A Dream of the Heaven

Chapter 7 (Part 2 of 2)

Beresso led Isendrin into the chamber.  The Prince’s solar was a hall in itself, spacious and light.  Bookshelves full of worthy volumes ran around the edge of the room, and comfortable chairs were gathered around small tables beneath windows that overlooked the lawn.

“Take a seat, my lord, please,” said Beresso, “Would you mind if I called you Isendrin?”

“Not at all,” said the exile.  He rarely allowed anyone the same honour.

“Then you may call me Beresso.  I always found it strange when I was a boy, all these grand men calling me ‘your Highness’.”

“Your Chancellor still calls you so.”

“Indeed.  But now I am a man, and Quaestor needs a constant reminder of that.  Sometimes I wonder if he thinks himself my regent.”

“I hope you can find some use for his experience.  His family are prominent bankers in Emmares.”

“Yet he was the one who was exiled.”

“And now he is Chancellor of a city richer than any in Emmares.”

Beresso smiled, with exactly the right balance of modesty and pride.  “The Duke of Casa Flow would claim otherwise, but I am flattered that you say so.  And Pironas is a little more cultured, Drummerswatch more dignified.”

“Drummerswatch is full of legionaries,” said Isendrin, “They are not the model of dignity.”

“Apart from those of the Fifth Roethennan?”

Isendrin wanted to smile, but despite the warmth in the compliment, he could not. 

“I am sorry”, said Beresso, his expression falling into humility.

“No,” said Isendrin, “Speak as you wish.”

“Then I shall apologise again.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” said Beresso, and the servant appeared with their wine in a glass decanter.  He poured, bowed, and departed.

“To prosperity,” said Beresso, raising his glass.  Isendrin grunted something and immediately felt ashamed, fearful that he had insulted his host.  They drank.

“It isn’t why I invited you here,” said the Prince, “To talk about Emmares, your circumstances.  Not in a political manner, at least.  And I hope I did not offend you too much with my little jest in the letter.”

“No, no,” said Isendrin, looking down, “I may have deserved it.”

“We all do, at some point or another.  The playwrights in the theatres certainly think so of me.”

Isendrin thought that the Prince looked oddly pleased with that situation.  “May I know why you invited me, then?” he asked.  “I presume you don’t meet every new exile like this.”

“There are a few, but yes, only a few,” said Beresso.  He fixed Isendrin with his dazzling eyes.  “I must make a few points very clear.  I understand that you may think I want something from you, and that this meeting is flattery and little more.  But as long as you are in my city, you are your own man.  I do not mean to ask anything of you, be assured, nor will I offer anything to you beyond the hospitality I hope I would offer to every man, and perhaps in time the benefits of friendship also.  Unless you wish to be my new Chancellor.”  Beresso smiled wickedly.

“Quaestor is out of luck, is he?” said Isendrin, trying to suppress his own smile.

“Perhaps.  My Chamberlain as well, though that would hardly be a position becoming of you.”