From all the stamping on the roof, I assume that this floating pesthole is about to dock, so I’ll close this letter now . . .
The harbor at Elmas was a river mouth, flanked by steep wooded hills that were reflected on the mirror surface. Half a dozen ships lay at anchor. Small boats flitted around them, most being rowed in the total calm. A few were being poled near the shore, and there oxen plodded along a towpath, hauling barges. Inos, standing on deck beside Zana, decided that she was not impressed with Ilrane so far. There was nothing to see, because the valley curved abruptly both upstream and seaward. She felt deliberately shut out, and said so.
“Secretive people,” Zana agreed, and nodded approvingly.
Soon, however, the little tenders began to flock around Lady of Virtues, and elves came swarming over the side. Azak’s entourage of djinn fighting men made up most of the passenger list; most of the crew were jotnar. By comparison with those, the elves looked puny. They also all seemed extremely young, an invasion of children. But their mirth and the lilt of their voices illuminated the air like birdsong, and their skimpy garments fluttered and flamed like butterfly wings. Most of the men wore only a loincloth, the women very little more, and all were barefoot. Every few minutes one would jump over the side to cool off and come swarming back up the ladder or anchor chain, laughing and sparkling. With golden skins and haloes of golden curls and their outsized eyes flashing in every shade like diamonds, they were children of light and sky, who barely belonged to the earth at all.
Inos was entranced. The Uphadly girls she had met at Kinvale had been part elvish, but they had seemed no more than imps with permanent jaundice. These merry golden children were magically different from imps, and a most welcome change from the sullen djinns and rancorous jotnar who had been her only companions for so long. She decided she might enjoy her visit to Ilrane, and she wondered about clothing. At the moment she was enveloped in a chaddar, swathed and veiled so that only her eyes showed. It was a comfortable enough garb for the dry glare of the desert; in this salty, muggy maritime air, she felt half boiled.
“Zana?”
“My lady?”
“If I were to strip down to about what those girls there are wearing and then jump overboard—what would Azak say?”
Zana’s ruby eyes widened amid a million tiny wrinkles. “I doubt if he would ever allow you back on the ship.”
Inos sighed—true! And there was the matter of her mutilated face. She would have to become reconciled to wearing a veil, or else learn not to mind people staring at her.
The deck bustled with elves and jotnar, plus the djinn passengers who persisted in getting in the way. Azak had just finished a long conversation with an elf, who had accepted a coin and gone ashore by the most direct route, his arms flashing like bird’s wings as he swam. He was moving very fast, almost leaving a wake, so he at least must be as young as he had seemed. Azak was watching, leaning on the rail by himself. Now was the time!
Inos strode over and waved her letter under his nose, “Dear?”
It did not feel so strange now. She would work her way up to more passionate terms later, and maybe the use of the words would begin to feel natural. Sincerity by self-hypnosis . . .
“My love?” He smiled approvingly—he knew what she was doing and seemed to appreciate the effort. “I should like this to go to Kade, please? With your letter to Kar?”
“Of course.” Azak took the letter in his big swordsman’s hand. ”You have sealed it? I must read it.” And now . . .
Or had he really just said what she thought she’d heard?
Yes, he had. “You do not trust me, husband?”
He smiled down at her blandly. “It will take me time to learn to trust you, my darling. Men of my country do not give trust easily.”
When you tell me you love me, I will tell you I trust you.
Inos took a couple of deep breaths and then said in the sweetest tones of which she was capable, “Then read it by all means.”
Azak broke the seal. He turned around to lean his back against the rail and proceeded to read the letter.
Suddenly he looked up, his face dark as an arctic storm. “You spoke with a sailor?”
“Zana was there!” Inos said hastily.
“Ah! Your pardon!” He went back to reading, while Inos wondered how much it would take to bribe Zana—even if she had any money, which she hadn’t.
Azak finished, nodded, folded it, and slipped it inside his robe. “It will be sent. You were discreet. You do realize that the chances of it reaching Arakkaran safely are slim?”
“We can but try.”
He nodded. “And don’t bother pleading for your boy lover. The matter is closed.”
Another, even deeper breath. She laid her hands on the rail, stared at the green hillside, and forced her voice to stay soft and level. “You are being very unfair, husband. He was never my lover. I have had no lovers in the past and I have sworn to be true to you in the future. I resent your choice of words.”
“We shall not discuss it further.”
Inos turned on her heel and walked away before she said anything that would make matters even worse.
She sulked for quite a while in her reeking cabin. Why would Azak not listen to reason? Why could he not see that royalty should always reward loyalty? . . . that Rap had been a puppet . . . that locking him up was grossly unfair . . . that he could easily be dumped on the first handy ship and dispatched out of her life forever?
Insanely jealous! It was the only explanation. Where she was concerned, obviously, Azak was not his normal rational self. She must learn to watch her step very carefully.
Meanwhile she could listen to the racket while elvish stevedores unloaded whatever cargo the ship had brought, and loaded food and water and whatever goods Ilrane exported. Pulleys squealed over elvish laughter. The whole affair seemed very inefficient, out here in the river—why not use quays like any normal port? Were the elves truly so terrified of spies, or did they just enjoy making things difficult?
Eventually she heard Azak’s voice raised and decided to go back on deck. She found Zana watching the argument. Indeed half the crew, all the passengers, and most of the elves were watching the argument. Only the elves seemed to be finding it funny, for Azak was trying to browbeat a girl about half his size and much younger than he, and he was making no progress at all.
“Who is that?” Inos demanded.
The girl was strikingly beautiful, even for an elf. She was shining wet, as if she had swum out from the shore, and yet her blaze of golden curls flared out around her head in a glory. She wore nothing but a very scanty pair of blue shorts, like a boy, but she was emphatically not a boy. She stood aggressively with hands on shapely hips, and her bare breasts, small but firm, were graced with aureoles and nipples of fiery copper red that held every male eye on the ship. Even from a distance, the flashing brightness of her big jewel eyes was obvious, and she was smiling up at Azak’s fury with defiant amusement. In his present emotional state, the sultan was hopelessly incapable of dealing with that.
“Some local official,” Zana muttered, glowering over her yashmak. ”She forbids us to disembark.” The ship was bound back to Qoble, Inos knew. She did not want to spend another minute on the horrible thing, and she certainly did not want to return to Qoble and an Imperial jail.
“What story is he telling?”
“Too many stories,” Zana said angrily. “First he said he was just a tourist. Then, when she refused him admittance, he said he wanted to consult a sorcerer. So she accuses him of lying. He is not doing this very well, my lady!” From Zana, that was a surprising concession.
But the discussion seemed to be over. The elf girl shrugged—with remarkable results—and started to turn away. Azak almost grabbed her shoulder, and restrained himself at the last moment. His cleanshaven face was brilliant red with frustration.
He shouted, “Wait!”
Inos hauled off her headcloth and veil, swiftly unpinned her hair, and strode forward.
The elf turned back and stared at her, her motherof-pearl eyes flickering gold and rose and then pale blue.
“Go away!” Azak roared.
Inos ignored him. “I am Inosolan, Queen of Krasnegar.”
The copper-red lips pouted in surprise. The multihued eyes were noting the green of Inos’s eyes, the golden hair, the scars. “I am Amiel’stor, Surrogate Syndic of Elmas, and Deputy Selectman of the Stor Gens.”