Royal Airs

  “We are, but we’re so much more removed from the crown now that Odelia’s been named the heir.”

  “I wouldn’t think you’re so removed,” Rafe observed. “Babies die all the time. People get trampled by horses—run over by elaymotives. They drown. Now I’m even more shocked that anyone is letting you roam around the slums unprotected. I’d think they’d have you locked behind the palace doors with guards standing over you day and night.”

  “I do have a guard with me day and night.”

  Rafe looked ostentatiously around the room. “Not that I can see.”

  She was trying to repress a smile. “He was with me. I sent him to fetch Corene’s father. And I assure you, he was reluctant to go. He takes his duties to me very seriously.”

  “But one guard—in a place like this—it makes my blood run cold to think of what could happen to you.”

  “Now you sound like Darien.”

  “Darien,” he repeated. “Darien Serlast? The regent?”

  Josetta nodded. “Corene’s father. My brother-in-law. And regent of the realm. He hates it that I spend so much time southside.”

  “I would think he would do more than just hate it. I’d think he would make you stay someplace safe.”

  “He doesn’t have the power to make me do anything.”

  Rafe leaned back in his chair and surveyed her again. “Well, from what I hear, he does,” he said softly. “He’s a hunti man, right? He was practically running the whole kingdom in the days before anyone knew that Vernon was sick. He sounds to me like the kind of man who pretty much always gets what he wants.”

  “Let me put it differently,” Josetta said. “For the first fifteen years of my life, I was afraid. I knew all eyes were watching me all the time. I knew I was expected to behave a certain way. I knew there were people who were eager to see me fail. I knew there were people who wanted me dead—people who tried to kill me, in fact, if you remember a certain regatta five years ago. My life was not my own and my life was not secure.

  “Then Odelia was born, and the attention shifted. I decided I would no longer live to please other people. I would live up to my blessings. I would honor my elay heritage. And while this decision has not found favor with everyone, I have not changed my mind. It is very difficult to make an elay woman conform once she has decided she wants to be free.”

  “I can certainly see that,” Rafe said, outwardly laughing, but inwardly feeling a touch of admiration. “I can almost pity poor hunti Darien, trying to contain a woman of air and spirit.”

  Josetta’s smile was back. “Pity him even more for Corene, who is incorrigible, and for Zoe—his wife—who is the coru prime. Nobody controls Zoe. He is surrounded by women who won’t do his bidding.”

  “He seems to have been a remarkably effective regent, even so. I suspect he is more powerful than you would like to admit.”

  “Powerful,” she agreed, “and absolutely committed to the well-being of the realm. I like Darien very much. I just don’t always do what he says.”

  The answer he was going to give was interrupted by a huge yawn. “Sorry,” he apologized. “A rude way to treat royalty.”

  “I’m feeling exhausted myself,” she said. “I think I’m going to curl up alongside Corene and see if I can sleep for a few hours. If you can make yourself comfortable, you might try to do the same.”

  A few minutes later, Rafe found himself in the distinctly odd position of trying to sleep in a room full of slumbering princesses. It was so unlikely as to be downright bizarre; he might wake up to find he had dreamed the entire evening. At least the room was set up to give the women a modicum of privacy, since the narrow bed sat in a curtained alcove and he had pulled the drapes shut once Josetta lay down. As for himself, he was making do with a blanket and a pillow on the floor in front of the fireplace. If he had been any less tired, he would have lain awake for hours, reviewing the events of the night, but as it was, he fell almost instantly asleep.

  • • •

  It was probably three hours later when Rafe woke up, stiff and uncomfortable. A wooden floor made for a hard mattress, no matter how weary you were. He stretched, stifled a groan, and forced himself to his feet. He’d slept long enough to clear his head, but not long enough to erase his sense of wonder at the fact that royalty was sleeping in his bed.

