Azmei didn't think the evening terribly auspicious, herself. She'd broken one of the ribbons holding her dancing slippers on, and she was fretting over the way she'd translated that last hero tale. She just knew she'd missed a nuance in the language where Rona was weeping on the neck of dying Fann. It had seemed a fine project when she'd begun, translating the nationalistic epic of her husband-to-be's country into the language of her homeland. But there were fine tricks of the Amethirian language she obviously hadn't mastered, since she kept wavering between thinking Rona and Fann were merely brothers-in-arms or suspecting a closer bond.
She would have to ask Vistaren, she decided. She had wanted to present the work as a betrothal gift to him, but it wouldn't be a very good gift if she'd gotten that wrong.
"Wake up," Razem hissed beside her. "Lady Tault is headed this way with her daughters. You have to protect me from them. One of them treads on my toes whenever we dance, and at this rate I'm going to end up crippled."
Azmei rolled her eyes up at her older brother. "Very soon now, brother mine, you'll have to learn to fight your own battles." She meant it as a joke, but her gut twisted as she said it.
Razem's dark brows pulled together, his jaw clenching. "Don't remind me." He lifted his head to look beyond her. Azmei studied him, fixing him in her memory. His brown skin, the strong line of his jaw, the shoulder-length, straight, black hair that was currently held in check by a gold fillet. Their training had gone different directions over the past several years, but for all that, she and her brother were close. She believed he would be a good king, even greater than their father, and she wouldn't be here to see it happen.
Razem's tawny gaze darted back to her face. "Ah, gods, you look melancholy, sister." He took one of her hands in both of his, holding tightly. "I hate this."
Somehow his distress gave her courage. Azmei squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. "As do I. But we will bear it. We are royals of Tamnen."
Razem leaned in to kiss her forehead. "As always, your bravery puts mine to shame," he murmured. "Very well, I shall go deal with Lady Tault and her abusive daughters myself." He left the dais and strode to where the approaching noblewoman watched him eagerly.
"The princess seems distracted tonight."
She looked up to see a pretty woman about her own age smiling at her from a deep curtsy.
"Caught out, I'm afraid," Azmei admitted with a rueful smile. She didn't recognize the woman, but her dress was of fine silk from their southern regions.
"Orya Perslyn," the woman said. "Of the Meekin branch of the Perslyn family."
Of course. A textile family of some means. That explained the silk. Azmei smiled and nodded in greeting.
"I am honored to be sailing on your highness' ship to Ranarr, and I was eager to meet you before we sailed." At Azmei's arched eyebrow, Orya looked sheepish. "I've never been to Ranarr before. I thought having a friend on the ship would help."
A friend? Orya's brazen attitude amused Azmei. She gestured for Orya to walk with her.
"And what takes you to Ranarr?" she asked. "You already know why I am going."
Orya's laugh was crystalline, like the dancing of bells. "I am to negotiate a contract on behalf of my family to supply silk for two Tamnese dress shops in Ranarr." She leaned in, too familiar and irresistibly charming. "Hopefully I can finalize the contract in time for a royal wedding."
Azmei couldn't swallow a laugh at that. "If things aren't going well, tell me, and I'll delay the wedding," she promised.
Orya proved clever and easy to talk to. Over the next hour of the ball, Azmei spent more time talking to her new friend than she did dancing. It was just as well, with that hastily mended slipper ribbon, but eventually Azmei caught the exasperated glances her father and Guira were both directing at her. She took her leave of Orya and danced with the sons of a dozen noblemen and another dozen important noblemen themselves. By the time the ball ended, Azmei had lost track of her new friend's whereabouts entirely.
Nevertheless, she felt decidedly less anxious about the voyage that awaited a few days hence.
Azmei slept late the morning after the leave-taking ball. She was vaguely aware of Guira trying to wake her at one point, but Azmei was dreaming about a red horse with eyes that seemed to see into her heart. She mumbled at Guira and slipped back into her dream, where she and the red horse ran across the desert to the edge of the ocean and beyond.
