Текст книги "Dragonfly"
Автор книги: Julia Golding
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Chapter 2
T
ashi was the last to arrive at the Hall of the Floating Lily, the seat of government in the four isles and one of her favorite places in the palace. The roof opened out from a central dome in the
shape of an inverted water lily, petals becoming cream-colored pillars turning blush-pink where
they joined the mosaic floor. The patterns on the ground reflected the rich culture of the Blue
Crescent: the ever-present motif of the water lily, perfect beauty floating on the water like the
Islands themselves in the Sapphire Sea; the dragon of eternity chasing its tail; the leaping
dolphin, legendary friend of the first Mother; the dragonfly, the herald of the Great Goddess
herself, catching fire with a fragment of her glory.
Tashi approached her fellow rulers with a carefully measured step. Marisa of Phonilara, the First
Crown Princess, was already sitting on her throne–the Throne of State, which was carved like a
ship in full sail–her white robe spread around her so she looked like an old wrinkled figurehead.
The Second Crown Princess,
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Safilen of Lir-Salu, a fine-looking woman in her fifties, was just taking her seat on the Throne of
Plenty–a magnificent piece decorated with images of the harvest of land and sea. She swept the
folds of her green robe, embroidered with golden sheaves, so that they rippled gracefully to rest
on the floor. The Third Crown Princess, Korbin of Rama, followed her, sitting down swiftly on the
Throne of Justice. Her face was set in a frown, fingers stroking the blue sash in her lap in a subtle
sign of irritation. Her chair was cast from bronze, its back shaped like the blade of a sword.
Korbin was the closest to Tashi in age, being only twenty-nine. The last place, the Throne of
Nature, was built of plain wood. It was no better than many a chair in a matriarch's hall but its
simplicity was to remind the four rulers that the riches of the land and sea, the civilization their
ancestors had built here and the ocean they had come to dominate, were all founded on the
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natural gifts of the Islands. Without the blessings of the Creator Goddess, none of this would
exist.
So why, wondered Tashi for the hundredth time as she approached the seat of unyielding wood,
does the most junior Crown Princess get to sit on it?
Tashi bowed to her sister rulers and took her place, spreading her dragonfly robes in an elegant
arc around her feet to mirror Safilen's gesture.
A bell rang in the roof, signalling that the government was in session.
Marisa rose to her feet. "Sisters, the first matter for our consideration are the preparations for our defense
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against our enemy, Emperor Fergox Spearthrower. Our messenger birds from the embassy in
Gerfal have brought a reply to our proposal of alliance.
King Lagan agrees."
Tashi joined in the round of polite applause from all in the room. She had known that the First
Crown Princess, responsible for foreign affairs, had spent months conducting these delicate
negotiations. Tashi remembered the rough-looking ambassadors she had practiced bowing to
only the month before. Their tunics and trousers had seemed very out of place amongst the
robes of the Blue Crescent court, their loose long hair almost wild compared to the modest veils
customarily worn in the palace. And the Gerfalians had all been men.
"King Lagan agrees that our alliance must be cemented by ties that cannot be easily broken. He
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proposes a royal marriage with his only son and heir but has rejected my suggestion that this
should be with a daughter from one of our leading matriarchal families. His Majesty is clear that
only a Crown Princess will do. Though it is against our practice, I reluctantly agree with him.
Extraordinary times demand extraordinary measures. Prince Ramil must marry an equal to show
that the two nations join as equals."
Tashi did not at first understand what Marisa was saying–it was so unexpected. Crown
Princesses were allowed to marry, but only as a private matter, kept away from the court. The
Second Princess was well
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known to have been married happily for twenty-five years, but few had seen her husband,
rumored to be a priest in one of the lesser temples. But a public–a state–marriage was unheard
of, a major break with tradition. Tashi was not the only one to be surprised; all the councillors
gathered on the benches around the thrones looked perplexed, a very extreme show of emotion
for the notoriously controlled court of the Blue Crescent.
Safilen rose to speak.
"Sister, I understand the wisdom of alliance, but marriage to one of the four, that will have
results none of us can predict, change the entire balance of power in this court."
The First Princess acknowledged the justice of the remark with a nod. "Of course, I know this,
but we can also predict that this court will not exist in a few years' time if we do not forge
alliances now. What will Fergox Spearthrower make of our customs and our laws? Nothing. He
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desecrate the temples of the Mother and put us all to the sword, Crown Princesses and
commoners alike, if his behavior in other countries is anything to go by. I propose a change, yes,
but nothing as radical as he would force upon us."