  He cleaned himself up in the chamber down the hall, changing clothes and shaving while he was at it. When he went back to his room to drop off his soiled garments, he hesitated a moment, then crept up to the drawn curtains and cocked his head to listen. Yes, he could catch the faint sounds of two people breathing in slightly mismatched rhythms. He was tempted to peek inside, and he might have, if they’d just been two ordinary girls who had, in some extraordinary fashion, become entangled in his life. But princesses. It seemed wrong to spy on them. Offensive. Treasonous, even. He turned away.

  A glance out his window showed him a cloudy mid-afternoon sky; not too early to go downstairs and start earning the day’s income. Josetta, he was certain, would instantly figure out where he had gone. She wasn’t the type to worry if she woke up to an empty apartment. He would bet that very little rocked that girl off-balance.

  It would be interesting to get to know her better. Or it would have been, if she hadn’t been a princess. Which she was.

  He gave his head a small shake and exited as quietly as he could. Downstairs, he found the place already starting to fill up with the afternoon regulars and the first vanguard of the evening crowd, the rich boys and the bored old men who thought an evening southside would get their blood racing or reverse their failing fortunes.

  Rafe touched the deck of cards in his hip pocket, smiled impartially at the room, and made his way to his favorite corner table. Time to focus. Time to make new friends for the day.

  The first set of players to join him consisted of a father and two sons—all of them torz, up from the country for the nineday, and still marveling at the sights the city had to offer. They were so wide-eyed and trusting that Rafe could have cheated them blind, but they were such a likable lot that he didn’t have the heart. He won, of course, but he didn’t beggar them in the process, unless they couldn’t afford to lose three quint-golds.

  “You’ll find it’s difficult to win a game against a professional gambler,” he felt impelled to say as the youngest boy looked disheartened at losing the last hand. “It’s not my place to offer advice, but you might try other districts of Chialto for better entertainment. Have you been to the Plaza of Men? You’ll find some sport there. I’d get out of this part of town, if I were you.”

  The father gave him a keen look and heaved himself to his feet. “We were planning to make that our next stop. I just thought the boys would enjoy a chance to see the wilder part of town.” He chuckled. “Things are very dull down where we live.”

  “Sometimes dull is preferable to dissolute,” Rafe said. “There isn’t much romance to debauchery.”

  “There isn’t much romance to farming, either,” said the youngest son.

  “Probably pays better than gambling,” Rafe said.

  “On good days,” the father agreed. “Well! Are we done here? Thank you for an instructive afternoon, young man.”

  They’d been gone about fifteen minutes when two sweela men and a coru girl came his way. The men appeared to be drunk already, though it wasn’t even dinnertime; the woman was giggling so much that Rafe couldn’t tell if she’d been drinking, too, or if she was just overdoing an assumed personality of foolish irresponsibility. She took the chair directly across from his and whined that she didn’t have any money, so one of the sweela men dribbled a pile of coins in front of her, and she squealed with delight. Rafe kept his usual courteous mask on his face, but he conceived an instant and deep dislike of her. He always played to win, because his livelihood depended on it, but sometimes victory tasted even sweeter than other times. It
would be delicious if he bested this woman.

  Over the next half hour, the coru woman won three pots and Rafe collected only one, but his was by far the richest. It made her angry, and she flicked him a look of cold malice when she realized how masterfully she’d been outplayed. He pretended that he didn’t notice. He couldn’t afford to get into a private competition with her; he had to play the entire game against all opponents, or he would lose the whole thing.

  They were halfway through the fifth hand—small pot, mediocre cards, a round that Rafe was willing to lose—when Samson approached their table. “Someone here who wants to talk to you,” he said to Rafe in a low voice.

  Rafe raised his brows, but Samson merely shrugged. Not someone the bar owner recognized, then, and not someone who seemed so dangerous that Rafe should slip quietly out the back door. “Then, friends, let me excuse myself. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  “Hey—what about the game?” one of the men demanded.

  Rafe came to his feet and tossed his cards face up on the table. “I concede the hand. You can play it out, or split the pot among you.”

