"Don't know. But it's been there hundreds of years, so I don't guess it's likely to." His expression was open, unveiled. She still was unsure if he were merely humoring her or if he were enjoying their conversation.
"And the crops? How do they grow anything up there?"
"There's a layer of soil in some places. Not many, but enough. They don't rely on the crops, anyway. A lot of it's herbs that go well with fish." He snorted. "They eat a damn lot of fish."
Orya laughed.
They were silent for a few minutes, watching the approaching shore. Just as Orya was thinking about excusing herself to her cabin, Thorne sighed. "I know you and the princess have become friendly on this voyage," he said.
She turned to stare at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was still leaning on the rail, staring at the rock island. Orya let out a faint noise of acknowledgement.
"I’m grateful. Our princess is a brave woman who loves her country, but she has looked melancholy of late. It cannot be easy, crossing an ocean to marry a stranger."
Orya slid her eyes away. "I imagine so."
"She does it out of duty to her people and her family. Yet I would see her happy as well."
"True happiness lies in serving your family," Orya said. "She will see that in time." Orya had.
"Aye…" Thorne said slowly. "It may be as you say."
They did not speak again until he excused himself to supervise the navigation into Ranarr Bay.
PART THREE - RANARR
CHAPTER FIVE
Azmei would have preferred a quiet arrival upon Ranarr. Her legs wobbled as she stepped off the Victorious, and she fought the impulse to see if anyone had noticed. The university appeared to have sent a welcoming committee. The various gray-skinned men and women seemed pleased to receive a wayward Tamnese princess, but several of them had the expressionless faces of Diplomats. She wondered if any of these had brokered the peace treaty that brought her here.
She got through the formal greetings and introductions and delivered her father’s compliments to the Ranarri. By the time everyone was finished being pleasant at one another, her legs felt steadier.
At home, the privileged and wealthy rode in horse-drawn carriages. Here, with so many levels of the city built along the steep contours of the White Stone, everyone used chairs with carrying harnesses. The harnesses allowed one person to be carried by a team of four people up the many broad steps and sweeping ramps leading from the harbor to the university. Their guards walked before and after each chair.
All the buildings they passed seemed to be built of white limestone. Was it harvested from the White Stone herself? Some of the houses were painted, but most were left unadorned. Azmei couldn’t remember if plain dress was favored by all Ranarri, or merely the Diplomats. She had never met any other sort of Ranarri-born person, and though she had read about the city-state, she had forgotten.
"Princess, would you care for a tepid tea? It is a great refresher." One of the servants had come alongside her, holding a cup high enough that Azmei, at shoulder height, could reach it.
She didn’t want tepid tea. "Thank you," she said, accepting the cup. She sipped once, proud not to have spilled it. It had an odd aftertaste; after another sip, she identified it as anise.
"May I offer you anything else?" the man asked. "Seedcakes or fish rolls?"
"Thank you, no." Azmei hoped it wasn’t rude to refuse, but the thought of eating during the chair ride—though a surprisingly smooth one—seemed too difficult.
The man bowed and took his leave. Azmei was left to enjoy the rest of the ride listening to the murmured conversations of the city itself.
When they arrived at the university, Azmei and Guira were shown to their quarters, and finally Azmei could relax her shoulders and breathe deeply again. It was ridiculous for her to feel so anxious in the company of the Diplomats—of all the people she would encounter over the next several weeks, the Diplomats were most likely to respect her, since she was sacrificing her personal freedom for peace.
"Did you know the Ranarri worship a god who loves peace?" Azmei asked, tugging off one shoe and looking over at her handmaid, who was unpacking their trunks.
"I believe everyone knows that, my lady," said the unflappable Guira. "Are you considering converting? I am not certain the Amethirians revere the peace god quite so highly."
"Mmm. I suppose not. Too bad. I’d rather fancied the thought I might be a living sacrifice to the peace god."
Guira snorted. "You shouldn’t mock the gods. Even the ones you don’t worship yourself." She hung a dress carefully in the wardrobe. "It is a wondrous thought, though, that peace might be such a holy thing. I fear our people would be poor postulants of such a god."
