Ruins Falling Read online

  You won’t promote slavery, but you’re willing to tax the peasants into starvation for your pleasures? Bairen thought, watching Essair lift a teacup in his ring-speckled hand, his pinkie finger sticking out. Make up your mind. You’re for the people or you’re not.

  “We could require the whorehouses to have permits,” Prince Quer spoke up.

  “But what would permits matter?” A middle-aged Prince spoke up this time. “It would be easy for the whorehouse to just present a paper and say everyone inside was willing, while beating any protesters into submission behind closed doors.”

  “As much as you protest that the poor aren’t making any money,” Quer scoffed, “I’d think you’d be on board with this too. There are women out there willing to make some money to get by. Even get ahead. Try to provide a good life for themselves, and their children.” His cheeks and ears grew darker. “Are you going to take that opportunity away from them?”

  The other Prince blanched. “But there could be other ways. We could have these women learn trades, get their children educated.” Quer and Zesset stared at him coldly. Then, trying to rally, the man sputtered, “They wouldn’t have to—and then you must think, if children are born—what if they are raised to—what if the children become slaves too?”

  “—Oh, come on,” another man rumbled from the other head of the table. He was Zesset’s opposite in his looks, build with broad shoulders and features, and a broad girth. His watery eyes focused on the pastries as he selected a couple, and looked up again. “Most of us are fathers here.” He took a bite of one of the pastries, and spoke out of the corner of his mouth, “Of course we will write strict laws preventing children from becoming prostitutes.”

  “There are laws preventing underage prostitution now, Sunnen, but that doesn’t deter the whorehouses,” Prince Essair spoke up again. “We could also cut the crime of prostitution down by strengthening the penalty, and thereby, prevent slave trading too. If we stop slapping people on the hand for prostitution and slave trading, and making the punishments more horrifying than the risk is worth, it could help limit both crimes. If you remove the demand, it destroys the business.”

  “And what kind of punishments do you propose?” Zesset asked, turning a frown—almost a glare—toward him. “Prison terms? Don’t we have full enough prisons as it is?”

  Essair blanched. “We could…um…we could talk about that, too.”

  “Well,” a tremulous voice spoke softly, “I’m sure whether we legalize prostitution or not, the slave trade will always be present. But we can cut the numbers of child prostitutes if these establishments are inspected regularly.”

  Bairen turned to the voice and stared, unable to prevent his eyes from narrowing and his brows from furrowing. The moment he realized what he’d done, he smoothed out his features once more. Orthel appeared to be attempting to look neutral too, but he was dabbing his cheeks and forehead with the handkerchief again, and still wouldn’t look at him. Now he knew why. Orthel loved his daughters and grandchildren. They had spoken together in the past about how no woman or child should ever have to experience the kind of horrors brought on by sexual slavery. But Orthel was no brave warrior, and with a brief glance at Zesset and Quer interested, polite stares at him, strong suspicions formed in his mind.

  Bairen looked around. Orthel, and a couple of other men, weren’t looking at anybody. Essair’s skin was getting whiter still. Apparently, Zesset had counted on Essair agreeing with him, as did Sunnen and Quer. They were all trying to hide it, but Bairen knew each of their tell-tale signs. Quer would never be able to control the way his skin flushed. The only decent muscle Sunnen seemed to have was the one in his fat cheeks that clenched when he was angry, and that was fairly obvious too. Zesset’s was more subtle. His already thin lips had almost disappeared.

  Bairen looked around again. Those three were for the law, certainly. He and Essair, if the young Prince would gain some courage, would be against it. There were two Princes he saw that he felt he could probably influence to join him and go against the other three. But he knew he had to get Orthel to join him. The others would be less likely to support this law if they knew that the two longest-standing Princes were against it. But how?

  The eleven Princes continued to argue about it, back and forth for another ten minutes, but he could tell that Sunnen, Quer and Zesset had gained the upper hand already. Bairen glanced at the grandfather clock in the back of the room, thought for a moment, and then stood up. “I propose we take a break to relieve ourselves, and get a bit of exercise to clear our senses,” he announced, all the rest of the men turning to facing him. “Let’s meet back here in half an hour for lunch.”

