I stopped worrying about baths and started worrying about Kveta. Dropping his quiz glass, Javes withdrew his attention from the window and transferred it to the king.
“Ambushments by rivals.”
Laurel looked away from the fire to Jusson, his mouth still set as it’d been downstairs in the great hall.
“Battle wizards, foreign court guards, and presuming princesses.”
There was a knock on the door and I jumped, my fear of exposed bathing flooding back. But it wasn’t Berenice, bath brush in hand. The door opened to reveal Bertram, along with castle servants bearing trays of steaming goblets and platters of tidbits to tide us over to the evening meal. I frowned—in all the commotion I hadn’t realized that Bertram hadn’t come with us up to the king’s chambers. He paused just inside the door, his large gray eyes darting to me as he took in the charged atmosphere, and I waved him in. As Jusson had pointed out, Kveta wasn’t the only predator with big teeth downstairs and the last thing I wanted to do was to explain to Mistress Inga how I lost her youngest boy. Ducking his head, Bertram led the servants to the table, where they quickly and competently arranged their wares. Distracted, we all watched, taking note of the delicacies attractively displayed for our snacking pleasure.
Sighing, Jusson walked over to the table and snagged one of the goblets. Sitting down in his crowned chair, he leaned back and took a long gulp before lowering his cup to watch the castle servants leave again, the King’s Own outside making sure that none lingered once the door was shut firmly behind them. The king then looked at Suiden still at the window. “What ships are in the harbor?”
“Besides the usual, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, “there is a Qarant merchantman, a Turalian ship of the line, and a convoy of windriders just arriving.”
I glanced back at my own window. Though I’d seen the convoy, I’d not noticed the others.
Jusson nodded. “I suppose the merchantman is Captain Kveta’s.”
“It looks to be one of the Damas’,” Javes said, his quiz glass returning to the view below. “The Good Jest.”
“Why would a declared free agent not have her own ship?” Thadro asked. Instead of joining the exodus to the windows, he moved to stand behind the king’s chair, his watchful gaze on Suiden.
“Excellent question,” Jusson said.
“And according to Her Highness, she sailed with Captain Kveta,” Thadro continued. “So why the Turalian warship?”
Jusson waved that aside with his goblet. “With Princess Rajya’s rank and birth, they could’ve legitimately claimed need for a bevy of ships for both pomp and protection,” he said. “In fact, I’m surprised there’s only one escort.”
“The ship isn’t for protection, Your Majesty,” Suiden said. “At least not primarily. It’s mine.”
The goblet stopped midwave. “Yours,” Jusson repeated.
“It used to be my flagship, m’Aurflagrare.”
“I remember the Golden Flame from my own days at sea, Captain Prince,” Jusson said, his eyes narrowed. “The pride of the Turalian navy, the best of the Empire’s ships of the line. It’s odd that she is sent here in supposedly nonhostile waters, instead of helping in Tural’s expansion and pacification efforts.”
“She is over twenty-five years old, Your Majesty,” Suiden said.
“Therefore worn out and suited to be duenna of the seas?” Jusson asked. “Perhaps. But still, the amir did send it, surely knowing that you at the very least would hear of its arrival if not see it outright. Why?”
Suiden drew a hand over his face, his clan markings vivid for a moment in the afternoon light from the windows. He expelled a breath. “Court politics, Your Majesty. It truly has nothing to do with me—”
“Last I heard, you were still crown prince, no matter that you’ve been in exile for almost half your life,” Jusson said. “I would say that the politics of your uncle’s court have everything to do with you.”
“It’s a game, Your Majesty,” Suiden said. “The amir plays one faction against the other, holding my return as a threat against those who perhaps get ideas contrary to what he thinks they should have.” He shrugged, his mouth turned down. “Someone must’ve had some very big ideas that the amir is deflating by flinging me at them. Hard.”
“I don’t think it’s court politics, sir,” I said, surprising everyone, including myself. I continued anyway. “I think the amir wants you back.”
Suiden aimed his grim look at me and I pressed my lips together so nothing else could slip out. But it was too late.
“Oh?” Jusson asked. “Why do you think that, Rabbit?”
