Energy of the Cosmos

♠

The novelty of Italy hadn’t worn off for Saliha. If anything, the young woman was thrilled at the attractions that laid before her. Though she shared no fondness for the weather, she decided to frame the new terrain as an exercise of her agility. “You could always use the practice,” she replied in Turkish. As much as she teased her older relatives, especially Murad, she acknowledged her status as a representative of home. The gathering of nations in Italy may be focused on fostering peace, however even Saliha knew there were some lines she couldn’t cross. At least, in the public eye.

“Have you ever done this before?“ she asked. Despite the best education and the stories she heard from merchants, nothing trumped experience. Unlike her, Murad had seen more of Europe and had his fair share of exposure to other cultures. “The men who built rink would had tested everything to assure it was safe,” she assured him, knowing he was prone to worry.

“The practise for what? There is little chance of us seeing ice such as this in Anatolia,” Murad pointed out, though her words earned a chuckle from him. As much as he bemoaned them, he did enjoy the company of his younger relatives - they made him laugh, which was a rare feat when it came to Murad. “Or are you planning trips even further North that I do not know about? Sweden, perhaps, or Russia?” There was a hint of teasing in his tone, though only those who spoke Turkish (a quick glance around told him it was likely he and Saliha were the only two) would pick up on it. 

“I have not,” he confessed. “My mother dislikes the cold. We did not visit her homeland unless it was Summer.” Sometimes he thought that was the Haseki Sultan’s favourite part of marrying into the Ottoman Empire. Standing in the snow, he could certainly understand her displeasure. “You are right, of course.” He crouched, attaching the blades to his shoes. Once certain they were sturdy, he rose to stand once more. 

“Shall we?” 

Location : The Sistine Chapel

“I don’t think the Cardinals would be best pleased to find us here,” Murad pointed out. His hands were tucked neatly behind his back, and he stood straight and proud, the model of the prince that he was. There was an air of mischief in his expression though, his eyes alight with it, a smile dancing around his lips. He hadn’t come here to get one over on the Catholics. That wasn’t who Murad was - he was, by and large, fairly tolerant of religions that were not his own. Ismihan was another matter, which was why he had brought her here today. 

It wasn’t that he was planning on renouncing Islam, or that he wanted the children to. They were both in agreement that it was important to follow the teachings of Muhammad, but Murad cared little for imposing this on others. Ismihan took a far more militant view on things, and this had historically been the source for most of the tension in their marriage. He couldn’t fault her in other ways. She was a good wife, and more than that, his chosen companion in this life. But here in Italy, there was a chance to broaden her mind, to teach her that perhaps her way of looking at the world could be altered. 

“Luckily, they are all busy with the fair. We have our run of the place,” he turned from the portrait he was surveying to look at her, shooting her a fond smile. “So, what would you like to look at first? Perhaps we could take turns to read from their Bible.” 

Location : The Winter Fair

Murad listened to the musicians at the centre of the Piazza, tapping his foot alongside the beat of the drums. He wasn’t the most musically inclined person- not by a long shot. In fact, he all too often had little patience for it, but he was in a good mood, mellow and all together enjoying himself. Today, he could tolerate it. 

His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for someone to engage in conversation. He was always the social sort, doing far better when there was someone before him to bounce off of. Most of those around him already seemed paired off, however, browsing the stalls, laughing, even dancing to the music - all but one. 

She was Chinese - he could tell by her dress - and clearly very important. That was enough to pique his interest. Rising from his chair, he made his way to her, greeting her with a bow. 

“Does the weather turn this cold in China? I’ve never seen the like in Anatolia.” 

One slender hand rested on her waist as Claudia kept her sharp icy eyes pointed at the head and hand of sculptor. Poor guy, it wasn’t easy being watched like a hawk by the formidable Holy Roman Empress. She restrained the bemused smile that threatened to stretch across her aged visage. A part of her intimidation always gave her a bit of a kick. If it weren’t for the voice that spoke up, Claudia wouldn’t have released the artist from his torment. 

She turned, glancing over at her nephew. God, the more her gaze was fixated upon the boy, the more she saw resemblances of her family’s undeniable physical traits. If she were holding a drink, Claudia would have certainly spat. 

“You think so?” She laughed, one arm supporting her elbow as she glanced over at the image again. It was beautiful but it still was far from perfection. She pursued her lips, “it’s missing something… Ah, yes. You can’t have a sculpture without Max included. And before you interrupt my dearest nephew, I speak of my monkey not your grandfather,” tsking at the last word. The name had been given to her pet out of mockery and yet unbeknownst to even herself, she had grown rather fond of the animal - alas, the name had stuck and she had no other choice but to submit to it. 

“Speaking of your mother, how has Friederike been? It’s been so long, has she had any troubles as of late?” A glimmer twinkled in her eyes. Claudia had heard plenty over letters but it was another story to hear from the tongue of her sister’s son. 

There was little resemblance between The Holy Roman Empress and the Haseki Sultan. Nothing to indicate that they were half-sisters, at least. Claudia was tall and fair, whereas his mother was almost the complete opposite. His mother said Claudia took after her Austrian relatives, whereas Fahriye, and Murad himself, favoured the old King Maximillian. Murad’s own memories of the man were fond, but he knew his mother’s were less so. He had never asked Claudia her thoughts. 