Azmei hummed. How would one even worship such a god? Sit in silence until the god blessed you? But of course not. Clearly the Ranarri Diplomats worshiped by making peace whenever possible, just as they had managed to find an accord between Tamnen and Amethir. The Diplomats traveled wherever they wished, revered or at least respected by all they met. They never showed emotions, according to all the stories, and they were gifted in reaching compromises. That must be how they worshiped—by living out the peace of their god.
"My lady is very quiet. Have I offended you?"
Azmei looked up. Guira had paused in her unpacking and was studying her, dress draped forgotten over one arm. Azmei forced a laugh.
"Of course not. I’m only tired. I love the sea, but all that salt air wears one out. Will you fetch me a light lunch to eat here? And fetch a bit of gossip while you’re about it. Something to distract me."
Guira went obediently off while Azmei wandered the suite of rooms, enjoying the feel of cool stone under her bare toes. When Guira returned with a spread of cheese, breads, fish, and fruit, Azmei settled down for a meal.
"The Dawn Star has not yet arrived from Amethir," Guira informed her. "It is expected any day now, carrying Prince Vistaren and captained by none other than the Storm Petrel herself."
Azmei tried to suppress a childish thrill of excitement, though they had all but known. "Dzornaea? Do you think I will be able to meet her?"
Guira’s silence drew out for longer than necessary. "My lady, if you find the prince acceptable, Captain Dzornaea’s ship will carry us to your new home."
The bread in Azmei’s mouth suddenly felt like ash. Of course. How foolish. She swallowed that mouthful and took another bite. She didn’t trust her voice.
To be fair, Azmei had never heard anyone claim the Ranarri Diplomats knew how to throw a good party. That reticence did not, she felt, excuse the fact that her welcome banquet had consisted of an extra invocation to the god of peace before each meal. Oh, there had been dancing, but it had been a display of measurement and distance, couples circling each other at arm’s length without touching or making eye contact. The Ranarri, Azmei had decided, were an extraordinarily dull lot.
"I don’t know much about parties, but I’m bored," she whispered to Orya, who was seated on her right. On her left was a Diplomat. He was handsome enough despite his chalk-gray skin, but he had merely lifted one eyebrow in greeting and offered a series of platitudes designed to set her at ease. Instead, they were setting her teeth on edge.
Orya giggled and lifted her fan to cover the emotion on her face. At least the girl knew something about Ranarri manners; around the Diplomats, men and women alike used elaborate fans for modesty. Showing emotion in conversation, while not actually indecent, caused a great deal of discomfort for all involved.
"Ooh, look," Orya said, leaning in and aiming her fan at the terrace. "There’s a ship coming in to harbor."
The Diplomat on Azmei’s other side had keen hearing. He lifted both eyebrows. "That is not just any ship. It is the Dawn Star, bearing Prince Vistaren’s contingent."
Azmei’s stomach flipped unpleasantly. Her husband-to-be was on that ship. She stood. "Pray excuse me," she said, smoothing her skirt down. Orya jumped up and followed her away from the table to the terrace wall.
<
br /> "Highness?" she murmured. "Are you well?"
"Of course!" Azmei kept her gaze on the ship. "I wanted to look at the ship. She looks fast, doesn’t she?"
"I don’t know a lot about ships," Orya reminded her.
"Oh, of course." Azmei fluttered her fan, tracing the silhouette of the Dawn Star’s mast and sails. From this high up, there was no discerning among the figures, but Azmei could imagine the captain shouting orders.
"When will you meet the prince?" Orya murmured. "Have you chosen the dress you will wear?"
Azmei laughed. It was good to be reminded of Orya’s interest in the matter. "We meet formally the day after tomorrow, and yes, I have my dress ready." She and Guira had argued about the dress, but eventually Azmei had acquiesced to Guira’s wishes. She would wear a fancy green silk with golden laces. The brown silk tunic was simply not formal enough. "If the meeting goes well and we desire to move forward, we will set up a series of meetings, as I understand it. At that point, I will go dress shopping. It may be there will be a sudden demand for Tamnese silk."