When she truly woke, Azmei had a headache. She stared at the gauzy curtains hanging around her bed, wondering why she should even bother getting out of bed today. She hadn't finished packing, but that could wait. And there was her translation of Rona and Fann for Prince Vistaren, but she would have plenty of time to work on that on the ship.
What was the point anyway? Vistaren probably wouldn't care about reading things in her language. What was the point of anything? She sighed and rolled over, burying her face in the down comforter. I'll sleep all day, she thought, and perhaps I'll dream about the red horse again and forget any of this is real.
The longer she lay there, the more aware she was of the throbbing in her head. Having nothing to distract her from the pain, she focused on it until it seemed magnified tenfold from when she first woke.
Some indeterminate length later, the curtains were jerked open. "What are you doing still abed?" Guira demanded. "Up! You have your final appointment with the bookbinders this afternoon, and then you have to decide which dresses we are taking with us."
Azmei groaned and burrowed further under the covers.
"If you leave it up to me, I shall dress you in pink from head to toe."
That made Azmei sit up, which actually made her head feel better. "You wouldn't dare."
Guira's smile was wicked. She and Azmei both knew she very much would dare. It was one of Guira's lifelong sorrows that Azmei refused to wear pink. The fact that several pink dresses existed said a lot about the level of Guira's determination.
Azmei huffed and threw the covers back, swinging her legs over the edge. "Very well. I want breakfast and nalatooth tea. My head is aching."
"Right away, m'lady," Guira said, with just enough edge to her voice that Azmei realized she was being petulant.
"Straighten up," Azmei muttered to herself. "You needn't take it out on Guira. She's no happier about this than you are." She sighed and turned her attention to getting dressed.
The nalatooth tea did help, and breakfast helped even more. By the time Azmei's carriage was ready to carry her and Guira to the market district, her headache had faded almost entirely. Not quite enough, she discovered as the carriage jolted on a loose cobblestone. But she clenched her teeth and bore it. It would be worth it. The bookbinder was providing a fine, leather-bound tome, into which Azmei could copy her translation. She could have sent Guira to pick up the order, of course, but as this was her betrothal gift to Prince Vistaren, Azmei wanted to be able to say she had done it all herself.
As the carriage rolled into the market district, Azmei leaned against the window, gazing past the mounted guards accompanying them to take in the familiar sights. She would miss her occasional excursions to the shops. She had one particular ink dealer who was her favorite, and she was certain no Amethirian shop could compete with Sumina Books and Bindings.
"Princess Azmei! Your Highness is gracious to visit us in person yet again!" Sumina herself hurried forward, a wide smile on her craggy face. She had run the bookshop for as long as Azmei could remember, and always knew just what books the princess would enjoy. It was possible, Azmei conceded, that Sumina had helped shape her interests, as well.
"Goodness, Sumina, you know this shop is one of my favorite places in the city," she said aloud. As Sumina curtsied, Azmei reached out and caught her hands. "Honored bookseller, I would thank you one last time for your service over the years." Sumina's eyes widened as Azmei drew her upright and kissed her on each cheek. "May you always prosper as you advertise that you are the royal bookseller to both Tamnen and Amethir."
; Sumina's mouth dropped open, but she stared, speechless, at Azmei.
Azmei laughed. "Dear Sumina. You have always pleased me, and I am bearing your workmanship as a betrothal gift to Prince Vistaren. Did you think I would fail to extend you the honor?"
"I hadn't dared hope," Sumina, replied at last. She blinked several times and shook her head. "I thank you." She squeezed Azmei's hands. "Let me show you the volumes I have for the prince. I prepared four for your examination."
As Azmei followed Sumina back to the counter, she breathed in deeply, trying to seal the scent of dust, vanilla, and leather into her memory. What would she do without Sumina? Amethir would have booksellers aplenty, but it would not have the woman who knew that Azmei preferred adventure tales to romances.
"Here we are." Sumina placed on the counter a bundle wrapped in soft fabric. As she unfolded the cloth, Azmei's eyes were drawn to a brilliant red tome. Sumina had done lovely work dyeing all four leather covers, but the navy, green, and brown were so drab. Red was the color of passion--appropriate for the epic stories as well as for a betrothal gift.