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Korbin rose.
"If what you say is correct, sister, then the only matter that remains is which one of us shall be chosen to represent our country in this alliance?"
Tashi raised her fan to hide a smile. The Third Princess
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made it sound as if marriage was a sporting competition. In importance and age, Korbin was
clearly the front runner for the task.
"King Lagan requires the wife to be of child-bearing years so that narrows our choice," continued the First Princess with the merest glint of amusement in her eyes. "Our ambassadors describe
Prince Ramil as (forgive the undiplomatic language; I asked them to be frank) 'an uncouth boy of
eighteen.' We must vote as to which of our two younger sisters should take up this burden."
Two younger sisters. Tashi suddenly woke up to the fact that she was being seriously considered
for the marriage.
"The one chosen should be prepared to spend much of her time away from court. Her role will
become that of a roving ambassador between us and Gerfal."
Marisa did not have to spell it out, but Tashi knew what that meant. If the Crown Princess was
away from the Islands, she would lose much of her power, miss the government sessions,
reduce her influence with the people.
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Tashi glanced at Korbin's severe face: she too was quickly counting the cost.
But I can't do it! Tashi thought in a panic. I'm barely accepted as it is. A strange marriage would
just about be the end of me, demote Kai further in importance, signal the end to my training and
education. Added to that the fact that I don't want an "uncouth boy."
"We wil vote in the usual way," announced Marisa.
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Each princess picked up the four voting sticks that sat on an arm of each throne–white, green,
blue, and orange.
"Blue or orange?" intoned the First Princess. "Begin."
As described in the Law of Voting, second scroll, paragraph one, each ruler chose her stick. A bell
sounded. One by one, four sticks were cast onto the tiled floor between the thrones, falling on
the lily mosaic designed to be a reflection of the dome above.
"The decision is taken," Marisa declared.
Tashi stared at the floor in disbelief. Three orange sticks and one blue lay at her feet. The three
older princesses had all voted for her.
"But I can't–" she began.
Her three co-rulers looked at her in astonishment. No princess ever raised a personal objection
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in open court.
Tashi stood and bowed. "Forgive me, sisters. What I meant to say was 'As the Goddess wills.'"
She walked out quickly, knowing she was breaking precedent by leaving before her elders, but
she couldn't stay there after what they had just done to her. Once in the corridor she broke into
a run, gathering up the heavy brocades of her robes in clenched fists. Little Kai, unimportant
island of the union, sacrificed to please some distant king and to keep the other three safe. She
could scream. It should've been Korbin: she was older, fully trained as a diplomat, more than
ready for marriage, representative of the largest island, Rama, so less
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likely to lose her influence. So many reasons pointed to her.
But they had all voted for the youngest, least important, most dispensable princess at court. An
insult to the Gerfalians if they realized it.
And an insult to me too, Tashi realized. They probably thought a goat herder would be a good
match for the "uncouth" barbarian prince.
Tashi stormed into her bedroom, shut the door in the Etiquette Mistress's face, and threw the
bronze fin-gerbowl out of the window. It made a satisfying clang as it hit the pavement below.
She flung herself on her bed. She'd do her duty but Goddess help Prince Ramil if he expected
any more from her than that. If he did, she would make his life very unpleasant.
The point when Ramil completely lost his temper was when he was refused entry to the stables.
He had intended to fulfill his promise and take his little sister riding, but a guard stopped them
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both at the entrance.
"I'm very sorry, Your Highness, but the King has ordered that you are not to be allowed in here."
The guard, a jovial man for whom Ramil had often bought a drink in the inn by the castle gate,
was now looking very sober and very serious.
Inside their loose boxes, the horses neighed, sensing the presence of their favorite rider at the
door.
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"Ram, where is the pony?" whispered Briony, clutching her brother's hand nervously.
"The pony is in the stable, but apparently I'm not able to fetch it for you."
Ramil could feel his temper getting the better of him. "The Princess–is she allowed in?" he snapped.
"Of course, Your Highness." The man lowered his spear.
"And if I order a groom to bring the pony here, will I be allowed to take my sister into the park?"
Ramil asked acidly.
"No, Your Highness, I am ordered to keep you in the castle."
Ramil turned to his sister. "Sorry, Briony, lesson cancelled. Run back to your nurse."
