Stormshadow (Storms in Amethir Book 2)

by Stephanie A. Cain

  CHAPTER SIX

  Later, Azmei would look back on that day as one of the happiest in her life. The sun shone warmly on Ranarr, and the dry breeze cooled them as they walked the wide, steep streets of the White Stone. They admired the brilliant spectrum available from the ink dealers and judged how each hue might look on the various parchments and papers for sale. Azmei bought herself a pen carved from the bone of a sea dragon and chose a bottle of violent red to ink it with. For Guira she purchased a hair comb carved of the same bone. They pored over books with names like Diplomacy and End Games, Safely Transversing the Sea of Stars, and Once Across the Blades, debating what each book might be about.

  When they tired of the university market, they wandered between stone planters overflowing with flowers and fountains that burbled and laughed. Carefully tended palm trees grew in larger stone planters, shading the streets from the hot midday sun. Guira told stories about Azmei's mother when she was a young woman: how she had met Prince Marsede at a Year's Turning ball and spilled her drink on him; how the whirlwind courtship between the Prince and Lady Izbel of the Fifth Family had set the court on its ear; how Izbel had doted on Razem and Azmei when they were babies. Azmei bought candied nuts and tepid tea from a street vendor and they found a chocolate shop for dessert.

  After lunch, they wended their way through a colorful park with luscious grass and bushes full of huge fuchsia flowers. A central fountain caught the sunlight and drew them to dabble their fingers and wish over the little bronze coins called nir. Azmei had never thought Guira particularly sad or stern, but she had never seen her handmaid smile so much, or heard her laugh so often, as that day.

  As they strolled along the main thoroughfare, peering into shop windows and amused by the raucous cries of gulls overhead, Azmei heard someone say her name. Surprised to have been recognized, Azmei turned and saw it was Orya. The cloth merchant was laden with packages, which struck Azmei as odd. Didn't she have a servant with her?

  "Azmei, isn't the city beautiful?" Orya stepped closer, smiling. "I don't mean to be disrespectful," she murmured. "I use your name only so no one will realize who you are."

  Azmei laughed. "Am I so transparent to you already, new friend?" she asked. "But I thank you. One can learn so much by observing unrecognized."

  "Indeed." Orya pushed back her wide-brimmed hat and patted delicately at her forehead. "It is so hot here! Wenda has a bad foot, so I offered to run her errands for her, but if I had known how hot it is, I would have just paid for a chair."

  "You would do so much for a servant?" Guira's tone was cool, polite, but disbelieving.

  "Oh, she isn't a servant," Orya said carelessly. "She's a cousin. Just a different branch of the Perslyn family. I will not keep you, my lady," she added. "I only thought it would be rude to pass by you without speaking." She ducked her head respectfully as Azmei and Guira said their farewells and left her.

  She had been right about one thing: it was hot. Azmei liked the heat, but she wasn't so fond of the sticky way the air clung to her skin. She wondered if it were sticky like this in Amethir. Or did it get hot there at all? Perhaps, since they had no snow, they also had no heat.

  They ducked into the dim coolness of the Shrine of Peace, where Azmei left an offering of ten ran, and they both lit candles to shine in the still air. Azmei wondered again what it must be like to serve a god of peace. When one of the clerics walked up to the front of the shrine, she saw the man was barefoot; he knelt before the stylized candle flame carved into the wall and apparently sank into meditation. So perhaps she had been right about that, at least.

  Finally they found themselves in the fruit and spice market. They picked a path between carts piled high with oranges and heartfruit and delightberries and goldenseed, Azmei buying two of every fruit she had never seen before. "We'll try them together," she told Guira, who tucked them into a bag she carried on her shoulder. On a terrace below they could hear the shouts of fisherfolk as they unloaded the day's haul at vendor stalls. The sweet astringent of citrus disguised any stink of fish, but without discussion, Azmei and Guira turned away from the fish market and began the long trek back to the university at the peak of the White Stone.

