and I liked it so much! I hope I’ll have a chance to get to know some of you while I’m here. For now, though, please stop calling, and go home. We’re making the two-leggers nervous!
They knew she was right. Birds took flight by groups, careful not to bump into one another; dogs and cats left the docks. Only the rats stayed, their attitude of decided unwelcome a steady itch in her mind.
Piffle to you, she told them, and went to join Numair at the rail. He was dressed simply, but well, for their arrival. His soft, wavy black hair was tied in a short horsetail, accenting a long nose and full, sensitive mouth. A black silk robe that buttoned high on the throat billowed around his powerful frame. Long, wide sleeves covered his arms to the wrists; the hem stopped short of the toes of his boots. That robe was donned by only a handful of mages, the most powerful in the world. Not even the famed Emperor Mage was allowed to wear it. Numair always played it down. He said the learning needed to win the black robe was not worth much in the real world, but Daine knew better. Once, when Numair was pressed by an enemy sorcerer, she saw him turn the other man into a tree.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, squinting up at him. The effort strained her neck: he was a foot taller than her five feet five inches. His dark eyes were emotionless as he watched the dock. Only his big hands, white-knuckled as they gripped the rail, showed tension. She had wanted to talk about the badger’s visit, but she could see that this was not a good time. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, magelet,’ he said, using his private name for her. ‘And I am as well as may be expected. I can’t say which prospect makes me more apprehensive – that of meeting old enemies, or old friends.’ His voice was unusually sombre.
‘Old enemies, surely?’ She understood his concern. Carthak’s great university had been his home for eleven years. Shortly before his twenty-first birthday he had fled, accused of treason against his best friend – the emperor. Now, almost thirty, he was, in a way, coming home.
‘I don’t know,’ was his quiet reply. ‘I was very different then. And you know what the wise men say – “Only birds can return to their old nests”.’ He shook his head, and smiled down at her, white teeth flashing against his swarthy face. ‘Mithros bless. You look very pretty.’
Kitten chortled while Daine blushed. ‘You think so really?’ she asked, feeling shy. ‘I know I don’t hold a candle to Alanna, or the queen—’
He held up a hand. ‘That isn’t strictly accurate. The Lioness is one of my dearest friends, but she is not an exemplar of female beauty. Years and experience have given her charm, and her eyes are extraordinary, but she is not beautiful. Queen Thayet is astoundingly attractive, it’s true, but you have your own – something.’ He scrutinized her as she giggled. ‘You should wear blue more often. It brings out matching shades in your eyes.’
‘I heard that about my looks,’ Lady Alanna said, joining them. ‘I’ll get you later.’ Like Daine, she wore a tunic and breeches. Hers were violet silk trimmed with gold braid, over a white silk shirt. At her waist hung her sword. She grinned at Daine. ‘You do look good.’
‘Thanks,’ Daine said, blushing once more. ‘So do you.’
The others, clad in daytime finery, joined them now that the ship was about to dock. Under their conversation, Daine tugged Numair’s sleeve. ‘I need to talk to you as soon as you can manage,’ she whispered as the sailors made the ship fast. ‘It’s really, really important.’
He nodded, but his eyes were on the ships around them. She couldn’t be sure he’d even heard.
Across the harbour a gong crashed three times. The Carthakis on the docks knelt and touched their heads to the ground as slow, regular drumbeats sounded. A path had opened from their ship across the busy harbour to what appeared to be a canal lock. Down that path came a high-prowed boat rowed by shaved-headed slaves. Its gilded surfaces threw off painful flashes as it swept along.
Daine peered at the man seated on a throne-like chair on the deck. He wore a crown like a cap, one covered with diamonds, that glittered fiercely. ‘Who is that?’
Gareth the Younger said, ‘Probably a lesser prince, one of the imperial court.’
‘This prince isn’t a lesser one.’ Numair’s stage whisper carried to those behind him. ‘See the lapis lazuli rod in his left hand? That is an attribute of the heir – what’s his name?’
‘His nephew Kaddar,’ one of the others said. ‘Age sixteen. Studies at the university.’
The Tortallans got into the ship’s boat and were rowed to the galley, where a heavy ladder was dropped to them. Daine waited for the senior members of her party to board, then followed. Kitten lost patience with her slow progress up the ladder and scrambled past her, beating her onto the deck. Their order, as they gathered before the prince, was roughly that of importance, with Duke Gareth, Lord Martin, and Lady Alanna in front, Numair and the other officials behind them. Gareth the Younger, Daine, Kitten, and the Tortallan clerks kept to the back.
Someone called orders. A drummer sounded a beat. Sunburned and tanned backs on Daine’s left stretched forwards. The left bank of oars dipped; the boat began to turn.
Standing by the prince was a herald. He wore a gold robe cut like those Daine had already seen on other Carthakis, a knee-length tunic with short sleeves. Thumping his staff of office on the deck, he cried, ‘His Imperial Highness, Kaddar Gazanoi Iliniat, Head of House Khazoi, Prince of Siraj—’
Daine lost track of the rest. She was interested in the boat: once it had turned, both sets of oars rose and fell on drumbeats, and the vessel raced across the harbour. On either side of the deck the rowers sat at their benches. Each time they stretched forwards or pulled back, she heard a clatter under the drum’s thud and the men’s grunts of effort. It took her a moment to realize that it was the noise of the chain that linked their ankle cuffs.
Her skin prickled. She made herself look away and listen to the herald. ‘His Most Serene and Imperial Majesty, Ozorne Muhassin Tasikhe, Emperor of Carthak—’
Kitten went to the end of a bench, chirping and peering at the man seated there. The girl went after her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told the man, who watched the dragon from the corner of his eye. ‘She doesn’t know not to interrupt when folk are working—’ The slave looked up at her, startled.
‘Eyes to your oar!’ snarled a voice nearby. A lash snaked out to flick the man on the cheek. The slave hardly blinked, though the whip had come dangerously close to his eye. Daine bit the inside of her cheek and went back to her place, hoisting Kitten onto her hip.
Someone passed a handkerchief to her as the herald began to name their company to the prince. She quickly wiped her eyes. By the time she was under control, Gareth the Younger and the dean of mages at the Tortallan royal university were bowing to the prince, who greeted them both with distant courtesy. They bowed again, and stepped to the side so that Daine and Kitten were revealed.
Awed, the girl saw that the odd shape of the prince’s eyes came from dark lines drawn on both lids and extended to his temples. He was a light-skinned black, with thin lips and long, thick eyelashes, dressed in a calf-length tunic of crimson silk. His jewels shimmered in the sun. He boasted three gold rings in his left ear, a gold bangle shaped like a many-flamed sun, and a ruby drop in the right. Another ruby served him as a nose button. He wore a collar-like necklace of gold inlaid with mother-of-pearl strips. Rings decorated fingers and thumbs; bracelets hung on both wrists. A flash drew her eyes to his feet, where she found rings on toes bared by his sandals. It occurred to her that she might not possess as much jewellery in her entire lifetime as the prince wore right now.
‘Veralidaine Sarrasri,’ the herald proclaimed. ‘The dragon Skysong.’
‘I greet you in the name of my august kinsman, the Emperor Mage of Carthak,’ the prince said formally. Then he leaned forwards, eyes sparkling with interest. ‘It’s a true dragon?’ His voice was light and fast. ‘Not a basilisk, which we’ve seen, but maybe a young basilisk—’