“There’ll have to be a regency declared, won’t—”
“Oh, so that’s what brings you back to Hub? Think that you can get yourself made regent, do you—”
“Who else? You, I suppose? Daughter of a common soldier? Gods! Who else? Not that slug Ythbane? Eeech! The rumors are he dyes his hair. Does he?”
“How the Evil should I know?”
“How indeed?”
Moms screamed then, so loud that Shandie almost wakened. The fires of Ythbane’s switch burned hot again; he heard himself groan.
“Quiet!” Aunt Oro said. “You’ll waken the boy. Now listen to me, Uomaya! I don’t care who shares that fine bed of yours. I don’t care if he does have a blue tint to him. But I won’t let either one of you be regent, nor both together. Shandie’s a minor; I’m next in line. You’ve been trying to cut me out. Gods know I don’t want the job, but I’ve got a duty. What’s wrong with Father, anyway? Is that your doing, too? What are you doping him with?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! He’s old—”
“He wasn’t old a few months ago! Not like that. I heard the rumors, so I came back and—”
“Well, it’s none of my doing. And it isn’t poison, because we’ve changed his attendants several times, so it’s just some sort of old-age sickness. And it can’t be sorcery, not on him.”
“What do the wardens say?”
Please! Shandie thought. Oh, please go away and let me sleep, please. When you wake me, then it hurts. “Wardens?” Moms laughed. “You think I talk to witches and warlocks? They must know, but they haven’t spoken.”
Aunt Oro groaned. “And of course they won’t do anything.”
“They can’t do anything. That’s the Protocol, dearie. Family’s exempt. No magic cures for us.” The voices sank lower. Shandie sank away into dark wooziness again . . . and was roused by another voice. “Your Imperial Highness! An unexpected honor!” The consul! . Angry. Oh, dear.
Shandie discovered he was weeping again, into the sheet. He hadn’t been bad again, had he? No more, please, no more!
“Consul Ythbane! Are you responsible for this torture?”
“That is not your affair, Highness.”
“Yes it is! Why wasn’t I informed of my father’s illness?”
“We didn’t think you’d be interested. You bury yoursdlf out in the country all the time, breeding horses. The council saw no point in worrying you.”
“And you’re trying to ram through a regency for yourself, aren’t you? You and Uomaya? Don’t think I haven’t heard.”
Shandie had never heard Aunt Oro be angry like this before. .
“Heard what?”
“That you’re lovers.”
“Watch your tongue, woman!”
Aunt Oro gasped. “You dare threaten me? It is you who must beware. Why else would you be in the princess’s quarters in the middle of the night? You’ve been waiting until the old man’s completely incapable, and then you’re planning to marry her and—”
“And the opposition has summoned you. I expected this, of course.” Ythbane’s voice was getting deeper, which was a bad sign, but quieter, which was nicer. “Well, let me give you a warning, Princess Orosea. Your dear husband—how is his clock collection?”
“Fine . . . I mean, what on earth has Lee’s clock collection got to do with anythin ?”
“They’re dwarvish, aren’t they Most of them? He trades with dwarves. Dwarves make the best clocks.”
“So?”
Aunt Oro had stopped shouting. Nicer.
“The Dark River border is alight again. Open war may have begun already. Trading with Dwanishian agents will be taken as evidence of treason.” Mumble.
“But I do! Lots of witnesses. Documents. So here are my terms, Highness! You leave Hub by morning, or a Bill of Attainder will be laid before the Assembly at noon.” Mumble. Weeping? Who was weeping? Moms laughing. Good.
“I shall also have some documents for you to sign before you depart. Within the hour.”
Mumbles. Soft mumbles. Whispers. Quiet. Dark. Sleep . . .
Naught availeth:
Say not the struggle naught availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been, things remain.
Clough, Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth
TWO
Darkling way
1
“Who’s there?”
Kadolan twisted her head as far round as she could—which wasn’t very far these days. She overbalanced and grabbed at the bed for support. She had been praying.
