Inos paused at a junction and then headed for a shady cloister, flanking another jewellike garden. It led to a wide and promising flight of stairs. Vinisha floated along at her side. A group of women in black stepped aside and curtsied. The steps were wide, carved in sumptuous black and white stone. The walls were plain white marble; already Inos was becoming so inured to marble that she hardly noticed it.
“And who is Mistress Zana, exactly?”
“The Big Man’s eldest sister.”
Already halfway up, Inos glanced wonderingly at her companion. “Then she is a princess?”
Vinisha looked puzzled again. Inos waited patiently. She could hear voices up ahead, faintly.
“I ‘m not sure what a princess is, Majesty.” This was not the Impire, Zana had said. “Then what is a sultan’s daughter?”
“A woman, ma’am.”
The conversation was making no sense to either of them. The stairs led to yet another corridor, with large arched windows. Inos noted a dazzling view of the city and the bay, but she was not in the mood for admiring scenery. She was becoming extremely baffled and anxious not to show it.
“Zana looks old enough to be Azak’s mother, or even his grandmother. ”
That observation won no reaction, so was apparently not remarkable. At the next junction Inos paused, then headed in search of the voices.
“Then by what title should she be addressed?”
“Just Mistress Zana, or `ma’am,’ ma’am.”
Another bend brought the sound closer and also brought more windows, with a vista of a wide park. In the distance men were riding horses. Now that was promising!
“Oh, I love horses! Do you ride, Vinisha?”
Vinisha’s beautiful eyes opened about as wide as was possible.
Inos sighed again. She swung away from the window and tried not to break into an unladylike march. She went back to personalities, as those seemed to be about her companion’s limit for conversation. “Is she married—Zana, I mean?”
A puzzled headshake. “Not that I know of, Majesty.”
“Funny. She sort of seems so . . . motherly.”
“Oh, yes! She has borne five sons.”
Inos gaped. “And how many daughters?”
The djinn blushed and did not answer. Evidently that question was improper.
Inos’s view of Arakkaran as a larger, richer Kinvale was crumbling rapidly. ”But never married? Who was their father?” Vinisha frowned in thought. ”I’m not sure, ma’am. More than one, likely.”
May the Good preserve me! What would Kade say to all this? Now they were passing doors, all leading to very splendid bedchambers—large and airy, furnished in fine furniture and silks. The beds were very large and looked comfortable. Kinvale had boasted nothing finer. Obviously the late Prince Harakaz had been a very important personage.
The corridor ended at yet another door. It was ajar, emitting sounds of children laughing and playing. A classroom? Inos hesitated, suddenly reluctant to push that door fully open; afraid of what she might find. Many children, obviously, and she could hear women’s voices, also. Babies crying? A nursery?
She clutched at the one attractive idea that had come out of this bewildering exploration.
“I suppose if I wanted to go riding, that could be arranged? For a guest, it could? Couldn’t it?”
Vinisha’s face registered desolation. She seemed close to tears. ”Riding, Majesty? On horses? But. . .”
“But what?” Inos snapped. “But you’d have to go out!”
“Out of what?”
“Out of this habitation.”
Inos took a deep breath. “Prince Harakaz’s habitation? These quarters?”
Vinisha nodded vigorously, looking relieved.
“You mean you don’t? Don’t go out? Not even into the rest of the palace? Never?”
Each question brought a vehement headshake. God of Mercy!
A word spoken earlier suddenly registered. “You said ‘chattels’! Reassigned? You were . . . You didn’t mean . . . You meant you! Assigned to him?”
Vinisha nodded solemnly, seeming more confused and worried than ever. And Inos could feel her own face burning; she must be the redder of the two now.
“Exactly what were your duties for Prince Harakaz?”
“Exactly?”
“No!” Inos said hastily. “In general.”
A wide smile of relief restored Vinisha’s face to its normal youthful beauty. She laid a hand on the door. “Would you like to see my baby?” she asked hopefully.
