[Fordim Hedgethistle]

And which of my children, he thought, do I wish to make unhappy? It was a question that Faroz had been turning over in his mind quite often of late, as the nobility began to ask who he would name as his heir. He was young yet, and there remained to him surely many more years of life, perhaps decades. But chance or accident could not be stayed by royal decree, nor could the intrigues of his enemies. A single knife in the dark, or an untasted dish of figs could leave his kingdom leaderless and divided. He needed to appoint an heir. More importantly, he needed to take one of his children under his tutelage and instruct…him?…her?…in the stern art of ruling a kingdom. He had never been an attentive father, nor an affectionate one. The education of his children had been left to their nursemaids and governesses, as well as to their mother – although Faroz had been careful to check her influence somewhat, lest Gjeelea and Siamak had been raised with too much sympathy for their mother’s people. Faroz believed in the peace that had been forged through his marriage, but he was no fool. He knew that the enmity between his people and his wife’s was too deep rooted to be extirpated by the union of two mortal beings. Their marriage had not resolved the border disputes in the mountainous Rhasjûl region, nor had it alleviated the tense competition between them amongst their trading partners. At some point in the future, perhaps not in his lifetime but certainly within the lives of his children, Pashtia and Alanzia would be at odds once more, and he had to ensure that his heir would defend this land against her enemies.

He hid his thoughts behind a face that was well practiced in the art of diplomatic subterfuge. “Welcome my children,” he said formally, and taking a hand of each in one of his own, he raised their clasped fingers to his forehead. He dropped his hands but held on for a moment longer as he looked at his children. The girl returned his gaze steadily and somewhat coolly. The boy regarded him with an uncertain, searching eye. How easy it would be were his daughter’s spirit to reside in his son. She was the natural ruler. Like her mother, she was rational and quick minded. Supple in her ability to see many options. But she was ambitious, and soon to be married to that oaf Korak who would undoubtedly seek to assert his rights as a husband and undermine Gjeelea’s ability to rule. Were his son to become King he would need to share that rule with no-one. He would be able to govern from a position of strength, and if he needed aid, he could marry a level headed woman of position and wisdom. No matter whom he chose, however, there would be division in the kingdom for the nobility was divided in their preference. So much remained to be seen: they were both yet blossoms of the royal branch, not fully come to their fruition. Who could tell what sort of leaders they would become in the fullness of years? Before seeing that, how could he make an informed decision of who should come after him?

“Is it true you spent the day with the Emissary, father?”

Faroz drove his problems to the back of his mind and replied to his daughter’s question. “It is. We had much to speak of.”

“I am sure. Did he tell you more about the offer of the Lord…Annatar, was it?”

He could tell that she was fishing for information. “We spoke of that briefly. He assures me that his lord wishes only for friendship with us, and that he does not seek to drag us into foreign conflicts.” His manner as he concluded indicated that the subject was now closed.

His daughter was not to be so easily put off however, and she tried a different tack. “And what of the gift? Is there some special significance to the ring? It seems such a small thing between kings.”

“Do not press me about that now, my daughter,” he replied lightly, trying to brush aside the conversation. He did not know why, but mention of the ring caused him an odd anxiety, and unconsciously his hand slipped into the folds of his robe to find it. He stroked it lightly with one fingertip. “Let us play a game my children. Let us pretend that I am not your king, and you are neither prince or princess. Let us pretend for this night that we are a family having a dinner with other families.”

“That will be hard,” Siamak replied, “with all those other families calling us ‘Majesty’ and bowing as we pass.”

“Not to mention their trying to have a few hurried words with us between courses about their latest petition, or telling us about their supremely talented nephew and how perfectly suited he would be for a position at court,” said Gjeelea.

His children were speaking as he had, lightly, but to cover the awkwardness that he had introduced with his strange request. When had they ever sat down to a meal as a family? When had they ever done anything as a family? It was not possible. Faroz searched his mind for a memory of some time, some moment, in which he had felt, simply, as a father to these people, but he could not recall any. Even at their births he had been absent from the city upon state business and had received the news amongst the daily reports from the capital. The news of his daughter’s birth had been disappointing: an eldest son would have been better. When he had received news of his son’s birth it had been marred by the information that he had been born upon a highly inauspicious day. Faroz did not hold to such superstition, but he knew that many of his people would be wary of such a child. He sighed and turned back to the lilies. “Well,” he said wearily, “let us at least enjoy our meal in each other’s company. You two shall sit and tell me the petty gossip and private scandals of the palace. There are many things that never come to my ears which I am sure are whispered in yours. Divert me with them, and perhaps I can amuse you with some tale of my youth.”

It was Siamak who took up the task of relating to his father a bit of the endless gossip that filled the whispering silences of the court. He spoke of unrequited loves and infatuations, disagreements among the courtiers and of a dispute over a dish of figs that had escalated to the point of blows. As he spoke, Gjeelea remained silent but watchful, carefully eyeing her father and brother and noting in each far more than either knew. Faroz himself remained quiet through the trivial recitation, until they were interrupted by the sound of the Queen’s feet coming toward them along the graveled path.