I looked away from the captain to Jusson. It wasn’t any better. “The fact that Princess Rajya did call him father, sire. Deliberately and publicly, along with her soldiers who knelt, calling him father too.”
“It is how Turalian soldiers salute their officers,” Thadro said.
“Yes,” Jusson said. “In the navy it’s different, but then Turalian sailors enjoy liberties that those land bound do not have. As do Turalian wizards—especially the court ones. Judging by the tattoos, the one downstairs is high-ranking court and has probably taken all sorts of liberties.”
“True, Your Majesty,” Javes said. Dropping his quiz glass, he moved away from the window. “If it weren’t for our own mages and whatnot, I’d be very worried with Master Baldy lurking about.”
“Yes,” Wyln said, his frown returning. “He is not a sycophant who received his court position through patronage and judicious bribes. He actually earned it.”
“Competent or not,” Jusson said, “he and the rest of the Turals gave you, Captain Prince, the same obeisance as if you were still of the First Rank, standing on the top step of the Sun Throne and privileged to gaze upon His Glory’s face. Perhaps Rabbit is right. Perhaps the amir does want you back—”
“He can whistle for it, then, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, his voice harsh.
Silence fell, heavy and dense.
“You’ve no desire to go home, Prince Suiden?” Jusson asked into the quiet.
“I didn’t break faith,” Suiden said. “The amir broke it with me.”
“Yes, I remember,” Jusson said. “Over a concubine upon whom His Glory bestowed so much, to the detriment of so many.”
“All that I had, all that I was, is gone. My marriages dissolved, my wives given to others, my children raised by strangers.”
I blinked at Suiden, remembering his offhandedness as he mentioned his three wives back in Freston. Apparently he wasn’t as dispassionate about losing his spouses as he had seemed. His eyes were just as bright as they had been then, but now I could see the fires burning within them.
“My son and daughters too are strangers, bearing alien nom’clatura”—Suiden’s hand went up to his suddenly not-so-faded clan markings on his forehead and alongside his right eye—“declaring them not of my family, not of my blood.”
“There weren’t any nom’clatura on Her Highness,” Thadro pointed out.
So there weren’t. The princess’ skin had been smoothly brown, without ink mark or blemish.
“There are wizards that are skilled in removing distinguishing marks and tattoos,” Suiden said. “I visited one myself on my way out of Tural. I figured it would throw my pursuers off—at least until Sro Wizard sold them the news of my changed appearance. Still, it bought me enough time to escape. Perhaps that eunuch of a wizard downstairs removed Rajya’s.”
My knees locked together while beside me Jeff and Arlis shifted, all three of us giving Captain Suiden horrified stares. Even Laurel’s ears went flat against his skull. Thadro, though, remained unrattled by the fate of the wizard’s stones, as was Wyln, who gave a faint smile.
“In Tural,” the enchanter said, educating unsophisticated us, “the male slaves, servants, and retainers that serve in a maiden noble or royal household are castrated—”
“Not him, Lord Wyln,” Javes said, interrupting. “He’s intact.”
“You can tell?” T
hadro asked, surprised out of his worldly nonchalance.
“Kveta is not the only wolf present, right, honored Javes?” Laurel said.
Javes’ face flushed dull red.
“So, judging by Javes’ nose,” Jusson said, “the only thing our wizardly guest is missing is his hair. Which means that this wizard is not Princess Rajya’s, and we’re back to the conclusion that he is part and parcel of Suiden’s old flagship arriving with elite troops who, wearing his device, claim him as their lord and officer.”
“And Her Highness, sire,” Thadro said, “who, lack of nom’clatura notwithstanding, was very willing to name Suiden her father.”
“Politics, sir,” Suiden said again. “She was told what to say and who to say it to. Perhaps she was even told why. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t because she had a sudden yen to reestablish family ties.” The captain’s eyes blazed. “There are none to establish. My casim—my house—was destroyed. My friends had to repudiate me to save their own casimi. Even my mother dares not communicate directly with me; she gives verbal messages to whomever she knows is coming to Iversterre, hoping that they would be passed on—and not twisted for the messenger’s gain. All because the amir had an itch he refused to stop scratching.” That blazing gaze moved to me and I felt scorched by its heat. “You say that the amir wants me back. Well, he can want the sun, moon, and stars too. He has just as much a chance getting them.”