"This one." Azmei stroked the soft leather. "Of course. This one."
After she had paid for the book, she visited the shop next door, where she purchased several packets of fine paper and two extra bottles of ink. She didn't want to run out on her way to Ranarr. It would be embarrassing if she had to switch colors halfway through Prince Vistaren's book.
Guira insisted they go to Azmei's favorite dressmaker after the stationers, but the dressmaker's shop was closed, a hastily-lettered sign in the front stating the dressmaker was ill. Azmei turned to head back to the carriage, but Guira's hand closed about her wrist. "There's another just up the street," she said. "I know you don't care for her, but I need to buy ribbons, and you ought to have a better hat for onboard the ship."
Azmei heaved a sigh but followed obediently. She should have bought that slender volume of fantastic tales she'd seen in passing at Sumina's. It would at least give her something to look at while Guira chatted with the dressmaker about fabric and cut and texture and whatnot.
This dressmaker was a short, square-jawed woman who kept rubbing her hands together. Every time she glanced at Azmei, she half-bobbed a curtsy, as if she were afraid of giving offense. Azmei frowned at her, at which the woman blenched and looked back at Guira. Guira began listing out everything she needed while the woman trotted from one side of the shop to the other, gathering everything in a pile on the counter.
Azmei tried to keep her boredom from showing as Guira and the dressmaker debated the merits of velvet. Finally it was decided that, while velvet was certainly too hot for Ranarr, it might be all right in Amethir, so Guira only bought a small amount. Every time the woman glanced at her, she rubbed her hands together and then rubbed her fingers against her lips. The dressmaker began pressing another blend on Guira, but Azmei was finished waiting.
"Enough," she said. "If I take too many dresses with me, it will be a waste. I will undoubtedly have new fashions to purchase in Amethir. Guira, have her tally the sale. We are done." Guira flashed her an annoyed look that smoothed away as she turned to face the dressmaker.
Not waiting to see what the final cost would be, Azmei went to stand at the door of the shop. One of her guards met her glance, and she smiled at him.
"I positively loathe buying new dresses," she murmured. "Go down and make the carriage driver ready. I'll walk back, but it wouldn't do for me to catch him napping."
The guard grinned. "Of course, your highness," he said, and started down the street. Azmei turned to look back into the shop. Guira had finished her purchase.
"Come," Azmei said. "I have much to do back at the palace." She waited until they were outside to add, "I know you're annoyed with me, Guira, but I couldn't watch that woman twitch any longer. She looked as if someone were poking her with hot needles."
"Mm. She was behaving rather oddly, wasn't she?" Guira frowned. "I've dealt with her before. She's never been so nervous in the past. Then again, you aren't usually with me."
As they came abreast of the closed dressmaker's shop, Azmei said, "Next time you see Innah, tell her I was sorry I couldn't say farewell. I hope she isn't terribly ill." Innah was, like all dressmakers, too fond of pink, but at least she was polite about Azmei's hatred of the color.
Whatever Guira had planned to say was lost as the door of the shop burst outward. It slammed into one of Azmei's guards, sending him reeling. Two armed men leapt through the door into the street. One of them slashed his sword, and another of Azmei's guards fell, cursing.
"Ware!" shouted Azmei's third guard as the second armed man charged. "Ware! Protect the princess!"
Azmei had no weapons, nor anything to protect her except the thick tome in her arms. She had insisted on carrying it herself. She was glad of that now. She raised the book in front of her. It might not stop a sword, but it might break the force of a blow.
Fortunately she didn't have to try it. The guard she had sent to the carriage came at a run, followed by two more who had been guarding the carriage, while the guard who had shouted jumped between Azmei and the attackers. The guard who had been knocked down by the door had clambered to his feet and joined the fray as well.
"No wedding! No peace!" shouted one of the attackers. Azmei didn't see what he did to the guard, but suddenly the guard who had shouted was on the ground, clutching at his groin. There was no one between Azmei and the shouting attacker. Blood slid down his sword as he advanced on her.
