by Dave Duncan
"Inos!"
"Do you doubt that . . . that . . . he . . ."
"Mistress Zana refers to him as 'the Big Man.'"
"Thank you. Do you doubt that the Big Man's description was truthful?"
"I don't think, as guests, we should give credence to vulgar gossip!" Aunt Kade assumed a very prim expression that Inos both recognized and detested; she had seen it often during her first few months in Kinvale, but not much lately.
"The fact remains," Kade said, "that we are her guests."
"I am Queen of Krasnegar!"
"No, you're not! You claim to be, which is not the same thing at all. You know no more about politics than I do, and you don't have an army up your sleeve. Her Majesty rescued us from the imps and has provided this superb hospitality. Certainly we must trust her judgment and good intentions." Kade took a sip of coffee as if that settled the matter.
Inos resumed her meal with a show of calm that she found unexpectedly tricky.
"Furthermore," Kade added, "you did not exactly go out of your way to enlist her sympathy at your last meeting."
Recalling the rowdy scene in the dome, Inos was aghast—shouting, arguing? God of Fools! "No! I was no credit to your training, dear Aunt!"
Kade smiled approvingly at this show of repentance. "Her Majesty realized that you were overwrought. After all, she did take you up to see the looking glass."
Inos nodded, and nibbled. "I suppose I should be glad she didn't throw me in the dungeons. Or turn me into a frog?"
"Hardly! I am sure that a brief note of apology will be acceptable, and certainly not out of place. Apart from that, we can but wait until her Majesty is ready to grant us audience." Kade dabbed at her lips with her serviette and glanced over the table to make sure there was nothing she had missed. She sighed comfortably.
Certainly she had earned a rest after those awful weeks on horseback in subarctic cold. Perhaps it was even understandable that a woman of her age would be content to settle down to enjoy some decadence—but Inos was not. Write a letter of apology like an errant child?
Well, yes. Maybe she had better do that much. Pride would be an expensive luxury at the moment, and she had not been tactful. Then sit and do nothing? Impossible!
"What exactly happened afterward?" Inos frowned. "Everything seems very hazy after I'd seen the looking glass."
"She put you in a light trance, dear," Kade said. "And sent us both off to rest. Prince Azak guided us himself, you remember."
"Not really. She . . . she undid whatever she had done to him?"
Kade nodded, apparently to a purple-flowered bush just outside the gazebo. "He seemed quite restored. A little shaky, was all."
What sort of a woman was this Rasha? She had tortured Azak barbarically, right before Inos's eyes. There lay some mystery that . . . "Great Gods! What's this?"
Her aunt chuckled, as if she had been waiting for that. "It's curried pineapple. I asked. Tasty, isn't it?"
Inos took a sip of an orange-colored draft and blinked tears away. "It ought to have a warning beacon on it. Mmm. Yes, not bad, when it doesn't jump out at you. What's pineapple?"
"A fruit, I suppose."
"Really?"
"I'm sure our stay here will be most educational. Travel is very broadening."
"Fattening, you mean?" Inos nibbled at something that tasted nutty. True, Sultana Rasha had been much more tolerant of Inos than of the unfortunate Azak. If one believed what had been said, then Rasha did not approve of men—any men at all.
How far could one trust a sorceress?
"You think," Inos said, "that our royal hostess would support the notion of a queen regnant in Krasnegar?"
Kade nodded noncommittally.
"Especially if the male jotnar objected?"
"Perhaps, dear."
"So . . . if her Majesty will forgive the way I shouted at her . . . then we can ask her to start by driving out the imperor's cohorts—I imagine a good sorceress could do that? Two thousand men?"
"I should think so. According to the poets, the warlock Quarlin defeated three armies singlehanded. Inisso built the castle in five hours, it's said." Kade looked smug at this efficient recall of ancient schooling.
"Well, then! Rasha can drive out the imps, and if Kalkor and his pirates sail in, then she can blow them away again, also?"
Kade pursed her lips. "We can ask, dear, certainly."
