The Disinherited Prince Read online

  She waved her hand. “Sit down. I’ve come to see how you fare.” His mother looked happy. Her face showed a sheen of sweat and was still a bit ruddy from being out in the sun. She must have just come back from delivering alms.

  “You’ve been busy helping others. They need help more than I do,” Pol said. He laid a book about the origin of the Baccusol Empire on the reading table. “I’d like to go with you again, but I’m not back to full strength yet.”

  He knew he still looked pale, and just getting ready for the day still tired him. He had thought his strength was on the mend before he took that poison, and now he felt more like he had when he was younger. He felt like an invalid again, and that had put him out of sorts until his mother’s presence brightened up his day.

  “You need to get out and play with Paki more. That boy helped put life into you.”

  Grostin’s role in taking life out of him was left unsaid. “He did. Malden Gastoria said I shouldn’t be playing with him, and that I should study.”

  Molissa leaned over to read the title of the book that Pol had been reading. “That will put you to sleep. It worked wonders to do the same to me when I was a young girl. Quite a bit has happened since that was written.”

  “I suspect there is much more to come,” Pol said. “There always is, but the Empire is still here after all the centuries.”

  Molissa sighed. “I’m not sure that is a good thing, if you ask me.” His mother had been politely requested to marry one of the kings or princes of the Imperial kingdoms shortly after her parents died in an epidemic in the country of Listya far to the west of North Salvan. She had chosen Prince Colvin, a recent widower with four small children. Pol never really knew how her mother felt about it.

  Pol nodded.

  “I’m worried for you and worried for us, I’m afraid,” she continued. “I suspect the poisoner was paid by one of the siblings—”

  “Grostin, I’d guess,” Pol said.

  “You are probably right, and that means there is nothing you can do.” Molissa sighed. “There’s nothing I can do. We only have limited power in this place.”

  “Do we have any power?” Pol asked.

  She shook her head. “Not much. You are my heir and next in line for the Listyan throne, but that will never happen. Your father mentioned yesterday about appointing Landon as vassal-king of Listya, replacing the current regent, another one of your father’s cronies. You and I represent a threat to Colvin’s other children. Once Colvin gets a notion, he just lets it grow and grow. I think this is one of his grander ones.”

  “But what does Father think about their activities.”

  Molissa sighed again. “Boys will be boys. That’s a clichéd saying, but I think he thinks their treatment of you is fair game. At some point, I worry about your safety in this castle if the King gets obsessed with putting Landon on my throne.”

  “I thought you and Father got along.”

  “That is the sad part. We really do. He’s grown to care for me as I have for him. It’s the children from his first marriage that work to drive us apart,” Molissa said, fingering the hem of a sleeve. “I shouldn’t be boring you with all this depressing talk. It will only serve to keep you from getting your strength back. Being strong is more than just physical strength. It’s also the power to endure hardship.” Molissa laughed. “That’s coming from a Queen living in a castle. You should see how the common people live.”

  “I have,” Pol said. He’d accompanied her mother in her alms-giving expeditions a few times.

  She nodded her head. “Hardship is not just a lack of money. It can be a lack of many things. Respect, trust, love. You have to endure envy and jealousy on the part of people who would seek to put themselves above you.”

  “They are above me. We’ve talked about this before,” Pol said. Her preaching sometimes got boring, and this was one of those times. It made Pol yawn.

  “Oh, I’ve been taking you away from your rest.” She got to her feet. “I’ll be back. I’ll instruct the cook to send your evening meal here.”

  “Will it be poisoned?”

  Molissa laughed. “I assure you it won’t be since I’ll taste it first myself.”

  Later that evening, Pol heard a knock at his door. ‘Dinner,’ he said to himself. He rose to the door and opened it up.

  “I heard you might be hungry,” Paki said. He had dressed as a servant, rolling a wooden trolley into Pol’s rooms.

  “You’ll need to watch me eat, so I don’t get poisoned,” Pol said, not able to suppress a grin.