  Samson pointed to a booth along the side wall, and Rafe approached slowly, assessing the occupant as well as he could while he narrowed the distance. Male, probably in his mid-thirties, with dark hair and dark clothing. He sat very still, his hands folded before him, as if prepared to wait with unvarying patience until the world itself stuttered to a stop. But he wasn’t torz, Rafe was pretty sure of that. This man looked to be all hunti, all stubborn unyielding determination. Rafe’s least favorite type of gambler, because the hunti rarely gambled at all.

  He slipped quietly into the opposite seat and leaned against the back, showing himself to be wholly at ease. In fact, he was tense all over, coiled as if to fight or run. Close up, the hunti man exuded a sort of implacable power, a certainty that whatever he wanted he would, without question, get.

  Or maybe that was just the anger that he was clearly trying very hard, and without complete success, to hold in check.

  Rafe figured there was only one man this could possibly be. And already Rafe didn’t like him.

  “I’m Rafe Adova. You wanted to speak to me?” he said in a neutral voice.

  The hunti man stared at him with narrowed gray eyes. “I believe you have something of mine. And I want it back.”

  Rafe pretended ignorance. “Something you lost to me in a hand of cards? I normally sell all the jewelry I win, but if it’s only been a day or two—although I can’t say I remember you—”

  “Don’t play the fool with me,” the hunti man interrupted. “You have my daughter. She came to this place last night, apparently in dire distress, and I understand you are the one who—took charge of her. Where is she?”

  “Ah,” Rafe said, resettling himself more comfortably. “She’s safe. She’s sleeping. I imagine it might be a couple of hours before she wakes up, so you could—”

  “You will take me to her right now,” the man said sharply.

  Now Rafe leaned forward. He felt his own eyes narrow, his own voice roughen. “When she came here last night, she was obviously running from something—from someone,” he said. “She didn’t name him, so maybe that someone was you. I don’t think I’m going to turn her over unless I’m sure you’re not the one who tried to harm her—and unless I’m sure you can take care of her in the future. Because you’re either one or the other. The man who tried to ravish her, or the man who didn’t keep her safe.”

  For an instant, the other man blazed with such rage that he might have been the sweela prime, able to call fire at will. But oh no, he was pure hunti, strong enough to contain any rampaging emotion. His face tightened, smoothed out, gave nothing else away.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked in a soft voice.

  “I’m guessing you’re Darien Serlast.”

  “Then you know I only have to speak a word to have this building torn from its foundations.” Probably right this very moment, too—Rafe guessed there was a contingent of palace guards outside, keeping the place secure while Darien Serlast did his business inside. He figured that Josetta’s personal guard was among the soldiers who waited outside, because he didn’t spot any newcomers inside the bar looking like they were ready to spring into action.

  He kept his voice indifferent. “Go ahead. It’s not my building.”

  “What do you want, Rafe Adova? Money? Name your price. I just want my daughter returned to me safely.”

  “What I want is to be sure she wants to be returned to you.”

  Something rippled across that cool face—surprise, maybe, perhaps even a hint of admiration. A principled man here in the ghettos. Darien Serlast seemed to grow even more still, more focused, as he studied Rafe for a long moment, not even pretending to be subtle about it. The gray eyes took in Rafe’s clothing, his well-kept hands, even flicked to the right side of his face where Rafe would have sworn that unconventional ear was covered by a convenient swatch of hair. As a rule, Rafe was an excellent judge of character and mood, but he didn’t have a clue what Darien Serlast was thinking.

  Finally, the regent spoke, his voice still soft but utterly unyielding. “I believe if you ask her,” he said, “you will find that she trusts me without reservation.”

  “I would go ask her,” Rafe said, “but I’m afraid you’d follow me. So we’re still at an impasse.”

  “Certainly there must be a way through it.”

