The Black Chapel
© 2014 by Walter Reimer

Art by  whitearabmare


Part 16.


The garden was a fairly recent addition to the Keep. Queen Falra had been a highlander from a small country demesne and missed the woodlands of her native home. Shortly after their marriage, King Aroki (grudgingly, it was said) ordered the Keep’s brewery torn down and razed, and had the large space planted as a garden. The story ran that he had planted the first tree himself.

Another story ran that the first tree died, causing the Queen to laugh and the King to grumble.

If true, the second tree must have been planted immediately afterward, as it was a spreading oak with nearly thirty summers to its name. It stood as a centerpiece to banks of meticulously-tended flowers, carefully tended lawns and two ornamental ponds. Trasta recalled family picnics as a fawn where she and her brothers and sisters had to be constantly warned to eat their lunch, and not the garden.

Still, the sight of the place made her mouth start watering instinctively.

Her mother tucked a lock of silvered auburn hair under the gauzy scarf she wore and offered her paws to her daughter’s kiss. She was seated at a small table set with a tea service and she smiled at Trasta as the younger doe sat. “Greetings, Trasta. You’re looking very well.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Trasta was now dressed in a simple dress of indigo blue, trimmed in white at the collar, cuffs and hem. She’d also bathed, which was fortunate as she’d sat upwind of her mother. She accepted a cup of tea and sipped at it as her father emerged from another part of the Keep. “You’re looking well yourself.”

Falra tipped her head and smiled as Aroki bent and kissed her cheek. “You shouldn’t flatter your old mother,” she joked as the buck snorted and poured himself some tea. “I want you to know that Duke Choli has offered his paw to you – “

“Falra,” Aroki muttered.

“What, dear?”

“Too fast.”

The older doe twitched her ears in exasperation, whether at herself or at her mate was a matter of question. “Oh, dear. Look, Trasta, I shall cut to the heart of it: you need to get married. You’re the heir to your father’s throne – “ She was interrupted by a loud and almost feral whistling snort, accompanied by the clank and squeak of metalwork. “Hello, Meki.”

“Mother,” Prince Meki practically growled the word as he hobbled forward. The buck was his father’s fawn, with a broad chest and shoulders and biceps that clearly showed under his tunic. The cause of his attitude and temperament became painfully obvious when one looked lower.

Meki had been born with a stunted right leg that required specially-crafted iron braces in order to allow him to walk with some semblance of normalcy. The rest of his physique was partly his family inheritance and partly his own efforts to compensate for his disability. The fact that his younger sister Trasta was favored as the next occupant of the throne hurt him deeply, but there was nothing for it: Meki wasn’t able to sit a war-beast, and prolonged marching both tired and pained him severely.

The buck blamed his misfortunes on magic; Queen Falra had been attended at her laying-in by an Adept of the Order, not a midwife from the Temple.

Realizing that he couldn’t brood in his rooms forever, the Prince had built up his mind as well as his muscles. He studied law and history, and was well-versed in the politics of running the Kingdom. It was a source of pride with him that he could explain the complex interactions between Shuga and, say, the Free Cities of Xamidh. Still, Meki had grown up a moody youth with an explosive temper, liable to lash out in anger at anyone or anything that frustrated him. The current object of his attentions followed him, a few paces behind.

Princess Seffa had been Meki’s wife for the past three years. She had come from the same southern realm as Queen Falra, but a different family. It had been hoped that the couple would give the rulers some grandfawns, but so far Meki was proving to be as good at siring children as he was at running. No one ever said anything to his muzzle, but he guessed it.

The saddest thing was that he took his frustrations out on his wife on occasion. Seffa had been a shy little thing, and after three years of wedded bliss was very much like a walking shadow. One could see her, but you had to look carefully. She normally wore a veil or head-scarf, as was customary in the duchy she had grown up in, but every so often the usually thin fabric was replaced with something more opaque.

To hide the bruises.

Meki feigned kissing his mother’s cheek and sat down heavily, the armature supporting his right leg clanking as he caught his breath. “Well! The whole family, together again!” he exclaimed with an air of completely false cheerfulness. Technically, it wasn’t true – he and Trasta had a pair of younger siblings, who were away at school. “Trasta! You’re looking prettier than usual.”

Trasta raised an eyebrow. “Have you been drinking, Meki?”

“Oh, you’d like that, I suppose,” the buck grumbled, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. “Having your older brother not just a cripple, but a drunken sot into the bargain.” He smiled mirthlessly. “Has Mother told you about Duke Choli yet?”

“No, not ye – “

“He’s a fine fellow, when he’s sober. I hear he achieves that exalted status fifty days out of every year,” Meki announced with some relish as his mother’s ears when flat. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Mother. Did I spoil the surprise?”

