“It runs in the family.”
“Did you put this in here?” she demanded, waving the scroll at him like a club.
“Did I put what in where?”
“This.” She unrolled the scroll. “ ‘It is agreed that Princess Praia of the House of Cthan shall be his majesty’s most favored wife,’ “ she read. “Most favored wife” came out from between clenched teeth.
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, a little surprised at the girl’s vehemence.
“The implication is that there will be others.”
“It’s the custom, Praia. I didn’t make the rules.”
“You’re the king. Make different rules.”
“Me?” He swallowed hard.
“There will be no other wives, Urgit—or royal concubines.” Her usually gentle voice seemed to crackle. “You are mine, and I’m not going to share you with anybody.”
“Do you really feel that way?” he asked, a bit amazed.
“Yes, I do.” She lifted her chin.
“Nobody’s ever felt that way about me before.”
“Get used to it.” Her voice was flat and had the overtone of daggers in it.
“We’ll amend the passage,” he agreed quickly. “I don’t need more than one wife anyway.”
“Definitely not, my Lord. A very wise decision.”
“Naturally. All royal decisions are wise. It says so in the history books.”
She tried very hard not to smile, but finally gave up, laughed, and hurled herself into his arms. “Oh, Urgit,” she said burrowing her face into his neck, “I do love you.”
“You do? What an amazing thing.” Suddenly an idea came to him, and its sheer purity almost blinded him. “What’s your feeling about a double wedding, love?” he asked her.
She pulled her face back from where she had been grazing on his neck. “I don’t quite follow you,” she admitted.
“I’m the king, right?”
“A little more than you were before you met Belgarion,” she admitted.
He let that pass. “I’ve got this female relative,” he said. “I’m going to be busy being married.”
“Very busy, my love,” she agreed.
He coughed nervously. “Anyway,” he rushed on. “I’m not really going to have all that much time to look after this certain female relative, am I? Wouldn’t it be better if I married her off to some deserving fellow who’s always held her in the highest regard?”
“I don’t quite follow you, Urgit. I didn’t think you had any female relatives.”
“Only one, my princess,” he grinned. “Only one.”
She stared at him. “Urgit!” she gasped.
He gave her a rat-faced little grin. “I’m the king,” he said grandly. “I can do anything I want to do, and my mother’s been alone for far too long, wouldn’t you say? Oskatat’s loved her since she was a girl, and she’s at least fond of him—although I think it might go a little farther than that. If I order them to get married, they’d have to do it, wouldn’t they?”
“That’s absolutely brilliant, Urgit,” she marveled.
“It comes from my Drasnian heritage,” he admitted modestly. “Kheldar himself couldn’t have come up with a neater scheme.”
“It’s perfect,” she almost squealed. “This way I won’t have a mother-in-law interfering when I start changing you.”
“Changing?”
“Just a few little things, love,” she said sweetly. “You have a few bad habits, and your taste in clothing is terrible. Whatever possessed you to start wearing purple?”
“Anything else?”
“I’ll bring the list with me next time I visit.”
Urgit began to have second thoughts at that point.
His Imperial Majesty, Kal Zakath of Mallorea, had a busy morning that day. Most of the time, he was closeted with Brador, Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs, in a small, blue-draped office on the second floor of the palace.
“It’s definitely subsiding, your Majesty,” Brador reported when the subject of the plague came up. “There hasn’t been a new case in the past week, and a surprising number of people are actually recovering. The plan of walling off each separate district of the city seems to have worked.”
“Good,” Zakath said. He turned to another matter. “Is there any further word out of Karanda?”
Brador shuffled through the papers he was holding. “Mengha hasn’t been seen for several weeks now, your Majesty.” The Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs smiled briefly. “That particular plague also seems to be subsiding. The demons appear to have left, and the fanatics are losing heart.” He tapped one of the papers against his pursed lips. “This is only an educated guess, your Majesty, since I can’t get any agents into the region, but the turmoil appears to have shifted to the east coast. Shortly after Mengha disappeared, large bodies of Karandese irregular troops, along with Urvon’s Temple Guardsmen and his Chandim, crossed the Mountains of Zamad, and all communications out of Voresebo and Rengel have broken down.”
