blandness masked them, and as Lalo opened his mouth to reply, Zanderei turned
away.
A meek nonenity, Lalo had thought him when the Prince introduced the
Commissioners to them all, and now Zanderei was a mouse once more. Lalo frowned,
trying to understand.
A youthful eunuch, somewhat overaware of the splendor of his new purple satin
and fringe, approached with a tray of pewter goblets. It was wine of Caronne,
the whisper ran, cooled by snow that had been packed in sawdust all the way from
the northern mountains whose possession was now being disputed so bitterly. The
Commissioners took new goblets, and Coricidius motioned the slave away.
Lalo, whose cup was almost empty, looked after him longingly, but did not quite
have the confidence to call him back again. I should have used myself as a mode]
for the cowardly Ilsig King, he thought bitterly. Too many people here remember
when I was drinking myself to death and Gilla took in laundry from the
merchants’ wives, and I am afraid they will laugh at me. …
And yet he had painted the walls of the Temple of the Rankan gods, he had
decorated this hall, and the Prince himself had complimented him. Why could he
not be satisfied? Once my dream was to paint the truth beneath the skin, he
thought then. What do I want now?
The air pulsed with polite conversation as rich merchants of Sanctuary pretended
they were accustomed to such affairs, the Rankans tried to look as if they were
enjoying this one, and the Prince and his officers uneasily enjoyed the Empire’s