Ace Books by Sharon Shinn
THE SHAPE OF DESIRE
STILL LIFE WITH SHAPE-SHIFTER
TROUBLED WATERS
ROYAL AIRS
MYSTIC AND RIDER
THE THIRTEENTH HOUSE
DARK MOON DEFENDER
READER AND RAELYNX
FORTUNE AND FATE
ARCHANGEL
JOVAH’S ANGEL
THE ALLELUIA FILES
ANGELICA
ANGEL-SEEKER
WRAPT IN CRYSTAL
THE SHAPE-CHANGER’S WIFE
HEART OF GOLD
SUMMERS AT CASTLE AUBURN
JENNA STARBORN
QUATRAIN
Viking / Firebird Books by Sharon Shinn
THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET
THE TRUTH-TELLER’S TALE
THE DREAM-MAKER’S MAGIC
GENERAL WINSTON’S DAUGHTER
GATEWAY
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
Copyright © 2013 by Sharon Shinn.
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ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-58976-2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Shinn, Sharon.
Royal airs : an Elemental Blessings novel / Sharon Shinn.
pages cm. — (An Elemental Blessings novel)
ISBN 978-0-425-26171-2 (hardback)
1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Fantasy fiction. I. Title.
PS3569.H499R69 2013
813'.54—dc23
2013027604
FIRST EDITION: November 2013
Cover illustration © Jonathan Barkat.
Cover photos: sunset and clouds © Pavel Vakhrushev/Shutterstock;
stormy clouds © Shebeko/Shutterstock.
Cover design by Judith Lagerman.
Interior text design by Tiffany Estreicher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
Contents
Dedication
Who’s Who in Welce
Random Blessings
Quintiles & Changedays
Money
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
To Margaux, who never has time to read, and Denise, who sometimes does. You have both been blessings in my life.
WHO’S WHO IN WELCE
THE PRINCESSES
JOSETTA, daughter of Queen Seterre and Navarr Ardelay
CORENE, daughter of Queen Alys and Darien Serlast
NATALIE, daughter of Queen Romelle and an unknown lover
ODELIA, daughter of Queen Romelle and King Vernon
MALLY, the decoy princess for Odelia
THE PRIMES
ZOE LALINDAR, coru. Daughter of Navarr Ardelay, wife of Darien Serlast, mother of Celia
NELSON ARDELAY, sweela. Father of Kurtis and Rhan, brother to Navarr, uncle to Josetta and Zoe
MIRTI SERLAST, hunti. Aunt of Darien
TARO FROTHEN, torz. Distant relation of Romelle
KAYLE DOCHENZA, elay
THE POLITICIANS
DARIEN SERLAST, regent of Welce
QUEEN ELIDON, King Vernon’s first wife
GHYANETH, prince of Berringey
FILOMARA, empress of Malinqua
RANDOM BLESSINGS
ELAY
(AIR/SOUL)
HUNTI
(WOOD/BONE)
SWEELA
(FIRE/MIND)
joy
courage
innovation
hope
strength
love
kindness
steadfastness
imagination
beauty
loyalty
clarity
vision
certainty
intelligence
grace
resolve
charm
honor
determination
talent
spirituality
power
creativity
CORU
(WATER/BLOOD)
TORZ
(EARTH/FLESH)
EXTRAORDINARY
BLESSINGS
change
serenity
synthesis
travel
honesty
triumph
flexibility
health
time
swiftness
fertility
resilience
contentment
luck
patience
persistence
endurance
surprise
wealth
QUINTILES & CHANGEDAYS
The calendar of Welce is divided into five quintiles. A quintile consists of eight “weeks,” each nine days long. Most shops and other businesses are closed on the firstday of each nineday.
The f
irst quintile of the year, Quinnelay, stretches from early to deep winter. It is followed by Quinncoru, which encompasses late winter to mid spring; Quinnahunti, late spring to mid summer; Quinnatorz, late summer to fall; and Quinnasweela, fall to early winter.
The quintiles are separated by changedays, generally celebrated as holidays. Quinnelay changeday is the first day of every new year. Since there are five changedays, and five seventy-two-day quintiles, the Welce year is 365 days long.
