If his future seemed dreary and devoid of color, well, plenty of people did jobs they disliked, even detested. He was fortunate to have all that he did.
He could not help, though, taking a break from a chapter on tax laws, to jot down a few lines of the poem that had come to him earlier in the library. The lines were rough, but workable, and he'd enjoy refining them later into a solid four by four.
Before he could go back to work, though, the lines of another poem came to him, about soothing dark amidst too much painful brightness, and how sometimes you only found what you needed by crashing into it.
Ugh. He was embarrassed of himself. Thank the gods no one else would ever see this drivel.
Found what he needed. As if. What exactly did he think King Shafiq would give him?
Thatsent his thoughts places they definitely had no business going. Mercy of the divine, though, he wasn'tblind.Shafiq was gorgeous, and that deep voice… Everyone had commented how even for a royal couple the king and his new queen had produced a child remarkably fast, but if he'd been in the last queen's position, the children would have come one right after the other.
Sadness washed over him, recalling Queen Baran. The daughter of a powerful noble, the title old and prestigious, and she had not been the quiet, demure sort. The counsel had advised a more tractable queen who would not rile people up so much, but Shafiq had been adamant in his choice—and a shadowof himself ever since she'd died, when their son, Kajan, was not quite a year old. Nadir didn't know how he coped. Certainly in Shafiq's place he would be a complete and utter mess. But though quieter than usual, and rarely given to smiling anymore, Shafiq was still stoic, elegant, graceful… and always so kind, to even the most awkward, fumbling farmer with a rustic accent near impossible to understand. Shafiq understood them all, though, and treated every last supplicant like they were nobles in his palace.
A pity more of those nobles—more palace residents, period—did not follow his lead. Including Nadir's parents, who rather than remembering the poverty they came from, decided the fact they'd overcome it meant they could look down on everyone who'd proven too weak to do the same.
Sighing, Nadir shoved away the scraps of paper with his poetry and tried to focus once more on tax laws. There were so many of them, each more complicated than the last, especially when they started to combine, overlap, and clash, he could specialize in that alone. His parents, however, would never tolerate such small thinking. If his mother had made it all the way to judge of the lower courts, then their son owed it to his family to become a judge of the higher courts. Even better, he should secure a prestigious marriage that would allow him to someday join the royal council.
Nadir had never heard of anything more dreadful, except maybe his mother's attempts at making tea. How anyone could struggle so much to properly soak leaves, he would never know, but gutter water would taste better than his mother's tea.
Argh. His concentration was gone. Maybe if he tried reading something else. Normally he would just go practice his knives for a little while, but he'd just showered and after cracking his head on the floor he wasn't in a hurry to possiblymake matters worse. Knowing his luck, he'd slip and crack his head a second time.
Putting away the law books, he pulled one of the history books close instead. He'd be starting a class on international law soon, and was trying to prepare by brushing up on his general knowledge of at least the major foreign countries that helped, alongside Tavamara, form many of those laws, and the related history.
At least this was interesting, where the tax law was about as thrilling as sitting in a box of sand. He'd get through this chapter, and then resume…
*~*~*
"—now!"
Nadir jerked up—and nearly toppled backward as he upset his balance, grabbing the edges of the table to keep himself upright.
"It's about time," his mother snapped. "You should have been ready and waiting. We'll barely get to temple on time now, you lazy cat."
Anger curled in his gut, but Nadir tamped it down, ignored it. He wasn't lazy, his mother just liked to insult people, and getting upset over it would help nothing. "Apologies, honored mother. I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep studying. Alas, I must apologize further, for I will not be able to attend you this morning on your way to temple."
Her eyes narrowed in that way that promised no matter what he said or how nicely he said it, her reaction would not be pleasant.
Taking a deep breath, groaning inwardly as his father joined them, Nadir explained what had transpired.
As expected, their reactions hurt. Emotionally, as they called him stupid in every possible way they could think of,and physically, as his mother slapped him not once, but twice, and while she was wearing enough rings they could serve as an improvised gauntlet, because she went to temple to show off, not out of piety.
When they finally released him, Nadir packed a satchel with everything he would need for the morning and hauled across the palace to the healer's wing. It wasn't as large a wing as others in the palace, but it wasn't small either, and forever bustling with problems large and small.
Nadir felt bad inconveniencing them, but if nothing else, maybe they could give him something to keep his poor face from bruising. He checked in at the desk at the front, then dropped into a seat in the waiting area, pulled out one of his books, and tried to read. Instead, he kept drifting off, jerking awake whenever his head bobbed. One day of rest, that was all he wanted.
Lazy. So easy for his mother to say that, when she got to sleep a full night every night; when she had Nadir and a nanny and servants to take care of her daughters and the household, when she only worked from morning until lunchtime. When she didn't have enough work for three piled on her. But why should he expect sympathy from her? Because she knew what it was like to be in his position? Ha. According to her, no one had ever suffered more than she, and so no one else had the right to complain.
"Lord Nadir?"
He looked up, tucking his book away as he followed the healer who beckoned to him down the hall to one of the many small rooms. The healer slid the door shut and motioned for him to sit in one of the chairs. "I am Master Healer Omid; His Majesty sent word you would be stopping by this morning, and a brief explanation of what transpired to draw his concern. Recount the event for me yourself, please."
Nadir did so as Omid—a master healer, what in the world—gently looked him over, lips pursing as he took in Nadir's cheek. "What happened here?"
"My mother did not like hearing how much of a fool I made of myself before His Majesty, and I have inconvenienced her further by being unable to attend her at temple this morning."
"I see." Omid continued his examination, occasionally asking questions about Nadir's food, schedule, and other bits of his days. Why any of that mattered, or what it had to do with a possible concussion, Nadir didn't know, but he didn't ask. That would only make this take longer, and the longer it took, the angrier his parents would become.
Eventually, finally, Omid drew back. "Your head definitely took a solid knock. While I see no signs of severe damage, I am still recommending three full days of rest to be certain all is well and stays that way."
