Once a Princess

by Sherwood Smith

  “Including in nightmares.”

  There was the dimple again. I looked away but I was laughing.

  I heard his laugh, a soft chuckle, almost under his breath. His elbow companionably bumped against mine as the ship lurched, and again the fire of attraction crakled through me. But he made no moves.

  “Here’s an added boon. With this crimson shirt see if someone nicks me it doesn’t show. I can lie and goat that they missed. Protect my rep that way.”

  I laughed again. It was an unguarded moment, at the end of which our eyes met, and his smile turned pensive, his gaze held mine light blue as the water under a guileless sky and I had to exert all my will to look away, or down.

  Yeah. I know it sounds stupid, but I really did feel like I couldn’t breathe. I was hot and cold and tingling with proximity with possibility. But I looked away and as the feelings settled down to the glow one gets when the physical self whose needs are as simple and direct as those of the creatures around us who do not speak recognizes equal attraction.

  Zathdar said, “with this wind we’ll make Landfall Bay after tomorrow before dawn, on the early tide. I suggest you disembark with the cargo and make your way into the town on the other side of the brewery. If you like, I’ll meet you at the Gold Inn, which is run by the brewers. I’ll give you any news I discover. That should arm you for whatever you decide next.”

  “Thanks,” I said to the planking of the deck.

  When I breathed again, he was gone. I lifted my head in time to see him duck under his cabin door fringes rippling in the wind.

  Owl drifted up next to me. “Why don’t you go after him?”

  He was so direct yet managed to be so un-confrontational I was not tempted to say, why don’t you mind your own business? As I might have to anyone who sneered or leered or made some sort of innuendo.

  I said, “you have yor life here on the sea. Not for me to say if it’s right or wrong, but it’s not really mine. I have to find out what mine is.”

  “You don’t want to try to find it here?” Owl raised a scarred hand. “Cause is a good one. More than that or maybe less, I’ve never seen him tempted to break his own rule before.”

  I remembered what Gliss had said about is not being involved with the crew.

  “Maybe that’s why I should go away.” I tried to summon a smile but Owl squinted at me, not smiling back.

  My mother said when I was bout sixteen: here’s the truth of my experience. Attraction happens and it’s glorious and good when it happens back. For a short time if the body has picked a bore or a brute, long if the mind and the heart can also match. Because attraction, though it might seem to change the world, is not love. Love is the match for all three. Body mind and spirit.

  How could I find a meeting of the minds with a pirate without talking myself into a pirates life at least for a time?

  I faced Owl. “whether bad or good I cannot say, but I do know a lawless life on the sea is not my future. And I’m not the kind who can have a fling then leave without a second thought.”

  He looked up at the sails then back at me, his narrow jaw working. His ruby-set golden earring won in pirate battle glinted against his jawline, emphasizing some tension, perhaps some unspoken thought. “Fair enough.”

  The armourer was singing a bawdy song in a sweet soulful tenor when I retreated to my cabin. I lay on my bunk, hands crossed behind my head, watching the light-stippled reflections of water on the ceiling of the cabin as bare feet danced on the deck overhead far into the night.

  On the day of our landing I woke to the sound of bawling commands and busy hammers and saws coming through the open scuttle. Not our ship. In the mellow bluegold light of dawn, a big brigantine slid by, its deck and masts alive with an enormous crew all busy.

  I got up. Elva was already gone, her bunk made. I hauled all my bedding down to the cleaning frame, put it through, lugged it up again to make my bunk neat. When I stepped out, once again the ship wore a disguise, this time as a slightly down at heels merchant our masts were stumpy, a single sail on each. The barrels (most of them empty) neatly lined the rail. The crew all wore dull variations on homespun shirts and brown dyed deck trousers.

  Everyone was quiet, self absorbed. I found Elva sitting on a barrel and joined her, turning my attention to the busy harbour as we threaded slowly through ships of every size and type, each a little world filled with people busy doing things.

  “This is Ellir?” I asked.

  She pointed at the martial outline of a fortress topping the ridge of hills behind the port. “That’s the garrison and also the academy. Supposedly..”

  “I know, belongs to Prince Jehan. Whenever you start with ‘supposedly’ I know Canary’s son is fumbling around somewhere behind.”

  She grinned. “well truth is he does seem to preside, though I understand it all is really run by Captain Randart, the war commanders brother.”

  “Yuk. More Randarts, ugh.”

  “I didn’t even mention war commander randarts nephew Damedran, who’s supposedly the best of the academy cadets. Devli says the mages all think Randart wants Damedran as heir instead of the fool. Except that randart defends the fool. Which is another thing against him.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Canardan is the king, right?”

  Elva said soberly, “Yes but whatever Randart wants, he gets. There was supposed to be no killing that was promised. Yet Randart was angry when they didn’t catch your father, and so he made sure Magister Glathan died. He broke his word to do it. Had the magister shot in the back. Bolt from a crossbow. Right after making a truce.”

  Magister Glathan—daed?

  My father had to be either dead or imprisoned by his last resort spell. A spell he could not free himself from.

  Unless things had changed after mom and I left that meant I was the only one who could free him.