MONEY
5 quint-coppers make one copper (5 cents 25 cents)
8 coppers make one quint-silver ($2)
5 quint-silvers make one silver ($10)
8 silvers make one quint-gold ($80)
5 quint-golds make one gold ($400)
ONE
Rafe shuffled the deck for the third time and handed it to the woman on his right so she could cut the cards. It was clear the other three players distrusted him, and even the card cutting didn’t reassure them he wasn’t cheating. But they were too convinced that the next hand would be the winning one to call him out or stop the play. They merely watched him with a narrowed suspicion and nodded to indicate they were still in the game.
Rafe dealt the cards slowly, deliberately, making sure all his movements were visible. As it happened, he knew how to slip a trump from the bottom of the deck, how to hide a wildcard up his sleeve, but he didn’t bother. Not with this particular group—two elay men barely in their twenties and a wild-haired sweela woman who was probably his stepfather’s age. None of them could play half as well as they thought they could, but all were too caught up in the gambling fever to admit it. Rafe shrugged to himself. That was an elay man for you—a dreamer, a misty-eyed romantic with no practical sense. And all the sweela souls he’d ever encountered were so impetuous that they ignored their impulses to cold reason whenever the stakes were high. Of course Rafe was winning handily; it would be more astonishing if he were losing.
Once the cards were dealt, everyone gathered them up and sorted them into suits. Rafe kept his expression amiable but impassive as he looked over his hand. Two wildcards; that was a stroke of luck. Only two trumps; a potential disaster. Ah, but he had six cards in the suit of skulls. He could probably turn that to his advantage.
As his opponents frowned over their own cards, each trying to formulate a strategy, Rafe glanced casually around the bar. The clientele tended to turn over pretty quickly as the night progressed; he liked to keep track of who had walked in while his attention was elsewhere. He liked to guess who might be interested in playing a round of penta with him, who might be desperate, and who might be trouble.
Trouble came with some regularity to this little bar, which was situated solidly inside the crowded, noisome slum district of the city of Chialto. But it was actually one of the more respectable establishments, given its location just south of the Cinque, the five-sided boulevard that made an inner loop around the city. Traders’ sons and merchants’ wives felt safe enough to come here for a night of excitement that might include high-stakes gambling, high-proof liquor, illegal drugs, and companionship that could be purchased. As long as they stayed within hearing range of traffic on the Cinque, they didn’t need to worry overmuch. But farther south, a little closer to the canal, and the illicit thrill could turn into a grim struggle for survival. No one walked those streets just for fun.
Tonight, at least so far, the bar was relatively quiet. The public space consisted of one big room, crowded with tables and a half dozen booths against the far wall. It was windowless here on the street level, so no matter what the time of day, the smoky oil-lamp illumination made patrons fail to notice how long they’d been sitting there, drinking or playing. The clientele was largely male, though a few women were always part of the mix. Some, like the one at his own table, were leathery old crones with a lifetime of hard experience chiseled into their faces. More were younger, prettier, plumper, not yet ruined by a brutal life, though clearly in peril of encountering a disastrous end.
Well, who isn’t? Rafe thought, turning his attention back to his tablemates. “Everyone ready to bid?” he asked.
One of the elay men nodded vigorously. He was a slim, pasty-faced blond with full, sensuous lips; Rafe had mentally dubbed him the Loser, since his reckless style of play was all but guaranteed to leave him bankrupt before the night was over. “More than ready,” the Loser exclaimed. He seemed almost feverish with excitement. Rafe assumed he had drawn the majority of the trump cards, and wasn’t hiding that fact very well.
“I suppose so,” said the other elay man, whom Rafe was calling Sad Boy because of his morose expression. Sad Boy had actually won a few hands by retaining trumps when Rafe had not expected him to, which argued a certain unexpected skill at the game, but his betting had been so erratic that he hadn’t profited much by his victories.
Sweela Woman merely nodded, so they all called out their bids and laid down the proper cards. Rafe had the low cards in flutes, roses, and horseshoes, which made the others smile; on the face of it, he had the weakest hand. Sad Boy had the low skull and Sweela Woman the low fish. No wonder the Loser was grinning like a fool, and pushing a stack of quint-silvers to the middle of the table. He probably had high cards and trumps.
