Boldly Sylvi said, Then why did you agree?
He didn’t answer for a moment, and she was afraid he would not—and that she had gone too far. He said, I drank water from the Dreaming Sea, and Redfora told me to let you come.
She could not meet his eyes. The pegasi had brought the long table out and fitted the three sections together and set the tall chair at its head. By the time Sylvi had thought of something more to say to Hibeehea, when she turned back to him, he had gone.
At the banquet she found that she stood and wandered, the way the pegasi did. It had been like this at the first banquet, but then it had seemed odd, slightly embarrassing—perhaps slightly rude, as if, as a human, she was behaving inappropriately. This second time it merely was the thing to do: Why would anyone want to sit down for an entire banquet? She wished she could introduce wandering to her father’s state dinners…. At first she thought she was avoiding sitting down because she did not want to sit in her father’s chair; or perhaps that she did not want to be marked out among the pegasi any more than she inevitably was. But she realised she was standing and wandering because she wanted to—because she was more comfortable that way. And her banquet dress, far less crushed by its three weeks rolled up in the bottom of a pannier than she had expected—perhaps some fragment of pegasus fabric magic had worked its way into her clothing bag—made a nice swishing noise as she walked. She remembered that, three weeks ago, the swish and swirl had given her courage.
The pegasi, represented by Feeaha and Driibaa, had given her a siraga, embroidered with ribbons and feathers and small sparkly stones, and specially cut to lie smoothly over human shoulders.
She also realised with an odd little twinge that her strong human hands were useful for a wandering banquet: she could easily carry with her what she was eating or drinking, which the pegasi could not. She had been to many court gatherings where all the humans had goblets or bowls or plates in their hands, and she had thought nothing of it; she thought of it now.
And there were no speeches. Ebon had taught her to say “it’s wonderful,” ifffawafi, which was another kind of all-purpose pegasus thank you, when more formal, precise gradations of thanks were not necessary. The idea is that you’re both what’s wonderful, that it’s wonderful because it’s something between the two of you. We don’t throw it all on the other person the way you humans do.
Sylvi laughed. But if you give me a really nice present, it’s you, it’s not me. I’m just standing there with—with an armful of flowers or a necklace or something, saying thank you.
Ebon said, Don’t be daft. Don’t you think what you’ve done with my present—with coming here—is at least as important as my having brought you—so that it could happen? With a lot of help from Dad. Our dads.
Sylvi said, Hibeehea said that Redfora told him to let me come.
Ebon looked at her. Did she really? There was a long pause. Did she really. I wish we knew what had happened to them….
Yes, she said. So do I. They looked at each other, and both knew what they were thinking: Fthoom would not have discovered any story about Redfora and Oraan.
So Sylvi wound and spiralled her upright, two-legged way among the pegasi, saying ifffawafi. They said ifffawafi back to her, but some of them smiled, and she knew that she was saying it too much; but she couldn’t help herself.
You don’t have to wear it out, said Ebon.
But it’s been wonderful, she said. Scary, she thought. Scary and wonderful. It’s been … I don’t know what it’s been. It’s only been eighteen days since my father left. Twenty since we left the palace. It feels like years. She added recklessly, I feel ten years older—twenty.
Well, stop it, said Ebon. I don’t, and I don’t want you older than me. He thought about it. Maybe five years. He rested his nose on her shoulder in a gesture that had become habitual in the last eighteen days. She remembered again with astonishment that she was not supposed to touch any pegasus; she had just had her arm around the queen before Ebon reclaimed her. But it was my idea before the grown-ups stole it and made a big grown-up thing about it. I’m so glad you came. Glad—hiyahaimhia—glad isn’t really good enough. I’m “hiyahaimhia, hya hyama,” I’m glad you came. That you saw the Caves.
Me too, said Sylvi, and raised her hand to put it against his cheek. Me too. I don’t care about the grown-ups.
She was crying again when she had to say good-bye to everyone but the pegasi who would be carrying her back to the human world. She cried over Niahi, she cried over Aliaalia, she cried over Feeaha and Driibaa—she even cried over Hibeehea. Hibeehea’s nose was showing one or two wrinkles as he said, You’re bound to us now, child. You’re bound to the pegasi, not just to Ebon. You have changed the world, you know, little human child. And you’ll be back, if you’re crying for the Caves too.
He sounded so like his shaman self—You have changed the world, little human child—that she stopped crying. But he was still smiling, so she said tentatively, Well, I’m mostly crying for—for the pegasi. For all my—friends.
Ah, then that is easy, he said. For we will come to visit you—yes, I too. I wish to discover how much of the world you have changed. I wish to discover if perhaps … Child, listen to me a moment, and he had stopped smiling. Lrrianay may say something like this too, but he is king, and bound to your father, and he sees these things from closer in—almost like a human sometimes. He looked almost grim, she thought, low-headed, his feet braced. We will come to visit your palace now not only for the sake of the Alliance, but because of you. Because you were here, and because you spoke to us. This is a great thing—but it is also a greatly dangerous thing. It is possible that to have sent you home early, weak and confused, would have been more welcome than what has happened. If I may give you my advice, king’s daughter, the advice of an old pegasus shaman, you will tell no one but your father the entire truth about your experience here. And, and he moved his head till his eyes were looking directly and levelly into hers, you may find you cannot tell even him everything.
