rix_scaedu

I wrote this to aldersprig's sixth prompt.  It comes after About That Bet.

“Your Majesty,” the dark haired woman bowed then straightened.  “Thank you for seeing me.”

“I’m not sure what advice I can offer you,” Rensa admitted, “but please sit down, Sevrin, and I’ll see what I can do.”  She waited for the other woman to lower herself into one of the sitting room chairs and then asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Tuluc.”  Sevrin looked embarrassed.  “You know that he’s been supervising my…rehabilitation since your wedding?”

Rensa nodded.  The attractive young woman opposite her had been one of Trode’s most loyal adherents, part of a squad the late leader of the revolution had set up to carry out any “tidying” that he felt was needed.  Since she and her squad mates had crashed Yannic and Rensa’s wedding to protest the continuation of the Imperial model they had been closely supervised.  Rensa had heard the word ‘deprogramming’ used.  “Yes.  I heard that he was worried about you.”  No need to tell Sevrin that Tuluc had told her and Yannic that over lunch only a few days after their wedding.

Sevrin gave a short laugh.  “I don’t know that worried is the right word.  I came to you because, well, you agreed to marry Yannic despite everything.”

“It seemed my only option to have any sort of life that I would want to lead,” Rensa agreed quietly.

“And you two seem to be making it work.  You both seem happy.”  Sevrin hesitated, “Even if everybody wants you to have babies straight away.  I don’t even know if he only wants to do it because all his friends are getting married, first Yannic and now Bannoc.”

Rensa blinked hard for a moment.  “Tuluc has asked you to marry him?”

“Yes and I don’t know what to say!”  That ended in an almost wail.

“What do you want to say?”  Rensa thought that was a good place to start.

“I want to ask him why.  Why does he want to get married and why me?  Except,” she hesitated, “I worry that if I can’t figure it out for myself he might change his mind.”

“That sounds to me like you’re inclined to accept,” Rensa commented.

Sevrin nodded in agreement, “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Why did you recommend me to Minister Sallic for the inspector’s job?”  Haslic had bowed with ill grace and probably only because Mirren was in the room with them.  Rensa did not ask him to sit, she suspected that it was petty of her but she did not want this man comfortable in her quarters.
“My father used to say that sometimes in his work it was useful for people to be afraid of you.  He scared them because he was an Imperial Prince.  You terrify me,” Rensa looked him straight in the eye, “I don’t see why you shouldn’t terrify the bad guys too.  Besides, I think it would be good for you to be put to work rescuing people.”

“Highness?”  He lifted an eyebrow.

“We both know what Trode ordered you to do.”  Rensa had dropped her volume so Mirren over by the window couldn’t quite hear her words.

“Yannic’s orders prevented me doing everything Trode wanted,” Haslic dropped his volume to match hers, “I have to wonder if he knew even back then what he was going to do with you now.”

“I don’t know,” Rensa admitted, “But I believe Trode intended to use you to dispose of me and keep his hands clean.”

“How so?”  Hislac was surprised, “Break you, yes, he wanted that.  No false modesty or hauteur but dead?”

“Short rations, excessive exercise, beatings-”

“You have such lovely skin,” murmured Haslic with that grin she had grown to hate on her forced pilgrimage.

“Add in pregnancy from unprotected, probably non-consensual, sex,” Rensa continued, “And you have a recipe for miscarriage.  A few of those in short succession, particularly with the weight loss I had, would probably have been enough to do the job.”

“I might,” Haslic’s face had hardened, “Have taken action to prevent the deaths of my children.”

Rensa nodded in acknowledgement of his point.  Mirren was beginning to look frustrated that she couldn’t hear what was going on.  “Then go,” Rensa’s tone was as kind and firm as she could manage for this man, “And make the world better for those who need the help Minister Sallic is employing you to give.”

“As you wish, Highness,” he bowed with polish this time, “I will go and spread fear and terror among the unlawful.”

After Mirren saw him out she came and sat with Rensa.  “So, what did you talk about?”  Mirren desire to satisfy her curiosity was written as clearly on her face as it had appeared in her words.

“What might have been,” Rensa’s tone suggested absolutely no regrets.  “Mirren, I think I need to talk to Tuluc.  Can you arrange it please?”

“Of course,” Mirren paused, “Rensa, is something wrong?”

“I’m...not sure.”  Rensa waved a hand in the air as if dismissing her own uncertainties.  “I find Haslic disturbing and talking to him has set off a chain of thought...”

“And you want to talk to Tuluc, not Yannic?”

