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.”
May the Good preserve me! What would Kade say to all this?
Now they were passing doors, all leading to very splendid bedchambers—large and airy, furnished in fine furniture and silks. The beds were very large and looked comfortable. Kinvale had boasted nothing finer. Obviously the late Prince Harakaz had been a very important personage.
The corridor ended at yet another door. It was ajar, emitting sounds of children laughing and playing. A classroom? Inos hesitated, suddenly reluctant to push that door fully open; afraid of what she might find. Many children, obviously, and she could hear women’s voices, also. Babies crying? A nursery?
She clutched at the one attractive idea that had come out of this bewildering exploration.
“I suppose if I wanted to go riding, that could be arranged? For a guest, it could? Couldn’t it?”
Vinisha’s face registered desolation. She seemed close to tears. “Riding, Majesty? On horses? But…”
“But what?” Inos snapped.
“But you’d have to go out!”
“Out of what?”
“Out of this habitation.”
Inos took a deep breath. “Prince Harakaz’s habitation? These quarters?”
Vinisha nodded vigorously, looking relieved.
“You mean you don’t? Don’t go out? Not even into the rest of the palace? Never?”
Each question brought a vehement headshake.
God of Mercy!
A word spoken earlier suddenly registered. “You said ‘chattels’! Reassigned? You were … You didn’t mean … You meant you! Assigned to him?”
Vinisha nodded solemnly, seeming more confused and worried than ever. And Inos could feel her own face burning; she must be the redder of the two now.
“Exactly what were your duties for Prince Harakaz?”
“Exactly?”
“No!” Inos said hastily. “In general.”
A wide smile of relief restored Vinisha’s face to its normal youthful beauty. She laid a hand on the door. “Would you like to see my baby?” she asked hopefully.
3
Inos eventually discovered the main door without having to ask. It was locked, and a peek through a window told her that there were armed guards outside. What she had believed to be the palace itself was merely a minor mansion assigned to the late Prince Harakaz, and he had been one of the junior princes—that much Vinisha knew. The whole palace complex seemed to be larger than the towns of Krasnegar and Kinford put together.
In a dark mood, Inos returned to Kade and found her happily inspecting the unfamiliar flowers in one of the enclosed gardens.
The day only got worse as it went along. The royal guests were welcome to enjoy all the comforts of these quarters, but no, it would not be possible for them to leave without the Big Man’s permission —or Sultana Rasha’s, of course, but Zana firmly refused to discuss the sorceress. Nor would she say much about “the Big Man,” either.
Once Inos had thought of Kinvale as a prison. This place might be even more luxurious, but it was even more of a prison.
The note to Rasha brought no reply, and Zana explained patiently that the Big Man would very likely be off hunting, so he would not receive Inos’s message until he returned at sunset.
Inquiries about Azak and Rasha—how long they had respectively reigned, what their relationship was, how the people felt about them—all were politely declined. Even Kade began to look restless. Her cheerful talk about enjoying a welcome rest after the rigors of the long forest trek started to sound hollow.
The day grew crushingly hot. Inos indulged in another protracted bath, reflecting that she had several dozen to make up.
Kade experimented with a wide variety of sweetmeats and unfamiliar foods. Inos counted forty women in the “habitation,” some old, some barely nubile. They were polite, charming, and completely incapable of discussing anything except themselves and their children and the exciting prospect of being assigned to the household of some other prince in the near future. Vinisha had not been stupid; she had been typical.
Inos also tried counting babies and children, and lost track at thirty-something.
Zana admitted that she did not know how many princes there were in the palace. Hundreds if you counted all the boy babies, she said. Adults … maybe a hundred? But any royal male with a mustache was an adult, with a household of his own.
And yes, even those would have women assigned to them.
This was not the Impire. By all the Gods, this was not the Impire!
“Djinns are worse than jotnar!” Inos stormed to Kade when they happened to be alone for a few minutes.
Kade blinked her pale-blue eyes reproachfully. “Krasnegar jotnar, maybe. I don’t know about the Nordland type, though.”
Remembering the stories of Thane Kalkor, Inos quickly changed the subject.
Just after sunset, Zana excitedly informed Inos that the Big Man had received her message and would pay his respects to her the following morning. That seemed promising, although puzzling. Should not the visitor be paying her respects to the host?
After some thought, Inos went and told Kade of the appointment. To have kept it a secret would have been to admit that Kade was in charge, and Inos was determined that she was now queen, hence senior. Kade merely enthused, as was her custom, and did not inquire why she had not been consulted—thus making her niece feel infuriatingly guilty.
And a few minutes later Zana appeared to both of them with the information that they were invited to attend the state dinner that very evening, apparently a rare honor. If the formalities were to take place the next morning, dinner parties should have come afterward, surely? This was not the Impire.
