Vestal Venom - Part 7

It was about two hours later that Baptist’s prince had finally fallen asleep, head on his arm, as he had leaned down to rest his tired, drunken eyes for a moment and, within seconds, dozed into what was now a deep slumber.

Baptist stood from the couch, careful not to disturb his master, before heading for the door. He did not eat enough at dinner, so he planned on sniffing out something to eat. Among other things. He figured if the prince could get away with sneaking into the palace library, surely a lowly servant could slip by without raising attention.

His feet were bare, and they padded along the cool stone of the hallway louder than he had thought they would. In Simo, the marble floors were always too cold to go barefoot, so doing so now was a welcomed experience – it made Baptist feel whimsical. Though, eventually he discovered that it also resulted in aimless wandering. Each time he turned down a new path, he seemed to be trudging deeper and deeper adrift. He didn’t mind, though; the palace of Ilyos had many courtyards, some filled with sand, some with beautiful gardens.

It was an amusing adventure at first, but the slave severely overestimated his wakefulness. Both he and the prince rose at the same time - about an hour after dawn, and even though the wine helped put his master to sleep, he likely wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway. Nor Baptist, but there he was, wandering about deep into the night. He knew if he stopped for a break, he would fall asleep, and even though that would only bring trouble, he was drawn to a courtyard with a gurgling fountain, a large round pool around it to accept the flowing water. It was tiled with white and blue ceramic which glistened with the water and the moonlight in a lovely fashion. He sat himself on the bench that jutted out from it. It was thick, and clearly meant for respiting strollers. He tilted his head back, gazing up at the moon and the stars surrounding him. Baptist was taught the constellations at a young age, but rarely had the opportunity to use the knowledge. The Simonese palaces were not open like this one. Simo knew of snow and cold and didn’t have such luxury. The only time to exploit his skill was when he went on hunts with his master and the other nobility. At night he would sneak out of the thick, furred tents and look up for hours. Or until Heiko grew irritated by his absence and demanded he return.

It was when he spotted Trochta in the stars that his attention was brought back to earth by a voice he knew. He stiffened, looking around. There was no doubting it belonged to the Horned King. But surely Baptist hadn’t wandered into the royal wing. Still, he was sure of the voice. There were no servants around and he wasn’t stopped by any guard. He debated, only momentarily, if he should hide, but in the end, he figured it would bode well for no one. And anyway, the king would know best how to get back to the guest rooms.

Baptist did what he could to look busy, to look as if he hadn’t heard the king and, unsurprisingly, General Celestino. The boy wasn’t sure why he hadn’t heard him, or why his voice alarmed him so much when he spoke softly, inquisitively,

“Baptist?”

Because he learned from the best, the boy was able to put on a flustered mask.

“General?”

The general was younger than the king, or at least it looked that way - handsome, with a strong, square jaw covered by a close cut beard. His hair was just as dark, wavy against his head. He, too, had kind eyes, like his king – the color of honey.

“What are you doing in the king’s garden?”

King Vincente’s voice wasn’t as soft, but neither did it possess the same amount of pity. The Horned King was renowned for his even gaze, his steady, calm demeanor, and in that moment, he did not disappoint. He was Ilysian through and through, his features dark, sharp, his shoulders broad. If he wanted to be, he could easily become menacing.

“I’m lost.” Baptist informed matter-of-factly.

The general furrowed his brow.

“Why were you wandering this late?”

“We had no pitcher of water to ease his pounding head in the morning. Nor bread. I went to fetch some.”

“He’s drunk?” The general asked, his face twisting into something Baptist was not used to: pity.

Baptist bristled.

“Asleep.” Baptist corrected.

“Well, you’re far from your chambers. You’ve managed to meander to the other side of the palace.” Vincente said, smirking a little.

Baptist stood. “Then will you guide me back?”

He didn’t like that smirk. One was full of pity, one was amused. Baptist may have been a slave, but he was a proud one.

“I’m tired.” He supplemented it with a bit of a bite. One perhaps only he heard, since he had acquired such a subtlety with his emotions that tones which used to be sharp were now so dulled that they may not even be considered tones at all. Such was a necessity for the slave of Prince Heiko.

