Chapter 4: An Unwanted Reward

         

 Babak wished he had stayed at home. Instead, he was stuck with his lovely yet enraged wife on his way to the festival of First Blooming.

         “I don’t understand why she’s so stubborn!” Hester, Babak’s wife mused. “Tala should know that we want what’s best for her. If she doesn’t marry quickly, what will become of her? What do you think, dear?”

         Babak emitted a grunt, but that seemed to be enough for a response. His better half tugged at her hair and hissed from frustration. He couldn’t help but notice how alike she and Tala were. Perhaps that was why they had trouble getting along.

         “What am I going to say today? How am I to explain why our children aren’t at the festival?” Hester clutched her head. “I’ll tell they’re sick. That should do. What do you think, dar… What is that?”

         She pointed at the gathering ahead. Babak knitted his brows and embraced his wife protectively. In front of them, a large crowd was swirling around one point. It wasn’t the festival spot, therefore those people shouldn’t have been there. Nevertheless, they blocked the road, letting out both cheerful cries and sharp shouts. Babak wished he could just turn around and return home, to his children, but his wife took his hand and pulled him toward the crowd.

         “Come on, honey. I want to know what’s going on.” She hauled him toward the noisy gathering.

         In the midst of the commotion, he recognized several people, some of them were his neighbors. Everyone was facing some unspecified target, visibly excited. Mothers held their children up, helping them to peek over the crowd; youngsters were gossiping with their cheeks flushed.

         “Long live the Emperor!” A loud cry rose over the crowd, soon repeated by other people. Babak froze. He had heard of the Emperor, but he had never seen him. Did he arrive at Gawanee to participate in the celebrations of the First Blooming? An event such as this happened once in a lifetime.

         “No taxes!” Suddenly, someone shouted. The merry crowd felt silent; the atmosphere became tense. Royal guards glanced at each other, gripping the handles of their sheathed swords tightly.

         “We’re starving, your highness!” A woman cried miserably. She dashed out, pleadingly folding her hands, but the soldiers stopped her by pointing the tip of bare sword at her face.

         “You’re stealing our money!” Another voice shouted.

         “Give back our sons!”

         “Lower the taxes, we don’t have money!”

         Babak gripped his overly curious wife and pulled her back, away from the commotion before they would get caught amidst a riot. She didn’t protest, as they jogged away, nervously glancing over their shoulders. The situation was getting out of hand. People openly expressed their discontent and stormed the royal coach. The guards pushed the peasants back effortlessly, but it didn’t happen without casualties.

         Babak was a reasonable and calm farmer. It wasn’t like him to take part in such hazardous demonstrations, but he actually agreed with what the hot-headed youngsters were shouting. Due to the ongoing war, the taxes rose every year, unlike the crops. Babak’s farm wasn’t huge, but it was decent enough to grant a good, prosperous life. Or at least it used to do so in the times of his grandfather and father, for he barely had enough money to feed his small family. The vast majority of his crops was being captured by the Governor, on the Emperor’s order.

         “I hope this won’t get our island in trouble,” Hester whispered.

         He nodded.

         “Let’s go.” Babak put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. She sighed and cuddled into his side, giving him a small smile, he loved so much.

         “Babak! Hester!”

         They turned around, hearing someone shouting their names. As they saw, it was Zeeva, Babak’s distant cousin, who became a widow just a year ago. She waved to them and picked up the speed, flashing her bare knees, when she hiked her festive dress. Finally, she caught up, panting.

         “Where are your children?” She questioned, while fighting to catch her breath.

         “Sick,” Hester lied quickly.

         Zeeva laughed jovially, pressing her hands to her belly, which shook like a jelly.

         “I bet Tala refused to do the bridal dance and you had to sent Cas after her,” she said with a wide, knowing grin on her lips.

         Hester looked away, and Babak shrugged his shoulders.

         “Aren’t you going to the festival?” he asked, seeing how upset his wife looked.

         Zeeva’s dark eyes widened. She looked around, as if checking if no one was spying on their conversation. Afterward, she lowered her voice to a confidential whisper.

         “So you haven’t heard anything?” When Babak and Hester shook their heads, she continued. “The festival has been called off.”