  “That didn’t work so well the last time we ate together, did it?”

  Pol shook his head. “My mother said she’d taste it first to make sure my dinner was digestible.”

  Paki laughed. “Only you would say digestible. Everyone else would say fine or something.” He removed the cloth covering the trolley, revealing two plates. “One for you and one for me.”

  That was enough to get the boys eating. Pol wasn’t very hungry, but he managed to keep up with his friend.

  “So Prince Grostin did it?” Paki said. “That’s what my dad thinks, but don’t you tell anyone he guessed. His life wouldn’t be worth a clod of dirt.”

  Pol nodded. “There’s nothing we can do but be vigilant. Actually, there’s nothing I can do. We will need to forget the incident. My father brushed it off. Amonna didn’t admit it was Grostin, but I could tell. Landon would come at me with a bare sword, if he was brave enough.”

  “To fight a fourteen-year-old boy? He’s six years older than you and is the size of a full-grown man.”

  “I know. He’s more like the King, but Grostin… who knows who he is like. Malden Gastoria?”

  Paki shook his head. “The Court Magician is a reasonable person and doesn’t let his emotions take over, so my Dad says.”

  “Grostin isn’t particularly emotional. He is cold and calculating. He scares me more than my other siblings.” Pol stirred the remaining food on his plate.

  “Yeah,” Paki said. “Sneaky. The kind of person who wouldn’t think twice about stabbing you in the back.”

  Pol looked up from his meal. “Or poisoning a treat.”

  Paki nodded. “So where do we go from here?”

  “Malden wants me to stay away from you…not get distracted. Mother wants me to continue to play with you to lighten up my days. I’m sure we can find a middle ground, now that you’re formally apprenticed to your father.”

  “Gardener Pakkingail. That’s me.” Paki made a face. “That wasn’t my first choice.”

  “What was?”

  Paki looked across the room without focusing. “I always wanted to be a scout. Much like what we were doing when we went out this week.”

  “You can still do that when you are older. Siggon is a great teacher, and he knows a lot about woodcraft.”

  After a snort, Paki looked intently at Pol. “You are the student. It’s hard to be taught by my father. It’s different when you are related.”

  Pol laughed. “I don’t have to worry about that. My father doesn’t want to teach me anything. He has others…” He thought of how bored he had become listening to the queen lecture him earlier in the day. “I know what you mean, now. It’s hard to listen to my mother.”

  “Perhaps my father can find someone else to teach me, and he can do the testing. That will work.”

  “I don’t know if anyone can replace my mother, but I’ll talk to Mistress Farthia about it.” Pol said. He couldn’t successfully stifle a yawn, so he shooed Paki out of his room and went to bed early, exhausted from another day of recuperation.

  ~

  In a few weeks, Pol had recovered most of his former strength. That put him in a positive mood. He walked the halls towards the family dining room that the children used for dinner. His parents generally had their evening meal with nobles, merchants, or important visitors.

  He opened the door and found Amonna reading a book by the window. She didn’t look very immersed in whatever s
he read, as she looked up and closed the volume.

  “You are looking good, Pol. Now you need to get out of the castle and let the sun bathe your face.”

  Pol smiled. “I don’t tan as well as you do,” he said. That applied to the other siblings as well, with their darker coloring. “But I’m ready to resume my life.”

  “Life?” Grostin entered the dining room with Landon and Honna.

  “What have you three been up to?” Amonna said, standing up. She went to the fireplace and pulled on the thick decorated rope five times, signifying how many were to eat. “I assume King Colvin and his wife will eat with notables?”

  Landon smiled at his youngest sister. It turned into a grimace when his eyes landed on Pol. “Life. I see you retained yours,” he sneered.

  Pol resisted clutching his fists as anger filled him. “I am happy to say that I did.”

  He endured his evening meal with Amonna being the only sibling to directly address him. Their disdain of him seemed to have become even worse. Grostin’s face looked as if he had a boil on his bottom. The thought made Pol smile, but he quickly suppressed it.