“Mm,” The general nodded. “Your eyes are red.” And then, “Were you crying?”

The question was gentle and soft. Baptist did what he could to restrain the twitch of his left brow.

“No.” Baptist wanted to tack on how he never cried, because he wasn’t a stupid child, but he refrained. “I’m simply tired.”

And slightly buzzed with the wine, Heiko slowly fed him throughout the banquet. It was wearing off, but it still had an effect on him. Perhaps that was why he got lost so easily. He often had trouble gauging how gone he was, since he was obliged to make sure an even more gone master was served.

The general walked over and placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You must be hungry. Join us. The king and I were just about to enjoy a spread of fruits.”

Baptist looked over to the king, who’s smirk turned tender. So General Celestino was a close friend as well as an advisor. Otherwise inviting another to eat the king’s food would be a punishable offense, at least in Simo.

He gave a nod. It gave him a chance to steal one and bring it back for his master, to appease him should he find out about this absence. The prince favored sweet things. He said that there were as many different kinds of sweet as there were astronomical bodies orbiting in the heavens. Baptist didn’t know how many that was, but he assumed it was numerous.

That and the slave was hungry.

“Come,” The general said, placing his hand on Baptist’s upper back, guiding him towards an open room, whose entrance was on the far side of the courtyard. The chambers beyond were simple, like the rooms given to the prince, but unlike theirs, this room was vibrant with far more pillows and cushions lining the floors and the couches. It was evident that these rooms were meant for comfort and easy discussion. Simo had chambers like these, but they were accompanied by pipes with which one could smoke the calming and galvanizing neisa plant. There were no such vessels here.

There was a large, hammered silver tray already placed on a table between two facing lounging couches. There were also two goblets and a clay pitcher, most likely filled with wine. The room had been prepared for them.

The general crossed for a couch and sat, adjacent to the king, who was already lounging on a wide, silk chaise. Baptist lingered for a moment, unsure which man he should sit beside, or whether he should at all. Slaves often weren’t allowed on such fine furniture unless they were pleasure slaves, and he was a pleasure slave for no one, especially an Ilysian. And if anything was tried, Heiko would kill them for their insolence. It wasn’t the first time. What belonged to Prince Heiko, could not be touched by others.

“Sit,” The general said, patting the cushion beside him. “You needn’t be on edge.”

It was a sudden paradigm shift in thought that made Baptist feel like a fool. He sat down. These men were like wolves, as they should be, as leaders of their state. They shouldn’t care for slaves of foreign diplomats unless it served them. But if they thought Baptist would divulge any information about Prince Heiko, they were terribly mistaken. Still, the situation had potential to be useful for him.

He pushed his knees tightly together, placing his hands on top of them in a subservient manner, his eyes on the stone floor.

“Aren’t you hungry?” The king asked.

“I cannot stay long. I must return to my master.” Baptist spoke deliberately.

“He’s a slumbering drunk, no?” The general countered. “He’ll be asleep until the sun is high in the sky.”

Baptist kept his face expressionless. There were times such things occurred. There were also times when he awoke before the sun, as angry as the pounding in his head. There was no telling which would rear its head this time.

There was no reversing the clock, either. Baptist was there. He might as well indulge. He reached for a slice of apple, its skin as red as a ruby.

“Does Prince Heiko drink often?” Vincente asked, his tone casual, as he reached for a round fruit, uncut, with orangey pink skin. He bit into it, unabashedly dripping juice down his chin. “He is so young.”

“Little puts him to sleep like wine and beer.” Baptist replied. The former swifter than the latter, but rarely utilized, since his master found it so bitter.

He could see the crease of the general’s scowl, but perhaps that was okay. Men thought little of drunks, so if the Ilysians considered his master among them, they would severely underestimate him. If Baptist had learned anything from his time serving Prince Heiko, it was that many victories were lost by misjudgment.

“How long have you been Prince Heiko’s slave?”

Vincente leaned back and considered Baptist the way he had considered which fruit to choose.

“One year.”