  If he lived.

  I grimaced. Magister Glathan was a vague memory, but he’d been kind and patient with me, and I remembered how much my father and he had talked, how much my father had admired the mage. “thats horrible.”

  “Anyway no one knows what randart wants except randart. We’ll find out when he gets it.” Elva rubbed here arms just above the elbows. “I wonder what can be taking Devli? It’s like he married those messmates of his. Never was away from them once, yesterday.”

  “Where is the brewery?”

  “See that big stone building up at the very far end of market street? Market street starts at the base of the main pier, which is just past where that yacht is docked.”

  I peered under my hand, and whistled. “thats gorgeous. I’ve never seen such a beautiful yacht.

  “It belongs to the fool,” Elva admitted.

  “I thought someone said he gets seasick.”

  “The king gave it to him. “he’s seldom on it, and only long enough to entertain some of his artists.” Elva waved a dismissive hand. “But he has a crew complete with a Colendi cook just sitting around waiting all the same. Anyway you can see how market street runs along the food of the ridge. See the academy on top of the ridge? The brewery is just below the far end of the academy. Sometimes when the wind comes off the land you can smell the malt being made from the barley.”

  “Does prince supposedly run that brewery too?”

  She looked surprised. “you didn’t know? It’s entirely run by old sailors. If you get wounded young and can’t sail, you have a place there if you want it.”

  “Beer made by drunken sailors?”

  “Oh no! No one is more serious about brewing than an old sailor. Drink a drop on duty and you’re out. Which is why Gold is the very best. Ships come here from all over the continent for the year-ale the darkest. Best barley form the hills, best hops, everything the best.”

  “So the gold inn is good?”

  “The food is great. You should have their corn muffins, all slathered with huneybutter...” she sighed. “why you going there?”

  “Zathdar said he’d meet me the
re, if he hears any news concerning me, and I could go on my way. I thought that pretty nice of him.”

  She pursed her lips. “I think it pretty crazy. He’s probably the most wanted person in the kingdom, and War Commander Randart, they say would pay almost anything in reward money to lay him by the heels. I thought he’d stay hidden below while we’re here.”

  “Well the offer is all the more admirable,” I said, lightly enough.

  She frowned at me. “But you can’t be going like that.”

  “Like what?” I fingered my braids. “Oh right I never thought of that.”

  “I’m sure someone here will at least give you a bandana for the hair.” She paused, frowning again, and stared up at the castle all along the ridge, the stone lit with mellow colour by the rising sun behind us. “No, I’m sick of everyone yatching at me about my guesses,” she muttered. “Never mind, I’ll just check on my own. Here’s the important thing right now, you do need a disguise.”

  The bosun tweeted, causing a stampede of running feet. The masts creaked, sails loosened, whacketted and slumped. A crew got the anchor atrip, then on command let it go. Underneath us the chain roared until the ship jerked. The anchor was down. We stopped moving except on the gentle swell.

  While the sails were bunted, the anchor crew began booming the longboat over the side. I went below for the last time. The sail mistress had told me that I could have anything but they usually traded, and so I left my earth clothes. I didn’t want the extra weight, I couldn’t wear them, and they didn’t mean anything to me. Let some pirate puzzle over a t-shirt with Got books? On it.

  I picked out a sturdy forest green tunic that came down to my knees, below which I wore the deck trousers I’d been given and found some castoff mocs that fit. I donated my sandals. Maybe someone would thing the earthwear an exotic fashion touch. I chose an old floppy sailor’s hat that someone had abandoned. It not only hid my hair but half of my face.

  By then the boat was lowered and the ship boy on duty came shyly to offer me a ride in the first trip.

  I reached the rail and looked back at the deck. Some of the crew waved, and one or two saluted. Zathdar was not in sight.

  I waved tucked my gear back under my arm and clambered down the side to drop into the boat. I thumped clumsily onto the stern-sheets and sat with my gear bag in my lap as the crew took up oars and rowed for the passenger dock.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Go and find her with your good will and your worst spied.

  Atanial did not say that out loud. She was not certain how much real freedom she had or what Canary might do if she broke the appearance of a truce.

  She did know that if she left it would either be under guard or else he’d have people following her.

  So she smiled sweetly at king Canardan. She smiled at the two big guards who escorted her back to her chambers when canary regretfully excused himself to his day’s work.

  Back in her room she flung the brass jewellery holder against the fireplace stone counting under her breath until a maid came running in, and she smiled sweetly at her.

  Five seconds. The listening ears were close.

  Atanial knew better than to confront the servants. They were doing what they were told, whether by will or coercion right now didn’t matter. “Oops.” She picked the brass plate up. “I dropped it.”

  She set it carefully on the carved wooden bureau, next to the pretty ceramic vase that she would have loved to smash. But she couldn’t bring herself to indulge her temper that far. At home, where things were manufactured, maybe. Here human hands had shaped the vase another pair of hands had painted the intertwined ivy leaves all around it. If she did any dropkicking it would be the seat of Canary’s fine linen trousers. Or better yet...

  “Is Commander Randart anywhere about?” she asked.