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Leaving Briony bewildered by this sudden change of plan, he strode out of the courtyard,
heading for his father's chambers. King Lagan was closeted with the Prime Minister, Lord Taris, a
map spread on the table in front of them, dotted with tiny figures of men and ships.
"So, I am to be a prisoner in the castle, am I, Father?" Ramil asked, not stopping for the
courtesies of greeting.
Lagan pushed a division of soldiers towards the mountain passes crossing to Brigard.
"It is my wish to keep you close by until the marriage takes place," Lagan answered calmly.
"That is outrageous, Father! You are treating me like a criminal!"
Lagan sat back and regarded his son astutely.
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"Would you give me your word that you will not desert us?"
"Of course, I–"
"Would you swear it on the good name of your mother?"
"I . . . " Ramil faltered.
"Exactly."
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Ramil twisted his riding gloves in his fingers. "Do you think she would've approved of this,
Father?"
Lagan picked up a model of a cavalry officer thoughtfully. "No, 1 know that she would not. She
would've saddled your horse for you and bribed the guards to let you leave."
"So why are you doing this to me?" Ramil cried in despair.
"Because she would have been wrong. Sometimes the head, rather than the heart, has to rule."
Ramil could have screamed with fury. His particular heart had become a fiery ball of loathing.
"I hate you, Father."
"Do not say that," Lagan replied wearily. He had had just such a scene with his own father and his punishment for his choice then was to have to live through it again today. "I am trying to
save Gerfal. I'm saving you from yourself. If you ran from your duty, believe me, you would
never forgive yourself."
Ramil was burning to throw something, to hit his father even. "You talk about duty, Father, but
you forget that I can show no duty if I cannot choose. How 29
will you know whether or not I would act as becomes a prince of Gerfal if you do not allow me
the chance to make my own mistakes or even make my own right choices? How can I ever be fit
to rule Gerfal like this?"
Lagan nodded his approval. "You argue well, my boy, but the time to give you that opportunity is
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not now. Later, I promise, you will have plenty of freedom to show you are fit to rule."
"But–"
"I cannot risk the nation's happiness on your experiments in rule."
"All right then. Shut me in the dungeon–show the people just what you think of me."
Anger flashed in Lagan's eyes. "You are being insolent, proof that I was right to confine you!"
Ramil gave a hollow laugh. "Unfair, Father; very good maneuvering, but unfair. Do not try to
blame me for your injustice towards me!"
Lagan rose, assuming the full dignity of his position, his green robes sweeping the floor.
"Consider, Prince Ramil, in your pride and your selfishness, that I could be wrong to you but right for our people. Tell me, in my place, would you put the happiness of your own child over your
duty to your nation? Tell me, what would you do?"
Ramil glared at his father. "I would trust my son."
He left the chamber, slamming the door behind him.
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The crown barge glided up to the palace mooring accompanied by the quavering pipes of the
royal orchestra. Streamers fluttered gently from the prow–orange in honor of the passenger
who was to take this journey to the sea. Tashi was bringing nothing with her. All her belongings
and ceremonial robes had been packed by others and sent ahead. They didn't feel like hers in
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any case. She'd struggled for years to make herself into the Fourth Crown Princess, but the
marriage decision had driven a breach between her two selves. The princess was an empty shell,
a collection of words, actions, and drapery; Tashi was far away, hidden somewhere inside
herself, watching it all with disdain.
The other three Crown Princesses stood beside her as the priests went through the ceremony of
farewell.
"I have asked the Etiquette Mistress to write a new set of rituals suited to your life as a traveller, sister," said Korbin haughtily.
"As the Goddess wills," murmured Tashi.
"We would value frequent messages from you," said Marisa, "and will expect the nuptial visit of you and your consort in the spring."
Tashi nodded, not trusting herself to say anything on the subject of consorts.
"A word in private, sister," Safilen spoke gently, taking Tashi's arm. The other two rulers
watched in surprise as she led Tashi aside. The courtiers tried to ignore this break with
precedent, keeping their eyes to the barges gathering in a flotilla of orange ribbons. The sun
glanced off the network of canals that
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crisscrossed the plain before the palace, making the water dazzle liquid gold. Swallows swirled
in the sky above the jade-colored roof of the palace.
The Second Princess drew Tashi into an arbor covered in a vine, grapes dangling in ripe clusters.
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She cupped Tashi's pale face in her hand and looked deep into her green eyes.
"You are unhappy, sister."
Safilen said it as a statement, not a question.
