But if she didn't know for sure that Rona and Fann were lovers, how could she translate it properly?
"You are chewing your thumbnail again," said Guira's voice from behind her. "You dwell too much on your anxiety."
"I want his present to be right."
"It will be." Guira gathered the books, papers, and pens and swept them all into a tidy stack without even glancing at them. "Your dinner guest will be arriving in fifteen minutes. Please allow me to wash the ink from your fingers."
Azmei rolled her eyes but extended her fingers to be scrubbed with the perfumed solution that always removed even the most stubborn ink stains from her fingers. Azmei always meant to ask about the solution, but she wasn't the one who cared about ink stains. Left to herself, she would probably never bother getting all the ink off, because she knew she would just get more on her.
"Orya Perslyn will be dressed prettily," Guira said. "Let's find something nicer for you to wear. Perhaps that brown silk tunic and the split skirt that goes with it?"
Azmei wanted to roll her eyes again, but she suppressed the urge as she followed Guira to the built-in wardrobe where her finest clothes were hanging. She was actually fond of the brown silk tunic, partly because brown set off her skin tone and eyes nicely, and partly because she'd actually managed to insist on split skirts instead of full, heavy, traditional skirts. A long-sleeved ivory silk blouse went under the tunic, and brown sandals finished off the outfit nicely. Of all the clothes she had brought with her on the trip, this was her favorite outfit, and the one she planned to wear (no matter what Guira said) when she met Vistaren.
"Captain Destar isn't upset that we are dining privately tonight, is he?" Azmei asked.
"He seemed relieved, actually." Guira's thin lips pursed. "The ship is very fine, but its captain is rather rough around the edges yet."
"Oh, it doesn't matter, anyway. There aren't enough passengers to bother with a fancy dinner, and I expect Orya and I can dine with Destar tomorrow without its having to be a fine affair. It's silly to make too much of a fuss."
"You are a princess of Tamnen." The corners of Guira's mouth turned down, but there was a telltale glimmer in her eyes. She had served Azmei far too long to expect her to change into the perfect lady at this stage.
Guira had been Azmei's mother's maid until Izbel's death twelve years ago. Azmei had been eight years old. A week after Izbel's funeral, Guira had rolled up the sleeves of her mourning gown and marched into the nursery. With eyes red-rimmed from crying, she had informed the princess that it was high time she had a maid, and who better than Guira for the job? Azmei had looked at the tall, gaunt woman, so different from her plump, beautiful mother, and burst into tears. Guira had gathered her in strong arms and within half an hour she had won Azmei's devotion.
"I am a very practical princess," Azmei informed her now. "And I see no reason to put people out simply because I outrank them."
"Practical." Guira snorted. "What you are is a prince in a princess' body. But as I have indulged you all these years, I suppose it is too late to persuade you to become a proper princess." She slanted an affectionate look at Azmei. "Practical will have to do."
Orya arrived punctually for dinner, which probably endeared her to Guira forever. Azmei, whose habitual tardiness caused Guira endless shame (at least to hear her tell it), sighed when she caught the gleam in her maid's eye.
"Princess, your invitation honors me," Orya said, curtsying.
Azmei wondered if Vistaren got as tired as she did of all the ridiculous protocol. Or maybe he was the sort of prince who enjoyed it. She inclined her head to a proper angle and waved for Orya to sit.
"I hope you find your accommodation satisfactory," she said, doing Orya the honor of pouring wine for them both.
"Oh, yes! I've never traveled on such a ship before. It's glorious fun. Though I'm certain I overheard someone calling the Captain 'my lord'." Orya tilted her head in charming confusion. Azmei wondered if Orya were only pretending to like her because of her position; the gesture seemed too calculated.
Azmei shrugged. "Of course Destar is a lord. I'm a princess of Tamnen." Then she smiled, knowing it would spoil her appearance of careless superiority. "Our ship is under the command of Destar Thorne, Lord-Captain of Tamnen's navy. He is the head of my guard."