"Damn you!" she shouted at the attacker, and threw the book at him. He had to duck, and it slowed him enough for the last of her guards to reach them. He was behind the man, who was too focused on reaching Azmei to notice him. His sword sliced cleanly through the attacker's neck, severing head from shoulders.
Guira had thrown herself between Azmei and the attacker. Azmei jerked Guira backwards as the attacker's headless body twitched and fell to the ground.
The first attacker had been subdued while Azmei was occupied with the second. He knelt in the blood-spattered dirt, staring defiantly at the princess. A crowd was beginning to gather. Azmei looked around, fearing the worst for Innah. "Check the dressmaker's shop," she ordered. Then a thought occurred to her. "The shop we were in!" she snapped. "Find that woman. See if she knew something."
The guards who had come from the carriage took control of the prisoner while the others went to check the shop.
"Why did you do this?" Azmei demanded, stepping closer to the prisoner. He couldn't be much older than she. "Why would you raise a hand against your princess?"
He glared at her without speaking. One of the guards shook him. It made him wince, but he still didn't speak.
"Do you care nothing for the thousands who have died in this war with Strid?" she persisted. "Have you so little love for your countrymen that you would condemn thousands more to die needlessly? Why would you have no peace? Why would you have no wedding?"
"No peace except through victory," the man said. He spit at her feet. Azmei stepped forward and slapped him.
"My cousin died in Dinnsan, dog," she hissed. "I will have peace to honor his memory, rather than a hollow victory."
As soon as she was close, the man twisted, kicking the guard that held him. The guard didn't let go entirely, but his grip loosened enough that the attacker could lunge for Azmei. She recoiled. As quick as lightning, another guard slashed out with his sword. The prisoner fell into the dirt, bleeding. The attackers had been armed, but not armored. The guard's stroke had opened a bloody slash across the man's back.
Azmei stumbled backwards until strong hands steadied her. "Here, my lady," murmured the guard she had spoken to earlier. "Allow me to aid you."
She hoped it was the weakness in her knees that made her snap, "What is taking the others so long?" She hated leaning on him, but she wasn't sure her legs would hold her yet. A practice fight with her brother was one thing. An actual battle, however small and short, was not at all what she had imagined
.
The guards reappeared from the dress shop. The dressmaker walked, wrists bound, between them. Her jaw was reddening, her eyes downcast.
"We must get you back to the palace," murmured the guard.
"Wait, where is Guira? Guira!" Azmei turned, staring around, until she saw her handmaid kneeling beside the wounded guard. She had pressed the bolt of velvet cloth against his wound to stanch the blood. Warmth flooded through Azmei. She straightened.
"Thank you," she murmured, glancing at her guard, and went to stand over Guira. "Will he be all right?"
"It is a bad cut, my lady, but listen." Guira didn't look up as she spoke. Azmei did as she bade and realized the alarm bells were ringing through the city. Pounding hoofbeats were approaching at a gallop. "They will get him to a healer and he will live." One of the guards took Guira's place.
Azmei knelt beside him. "Guardsman, I thank you," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. He was sweating, his lips pulled away from gritted teeth. "What is your name?"
He was breathing hard. "Sennal, your highness."
Azmei kissed her fingertips and touched them to his forehead. "Guardsman Sennal, you saved my life. You and your family will never want in this life."
He grimaced at her, but she decided it was actually a smile twisted by pain. "You honor me, Princess Azmei."
"No, you honor me." She stood and swept the rest of her guard with a look. She sensed them straightening as her gaze touched each of them. "You all honor me. I do not disregard the heavy price you pay to protect me. I thank you all."
The hoofbeats were very close. When she looked up, she realized it wasn't the city guard, or even the palace guard. It was her brother, riding at the head of a column of soldiers. When he saw her, he shouted.
"Azmei! Protect the princess!"
Azmei forced a smile for the wounded guard and went to stand inside the circle of guards until her brother arrived. Her handmaid joined her inside the circle. "My lady, I am so sorry," she breathed. "If it had not been for me, we wouldn't have been at the dress shop."
Stormshadow (Storms in Amethir Book 2) Page 2
