Chapter 25 -Precautions

More than sparring, it was the forced recollection of events he had wanted to forget that tired the aging weapons master. Even after Gregor had gotten up and left, Jerand continued to sit, feeling the marble beneath him sapping the heat from his body. But he could not move. He lacked the energy to will himself to stand, so he stayed still as a statue. He looked at the open doorway through which Gregor had exited. There was no way for the prince to know, but -barring his height he eerily resembled the tyrant.

Jerand’s tongue felt swollen in his mouth, and he moved it around. Despite just having drunk water his body wanted more. Like a slow-blooming flower, he began to unfold himself from where he had crumpled down earlier, and with the limbs of a man twice his age, he used the wall for assistance when hauling himself upwards. His joints had begun to lock in place, and as he walked over to the table of refreshments, he found that he could not bend his left knee.

In silence he limped forwards. His arms weighed him down like lead as he raised the pitcher of lemonade to fill his glass and drink. Once his thirst was quenched and his lips no longer felt dry as summer dust, he brought a hand up to wipe away the tears he knew had fallen. Gone were the times where he had hoped he would be able to forget, now he was only grateful the boy had left before his body began to give way to grief and fear.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he closed his eyes then scrubbed his face. Shaking away the weight that had settled upon his shoulders and chest, he stood taller. That man of men and terror of the battlefield was gone, dead. As was his wife.

Jerand had paid his respects and spent long enough drowned in regret. Now the prince needed him.

He refreshed himself and donned a mask of nonchalance. As he sauntered out of the courtyard with a steady, relaxed gait, he thought of Gregor’s request. Just before the prince had left, he stopped in the doorway and asked Jerand to get something made for him. A black leather book. Reaching for his pocket he pulled out the note detailing the dimensions and style of binding. After emphasizing the need for speed and secrecy, the prince had also provided funds to cover the cost. Why ask him though and not his steward or one of the servants? He thought about it for a moment before raising his chin and letting a grin break his solemn demeanor. It really was quite obvious, Jerand mused. The boy simply trusted him more than he trusted them.

-

Gregor knocked at the door to his grandmother’s room, and after a moment he heard her voice beckoning him in. He nudged open the door and tiptoed in, concerned that he may have woken her from a nap. She saw him and stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry about it, I needed to get out of bed anyway. My age has confined me to those sheets for longer than I would like. Though that may also have to do with this blasted weather. Leaves a person with no energy.”

Before Gregor could contribute to the conversation, Zana bellowed, “RESSA!” Seconds later the young girl appeared, blushing when she saw Gregor, who of course did not notice. Zana rolled her eyes and ordered her to bring up tea and biscuits. Black tea this time. After she left Zana walked to her chair, sat down, and closed her eyes. Just as Gregor was opening his mouth, she broke the silence. “If I hear another word before she comes back, we will not be talking.”

Gregor gulped down his objection that he had not said a single word yet, therefore it would not be another word, simply a word. Instead, he quietly found a seat to plant himself in and twiddle his thumbs while waiting for the poor girl to return. The moment stretched out, and unconsciously he tapped his foot against the ground -until his grandmother very pointedly cleared her throat. Chastised, the prince shrunk, but even so, he could not sit still.

He let his eyes roam around the room, taking in the furnishings, the floral embroidery and richly colored carpets. The long glass table with its ornate legs, the small coffee table that was a scaled down version of the table. He appreciated the cohesiveness of it all. The embroidered patterns on the couch were extremely subtle, and of a similar color to the whole of the couch, providing the slightest bit of detail while not taking away from the simplicity of the room. The simplicity, though different and warmer reminded him of Garent’s room after a fashion. Although his grandfather’s room had embodied a militaristic simplicity compared to the warmth in his grandmother’s room. He was happy to see that there was no velvet. That was a cursed material. Entirely overused, especially red.