Orya smiled. "I foresee that I shall be busy the next two days, my lady."
The Dawn Star had all her sails reefed and was approaching the dock, where hands stood by ready to receiving mooring lines. Feeling abruptly better, Azmei returned to the party.
Azmei had intended to spend the day after her arrival in Ranarr reading the slender volume of Amethirian history she had packed. It had seemed at the time like a good compromise between resting all day, as Guira wished, and exploring the city, as Azmei preferred.
As usual, her plans bore little resemblance to reality.
Despite her late bedtime the night before, Azmei found herself wide awake and staring at the canopy of her bed when the sky was only the gray of pre-dawn. She tried to go back to sleep, but the bed no longer seemed as comfortable as it had. She shifted and sighed and finally sat up.
She could hear Guira’s delicate snore from the outer bed chamber. Good. There was no reason for them both to be wakeful. Azmei took extra care to be quiet as she climbed out of bed.
She hadn’t chosen any particular outfit for today, but she already knew she was too restless to sit at a desk all day. She eased open her wardrobe and decided to console herself with the brown silk tunic and split skirt. She supposed it would be irresponsible for her to go exploring alone, but she could at least find herself some breakfast. The university was probably the safest place in the world. While there might be danger away from the university grounds, Azmei felt certain that, within the confines of the walls, she was secure.
The tall, stone passages were all but empty as she made her way from her rooms to the dining area. She smiled at a short woman with blue-black hair who was slipping out of a room. The woman started when she saw Azmei, then gave her a smile with a wry, rueful quality to it. She turned the opposite direction without speaking, and Azmei continued on in search of breakfast. She could smell spiced coffee.
When Azmei appeared in the door to the dining room, a servant was quick to ask what she could bring Azmei. A few minutes later, Azmei was settled in front of a steaming bowl of oat porridge, grapes, and coffee. She looked through a window to a small courtyard as the sun rose. Birds were flitting back and forth, singing and chattering with one another. One flew in to land on Azmei’s cup. It pecked idly at the thin clay, ran its beak through its olive and brown plumage, and flew away again. Azmei laughed. This was a type of bird she’d never seen at home. At first the thought excited her. Then she remembered the plaintive sound of doves that usually woke her. A wave of homesickness hit her. What if everything in Amethir was completely unfamiliar to her?
She sipped her coffee. You know better, she reminded herself. They have plenty of things we have. Horses and hoshni flowers and chocolate. Just because there will be no snow doesn't mean there will be nothing to love in Amethir.
"There you are." Guira spoke with some asperity. Her handmaid sat across from her. "You shouldn't rise and leave the rooms without me, princess."
"I couldn't sleep, and I was hungry." Azmei took a bite of porridge.
"Then you should have wakened me." Guira poured herself a cup of coffee.
"I was glad to see you rest. Besides, I wanted to think."
Guira's eyebrows shot up. "And you can't think because I'm distracting you, is that it?"
Azmei suppressed a twinge of guilt. "That isn't what I meant. I just wanted to be alone for a time."
Guira lowered her gaze to her own coffee cup, her knuckles whitening as she gripped it. "Perhaps I should have told you sooner how difficult this is for me," she murmured. "You cannot think I like having you marry this prince you have never met. I follow you to Amethir because I know of no other way to live than in your service. But I would just as soon serve a happy princess given liberty to pursue her own interests. I would just as soon serve a princess who doesn't feel cast off by her kingdom." She sighed. "I would just as soon serve a princess who was never forced to grow up."
Azmei stared at her. "Guira--"
Guira looked up at her, her lips curving ever-so-slightly. "I think of you as I would my own daughter," she said, closing a hand on Azmei's. "I wish I could protect you from this fate and allow you to read books and explore cities to your heart's content." She squeezed Azmei's hand. "But this is what it is to be a princess."