She expected Orya to feign awe, but the other girl impressed her. She smiled and nodded. "I did wonder when I heard that. After all, this treaty is so important, and if anything went wrong... well." She folded her hands in her lap.
"Nothing will happen that Destar cannot handle," Azmei said. She lifted her goblet to wet her lips. The wine was sweet and comforting. It tasted like oak leaves and lush Tamnen soil and snowmelt.
"Tell me about your family," she suggested.
Orya took the change of topic in stride. As Guira ladled a cold soup into the bowls, she sipped her wine and smiled. "I am the middle of four, all boys save me. My youngest brother isn't even prenticed yet. They're mostly awful, but he isn't. I rarely get to see him, though."
Azmei loved Razem, but for the past decade, he had been occupied with learning to become a king, while Azmei learned how best she could serve him. She had often wished for a little brother to tease and teach and cuddle--one who would follow her around as she wished to follow Razem. "I envy you." She smiled. "And Meekin? What is it like?"
Orya shook her head, tipping it slightly. "It is a trade town, mostly clean with little crime. My favorite place in the town is a store that caters to musicians at the bardic school. I like looking at their instruments, but I've never learned to play."
"Are there a lot of people?"
Orya finished her soup. "Not so many, except in the spring when the first trade caravan gets through. When they arrive, there's always a fair."
"It sounds lovely." Azmei took a piece of flatbread and contemplated the savory spread before choosing spicy instead. "I should have liked to see it."
"Oh, you should! The main park has such a fountain--" Orya broke off, blushing. "I beg your highness' pardon. I forgot myself."
Azmei's lips tugged up despite herself. "You forgot you were talking to a woman who has been effectively banished from her kingdom?" She shook her head. "Never mind. I forget myself sometimes, for a moment or two."
"Your Highness, if I--"
"Enough," Azmei interrupted. "I am not so easily offended as all that. Never mind. Tell me about your shop in Meekin, and your trade."
Guira snorted and laid out two plates of grilled fish. "Perhaps Lady Orya will condescend to teach you an appreciation for fine cloth on this voyage," she remarked, and withdrew.
Orya stared after her. "You allow her to speak to you that way?"
"She practically raised me after my mother died," Azmei said. "I should be insulted if Guira were not familiar with me, after all these years. I take it very ill if people slight her." It was meant as a warning, and she saw that Orya realized it.
The other girl bit her lip and reached for her wine glass. "I believe the trade families must have very different customs than the nobility. My mother would never brook insolence from a servant--even a trusted one." She smiled across the table at Azmei. "If I am to teach you about cloth, it seems I have much to learn from you, as well."
Relieved that she would not have to be cross with her new friend, Azmei inclined her head in agreement and took advantage of the moment to ask about the trade agreement Orya hoped to reach with the Ranarri. That carried them into dessert--rich fried pies stuffed with steaming fruit filling.
After dinner, Orya and Azmei played several hands of cards, until Azmei began hiding yawns. The third time she lifted her cards to her face in an attempt at delicacy, Orya begged her pardon and explained she was feeling fatigued from the excitement of embarkation. Azmei agreed the sea air was quite stimulating, which naturally led to early bedtimes.
As she was undressing for bed, she found herself wishing she had made an effort to learn more about Orya Perslyn before they left Tamn
en. She was a pleasing person, but it was difficult to determine whether her personality was one carefully crafted to please, or if she were naturally akin to Azmei.
"Do you like her?" she asked Guira as her maid brushed out her hair.
Guira deliberated for several strokes of the brush. "I cannot yet say. She seems pleasant, but confined quarters often lead people to assume familiarity that would not otherwise be proper. Perhaps that is why she has me wrong-footed."
"Or perhaps it isn't."
"It isn't my place to say," Guira demurred.
"Well, observe her. If you make up your mind about her, let me know."
"Of course, my lady."
Azmei huffed a laugh and kissed Guira on the cheek. "Good night, my dear."