Zana cracked open an eye, watching her grandson look around the room, and in his unguarded expression saw her late husband. She sighed and let her eyelid drop, embracing the comfort of not seeing. She had her eyes closed for less than a minute before another knock rattled against the door, stealing away the sorrow of loss that had begun to creep into her heart. Knowing it was Ressa, Zana did not bother welcoming her in.

Sure enough, the young girl walked in moments later with two kettles, one large, one small. A bowl of ground black tea leaves, two cups, a plate of biscuits, two spoons and a bowl of sugar. Under Zana’s scrutiny, she prepared the tea, then strained it into the individual glasses. Zana huffed after observing the girl’s now straightened hair and smoothed dress, but Gregor remained oblivious to the Ressa’s feeble attempts. Instead, he felt at the fabric of the couch, appreciating how it somehow felt cool and appeared to have some liquid repellant capabilities -which he would have tested had it not been his grandmother’s possession.

Zana dismissed the servant with a wave of her hand and began to sip away. For all the girl’s absent-mindedness and attempts at wooing Gregor, she made the best tea Zana had tasted. The old woman was not sure if it had to do with the water’s temperature, or time with leaves spent immersed, or preparation and drying of the leaves. Whatever it was, the foolish girl had managed to show off her value, thereby securing her position within the palace -at least until Zana passed away. Perhaps that was why she was trying to worm her way under Gregor’s wings. The boy really should get married and put an end to all the rumors of chastity and disinterest in women. She sighed and let the warmth from the cup soothe her old, aching hands.

“So, The Fair Merchants.” Gregor stated.

To which she looked up, and with a raised eyebrow agreed, “The Fair Merchants...” after a moment she continued, “now known as The South Felian Trading Company.”

Gregor’s jaw dropped and his eyes expanded to the size of lemons. He had known that he came from a family of competent people, but now his father’s marriage to his mother made a little more sense. He slowly shook his head in disbelief.

“How much have you read so far?” She asked.

“Up until he is heading towards Katentin with Garent.”

A slight smile graced his grandmother’s face and her eyes brightened as she recalled those days. She had not been with them, but getting the chance to read of her husband’s feelings toward her even then had her grateful. The smile faded.

“Let’s not talk of his writing until you’ve finished it all.”

“If you say so…” Gregor sulked. He had wanted to talk about how great it had been to get snippets of his late grandfather’s life, but he respected his grandmother’s wishes. Well, he could still try.

“When you say not to talk of the writing, is that just about Gelas or can you tell me about what things had been like from your end. What was grandfather like? Did you have any ulterior motives when inviting him to Katentin?” Gregor asked, wriggling his eyebrows at the end of his question.

“Of course I did. A capable, handsome fellow like him? Why would I wait? Had your grandfather not had such a strong sense of duty towards his family… at best the fool would have sired one too many bastards to take care of, or he would have ended up with some half rate woman unable to appreciate his value. Heck, when I had first seen him, I was worried he was one of those men too sure of his own good looks, that he was going to flirt with me and try to get into my good graces. But there was none of that. Just a young man well-respected and well-known, and dare I say, loved, by the entirety of Orid-narr. I saw his hands as he ran errands, and his eyes as he listened to the people around him. Always attentive. Sitting at the dinner table, all it took was for someone to look at a food item for him to extend it over. As important as it is to tend to family, a man of his ability was being wasted in that town. Better for him to come with me.”

Gregor nodded with glowing eyes and sighed contentedly. It was comforting to know that there was good in his family. Then he frowned and asked, “how did you end up inheriting the Fair Merchants though? Isn’t that… generally reserved for nobles?”