  “Well—”

  Before Rafe could complete his thought, he heard a woman’s voice raised in relief. “Darien! You got here so fast!”

  Again, spring swirled through Samson’s tavern as Josetta moved into view. She practically flung herself across the room and into Darien Serlast’s arms as he hastily stood up to embrace her. More slowly, Rafe came to his feet and observed them.

  “Is she here? Is she all right?” the hunti man asked urgently.

  “Yes, she’s fine, she’s sleeping. She had a scary misadventure. That awful man—”

  Serlast released Josetta and sent an appraising look in Rafe’s direction. “Not this one, I presume?”

  “No, it was Dominic. They were alone in an elaymotive and he said something to frighten her, so she decided it would be a good idea to jump out at the first chance.” Josetta’s face revealed just how crazy she thought that was. “So she did, but she got lost and ended up southside, which is when she decided it would be a good idea to come find me. She was lucky she ended up someplace relatively benign.”

  Darien Serlast seemed more preoccupied with the first part of Josetta’s speech than the last. “What did Dominic say to her?”

  “She wasn’t specific,” Josetta said, sounding worried. “But I got the impression she’s more afraid of him than she’d like to admit. Darien, you need to get her out of that house.”

  “Oh, she’s out of it now,” he said grimly. “I don’t care what her mother says. She’s not going back.”

  Josetta gestured at Rafe. “He’s the one who kept her safe until I got here. You need to thank him.”

  Now Darien’s gray eyes focused on Rafe again. “Yes, I was just expressing my gratitude for his protection,” he said.

  Rafe couldn’t help it, he snorted with amusement. He waved his hands in an expansive, magnanimous fashion. “The princess’s approval is all I needed. I’d be happy to take you up to your daughter.”

  Josetta divided a look between them, but didn’t seem surprised to deduce that they hadn’t liked each other much. He imagined there were a lot of people who didn’t like Darien Serlast upon first meeting him. “You should reward him,” she said, in case her meaning hadn’t been clear before. “With money. I don’t think he has very much.”

  “Let him name the sum,” Darien replied.

  “The princess offered to rent my room for the night,” Rafe answered. He could use a hell of a lot more than t
hat, especially since he’d lost half a night’s earnings taking care of Corene, but he was damned if he was going to make the regent think he was some kind of greedy shyster. Why hadn’t he ended up with the attribute of pride when Josetta manufactured those makeshift blessings? It had tripped him up more than once before this. “That’s all I need.”

  “I think we can do better than that,” Josetta said.

  “Enough. We can discuss this all later. Where’s Corene?” Darien demanded.

  Josetta glanced at Rafe and he nodded. “I’ll take you up to see her,” she said. “We can settle with you when we come back.”

  She led the way toward the back stairwell, and Rafe stood there a moment, feeling briefly at a loss. The minute she stepped away, the scents of spring evaporated, and the tavern air seemed heavier than usual with the odors of onions and ale and unwashed men. He stifled a sigh and turned back to his regular table to see if there was any possibility of playing an uninterrupted game of penta tonight.

  He was surprised to see his last trio of opponents still in place. The men were arguing while the woman glanced between them in apparent distress, though Rafe was willing to bet she was subtly fanning the flames. He felt a sudden surge of hatred for her, for all of them, for Samson and every patron in the bar, for himself and this stupid, useless life he led.

  He found his hands were clenched and his shoulders hunched. Taking a deep breath, he slowly relaxed them, slowly smoothed his face back to its normal bland mask. In moments, he was easing himself back to his place at the table, offering the others his professional smile. “Sorry to step away like that,” he said. “Is anyone still interested in playing?”

  They’d gotten through one hand—which Rafe won by a heavy margin—and had just started a second one when the royal family made their way back down the stairs and into the bar. Corene, he was glad to see, looked markedly improved by sleep and a sense of security. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks rosy, and even her tangled red hair seemed happy. Even the fact that she appeared to be arguing briskly with her father didn’t take away from her general air of well-being.