Raven's Shadow (Raven #1)(48)

At last he climbed back down, convinced that the room he was in wasn't anywhere in Redern - or Leheigh either for that matter. He'd been inside the Sept's keep a time or two, and the walls in this room - which had obviously been designed as a prison cell - were better formed than the walls of the great hall in the Sept's keep.

Why had someone gone to the trouble of hauling him off the mountain and imprisoning him? It wasn't as if he, himself, would be worth money to anyone, not the kind of money that would be important to anyone who could afford a cell built like this one was.

He had a long time to think about it.

Emperor Phoran the Twenty-Seventh (Twenty-Sixth if he didn't count the Phoran who united the Empire - it was the first Phoran's son who had declared himself emperor) stretched his feet out before him and cast a practiced leer at the woman sitting on him. She was all but baring her breasts at him, the stupid cow. Did she really think that his favors were likely to be won by such as she?

He snagged a mug from a nearby serving tray and drank deeply, closing his eyes to the party that had somehow spread from the dining hall to his own private rooms. The laughter of a nearby woman cut through his spine with its falseness.

He wondered what his so-long-ago ancestor would have thought about such decadence. Would he still have set aside his plow to organize his fellow farmers into a militia to defend themselves against bandits? Or would he have turned back to his farming, ashamed that his loins could breed such a degenerate creature as the current emperor?

Phoran sighed.

"Am I boring you, my love?" asked the woman on his lap archly.

He opened his mouth to inflict the kind of cruel remark that had become second nature to him over the past few years, but instead he sighed again. She wasn't worth it - dumb as a sheep and oblivious to fine nuances of language.

Instead he pushed her off and away with a pat. "Go find someone else to cuddle tonight, there's a love. This fine ale suits me better than a woman... tonight."

Someone giggled as if his remark had been witty. The woman who'd been on his lap swayed her hips and half staggered onto the lap of a handsome young man who'd been seated on the end of the bed, watching the party with a jaundiced eye - Toarsen, Avar's younger brother, who'd doubtless been told to watch over Phoran while Avar was out in the wilds taking stock of his new inheritance.

Phoran swallowed the better part of the contents of his cup then closed his eyes once more. This time he left them closed. Maybe if he feigned a drunken stupor (a common enough occurrence) they would all go away.

He let his hand fall away from his lips and the mug fell on the plush rug his great-grandfather had imported from somewhere at great expense. He hoped the dark ale ruined the rug. Then the chatelaine would run to Avar when he returned. Avar would listen gravely, and when the chatelaine left, he would laugh and pat Phoran on the back - and pay attention to him again.

Avar, mentor, best friend, and Sept of Leheigh now that his miserly old father had died hadn't had much time to spend with his emperor lately. Spitefully, Phoran wondered if he should take away the title and lands that kept Avar from noticing that his emperor needed a friend more than he needed another Sept.

Tears of self-pity welled up and were firmly repressed. Tears were something he shed alone, never, never in front of the court no matter how drunk he was.

Self-indulgence aside, Phoran had no intention of taking Avar's inheritance away. He even knew that Avar had to attend to his duties; he just wished he had duties to attend to as well. The endless parties had become... sickening - like too much apple mead. When would he be old enough to start ruling his empire?

Someone patted his cheek and he slapped at the hand, purposefully making the movement clumsier than necessary. He could drink a fair bit more than he had tonight before it affected him much.

"He's unconscious." Phoran recognized the voice. It was Toarsen. He must have gotten rid of the cow, too. "Let's get this room cleared out."

The Emperor listened while people shuffled away. At last the guardsmen came in to gather the few who'd passed out in the chamber. His door shut behind them and he was alone. Without people around, without Avar to keep it at bay, the Memory would come for him, again.

Before he could sit up and call them back, someone spoke. It startled him so that for a moment he didn't quite recognize the speaker.

"Some emperor," sneered a voice quite close to his ear. Not his Memory but someone who'd stayed after the guardsmen had left - Kissel, the younger son of the Sept of Seal Hold. The relief of his mistake almost blinded Phoran to the words. "A beardless boy who drinks himself to sleep every night."

"Got to hand it to Avar," agreed Toarsen. "I thought that the boy would be harder to tame and we'd have to have him killed like the Regent was. But Avar's turned him into a proper sot who jumps when Avar asks."

"Well I'd rather not have to be on the cleanup committee. He's gone to fat like a capon. Come help me heave him to the bed."

They managed it with grunts and swearing while Phoran concentrated on being as heavy as possible. How dare they speak of him like this? He'd fix these imbeciles. Tomorrow his guards would have their heads. He was emperor, they'd forgotten that. He'd have Avar... Avar was his friend. Just because Avar's brother talked that way about him didn't mean that Avar felt the same way. Avar liked him, was proud of the way he could outdrink and outinsult any man in the court.