“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.”
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.”
“I said some nasty things, as I recall. That he was odious and sneaky. That she didn’t love him. That she was only marrying him for his money and because her mother was insisting.” Inos smiled. “That was before you taught me to be more discreet, Aunt. But at least I just said them to you, not to anyone else.”
Kade bit her lip. “What about her?”
“You told me that she would learn to love him. That unless a man was a real horror, a woman could learn to live with him and be happy, and often love had to come later.”
A sickly little smile appeared on Kade’s lips and vanished like a melting snowflake. “I may have said something like that. But—”
“And in this case, the God told me to trust in love. What Azak did for me—has been doing for me … he is doing for me. For love.” She had seen Azak only twice, and briefly, in the past week. Both meetings had been very public and formal, and the two of them had hardly spoken to each other. His face had been unreadable, stern and wooden. The sacrifice he was making for her was a strange and cruel one, but no less a sacrifice for that. “No man enjoys losing, Aunt. Abject surrender is hard for anyone. From a proud man like Azak it almost ranks as a miracle! It proves his love, don’t you see? We must trust in love.”
Inos had been repeating that sentiment for a week now—to Kade by day and to herself by night—so she must really believe it. Mustn’t she?
Kade nodded, slightly pink. “I wish you both all happiness, my dear.” She meant it; she did not expect it.
At the height of their quarrel, Kade had said some very painful things, but Inos would forgive them and forget them. Today she could not hold a grievance against anyone, for today was her wedding day. Today she was to be happy. Wasn’t she?
Every girl must feel nervous on her wedding day. Every bride must know this feeling of a lump of ice in her belly.
She had not told Kade about the sculleries. Rasha had been serious in her threats, and only Azak’s surrender had stopped her from carrying them out. The sculleries alone made the marriage inevitable, to save Kade from being worked to a quick death scrubbing out acres of stone floors.
Unthinkable.
Ladylike banter? “A rather brief betrothal, Aunt.”
“Yes, dear?”
“But longer than my last one, I believe.”
“A great improvement. As I recall, we hadn’t opened the wine to toast your engagement before you were lining up in front of the bishop.”
“And then Rap—” Inos shrugged. The conversation wasn’t going anywhere. But if Rap had not burst in and stopped the wedding, what would have happened then?
“I still feel that perhaps there has been too much haste in …” Kade trailed into silence, and in that hall of mirrors it was impossible to tell whether she had stopped because of Inos’s expression, or because what she was about to say was much too late now, or because a dozen black-clad Zanas had suddenly appeared. Zana had mysteriously returned to the palace the day after Inos did, and had again taken charge of the royal guests’ comforts. Without Zana, today would have collapsed into chaos long since.
“His Largeness is here?” Inos moved hands expansively.
Zana nodded, eyes atwinkle. With deft fingers she pulled down the veils to make Inos respectable. Inos peered out at the world through a mist of fine lace, seeing icebergs in all directions.
Suddenly the mirrors had a new reflection to play with as the massive green form of grizzled Prince Gutturaz filled the doorway, swaying stiffly f
orward in a bow. He advanced three paces and bowed again. Then two lines of excited young pages came sweeping into sight from behind his eclipsing bulk.
Chattering and giggling, the boys headed for Inos and their allotted places. Most of them were very small, but all twelve were princes, clad in green, come to bear the bride’s train to their father’s wedding.
3
God of Fools!
Running, running, he kept running. Hills were steep, and stairs were steeper. Not like home, where both were covered—open here, but steep and winding.
Lith’rian … The Evil take him. Must have known it!
“Let me by, please!”
Too close to call, that’s how he’d put it. Maybe. Maybe. Just romantic? Just keep running. Sweat romantic, smell romantic? Dodge round corners … Push past donkeys, keep on running. Sword kept bouncing, people looking. Royal wedding, flags and banners. Inosolan getting married? Inosolan leave her homeland? Didn’t sound like Inosolan!