“Meki,” Aroki said in a warning tone.

“Sorry, Father,” the young man said. “I’m just a bit overwrought, you see.”

“Oh?” Trasta asked. “What about?”

Her older brother practically sneered. “Isn’t it obvious, dear sister? You’re home from dealing with whatever was going on at Engery. Storms, wasn’t it? I guess they needed someone to help mop up all that water, eh?” He raised a paw as Trasta bristled. “But that’s not the only reason!”

“Pray, enlighten us, Brother,” Trasta said, her voice flat.

“Why, my beloved wife and I – where in Dathor’s Underworld is she? – ah! Come here, Seffa,” and he waved the doe over, reinforcing it with a peremptory gesture as she hesitated. Finally she stepped forward and he seized one of her paws. “Praise Azos and Perin, my dear family, because my wife tells me that she is pregnant.” He squeezed her paw almost hard enough to make her cry out as he said this. As it was, she winced in discomfort. He looked around the table. “Aren’t you happy for us?”

Queen Falra came out of her chair and gathered Seffa into hug as the doe clung to the older woman and the two of them burst into tears as King Aroki extended a paw to his son. “Son, congratulations. That’s wonderful news!” He changed the paw-shake to a heartfelt hug.

Meki’s eyes closed as if in pain as he hugged his father. “Thank you, Father,” he said softly, a strange edge to his voice. As Aroki stepped back the Prince sniffed and looked across the table at Trasta. “Well, Trasta? No words of praise? Not even a snide ‘Who’s the father?’”

Trasta refused to rise to the bait. “I know perfectly well who the father is, Meki, it’s you. And I’m very happy for you and Seffa. I know how badly you two’ve wanted a fawn.”

Her older brother smirked as he stroked his wife’s paw. “The whole kingdom’s been waiting for me and Seffa to have a fawn. I expect they’ll be overjoyed.” He smiled. “And if it’s a buck-fawn, you’re no longer the Heir.”

The doe nodded. The High House’s rules of succession were rather arcane. Because of his disability, Meki was excluded from the succession; but if Seffa produced a male child, the fawn would become the Heir to the Crown, with Meki as Regent. “Nothing would make me happier, Meki. I haven’t studied as much as you have, so I don’t know how to govern.”

The smirk changed to a sneer before he lifted a tea cup to his muzzle. “Quite right.” He kissed Seffa’s paw and looked up at her. There was almost a fleeting tenderness in his gaze as he seemed to realize that this doe bore his child and his hopes.

Late in the afternoon the Arch-Adepts of the Order, Master Maffa having arrived not hours before, entered the Keep’s council chambers. Halvrika was with them, to give her report, and she couldn’t help looking around as they all took seats.

The council chamber was an octagonal room set aside for meetings with foreign envoys and was designed and decorated to impress visitors with Shuga’s wealth and power. The walls were faced with marble of various colors, and the domed ceiling was decorated with a fresco of the night sky with the Pantheon enthroned around it. The stars in the fresco were gems, with constellations and compass points delineated in gold wire.

“So, magic again, huh?” Prince Meki growled as Halvrika concluded her report and sat down. The Order’s group faced King Aroki, Meki and Trasta across a table at the center of the room. Beside the King sat High Priest Jaraf Maktari, the elderly antelope looking a bit troubled at the news. Trasta and Meki’s uncle sat a bit apart. “Typical. When will you lot stop scheming?”

Master Spirof coughed slightly. “Your Highness, the Order does not ‘scheme,’” the rat said. “The Order – “

Meki’s fist clenched. “Don’t piss on me and tell me it’s raining, Spirof. The Order’s plotted and schemed ever since our family became the High House.” High Priest Maktari looked shocked but as he started to reply Meki added, “The only thing I want to know is why this Amb Tokarv hasn’t been tracked down and killed yet. Is the Order afraid of him? Or is the Order playing a deeper game by letting him live?”

Master Marok raised a finger. “My Prince?”

“What?”

“I’m terrible at games. That’s why I never bet.” A few of the aides and onlookers in the room chuckled.

Meki’s nosepad went pale in fury. “Prince Meki,” the High Priest said gently, “calm yourself – “

“No! No, my Lord, I won’t be calm!” Meki stood up, his braces clanking and his chair falling over backwards. “Azos be praised, I’m not deceived by these people. You do what you please,” and he stamped off, slamming the door behind him.

In the awkward, embarrassed silence that reigned shortly afterward, Trasta met Halvrika’s gaze.

The look in her eyes practically shouted, I need to talk to you.