"And then all we need to do is to persuade the townsfolk themselves to accept me! Perhaps they're now sufficiently scared by their narrow escape to be reasonable?"
Inos considered that program for a few moments. Somehow it lacked a sense of progress; it seemed to leave her back about where she had been two days before. "And when I explain that I didn't mean to bring the legionaries . . ." She paused again. "Of course a suitable husband would still be an important factor, I suppose," she admitted sadly. A cold wave of regret washed over her as she thought of Andor—not the real Andor, of course, but Andor as he had seemed to be. The husband problem was not going to go away.
Then she realized that her aunt was not cheering, or otherwise displaying patriotic enthusiasm, Inos eyed her crossly. Kade, unfortunately, did not recognize politics as an occupation suitable for ladies of quality.
Inos took a fruit knife and reached across the table to tap her surprised companion on both shoulders. "Princess Kadolan, I hereby dub thee our royal chancellor, chamberlain, seneschal, and . . . well, that will do for today." In the ensuing silence, Inos heard a boy's voice say: "And I will be sergeant-at-arms and master-of-horse both . . ." Oh, Rap, Rap!
Kade frowned at such levity. "If I am designated your chief advisor, Queen Inosloan, then my advice is to restrain your ambitions until you have consulted Sultana Rasha."
"Why, pray?"
"Well, even though Krasnegar isn't in the Impire, I do believe there's a rule against using magic on the imperor's army." She settled back on her chair, pouting as if annoyed at having revealed even that much intelligence.
Unfortunately, on the rare occasions when Kade made a definite statement about anything, she was invariably correct. Rap had said something along those lines, too. Evil take it!
"The throne is mine by right of birth!" Inos thumped a fist on the table. "And I want it! Not because I think being queen of Krasnegar is any marvelous honor, but because I have a duty! I promised Father! Gods! If comfort is all I want, then I should certainly choose Kinvale—or even Arakkaran. Why should I want to go live in the tundra? You know that, Aunt! I've got royal blood. That's a ticket into almost any noble family in the Impire."
"Inos! What a disgusting—"
"It's true, and you know it! I could easily find some witless aristocratic husband and settle down to growing fat and making babies in luxury for the rest of my life—if comfort was all I wanted. But our family has always given Krasnegar fair, honest government. Maybe the imps and jotnar don't exactly live in peace together, but at least they live and let one another live. They settle their disagreements with knuckles, not blades. Usually."
"Yes, dear, but—"
"But without our house to rule, the imperor and the thanes of Nordland will both feel bound to protect their own, and the war will start soon. If it hasn't started already!"
And where would it end? If the Nordland jotnar won in Krasnegar, the imps might seek retribution against any other jotnar they could find, and there were jotnar scattered along every coast in Pandemia. If the imps won, then the Nordlanders might start their raidings again, as they had done periodically throughout history—as they still did, in a small way, all the time.
The trouble was, Inos decided angrily, that she had been cheated. Had she been a boy, then she would have been taught politics and strategy and tactics. She would not have been sent to needlework classes at Kinvale, but to fencing lessons. She might even have attended the Imperial Military Academy in Hub—her father had spent time there. Not singing madrigals, but drilling soldiers! Not the ladylike art of conversation, but intrigue, m
achinations, and unscrupulous scheming—those were what she needed! She knew nothing about sorcery or imperial politics or Arakkaran's relationship with the Impire. She wasn't even quite sure where Arakkaran was. In Zark, yes, but where was Zark? Bottom right, with Krasnegar top left . . . Master Poraganu, why did you not make me listen better?
"You are not quite of age, yet, dear."
"I am a queen!"
"You are not behaving like one," Kade said sharply. "At the moment you are a penniless refugee in a very distant land. Sultana Rasha is your only hope. And even if she is willing to help, as she promised, good manners require that you show decent gratitude for what she has already done, and also wait a reasonable time before you start pestering her."
Inos glared; her aunt glared back—and Kade's normally mild and rather watery blue eyes were capable of chilling into a very icy stare at times.
