Strick rose and bowed. “Noble Lord Prince! I have desired this meet- ing for months- These people deserve more of their gods and their rulers. Now you embarrass me; I have wanted to be of aid to you, as you know. The warning, believe me, is something I give to everyone who comes here. I must.”
Kadakithis nodded. And sat looking expectant. Waiting.
Strick called Avenestra, but met her at the door. She knew that she was not to enter as usual and not even to see this visitor, and was able not to try. He let the prince hear him bid her prepare “Saksaraboonmga.” She already had the drink’s revolting but harmless ingredients ready, except for a bit more stirring to mix the vegetable colors of purple and green. She hurried to do so. Strick waited at the door; Kadakithis sat very still, staring at nothing past the Firaqi’s empty chair. Avenestra reappeared from the other room to hand her savior a silver goblet. Strick paced over to set it on his worktable before his visitor. Kadakithis stiff- ened, bent forward to peer into the cup, stiffened the more, and tensed his face. Then, as if accepting a mandated cup of poison, he bravely reached for it.
“A moment, my lord Prince. Give me something of value.”
First Kadakithis gave him a look. “I suppose the ritual bans the use of the word ‘please’?”
Strick stood gazing at him. He said nothing. True, this was a prince royal of Ranke and governor of this city-co-governor, at least, with his alien companion. Torezalan Strick tiFiraqa, however, was Tbrezalan Strick tiFiraqa, Spellmaster and Hero of the People.