Inos indulged in a third bath and reveled in the luxury of letting herself be dressed in an even softer, filmier gown. Dubiously she permitted a mantilla over her hair, but then the attendants produced a veil, intended to hide her face below the eyes. By now she desperately needed to score a point or two, and she adamantly refused to wear it. That led to an argument with Zana herself. The Big Man already knew what she looked like, Inos said, and this was the only face she had, and she wasn’t ashamed of it. Zana yielded reluctantly, with deep disapproval. It was only needed until the guests arrived at the dinner, she protested—guards and other lowly men would see. Let them, Inos retorted. Kade stayed out of the discussion, which meant that she
approved, and she did not wear a veil, either.
Zana herself was included in the invitation, apparently. She had discarded her black in favor of a fine gown of ivory silk, with much jewelry and a pearl-embroidered wimple that made Inos want to whistle in astonishment. Leaving their large band of attendants twittering in approval, the three ladies swept off to attend the state dinner.
Across parks and courtyards, they were escorted by six enormous guards, all armed with scimitars and extensive collections of other blades around their persons. Two of them even wore coiled whips on their belts. Their torches sent sparks whirling up into the warm night to meld with a breathtaking skyful of stars. Kade chattered about feeling excited, and Inos reluctantly agreed. This exotic land certainly had overtones of romance and adventure.
Would there be dancing? Inos inquired of Zana. Sounding rather puzzled, Zana assured her that almost certainly there would be dancing. Inos smiled in secret satisfaction, confident of her ability to impress on a dance floor. That gangling young sultan had moved with a slinky grace that promised he would be an admirable partner.
About a dozen other … er… ladies of the palace … had been invited, also. They were all young, all sumptuously overdressed, and their excitement at the unusual honor of attending a state dinner soon overcame their shyness at being in the presence of strangers. Their conversation, regrettably, was confined entirely to domestic topics, such as childbirth and teething.
Rasha did not appear.
The food was excellent; Inos could not deny the quality of the food, unfamiliar though the dishes were. And the wine was superb. The service could not be faulted.
The banquet hall was magnificent, lighted by more candles than there were stars beyond the great dark windows. Azak himself was there, resplendent in the green of royalty, with his glittering emerald cummerbund plainly displayed. He lounged on a divan, one of a great circle of divans, all bearing princes. Inos counted twenty-five of them, from graybeards to striplings.
What ruined the evening for her, though, was that she and all the other women sat in a high gallery, shielded by a fretwork screen so that they could watch the exciting events below them without themselves being observed. The only females down on the main floor were the scantily clad belly dancers who performed at the end of the evening, right after the jugglers and fire-eaters.
4
Inos was rarely at her best in the very early morning, and her audience with Azak—or his audience with her—was set for dawn. Had she still held any doubts that she had been transported far beyond the bounds of civilization, an appointment for that hour would have convinced her otherwise; but she was ready on time, and so was Kade. And they did not wear veils.
When the royal guests set off for the audience chamber, they were flanked by Zana and six of the older women, all veiled and swathed in black. Eight of the fearsome brown-clad guards escorted them. Protecting them from what? Armed guards within the palace itself? This time the journey was even longer.
But despite her early-morning sulks, Inos found the audience chamber breathtaking. The great hall at Krasnegar would not have made a pantry for it. High-arched windows stretched off along both sides and the mosaic floor shone like a treasure chest, wide as the Kinvale skittle field. Even the emptiness was impressive, letting the soaring stonework display its own naked beauty. That was in striking contrast to the overfurnished mishmash of Rasha’s chambers. Obviously the sorceress lacked taste. The rest of the palace glowed with it, even on this enormous scale, when grandeur could so easily have become vulgar ostentation. Inos glanced at her aunt and saw that she, also, was mightily impressed.
The two of them were conducted to a low dais that seemed designed to support a throne, but there was no throne in sight. They stood in awed silence, instinctively edging closer. Zana positioned herself and the other attendants at their rear. The others were whispering excitedly, as if this were the first time they had been allowed out in years.
Time passed. Inos felt the beat of her heart, and it was speeding up as her anger began to grow. She did not understand the backward etiquette. As visitor, she ought to call on the sultan, but to keep her waiting when she had been placed in the position of honor was deliberate affront.
Then the pale light slinking through the high arches blushed swiftly golden pink and brightened to proclaim sunrise. A trumpet blared, and a small procession wheeled in at the far end of the hall and advanced, with Azak’s unmistakable height in the vanguard. Behind him marched at least a dozen other men, all of them clad in various shades of royal green. A squad of guards entered, also, but remained by the door.