  Azmei had intended for them to share one or two of the fruits for an afternoon repast, but when they reached their apartments in the university, she could see that their long walk had tired Guira. After all, she had been Izbel's nurse before Azmei's, and must be nearing her sixtieth year, and their lives back in Tamnen had not involved so many hills. Azmei sat in the window seat with a glass of cool white wine. Guira allowed herself to be chivvied into resting. When Azmei was certain her handmaid was sleeping, she refilled her wine glass and silently left their apartments to seek a shady courtyard where she could soak up the last day of her freedom.

  The courtyard she found was pleasantly warm, the sun's rays slanting in from the west. The air was humid without feeling sticky, and she wondered if it was anything like the air in Amethir. Perhaps she should have spent more time studying practical things like the climate and economy of Amethir, and less time on their folklore.

  She settled on a bench and closed her eyes, listening to the rustle of the breeze through the fragrant vines that grew up along stone columns. Was it always so peaceful here in Ranarr? Perhaps she would stall the marriage agreement until she had explored all of the city-state. That would give her and Vistaren both time to be certain they weren't making a colossal mistake.

  But what other choice did either of them have? Vistaren didn't need the peace, as she did, but he did need heirs, and treaty aside, Azmei was of royal blood and therefore a proper match for him. As second-born child of the king, Azmei would have a single estate as her inheritance, unless her brother died untimely, and she did not wish for that. She might as well marry Vistaren. As much as she loved her life in Tamnen, she had always yearned for something more, and perhaps this marriage would give her that.

  "Oh, I'm s-sorry, I didn't realize anyone was here."

  Azmei's eyes popped open and she sat up. Heat washed over her as she realized the way she had been sprawled had likely displayed a great deal of skin around her bosom, arms, and legs. The boy stammering his apologies was pudgy, with dark olive skin and blue-black hair tied back neatly. No, not a boy, she revised as she took in the evening shadow along his jawline. He was come to manhood, though she didn't think he was any older than she, if he was even that old.

  "It's all right," she said in a low voice. "I was only enjoying the sunshine. You're welcome to use the courtyard too, if you want." She smoothed her split skirts down in a show of demureness. "Our apartments haven't got a private courtyard, so I just came looking for one that wasn't being used."

  The young man's posture was relaxing, and she realized that his skin tone wasn't quite as dark as she'd thought--he must have been blushing. It made her smile. "You have the look of a Crelin about you," she said.

  "Aye." He perched on a bench across from her, his movements graceful despite the extra weight he carried. "I've just come from Amethir."

  Azmei straightened. "Oh! You must be with the prince's party!" She forced herself to take a deep breath. She didn't need to make her curiosity so obvious.

  He ducked his head. "I…did sail on the prince's ship," he agreed. "And are you a visitor as well? You don't look like any Ranarri I've ever met."

  "That's because I'm not Ranarri. I sailed from Tamnen with the princess. I--I'm Orya," she lied. If she told him her real name, he might realize she was the princess who had come to marry his prince, and she didn't want him to be formal or awkward. She wanted to speak openly with him, to learn things about his country and his prince.

  "I--you can call me Lo," he said. He bit his lip and studied her, and Azmei hoped desperately that he hadn't seen more of her than he should have. He would discover her true identity before long, she was sure, and it would be mortifying to have the first Amethirian she met think poorly of her.

  "I'm pleased to meet you, Lo," she said. "Tell m
e, did you have a pleasant journey?"

  "It was…eventful," he said. He scooted back in his seat. "Have you ever heard of stormsingers?"

  Azmei tilted her head. "I thought they were called stormwitches?"

  "No--I mean, yes, people are called stormwitches. But there are old stories about the folk we humans first learned stormwitchery from. They were always called stormsingers, but there was never any description of what they looked like. Well," he temporized, "nothing credible, anyway. Some of the descriptions involved great wings and long, barbed tails, and teeth that could crack up a ship with a single bite." He snorted. "Anyway, we brought a stormwitch with us on the ship, because every Amethirian vessel of any size has one, you know. And she caught some sort of witchery echo." He grinned. "Don't ask me what that is, I haven't a clue, but she noticed it, anyway. And when she investigated it, this--" He shook his head. "This amazing, gorgeous behemoth came to us. It was singing, and it called up a storm straight out of season."

