“Yes, dear, but—”
“But without our house to rule, the imperor and the thanes of Nordland will both feel bound to protect their own, and the war will start soon. If it hasn’t started already!”
And where would it end? If the Nordland jotnar won in Krasnegar, the imps might seek retribution against any other jotnar they could find, and there were jotnar scattered along every coast in Pandemia. If the imps won, then the Nordlanders might start their raidings again, as they had done periodically throughout history—as they still did, in a small way, all the time.
The trouble was, Inos decided angrily, that she had been cheated. Had she been a boy, then she would have been taught politics and strategy and tactics. She would not have been sent to needlework classes at Kinvale, but to fencing lessons. She might even have attended the Imperial Military Academy in Hub—her father had spent time there. Not singing madrigals, but drilling soldiers! Not the ladylike art of conversation, but intrigue, machinations, and unscrupulous scheming—those were what she needed! She knew nothing about sorcery or imperial politics or Arakkaran’s relationship with the Impire. She wasn’t even quite sure where Arakkaran was. In Zark, yes, but where was Zark? Bottom right, with Krasnegar top left . . . Master Poraganu, why did you not make me listen better?
“You are not quite of age, yet, dear.”
“I am a queen!”
“You are not behaving like one,” Kade said sharply. “At the moment you are a penniless refugee in a very distant land. Sultana Rasha is your only hope. And even if she is willing to help, as she promised, good manners require that you show decent gratitude for what she has already done, and also wait a reasonable time before you start pestering her.”
Inos glared; her aunt glared back—and Kade’s normally mild and rather watery blue eyes were capable of chilling into a very icy stare at times.
Suddenly Inos was back in Kinvale again, a much grander version of Kinvale. She was not of age, true. She was penniless, also true. Helpless—not a friend . . .
Then an interesting idea began to take shape. Not all of the skills she had gained at Kinvale were completely useless; now might be the moment to apply some. There was one person around who would certainly know a great deal more than she did about magic and politics and their dangerous combinations; even if he was a barbarian at heart. If you don’t ask, you don’t learn.
Evil! That had been one of Rap’s many little homilies. Rap had always had more proverbs than the sea had fish. He—Forget Rap! The point was that Azak could be a valuable and disinterested advisor, if he chose to be. His views on Rasha herself would certainly be informative—there was no love lost there, obviously. And Inos thought she knew how to supply motivation in such cases. There were no official lessons in that art at Kinvale, but in practice it came ahead of anything on the curriculum.
Kade might not approve, especially if she suspected Rasha would not.
Inos made a decision. “I am rightful Queen of Krasnegar! My kingdom has been stolen from me, and I swear by all the Gods that I will do—”
“Inos!” Kade’s voice rang like a blade striking armor, with all the menace of her jotunn forebears. “Do not tempt the Evil!” She made the sign of the holy balance.
Inos glared stubbornly at her. Well, she wouldn’t say it. But she meant it—do anything!
When she did not speak, Kade relaxed, and was at once apologetic for her unseemly outburst. “You must learn not to be so impetuous, dear,” she said reprovingly.
Ha! Impetuous? Just wait!
“Will you approach the sultana for me, Aunt?” Kade sighed. “If you wish.”
And Inos would seek out the Big Man.
2
Having dashed off a brief note to Sultana Rasha apologizing for yesterday’s ill temper, Inos passed the writing materials to Kade. They had settled down to letter writing in a truly charming sitting room decorated with frescoes of flowers and vines. Wide windows looked out on the cool greenery of the garden, on its fountains and sensuously vivid blossoms.
Zana had been quite astonished when her charges had asked for paper and ink—so astonished that Inos at once suspected Zana herself must be illiterate. It had taken some time for the requested articles to be fetched, but now Inos had done her part, while managing to convince herself that she was doing it of her own free will. Kade had begun to pen a note requesting an audience with the sultana, and Kade could be counted upon to take at least an hour to do so.
A little exploration seemed called for, but if Inos should just happen to get lost, and just happen to find herself somewhere in the sultan’s vicinity, then who could say what interesting conversations might ensue?
She slid quietly out into the corridor. She was not too surprised when Zana materialized in front of her.
So now she had two jailers, not just one?
“Something your Majesty requires?” Zana was close to old age, her face a sun-baked desert landscape. Although her eyes were the shade of a robin’s breast, they were also sharp as flint, and they peered down at Inos without blinking.
“Ah, there you are, Mistress!” Inos said blandly. “Little notes are all right for ladies, but not for gentlemen. I wonder if you would convey my respects to the . . . Big Man . . . and inform him that I am anxious to wait upon him at his earliest convenience?” If Zana were indeed illiterate, then verbal messages would seem quite normal to her.
Zana smiled. She had a disconcertingly wise sort of a smile. It hinted that Inos was being much less subtle than Inos thought she was. On the other hand, it did not seem particularly sinister. “I shall see that he receives the message as soon as he returns this evening, ma’am.” The upper part of her tall shape swayed forward, as if caught by an invisible wind.
“You are too kind!” Inos returned the bow and stepped past, intent on having a voyage of discovery, alone.
She had gone about six steps when the dry old voice said, “This is not the Impire, ma’am.”
Inos stopped, turned, and considered. “Obviously.”
“These apartments are very extensive, Majesty. It is quite easy to become lost. At least take Vinisha along as a guide?” Snapping her fingers, Zana produced one of the younger attendants in a feat of legerdemain that Rasha herself could hardly have bettered.
Vinisha was no older than Inos and no taller, short for a djinn. She wore the standard black garb, including a cloth over her hair, only her face and hands exposed. That face, already pink, was turning pinker as she waited for Inos’s decision.
“Of course, “ Inos said cheerfully. She was being bribed with a chance to interrogate Vinisha, who would certainly have been chosen for her discretion, but it was a fair trade, and a guide would admittedly be advisable in a place this size. “If my aunt asks for me, pray inform her that I shall be back shortly.”
All her life, Inos’s closest friends had been the children of her father’s servants. At Kinvale she had befriended the domestics quite successfully until Kade convinced her that it was kinder not to. She thought she might handle Vinisha better than Zana expected.
“I in just curious to explore the guest apartments, “ Inos said, striding along the wide corridor. “No, please walk beside me.” Vinisha moved to her side obediently. She had beautiful features, and she moved with a sinuous grace that Inos knew she would never master. Even on skates, she could not move like that.
“Is there anything special I ought to be looking for?” she asked. ”Any fine works of art?” There was nothing much to be seen in the corridor, unless stained-glass skylights were worthy of note.
Vinisha looked blank. “No, ma’am.”
“Well, what’s the best way to go? How many rooms are there?”
Blanker. “I don’t know, ma’am.”
Vinisha had not been chosen for her discretion. Vinisha had been chosen for her stupidity. Inos sighed.
“The sul . . . The palace must entertain a lot of guests?” Vinisha’s eyes flickered at Inos and then straight ahead againblankly, of course, and now worried, also. “I don’t know, ma’am.”
Inos let two cross-corridors and a large hall go by before she tried again. ”Well,” she said as cheerfully as she could manage. “These are very extensive apartments for catering to visitors.”
Relief! “These aren’t normally guest quarters, Majesty. They were Prince Harakaz’s habitation.”
“Were?”
“Yes, ma’am. He died very suddenly.”
“How sad! A close relative of the . . . the Big Man?”
“A brother.”
“Tragic! This happened recently?”
“Just a few days ago.” Vinisha was not reluctant to talk, once she was on a subject she understood. “His quarters and chattels had not yet been reassigned, and Mistress Zana thought we might enjoy entertaining royal ladies.”