It would be a pleasure taking his money.
Sad Boy and Sweela Woman made more conservative bets. Rafe offered a slight shrug, which he hoped they would interpret as disappointment over a bad hand, and pushed a silver toward the pile of coins. “Looks like it’s your play,” he said to the Loser, and the game was on.
It unfolded almost exactly as Rafe had anticipated, with the Loser scooping up the first four rounds with ill-disguised triumph, and recklessly expending his trumps without any regard for which cards it would be prudent to hold in reserve. The Loser was clearly astonished when Sad Boy won a play and wrested control of the game for the next two discards, and even more astonished when his next trump was overmatched by Rafe, who had been keeping track. No trumps, no wildcards left.
“Skulls,” Rafe said, and laid down the eight. Sad Boy and Sweela Woman tossed in skulls, and the Loser pouted and flung down the three of roses. Rafe spread the rest of his cards on the table. “I think the remaining rounds are mine,” he said in a pleasant voice.
Sweela Woman groaned and Sad Boy actually laughed. “I wondered where all the skulls were!” he exclaimed. “All I had were flutes and roses, and they didn’t do me a damn bit of good.”
Sweela Woman was watching Rafe appraisingly. “Even if you’ve been cheating all night, you weren’t cheating on that hand,” she said. “You’re brilliant at this game. I suppose you know that.”
He smiled at her. He’d always rather liked the sweela folks he’d encountered. They tended to be self-absorbed and overbearing, but embued with a certain irresistible charm. As if it never occurred to them that, despite their loud voices and arrogant attitudes, people might not like them.
“Since much of my income depends on being brilliant at penta, I am aware that I play it well,” he replied.
“Hell of a way to earn a living,” she said.
Rafe shrugged and gathered the cards, straightening them into a neat pile. “Every job has its downside,” he said. “The ills of gambling are no worse than those of working in a factory ten hours a day, building smoker cars for rich people.”
Sweela Woman laughed at that, and even Sad Boy looked amused. The Loser frowned, leading Rafe to guess he was one of the rich folks who owned an elaymotive. In the past five years, the gas-powered vehicles had gone from being gape-worthy curiosities to commonplace carriages, though horse-drawn conveyances still accounted for three quarters of the traffic along the Cinque.
“Never did want to spend much time working myself to the bone just so a rich man got richer,” Sweela Woman agreed. “But I still don’t think a gambler’s life is the one for me.”
Rafe shuffled the cards, loving the quick, ruffled sound they mad
e as they interwove. “You might like it better than you think,” he said. “Gambling favors the folk of mind and fire.”
“Gambling favors the cheaters,” the Loser muttered.
In response, Rafe offered him the deck. “You deal,” he invited. “Count them first, make sure they’re all there. What can I do to convince you I play a fair game?”
The elay man hesitated, as if thinking up tests. His friend said in a tone of great irritation, “Either trust the man and play, Edwin, or don’t trust him and walk away. Frankly, I think he’s honest.”
“But he keeps winning,” Edwin complained.
“I think it’s more that we keep losing.”
Rafe left the cards on the table and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms on his chest. Let them see him relaxed and sure of himself; let them believe he didn’t care whether or not they played one more hand. In truth, he’d prefer to win another few silvers, even a quint-gold or two. He rented a small apartment on the third story above the bar, paying by the nineday, and the money was due tomorrow morning. He had enough to cover it, but he might go hungry a day or two until he had another run of good luck.
The elay men were now arguing in earnest, keeping their voices low enough that Rafe could pretend he wasn’t listening. Since there was a break in the action, Sweela Woman opened her handbag and pulled out a small, delicately carved box. Rafe wasn’t surprised when the lid opened to reveal a couple of small, gilded bags and a ceramic cup no bigger than a thimble. She carefully opened each bag, shook out fine white powder from one and coarsely ground green leaves from the other, and combined them inside the cup. As soon as the ingredients began to curl with smoke, she dumped the mixture into her wine and began to slowly sip it down.