  Each of the men stood up, various different conversations erupting. Orthel was already waddling swiftly toward the door, but Bairen knew he had a bad knee, and wouldn’t make it far. He walked calmly out the door, and watched Orthel round a corner to the right. He followed after casually until he reached the corner. He glanced back at the other men. No one was looking presently. Swiftly, he walked past the corner, then burst into a sprint.

  Orthel had been hobbling, but in no time, he’d caught up and blocked his path. The older man shrank against the wall. “Don’t!” Orthel wheezed, tears in his eyes. “Please, Bairen…don’t!”

  “You’re too worked up. Calm down. I just caught up to you to have a friendly chat. You and I usually get along so well, but you weren’t too friendly to me in there. Why is that?”

  “Don’t patronize me!” The old Prince glowered at him. “I’m rarely contrary to you, Bairen. But not this time. I can’t. I don’t want my daughters to die! And I don’t want to die!”

  “Oh, please,” he scoffed, “they’re not going to kill any of you. Not over something as trivial as this. There’s too much risk without enough reward. And the slave trade will continue and grow without their legalizing it. We’re just slowing the growth down. They know that. It doesn’t even really matter—we both know they’ve used slaves to slick their lust, anyway. They’re in too much power to feel any repercussions. They aren’t going to kill you.”

  “You’re wrong. You weren’t threatened by them.” The old man inhaled, and exhaled more sobs. “It’s happening all over again. One of them is going to take over the rest of the twelve. And how can we stop them? They have so many guards and servants in their confidence!”

  Well, he was right about that. Prince Orthel had been the longest standing Prince among the current Princes, and Bairen was second. Had Captain Graedin accepted his first chance to become a Prince, he would have been the longest-standing Prince. The three men had seen the corruption of the Twelve Princes over a decade ago, watched as a few had squabbled to gain power over the others by bribing military men, from Knights to the lowest of warriors, seeking to somehow gain rule over all. But the High Prince back then had been strong, courageous, and dearly loved by the people. They had not dared to openly kill him. So someone had been bribed to betray the High Prince. There was an attack on the citadel of Ariel. Many, many lives had been lost. And, to the grief of the whole realm, that included the High Prince they’d loved.

  And now, history was repeating itself. The Princes were squabbling for power. Bairen knew he wasn’t loved as dearly as the last High Prince, but he held the people’s loyalty. What he had in his advantage over the last Prince was that he was deeply feared. Unlike the last High Prince, Bairen had learned that he had to be swifter to shed blood, if justice was to be done.

  Bairen clenched his teeth, glowering at Orthel. “Well, you’re in a tight spot, aren’t you? I’m sure that you remember I still have strong influence in this castle. In the realm. And I’m sure you remember that I have a strong dedication to justice.” The old man looked away, visibly shaking. “If you really think you’ll die by their hands or mine, the least you could do is die for something worthwhile. Preventing thousands of innocent children and women from being enslaved is worth dying for, isn’t it? For women like your daughters? For children like y
our grandchildren?” Orthel inhaled, and gasped out a sob. “Calm down, you stupid fool.” Bairen leaning forward, yanking a handkerchief out of Orthel’s pocket, and shoving it into his chest. “Calm down! I’ll help protect you, if you’re certain their threats are real. I’ll help you escape. But if you’re smart, you’ll see that there’s no true threat from the other Princes.” He stepped back. “Calm down, and breathe!”

  Orthel slid along the wall and away from Bairen, still shaking as he dabbed at his eyes. “Strong dedication to justice. That’s what you call it?” Then he looked up and glared through his tears. “You aren’t the high moral standard you like to imagine yourself to be. You’re just as ruthless and treacherous as any of them. The reason the rest of the Twelve don’t threaten you isn’t because the people support you—it’s because they’re scared of you.” His chin trembled even as he glared. “Therathaine would be ashamed of you.”

