Red-eyed and haggard, Jalon fumbled for the pipes. He had worn them on a thong around his neck ever since Gathmor had asked what would happen if they fell overboard.
“I hope I remember the tune!”
“If you don’t, we’re going to wreck a lot of shipping!” Queen and her rigging were seemingly indestructible, but other craft were not. All over the bay, frightened men were hauling in sail as the freak storm roared in from the Spring Sea, turning silver water to lead and blowing a fog of spray. No one would notice one small unfamiliar boat in this sudden turmoil. The minstrel began piping the gentle strains of “Rest, My Beloved,” and the wind faltered, then began to subside. Jalon had played that song only once on the journey, after Rap’s nagging had led him to summon a typhoon so hectic that both crew and cargo had been in danger of being hurled overboard.
Rap ducked under the sail and knelt on the baggage in the bow, being tossed up and down and soaked by spray. He had not been dry in two weeks. He peered anxiously at the huge city ahead. His plans were vague in the extreme—find Inos, yes, but how? The palace alone was bigger than all of Krasnegar, or Durthing. Arakkaran was twice the size of Noom or Finrain, the only real cities he knew. He saw much shipping tied up along the waterfront, but less activity than he would have expected in the streets. The hour was too late for siesta and too early for serious drinking.
And this was not the Impire. The laws and those who made them might frown on visitors with no credentials and no patron. There would be jotnar aplenty in a port of this size, but a faun would be a rarity, and an oversized faun with goblin tattoos round his eyes was a conspicuous freak.
The boat settled lower in the water as the wind continued to drop. For the first time in two weeks the haze lifted, and the Queen sailed in clear sunlight. Rap crawled back below the sail, to find Jalon stripping off his clothes.
“You’ll not be wanting me, Rap?” he asked apologetically. “You can manage the pipes if you need them?”
“Of course.”
“Darad?”
“Yes, I think so. And, Jalon—thanks worlds!” Rap thumped the slim minstrel on the shoulder and won a grin. Once again, as in Dragon Reach, Jalon had revealed surprising tenacity. He could have departed at any time, just by wishing, yet he had stayed to endure two weeks of vicious battering and sleeplessness, cold and wet and salt sores, danger and boredom. He might not be a pureblood jotunn, but even Gathmor now conceded he was made of the right stuff.
“My pleasure!” The minstrel smiled through his stubble, wincing at the salt cracks in his lips. “I’m planning a romantic ballad about you, Rap, for the elves. And a saga for imps. Maybe a battle song for jotnar?”
“I hope not!”
“Don’t be surprised! Go with the Good.” Jalon shook Rap’s hand, and the Queen of Krasnegar wallowed as Darad’s great bulk replaced him. A whiff of spray blew over the naked giant and he roared like a sea lion in springtime. ”Might have dressed me first!” he complained, and spread his wolflike leer.
“Welcome aboard! Your clothes are in there.” Rap pointed at a bundle. He turned to the red-eyed, bristle-faced Gathmor. “See anything odd about this town, Cap’n?”
Gathmor narrowed his eyes and stared. “Like what?”
“Bunting? Streets quiet?”
“Public holiday?” Gathmor said, nodding. “Maybe. Celebration?”
Rap felt a twinge of premonition. He glanced at the bundle of swords.
“What we do now, sir?” Darad was busily hauling on pants vast enough to furnish the sails of a galleon. So far the boat’s cargo had supplied everything her crew had needed, down to the last needle. Obviously Lith’rian must have perfect foresight, and Rap worried constantly over what else the warlock might have foreseen—some event too close to call.
“I think we dock.” Rap pondered. Yes, he was learning to trust these twinges of his, this evidence of his adepthood. “And then . . . then I think you two stay and guard the boat. I’ll go ashore and ask someone what all the flags are for.”
H
2
Inos had been ready for hours, or so it seemed. Her gown was heavy and hot; she had wandered out on the balcony—to be alone, to enjoy the cool breezes, to stare down unseeing at the jeweled city and the blue enamel of the harbor. How brightly colors glowed under a tropic sun! How black the shadows. How very black.
Yet today the hard edges were softened by a curious and inexplicable mist, through which she saw another city—a smaller, drabber, shabby town under a grayer sky, by a harbor that most of the year was a white plain. She still had not quite adjusted to the certainty that she would never return there, although that possibility had been obvious ever since the sorceress stole her away. The good folk of Krasnegar might never know what had happened to their princess. And she might never learn what had happened to them.
May they find happiness. May I.
A swirl of dust in her face brought her back to harsh reality. Palm fronds thrashed and danced; something tugged at her veils. As if to match her mood, a sudden squall had blown in from the Spring Sea, turning the lucent bay an umbral shade and shooing all the little boats before it like frightened ducklings. Inos circled carefully and swept back into the room.
It must be almost time for her to go down. The Gut would be here any minute, Prince Gutturaz who was to escort the bride. He was Azak’s oldest surviving brother, and a portly man.
Organizing a wedding in Zark had turned out to be quite easy. Inos had merely told Kar what she wanted, and Kar had done as he pleased. Then Azak had ordered it all changed. Finally Rasha had rearranged the whole plan. Not difficult at all.
Almost the only decisions Inos had been allowed to make for herself had concerned her gown, and those choices had been held to within extremely narrow limits, decreed by tradition. Now she was swathed in enough lace to drape every window in Krasnegar, enough pearls to ransom a warlock. Pearls were a Zarkian symbol of virginity. She wondered if the oysters believed that.
She paused to scowl at herself in one of the innumerable mirrors that had infested her apartment, crowding it like a bazaar—hanging mirrors, freestanding mirrors, square, round, and oval mirrors. There she was, scowling everywhere, the human iceberg. At the moment she still had her veils raised, but when they were down she could not be distinguished from an iceberg, not even by experts. The room was packed with icebergs. She could have left her hair in curlers and painted her face blue and no one would ever notice under all this.
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” said a familiar voice. “You look charming.”
Inos preferred not to turn around in case she tangled her train, so she located a Kade reflection and spoke to that.
“I do not look charming! I do not look at all! If we left this gown on the dressmaker’s dummy, and wheeled that into the hall instead of me, then I think the iman could marry it to Azak without anyone noticing.”
Kade fluttered, and for a moment Inos thought she was going to suggest that they do just that, but Kade would never be so unkind. Instead she said, ”Well, every land has its own ways, dear. And weddings are always very traditional.” With a satisfied nod at this insight, she turned away to consult a mirror, smiling politely to her reflection as if thinking it needed reassurance also.
Kade was almost invisible herself, bundled in rolls of a heavy gold cloth that did not suit her complexion; it must also be even hotter and heavier than Inos’s wedding gown. Only the lower part of her face would be veiled for the ceremony, as mature male Arakkaranians could apparently be trusted not to riot at the sight of Kade’s eyes.
She thought Inos was making a terrible mistake. She had said so when Inos had told her the news, a week ago.
Hot words then; cold words ever since.
Even now, Kade was visibly fretting, unhappy about the match, unwilling to upset Inos on her wedding day, aware that it was too late to stop the avalanche anyway—every word of that was written in her eyes and the set of her mouth.
Inos contrived to turn around without knotting herself. “Do you remember Agimoonoo?”
Kade blinked and then said, “Yes?” uncertainly.
“It was just after I arrived at Kinvale. She announced her engagement to that fat customs official. Remember?”
“Yes. I remember.”