Azmei swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat. "I know you love me, Guira. And I love you." She squeezed Guira's hand back and sighed. "Very well. You're right. I must grow up. I must cease feeling sorry for myself and look forward to whatever comes next."
To her astonishment, a slow, sly smile curled across Guira's mouth. "Well…perhaps you needn't grow up until tomorrow." She leaned in. "Why don't we explore Ranarr's markets and temples today? I hear the university market has a very fine selection of parchment and pens."
Orya slipped into a narrow alley without a backwards glance. She had already ascertained no one was following her. Obviously Thorne thought her no more than a silly merchant noble, which was exactly what Orya had wished him to think.
The flagstone-paved alley was steep, with buildings so tall and close together they let very little sunlight in. That suited Orya perfectly. With her brown skin, she was unmistakably not a native Ranarri, and while people of all nations were welcome here, it was entirely possible she could be recognized as one of those who came with the Tamnese princess. She was relying on that recognition to help her with her legitimate trade negotiations; her errand in this alley, however, required anonymity.
After all, no one wanted to be identified as the person who had assassinated a royal.
A mangy, skeletal cat scuttled across the alley in front of her, almost making her trip. Orya swore under her breath as she caught her balance. Someone snickered. Orya looked up to see a broad-shouldered woman, arms folded across her chest, leaning in the doorway of a shop. The mangy cat was twining around her ankles.
"Pardon me," Orya said, smoothing her face into an appealing expression. "I am looking for dyer's supplies."
The woman grunted. "You're in the right place." She unfolded her arms to display hands dyed a deep blue. "Step on inside."
Further down the street, a tall, thin man ducked into a door. Something about the movement seemed furtive, which caught Orya's attention. She noted the dark gray cloak swathing him from head to ankle, then dismissed it. There were herb and ink sellers along this tiny street as well as dyers.
Orya followed the woman into the shop. "I have a list," she said. "My craft master wrote it out for me."
"Give it here," the woman said. She scanned the list quickly. "I don't have them all. No foxglove, and only a little deathleaf. But I've plenty of bloodroot and wolf lichen. And of course verdigris."
Orya watched in silence as the woman gathered her order. Trading in textiles was an excellent cover. Plenty of dyes and some of the mordants used to color cloth were poisonous. Orya's skills were not limited to poisoning, but it was convenient to be ab
le to travel with some of the tools of her trade without raising any eyebrows. It was much harder, for example, to carry a crossbow or a pistol without someone noticing.
"There you are. Comes to two rin six nir."
Orya counted out the coins the woman named, thanked her, and left. She went back the way she had come, running through her mental list. She'd already purchased the rope and grappling hook she needed, and now she had the poisons. She'd packed two daggers in a false bottom for her trunk, along with an ornate garrote that looked like jewelry. She had all the supplies she needed. Now came the hardest part: figuring out how best to dispatch Princess Azmei.
Orya's instructions were clear: Assassinate Princess Azmei and pin the blame on Strid. None of the situational details mattered, as long as Azmei's death could be very publicly attributed to Strid, and preferably the elder of the two Strid princes. No one could be allowed to suspect the Prince of Amethir. As the only heir of his kingdom, he was useful alive. No one could afford to have the wealthiest, most powerful nation in this hemisphere collapse into chaos over succession. Azmei, on the other hand, was only useful dead--at least in the minds of Orya's superiors.
Orya was not yet senior enough in the family to make decisions of such magnitude, but she believed Azmei could be a helpful ally to have in Amethir. Perslyn attention was currently wrapped up in the Strid-Tamnese War, but war was an unstable economy at best.
It was unfortunate, in a way. Orya had known since before they met that she would have to kill Azmei, yet she'd still allowed herself to come to care for the woman. But the Perslyn family worked for coin, not ideals; she could no more go back on an assassination contract because she liked the princess than a leather merchant could go back on tanning a hide because he had been fond of the cow.
Tucking her purchases safely away, she turned her steps towards the university. She had plans to dine tonight with the two owners of Tamnese dress shops. The sun was already nearing its apex, and she had much to do.
Stormshadow (Storms in Amethir Book 2) Page 5