mean. Not to imply..." he trails off helplessly.
"There's a difference between infertility and impotence, and I find that speculation on the subject to be a little personal," Jhan says. And tries very hard not to smirk at the stammered apology. "The wife would take another husband," Jhan continues after letting the Seweni diplomat sweat a bit. "Having multiple husbands is fairly common among the Joa," Jhan says. "Particularly in the mountain villages. It's less common among the Tosa, but not unheard of, particularly in regions where the majority of citizens are Joa."
"The Princess would have been expected to take a second husband?" Lord Simuir asks, in an embarrassed, unwillingly curious tone.
"If she wanted children, and she didn't want to adopt, yes," Jhan says.
"I see," Lord Simuir says, sounding dubious.
"This speculation is not in aid of the current situation," Sozha says in a brisk, mildly impatient tone of voice. "Discussions of potential heirs and the getting of them can perhaps wait until we can begin renegotiations concerning the marriage contract and the alliance."
Lord Simuir bows in acknowledgment. "Of course, Lady Archon, forgive my unseemly curiosity." He rises out of his bow. "May I be allowed to see the prince?" Hurriedly, as if worried about giving offense he says, "I do not mean to suggest he is not safe in your company, I only wish to be able to tell my cousin the queen that her son is well, and that I saw him myself."
"There's no reason why you shouldn't be able to," Jhan says. "You may call upon my household at your convenience to speak to the prince."
Lord Simuir bows again. "Thank you, Lord Warden."
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The rooms Caris is taken to are well appointed and probably would have been very comfortable--if Caris weren't still tied up, wearing his sister's wedding dress. The guards had dropped him onto the low couch in the suite's parlor, roughly warning him to stay out of trouble before doing a quick, puzzling inspection of the premises.
Caris figures out what they're doing in short order when he overhears one of the guards saying, "...We'll need to remove anything dangerous. Clean out the desk, remove the bedclothes and curtains."
"Keep an eye on him, and don't let him do anything stupid," the Lord Warden had said. The guards--and his "husband"--thought he might try to fight his way out. Caris feels something like a laugh bubble up in his chest. He had not anticipated surviving his attempt to kill the mage-king--as long as it broke the alliance. He’s trying not to speculate, but it’s there in the background, the fear of what’s going to happen next, now that he’s failed. The immediate concern is what the Lord Warden’s servants might do, the future concern is what the Assembly might do in retaliation, and his father’s response.
He can imagine the reaction of his tutor to this. “Shouldn’t you have thought of this beforehand?” Caris can imagine him asking. He hadn’t, is the thing. All he had thought about was how much his sister didn’t want to marry. How much she wanted the priesthood, and how it was being denied her by this marriage. He had thought anything was worth helping her to escape the marriage. He was beginning to regret the impulse that led him to stab the Lord Warden before he could find out there’d been a switch.
(He had been afraid of what would happen at discovery and now he was even more afraid, however much he tries to keep it off his face, out of his reactions.)
Caris watches warily as the guards move about the suite, removing anything that might be used as a weapon--or to escape. All told, the process takes about thirty minutes, with the guards enlisting the aid of several servants. Once they'd cleared out the suite, they mostly left him to his own devices, except for a single guard who followed him from room to room as he explored the suite as best he was able to, given that his arms hadn't been untied, and he was still wearing the remnants of his sister's wedding dress. He could move, and he stubbornly does so.
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He wonders what was going to happen to not only him but also his kingdom. What price would the Assembly demand for what he’d done? In the hands of a necromancer, death might be the least of his worries. This is not something he wants to think about, but that doesn’t stop the creeping dread. Nor does it stop him from remembering the worst of the stories from the last war between the Assembly and Sewen. The necromancer-king’s loyal troops had razed the kingdom after their lord had been captured and imprisoned by the Sarmateon priesthood. He wishes that he had been stopped sooner. He wishes he had thought of the possible consequences sooner.
The suite consists of the main parlor, a study, a small dining room, a second bedroom Caris thought might have been intended for Teren's lady's maids, and a bathing chamber. The colors were predominantly soft blues and greens, with a few scattered paintings on the walls--mostly landscapes, and one charming scene featuring a mother tiger benevolently observing her two tussling cubs. The floors were dark polished wood, and there were rugs with vibrant geometric and floral patterns. The care obviously taken in the décor and quality of furniture makes him feel…strange.