It was his best estimate. The time after his capture was foggy and vague, right up until the very moment he laid eyes upon the fair prince. He reached for another slice of apple while scanning the plate, wondering if his prince would enjoy the juicy, fuzzy fruit that King Vincente just ate.

“I’ve heard he is a reckless person.”

General Celestino had grabbed a handful of grapes, picking them from his palm leisurely. “Is that true?”

“Reckless?” Baptist asked.

He was. The prince very often riposted with his elder brother, causing a multitude of consequences – one such being this negotiation trip. If this journey proved unfruitful – if Prince Heiko failed – then he would be exiled. This was the prince’s last hope of ever being an honored brother. So far, it seemed to Baptist that they would both be exiled very soon.

“Reckless,” The general repeated. “I’ve heard a few things.”

King Vincente hummed in concurrence, lips quirking.

“Cliff jumping, trick riding, and I believe he learned the art of the northern war blade, no?”

Baptist saw the general look to his king, as if he was unaware of the extent. Curious, the slave thought, that the king would know and not his closest advisor. And more than that, there was no doubt Vincente had a spy in the north, but who?

“And what was that other one?”

Vincente tapped his chin, as if trying desperately to recall.

“Of yes! A dabbler of sorcery.”

“There are many rumors about my prince.” Baptist replied diplomatically, though he could recall the exact moment that sourced that final rumor. The prince’s lips and teeth were coated with blood, and the scream of Queen Ethel made his ears ring for hours afterward. Entirely worth it, though, just to hear his magnificent laugh. “It doesn’t surprise me that such wild ones have reached the ears of an unallied neighbor.”

King Vincente smirked, studying the boy. “Unallied for now, or isn’t this a meeting of accord?”

Baptist did not answer.

“Does Prince Heiko plan to negotiate?” The king furthered calmly.

It was an honest question. Thus far, they had been in Ilyos for two days and the prince had yet to speak of politics. Instead he demanded a wrestling spectacle.

Baptist sighed. He was unsure how to answer King Vincente. Prince Heiko was as unpredictable as the ocean. No mortal creature to discern his mind. Well…maybe one. Baptist suddenly felt sick.

“This is a negotiation meeting,” Baptist replied eventually.

“He seems to be a cruel man.” The general returned his hard gaze to the slave. “For one to be so loyal to.”

It was spoken in an even tone, but there was a clear question attached. Baptist wondered how they expected him to respond. Coming to the prince’s defense, perhaps? Or maybe breaking down in tears begging them to protect Baptist from the horrors of Prince Heiko?

“He can be.” Baptist nodded. It was true. Servants were terrified of him, as he had high expectations that they couldn’t possibly meet. And, of course, such ineptitude was punished. But there was something honest in the prince’s rending, as it wasn’t reserved for only one class. Heiko very often had noblewomen storm off from a conversation with undertones of insults, unable to slap a prince. Or noblemen, trying but failing to defend themselves from Heiko’s silver snake tongue, which had a natural habit of degradation. But that was something these men would not understand until they experienced the cutthroat nature of the Simonese courts.

Without a hint of warning, the general reached over and took a strand of Baptist’s hair between his fingers. It was a familiar gesture, and, despite the status and vigor of the man, a chaste one. Like a father or an uncle. Baptist found himself relaxing fractionally and hating himself for it.

“You ought to be in a temple.” Celestino spoke quietly.

Baptist looked over, brow pressed in shock.

“A temple?”

“Slave or royal, those with the beauty of the heavens are given to the temple of the sun god.” Vincente said. He had moved on to wine, sipping it slowly.

“I…” Baptist stumbled, suddenly uncomfortable. A blush was threatening his pale cheeks.

“These bruises are an insult to the heavens.” The general continued, and the king nodded. “And the man who inflicted them ought to be smitten by the gods.”

“My master thought so as well.” Baptist bit sharper than intended, pulling back from Celestino before standing and offering a bow. “Thank you for your generosity.”

He could see the general’s face furrow in perplexity.

“You’re master-”

“I must be getting back now.” Baptist said, grabbing a fuzzy fruit before rushing off.