         “Called off?” Hester exclaimed. “It’s the First Blooming festival! It can’t be called off.”

         “Unless by an imperial decree,” Zeeva said smugly, looking, as if she knew some secret.

         “Why would the Emperor call the festival off?” Hester inquired.

         Babak wondered whether it was linked to the riots, they had just seen.

         “Instead of festivities, mourning,” Zeeva murmured, dramatically placing her hand on her forehead.

         “What do you mean?” Hester clutched Babak’s cousin’s shoulders and shook her. “Zeeva, tell us what on Sun happened?”

         The gossiping spark in Zeeva’s eyes betrayed that sharing fresh information was a pure pleasure for her. No wonder – after all, she was widely known for her inability of keeping secrets to herself.

         “There was a death in the royal family, today,” she said.

         “The Emperor?” Hester asked.

         “No, he’s alive and well. His son, the prince.”

         “The Crown Prince?” Babak inquired.

         “No, the other one, Prince Sargon.” Zeeva reached to the folds of her loose gown and retrieved a folded piece of paper. She handed it over to Babak.

         As he straightened it, he saw a copy of the official portrait of the royal family. In the middle, on a golden throne, sat the current Emperor Ardashir. On his right, stood the Crown Prince, accompanied by the Valadorian Princess and a little boy, presumably his son. On the ruler’s left side was a grimly looking young man, who looked just like Emperor Ardashir from his early portraits.

         Zeeva pointed at him. “That’s this one. I heard that the royal coach fell of the cliff into the river. I also overheard some soldiers talking that they found a crashed carriage near your house. Apparently, they’re looking for the prince’s body.”

         “That’s so sad.” Hester commented. “I feel sorry for the Emperor. The loss of a child must be painful.”

         Zeeva waved with her hand dismissively.

         “He wasn’t the Crown Prince. If it was Prince Jahan, who died, that would be a tragedy. Oh well, it’s a pity that there won’t be a festival this year. Such a shame.” Zeeva sighed.

         “Indeed,” Babak said. “It was great to meet you Zeeva. We’ll be on our way now.”

         He and Hester made a strategic retreat, before Babak’s cousin could ensnare them with more gossips. The closer to their home they were, the more relieved Babak was. A death in the royal family was a misfortune, but it wasn’t even nearly as horrible as having their daughter miss her Bridal Dance.

         “The children are home,” Hester said, as their cottage was in sight. Smoke was rising from the chimney. A cheerful smile graced her lips, only to be wiped out when she flung the door open.

         “Mom! Dad!” Cas exclaimed, his voice cracking characteristically for boys undergoing puberty. He sat on a stool, holding bandages and a bottle of potato booze, while his sister was wrapping up the naked torso of some stranger.

         Instantly, fatherly instincts kicked in Babak, as he glared daggers at the young man touched by his innocent daughter. To make the matter worse, the stranger seated himself on his favorite spot, as though he was presiding on an imperial throne. He was wearing Babak’s pants too.

         “Maybe I should explain?” Tala tightened the bandage so much, that her unfortunate patient hissed from pain.

         “Tala,” Hester said. “Who in the blazing Sun is he?”

         “No idea.” Cas shrugged his shoulders. “But I know what his hobbies are, if you’re interested.”

         “Cas!” Hester narrowed her steel gray eyes.

         “He’s just some guy Tala fished out of the river. I call him King of Jerks, you can too.” Cas was completely unfazed by the murderous look, he received from the King of Jerks… that was from the mysterious stranger wearing Babak’s pants.

         “Sweetheart,” Hester said to Tala. “When I told you to catch a husband, I didn’t mean it literally.”

         Slowly, Babak unfolded the piece paper, he had received from Zeeva. He looked at the supposedly deceased prince from the picture, then at the stranger, who had stolen his favorite pants and back at the portrait. The scowls matched.

         Oh.

         “Mom, he’s not some suitor who wants to woo me!” Tala shouted at her mother. “Look, we’ll patch him up and send him on his way. Quickly.”

         “What if he did something to you?” Hester cried. “Did you at least threaten him with the frying pan?”

         “Cas did.” Tala pointed her finger at her brother. Cas pushed his chest forward and buffed his thin arms so proudly, as if he had just won a decisive battle.