Suddenly Inos was back in Kinvale again, a much grander version of Kinvale. She was not of age, true. She was penniless, also true. Helpless—not a friend . . .
Then an interesting idea began to take shape. Not all of the skills she had gained at Kinvale were completely useless; now might be the moment to apply some. There was one person around who would certainly know a great deal more than she did about magic and politics and their dangerous combinations; even if he was a barbarian at heart. If you don't ask, you don't learn.
Evil! That had been one of Rap's many little homilies. Rap had always had more proverbs than the sea had fish. He—Forget Rap! The point was that Azak could be a valuable and disinterested advisor, if he chose to be. His views on Rasha herself would certainly be informative—there was no love lost there, obviously. And Inos thought she knew how to supply motivation in such cases. There were no official lessons in that art at Kinvale, but in practice it came ahead of anything on the curriculum.
Kade might not approve, especially if she suspected Rasha would not.
Inos made a decision. "I am rightful Queen of Krasnegar! My kingdom has been stolen from me, and I swear by all the Gods that I will do—"
"Inos!" Kade's voice rang like a blade striking armor, with all the menace of her jotunn forebears. "Do not tempt the Evil!" She made the sign of the holy balance.
Inos glared stubbornly at her. Well, she wouldn't say it. But she meant it—do anything!
When she did not speak, Kade relaxed, and was at once apologetic for her unseemly outburst. "You must learn not to be so impetuous, dear," she said reprovingly.
Ha! Impetuous? Just wait!
"Will you approach the sultana for me, Aunt?"
Kade sighed, "If you wish."
And Inos would seek out the Big Man.
2
Having dashed off a brief note to Sultana Rasha apologizing for yesterday's ill temper, Inos passed the writing materials to Kade. They had settled down to letter writing in a truly charming sitting room decorated with frescoes of flowers and vines. Wide windows looked out on the cool greenery of the garden, on its fountains and sensuously vivid blossoms.
Zana had been quite astonished when her charges had asked for paper and ink—so astonished that Inos at once suspected Zana herself must be illiterate. It had taken some time for the requested articles to be fetched, but now Inos had done her part, while managing to convince herself that she was doing it of her own free will. Kade had begun to pen a note requesting an audience with the sultana, and Kade could be counted upon to take at least an hour to do so.
A little exploration seemed called for, but if Inos should just happen to get lost, and just happen to find herself somewhere in the sultan's vicinity, then who could say what interesting conversations might ensue?
She slid quietly out into the corridor. She was not too surprised when Zana materialized in front of her.
So now she had two jailers, not just one?
"Something your Majesty requires?" Zana was close to old age, her face a sun-baked desert landscape. Although her eyes were the shade of a robin's breast, they were also sharp as flint, and they peered down at Inos without blinking.
"Ah, there you are, Mistress!" Inos said blandly. "Little notes are all right for ladies, but not for gentlemen. I wonder if you would convey my respects to the . . . Big Man . . . and inform him that I am anxious to wait upon him at his earliest convenience?" If Zana were indeed illiterate, then verbal messages would seem quite normal to her.
Zana smiled. She had a disconcertingly wise sort of a smile. It hinted that Inos was being much less subtle than Inos thought she was. On the other hand, it did not seem particularly sinister. "I shall see that he receives the message as soon as he returns this evening, ma'am." The upper part of her tall shape swayed forward, as if caught by an invisible wind.
"You are too kind!" Inos returned the bow and stepped past, intent on having a voyage of discovery, alone.
She had gone about six steps when the dry old voice said, "This is not the Impire, ma'am."
Inos stopped, turned, and considered. "Obviously."
"These apartments are very extensive, Majesty. It is quite easy to become lost. At least take Vinisha along as a guide?" Snapping her fingers, Zana produced one of the younger attendants in a feat of legerdemain that Rasha herself could hardly have bettered.
Vinisha was no older than Inos and no taller, short for a djinn. She wore the standard black garb, including a cloth over her hair, only her face and hands exposed. That face, already pink, was turning pinker as she waited for Inos's decision.