“I don’t think it’s a Yannic sort of problem,” Rensa paused, “I actually think its a Bannoc sort of problem but he doesn’t like me and I don’t think he’d listen.”

Mirren raised an eyebrow but simply said, “I’ll organise some time with Tuluc.”

Later, seated over tea and little biscuits with Mirren and Tuluc, Rensa asked her guest, “Tuluc, if Trode had gotten what he wanted, how long do you think Yannic would have lived?”

Tuluc paused with his cup in midair, then sipped from it.  Once the cup was back on its saucer he said, “Realistically?  No more than three months.  Yannic is so obviously of the bloodline there would have inevitably been a party develop wanting ‘a real’ or ‘the true’ Emperor on the throne.”  He considered a moment more.  “His death would have been an accident, unless such a group had attempted a coup in his name.  I’m sure Trode would have spoken very movingly at his funeral.”

“But-,” Mirren looked in confusion from Tuluc to Rensa and back again.

“Trode’s intentions were unknown to the rest of us,” Tuluc told her calmly, “Until we’d seized the Palace and penetrated what he called ‘the Inner Sanctums of Power.’  Then, as I suspect Yannic or Bannoc has told you, he tried to become Emperor.”

“I always thought he was too slick for words,” admitted Mirren, “Although Kiriel thought he was wonderful.  I wasn’t as involved as the rest of you were but it seemed to me that he never got his hands dirty.  He would say that something should happen and it did, but he never did it.”

“Which brings me to my next question,” chimed in Rensa, “How long before he permanently cleaned up his image and back story by getting rid of the people who could testify he gave the orders for Mountjoy and everything that happened here at the Palace?”

“Are you sure you’re not trying to pass too much off onto Trode?”  Tuluc sipped his tea after asking his question.

“Tuluc, you’re the people who killed my entire family.”  For a moment Rensa might have been on the edge of tears, then she was in control again.  “I live at your pleasure and mercy.  I cannot go anywhere else.  Yes, it makes living among all of you easier if I believe that the worst of what happened was one dead man’s fault.”  Mirren was on the verge of crying.  “As it happens,” Rensa sipped her own tea, “I’ve seen the recordings of his speeches and I believe that he was perfectly capable of turning a crowd into a mob or persuading intelligent men that the sun wouldn’t rise tomorrow if they didn’t kill their neighbours’ first born.”

“I concede your points,” Tuluc made a gesture of acquiescence.  “Depending on how much of an issue it was and the circumstances, anything from the time of the subjugation of the Empire to the thirty year mark.  Possibly in stages or as consciences became unbearable.”

“And you?” Rensa pressed.

“Possibly before Yannic, maybe not until the very end.”  Tuluc sipped his tea again.  “It’s amazing how much perspective you can gain on events after even only a few months.”

“So, how would he have done it?”  Rensa left the question there to sit.

“What do you mean?”  Mirren was puzzled.

“If there were going to be accidents, well I haven’t seen Yannic in action but Bannoc and Tuluc here,” Rensa pointed at him with her teacup, “Are no slouches when it comes to the physical stuff.  How easy would it be to make them have an ‘accident’?  And who would you get to do it?”

“Ah.”  Tuluc picket up a small biscuit, one of the little iced ones that Mirren could only get Rensa to eat because she’d gotten her that convalescent diet prescription.  “Another excellent point because, of course, Trode didn’t expect to die.  I shall have to look into that, yes...”  He stared off into the distance as he chewed his biscuit and sipped on his tea.

“It was a good thing we spoke to you,” said Tuluc precisely addressing Rensa. There were six of them in the compartment of the train travelling back from Montjoy and fortunately none of them were Kolloc. Rensa, at least, could happily have murdered him after a day of sotto voce comments lamenting his original plans for the memorial.

“Yes,” agreed Yannic with his eyes on the man beside him and opposite Mirren. “That original speech would have provoked a riot.”

“Montjoy’s recidivism will require correction,” Sallic had been one of Trode’s closest associates. He was now the Employment Minister, still an ideologue but one who mostly put his energies into useful tasks instead of rants.

“We killed too many locals as well as losing our own people in that attack,” said Bannoc quietly from his seat between Yannic and the window. “We forgot that in places like Montjoy it was local people who manned the counters, entered the paper works, administered the programs. Came for help.” This was the most he’d said in the last two and a half days. “We were told that gas was a painless killer, to be sure to take precautions ourselves, but that our targets would just go to sleep.”

“What dregwit told you that?” Tuluc asked with some heat. “I was very clear when I laid it out as an option what it would do. Constrictor spasms, convulsions, everything.”

