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Chapter 4 – Promises of Trade
Metheus
“So, are you all going to stay here in Prozeus?” my father asked the Queenspell immigrants.
The young woman, her father, the count, their three servants, and some vile man with a burned hand looked at each other. They probably did not know what to make of my father, whose chest was as bare as mine but whose neck was weighed down by several heavy gold necklaces. In his fifties, his belly had gotten large recently from all the food and wine and his refusal to take an interest in the outdoors.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the young woman, who had found herself in the unwanted position of spokesperson.
“Ah. And why is that?” my father asked bluntly. “Were you banished from Mogochislenia? Persecuted? Because your people always come to Arrowspear only when you are desperate.”
I shook my head at that, a grin on my face. My father did not screen his words. It was not his way. Even though he was a jolly man, he had great pride in Prozeus. That pride was often hurt by the wrongful information spread about our continent.
“No, Your Majesty. There’s a drought in Queenspell. It is spreading to the other domains, and the northern kingdoms can no longer accommodate all of us – unless we live in the forests.”
“That still does not answer my question. Most of you Mogochislenians see Arrowspear as arid, barbaric, and backward. Why choose Arrowspear? A little drought can be remedied. Our land had always been dry, but the recent decades had seen it rise because of knowledge. Haven’t you people heard of cultivation?”
This time, my brow furrowed. Of course, my father knew that our farming processes were a mix of luck, knowledge, skill, and hard work. It seemed that Mogochislenia had a reversal of fortune, like us. Was there a link somewhere?
“No, Your Majesty. That is not true!” the young woman protested. I wondered if any of the people she came with had any voices of their own. I did not know if I should be annoyed with her or pity her.
“What is your name, young woman?” my father asked, ready to move the conversation elsewhere. He could get quickly fatigued.
“I am Lady Joana of Elspeth, a little earldom in Queenspell. I am with my father, Count Rupert. We are here with our servants and a village man who wanted out of Mogochislenia.”
“Well, my lady. I am pleased to meet you. I am glad to meet you, as well, Count Rupert. We are willing to provide you with accommodations while you are still trying to settle down here in Prozeus.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” grunted the count weakly. His daughter held his arm protectively. Some of my irritation had fled as I saw that Lady Joana was probably only trying to survive this strange land. Her haughtiness might have been a defensive mechanism. At least, it was what it seemed to me. I did not know many women, except a few close friends and relatives.
There was a time my father had attempted to get me acquainted with some young women in the kingdom and even from surrounding domains. Suffice it to say that none of their charms had worked on me.
I was strange, I supposed. I did not feel the urge to kiss any woman, or hold one in my arms. Razuku had once teased me that perhaps my tastes were different. After I looked at him coldly for a long time, my friend had not repeated his jest.
Arrowspear was more open to relationships between two men. I had a cousin who fought in wars together with his lover. I had thought about it, considered that perhaps it was the way I was. Still, I also did not have any interest in men.
It was not that I never admired women. I appreciated lovely faces when I saw them, noticing women’s allures over men’s. Still, did it give me any urge to kiss them? Take them in my arms? Rut with them?
No.
Lady Joana was lovely in her way, I noticed. She had blonde hair, tied in a bun, perhaps more for comfort because of the heat that they had been primed since Queenspell. She had a curvy body, accentuated by a red velvet dress in standard fashion in Mogochislenia but would just be uncomfortable here.
Was I tempted to seduce her? No. Cora had already tried for years and failed. My heart warmed whenever she was there, but it was more because of the friendship we shared.
“And who is this man?” my father asked, almost rudely gesturing at the man with a burned arm.
“Your Majesty,” Lady Joana said. “This man has been burned badly by Princess Luella, Queen’s Soraya’s daughter and heiress.”
“She burned him? Maybe she has a reason? Perhaps you could not keep your hand to yourself, boy?”
I snickered. The man did have that air about him. He might not know that I noticed him ogling Cora. Of course, he made sure he fixed his face into his pitiful one before he faced my father. However, my father had always been good at reading people. We might frequently be at opposing ends, but I trusted his judgment – more often than not. Sometimes, I was just too stubborn to admit it.
“No, Your Majesty. I don’t think -,” Lady Joana began. Then, she glanced at the man. It probably dawned on her that she did not really know him well enough.
“Are you speaking for him, as well, my lady? I understand you speaking for your father, but this man? Let him speak for himself.”
“Your Majesty, the woman is a witch,” the man declared softly, but I knew my father noticed what I saw. His eyes were sharp, angry, and did not meet my father’s own.
“Ah. Witches. If you only knew what I know about witches,” my father murmured, almost as if to himself. “Leda and Ando, bring the guests to their quarters. They will stay there until they have found a home.”
