“There, you see, I told you it was nothing,” Prince Kadakithis said with rather too much surprise in his voice to be entirely convincing.
Illyra nodded weakly. They might have at least warned her that her examiner would be none other than her own half-brother-and whatever other flaw Walegrin might have, his sense of family loyalty was above reproach. He’d made it plain that it was reasonable to panic when one of those infernal snakes was around.
“I’m certain the kitchens have got more than enough food. Shall I have the guards escort you there? I’d go myself, but . . .” The prince cast his eyes upward-in the general direction of not only the nursery but the Hall of Justice and Torchholder’s suite of exchequer and registry. Neither husband nor ruler, yet somewhat more than a decorative figure- head, Kadakithis showed his adolescence more these days than he had seven years ago when he had first arrived as a naive puppet. He was growing but not yet grown.
“Thank you, I can find it myself,” Illyra assured him.
He seemed genuinely relieved and took off at a decidedly unregal trot. Illyra had a flash vision of him seated on a steel-colored stallion, then nothing, as her thoughts turned to the aromas wafting out of the beehive- roofed kitchen. They’d recognize her there and accord her the same distant politeness the other palace retainers did: they knew they were better than some S’danzo wench from down in the Bazaar even if she did have the ear of royalty and the gods.
With a tightly woven basket, worth more than the food it contained, slung in her shawl, Illyra strolled into the bright forecourt. She might wander along the General’s Road to the hills where the trees had turned a hundred shades of red, gold, and orange. Or she might go to the Prom- ise of Heaven which was usually deserted by daylight. Or she might . . .