Azmei looked up at him. "Oh, Destar." She closed her lips on the complaints and doubts that bubbled up. "No, I have decided. The Diplomats are already planning our betrothal celebration, after all."
"That doesn't bind you." He leaned forward. "Nothing binds you until you sign the treaty with your own hand."
Azmei lifted her chin. "Which I have said I will do. Would you have me forsworn, Destar?"
His gaze was warm as he looked at her. She hoped it was pride. Nearly as much as her brother and father, she wished to make her teacher proud of her. "Nay, lass," he said at last. "I would not. I will say again, it is a brave and noble thing you do for Tamnen."
She gave him a wan smile. "Thank you for your confidence, my friend." She lifted her cup to wet her lips. "Now go, if you have nothing further. I wish to be alone."
Orya was in a foul mood by the time she hauled herself over the windowsill and dropped inside her bed chamber. She was soaked through, and on her way back to the university she had missed a step and plunged into a gutter ankle-deep with storm runoff. Her right boot squelched every time she took a step, and it had made scaling the wall more difficult than usual.
Her argument with Azmei had been designed to sow the seeds of doubt in the princess' mind concerning her betrothed. It had certainly worked, if Azmei's reaction was any indication. But any extra time it might have bought Orya was time she sorely needed.
Her initial plan abandoned, she was also reevaluating her fallback plan. And on top of that, she was now beginning to doubt her activities had gone entirely undetected.
She remained convinced Destar Thorne thought of her as nothing more than a silly cloth merchant, but there was no sense in foregoing common sense. Whether or not Thorne saw her as a threat, he could not observe her leaving her quarters in the middle of the night if she left by uncommon exits.
But Thorne wasn't the only possible threat. The Diplomats might not suspect her, but they couldn't fail to be aware there had been threats against the princess' life--and the prince's, for that matter, though Orya hadn't been able to discover anyone working towards that end.
And then there was that tall, hooded figure she had seen the night before. She'd glimpsed him again tonight while she skulked through streets steaming from cold rainfall on sun-heated cobbles. The mist had shrouded her from view, wrapped as she was in thin gray wool, but it had also prevented her from getting a good look at the man. She'd caught a glimpse of a white-streaked dark beard, but that was all. At least he hadn't seen her this time.
"My lady?"
She gasped, whipping out her dagger as she whirled around to stare into the darkened room. The moon was waxing, but its light wasn't strong enough to illuminate more than a pace or two inside the window.
"Oh, Orya, I'm sorry!" She could hear the shock even through the sudden rushing in her ears. And she could recognize Wenda's voice now.
"What are you doing waiting for me in my room?" she snapped. "I might have killed you first and only seen afterwards that it was you. Have you no sense?"
"I am so dreadfully sorry, cousin." Sulfur burned Orya's nostrils as Wenda lit a candle, illuminating her contrite expression. "I was only thinking that someone might get suspicious if they noticed a light in your room so late."
"Perhaps, but not as suspicious as they would be if I accidentally murdered my cousin in the middle of the night," Orya muttered. "Why are you sitting in my room anyway?"
"I wanted to pass along some of the tidbits of information I've collected." Wenda shrugged. "It can wait if you'd rather sleep."
Orya waved a hand. "No, go on. I want a glass of water. Shall I pour two?" She went to the table where a small stone vault kept drinks chilled and began pouring.
"Please." Wenda settled on the padded bench at the foot of the bed. "I trust your errands were fruitful?"
Orya lifted an eyebrow. "You may trust so if you like. You know I won't tell you."
Wenda folded her hands, casting her gaze down at them. "Of course. I forgot."
"You know the rules as well as any," Orya snapped. There were actually whole branches of the family that knew nothing of the true nature of the Perslyn trade.
Orya poured the second glass. She didn't think Wenda was truly interested in Orya's murderous errands. As if the crippled girl could learn how to be an assassin, even if she wanted to! Wenda was good with fabric and she ought to be content to create the intricate patterns decorating some of the trim pieces they sold.