         “Good boy,” Hester said in a coy voice, before returning to shriek at her daughter. “What if he was a murderer or a rapist? Have you thought of that?”

         “Mom, don’t be so pessimistic,” Tala huffed.

         “Stop being so frivolous!”

         “Is it always so annoyingly noisy in here?” the stranger asked, grabbing a clean shirt and putting it over his head.

         “Pretty much.” Cas yawned. “I wonder where dad went.”

         “And you put me through so much! You didn’t go to the festival!” Hester accused, tears prickling her eyes. She looked pitiful, but Tala knew her well enough to discern the emotional blackmail.

         “Neither did you!” Tala retorted. “Seriously now, why aren’t you at the festival?”

         “The festival has been called off. Prince Sargon died and the Emperor mourns.” Hester answered.

         The stranger, now fully dressed in Babak’s clothes, raised his eyebrow.

         “That’s surprisingly kind of my father, but I’m afraid I’m still alive,” he stated.

         Immediately, the heated argument between two women ended. Everyone turned their heads to stare at their guest in shock. Tala was the first to shake it off. She snorted and let out a high-pitched giggle.

         “You as the Prince? Spare me.” Tala put her hand on her hips and assumed the most imposing stance, a woman could. With the frying pan in her hand, the intimidating effect was at its peak. She held it like a soldier wields its weapon and pointed it at the stranger.

         “Every child in the Sun Empire knows that the our ruler is the greatest, most magnificent man alive, and his sons are his reflections. Honor, dignity, bravery. That is the message our nation spreads across the known world. Those, in whose veins flows the imperial blood, are the examples of virtue! Someone as rude and disrespectful as you isn’t even worthy of gazing upon the royal poo!” After finishing her tirade, Tala flipped her auburn locks.

         “And royal poo is full of virtue and honor too, just so you know.” Cas added.

         The stranger leant on the seating chest, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

         “Your patriotic speech was very flattering, peasant girl, but I’ll have to insist of being Prince Sargon.” He looked around. “Don’t you have a painting of the royal family somewhere?”

         “Of course we have!” Tala snapped defensively. “Every citizen of the Sun Empire should have one. There, there it hangs.”

         The stranger winced, seeing the poorly made, cheap reproduction of an official painting, which hung over the fireplace. It depicted a much younger version of Emperor Ardashir, accompanied by his late wife, Empress Nima and two princes. Crown Prince Jahan was merely a teenager, while Prince Sargon had adorably puffy cheeks and wide, curious eyes. After all, he was only three years old when the painting had been made. Needless to say, the reproduction was slightly outdated.

         “That explains much,” the stranger muttered.

         Tala wanted to give him her piece of mind on the topic of disrespecting pictures of the ruling family, when a commotion outside distracted her. The sound of horses’ hooves beating against the dirt road mixed with hushed voices and the creaking of a coach. The noise of heavy footsteps proceeded a forceful knock. The door opened violently, nearly getting swooped off the hinges. Tala and her mother yelped when a pair of imperial soldiers marched into their house. They stationed themselves at the door, with their bared swords lifted in a ceremonial pose.

         “His majesty Ardashir the first of his name” One of the warriors intonated. “Son of Sun, our revered Emperor, King of Valador and the protector of the seas. All shall bow to him and tremble before his power!”

         Tala still clutched her frying pan, when the owner of the mentioned titles strolled into the room. Draped in a robe crimson like a setting sun, he stalked proudly. Even though the days of his youth passed, he still had the crushing aura of the feared and deeply respected conqueror, the father of the Empire.

         Tala and Cas were so taken aback by actually seeing the Emperor in person, that they forgot to show their honors. Fortunately for them, their mother watched over their manners.

         “Bow!” Hester ordered, grabbing the back of their heads and hauling them down, until their foreheads hit the floor.

         Tala squinted her eyes, trying to discern anything from her humble position, which was proper, albeit not comfortable. She heard the Emperor’s robes rustle, as he glided past her.

         “Prince Sargon,” he said.

         “Father,” the rude stranger replied.

         He’s the Prince? Tala sucked in her breath, instantly wishing to be hit by a lightning as she lay on the floor. With horror, she remembered all the impolite behavior, she had displayed toward him. By her brother’s miserable moan coming from her left, she gathered that he thought the same.