God of Fools, he should have waited, just a moment. Should have stayed for just a moment, stayed to tell the other two.
Then they’d both have started running, running up the hill like him. He could run a great deal faster; the way he ran would surely kill them, they would burst their hearts for sure. Trouble was, he should have told them, told them he was going to Inos, not just dashed off like a crazy, leaving them to mind the boat. Sword kept bouncing, people looking. No one else was armed at all. If he didn’t get to Inos, then he’d quickly be arrested, and the others wouldn’t know. Gathmor, Darad couldn’t help him, even so he should have told them; maybe now they’d come to find him—and that wouldn’t help at all. He’d be dead by then for certain and that wouldn’t help at all.
“Let me by, please!”
Worst of all was indecision—just what could he hope to do? Even if he got to Inos, what in heaven could he do? Tell her maybe that he loved her, put it into words just once? If that was all, he’d better hurry—get there while she still was single, even if she was engaged. Talk of love to married women likely made their men enraged.
Royal wedding in the palace, palace at the very crest. Palace didn’t show on farsight! Sorceress was there for certain, hidden in that palace-blank. If a man climbed in a window, then the guards would surely kill him—all intruders in a palace were most surely put to death.
What a warren! It kept winding. Steeper, steeper grew the stairs. Heart was straining, breath was labored, and it didn’t feel romantic. If he hadn’t had his farsight, he’d have never found a way.
Now the palace loomed above him, but the gate was leagues ahead, and the scrimmage in the forecourt was the local population, being feasted by the sultan in a wedding celebration—there were thousands in the courtyard at the wedding jubilee. So the gates were being guarded, extra-guarded from the crowd. If a stranger with a saber tried to enter by the forecourt, then the guards would want to argue and provide some entertainment for the wedding jubilee.
The wall that ran beside him … it was high but it was old, and the mortar in the stonework had been weathered very deep. A criminal like Thinal could just scramble up the stonework, could just clamber like a fly; and an adept could do anything that anyone could do.
Stop!
Heart … lungs … legs shaking … head swimming …
Don’t know … what’s on other side … was that a whinny?
What have I got to lose?
4
The trumpets blared. Through the white mist of lace, Inos watched the great doors swing open before her. With one hand resting on the well-padded arm of Prince Gutturaz, she floated forward very slowly, mindful always of the stumpy legs of the tiny trainbearers behind her … mindful also of icebergs drifting through the pack, visible sometimes from the castle windows in Krasnegar. Never again.
She entered the Great Hall. She had not seen—had not even heard mention of—the Great Hall until the rehearsals began. She would believe anyone who told her it was the largest covered space in Pandemia.
Head up. No need to smile. No one could see.
On either hand stood the massed commonfolk worthies of Arakkaran in their finest finery; up ahead were the princes, from very young to very old, in green. The young outnumbered the old. All held their eyes forward, not turning around to gape at her. There was nothing to see but an iceberg.
The sun’s sharp glare stabbed in through windows high overhead, to be diverted by filigree of marble and reflected from rib and pier and slab until it floated down upon the congregation like a mist of milk. All men. Kade would be on the platform, being official mother of the bride, and a side section had been reserved for Azak’s sisters, few of whom Inos had ever met. Women played little part in even domestic affairs here, and the marriage of a sultan was not a domestic affair, it was state business. Kar had explained that. By rights this should be a political marriage—Azak should be wedding the daughter of some neighbor state, to cement an alliance. He was breaking a tradition and taking a risk by marrying an outsider, a homeless nobody. The official proclamation had named her as a queen, but who had been deceived?
Citherns and other instruments of torment twanged and whined faintly in an alien dirge … walk slowly …
Behind her, distant already, the great doors thumped shut with a reverberating impact like the end of the world, like the final reckoning of the Good and the Evil—The End! It rolled from arch to arch and pillar to pillar, raining echoes, fading away above the distant dais that was her destination.
