Once a Princess

  Owl grinned. Their success depended on being able to pick the right battleground and with one of their own ship sailing with the weapons consignment and relaying position, they’d be able to do just that.

  “I’ll send a message to Tharlif to signal for a good sized fleet to intercept that shipment. It wont stop an invasion if Randart rally plans one, but at least it will hold him up.”

  Owl nodded. “You want me back on board the Zathdar?”

  “No let Robin take command. She’s ready. You need to stay on that yacht. The most important piece of the puzzle is on it right now. The fewer who know who Sasharia is the better, and no one but us must now where she is.” He ran his hand over the flanks of a dappled gray mare, and absently held out his fingers to be lipped. “Tell the Jumping But and Mulekick to make targets for Randart to chase, one off Aloca and one here. I want him busy all over the seas, chasing us and not other independents. Keep the navy busy and scattered as long as possible.”

  “And you?”

  Jehan sighed. “I’m going to have to face the fire.”

  Owl grinned. “Orders for Kazdi to pass on to the Randarts?”

  “Oh let me see. This time it ought to be a painter. She’s even more beautiful than my balladeer, and I promised to see her rendition of Lasva Sky Child being crowned queen of Colend. But I swear to be back by the start of the games.”

  Jehan left to be seen out in the practice field staring at clouds instead of watching the boys practice staff fighting. He waited until he’d spotted war commander Randart scowling contemptuously down at him from the command tower, and drifted away.

  Chapter Twenty

  I couldn’t see anything and all I could smell was dust, old wool and mold. Presently the cart stopped jolting and the sensations changed to a kind of wallowing.

  Angry as the situation made me, the moment I realized I was being lowered into a boat I stopped kicking. I didn’t want to end up being dropped into the drink, and if I nailed Owl in the breezer, he might not be a speed demon about fishing me back out. Ending my life at the bottom of the harbour did not fit into my evolving career plans.

  I will say the pirate, that is the prince, well anyway his guys were careful, despite my having gotten in a couple of solid kicks early on in the abduction. The journey in the rowboat was accomplished in complete silence. I had no idea who was doing the oar work. Likewise the horrifying lift via boom up onto the deck was also silent.

  Then people picked me up again and put me on a bunk.

  But did they untie me? No. I was left in that sweltering cocoon for what seemed about ten centuries.

  Firstly I lay there thinking. Remembering lingering over every affront, until gradually the justified anger cooled into question, which in turn begat more questions, until I fell into a nasty sort of hot smothered sleep.

  I woke with the welcome sensation of the bonds easing.

  With an inarticulate roar of rage, I fought my way out of the quilt...to discover I was alone, in a cabin I did not recognize. For a moment I blinked against the light of a lantern as I gulped in sweet cool fresh air. Someone had thoughtfully opened beautifully made leaded glass windows. Actual windows not just scuttles.

  Even the smell of brine seemed sweet compared to the old mold of that quilt.

  Someone had set the lantern on a hook inside the door, which was carved out of redwood in a theme of galloping horses.

  I rolled off the bunk, lunged to the door, found it locked.

  I lunged back and in another surge of rage gathered up that quilt and stuffed it out one of the windows. I took some effort but finally I heard the satisfying splash and for a short time I stood there on the redwood decking of the small by elegant cabin, breathing hard and watching the quilt float on the night black sea.

  Gradually the bubble holding it up diminished and the quilting soaking up enough water to sink. The last I saw of it was a pale blue corner and it was gone.

  As if released from its ghostly grip, I turned around. The cabin was obviously designed and made for someone with extreme wealth. All the wood was carved, the themes being running horses, entwined leaves, artsy lilies, the lines enhanced with inlaid threads of gold.

  The way the cabin was shaped indicated that once again I was in the bow. A tiny table had been fitted into the pointy end within reach of the bunks angled inward on either side. On this little table someone had set a small porcelain tray with a silver pot all bedewed with moisture. A glass sat next to it.