  The others rose and sat in the easy chairs that were arranged in a window alcove.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I will return to my studies,” Pol said. He bowed to Amonna, but the others didn’t even recognize his presence.

  As soon as Pol left the room, he made a face and tightened his fists and locked his arms straight as he stalked off towards his rooms. Pol vowed that he wouldn’t return to the dining room unless invited by his mother or the king. He continued toward his rooms and ran into Malden Gastoria, sitting on a bench nearby.

  “Ah, there you are. I thought we might have a chat while I checked on your progress. You look about normal, for you.” He got up and followed Pol into his suite.

  “I want to see your chest, so undress, my prince,” Malden said.

  Pol could hear mirth in Malden’s voice. Pol wondered why the magician would be visiting him when he was feeling normal, but he carried out the request.

  Malden felt the muscles in Pol’s arms and worked his fingers. He put his ear to Pol’s chest. “Oh. I should have listened to your heart long before now. Did you know you have a heart murmur?”

  Pol furrowed his brow. “Don’t all hearts murmur?”

  “Yours sort of wheezes. A heart murmur is more of a wheeze, to me, anyway. It means your heart isn’t pumping efficiently. It’s probably why you haven’t thrived in all these years.” The easy smile had been dropped, and replaced with a look of concern. “No wonder you couldn’t throw off the poison as easily as the disgustingly healthy Pakkingail Horstel. There’s nothing that can be done here in Borstall. I had thought you had some other kind of malady.” Malden looked drowned in his thoughts for a bit. “Your future may change for a bit. I don’t think a heavy regimen of arms training is going to do you much good to build up your strength. You’ll probably just get more and more fatigued.”

  Pol rolled his eyes. “I know all about fatigue.”

  “You do. Don’t worry about restricting your activities, but I wouldn’t run more than a few miles at a time.” Malden tossed Pol’s clothes at him. “You are good enough to do most things. I think you’ve recovered enough for now. If you have any noticeable changes, let me know.”

  “I am fourteen,” Pol said. “I’m, hopefully, looking at a lot of change in the next few years.”

  Malden nodded. “Ah, yes. I didn’t exactly mean puberty, but with your heart and your fatigue.”

  “I’ll let you know at the soonest,” Pol said.

  “My Prince,” Malden bowed with his hand over his heart.

  That particular honorific had never meant much to Pol before, but with his new knowledge, it did now. He watched Malden leave his room, and then sat down and thought more about the encounter. Malden seemed genuinely interested in his well-being. He hadn’t expected that of the magician.

  Pol realized that he could learn to like Malden Gastoria. His father’s magician didn’t talk down to him, like other men in the castle. He seemed to act more like Siggon, an interested uncle. Pol didn’t have any uncles, but he thought that Siggon acted like one. Malden might as well. It made Pol smile, and he ended the evening in a much better mood than when he had left the family dining room.

  ~

  Pol had finally finished the history that his mother had said put her to sleep. He walked into the room that had once served as a nursery for the king’s children. The toys were replaced by shelves of books. A slate board stood against a wall, and a large flat table served as a place to examine maps of the world, of the Baccusol Empire, and of North Salvan.

  Farthia Wissingbel turned around after writing numbers on the slate board. “You’re early.”

  “I am. Do you know much about anatomy?”

  “I know a little bit about a lot of things, and anatomy is one of them,” she said. She smiled at him. Pol put her down as another friend, although Farthia seemed more like an older sister than an aunt to him.

  “Malden Gastoria thinks I have a heart murmur.”

  Farthia lifted up an eyebrow. “He does, does he? I suppose he would know. The man is a better healer than anyone else in North Salvan. If he told you that, why do you bring it up to me?”

  Pol shrugged. “I want to know more about it. Do you have any books on such things?”

  “I do, but there won’t be much about a heart murmur. Anything that happens inside of you…well, we can’t see inside of a human body, at least a live one. So no one can be sure what makes the heart murmur.”