Guira's hand ghosted up to stroke Azmei's hair. "Sweet dreams, my princess."
CHAPTER FOUR
Azmei did not lie awake long that night. The rolling of the ship was unfamiliar, but somehow comforting. Her bunk was wide and luxurious, built right into the wall. She had been given the richly appointed stern cabin; the Victorious was the royal family's ship, and her bunk boasted a thick feather mattress and a dozen pillows. A white, silk curtain hung around it, giving her the feeling she was wrapped in a cloud. Sinking in downy softness, rocked by gentle swells, Azmei slipped easily into sleep.
The next morning met with Destar Thorne. She liked the Lord-Captain's gruff, no-nonsense manner. He observed all the proper courtesies, but in a way that made her feel it was all merely part of his job, rather than obsequious fawning.
The captain's cabin was not as luxurious as Azmei's, but she found it more inviting. Maps--no, she corrected herself; at sea they were called charts--were tacked to the wood paneled walls, and a large, heavy desk took center stage. Destar was a clever man, perhaps even a genius; he had won two major sea battles against the Strid before he was twenty. The war had been more heated back then, and the Navy had accepted volunteers as young as fourteen, though that particular practice had since been abolished.
Enclosed cabinets along the walls held, she knew, leather-bound tomes and ledgers. She knew some of those tomes well, though most of them had been left behind in Destar's office in the palace. Destar had spent hours coaching the young princess through strategy lessons and military economics; he had made the subjects appealing by creating detailed scenarios for her to puzzle out. Iron brackets over the window held crossed sabers and a brace of pistols.
As soon as she arrived for their meeting, they went over the security arrangements for at least the dozenth time. Azmei had pored over diagrams of the Victorious so she would know all its hiding places in the event of an attack. If she were honest, she would like to be useful in an emergency, rather than playing the role of baggage to be stowed in a hiding place until the thieves were gone.
"There are those who don't wish for peace. Some of them will do anything to see that we reach no agreement that might eventually lead to a treaty between Tamnen and Strid." Destar tapped his fingers against his leg, gazing off at a corner of the cabin.
"This is only a tiny step in that direction," Azmei protested. "Amethir's empire is strong, but they already take Strid ships when they can. And the Strid started attacking Amethirian vessels once the peace talks convened in Ranarr. They won't stop attacking Tamnese troops, marriage to Amethir or no marriage."
"Aye, but when Razem's sister is queen of the greatest nation in the eastern world, he will have more bargaining power than your father has." Destar rubbed his chin. "Princess, you know there are those, even close to your father, who would prefer to stay at odds with Strid. Some of the marcher lords like the raiding. They can seize commodities and treasures they would not have access to, were we friends with our neighbors."
Azmei sighed. "It's a stupid reason for people to go on killing each other."
"I said nothing about intelligence or honor," Destar said. "War rarely involves either." He sighed. "I may be good at fighting, but I cannot pretend to enjoy it much."
"There is no denying your skills are useful." She swallowed what she was going to say next. No amount of wishing would stop the killing in the Kreyden District.
When Destar was satisfied of both her comprehension and her cooperation, he allowed the discussion to be steered the direction she wished.
"Do you know anything about Vistaren?" she asked.
"Only what most folk know, my lady. He is a tidy man with elegant taste and no apparent love of warfare." Azmei darted a look at the captain, but his bluff, honest face held neither hatred nor dislike. He held a piece of seaglass, stroking a thumb over its smooth, opaque surface.
Azmei knew the Amethirian stormwitches used seaglass in their witchery. Many people knew, because of the trade it created. In Tamnen the trade was prohibited because of the potential for mayhem, if not outright sabotage--a single stormwitch with seaglass from Tamnese ports might wield little power, but several of them working on concert might destroy a port town with almost no warning. The prohibitions led to a brisk black market, which her father attempted to stamp out whenever possible. Yet another difficulty, Azmei thought, that might fade if her marriage was successful.
