“No one stupid could have made those potions for the princess,” he pointed out.
“It could be Her Highness’s ills are of her own imagining, and her imagining has now told her that the girl’s kitchen witchery has mended them,” Chioké replied coolly.
“Then why does she study on the same level as Ozorne and me?” Arram was definitely starting to dislike this man.
“There you have a point. Stand straight. He is coming.”
The emperor was indeed coming toward them, Ozorne on his left, his mage on his right. Arram and Chioké bowed low.
“Master Chioké, it is good to see you.” Mesaraz’s voice was deep and smooth in this kind of gathering, his eyes steady and kind. “Our nephew tells me that you keep him busy at his studies. We hope you make sure he pursues law and diplomacy as well as magic!”
“Be certain that I do, Your Imperial Majesty,” Chioké replied with a smile. “His Highness is up to the additional work.” He winked at Ozorne, whose own smile was wry.
“And, young Arram, you have not brought your bird to us,” Mesaraz remarked. “I had hoped to see her again.”
“Um, Your Royal Majesty, it seems she has developed a—a taste for mead,” Arram said hurriedly. “I don’t—don’t dare bring her to parties.” He bowed a second time, in case the first one hadn’t taken.
Those close enough to hear chuckled, including the emperor. He said, “Chioké tells us that you can throw fire three hundred yards, young man.”
“B-by mistake, Your Imperial Highness,” Arram explained. He was confused when the older men laughed again.
“By Mithros, we should like to see how far you can throw it on purpose,” the emperor joked.
“Let us find a place large enough, first,” the court mage said drily. “The arena, perhaps.”
Arram shuddered.
“Once his control improves,” Chioké said. “I should hate for anything to happen to the arena.”
“Indeed?” The emperor looked Arram over, his eyes sharp. “We understand you are also able to walk on the bottom of the river.”
Arram gulped. “My teacher, M-master Sebo, taught me how, Your Imperial Majesty. It’s part of water magic training. She also t-taught me to be careful of the hippos and crocodiles.”
The older mages chuckled again. Arram felt his cheeks getting warm. He hadn’t come here as entertainment, after all.
The emperor had not laughed. “We believe there are many interesting things to be found on the river bottom.”
Was this a test? Did the emperor know about Faziy?
Whatever these people thought about his cursed stammer and his age, he was not a fool. He would not play jester for them, and he would not fall into any traps.
He shrugged and caught a glare from Chioké. Apparently it was forbidden to shrug in front of the emperor. “I found a metal figure of a man with wings and claws for feet the first time I walked on the river bottom. It was a Stormwing, from the time before the banishment of the immortals.” He smiled. “I prefer to study the living animals and fish I see there. The crocodiles and hippos don’t seem to mind me anymore.”
The emperor returned his smile. “We hear you defended our nephew in the market.” He rested a hand on Ozorne’s shoulder.
Arram decided another shrug might get him an actual beating instead of a scolding when he got home. “It wasn’t necessary, Your Imperial Majesty. Ozorne is very good at defending himself.”
“This is a good thing to know,” the emperor said. He glanced at the princess, who was still standing, still waiting to greet him. “We must join our hostess. We look forward to seeing you again, Arram Draper. You are an interesting lad.”
The emperor and his attendants moved on, while Chioké turned on Arram. “You do not talk to the emperor as if he were an instructor at the Lower Academy, and you do not shrug like a country lout!”
Ozorne put his hand on Chioké’s arm. “Master, it’s fine. Uncle was amused as much as anything. Come, let’s find your seat. The entertainment’s about to begin.”
Chioké smiled at Ozorne. “Don’t worry, Your Highness—your mother wishes me to stay near her. I think you wish to sit with your friends, do you not?” He walked over to the seat that awaited him just behind the princess’s elbow.
Ozorne and Arram wound through the crowd until they reached their own seats near the princess. Varice was already there. The moment she saw them she began to pour dark purple liquid into crystal glasses.
“Don’t worry,” she told Arram when he regarded the glasses with alarm. “I told the slave that wine made you a little odd. She brought us grape juice.”
“You’re so strict,” he grumbled as he took his seat.
The crowd moved back from the center of the floor, where a large ebony square was laid into the rich mahogany. The entertainment was a series of tumblers, dancers, and finally three pairs of gladiators who battled with padded weapons. Arram took an interest in the combats only when he saw the weapons were relatively harmless. Varice and Ozorne, of course, took more than an interest, wagering with their neighbors.
They did not do as well as they had hoped on the third match, when Musenda came out with a fellow gladiator who was nearly as big as he was. By now Musenda was becoming a favorite. Even Arram had noticed his image on posters in the city. No one would bet against him—no one near the imperial seats, at least.
The struggle was a harsh one, padded weapons or no. It soon became plain that Musenda’s opponent—Arram hadn’t caught his name—was determined to win. He had the bigger man bent backward, his arm around Musenda’s neck, and his free fingers going for Musenda’s eyes. That was when Musenda grabbed the arm around his neck with both hands and snapped forward with a roar of fury. Arram heard the distinctive crack of bone as his friend’s opponent soared over his head, flipping, to land on his back. Since Musenda had not let go, the next sound Arram identified was the soft crunch of a shoulder dislocating. He had heard both noises when Ramasu assigned him to the butchers for a week, to help them dismember beeves and sheep.
Arram rose, about to help block the pain, but Ozorne pulled him back. Slaves came forward to carry the wounded man away, while Musenda stood and accepted the cheers—as well as the thrown purses and flowers—of the crowd. Arram cringed. He had almost forgotten where he was and worked magic in the imperial presence.
“Sorry,” he mumbled to his friends.
“Why?” Ozorne asked. “I did it once—just a little bird illusion, but Mother spanked me till I ate my meals standing up for a week. You stopped yourself!”
A large rose tumbled to the table. Arram looked up, startled, and saw Musenda was grinning wickedly at him. He grinned back and offered the rose to Varice. “Pretend it’s for you, or people will think there’s something between me and him,” he whispered.