The parlor had a large glazed window that looked out into a small courtyard garden. (Caris was allowed to approach the window but was not allowed near the door leading out to the courtyard.) The courtyard had a large weeping willow, geometric flower beds, a small pool, and benches on either end of the courtyard. Beneath the willow were a table and chairs.
The garden looked lovely--but also ordinary. Caris isn't quite sure what he expected to see. A menagerie of tame magical creatures perhaps. Rare and mysterious wonders that were straight from an adventure tale. This was just a garden. The aesthetic was different from what he was familiar with, true, but it was still just an ordinary garden.
Caris spends an uncomfortable night in the bedroom, unable to find a comfortable way to sleep. The only relief is that the magical "cords" binding his arms don't seem to cut off his circulation and allow a surprising amount of movement as long as he moves slowly. Most of his discomfort comes from the state of the clothes he's wearing, and the way the smudged, smeared cosmetics make his skin feel as if there's a thick layer of oily mud covering it. He doesn't demand the assistance of servants to clean up due to the distinct impression that his guards would ignore the request. His elaborately braided wig was a ragged tangle. (Teren had cut her hair like a novitiate three months before the wedding date was finalized, in protest of the marriage as part of their plan. Caris meanwhile had let his hair grow out a bit.)
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In the morning, Caris wakes from a restless sleep full of disturbing dreams feeling as if he'd been run over by a midden cart. It's early enough that the light is barely gray, and his head feels stuffed full of dirty rags. (In fact, he's still covered with dirty rags.) The heat of his outrage and anger of the night before has faded, leaving a cold and sickly feeling. He was going to have to deal with the consequences of his actions, whatever they might be. The Lord Warden of the Five Cities was going to hold him to the wedding vows he’d falsely made, and he had no idea of what that meant.
The Lord Warden also made statements that Caris’ actions hadn’t broken the alliance, but how true could that be? He had attempted to kill the ruler of the Assembly of Five and failed. This was not anywhere near the level of response to such a thing he would have expected. Caris would have thought, had thought that even if he wasn’t successful if he had died in his attempt to break the alliance it would be worth it. The problem was, he wasn’t dead, and the Lord Warden indicated that he would apparently still consider the alliance good, no matter what had happened.
"You're not a prisoner, you're my husband.” The Lord Warden’s words float starkly to the surface of Caris’ mind. He can’t help the shiver of nerves as he remembers.
The tales and rumors about the Lord Warden that had traveled to Sewen were many and unnerving. The mysterious ruler of the rich city-states to the north and east. The necromancer who had driven off invasions and defeated--according to legend--a plague demon that had destroyed an earlier civilization. (Personally, Caris thought this story was a form of self-aggrandizement, but even if it was an exaggeration, how could a single man have gained such power? And if it was self-aggrandizement, why claim to have destroyed a demon of vast power, but not claim to have saved this legendary civilization as well?)
Father--and most of the court--had been willing to barter Teren off to such a being in exchange for aid against the Kaneket tribes encroaching on Sewen territories. Caris had argued that the situation couldn't be so dire as to risk making such an alliance with such a being. He had argued for an alliance with Aruis, who at least fellow Dosai, and more importantly fellow Sarmateons.
His arguments however, had been disregarded. Teren's wishes on the matter had been disregarded. He could see that his sister was being brave about it--but she was frightened and uneasy about her upcoming marriage, and Caris had been frightened for her. Very little was truly known about the Lord Warden. Most diplomatic contacts had been with the mage-ruler's ministers and governors. The Lord Warden was a distant, sinister figure behind the power of the Assembly.
It seemed outrageous to Caris that his sister was being pressured into this marriage. The more he thought of it, and the more his objections were ignored or cast aside, the angrier he became on his sister's behalf. (She had no desire for marriage and had hoped to be allowed to join the priesthood. Failing that unlikely aspiration, she wanted a husband who was devout in the faith. This marriage their father wanted was the absolute opposite of this desire.)
The closer the marriage approached, the more desperate he became to do something about it. Not just for Teren, but because he truly felt that this alliance was a deadly mistake. He did not believe it was possible for Sewen and the Assembly to become allies, even against a common foe. He also knew that he was not alone in this opinion, but he also knew that his voice was in the minority. (Even some prominent members of the priesthood were arguing for the alliance.)
The plan to impersonate his sister and assassinate the necromancer resulted from a foolish game he and Teren had played as children. Despite being fraternal twins, they did look quite similar in appearance. They had the same square chin, the same height, and the breadth of their shoulders, they were both equally athletic. The only difference was that Teren's hair was a shade or two darker than his, a honey blonde compared to his ash blond. Her eyes were also a darker shade of blue. As children, they had occasionally impersonated each other--with varying levels of success. They'd gotten in trouble for the mischief but the pranks had been well worth the effort.