The thought flashed across my mind that regardless of the amir’s plotting—and regardless of who raised her—Princess Rajya was still Suiden’s daughter, with all that entailed. Including having a dragon for a father. I then realized that Jusson, Thadro, Suiden, Laurel, and Wyln were all looking at me.
“Uhm,” I said.
Javes sighed. “You know, I would’ve thought you’d have that under control by now, Rabbit.”
Upon coming into my full power last spring, I had discovered that I could thought-send and scry with those who had the same ability in some measure. I had for the most part learned to control my thoughts, though the occasional one would slip through. However, it also meant that those who could not were left out. Like Javes.
“Yes, sir, I do,” I said. “Mostly.”
“So what did you say-think?” Javes asked.
“He said that whatever the amir’s plans are, Rajya is my daughter,” Suiden said quietly.
“So she is,” Jusson said.
“I’m more concerned about the fact that the Qarant is supposed to be a neutral mediator,” Thadro said, “yet they send an agent who not only has obvious ties to the Border, but who has also managed to spend considerable time alone discussing who knows what with the Turalian ambassador.” She even had time alone with Idwal—”
“I beg pardon, sir,” Javes said quietly, “but the Qarant did not appoint Kveta to be our mediator. They’ve appointed me.”
Thadro stopped middenouncement, but Jusson merely nodded again. “So I gathered. I also gathered that there is some history between you and the wolf, Master Cat.”
Laurel stirred at the fireplace. “Some, honored king.”
“Any reason to be concerned about past deeds?” Jusson asked. “Or even current ones?”
“None that I know of,” Laurel admitted. He ran a paw over his head, causing his beads to gently clack. “Kveta has always been—careful.”
“Just like you’ve been careful?” Wyln asked, suddenly amused. His amusement deepened at Laurel’s narrowed-eyed stare. “I remember you doing your own explaining to the Council, honored Faena.”
Laurel gave a rumbling shrug, even though his eyes remained narrowed. “What I’ve done, I’ve done because I thought it best—”
“What’s that human saying?” Wyln asked, his amusement deepening even more. “How the road to their hell is paved?”
Laurel ignored him—and ignored Javes’ sudden coughing fit. “Whether it was for the Council, for either kingdom—”
“So we’re in your good intentions too?” Jusson asked, his sharp smile making him look an awful lot like Wyln.
“Or for Rabbit—”
“Huh?” I asked, brilliantly. “Me?”
“Or most important, for the Lady Gaia,” Laurel said, now ignoring me. “However, Kveta does what’s best for Kveta.”
I tried to reconcile my childhood memories of the lighthearted and mischievious wolf with the one Laurel was presenting. I failed.
“There’s nothing wrong with a little healthy self-interest,” Jusson said. “In any case, she isn’t the only one present who is adept at seizing the main chance.”
“Very true, Your Majesty,” Thadro said.
“Or ones who are absent for that matter,” Jusson said. Draining his goblet, he held it out and Bertram, hovering with a pitcher, refilled it. He then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Please be seated, all. Take refreshment. And while you do, Javes can tell us why the absent Qarant thought it would be a good idea for one of my army captains, one who was closely involved in the events in question, to mediate a dispute between three kingdoms—”
The king broke off, and I could hear thumps and muffled bumps outside, growing louder as they ascended the stairs. The door flew open and Berenice entered, carrying a basket of oils, soaps, and herbs. Behind her came an unending line of servants lugging tubs, buckets of water, and one huge iron kettle. The two carrying the kettle took it to the fireplace and, with Cais’ supervision, hung it on the hob. Immediately the other servants began emptying their buckets into it. The ones with the tubs placed them in front of the fireplace while screens were adjusted around them—to hold the heat from the fireplace in and protect the wet and naked from drafts.
“Your baths, Your Majesty,” Berenice said, her merry eyes bright, her smile positively wicked. “Shall I help?”
Seven
Berenice saw me naked. Then she saw most of Jusson’s traveling companions unclothed, including the king himself. Thadro, Jeff, and Arlis escaped that bare indignity, the lord commander and my personal guards going to bathe with the troopers in the barracks.
