“Lios,” she said, “was never mean.”
Shera said, “Unless he’s changed.”
“If he’s changed that much, as well I find out, right?” Rhis retorted lightly, but Shera wasn’t listening. “There’s Glaen,” she said softly, as Shera gasped.
Shera isn’t trying to make trouble, she loves drama, Rhis reminded herself as the carriage rolled to a stop. Tears and laughter, anger and forgiveness, rush forward and fade back—romance for Shera was like a dance, or like her music, with all the rainbow of emotions. But like a rainbow, they were soon gone.
Rhis felt a little wistful as she stepped out, and then she couldn’t think at all because Taniva gripped her wrists and pulled her into a rib-cracking hug. Then, exclaiming so fast that Rhis could not understand her, Taniva pushed her at Jarvas, who thumped Rhis heartily on the shoulder with such enthusiasm Rhis hoped she’d be able to use her arm afterward.
But it was good to see them both—even Jarvas. Even Jarvas’s wily old father, still hale and hearty, lumbering forward himself to offer Rhis his arm. “I’ll take you in,” he said.
“I promise I’m not going to steal anything,” Rhis replied, smiling up into the king’s ruddy face.
He gave a great laugh as he waved aside the waiting guests, and they scattered like chickens in a yard. “No, no! Seems to me you’ll be too busy to steal! Come along, Jarvas,” he called over his shoulder. “You’ve done your duty until the next one comes along—now lend a hand, lend a hand.”
He pointed a massive finger, as the guests over on the other side of the room parted, and there stood Lios and Hanssa. Rhis scarcely had time to register Shera’s loud sniff before Jarvas thrust his way amid the guests, stopped in front of Hanssa. He then stuck his elbow out in the most approved courtly manner, and Hanssa slid her arm round his. And they started off—the red-haired duchess’s daughter hopping at every other step.
And though the Damatran queen was waiting to be introduced, and there were half-a-dozen old friends to be greeted, Rhis had eyes only for the slim fellow of medium height now left alone, whose smile was the old smile she’d cherished so dearly, a smile she did not know was mirrored brightly in her own face.
Then they were next to one another: all she heard was her own name on his exhalation, “Rhis.”
She held out her hands, he took hers, slid her arm within his, and she sensed in his wheeling about that he became aware of their surroundings at the same moment she did. And so they blended into the crowd as new arrivals clattered into the courtyard beyond the double doors, all of whom had to be greeted and exclaimed over. Lios introduced Rhis to Jarvas’s mother, who had returned to Damatras to see her son married: that had obviously been a treaty marriage, but it had stayed friendly enough.
Then there were many old friends to greet and to catch up on. Some Rhis had seen in other places over her five years, others—all the Vesarjans—she had not seen since she left.
Glaen was the first one to greet her, grabbing her up and swinging her around before setting her down: his courtly manners were all but gone, now that he was a second in command of a merchant marine fleet. He was as skinny as ever, his hair, nearly bleached white, still hanging in his eyes. He wore his green officer’s coat with more pride than he’d ever worn velvet or lace, and showed Rhis proudly each pin or medal he’d earned in working with the allied fleets to beat back the waves of pirates infesting the coast.
“Princess Yuzhyu wanted to be here, of course,” Glaen said. “She told me to personally greet you, and beg you to visit her in Ndai.”
“She can’t get away even for a short stay?” Rhis asked.
“Not with things as they are,” Glaen said with a brief scowl. “But I’m not going to spoil this wedding with talk about the Djurans or their evil allies.”
Breggan was also there, two years married to Thirash, who greeted Rhis like an old friend. And so the day flitted by, filled with talk and laughter, then music and dance, always within arm’s reach of Lios, who seemed to want to be as close by her as she wanted to be by him.
And despite Shera’s dark prognostications, it turned out that Hanssa had accompanied Lios’s travel party—along with four others. They’d stayed at royal posting houses all the way north, a staid, proper party as different from a certain mad, desperate dash as could be. Rhis even had some conversation with Hanssa, who sat next to her at dinner. She discovered that she was not the only one who could change over five years: Hanssa’s sixteen-year-old passion for royally-born people had switched to a passion for royally-born horses, especially those with a pedigree for speed. Though she had learned to be charming—her taste in clothes was exquisite—when left to choose her own topic, it was horse racing. As soon as her broken toes (gotten in a fall when she tried one of Taniva’s high-bred hunters) healed, she proposed a royal horse race.
After dinner, she hopped away on an ambassador’s arm.
And so Shera did not get her drama after all but neither did she look for it. When the dinner was over and the guests wandered off to explore the mountain retreat or to gather for various forms of entertainment, Lios held out his hand—and Rhis knew their promised moment had come at last.
Her last glimpse of Shera was at the other end of the room where she sat in quiet conversation with Glaen, all drama forgotten.
Rhis was chuckling to herself as she and Lios walked out onto a long balcony bathed in the cool blue light of both moons, one rising, one setting.
“Did you think about what to say on the long ride to the mountains?” Lios asked. “I know I did.”
“I was singing too much,” Rhis admitted. “And talking.”
“Time for my speech. It was a good one, too—I had quotes in at least four of the languages you probably speak better than I do, and I got in a couple of impressive metaphors that I lifted from the latest play from Siradayel, but you know what my mother said just before I left? She said, Bring that girl back, my boy. When I get old and my court shoes pinch too tight to wear, it’s her I want to hand my crown to.” He shook his head. “Somehow I can’t better that. Though the court heralds won’t like that about pinched shoes, if we ever tell them about tonight.”
Rhis swept her gaze once over the soaring mountains, their crowns of ice gleaming in the soft light. I want to remember this day forever, she thought. Out loud she said, “That’s your mother, and that’s Vesarja. What about you?”
Lios held out his hands. “But don’t you see? There isn’t any me, or just me. I come with my mother and Vesarja. They are an inescapable part of me. I wish I could say that my mother’s temper will be so benign every day, but the truth is her shoes do pinch—or so she says when she gets mad in council and throws insults around like crashing plates. And as for Vesarja, I wish I could give you the play’s version of being a queen, with boxes of gems and a new gown every day, and an endless series of courtly plays and surprises. You can have those things, but the truth is, our part of the world is unsettled. Sveran Djur is restless. He wants more land.”
“I know.”
“And Arpalon is in terrible straits. His spending reached a crisis because he kept thinking he’d recoup by marrying his daughter to a very wealthy king, but—so far—it hasn’t happened. So he’s stirring up as much trouble as he can among our neighbors, and Shera’s own mother is listening to him, because she doesn’t need him making trouble on her border.”
“I know.”
“And the silk traders are unhappy because Thesreve’s silk is better, so they are gaining ground in world trade, and in short there is greed and ambition and danger aplenty out there in the world, and our job will be to ceaselessly guard against it. We will work hard.”
“I know,” she said.
“But it all changes if I can believe that you will be there, every day, every night, by my side. I’ve had five years to get to know other girls, and I have, and I liked many of them, but finally none of them was you.” Lios gave an uncertain laugh, his feelings as whirled as hers. “All
right, I’ve talked about what mother wants. What the kingdom wants. What I want. What do you want, Rhis?”
“You,” she said, and took his face between her hands, and drew him into a long and lingering kiss.
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
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A Posse of Princesses Page 13