Eighteen days and twenty years ago she would have turned away hastily, or covered a spurt of anger with court politeness. But it was not eighteen days and twenty years ago, and she said, Yes. I have already taken your advice.
You are a wise child, he said, and to her astonishment he unfurled his wings and swept them forward, and his feather-hands reached out toward her, and the tiny feathery pegasus fingers pressed for a long slow moment against her temples. Good-bye, said Redfora’s voice.
The flight back was unremarkable if—Sylvi thought—you could ever describe flying as unremarkable. There were clouds on the distant horizon but where she flew with the pegasi the sky was blue and bright and the wind was blowing over the mountains toward the palace strongly enough that occasional gusts threw the pegasi’s manes and tails forward, and bounced her in her drai. A month ago she might have felt alarmed; she did not now. Wisps of cloud streamed past like the tails of invisible pegasi—she had a brief daydream of catching one in her hand as it flicked by and a long shining hair remaining in her hand. She stretched her arm out. Niahi had given her a bracelet she had plaited of hairs from her mane, and Ebon’s, Lrrianay’s and Aliaalia’s, and several of the others’. There are even three of Hibeehea’s! she said. I told him what I was doing and asked if I could have one of his! I was very brave! And then he gave me three! Niahi had finished the weaving round Sylvi’s wrist, Sylvi watching, fascinated, at the little alula-hands working so quickly she could not follow what the tiny down-covered fingers did. Your wrists are perfect, Niahi said. We make them for ears and ankles and necks. But I’ve decided human wrists are the best.
Sylvi knew that the feather-fingers lay invisibly against the wing when not in use, pointing forward from the inflexible wrist, like a cap folded down over the leading edge of the primaries, or as if the wing itself were a cape the hand might hold open. But she had never had a chance to stare at a pair of pegasus hands—and Niahi
’s were creamy pale, unlike Ebon’s shadowy darkness—working as close to her as her own wrist. The little hands were astonishingly quick and deft. I am not surprised pegasus weaving and embroidery are better than anything we can do, she said as Niahi finished, with a soft feathery pat to Sylvi’s hand. Your fingers are so clever.
Niahi stretched out both hands and spread the fingers. Even like this her hands were barely as large as Sylvi’s small human palms; Niahi’s fingers were less than half the length and width of Sylvi’s, the palm was a dot, and the littlest finger was barely there at all. She had five fingers on each hand—four and a thumb—which seemed to be the most common; Ebon, Lrrianay, Hibeehea and Aliaalia all had ten fingers, although Feeaha and Oyry had only eight, and Hissiope twelve.
Your hands are so beautiful, said Niahi, and stroked Sylvi’s with both of hers. It is not just that they are big and strong; they are—the way they fit together—the proportions are perfect. Ours are so little the joints make them knobbly, and the last joint doesn’t have room to bend very much. And yours are not all covered in hair or feathers, so you can admire them properly, the long finger bones and the fan of bones across the backs of your hands, the long arc of the web between the thumb and first finger, and the littler webbing between the other fingers. And you have wrists that turn and turn—turn in all directions.
Sylvi said, embarrassed, I don’t think we admire our hands much.
You should, said Niahi. If I were a sculptor, I’d want to sculpt human hands. Maybe Ebon will. The—yelloni—what do you say, when it’s around your wrist? Bracelet—will last a long time if you don’t cut it off. Oh—I should have asked—I’m sorry!—you may not want to wear it forever. Here, I can—and she began to tease some of the hair-ends free.
Sylvi snatched her hand away from the little hands, noticing as she did so that there was no strength of resistance from Niahi: it was like drawing her hand through ribbons. I will wear it till it falls off, she said. Niahi gave a little hrooo of audible laughter. That will be a long time!
The flight went on and on as Sylvi thought about seeing her family again—and yet it seemed longer still when she thought of saying good-bye to the pegasi—when she thought of how far away they already were, and how much farther still she was going. For we will come to visit you, she heard, over and over again, in her memory. She also heard Redfora’s voice saying good-bye. She had barely met Redfora, she could not possibly miss her—no, but she missed asking her all the questions she would like to ask another human who spoke to pegasi. She already missed Niahi. She missed her lightness, her laughter, the silent melody of her voice…. The pegasi’s silent voices were as individual as their faces, as noisy human voices. How both simple and cumbersome it would be to talk always with her mouth again; how familiar and crude. How easy and familiar it would be to be a human among other humans again; how awkward and ungainly…. She wasn’t sure if it was the wind tearing water from her eyes…. And soon she would be saying good-bye to all the pegasi.