  My tongue felt like a sponge left out in the Gobi Desert, and I pounced drinking down water until I was breathless. I continued my survey more slowly, looking for possible means of escape.

  Built in drawers with gold handles had been fitted below each bunk, the handles fashioned in the shape of two lilies with entwined stems. Above the bunk on one side was a built in shelf containing hand made books and old scrolls tied with ribbon. Over the opposite bunk was a hand drawn and coloured map of the world, every river cobalt blue, paler blue for small lakes, different shades of green representing the predominant trees in forests, different browns for types of land. Cities indicated by highly stylized drawings of small or large towns, walled cities with walls, open ones with main roads done in gold.

  It was a breathtaking work of art. I clambered up on the bunk to examine the map more closely. It was so beautiful I almost missed the sound of the cabin door opening behind me.

  I whirled around as Jehan ducked slightly and entered carrying a tray. “like the map?”

  When I was sixteen I might have yelled no! Or tried to tear it up. My adult version of the correct etiquette for an abductee was to say as rudely as possible, “from whom did you steal it?”

  “My father.” He flicked down a larger table from the wall, a table so cunningly worked into the bulkhead I’d missed it. He set the tray carefully down as he added, “He stole it from relatives when he was kicked out of Remalna after a family fight and sent here to the military school under strickt orders to never return. You’ll find remalna northwest of where the mardgar drains into the Sartoran sea. Where the gold crown is drawn in.”

  I couldn’t help turning and saw the tiny kingdom far smaller than Khanerenth. Indeed there was a crown, a typical piece of Merindar arrogance.

  “Go ahead.” He leaned against the opposite bulkhead. I noticed he was dressed in dark colours a lined shirt dyed dark blue, black sash and trousers. “get em out.”

  “Get what out?”

  “All the insults you’ve piled up. You’ve got to have thought up some good ones. Let’s hear them.”

  “And what you can laugh from your oh so superior position?” I snapped eyeing the tray. My appetite had woken like a cage of roaring lions. I considered for about one second the moral satisfaction of flinging the tray at him, but figured he’d just duck, like the total and complete stinker he was, and there’d be all that lovely food wasted.

  Because it was lovely a tomato soup with what smelled like fresh basil, some kind of incredibly savoury cheese making it creamy, and bits of the very good rice that this world grows. Next to it fresh bread, with pats of the honey-butter popular all over the kingdom. A spray of purple grapes, a perfectly sliced peach, and a silver urn containing hot chocolate joined a crystal decanter full of wine in making a feast for a king.

  I glared at Zathdar. No, Jehan. Those were Zathdar’s blue eyes watching me, but the long fine white hair was unfamiliar. A diamond glinted in one ear. The laces in his shirt were braided silk, with tiny gold leaves fastening the ends.

  I was staring. And the cabin seemed suddenly quite small. So I turned my attention back to the food.

  “Go ahead” he invited.

  “There are too many dishes,: I said scowling.

  “Well I haven’t eaten all day either. If it helps feel free to fling my share out the window after Owl’s mothers quilt.”

  Unwillingly I had to laugh. “All right you win that much anyway. Sit down.”

  The table exactly fitted the space betwe
en the two bunks, on which we sat opposite one another.

  I’d only had that single bite in the Gold Inn so I sat to with enthusiasm. Two goblets of wine plus the meal later, I sat back, trying to decide if I had enough appetite to assay the chocolate.

  Neither of us had spoken, though I was very aware of him sitting an arm’s reach away, the play of his hands on the goblet, pouring wine, picking up bread and cheese, homely tasks all, but executed with grace. He ate neatly with far better manners than I suspected I displayed. But I’d been catching meals on the run for years, usually with a book in one hand.

  I frowned at my goblet. Was what I felt the same as my mother had felt all those years ago, when this man’s father no doubt ate intimate dinners with her while my own father was busy tending to the kingly business for my ailing grandfather?

  I looked up. Jehan regarded me steadily over his cup of wine.