After some discussion with Teren, she eventually agreed to the impersonation--though she had severe misgivings about other aspects of his plan. (Caris wanted to try removing the necromancer’s influence entirely. Teren did not want him to die facing off against an immortal sorcerer king. She made many pointed comments that he was not a legendary Champion of God. Caris thought it a waste to not try.) He pretended to illness a week before the final preparations for the journey to Mir, so he wouldn't be part of the escort. Then they made the exchange just before the last of Teren's belongings and gifts for the wedding were loaded onto the carriages.
It has been a tense few weeks. Keeping the knowledge of the switch from the servants and his mother's cousin had been difficult. (It had been his best impersonation to date, though it helped that any differences could be put off as nerves about the wedding.) Caris had found himself wavering in his resolve--at least where his intent to assassinate the necromancer was concerned. It should be enough to simply break the alliance--on the other hand, he wasn’t sure what would happen upon discovery. Would it be better to strike first, than risk whatever retaliation the necromancer would enact?
The arrival in Mir and the initial meetings with ministers and officials before the wedding had gone by in a blur. There was a parade through the city, and a general festival atmosphere with dancers, musicians, singers, and pagan priests chanting prayers and blessing everything in sight. Caris had felt an increasing tension all through the initial greetings and rituals that seemed to wind tighter and tighter, like a harp string wound to the point where it might break.
The wedding celebration was a week-long procession of feasts and presentations of gifts, with the finale being the wedding itself. That had been a blur as well. Caris remembers being escorted into a temple. Officiating priests blessed the proceedings and directed various actions. There had been offerings the bridal couple had to give to the ancestors, followed by more blessings, and then they bowed to each other--and he was married.
From there, there had been another feast within the home of the Lord Warden, and after the feast, maids from the Lord Warden's household had escorted Caris to the Lord Warden's quarters. The maids had installed him in the bedroom of the main suite. The bed had been piled high with flowers and fruits and hung with red silk drapes. The maids had been friendly and cheerful, and Caris had felt strange and disconnected, on edge and strangely nerveless.
He'd startled badly when the Lord Warden had arrived. The necromancer had been polite and reassuring, apologizing for suddenly entering his room. They'd spoken, about what Caris didn't really remember. What he does remember is the Lord Warden pouring him a cup of wine saying, "We’ll share a cup of wine, and that will do for the consummation. We can wait for anything further when you feel more at home here."
"What if I never feel at home?" Caris had found himself asking.
The Lord Warden had smiled and said something that blurred a bit from Caris' perspective--probably something intended to be romantic--and sipped from the cup. Then he stepped forward to offer the cup to Caris.
And that had been when Caris stabbed him. It had been impulse more than plan--and sudden fear of discovery. The cup had fallen to the floor and rolled, and the Lord Warden clutched at the dagger before dropping to his knees. The look on his face had been startled, but strangely not angry. Nemar Jhan' lips moved as if he were trying to say something, before he collapsed completely in a boneless heap on the floor.
Caris had stared at the motionless body for several minutes, utterly frozen. It had seemed so simple, so easy. Surely a legendary necromancer, an immortal sorcerer didn't die so easily? He'd felt almost sick with exhilaration and triumph, and it took a moment before he could focus on the next task, which was escaping from the Lord Warden's house.
He hadn't gotten very far with his plans and preparations before Nemar Jhan had gotten right back to his feet and tackled Caris while Caris was stuffing clothes and anything that looked valuable into a bag. The resulting scuffle had been dirty but brief and ended with Nemar Jhan discovering Caris' disguise.
Now in the cold aftermath of the assassination attempt, Caris sits and waits to find out what fate the Lord Warden has planned for him. He does not get very much sleep, his mind full of everything that had gone wrong, and what the necromancer might do.
“That either makes you a proxy for your sister or my husband."
"I just tried to kill you. Surely that negates the contract."
"You'd think that, wouldn't you, but no."
The idea that he might have failed to even break the alliance fills Caris with a sense of bitter frustration. The determination to keep an alliance went against what he would have expected of a servant of Ashten. The main objection to the alliance was the anticipation of future betrayal--which would be a foregone conclusion. Even without taking the influence of the god of betrayal, there was little love between Sewen and the Assembly, though trade had increased in recent years--and Seweni mages and scholars made an effort to attend Assembly schools.