3
Inos eventually discovered the main door without having to ask. It was locked, and a peek through a window told her that there were armed guards outside. What she had believed to be the palace itself was merely a minor mansion assigned to the late Prince Harakaz, and he had been one of the junior princes—that much Vinisha knew. The whole palace complex seemed to be larger than the towns of Krasnegar and Kinford put together.
In a dark mood, Inos returned to Kade and found her happily inspecting the unfamiliar flowers in one of the enclosed gardens. The day only got worse as it went along. The royal guests were welcome to enjoy all the comforts of these quarters, but no, it would not be possible for them to leave without the Big Man’s permission—or Sultana Rasha’s, of course, but Zana firmly refused to discuss the sorceress. Nor would she say much about “the Big Man,” either.
Once Inos had thought of Kinvale as a prison. This place might be even more luxurious, but it was even more of a prison. The note to Rasha brought no reply, and Zana explained patiently that the Big Man would very likely be off hunting, so he would not receive Inos’s message until he returned at sunset.
Inquiries about Azak and Rasha—how long they had respectively reigned, what their relationship was, how the people felt about them—all were politely declined. Even Kade began to look restless. Her cheerful talk about enjoying a welcome rest after the rigors of the long forest trek started to sound hollow.
The day grew crushingly hot. Inos indulged in another protracted bath, reflecting that she had several dozen to make up. Kade experimented with a wide variety of sweetmeats and unfamiliar foods. Inos counted forty women in the ”habitation,” some old, some barely nubile. They were polite, charming, and completely incapable of discussing anything except themselves and their children and the exciting prospect of being assigned to the household of some other prince in the near future. Vinisha had not been stupid; she had been typical.
Inos also tried counting babies and children, and lost track at thirty-something.
Zana admitted that she did not know how many princes there were in the palace. Hundreds if you counted all the boy babies, she said. Adults . . . maybe a hundred? But any royal male with a mustache was an adult, with a household of his own.
And yes, even those would have women assigned to them. This was not the Impire. By all the Gods, this was not the Impire!
“Djinns are worse than jotnar!” Inos stormed to Kade when they happened to be alone for a few minutes.
Kade blinked her pale-blue eyes reproachfully. “Krasnegar jotnar, maybe. I don’t know about the Nordland type, though.” Remembering the stories of Thane Kalkor, Inos quickly changed the subject.
Just after sunset, Zana excitedly informed Inos that the Big Man had received her message and would pay his respects to her the following morning. That seemed promising, although puzzling. Should not the visitor be paying her respects to the host?
After some thought, Inos went and told Kade of the appointment. To have kept it a secret would have been to admit that Kade was in charge, and Inos was determined that she was now queen, hence senior. Kade merely enthused, as was her custom, and did not inquire why she had not been consulted—thus making her niece feel infuriatingly guilty.
And a few minutes later Zana appeared to both of them with the information that they were invited to attend the state dinner that very evening, apparently a rare honor. If the formalities were to take place the next morning, dinner parties should have come afterward, surely? This was not the Impire.
Inos indulged in a third bath and reveled in the luxury of letting herself be dressed in an even softer, filmier gown. Dubiously she permitted a mantilla over her hair, but then the attendants produced a veil, intended to hide her face below the eyes. By now she desperately needed to score a point or two, and she adamantly refused to wear it. That led to an argument with Zana herself. The Big Man already knew what she looked like, Inos said, and this was the only face she had, and she wasn’t ashamed of it. Zana yielded reluctantly, with deep disapproval. It was only needed until the guests arrived at the dinner, she protested—guards and other lowly men would see. Let them, Inos retorted. Kade stayed out of the discussion, which meant that she approved, and she did not wear a veil, either.
Zana herself was included in the invitation, apparently. She had discarded her black in favor of a fine gown of ivory silk, with much jewelry and a pearl-embroidered wimple that made Inos want to whistle in astonishment. Leaving their large band of attendants twittering in approval, the three ladies swept off to attend the state dinner.