Ahead of her white marble stretched, flat as a frozen canal, all the way to that dais where the rest of the wedding party waited. Back and center was the throne, and on the throne sat Rasha, victorious. She was even wearing royal green, although a very dark, lustrous green. Already Inos could see the hot red eyes above the filmy yashmak, the circlet of emeralds and pearls that was Rasha’s only ornamentation, the crimson nails idly picking at the arms of the throne. She was girt in her illusions of youth and beauty. Inos had those, also, and by right.
Zarkian custom made one strange concession to womanhood, or motherhood—at weddings a woman presided from the throne. Had Azak’s grandfather’s wife been alive, she would have sat there until her replacement was installed. There being no true sultana at present, that throne should by rights stay empty until Azak led his bride to it at the end of the ceremony. But Rasha had insisted and Azak had consented without dispute. Her triumph complete, an ancient strumpet sat upon the throne of Arakkaran. What bitter satisfaction did it give her?
At least she had not tried to claim the royal sash, which still glittered green across the sultan’s chest, and now he came in from one side, to stand and wait for his approaching bride. Tall and fierce and handsome, showing his eagle profile. Dear Azak?
Poor Azak! His long humiliation was over now, surely? He had served his seven days and nights of penance. Rasha would bait and harry him no more. Or would she? Inos had no guarantee of that; she had heard no promise. Must she share her husband with the twisted old harlot as well as with all the son-breeding women of his harem?
And tonight? What sort of replacement would Inos be? She had offered prayers that she would not disappoint him on his wedding night. She wanted to please him. She must trust him—he was certainly experienced.
He was handsome and virile and royal; and loved her. What more could a maiden’s dreams require? This was a much richer land than Krasnegar. The God had promised her a happy ending.
She was almost at the steps. There was the iman, ancient and inclined to spray spittle. There was the ever-smiling, baby-face Kar, best man and vigilant bodyguard. There was young Prince Quarazak, proudly holding a green cushion, tall for his age. On the cushion lay the slender golden necklace that symbolized marriage in Zark. Inos had made a halfhearted effort to substitute a ring, Imperial style, but in Zark they preferred a necklace. Kade had been very upset when she heard of the necklace. Inos had tried to make a joke of it, claiming that a chain was merely less subtle than a ring, but the
y both meant much the same.
The whole Zarkian ceremony was less subtle. She mounted the two steps to the dais. She turned to face Azak, and Gutturaz steadied her as she knelt on the waiting cushion, awkward in her massive gown.
The music died and was buried in the sea-sound of the audience being seated.
The iman tottered forward, clutching a book. Azak advanced a few paces, flanked by Kar and shiny-eyed little Quarazak.
He couldn’t see her face, but surely he could give her a smile? Kar was smiling.
It was amazing the sultan could move under all the jewels encrusting him. Even the fabulous emerald sash was dulled by their glory. He was absolute monarch of a rich kingdom.
And Inos was a nobody. She had explained that over and over to Kade.
Silence settled like the dust of the ages. Coughing and rustling faded. The last chair leg scraped harshly and alone.
The iman cleared his throat. He began.
Azak’s responses rang out like the royal edicts they were. He promised many things: care, protection. Love.
Then it was her turn. Inos tried to make her voice carry, but she tried also not to shout.
She promised everything.
And Quarazak held out the cushion so the iman could bless the chain. He offered it then to his father and Azak reached for it, every link gleaming in the evening sunlight.
It slid out of reach again as the boy turned slightly to glance at the distant doors, puzzled. Then Azak heard what younger ears had heard first and looked that way, also. Kar … turbans in the audience were twisting around. A strange noise outside the hall?
Faint but coming closer? Shouting? Thuds?
Swords?
Azak turned his head to look at Rasha, and Rasha was frowning above the green gauze silk of her yashmak.
Rasha sprang to her feet.
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