“Trode,” said Bannoc simply, “And I kept believing him.” Mirren looked, in quick succession: enlightened, appalled; and then thoughtful.

“I had not realised until yesterday,” said Sallic, stepping into the breach, “That I have become a fan of your late father’s work, Your Highness.”

“Oh?” Rensa was happy to pick up a less awkward conversational ball.

“He signed himself ‘Special Prosecutor,’ not ‘Prince’ so it’s relatively easy to gloss over that his name indicates that he must have been a member of your family. And I hadn’t realised that he was your father.” Sallic beamed benevolently at her. “He did the sort of work I always thought was necessary to protect the vulnerable of our society.”

“He investigated and prosecuted all sorts of matters,” Rensa smiled in return, “But he always said that those who enslaved others by withholding their ration books were deserving of a special circle of hell.”

“He and I may not have agreed on much else, but we would have agreed on that,” Sallic nodded. “Your father’s notes on such matters where he hadn’t had a chance to fully investigate are proving very useful. Unfortunately my current investigators are more limited in their powers than he was – the scope available to a Prince was enormous. Mind you, that was one of the issues we had with the regime when we were the revolution.”

“Well,” suggested Rensa thoughtfully, “Couldn’t you work out which of my father’s powers were most useful to him in his works and have your investigators issued with Warrants or something to say they can do those things in their work?” Looking at their faces she clarified, “I’m not suggesting making them de facto Princes or anything, just some sort of card that says they have authority delegated by the Throne to use,” she grabbed a favourite catch phrase of Trode’s, “For the benefit of the people.”

“I could do that,” mused Yannic.

“Ideologically, I like it,” agreed Sallic, “and it would solve my problems.”

“Yours isn’t the only Ministry that would benefit from an arrangement like that,” Tuluc pointed out, “Different Ministries might require different powers, of course.”

Yannic smiled warmly across the compartment at Rensa. “I’m beginning to think that you might wind up making me look like a brilliant administrator.”

She blushed.

Rensa’s next few days passed in consideration of healthy eating and moderate exercise plus dress and shoe fittings. Several establishments whose doors they had not been permitted to enter had contacted the Palace attempting to arrange private showings for the Princess. Mirren and Rensa took a small guilty pleasure in drafting a perfectly polite, unexceptional and bland note that said:

Thank you for your interest, however Her Highness has satisfied her expected clothing requirements for the coming period and committed her budget.

Your note will be kept on file for consideration during Her Highness’ preparations for future periods.

Their satisfied contemplation of this missive was interrupted by the arrival of Tuluc and a fussy man called Kolloc. Rensa had encountered him on her second visit to Yannic’s office where he had been complicating the lives of Yannic’s secretaries.

“We’ve come to see you about the Montjoy commemoration,” began Tuluc.

“Here’s your schedule,” put in Kolloc, “As you can see you’ll be travelling there the night before by train. The ceremony is the next day followed by a visit to the burial grounds for private commemoration in the afternoon. You will be part of the official party but you are not required to do anything but be present.”

Rensa scanned the schedule. “These speeches,” she tapped the ceremony part of the schedule, “What are they about? What tone will they take?”

“What does that matter?” asked Kolloc perplexedly, “You just have to turn up, stand and sit when you’re told to and listen.”

“And approve the proceedings by my attendance,” added Rensa smoothly. “If the intention of the ceremony or any of the speakers is to demonise the members of my family or the government employees who also died at Montjoy, then I will not attend or I will walk out. You understand that when finalising your arrangements, Master Kolloc. Additionally,” she went on, “You will arrange things so that your grandmother and her friends will have no reason to gossip about the Emperor’s betrothed attending his commemoration of his wife’s death.”

Mirren looked over her shoulder then added, “Your program could be better worded, Kolloc.”

Tuluc, who’d been watching Rensa’s face asked shrewdly, “Who of yours died at Montjoy, Your Highness?”

“My father,” a tear slid over the end of the slash of colour under her eye, “My best friend, one of my first cousins and the man my family had just decided I would marry.”

Kolloc was trying to splutter something. Mirren wrapped a concerned arm around her charge’s shoulder. Tuluc spoke firmly, “Kolloc, it seems to me that the line we want to take here is His Majesty and Her Highness providing mutual support on a difficult day for both of them, and for everyone else who lost loved ones there.” He stood up. “Come along Kolloc, we have some people to talk to.” He bowed, “Ladies,” and dragged Kolloc out of the room.