Again a faint sound on the balcony, a flicker of movement in the moonlight . . . A burglar? In the palace of Arakkaran, with its innumerable guards? Inos had mentioned intruders—
“Princess? Highness? My pardon if I frightened you.”
Her leaping heart took wing altogether, and she gasped with the pain of it.
“Doctor Sagorn?”
“It is I,” said the soft, dry voice. “I fear my entry was unorthodox.”
Kadolan thought of how high that balcony was, and remembered a ruby brooch, and understood. The thief . . . whatever his name was . . . Sagorn gave her no time to catch her breath.
“My garb is not very seemly, ma’am,” he said. “Perhaps I may scout for a robe of some sort? I apologize for waking you so suddenly.”
She did not sleep on the floor, but in an embarrassing situation like this, a true gentleman would always imply he had seen much less than he had. “How extremely kind of you to come, Doctor. Please do go into that room there, and I shall be with you in a moment.”
He murmured, and she heard a shuffling, cautious tread. Then she levered herself up from her knees and fumbled to find her housecoat. She allowed a few moments for her unconventional visitor to make himself decent, and for her heart to finish its slow descent from the heights, and for a quick adjustment of her nightcap over her curlers.
Then she went in. He was a blurred dark shade in a chair, with specter—pale shanks connecting it to the floor. Something that was probably a sheathed sword lay at his feet. She settled herself carefully in a chair opposite.
“Lights may be inadvisable,” she said cautiously. “Indeed they may! I regret disturbing your sleep like this.”
“I was not sleeping.” She would not mention nightmares of incandescent sorceresses. “I was invoking the God of Love.”
After a thoughtful pause, Sagorn said, “Why Them?”
“Because it must have been They who appeared to Inos. I can’t think why none of us realized. Trust in love, They said.”
He sighed. “How true! And Inosolan did not, did she?”
“She did not realize! We believed that you were all dead—that the imps had killed you.”
“And the faun, also, obviously.”
“Yes. May I offer some refreshment, Doctor? There is usually some fruit and—”
He raised a pale blur of a hand—her night vision had never been good, and now it was terrible. “That is not necessary.”
“So how did you escape from Inisso’s chamber, Doctor? And how on earth did you manage to bring Master Rap here, all the way from Krasnegar in so short a time?”
Sagorn chuckled dryly, an oddly nostalgic sound. “I did not bring him. He brought me.”
Ah! Sudden relief l “Then he is not only a seer, he is a sorcerer?”
“Just an adept, ma’am. He knows two words of power.”
“His own . . . and you told him yours?” Pause. “Yes, I did.”
“That was extremely generous of you.”
“It seemed advisable at the time,” he murmured, and she wished she could make out his expression. For a moment neither spoke—there was just so much to say! Kadolan’s head was whirling as she became aware of all the possibilities.
“You are good friends, then, you and Master Rap?”
“Fellow travelers on a strange road. But I have come to appreciate Master Rap. Even for a faun he is . . . `tenacious’ would be the politest term. He is steadfast and honorable. I owe him much.”
Detecting curious undertones, Kadolan waited for more, but apparently there was not to be more.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Doctor?” Formality was always the safer path in emotional moments.
He threw back his head and guffawed. “Kade, you are a wonder! You do recall . . . but I suppose this is no time for reminiscences.”
“Hardly,” she murmured. “If the guards find you, you may have enough time to write your entire life story.”
“Or no time at all?”
“Exactly.”
How long ago had it been—thirty years? Longer . . . she happily married in Kinvale, her brother passing through on his travels with his mentor Sagorn. Good times, but long ago, and she would not allow him to promote a passing encounter into a friendship that had never been. Sagorn had been much older than she in those days, and more a tutor than a friend to Holindarn. Keep it formal.
“Well, now,” he said. “The boy is now in jail, I understand.”
“That is true. He is lucky to be alive.”