  I said crossly, “ I suppose you dye your lashes and brows?”

  “No darker shade than my fathers, as it happens most half morvende have dark brows and lashes. The ones with white lashes come from families who have lived over a thousand years underground. Soem of the more recent family lines have colour here.” He indicated a thin stripe at the top of his head. “almost always black. Sometimes red or yellow or brown. A lot of em get rid of it by magic,” he added. “If it comes in stripes.”

  A short pause ensued, during which I was hyper aware of the soft splash of water against the hull of the vessel, of the flicker of the flame in the lantern, and its golden reflection made manifold by the glass sectioning inside the burnished copper frame. I breathed in the rich fragrance of the chocolate and set my goblet down.

  A phosphorescent tingle sparked along my nerves. I gripped my hands in my lap.

  “I apologise for the, ah summary invitation aboard my yacht,” Jehan continued, in the same conversational tone. “I’ll end it when I can.”

  I looked up the flare of anger back. “you mean when you will.”

  “No one outside a dozen people know who I am,” he lifted a shoulder in a slight apologetic shrug. “Except the Ebans, now and you.”

  “What did you do to Elva?”

  “Nothing. Owl tried to recruit her. She refused. Last he saw she was trying to find another ship to sign onto.”

  “Devli?”

  “On the way to his mage tutors where ever they’re hiding.”

  I twisted my fingers. “That might even be true. But if it is, why am I not asked to keep silent, and set free to go on my way?”

  “Because...” he looked away, out the window into the darkness, then back at me. “Because too many people see you as a tool necessary to grip control of the kingdom.”

  “Including you?”

  He looked away again. Then back. “will you listen to my side of things?” his eyes narrowed. “but you won’t believe me will you?” he moved suddenly, not toward me...though I braced for a moment but away, to the little alcove at the point of the cabin. The bulkhead below the tiny table had been adapted into a kind of desk that reminded me of a rolltop, with a lot of little drawers.

  He opened one and drew out a packet of heavy linen paper.

  “You want to read my correspondence with your father?” he held out the letters.

  “How do I know those are real?” I felt not so much angry as sick and miserable. “I wouldn’t recognize his handwriting. I wouldn’t even know his style. I was ten the last time I saw him.”

  He dropped the letters back into the drawer and leaned there with hands on the desk, the silken shirt laces swinging, their golden leaves winking with tiny reflected flames in the light of the lantern. I was staring again.

  He turned his head slightly, his white hair drifting over his shoulder. His gaze met mine, and fireworks lit off right behind my ribs. I hate chemistry. I jerked my head away half expecting my eyes t make popping sounds like cartoon tentacles. Argh! I scowled at the carved racing horses in the wood panels.

  “Why won’t you listen? Do you really think I’d go to all this trouble if I was my fathers tool?”

  I said to the chocolate pot, “Why didn’t you answer me when I asked why I’m here, but you let the Ebans go free?” a quick glance to see the effect of my words. “You are good at deflecting awkward questions aren’t you.”

  I could feel him regarding me steadily, trying to read my reactions. “They don’t hold the key to the kingdom you do.”

  My father.

  Jehan said quickly, “You know where Prince Math is.” He got up and put his hand on the latch to the cabin door. “I should mention your mother followed you through the world gate. And unfortunately my father has her. No don’t say it.” He raised his hand as I drew a deep breath. “whatever you believe me capable of, I can promise you this. If my father gets his hands on you, you can absolutely count on him using your lives against one another in order to get what he wants. Chocolate? Yes? No?”

  “Lost my appetite,” I said wearily.

  He took the tray and left. Locking the door behind him.

  Pretty soon I heard through the open windows the noises of the booms being used to lower a small boat. I peered down at an angle as a silhouette descended.

  I recognized Jehan from the way he moved. He had confined that moon pale hair in some kind of knitted sailor cap. That and the dark clothing made him unremarkable, one of many people plying little boats to and fro on the dark waters between boats al lit by strings of lanters.