Tashi blinked, feeling tears spring into her eyes. No one had mentioned her emotions since she
arrived at the palace. It was as if she had been stripped of the desires, hopes, and fears of youth
and slowly become a machine created to rule. Now, just when she needed to be at her most
hardened, the Second Princess was talking about feelings.
"You think we voted for you because you are the most junior among us?
That you do not matter?"
Tashi nodded.
Safilen dropped her hand from Tashi's face and instead took Tashi's fingers in hers. Another
unparalleled sign of sympathy.
"I cannot answer for my sisters, but I voted for you because I thought you deserved a chance of
happiness. You struggle–we all struggle–with the role the Mother has given us. My life has only
been bearable because of my husband. I wish that for you too."
Crown Princesses never, ever mentioned their private life. Another custom shattered.
"But if I marry, I want someone from our own
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people–someone who loves me. Not an uncouth prince marrying me
because his father says so!" Tashi blurted out.
The Second Princess's eyes twinkled. "Uncouth sounds . . . amusing. And besides, we could not
send the Third Princess, could we?" She nodded over to the grim face of their co-ruler, whose
forehead was pinched in a frown.
"What life for a poor eighteen-year-old boy would that be?"
Tashi lifted her sleeve to hide her gaping mouth. A joke from the Second Princess? That was
definitely not in the Etiquette Book either.
Tashi spent the slow voyage to the naval port thinking over the Second Princess's words. Her
body sat in the Throne of Nature on the open deck so that all her subjects could see her, but her
mind was far away, speculating about the motives behind her co-ruler's kindness. The Second
Princess was from Lir-Salu, the second smallest island. In many ways, Lir-Salu had the most to
gain from Kai's decrease in influence, but Tashi could not shake off the impression that Safilen
had been sincere in the wish for her happiness.
Am I going to distrust everyone or believe that, sometimes, I will meet friends? Tashi asked
herself. Do I want to end up like Korbin, frowning at all I see, or like Safilen, content and still
human?
She had to take the risk for her own sake, and for Kai.
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Tashi signalled to a scribe.
"Please send the following to my sisters. 1, Fourth Crown Princess, hereby delegate in my
absence my voting powers to Second Crown Princess. I trust she will think as I would have of the
beloved people of Kai in all matters concerning the rule of our Islands.'"
The message was despatched by carrier pigeon. Tashi watched the bird soar over the canal locks
that the barge had already passed through on its journey to the sea. She wondered if she was
being a fool. Had Second Princess merely calculated that inexperienced Tashi would react
gratefully to her show of concern? As representative of both Kai and Lir-Salu, Safilen would
augment her influence at court as rival to both her co-rulers.
Be quiet, Tashi snapped at her cynical side. Let me at least think that I have one friend at court.
Don't spoil it for me! Sometimes the heart has to rule over the head.
Tashi had seen maps of the Known World but never comprehended its
vastness until this voyage across the Northern Ocean. Gerfal lay over a thousand miles away,
beyond the Empire of Holt, beyond anything that Tashi found familiar. The Blue Crescent navy
could not land at any Holtish port, of course, so had to sail far to the north to the islands of the
Ice Archipelago for supplies midway through the journey. Fortunately, the winter had not yet
frozen the seas, but Tashi woke to darkness each morning in her state cabin and had to say the
Four Blessings well before the sun rose. Ice covered
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the inside of her windows, froze her breath and made icicles on the rigging, which crashed to the
ground each day when the sun, feeble and low on the horizon, nudged away the darkness for a
few hours. The people of the Archipelago were suspicious but not hostile, providing furs, meat,
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and fresh water to the twenty ships in Tashi's escort. They encountered no challenge from the
Pirate Fleet. Any scout ships soon disappeared back to Holt when they counted the strength of
the Crescent navy.
By late November, just as the seas further north were locking the
Archipelago away for the winter and the sun no longer rose, the fleet turned south for Gerfal.
They arrived to be greeted by a flotilla of the much inferior Gerfalian navy and were escorted to
the port of the capital, Falburg. The Gerfalian sailors could only whistle with amazement at the
size and firepower of the Crescent ships with their white square sails and ferocious figureheads
of dragons and bul s embel ished with gold paint. The Islands alone knew how to manufacture
gunpowder, and the smallest of the
Crescent ships had at least twenty cannon, the largest over a hundred. The marines were armed
with long rifles, a technology unknown on the
mainland. There, the crossbow was the main long-distance assault weapon.