  Azmei leaned forward. "Behemoth?"

  He nodded. She liked the spark of enthusiasm in his eyes. Whatever Lo did for the prince, he was obviously an intelligent young man. "Arama--that's our captain--she said she'd seen behemoths before, always at a great distance. But she'd never seen anything like what this one did. He was singing, and the stormwitch said his song was off--and that was odd, too, because our stormwitch is deaf, but she could feel his song with her magic, you know--and she fixed it for him." He beamed. "And next thing we knew, we were surrounded by them, on all sides of us, dwarfing the ship and churning up the sea all around us…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "It was beautiful."

  It sounded awe-inspiring. But Azmei couldn't miss the note of wistfulness in his voice. She wondered if she would ever see something so amazing. "It sounds like it," she said. "I envy you."

  He twitched, as if he'd forgotten he was telling the story to an actual person. Then he shrugged. "I don't think I'll ever forget it, as long as I live."

  "What did the prince think of it?" she asked curiously.

  He tilted his head. "I think he was similarly affected. But I don't understand him very well, you know. I don't think anyone really understands the prince."

  "Why is that?" Azmei had almost forgotten the goblet of wine by her hand until her fingers brushed the cool brass. She lifted it to take a sip, then held it out in offering to Lo. "I'd offer you your own glass, but I only brought this one," she explained.

  He gave her a startled look, then accepted the glass and took a sip. "Thank you. That's very nice. Like a burst of goldenseed and sunshine on the tongue."

  "I like it too," she said, pleased. "I'd never had it before last night. It's something local, but I've forgotten the name."

  "I haven't had any local wine," Lo said. "Of course, we just arrived last night, and we dined quietly in our quarters after getting settled."

  Azmei nodded. "Did you have trouble getting your feet back under you?" She looked down at her own feet. "I had never been on such a long sea journey."

  "Nor I," he replied. "I'm clumsy anyway, when I'm distracted. I didn't know everyone had trouble."

  She grinned at him. "I didn't either, the first time I sailed. We were only a week on ship that time, but my brother told me it must have broken my grace. He had no trouble at all, and I cried for an hour before I realized he was only teasing me."

  Lo's plump cheeks made his eyes squint when he laughed. He had a friendly face. She wondered if he knew the prince well. Perhaps he didn't know him at all. He might be a stormwitch, for all she knew. Then again, he might be the prince's valet. Would he talk about Vistaren? There were so many things she wanted to know.

  "Why do you think no one understands the prince?" she asked, going back to their previous topic.

  Lo pursed his lips. He tilted his head back and stared up at the sky for several moments. "I think the prince is lonely. He's no brothers or sisters, nor even cousins, and he's been sent to marry a princess he's never met. I'm sure your princess is a lovely woman," he added quickly, "and I know it isn't at all uncommon for royals and nobles to have arranged marriages. But I think it weighs on him."

  "I can imagine," Azmei murmured. "Perhaps he and Princess Azmei will like one another."

  Lo's expression was thoughtful. "I hope so." He took another sip of the wine and handed the glass back to her. "She may need the peace, but he needs an heir."

  Azmei smiled at the echo of her earlier thoughts. "And a friend, perhaps," she suggested.

  He stared at her a moment. "And a friend, perhaps," he agreed.

  Their talk turned to lighter matters then, comparing the differences between Ranarr and their respective homelands. She told him about the doves that woke her in the mornings at home. He told her about storms that rumbled thunder across the land, murmuring him to sleep. When the bell chimed to warn them of the approaching dinner hour, Azmei was startled to find they were sitting in twilight, and servants were lighting lamps around the courtyard.

  "Oh! I must go," she said. "My--Guira will be looking for me. I'm to attend her at dinner tonight."

  Lo stood and reached out to take her hand. "I am pleased to have made your acquaintance, Orya," he said, bowing over it. "I hope your princess and my prince may speak as easily tomorrow as you and I have this evening." His smile was friendly. Azmei couldn't help but return it.

  "That is my hope, as well. Good night, Lo."