"Here," Orya said, holding out the glass. "Tell me what you've learned."
"First of all, there's nothing to indicate that the prince is anything less than whole-hearted about his courtship of the princess. He spends a fair amount of time alone in his courtyard, but the servants say no one visits him there alone. He has had several appointments with Amethirians living here in Ranarr, and I have heard there is grumbling about taxation. The rest of his time he spends with Azmei. Oh, or his advisers, Dzornaea and Algot." Wenda lifted her glass.
"Is that so?" Orya took a long gulp of her water and unfastened her knife belt. "Is there something between the two advisors? Arama Dzornaea is famous for her refusal to marry. I don't know anything about this General Algot."
"Everyone agrees he's hopelessly in love with her. No one can agree about how she feels, though." Wenda curled both legs under her. "The kitchen servants think she spends her nights in the general's bed. The chambermaid denies it, but chambermaids can be bought off."
Orya hummed and untied the scarf from her hair. "What does Vistaren think, I wonder. And how can I best use that?" She tapped a finger against her glass. "Perhaps a better angle to pursue would be the Amethirian unrest. I'll have to look into that tomorrow. It will be several days before I am ready for the next stage in my plans, anyway."
Wenda's mouth turned down. "I could help you better if I knew what you were doing."
"I'm already bending the rules close to breaking by telling you what I have," Orya snapped. "My grandfather may have no high opinion of me, but I am a loyal daughter of the Perslyn despite that. Cease asking me, or I shall thrust you outside my plans altogether."
Wenda sighed, but her eyes sparkled in a way that told Orya she was uncowed. Perhaps she would stop asking, but she wouldn't stop wondering. Orya supposed that was the most she could hope for, anyway. Wenda had turned out to be both more spirited and more resourceful than Orya would have reckoned. In some ways, it was almost too bad she had the crippled foot. She could have been so much more than a cloth merchant.
Orya gentled her voice. "Leave me, now. I'm tired." She shrugged out of her vest and went to pour another glass of water. What she wouldn't give for it to be something stronger, but she must keep her wits about her until this contract was fulfilled.
Wenda's uneven footsteps paused. "Good night, cousin," she murmured, and then the door closed behind her.
"Good night," Orya whispered. She shaded the candle and went to stare out the window. So much more than a cloth merchant, she thought again. And yet, was assassin truly better than merchant?
Orya had always been proud of her skills, honing her reflexes and balance with hours of practice. But in the end, what did she do with all those skills? She sold them. Worse--she allowed the patriarch to sell them for her. She wasn't truly in control of her own destiny. She was merely a weapon in someone else's hand, used to dispatch whatever target the patriarch chose.
Perhaps the Wendas and Yarros of the family actually had it better than Orya. They belonged to the family, true, but they were also, for the most part, beneath the notice of the patriarch. He only cared about Yarro as a way to manipulate Orya. He had never realized that, with Orya, he needed no leverage.
Orya turned and blew out the candle.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Azmei was going to be late. Guira had fussed at her about it but hadn't shortened her preparations. She'd braided Azmei's hair and brushed on the cosmetics as if she and Vistaren hadn't already seen each other half a dozen times by now. The wh
ole time, Azmei had huffed out remarks about the time, but Guira merely snorted and said perhaps Azmei shouldn't have stayed up so late last night reading.
If only Azmei had been reading. As the storm diminished into a steady rainfall, Azmei had lain awake in bed, staring blankly into the darkness and brooding about how little time she had left and how much was still unknown about her betrothed.
Now Azmei was all but running through the university halls. Her silly, girlish slippers kept falling off her heels, making her pause to fix them back in place. Every time she paused, Destar Thorne, her security for the afternoon, snorted. How nice that someone got amusement from her predicament.
As she paused and slid her index finger inside the back of the shoe yet again, Azmei heard an angry voice from somewhere off to her right. "--I know what he told you, and he had no right--"
"He was trying to do what's best." That was a more placating tone, a man's voice.