  Bairen didn’t answer at first. But Orthel’s eyes widened, and shrank back against the stone again, knowing he’d crossed a dangerous line. Therathaine. Bairen tried not to even think his name anymore. Every memory of him hurt. Fishing with him, laughing as they shoved one another in the water. Eating blackberries on the hunt in the forest. Laughing with him and their wives, and talking about the things that really mattered. Watching as Thaine played with their children, treating Bairen’s children as lovingly as his own. Weeping as he took the crown of the High Prince from his friend—the brother of his heart—begging him not to go. Begging him not to die.

  No one spoke that name openly to him anymore. They were afraid to. For one, he never brought up the name of his dearest friend. Secondly, because it hadn’t just been Therathaine—his family had died too, as well as Bairen’s. No one really dared bring up those subjects around him. And lastly, he knew they shuddered at the memory of him grasping the hair of Thaine’s betrayer, the man who’d caused the deaths of everyone that he had loved. They remembered well how the man had writhed in his hands. And they remembered even better how Bairen had publically, painfully, humiliatingly, tortured him to death.

  “But Therathaine is dead, isn’t he? What would he care?” Bairen whispered, leaning close. Finally, his self-control snapped, and he backed-handed Orthel, who cried out and covered his cheek as he cringed away. “You coward,” he snarled, “even when I had everything to lose, I still had the balls to stand up for what was right. And let me be cursed if I sit back now and let our nation suffer with this law if I can stop it, now I have nothing left to lose.” He stepped so close that their noses were only an inch apart. “You’d do well to remember that, too, Prince Orthel.”

  The man’s clammy skin was pale, other than a bright red splotch on his cheek. Orthel wiped his eyes again. “I would think you’d be more understanding…since you—”

  “—As Graedin has so kindly reminded us, we chose politics. Our lives are always at stake. So just be thankful I’m giving you the chance to save your family, Orthel. I didn’t get that chance.” He inhaled, and then spoke once more, low and cold, again so close their noses nearly touched. “Don’t take comfort from Zesset, Sunnen or Quer—they won’t save you from me. Risk trouble at their hands, or face death at mine. Win the battle or lose the war. Choose wisely.”

  Orthel shook as he stood. Then he put his face into the cloth again, muffling his sobs.

  Bairen stepped back, furious but not wanting to overdo it, taking his time to go slowly. “Pull yourself together, Orthel. I don’t want anyone knowing we talked.” And he strode away.

  He soon found Essair coming out of one of the washrooms nearby the council room, putting his sparkling rings back on his fingers. “Ah, Essair,” he greeted, extending a hand. Essair turned, smiled, and shook his hand. “How is your family? I know your wife gave birth to a daughter last week, but I heard little else. Is she healthy? And what does she look like?”

  “Oh, she’s got healthy lungs!” he laughed. “And my hair, but her mother’s blue eyes.”

  “How lovely. I’m sure you’ll have a time of it finding an appropriate suitor for her,” Bairen teased, smiling. “As good-natured as you are, I’m sure you’ll find a dragon within you when it comes to her. You’ll think every boy is dangerous.”

  Essair’s eyebrows raised, but he laughed. “I feel the fire burning already. It’s amazing how a father can be instantly attached to their child. She’s not even a full week old yet.”

  Bairen opened his mouth to say something else, but left his next words unsaid. Zesset was walking up, an unfamiliar smile on his thin lips. “I must express my congratulations as well,” he said, reaching out a hand to Essair, who shook it without hesitation. “What is her name again?”

  “Lily. Her mother insisted on a flower name.”

  “A precious name for a precious child, I’m sure.” Zesset’s thin lips into a smile again. But his eyes didn’t wrinkle from it. He continued to ask questions about the child, surprising Bairen further. After a while, he casually asked, “Do you know the time?” Bairen answered, and when Zesset gave him a subtle frown, Bairen realized what he was doing.

  The topics Zesset spoke to Essair about—not ever to Bairen—all concerned issues of protection and safety for family. And he was successful in draining their last ten minutes, Essair’s enthusiasm, and Bairen’s chance. When their time was up, they walked together back to the council room. Zesset walked away toward Quer, and Bairen noticed they were smiling as they talked. Glancing around, he seized his last chance, and Essair’s arm. “Vote with me against the prostitution law. I will help you protect your family if you are threatened.”