The flagship of the fleet moored at the dockside to receive the
representatives of King Lagan. Tashi sat once more on the Throne of Nature, brought out on
deck for the purpose. She was dressed in her most elaborate gown, figured with leaves and wild
animals
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in honor of the forested land of Gerfal. Her face was painted white, her eyes outlined in kohl,
her hair hidden under a veil of green silk. An orange sash clinched her waist and fell to the deck
in a swirl of color.
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Lord Taris, Prime Minister of Gerfal, knelt before her. Behind him knelt a stocky young man with
red hair, introduced as his son, Lord Usk.
"Your Royal Highness, on behalf of the King and al his people, I welcome you to Gerfal," Lord Taris said in Common Tongue, the shared language of the Known World.
"Thank you, Prime Minister," said Tashi, following the script written for her by the Etiquette Mistress. Though she was fluent, she felt awkward speaking Common. "I bring greetings from
my sisters, the Crown Princesses of the Blue Crescent Islands, and I bring gifts." She nodded to a line of servants waiting with the appropriate presents–wine, silk, parchment, and salt. She took
the topmost sheaf of paper and quickly folded it into the dragonfly, her personal symbol, and
handed it to the Prime Minister. "A gift for Prince Ramil ac Burinholt." A person from the Blue Crescent would understand this as a sign of great favor and trust, equivalent to saying that you
place your life in their hands, but the Prime Minister had obviously not been briefed correctly on
this aspect of her culture for he fingered it nervously. The Crescent sailors stirred, wondering if
he meant to show disrespect.
"Er . . . thank you, Your Highness," the Prime Minister said, passing it to his son. "We will make sure
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he receives it." He did not like to add that the Prince should have been here in person to greet
her, but had gotten so drunk the night before on hearing that the fleet had been sighted, that he
was incapable of standing. "If you would care to alight from your vessel, I have a carriage waiting for you."
Tashi drew in a breath. A carriage? No doubt pulled by one of the famous Gerfalian horses she
had read about. She couldn't wait to see it.
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"Thank you, Prime Minister." Her excitement entirely hidden from her hosts, she nodded and
her attendants hurried forward to pick up her chair.
According to the Etiquette Mistress, a crown princess's feet were not to touch Gerfalian soil until
she had had a chance to say the prayers suitable for arriving in a foreign country. Four burly
attendants carried her down the gangplank and stopped in front of the carriage. Tashi saw with
a shiver of delight that not one but six white horses were waiting to pull it. She then realized
there was a hitch: her throne would not fit in the cushioned interior of the carriage; she would
have to descend.
But what about the prayers? she wondered. I'll have to do them now.
Nodding to her chief priest, she waited for him to strike the bell so she could begin the long
prayer of thanks in her native language, uncomfortably aware that she was keeping Lord Taris
standing on the dock-side with no
explanation.
"As the Goddess wills," she intoned at last.
Rising, she accepted Lord Taris's hand to step up into
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the carriage. To her surprise he got in beside her, with Lord Usk sitting opposite, so close that
their knees were almost touching. The breach in royal protocol was staggering. She wondered if
they knew that the Crown
Princesses only ever travelled in their own compartments. Apparently not, for the Prime
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Minister kept up a constant commentary as they rode through the streets of Falburg, pointing
out places of importance, remarking on the commerce and customs of the city. Tashi pressed
her lips together. No one spoke to a crown princess unless invited to do so. She could feel her
cheeks blushing under her white paint, and she concluded that either the Gerfalians were more
barbarous than she had heard or he was deliberately mocking her age and inexperience. Her
silence only seemed to make him more talkative. He even tried to include his son in the
conversation, claiming the young man was a great friend of her husband-to-be.
Hardly a recommendation for my favor, thought Tashi to herself. He is probably as uncouth as
his prince.
Lord Taris pointed out the feasting hall up on the promontory overlooking the city. Its walls
shone white in the sunlight; orange and green flags fluttered from the roof. Tashi allowed it to
be an impressive sight, but alien to one used to the waterways and curved roofs of the Islands.
These battlements and stone pinnacles looked very forbidding, conjuring up images of the claws
and teeth of wild beasts crouching for the kill. She had been told that the people of the
continent were warlike but she had not expected their buildings to be so too.
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"We have arranged a welcome banquet, Your Highness, for this evening,"
the Prime Minister continued, trying to ignore the cold silence in the carriage.
"Is that to your liking?"
Tashi nodded. "As the Goddess wills."