"He should have asked what was best before he started shoving his nose in things he doesn't understand." The woman's voice had gone from hot to cold. And it sounded familiar. Azmei lowered her foot and twisted it gently, trying to get the slipper seated more firmly on her heel. It was her own fault for wearing them. She'd complained about all the fussing, but she'd wanted to look particularly nice today when she saw Vistaren.
"It's only natural, considering the situation he's in."
"Oh, stop being so reasonable!" the woman snapped. Footsteps rang on the stone floor, approaching Azmei rapidly. Whoever the woman was, she was about to catch Azmei eavesdropping on her. After a quick glance at Destar, Azmei shrugged and waited for whoever it was to show up. Why did the voice seem so familiar?
When the woman came into view, her short stature and blue-black hair identified her immediately. Azmei blinked. "Arama?"
The pirate captain, so intent on getting away from her conversation, had obviously failed to look where she was going. She stumbled to a halt in front of Azmei and said, "Oh, shit."
"Thank you," Azmei said, though she wasn't really offended. "I am late to an appointment with Vistaren. However, we have had little time to talk, you and I, and I regret that. I am eager to ask your advice on a matter that concerns us both." She smiled. "I would speak with you, tomorrow perhaps, if you have no other duties."
She saw the consternation cross Arama's face, but it was the prerogative of princesses to ignore consternation when it was convenient. She smiled pleasantly at the pirate and tilted her head, awaiting the older woman's answer.
"Of course, princess. It would be my pleasure to attend you whenever you like."
Azmei nodded. "Very good. Come to see me tomorrow afternoon, then. Good day, Captain."
Arama bowed as Azmei swept past on her way to Vistaren's quarters.
The prince seemed out of sorts that day, though he perked up when Azmei asked him to tell her about his home. He spoke so eloquently about the palace, with its sweeping terraces overlooking the capital city, Maron, that Azmei suspected he was homesick. He talked about the central Gehb River Estuary and how the estuary folk tended to band together on political issues. He told her about stormwitches whose primary duties were to ensure the Gehb flooded just perfectly, enough to fertilize the farmlands every year without destroying any property.
"And there's the Sandswamp, which I've never seen. I'd like to, though. It's supposed to be covered with knee-deep water for miles in every direction, with just sandy hummocks rising up out of the water here and there. There are swamp folk, I've heard, but not many of them, and none of them have any real villages or anything. I'd like to learn more about them."
"Perhaps they are isolated because they choose to be," Azmei pointed out.
"Perhaps." Vistaren tapped his lower lip. "Have you read the tale about when Aevver went into the Sandswamp?" Azmei shook her head, and Vistaren grinned. "She was looking for magic to heal a fouled spring, and the fisher lord's daughter told her of a wise woman who lived in the Sandswamp. Some people think Aevver's quest to heal the spring is how we got stormwitchery."
"Is it?"
Vistaren shook his head. "I don't think so. I told you--the night we met--about the stormsingers."
Azmei nodded. "I remember. Great behemoths."
"Yes. I've never heard anything that says they can change their shape. But the water of the Sandswamp would be too shallow for them unless they could become very small, or perhaps change to look like us."
"They're the ones who taught stormwitchery to humans, you said," Azmei recalled.
"Yes. So I think, whoever it was Aevver found in the Sandswamp, she wasn't a stormwitch."
Azmei leaned her chin in her hand. "I cannot wait to read more about Aevver and her sisters."
"Oh, you'll love the stories," Vistaren promised. "I haven't got a copy for you yet, but I have someone looking. There must be good booksellers here on Ranarr."
"There are! Some of them had stalls at the market." Azmei launched into a retelling of her exploration of the Ranarri markets they day after she arrived. Vistaren seemed content to listen, though she could sense him growing more distant the longer she chattered. What was he thinking about? Someone he had left behind when he came here to meet her? Azmei's throat grew dry thinking about it. Finally she trailed off.
"I beg your pardon," she said. "I find I am rather tired."
He looked ruefully at her. "I was inattentive."
"No, not at all!" She pulled her lips to one side. Even polite lies were still lies. "Well, not much."
