37

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?"

38

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!"

40

40

"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

spec-tate. In the palace on Rama she had always known that her sisters were performing the

same service at exactly the same time in other parts of the palace, as were the priests and

priestesses in the temples throughout the Blue Crescent. It had felt like one great

42

service, all for the Mother. As the only one performing these rituals for thousands of miles,

probably at a different time as even the sun was strange here, she found her voice sounded very

thin and weak, the bell insignificant, the responses feeble.

The evening service complete, the Etiquette Mistress displayed the gown she had selected for

the banquet: white silk, decorated with golden dragons.

Tashi nodded her agreement. She didn't really care for it, but then again she didn't care what