  “You shouldn’t tell me that!” Essair hissed, looking around. “We could get in trouble!”

  “I know. Just listen. You know if the slave trade grows, many other families will be at risk. Don’t give in to threats. Do what you would’ve done before this council. Think about your family, your new daughter. Don’t put another family at risk for that kind of life.”

  “What do you care about anyone’s family?” Essair looked around swiftly, then frowned at him. “You don’t have children, or a wife.”

  Bairen stared at him. He could feel his cheeks growing hot. He knew that Essair didn’t know anything. He knew about the coup, of course. He knew Bairen had become High Prince then. But he didn’t know the most sensitive details. Few in this castle did anymore, and the only ones who knew anything intimate were Graedin and Orthel. He inhaled, and said very quietly, “No, I don’t. They were killed in the coup eleven years ago.”

  Essair stared, his skin growing pale. He looked away, clearly embarrassed. Then he frowned, and looked back. “But you have your nephew—Daireth, isn’t it? And you hate him.”

  “That boy,” Bairen instantly snapped back, glowering, “is not my kin. His responsibility was thrust on me after the murder of my family.”

  Essair stared at him, silent. Bairen glanced around, seeing that the room was almost full, and then turned away. He exhaled, and called out, “Are we ready to resume?” He gave Essair one more glance. The young man looked startled. Bairen briefly narrowed his eyes. He tried not to reveal how well he could act. And he hoped that it wouldn’t come back to haunt him later with Essair. As it was, he shouldn’t have lost his temper. Would Essair vote with him, or not?

  He sat down at the head of the table once more, watching as everyone else pulled out their chairs and sat down. Essair’s skin still looked pale, though he had a fairly neutral expression. But then, he looked up and his eyebrows shot up. When Bairen searched for what Essair was looking at, he realized it was because of Orthel. The old man was still pale himself, and sweaty, but the mark on his cheek was lighter, at least. A couple of other Princes looked uncomfortable, too, men that Bairen had not been able to talk to earlier because of Essair and Orthel. He tried not to frown as he caught Zesset’s sly smile at Sunnen. Quer looked smug, too.

  Once their lunch had been consumed—or not, for some, including Bairen—the table was cleared. He was given a paper with e
ach law’s description, a feather quill, and a bottle of ink. For each law, he read its description. One by one, they went around the table announcing their vote, which he recorded. An hour passed before he reached the final law proposal. He took a moment to sip down the rest of his wine as the men discussed the previous law proposal. Then, inhaling deeply, he announced, “For the proposal to legalize prostitution in the realm of Ye’shurun, please vote yes or no. To say ‘Yes’ will continue the process of writing the law. Note that its second draft will have to have another vote of ‘Yes’ for approval also. To say ‘No’ to deny its proposal and remove it from discussion for six months at a minimum.” He laid down the paper, dipped the quill in the ink, looked to his left, and forced his expression to remain neutral. “How do you vote?”

  “Yes,” said the first Prince, with a casual smile.

  Once he finished writing, he turned and looked up at Orthel. The older man had already taken off his cloak, which was hanging on the back of his chair, but he looked like he had been running in the heat of summer. He dabbed at his cheeks.

  “Are you ill, Orthel?” Essair asked, and Bairen glanced over to see the young man’s concerned expression. He leaned forward. “You’ve been sweating all day.”

  “No, no,” the man huffed, dabbing his forehead now. “I’m fine. Just…just a bit hot today.”

  Bairen inhaled, and slowly, softly exhaled. “How do you vote, then?”

  Orthel glanced ever so briefly at Quer, Zesset and Sunnen at the end of the table. Then, even more briefly, he glanced at Bairen. “No,” he stated. “My vote is no.”

  He stood up abruptly, walked toward a window, and flung the curtains back. The light that poured in was gray now. It looked and felt like winter once more, now that Orthel had fumbled with the ice-covered latches and flung the window open, shattering the ice with ear-splitting cracking and tinkling. Bairen glanced quickly around. Essair was staring at the older Prince, looking paler now than ever, as he wrapped his beautiful clothes closer. Zesset glanced at Sunnen, who gave what looked like the briefest of nods.