“While we’re gone, Lieutenant,” Thadro said softly, “I don’t want any difficulties here.” He pulled me aside, out of the way of the commotion—and out of earshot of the castle servants. “No sudden magic or anything else that would cause startlement, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I murmured.
“No hiding in the shadows either,” Thadro said. “I want everyone to be able to look their fill—including our hosts’ daughter.”
Arlis’ mouth briefly quirked in his goatee and there was a very faint suggestion of a snicker wafting from Jeff’s vicinity. Thadro must’ve caught both, for he grinned, a flash of teeth and eyes.
“Let this bath wash away all rumors and suspicions of cloven hooves or any other unholy markings. We will be doing the same in the armsmen’s bathhouse. Get it all out in public, as it were.”
“Yes, sir,” I said again, ignoring my personal guard’s growing amusement.
“You too, Lord Wyln and Master Laurel,” Thadro said as the Faena and enchanter wandered our way.
“Unnecessary modesty has never been a problem of mine, Eorl Commander,” Wyln said, amused.
“True,” Laurel said, his whiskers twitching. “Elves are almost as casual about it as cats.”
“I’m sure both of you know how to conduct yourselves in a lord’s house,” Thadro said. “I’m more concerned about unnecessary feats of magic.”
“A little ‘magic’ might be a good thing,” Wyln said, his amusement fading. “It’s been a while since Two Trees’son had a lesson and perhaps it’s time to start again. That way, Eorl Mearden can see exactly whom he’s proposing to join to his daughter.”
My spine tightened at the thought of doing talent work, with or without an audience. But before I could respond, Thadro spoke.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But not tonight. Tonight it’s bath followed by dinner.” Turning, he moved to where Jusson stood conferring with Cais across the room, and bowe
d. “By your leave, Your Majesty, I will check on the troops. I shall return in time for evening meal.”
At Jusson’s casual nod, Thadro swept those going with him to the door and, with another faint snicker from Jeff and a surprisingly sympathetic glance from Arlis, they were gone. As soon as the door shut behind them, Finn appeared from behind the screens in a puff of steam.
“The baths are ready, Your Majesty, my lords, and gracious sirs.”
I was shown no mercy. Finn herded me in front of the bright fireplace where each article of clothing was removed, piece by agonizing piece, until nothing remained between me and thin air. The others were undressing too, Jusson attended by Cais; Wyln, Javes, Suiden, and, to a lesser extent, Laurel (who only had to remove his coat and feathers), seen to by a mixture of royal and castle servants. Wyln was right; neither he nor Laurel exhibited any undue modesty. Nor did the others. They all were more interested in the prospect of hot water and soap than being bare-arsed before strangers. As soon as Finn was done, I tried my best to match nonchalance as I turned to go to my bath—and met Berenice’s gaze. My feet moving of their own accord, I was in my bath before I could blink, resisting the urge to hide behind the tub’s short wall. Dragging in a deep breath, I leaned back, allowing my heart to slow.
The day was just about over and the candles were lit, both they and the fire in the fireplace casting a golden glow over the sectioned-off space. The butterflies on the fireplace mantelpiece were brilliant bits of color in the warm light, as were the feathers and strips of cloth on Laurel’s elaborately carved staff leaning next to mine against the wall. Bertram maneuvered around the castle servants with a tray of goblets filled with mulled wine and the others took one before they more sedately climbed into their tubs. Laurel gave a rumbling purr as he sank beneath the water, reemerging only enough to clear his eyes and nose above the surface, his amber gaze gleaming through the steam—predator of the tubs. Holding his cup of wine aloft, Jusson also sank under the water for a long moment before coming up again, his mass of wet hair shifting to expose delicately pointed ears. Wyln had already thoroughly immersed himself and now leaned back, his long slender fingers loosely encircled about his goblet resting on the tub’s ledge, his ancient eyes closed, water beading on his eternally young face, his pointed ears showing through his mane of black hair. Declining the wine, Suiden brightened as Finn offered him tea in a fine porcelain cup, while Javes was deep in murmured discussion with a castle servant on the different soaps, herbs, and oils that the servant proffered.
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