"Of course," Inos said cheerfully. She was being bribed with a chance to interrogate Vinisha, who would certainly have been chosen for her discretion, but it was a fair trade, and a guide would admittedly be advisable in a place this size. "If my aunt asks for me, pray inform her that I shall be back shortly."
All her life, Inos's closest friends had been the children of her father's servants. At Kinvale she had befriended the domestics quite successfully until Kade convinced her that it was kinder not to. She thought she might handle Vinisha better than Zana expected.
"I'm just curious to explore the guest apartments," Inos said, striding along the wide corridor. "No, please walk beside me."
Vinisha moved to her side obediently. She had beautiful features, and she moved with a sinuous grace that Inos knew she would never master. Even on skates, she could not move like that.
"Is there anything special I ought to be looking for?" she asked. "Any fine works of art?" There was nothing much to be seen in the corridor, unless stained-glass skylights were worthy of note.
Vinisha looked blank. "No, ma'am."
"Well, what's the best way to go? How many rooms are there?"
Blanker. "I don't know, ma'am."
Vinisha had not been chosen for her discretion. Vinisha had been chosen for her stupidity. Inos sighed.
"The sul . . . The palace must entertain a lot of guests?"
Vinisha's eyes flickered at Inos and then straight ahead again—blankly, of course, and now worried, also. "I don't know, ma'am."
Inos let two cross-corridors and a large hall go by before she tried again. "Well," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. "These are very extensive apartments for catering to visitors."
Relief! "These aren't normally guest quarters, Majesty. They were Prince Harakaz's habitation."
"Were?"
"Yes, ma'am. He died very suddenly."
"How sad! A close relative of the . . . the Big Man?"
"A brother."
"Tragic! This happened recently?"
"Just a few days ago." Vinisha was not reluctant to talk, once she was on a subject she understood. "His quarters and chattels had not yet been reassigned, and Mistress Zana thought we might enjoy entertaining royal ladies."
Inos paused at a junction and then headed for a shady cloister, flanking another jewellike garden. It led to a wide and promising flight of stairs. Vinisha floated along at her side. A group of women in black stepped aside and curtsied. The steps were wide, carved in sumptuous black and white stone. The w
alls were plain white marble; already Inos was becoming so inured to marble that she hardly noticed it.
"And who is Mistress Zana, exactly?"
"The Big Man's eldest sister."
Already halfway up, Inos glanced wonderingly at her companion. "Then she is a princess?"
Vinisha looked puzzled again. Inos waited patiently. She could hear voices up ahead, faintly.
"I'm not sure what a princess is, Majesty."
This was not the Impire, Zana had said.
"Then what is a sultan's daughter?"
"A woman, ma'am."
The conversation was making no sense to either of them.
The stairs led to yet another corridor, with large arched windows. Inos noted a dazzling view of the city and the bay, but she was not in the mood for admiring scenery. She was becoming extremely baffled and anxious not to show it.
"Zana looks old enough to be Azak's mother, or even his grandmother."
That observation won no reaction, so was apparently not remarkable. At the next junction Inos paused, then headed in search of the voices.
"Then by what title should she be addressed?"
"Just Mistress Zana, or 'ma'am,' ma'am."
Another bend brought the sound closer and also brought more windows, with a vista of a wide park. In the distance men were riding horses. Now that was promising!
"Oh, I love horses! Do you ride, Vinisha?"
Vinisha's beautiful eyes opened about as wide as was possible.
Inos sighed again. She swung away from the window and tried not to break into an unladylike march. She went back to personalities, as those seemed to be about her companion's limit for conversation. "Is she married—Zana, I mean?"
A puzzled headshake. "Not that I know of, Majesty."
"Funny. She sort of seems so . . . motherly."
"Oh, yes! She has borne five sons."
Inos gaped. "And how many daughters?"
The djinn blushed and did not answer. Evidently that question was improper.
Inos's view of Arakkaran as a larger, richer Kinvale was crumbling rapidly. "But never married? Who was their father?"
Vinisha frowned in thought. "I'm not sure, ma'am. More than one, likely."