“Commenting on my common background, are you? I thought you knew better than to judge a person so harshly by factors they can’t control.” She said, placing a hand on her chest and feigning hurt. But she did not continue before placing her emptied teacups back onto the coffee table between them and letting a heavy sigh escape her. She ran her fingers through her hair, tucking the short wavy strands back behind her ears. Her reluctance annoyed her, but she had already missed out on relating this story once. She cursed the cowardice that kept her from telling her late husband long ago. A part of her wanted to let it die with her, however soon it may be, but she knew there was a relief to sharing. Besides, if Gelas could relate his hardships, she could too. Sitting up straighter she began to speak smoothly, as if rehearsed hundreds of times.

“In short, I inherited the position through merit. A supposed frequent practice in the Queendom of Tell, but no-where near as accepted as many would have the common-folk believe. Yet they cling to the hope that if they work hard, they can rise through the ranks of society. I can count on four fingers the people I’ve met that managed such a feat, myself included. I was the exception. And I even had some noble blood.” She barked a laugh, and the words began to flow freely.

“More noble blood than did me any good. My father was the fifth son of a baron. Now, in Tell, this means very little. Nobility is transferred through the mother, not the father. And to be frank, he was a father I could live without. He seemed to think that he was better than all. The world revolved around him, and everyone was out to get him. Simultaneously the greatest and most envied. Apparently, he was never able to find work because no-one wanted to hire a noble. I daresay it has more to do with his entitled attitude and bad breath. Any money my mother earned, funded his addiction to drink. Why she stayed next to his abusive hand I never understood. At times, when he stopped drinking, I thought I could see what she had seen in him. But he always shattered any positive perception of him without fail. Either by shouting, hitting, cursing, or letting his ignorance show by speaking. Needless to say, I spent as little time in that house as I could, as did my sister. But we spent our time differently. As the older sister I tried to find work. I still remember my first job apprenticed to a physiker. How silly I was, thinking I could perhaps find a cure for my father’s mood swings and poisonous personality. But I was not happy with working there, and I moved on rather fast. Working one job, then the next, often two at a time. Then I found myself working as a scribe for the Fair Merchants, copying ledgers. I had not expected to enjoy it as much as I did, but it was quiet work and gave me the escape from the shouting and screaming at home that I desperately needed. To my surprise I began to find mistakes in the records. At first, I assumed they were inconsequential mistakes of addition, but they were far from it. A superior of mine was siphoning a tiny fraction of profits from sales. I escalated the situation and ended up taking her place.”

“My efforts had not gone unnoticed, and not long after, I was invited to lunch by Savina, the current head of the company -incredibly clever and meticulous, but also superstitious to a fault. That lunch with her was the first of many, and by that time I had moved out of the house and left my disgraceful father behind. I wish my mother had come with me as well…”

“She stayed with your father…”

“Yes, she did, but she was the only one. My younger sister married a Suruud blacksmith with a nose bigger than his hammer. A rushed decision in my opinion, but it worked out for them. It worked out for me as well. When Savina heard of my situation as a daughter of an abusive father living on her own, she ‘adopted’ me after a fashion. I suppose it helped that she believed I inherited the spirit of Zana, one of the founders.” She shook her head slowly.

“So, it was no surprise when her will dictated that I inherit the company. By that time, I had been a part of the organization long enough to have proved myself to the few other people of importance in the Fair Merchants. From securing a textile monopoly, purchasing silver mines and starting the infamous race towards the metal management, to visiting the Steel Bride to ensure smooth operation, under my supervision I had left no stone unturned -managing at a micro level, as well as a macro level in a way no other was capable of. You see, others had different concerns in their lives, be it pleasurable activities, vices, or distractions of family. But I had left everything behind. My life was naught but work. I suppose that is the condition that is required to progress in our supposed meritocracy…” She mused with a sneer. “Or, what had once been our meritocracy…”

Gregor looked up, “What had happened to it?”

Zana’s eyes did not reach her grandson’s. “Don’t you know? The Queen went mad.”

Silence gripped the space between them.

A few long, grinding minutes later, Gregor excused himself, heading back to his room. A thoughtful frown contorted his eyebrows, reflecting the waterfall of thoughts crashing between his ears.