“You named your monkey Max?” he raised a brow at her. If he wondered about her relationship to her father, that in itself, perhaps, said it all. “I suppose we all have our own tributes to the man. You’ll be telling me you’ve an ostrich named Ferdinand next.” It hardly seemed proper to name the creatures in one’s menagerie after dead relatives, but perhaps that was simply how things were done if you were a Catholic. He made a note to look it up later, or perhaps laugh with Ismihan about it when he got around to telling her. 

“Fahriye is well,” it is a gentle correction, but a correction nonetheless. “I am sure she will be eager to see you.” He wasn’t sure how true that statement was. “Only good fortune, I’m afraid. I am sure she informed you of Atike’s upcoming wedding? And Mirimah too is doing well.” He regards her thoughtfully, wondering if peace within the Ottoman Empire pleases or disappoints her. “And what of my cousins? Have they been behaving themselves?” 

“ You were the one who decided to come with me, ” Atike retorted, hands on her hips. Not that he had much of a choice—no one could refuse their mother, and hardly anyone thought Atike was left best to her own devices. “ And let me decide where to go when you know I’m going whichever way looks the most exciting. So, really, who is to blame? Anyway, ” she pursed her lips in concentration, turning her gaze towards the paths before them, “ it was the right. But if we go left, we’ll reach the jester in the center—see, that couple came just from there, and I can hear laughter coming that way. ” She gestured to a pair chattering about the performance, glancing over her shoulder at her brother with wide, innocent eyes. “ Don’t you trust me? ”

“Decided,” Murad scoffed. It was hard work, being Atike’s brother, but he couldn’t help being fond of her, as his mother and father were too. The girl had been spoiled, but she made Murad laugh. He hadn’t minded too much when asked to chaperone her, but he’d deny it to the hilt now they were seemingly stuck. “I didn’t realise looking at dead ends was exciting to you,” he deadpanned, nudging the latest obstacle hedge with the tip of his boot. “The answer is you, by the way. You are entirely to blame for this, and you know it.” Upon her confirmation, Murad took the left fork in the path, eyes rolling. “I do not trust you. Only a fool would,” he teased, shooting her a grin over his shoulder. “But on this rare occasion, I believe you are right. Do you think the jester will be worth all this hassle?” 

Location: The Ice Rink on the River Tiber

Murad wasn’t entirely certain how he ended up playing babysitter. He had already spent enough time with Atike as his nerves would allow, but evidently, he was a glutton for punishment, for here he was with Saliha, who was arguably just as bad. At least he wasn’t dealing with the two of them together, he supposed, though if that was the prospect he was facing, he would simply refuse. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them. Huseyin may not have been Fahriye’s son, but the Haseki Sultan had always encouraged Murad to treat his numerous siblings the same, no matter who their mother was. That sentiment extended to his niece. 

“I’m not certain this is a good idea,” Murad raised the blades he was expected to strap to his feet to eye level, surveying them dubiously. “What if the ice cracks and you fall in? Your father would have my hide.” 

Location : The Winter Fair

Murad thought he knew European culture by now. Throughout his childhood, he had visited his grandfather, aunts and uncle in the Holy Roman Empire. He had spent time with his cousins, and by and largely thought that qualified him as somewhat of an expert in these Catholic countries. After all, how different could they be? Strolling through the Winter fair, however, was a bit of a revelation. Italy, he was finding, was far different to The Holy Roman Empire, and different again were the goods on offer at each of the stalls. 

Spain was a country he had never truly thought about - and neither had Pope Guilio, judging by the haphazard way their offerings had been thrown together. From what he could remember, there was little of it left. Still, he regarded their offerings with a polite curiosity, only raising his head to regard the girl stood close by. 

“Have you seen anything you like?” 

Location : Inside the Ice Maze

"This is all your fault, Atike,” Murad said accusingly, narrowing his eyes at his youngest sister. Keep an eye on Atike, his mother had asked him. Make sure she doesn’t get into trouble.He would have better luck asking the snow to stop falling. Now, they were in the middle of the ice maze, walking into dead end after dead end. He had allowed her to pick their route as they entered, and she had succeeded only in getting them hopelessly lost. Murad’s patience was wearing paper-thin, and he ran a cold hand through his hair. “We are going to have to retrace our steps. Do you remember if we came from the left or the right?” 

Location : The Winter Carnival

There was one Winter in Austria, many years ago, that Murad had been so cold he could barely stand it. He had spent his time there sulking by the fire, waiting for the feeling to return to his fingers and toes. He hadn’t been much more than a teenager then, but he had never forgotten it. He had thought it would be impossible to ever be so chilled to the bone, but he had been wrong. If possible, he was even colder now, jaw clenched tightly to keep from chattering, and utterly, thoroughly fed up. 

It wasn’t all bad, though. Miserable as the weather was, he was actually quite enjoying himself. He had been watching the sculptors do their work for a while now, and found himself quite entranced.  They were in the midst of carving statues of the various rulers in attendance. His mother and father, Emperor Jingyan and Empress Yekaterina in their youth. He stopped by one of Claudia, peering up into her icy face, and then the woman was there herself in the flesh. 

“Quite the likeness,” Murad noted, nodding at the sculptor before him. “It doesn’t quite capture you fully, but it is close. Not like my mother’s. I’m not certain who that sculpture is supposed to be of, but it is not her.”