"Have you ever met him?" Azmei asked, returning her thoughts to her husband-to-be.
"No, my lady. He was not present for the peace delegation last year. He had agreed previously to entertain the notion of a marriage alliance, and with the king insisting on being present himself, I suspect the Amethirian Council felt it prudent to have the heir on home soil."
"Or the queen," Azmei murmured. "Perhaps she wanted to keep her only son safe if her husband was risking himself. Vistaren is the only heir, isn't he?"
Destar nodded. They were silent for several breaths. "My lady is good and noble to agree to this."
Azmei shrugged. "I knew I would have to marry someone someday. It might as well be for a good reason. And it has always been my desire to serve my brother somehow. Perhaps, with this treaty, he will be able to finally defeat the Strid, or at least reclaim the Kreyden District." She didn't admit that she hoped they would at least like each other. She could at least protect that much of her dignity.
Destar grunted. "May the Great Mother hear your words and wake from her slumber," he murmured. It was an automatic turn of phrase; no one expected any of the gods to pay attention to humans these days. But Azmei occasionally found herself wishing that the Great Mother would wake from her slumber. Perhaps what this world needed was a good shaking.
"Indeed," she murmured. She stood up. Destar's chair scraped as he stood half a beat later. Azmei smiled. "I will let you return to your duties. Thank you for your time, Captain Destar."
Destar bowed and she left.
Orya leaned on the ship's rail and watched the City-State of Ranarr grow larger with every roll of the ship. She had enjoyed the sea voyage, and the past two weeks had acquired a timeless feel to them, lulling her into complacency. Half believing the voyage would never end, she had allowed herself to relax into friendship with Princess Azmei.
She should be flogged for allowing herself to care about the princess. It was one thing to like her; after all, a lot of folk were likable. But caring about the princess as a human, as a friend, was going too far. In trade, there was no room for friendship. Orya meant to profit from the princess' wedding, and if the princess chose not to ratify the treaty, the necessary leverage would vanish.
There was no room for failure. If she failed, she might as well not return home. Orya had been the best and brightest of her age group in the family. Returning empty-handed to Tamnen was unthinkable. Once she fulfilled her own tally, she could begin working against Yarro's tally. Her brother would never have to join the trade he was so ill-suited to.
She took a deep breath and held it for a few moments before releasing it. She had always been ambitious and proud, and in the past, it had made her hasty. This assignment would be the biggest test of her patience yet. She must not fail either the test or the assignment.
"The White Ston
e is beautiful, is she not?" said a gruff voice. Orya glanced over as Captain Destar Thorne joined her at the rail. "I've made this trip dozens of times, yet I still catch my breath every time I see her towering out of the bay."
"The White Stone? Is that what they call Ranarr?" Orya knew better, but she was unsure of Thorne. She didn't know how to speak to him. He seemed to be a respected servant of the princess, but it was possible too that he was a trusted friend or advisor. She didn't want to say the wrong thing and offend him.
"Not the city," he said, "the island, the stone itself. It's limestone straight through, but the miracle of the White Stone is that she has fresh water. That's the only thing allowed the city-state to get as powerful as it has. No one could lay siege to that island, with its water supply unreachable by the sea. Of course, the water has trynen in it, which is what gives the Ranarri that funny chalk-colored skin. But I'd say it's a fair bargain."
Orya looked over at him. "What about starving them out?" She wondered if Thorne viewed everything through the eyes of a military engagement. Then again, he did have an appreciation for beauty, so perhaps not.
He scratched his ear. "I suppose they could do, but there is some crop production there, and it would be hard to cut them off from fish. Folk say there are sea caves underneath the stone."
Orya looked back at the white limestone monolith towering several hundred feet in the air. It seemed almost to loom above them, dwarfing the Victorious along with several other ships approaching and leaving Ranarri Bay. "I wonder anyone dared to live on the island, if it has sea caves. Are they not afraid of it crumbling into the sea?"
Stormshadow (Storms in Amethir Book 2) Page 4