         “I bullied the Prince.” Cas whimpered. “And called him King of Jerks.”

         “It is well that you are still alive,” the Emperor said dryly. “The Empire didn’t lose a valuable servant.”

         And I thought that I don’t get along with my parents.

         “You may lift your heads and stand up.”

         It took Tala a while to figure out that the Emperor’s order was meant for her and her family. Clumsily, she scraped off the floor, modestly lowering her gaze. For someone of her social standing, looking directly at the ruler would be a great disrespect, punishable by whipping.

         “Which one of you would be responsible for saving my son, the prince?” the Emperor asked.

         Tala felt her voice get trapped in her throat, as she developed jitters. The Emperor himself is speaking to my family! Even now, it was hard for her to fathom.

         “That would be my sister, Tala, sir.” Cas turned out to be the boldest. He cleared his throat. “Your Imperial Highness. Majesty. Sir.”

         “Tala.”

         Tala quivered, hearing the Emperor say her name.

         “Your Majesty.” She made such a terrible attempt at a curtsy, that both the Emperor and Prince Sargon winced.

         “What you did today, was an admirable act, one of a true daughter of the Sun,” he said with piety.

         Upon the praise, Tala blushed fiercely. Her heart fluttered – she never felt so complimented before. She cherished the moment, knowing that its memory would be the source of her pride throughout her entire life.

         “The Sun Empire is grateful for rescuing its Prince, and I am glad that you tore my beloved son out of the death’s clutches.” Tala yelped, when the Emperor took her palms in his hands. She was so surprised, that she forgot about her good manners and stared back at the elderly ruler. He had dark eyes. “In recognition of your extraordinary deed, I plan to reward you handsomely.”

         “That would be awesome,” Tala uttered, in her mind already picturing a life full of wealth. She wondered what she would receive. Chests of gold? Diamonds and rubies? Maybe an estate or even a title? Either way, she was sure that the Emperor will set her for life.

         “Prince Sargon, approach.” The Emperor’s voice went cold, as he addressed his son. One of Tala’s hands got liberated, when the Emperor took his son’s palm. Afterward, the confusing part came. He clasped their hands together and stepped back, a fatherly smile on his lips. “As your reward, you shall receive my youngest son, Prince Sargon, for your husband.”

         Like in a daze, Tala turned to gaze at the King of Jerks… Prince Sargon. The dumbstruck expression on his face betrayed that he was just as startled by the twist of events, as she was. They exchanged bewildered glances, before turning their attention to their joined hands. Immediately, they parted them, as if burnt by raw fire.       

         “Your offer is very generous, Your Majesty.” Tala coughed. “But… is it possible to exchange your son to something else, preferably inanimate, like money perhaps?”

         The Emperor ran his fingers through his long, well-groomed beard.

         “In the light of the recent revelation, the Festival of the First Blooming will take place. Your wedding would be a suitable climax for today’s celebrations.” He nodded with approval for his own plan.

         Tala’s eyebrow twitched.

         He wasn’t listening, was he?

         “Your Majesty!” Clenching her fists, Tala exclaimed. Boldly, she took a step forward. “About the wedding. I must-”

         “Agree!” Hester interrupted. She cast a warning glare at her daughter, before bowing deeply to the Emperor. “We are so happy that Your Majesty bestowed this honor on our humble family. My daughter is about to burst with joy.”

         Tala wanted to protest, to burst not with joy, but into an angry fit. However, her mother pinched her. In the meantime, the Emperor took his leave, hauling bewildered Prince Sargon with him. While standing on the threshold, he bid his farewell.

         “I expect my future daughter-in-law and her family to attend the wedding ceremony at noon. Your coach is waiting outside,” he said, swishing his flowing robes.

         The sound of the door slamming shut after his guards were like the creaking gates of prison closing forever right in front of Tala’s nose. Still disbelieving that what had just transpired was true, she groaned, mourning her forlorn hopes.

         Cas offered her his brotherly support by patting her on his back.

         “So, I’m going to be the Emperor’s family? Sweet!” He always had the unique gift of seeing profits in misfortunes, especially when the said misfortunes happened to someone else. “Mom, did you stash the cheesecake somewhere?”