“Urvon?” Zakath asked.
“It appears so, your Majesty. I’d say that the Disciple is moving into position for a final confrontation with Zandramas. One is tempted to suggest that we just let them fight it out. I don’t think that the world would miss either of them very much.”
A faint, icy smile touched Zakath’s lips. “You’re right, Brador,” he said. “It is tempting, but I don’t think we should encourage that sort of thing—just as a matter of policy. Those principalities are a part of the empire and they’re entitled to imperial protection. It might start some ugly rumors if we were to just stand idly by and let Urvon and Zandramas rip up the countryside. If anybody brings military force to bear in Mallorea, it’s going to be me.” He leafed through the papers on the table in front of him, picked one up, and frowned at it. “I suppose we’d better deal with this,” he said. “Where have you got Baron Vasca?”
“He’s in a cell with a splendid view,” Brador replied. “He can look out at the executioner’s block. I’m sure it’s been most educational.”
Zakath remembered something then. “Demote him,” he said.
“That’s a novel word for the procedure,” Brador murmured.
“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Zakath said with another chill smile. “Persuade him to tell us where he hid all the money he extorted from the people he dealt with. We’ll transfer the funds to the imperial treasury.” He turned to look at the large map on the wall of his study. “Southern Ebal, I think.”
“Your Majesty?” Brador looked puzzled.
“Assign him to the post of Minister of Trade in southern Ebal.”
“There isn’t any trade in southern Ebal, your Majesty. There aren’t any seaports, and the only thing they raise in the Temba marshes is mosquitoes.”
“Vasca’s inventive. I’m sure he’ll come up with something.”
“Then you don’t want him—” Brador made a suggestive gesture across his throat with one hand.
“No,” Zakath said. “I’m going to try something Belgarion suggested. I may need Vasca again someday and I don’t want to have to dig him up in pieces.” A faintly pained look crossed the Emperor’s face. “Has there been any word about him?” he asked.
“Vasca? I just—”
“No. Belgarion.”
“They were seen shortly after they left Mal Zeth, your Majesty. They were traveling with Prince Kheldar’s Nadrak partner, Yarblek. Not long after that, Yarblek sailed for Gar og Nadrak.”
“It was all a ruse, then,” Zakath sighed. “All Belgarion really wanted was to get back to his own country. That wild story of theirs was made up out of whole cloth.” Zakath passed a weary hand before his eyes. “I really liked that young man, Brador,” he said sadly. “I should have known better.”
“Belgarion didn’t go back to the West, your Majesty,” Brador informed him, “at least not with Yarblek. We always check that fellow’s ships rather closely. So far as we’re able to determine, Belgarion has not left Mallorea.”
Zakath leaned back with a genuine smile on his face. “I’m not sure why, but that makes me feel better. The thought that he’d betrayed me was quite painful for some reason. Any idea about where he’s gone?”
“There was some turmoil in Katakor, your Majesty—up around Ashaba. It was the sort of thing one might associate with Belgarion—strange lights in the sky, explosions, that sort of thing.”
Zakath laughed out loud, a delighted kind of laugh. “He can be a little ostentatious when he’s irritated, can’t he? He blew the whole wall out of my bedchamber in Rak Hagga one time.”
“Oh?”
“He was trying to make a point.”
There was a respectful rap on the door.
“Come,” Zakath replied shortly.
“General Atesca has arrived, your Majesty,” one of the red-garbed guards at the door reported.
“Good. Send him in.”
The broken-nosed general entered and saluted smartly. “Your Majesty,” he said. His red uniform was travel-stained.
“You made good time, Atesca,” Zakath said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Thank you, your Majesty. We had a good following wind, and the sea was calm.”
“How many men did you bring with you?”
“About fifty thousand.”
“How many men do we have now?” Zakath asked Brador.