The procession halted before the dais, and for a moment the two parties surveyed each other in silence. Inos took her first close look at Arakkaranian princes and was not impressed. They ranged in age from fresh-faced boys to grizzled elders, but those that could, wore beards. None was as tall as Azak, but they were all ruddy-skinned, red-eyed djinns, and despite their gems and the fine cut of their garments, they seemed a rough, fierce crew. To a man, they were scowling at her in shocked disapproval. She was not accustomed to having men disapprove of her appearance, but the distaste was mutual—she thought she would sooner trust a longshipful of unwashed jotnar.
There was no doubt who was captain of these pirates. His turban, glowing today with pearls, stood clear above all the rest. As he had when she first met him, two days before, he wore a loose tunic and trousers, plus the same wide jeweled belt that would have purchased a kingdom. But now his pants were tucked into high boots and his cloak was of heavy stuff, with a hood thrown back and long slitted sleeves dangling unused at his side. These were obviously outdoor garments, and his scimitar was a more serious weapon than the one she had noticed on him the previous morning. Azak, Inos assumed, was now in his work clothes.
Abruptly he snapped his fingers. A slim youth stepped stiffly forward a few paces and stopped. His red djinn complexion had paled to a sickly pink, his fists were tightly clenched, and something about the way his eyes moved told Inos that he was terrified. Sweat shone amid the fuzz of his mustache. He glanced around. Azak nodded impatiently. One of the older men frowned and nodded, also.
The boy turned back to face the visitors. He swallowed and licked his lips. Suddenly Inos knew what was about to happen, but before she could object, it had happened.
In a quavering tenor the youngster announced: “His Majesty, Sultan Az—”
He was gone; life was gone. His clothes remained, stirring in the eddies of the wind, but they enclosed only a statue of shiny pink granite. As a likeness it was superhumanly perfect, in every cruel detail—mouth still open, eyes inlaid in cinnabar and mother-of-pearl, staring fixedly at nothing. Kade stifled a cry, and Inos felt herself shudder. Azak ignored the transformation. He strode forward two paces and doubled over in one of his gymnast’s bows, with the same elaborate gestures he had used before.
Then Inos saw that the older man in the background was beaming proudly, and she felt a moment’s relief. To proclaim Azak sultan within the palace brought down the curse, so he was using it as a test of loyalty, or courage. It had been the boy’s turn, that was all, and the others’ lack of concern showed that the sorceress would remove the spell before long.
Inos was still much too icily furious to say a word. She curtsied. Azak was a step lower, but his gaze was level with hers, and for a moment they stared at each other, as if each were waiting for the other to speak. He had noted the absence of a veil, obviously, but she could read nothing in his expression except arrogance. There was plenty of that. Young Azak thought he was spectacular, and in a ferocious sort of way he was undeniably handsome. With his ruddy face framed by the trim line of beard, with his fierce hook nose and flashing red-brown eyes, with his overpowering height and physical presence, Azak clearly believed a woman should feel like swooning whenever she looked at him.
He might not be too far wrong, damn him!
His neck alone was remarkable.
On the other hand—
gander saucing goose—his own inspection of Inos could not be described as desultory. At their first meeting she had looked like something washed up by a flood; now she was better prepared. She was not quite jotunn height, but taller than an imp. She wore no veil. Her lace mantilla did little to hide her honey-gold hair, which must seem as much a rarity to him as green eyes.
Show him! Even dressed in a tent, she thought she should be able to raise male blood pressure merely by fluttering her lashes. Thus.
Yes, his pupils dilated satisfactorily.
She wondered about her own pupils, and who had come out ahead. Evil take him! Barbarian!
Having expertly appraised her and allowed her a chance—however inadequate—to admire him, Azak bowed again.
“Your Majesty is an honored guest in this, the humble house of my fathers. If anything at all is lacking to make your stay more enjoyable, your Majesty’s whims command the nation.”
Without waiting for a reply, he bowed to Kade. “And your Royal Highness, also.”
Kade curtsied, while Inos struggled with her anger—and lost. Rashness won over caution. If this troll-size savage required his followers to suffer petrification just to soothe his bruised arrogance, then he obviously put a very high value on courage, and Inos was not going to be outdone in that, despite Rasha’s warnings. A brief sojourn as a statue might be a restful experience anyway.
“We are deeply honored by this opportunity to visit with —” She took a deep breath. “— our cousin of Arakkaran.”
Kade uttered a small cry of alarm, but nothing occult transpired. The royal courtesy had been too subtle for the curse to detect. Azak had noticed, though. His eyes widened, and something like a small smile flexed his beard.
With her heart still thumping madly, Inos pushed her luck a little farther. “And we welcome the chance to view the beautiful kingdom of Arakkaran … blessed with so noble a ruler.”
This time even the mob of lackeys caught the circumlocution. Glances were exchanged, lips pursed. Azak beamed and bowed again, lower than ever.
A Man of His Word Page 44