"It is I who should beg your pardon, Azmei. I am taking advantage of this visit to Ranarr to look into certain situations here, among Amethirians who live here on the island." Vistaren rubbed a hand down his jaw. "I fear some of them said things that have me rather preoccupied. Will you forgive me?"
"Of course. But I feel bad for distracting you."
"Not at all," he said, then laughed. "Well. We are falling all over ourselves apologizing to one another. Perhaps instead we should agree to part as friends tonight and meet again tomorrow." He broke off and swore. "No, not tomorrow, I have an engagement I cannot break. The day after tomorrow?"
An engagement? She bit back the question that sprang to her lips. It was not her business who Vistaren might be spending time with while he was here. She surely knew him well enough to be confident he would not carry on an affair while arranging their betrothal.
Trying not to let her disappointment show, Azmei smiled. "Of course, that sounds lovely." She stood. "I will see you then."
Vistaren took her hand in his and bowed low over it. "Dream well, Azmei."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Azmei was disinclined to receive Orya when the merchant called two days after their argument. Azmei had been plagued by doubt and confusion since their conversation, and Vistaren's behavior yesterday didn't help. But Azmei wasn't one to hold a grudge. She would hear what Orya had to say. If the woman continued to be insulting, Azmei would cut their friendship.
She had Guira serve drinks and sweet pastries while she made Orya wait. She would not hold a grudge, but she would remind the merchant of her place in the world.
Azmei tapped her fingers against the windowsill as she listened to the clink of cup against serving tray in the next room. How long should she wait? Guira had spent so much time drilling promptness into her that deliberately dawdling over her preparations rankled.
Instead of retreating to the entry hall of their chambers, Guira tapped on Azmei's door and let herself in. Her lips were pressed together. She crossed the room in silence. When she reached Azmei, a chuckle escaped her.
"It is probably safe for you to go out now. Orya has dropped a pastry and spilled her wine. I would venture to declare she is nervous."
Azmei smiled grimly. "Good. She and I did not part on friendly terms. I will have her apology before we return to familiarity."
"Well done, princess," Guira said. She squeezed Azmei's hand. When Azmei went out to meet Orya, Guira followed silently.
Or
ya was studying the contents of her cup. While Azmei watched, she crossed her ankles, then uncrossed them, then reached up to pat at her hair. She only looked up when the sleeping chamber door clicked shut behind Azmei.
Orya jumped to her feet. "Princess!" Her cup clutched in one hand, she swept into a curtsy. "Thank you for being willing to see me."
Azmei lifted her chin. "I am willing at the moment," she said, her voice cool. "As to whether I shall remain willing...Well, we shall see."
"Please allow me to tender my strongest regrets and sincerest apologies," Orya said. It was impressive how she managed to hold her curtsy and speak at the same time without her balance wobbling.
Azmei would not make this easy for her. "Continue." She sat, spreading her skirts around her.
Orya didn't even falter. "I was beyond impertinent. I was insulting. I freely admit you are within your rights to hold my words against me. I had no right to speak of your brother Prince Razem or your betrothed Prince Vistaren as I did. I had no right to presume such a close friendship between us that would allow me to speak so freely of such personal matters." She wet her lips. "I should not have dared to speak so to you."
Azmei ought to draw this out, but she wasn't interested in punishing either of them more than was necessary. "You may rise," she informed Orya. "I shall consider your apology."
Orya straightened. "Please forgive me, your highness. My words were unforgiveable, but my motive was love. I would see you happy, and in my eagerness to give you advice, I failed to consider how unwelcome and unnecessary that advice would be."
Azmei softened. "Or how ill-mannered," she suggested. "Very well, I invite you to remain here and speak with me for a time."
"Oh, thank you, Princess Azmei." Orya dipped another curtsy as a smile ventured across her face. "I confess, I was greatly troubled when I saw you last, and my uncertain frame of mind no doubt contributed to my poor judgment."
Stormshadow (Storms in Amethir Book 2) Page 10