  Farthia evidently didn’t have the knowledge that Malden had, since he seemed to know from the sound of his heart that it wasn’t working properly. “He said my heart isn’t as efficient as it should be.”

  She nodded and went to the bookshelves and pulled out a book. “You don’t have to read the whole thing, but there might be something about your condition in here.”

  “Why is such a book on our bookshelf?”

  “I can’t say. That book was in the crates that were put here when the nursery became a room of learning. It’s not one of my personal texts.”

  Pol flipped through the pages and couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at some of the illustrations. Bodies weren’t very nice underneath the skin. He looked at his hand and flexed his fingers, imagining muscles and tendons moving underneath. He had learned about those skinning rabbits with Siggon.

  “So what are we talking about today?”

  “Logistical problems. Your father requested that I spend a few weeks on the administrative aspects of rule.” She looked at Pol. “Take a seat, and let’s go over how you would figure out how to supply an army.”

  “Have you done that yourself?”

  Farthia giggled. “I actually have. My father wanted to know if a certain someone was padding his purse and tasked me to make the calculations. It took a few times to scour the numbers and compare them to the actual figures before my father let the Emperor know about the culprit.”

  “Your father?”

  “Oh, I never told you.” She shrugged her shoulders. “My father works on special projects for the Emperor. He has his helpers. Before I came to teach you, I assisted him in his work. I learned as much doing that as my time spent as one of the few ladies enduring the abuse of being a female student at the University of Baccusol.”

  “I know what abuse is,” Pol said.

  “You do, don’t you? I suppose my situation wasn’t particularly life-threatening, but I did have my father available to help quell the anger from time to time. You don’t have that luxury, even being the king’s son.”

  “Not when my tormentors are my brothers and older sister.”

  Farthia pursed her lips and shook her head. “Let’s get into our studies.”

  They spent a full morning on logistics. Once Pol figured out the basic point of what Farthia taught, calculating the needs of an army became less interesting. He endured it until lunch. He suggested that th
ey eat in the classroom. Pol had no desire to go to the family dining room, and he wanted to know more about the political situation in the Empire. He never tired of hearing about the far-flung Baccusol Empire that covered the entire continent of Eastril except for the reclusive people in Shinkya. Since the Emperor ruled with a light hand, kingdoms and dukedoms did much on their own. They wrote their own laws, subject to the review by Imperial lawyers, but in Pol’s eyes, every undefended entity was still treated as a vassal-state to Baccusol, the country from which the Emperor administered the affairs of the entire continent from the Imperial capital of Yastan.

  “So what restrictions does the Emperor really make on the countries that make up the Empire?” Farthia said, expecting a quick answer by tapping her fingernail on her wooden surface of her desk.

  “He restricts all countries to a maximum armed force of two thousand men. Countries can fight each other, but the loss of men and material is minimized. The law of the Empire, the Codex, is contained on one hundred pages. The country heads administer all other laws. The Empire has been in place for seven hundred years, even though specific country boundaries have changed somewhat since the founding of the Empire.”

  “You do know your politics, Pol,” Farthia said. “That could have come right out a textbook. What is the implication of your father’s alliance with Listya?”

  Pol put his hand to his chin. He’d seen Malden Gastoria do such a thing, and he wondered if the gesture helped one think. “It is marginally legal. Father can have a vassal-king or duke that rules under the laws of North Salvan. I think it might be against the Codex since the countries aren’t physically adjacent.” Pol was unsure of that, but it seemed right to him.

  “Right, again,” Farthia said with a lowered voice. “I suggest that you don’t openly take that point of view, however.”

  Pol nodded. “My father does not take dissent lightly.”

  “Especially when he wants to put your older brother on the Listyan throne. He has been more vocal in his desire to do so, and I think that will eventually lead to more pressure put on you.”

  Hence, Pol thought, the cause of anger and resentment. Pol might represent a possible threat to Landon, if the Emperor decided that King Colvin had overreached. After his mother, he was first in line, not Landon. But that didn’t mean anything to his father or any of his siblings, with the possible exception of Amonna.