  The maids eyes widened and Atanial realized that not only was she being watched but every question had to be reported.

  “I wanted to ask him if I could witness a military review.” Once again Atanial summoned up her sweetest smile, though by now her face ached. “I used to adore watching those handsome young things march about.”

  “I can ask your highness.” The maid curtseyed, her eyes frightened at the mental echo of Randart’s name.

  And by noon the word came that Canary was going to escort her himself to the review of the midday change of the palace guard.

  So they stood there side by side on the rampart above the great parade court and looked down at all those earnest faced young men and women sweltering in their faultless battle tunics, and Atanial thought, yes I’m getting the message about who holds the reins here.

  But again she smiled sweetly as they marched, did an impressive sword form, and presented their spears. And that sweet smile was ready and at her command when they descended to walk along the row on close inspection, and she forced Canary to stop every so often, while she asked harmless questions: how long have you been in the guard? Where do you hail from? She took care to listen to every answer as if her life depended on it, and she looked into every pair of eyes, willing the person behind them to see her. She thanked each speaker as if they’d given her wings.

  And maybe they would, despite the fact that she did not see Tam among them. Someone would have to help her. She needed to figure out who and how, without endangering anyone, because two things were immediately clear: one, she had to get away, and two she was about ten years past vaulting over ten-meter walls and castle rooftops in order to do it.

  So the next best thing was to get to know as many people as possible and inspect the castle to see what escape hole might exist.

  She ate alone. Neither king nor queen came near. Someone had placed some books in her sitting room... every single one at least a century out of date.

  But old as they were those books still reminded her of the third option, the one she tended to forget because she didn’t understand it.

  Magic.

  She read until the midnight bells rang, then withdrew into that splendid marble bath, locked the door and glanced at the scented, slightly steaming water.

  First things first. She dug the transfer token out of her bra and examined it closely. There were no more gate transfers left on it. Whether one person or two came through the transfer energy was spent. That much she knew, for Math had told her as much before their parting.

  The question was, did the transfer use up all the magic, or could the thing still sense wards? She’d been told not to risk using the token if it sensed other magical presences around it. She held it up remembering how Math and (at first reluctantly) Glathan had tried to convince her that magic was not the equivalent of electricity. Magic existed somewhere in the interstices between light and molecular movement but she thought of it in terms of battery storage and voltage and switches. It was the only way her mind could comprehend what it could do, if not what it was.

  She walked around the bath with the token and noticed a tiny flicker of light around its edges. Ahah so it did work. And what’s more she had wards around her, of some sort.

  More than that she could not tell. It hurt unexpectedly, remembering Math’s childlike glee when she showed a modicum of ability with some little magic trick, now forgotten. His Albert Einstein hair seemed to bristle and crackle with his delight. But tempering that had been Glathan’s obviuous distrust during those early days, when they first came through the gate. Later that latered to grudging acceptance and finally to a truce and even a measure of respect.

  And now he was dead.

  She set the token carefully down and took a leisurely bath. Dressed in the soft cotton nightgown they’d left for her, she took the candle and the token and walked through the rooms she’d been given, watching how the token flared briefly with green colour here, reddish there, and once a sharp blue snap.

  A network of protective wards, just as Ananda had told her. Maybe only wards to let someone know when she crossed the threshold, but possibly stronger ones, meant to prevent her from
doing magic, or prevent magic from reaching her.

  Now she knew where they were at least. She tucked the token under her pillow and snuffed the candle so she could go to sleep.

  The next morning she toured the kitchens, asked questions about the baking and cooking, tasted and complimented everything. She was that there was little chance of egress there. The kitchens were directly adjacent to the expanded guard barracks.

  At noon she toured the housekeeping area and introduced herself to mistress Eban’s replacement. The woman was so shy so wary, Atanial knew immediately she’d received stringent orders, and kept her questions confined to cloth, weaving, sewing and the current styles in Sartor. By the time Atanial had inspected they lyre-backed chairs with the cushions embroidered with queensblossom the woman had unbent enough to flick a look her way.

  Atanial gave her a smile, but left knowing she’d met defeat there.

  Canary invited her to dinner.

  Again they were alone.

  By then she was ready to being the first tier of questions.

  “Where is Dannath Randart?” he asked.

  Canardan grinned. “You want to see him again?”

  He looked so ironic she replied tartly, “I was hoping he’d dropped dead. Preferably with a bolt in the back.”

  “So you heard about that eh?”

  “Who hasn’t?” she spread her hands and then grabbed up a fresh corn bun, noting as she did the faint colour along Canardan’s still-handsome cheekbones. “I find it utterly reprehensible, and frankly hope that he’s on the other side of the kingdom.

  “He’s going out to sea,” Canardan said. “far enough to keep you from one another’s sphere.”

  “My second question is, what have you done with mistress Eban and the others?”

  “Nothing as yet. That depends on a number of things. Including you.”

  “If you dare try to hold their lives hostage in order to force me into something I will shout it from the rooftops.” Her fists thumped on either side of her plate.

  He patted the air between them. “no, no I know better than that. I should have been more clear. I believe more lives will be saved if I keep all of you safely here until the kingdom settles.”