Inheritance by Simon Brown Page A

white with age, frowned at Orkid. “Must you always take the Lord’s name so lightly?”
    “Only in your presence, faithful teacher,” Orkid replied, raising a smile in the old man. They clasped hands warmly.
    “Now, sit down, both of you,” Orkid told them. “You must be exhausted after your journey.”
    “True. These bones are not used to such a long expedition,” Amemun said, easing himself into a seat, “although the voyage from Nunwa was uneventful.”
    “Unlike the last time you made it,” Orkid added. “I remember it like yesterday when you first brought me to Kendra as part of Aman’s tribute.”
    “A terrible day for me,” Amemun admitted. “I felt like I was losing a son.”
    “And I a father,” Orkid added.
    “Well, I could have done with a little adventure on this trip,” Sendarus said. “I was bored from the moment we left Pila. I couldn’t wait to leave my father’s palace and see more of the world. Instead, all I saw was the highway to Nunwa, and then leagues of empty ocean until last night when we could make out Kendra’s lights on the shore.”
    “How is your new pupil shaping up?” Orkid asked Amemun.
    “New? It’s been ten years since the king placed his Highness under my tutelage.” He regarded the prince with a skeptical gaze. “Impetuous, perhaps, but a quick learner. His head is filled with romantic notions and what he calls ‘noble’ ideals. Other than that, he makes a passable student.”
    “Passable?” Sendarus exclaimed. “The Lord of the Mountain himself would struggle to meet your standards.”
    Amemun’s eyes rolled in his head. “You are here less than five minutes and already you blaspheme as readily as your uncle.”
    “Just as well,” Orkid said, suddenly serious. “You are in the heart of the kingdom, now, and the Kendrans do not like being reminded other gods are worshiped in their realms. They are so certain in their power they believe their own deity is the single, true creator.”
    “They do not let you pray to the Lord of the Mountain?” Amemun asked.
    “As long as I refer to him as God, and by no other title, they are pleased to turn a blind eye to my worship, pretending that I have conformed.”
    Amemun nodded, but his expression showed his displeasure. He had little time for such self-righteousness. “Then you must learn the trick,” he told Sendarus.
    “Surely we will not be staying long enough for it to matter,” Sendarus said lightly, making nothing of the glance exchanged between Orkid and Amemun.
    “You must be tired,” Orkid told the prince. “My secretary will show you to a room where you can rest, and in the meantime I will arrange for proper chambers to be prepared and notify the queen’s private secretary that you have arrived.”
    Sendarus was about to object, not feeling the slightest bit tired and eager to see something of the kingdom’s capital, the greatest city in the world, but he saw Amemun looking at him with his grave brown eyes and knew the sights and sounds of Kendra would have to wait.
    “As you say, Uncle.”
    “Where are your servants and baggage?”
    “Still with our ship.”
    Orkid called in his secretaries and gave instructions. Two of them bustled out to collect his guests’ retinue and belongings. The third led Sendarus to Orkid’s own chambers to rest.
    “So Marin had decided that his own son should be unaware of his part in Kendra’s future?” Orkid asked Amemun after all had left.
    Amemun refused to meet Orkid’s gaze. “The future is so uncertain, Orkid. The king did not want Sendarus’ hopes raised.”
    Orkid sighed deeply. “Old friend, I know when you are lying. You cannot meet me in the eye, and you sound apologetic.”
    “I never sound apologetic!” Amemun declared hotly, and having declared it lost all his huff in an instant. “Well, when I’m apologizing for others, perhaps I do,” he conceded.
    “So what is the truth?”
    “When I said earlier that the prince’s head is