  "Good night, my lady," he murmured as she turned and hurried from the courtyard.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "Ouch, not so tight!" Azmei protested.

  Guira huffed but repinned the looping braid. Her hands gentled to keep from pulling Azmei's hair.

  "I hate that everything has to be so elaborate," Azmei complained. "The Diplomats won't be impressed by the ceremony, and it'll only be me and Vistaren and a handful of companions each. Do you think Vistaren cares about my dress? If I'm not pretty enough for him, all the silk and lace and jewels in the world won't make him love me better." She scuffed her thin-soled slipper against the floor. "Not that that matters."

  "It matters," Guira said grimly. She was silent as she poked a jeweled pin through the next braid. Azmei swallowed, trying to push down the tight feeling in her throat. "Besides," Guira added, "Your father gave me strict orders to present you as formally and respectfully as possible. You wouldn't have me disobey your father, would you?"

  Azmei sighed. That was playing dirty, and Guira knew it, but Azmei couldn't protest. Her father would want her to be presented so, and Azmei always wished to please her father. "Well, you might as well use the rouge and lip color, while you're at it," she grumbled.

  "Your highness is gracious." Guira's tone was dry.

  Azmei glared out the window, wondering if Vistaren was the object of this much fussing in his apartments, wherever they were. Destar had said the prince was a tidy man. Perhaps that meant he actually liked all the fussing over his appearance. Well, she thought ruefully, I suppose one of us might as well enjoy it.

  "There." Guira stood back and gripped Azmei's shoulders to turn her. "Very pretty. The trim color brings out your eyes, and with your hair up like that, they look larger. Smile for me."

  Azmei bared her teeth. Guira clucked and reached for the cosmetics. "Behave."

  She did her best not to flinch as Guira stroked the rouge across her cheeks and darkened her eyelashes. Harder was not squinting her eyes closed when Guira poked the kohl at her, but she managed it, and as the lip color stroked across her mouth, carrying the refreshing scent of peppermint, Azmei congratulated herself. She hadn't even tried to bite.

  Guira's expression said she knew full well what Azmei was thinking, but thankfully she said only, "You look lovely, Azmei. Like your mother, but with your father's eyes."

  Azmei pressed her lips together and swallowed. She knew all the reasons why her father and brother had been unable to travel with her. They would have presented too tempting a target for the Strid--or any other nation hoping to profit from
a Strid victory. Besides, with the Kreyden District still occupied by their enemy, the king must not appear more interested in personal matters than in matters of state.

  Still, it would have been nice to have at least one of them here when she met her future husband.

  Guira must have seen some of this in her eyes, because her expression softened and she wrapped her arms around Azmei, mindful not to muss her. "You truly are lovely," she murmured. "Your father and brother would be proud of you, as I am. And your mother. I know I have been demanding, but you have never disappointed me, my dear girl. You will not disappoint me today, no matter what the outcome of this meeting."

  Azmei worked an arm around Guira's waist. "I love you, Guira," she whispered. "Thank you for all your patience."

  Guira held her a moment longer, then put her gently away. "There, now, no time for sentiment. We must get down to the presentation room before the Amethirians. The bride-to-be always arrives first."

  Azmei let Guira settle a thin yellow-gold cape across her shoulders. "Why is that, do you think?"

  "Perhaps so she has a chance to flee if he turns out to be an ogre." Guira flashed her a conspiratorial smile and led the way out of the room before Azmei could suggest it might be the other way around.

  Azmei was properly seated in a high-backed chair, with Guira on one side of her and Destar on the other, when the prince's party arrived for their meeting. Apparently Guira hadn't made up the rule about grooms arriving last. A man with spiky hair the same blue-black shade as the boy from last night stepped into the room. His eyes flickered to Azmei's face for an instant before he bowed deeply.

  "General Lozarr Algot of His Highness Prince Vistaren Doth'Mara's honor guard, at your service," he announced.

  Guira stepped forward to address him. "Guira Sundarel, Handmaiden of Her Serene Highness Azmei Corrone," she replied. "Welcome and well met, General Algot."