  Unremarkable if your eyes hadn’t memorized the contours of his arms, the line form shoulder to slim hip, the way the light played over the angles in his face. The arch of his brow. The shape of his lips.

  I watched until he and his boat blended into the crown of lights made by the market street and the torch-lit castle above and then I dropped onto the bunk and put my head in my hands.

  Yeah that was definitely one of my worst moments.

  ———

  Up in the Ellir academy commander’s suite, war commander Randart longed for sleep. He was getting too old for all night rides and all day inspections. Distractions, orders and logistics.

  He glared at his nephew gabbling away with Orthan as if he had never heard of sleep, and finished the rest of his ale. At least that was good. He’d have to make certain a few barrels of Old Gold were included in the commanders stores when he took ship.

  “...and they were watching him arrest some cutpurse. I never heard of him doing that before. Must have been his followers who actually did the work.”

  Orthan laughed.

  “Red says, maybe he was trying to teach the thief some poetry and the thief surrendered only to get away.”

  Orthan guffawed louder, making the war commander’s head hurt. “Whats that? They didn’t tell me Jehan took the cutpurse arrested today.”

  Orthan and Damedran turned twin expressions of surprise his way. “he didn’t I told you that earlier,” Orthan exclaimed, and his brow began to lower. “Two of our fellows did...”

  The war commander ignored his brother’s longsuffering you don’t listen to me. They’d been through that too many times. Dannath only listened when Orthan’s gibble-gabble was to a purpose. He got to his feet. “All I know is, if he’s not here at the start of the games tomorrow, I’ll strangle him myself.” He pointed at his nephew. “You! Go get some rest. You have one order, to win tomorrow.”

  “Oh I’ll win,” Damedran predicted, stretching as he swung to his feet. “I can thrash anyone I know on the list, one handed.” He snapped a fist into the opposite pale, muscles bunching. “I got Captain Traneg to show me the roster before I came up here. Some locals have signed up, but we haven’t seen any locals win for years.”

  “People can sign up till the trumpets tomorrow,” Orthan warned, knowing his son would ignore him, but it was better to endorse his brothers order when Dannath was looking so irritable. “You never now but some day a good one might show up, like the old days, before Siamis came. you do your best when you’re rested.”


  Damedran snorted. “the back of my hand to locals. I don’t see why you don’t close the games to them anyway. Yes I know that’s how we recruited in the past, but maybe it’s time to change all that. Better cadets from the better families.”

  “Shut up and go to bed,” the war commander ordered.

  When he used that voice, it was best to obey. Damedran and his uncle slammed through opposite doors, leaving Orthan to finish the ale alone and then douse the light.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After a sleepless night during which Jehan’s brain insisted on reviewing with remorseless repetition, every single mistake he’d made in deed or speech with Sasharia, he got up, drank the hottest strongest coffee the innkeeper could brew, then left the humble dockside where he’d thought to get overdue rest. He stopped only at the bathhouse and paid to use their cleaning frame. No time for a real bath, and anyway it was going to be far too hot, he thought staring at the knife-edged shafts of yellow early morning sunlight painting the wooden wall dividing the men’s side from the womans.

  The sun was climbing into midsummer brilliance when he crossed up an old pathway behind the ruins of a castle long forgotten, and now used mainly for its stone. There in the shade of a web clogged alcove he paused to change out of the plain clothes and hat pulling on his brown velvet.

  He rolled up his old outfit, tucked it under his arm, and started up the back trail used by locals who hired on as stable and maintenance support staff at the guard barracks and academy. A few steps up past some flowering shrubs his shoulder blades prickled. Unseen eyes? He stepped to the side, hand going to his sword, then dropping when he saw four cadet age young fellows walking behind him single file.

  Three walked and one sauntered a tall fellow with black hair and pale brown eyes of a distinctive shade flecked with gold that evoked flame. His features where sharp, his gaze sharper; memory stirred frome somewhere way back years ago, on the other side of the world.