disappearance. How, she wondered, could Shupansea have so bewitched him? Still,
she ached for her Little Prince when he hung his head in shame.
Daphne released Dayrne’s arm, dismissed him with a nod. He moved a few steps
back to stand beside Daxus. Daphne floated past her prince-husband. She stopped
directly before Shupansea.
“You do look like a carp, as I’ve been told,” Daphne said with some amusement.
Shupansea shot another hateful glance at Chenaya. “Perhaps you’re descended from
fishes.” Daphne paused to survey the faces of those around her. Nobody made a
sound, but all pressed closer to hear the exchange. She turned back to the
Beysa. “But whatever you are,” she continued, “I’ll tell you what you are not
and never will be. You are not Kadakithis’s wife. That title will never be
yours. Divorce is forbidden among the noble families of Ranke.”
Shupansea regarded the younger woman coldly, un-moving, unspeaking.
Daphne went on mercilessly. “Oh, I don’t plan to stay here, so I won’t be in
your way. I’ve made quarters at Land’s End with Lowan Vigeles and the Lady
Chenaya whom the gods allowed to find and rescue me.” She put on a false smile
and looked on Shupansea as she might have looked on a worm. “You can have
Kadakithis if you want him. But you’ll never be more than his concubine. Number
eight if I recall, though the others are dead or wish they were.” Daphne’s smile
vanished. “If you love him, though, the role of whore may be enough.”
Kadakithis made a foolish attempt to change the subject. “Who is this poor