"We say 'God willing' here; you'll have to get used to that, I'm afraid. I understand you conceive of your Creator as female?"
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Tashi's eyes widened. Blasphemy after insults: it was too much!
"We have made arrangements so you can carry out your religious duties undisturbed," the
Prime Minister ploughed on. "There was some opposition, as you might imagine, but we have
secured a small temple in the palace grounds for your own private use."
And I'm supposed to thank him? Tashi fumed. She tapped her fingers on her knees, a sign of
severe displeasure if he had known how to read her moods.
The Prime Minister sighed with relief as they passed under the palace gateway. The carriage
drove up to the steps to the Crown Princess's apartments where her servants, who had gone
ahead of her, were waiting.
He helped her descend, then watched her disappear into the building without a word. He turned
to his son.
"Well, what do you think?"
"I think we've got a problem," said Lord Usk, stuffing the dragonfly into his pocket.
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Confined to his rooms, Ramil had woken with a terrible hangover and decided to get rid of it by
returning to drinking. Hortlan and Yendral were trying to dissuade him, but Ramil was too
depressed to care.
"Ah, Lord Usk!" he called in greeting as his friend came back from his trip to the port. "How is my 39
sweet, my darling, my flower of the Blue Crescent?"
Usk tugged at his tunic, pulling out a crumpled paper object. "She asked me to give you this. It's a . . . actually, I'm not sure; it looks like some kind of bird."
"Ah, my dove flew across oceans to give this to me!" Ramil scooped up the fragile paper
dragonfly and kissed it dramatically. He cast it into the air. It fell in circles to the floor, blunting its point. "Clever girl–look, it flies! Have a drink, Uskie." He slopped some beer into a tankard for him. "So, speak up, what's she like?"
Usk took the drink, glancing nervously at the other two. They went still, sensing that the news
was not good.
"She's . . . well . . . not very talkative."
Ramil hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. "They've sent me a mute–
how kind!"
"No, she can talk. She's just . . ."
"Just what? Beautiful? Intelligent? Witty? Everything a man could desire?"
"Formal."
Ramil refilled his own tankard and took a deep draught. "To formality–that well-known quality
in all good wives!"
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"But she's young. She might warm up a bit when you get her . . . you know ...
on her own," continued Lord Usk, trying to make the best of it.
"How young?" asked Lord Hortlan, also looking for a bright side. They all knew their friend was doomed.
"About sixteen, seventeen maybe. It's hard to tell under all that face paint."
Yendral began to laugh.
"What's so funny, my lord?" growled Ramil.
"That is wonderful–just wonderful–they've sent you the new one," Lord Yendral said, shaking his head.
"What's so special about the new one?" asked Ramil grumpily.
"Don't you remember the scandal? She's the farm girl–the one Fergox bribed the priests to
choose, if the rumors from Holt are to be believed."
Ramil threw his tankard at the opposite wall. It chipped the plaster and left a brown stain
splattered on the whitewash. "A peasant! I expect you could smell the pigsty, couldn't you,
Usk?"
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Lord Usk shook his head, nudging Yendral to stop winding up Ramil. Usk was shocked by the
bitterness in Ramil's tone: the Prince was usually the last person to be cruel to another. "No, she seemed very refined as far as I could tell. Remember, Ram, these Blue Crescent people assume
the dignity of their elected position. Her background doesn't matter; she's a Crown Princess."
"You sound like your father," muttered Ramil mutinously. "You can say that it doesn't matter: you're not the one who has to marry her." He looked for his 41
tankard, then remembered he'd thrown it away. "Marl! Bring me more beer!"
The serving man appeared in the doorway, fumbling with his apron.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness, but His Majesty says you're to be sober for this evening. He asks your lordships to take the Prince to the royal baths and scrub some sense into him."
Yendral stood up. "Consider it done. Come on, let's get this pitiful prince of ours fit for his
princess."
"Roll me in the mud. That's what Her Highness is used to," shouted Ramil as they dragged him down the corridor. "To market, my sweet, to buy us a pig, home to our farm to make it grow big,
" he warbled.
"Can't you shut him up, Yendral?" implored Usk. "What if the Crescent people hear him?"
Lord Yendral took out a handkerchief and stuffed it in the royal mouth.
Together the three friends manhandled Ramil all the way to the baths, only letting go when they
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passed him over to the merciless care of the muscular attendant.
Tashi felt very lonely sitting in her rooms going through the rituals with only a few attendants to
