Kuo-Shi-Meng meant Thy, Who Dreams of a Larger Life.

It was the name given to the Domine’s daughter at the age of seven. It was envisioned by the prophet and written down in the Volumes of Time. Along with her full family name and tittles -- such as the Seed of the Brightest Joy or the Leaf of a Golden Grapevine -- it was used during the official ceremonies and rituals.

But on the regular day she was simply called Kesime. Or better yet -- Kes. Of course only by those who were allowed to use the name of One of the Fiery Blood. Too little of them, if anyone asked her. She liked calling people by name, and liked them calling hers. She found names -- and their meanings -- very important. But most of the people in the Hidden Palace called her with those weird, fantabulous and overegzaggerated tittles.

She was seventeen, far too bright for a woman -- or rather a girl -- her age, and unabated sometimes to the point of insubordination. Her caregivers cried with worry, her teachers praised her talents, her servants loved her, mothers were concerned, brothers laughed, and her father chose to ignore her. She was none to ignore him and his decisions though. He was the most important person in the whole Dominia, and what he did influenced everybody’s life. Even if it was a choice between a cereal and bread with butter for breakfast.

But the decision he’d made only five days ago -- of which Kesime found out this morning -- was much much more important. And she detested it heartily.

The great Domine consented to the advice of his Minister of Interplanetary Acquaintances and chose to marry the daugter of the Cenzor of Dilan, Simon Grand, the Duke Serpent. Rationally speaking, there was nothing wrong with the idea. The Domine only had three wives -- which by comparison to his Grandfather, the Mighty Life Giver, was a really pale achievement -- and the fact that Audrey Grand the Serpent-Kan was the age of the Domine’s daughter could not be an argument against her either. But Kesime desperatelly tried to find a way to convince her father to forestall such terrible mistake.

 

Cornelius Cartwright couldn’t complain about his life. He had a roof over his head; he head four walls that protected him from the wind; and he was safe from the people who might want to hurt him. He had enough food, and he was healthy. The latter was especially appreciated in light of the loads of pain and illness he now witnessed every day.

Truth was, he’d witnessed it since childhood, being the Doctor’s son.

But now it was different; he was more than a mere passive observer. Now he was in the middle of the affairs. And it didn’t make him happy.

No, he didn’t want to complain. He was in far better shape than this poor fellow, who’s leg Doctor Cartwright had just amputated. Even if witnessing the operation had vastly shaken the young apprentice. He’d held that leg, until the weight suddenly shifted, and the thing fell to the floor, disembodied.

Thomas Cartwright shot his son a glare that would turn the young man into a pile of ashes if looks could burn. Then he said, “It’s still a piece of human body. Treat it with respect.” And he returned to cauterizing the wound.

That was when Cornelius vomited. He returned to his job a minute later, lightheaded, on the verge of nausea, nearly crying over his many misfortunes. At that moment he’d even take the miserable life of a private over this. The life that he’d run away from faster, than he’d gone there, a few months prior. Then he remembered, as always, the reasons for his desertion. Not formal; formally he’d been declared unfit for duty, due to an injury, but still it had been a desertion in his own mind, and, he assumed, in his father’s as well. The reasons had been simple; he’d been beaten half to death, and had been to scared to return and face the man who had done this to him. So instead he’d returned to the father he so desperately needed to be independent from.