Even Ebon. Their fathers had demanded this as a condition to letting her visit go ahead, that both their peoples should see that their loyalties were to their own first. It’s not for the pegasi, though, she’d said sadly. I know. It’s for us humans.
There was a long pause and then Ebon had said, Yes. But it won’t be long. I’ll be back almost as soon as it takes you to have one of your baths.
But that’s not right either. I should visit you as often as you visit me! Oftener! You’re apprenticed to a sculptor! I’m just the king’s surplus daughter!
You’re not surplus to us, said Ebon. And—dearheart—you’re forgetting. The Alliance says we visit you.
There was another long pause, and then she said—sadly, drearily—And I can’t fly. You have to fetch me.
There was the Wall.
And there was the palace.
Home.
They circled once over Banesorrow Lake before they came down. They were returning when they had said they would return, so they were expected; but her father wouldn’t be waiting for her, he’d be working, and she could imagine—she hoped she could imagine—the messenger bursting into his office and saying, “The pegasi! They’re here!” or perhaps “The princess! She’s back!” The queen, she thought, would be pacing up and down along the outer wall of the Great Court, dictating to a secretary trotting beside her and watching the sky—she’d be the one who sent the messenger.
Sylvi thought, And she’d see twelve pegasi, with their shining coats and great beating wings … and a hammock.
There was a stream—no, a river—of people pouring out of the Great Court gates and into the parkland where the pegasi would land. She could hear some conversation among the pegasi, although—as if it were the wind in her ears that was preventing her—she couldn’t hear what they were saying. But she saw the pause in the human river, and then the bright red-and-gold of the footmen’s formal livery, two pairs of them pacing slowly, and then half a dozen senators in their court dress—she thought she saw Orflung’s broad bright orange sash—oh, dear. Had her father told her her return was to be a state occasion? He must have done, and she had forgotten. But she should have known. She should have known it would be….
There was her father, wearing one of the long sparkly king robes—and even the Sword at his side!—hand in hand with her mother, who was wearing a sparkly queen robe; a step behind the queen was Hirishy. Two of her brothers were there, wearing gold chains round their necks and dress swords at their sides. Danacor was missing. She felt a brief flicker of fear—don’t be silly, she thought, he’s often gone—and then the pegasi were gliding down the last little way—they were cantering with barely a jolt to their passenger—trotting—walking. She pulled her laces free, ready to stand up as gracefully as she could.
One of the footmen had come quickly forward, and he was beside her almost as soon as the drai had fallen to the ground. It was Glarfin, and he was smiling and trying not to smile, because smiling wasn’t grand enough. When he caught her eye, however, the smile broke out anyway, and he mouthed “Welcome home, lady” at her. She grinned and murmured, “Thank you, lieutenant.” He had a robe over his arm and he unfolded it gravely, and then flung it round her shoulders in a highly practised court attendant’s gesture. Court robes tended to have monumental armholes, so she managed to slip her arms through them without finding herself trying to make her elbow touch her ear, or scrabbling at it like a cat clawing curtains. Glarfin, pretending to do nothing, delicately held the collar till Sylvi had it settled across her shoulders.
The robe, she saw, was one of her mother’s—the one that was Sylvi’s favourite, stitched all over with golden topazes. It had been her mother’s mother’s, and her mother’s mother’s aunt’s, and the aunt’s mother’s, who had also been married to the king. It’ll be too long, she thought anxiously, but it wasn’t; it had been taken up for her. Surreptitiously she wiggled her fingers; the sleeves had been shortened as well. She put her foot out and the hem poured topazes over it; she crossed her arms with a flourish, watching the topazes sparkle and then threw her arms wide again as her mother put her arms around her and whispered, “Welcome home, and happy birthday, darling.” Then her father hugged her too, and for a moment she forgot about both topazes and pegasi, as she felt her parents’ arms around her for the first time in three weeks. Her brothers saluted her formally, Oyry and Poih at their shoulders, but Garren caught her eye long enough to give a quick flick and twist with his left hand, which had meant “let’s run away” to generations of royal children: it was a slight revision of the formal sign of hospitality made to pegasi attending any official gathering.
She saw that Lrrianay, who had flown back to the palace with her drai-bearers, was standing just behind her father’s shoulder, and she was suddenly angry that Lrrianay should always stand behind her father. They were bondmates, and Lrrianay was also king of his people, and no subject to anyone. She swept into exactly the same
bow to Lrrianay that she would give to her father, the bow of a princess to a king. Lrrianay gravely returned her bow, and the flowers (somewhat wind-blown) that Niahi had plaited into his mane that morning twinkled at her.
Next the senators wished to be presented to her. She was surrounded by humans—swaying on their queer feet as they walked, their extraordinary quantities of clothing flapping and fluttering both with and counter to their bizarre motion. There were no brown-and-grey-and-gold-and-white horizontal backs to look over, no silky banners of mane and tail for the sun to shine through. And humans were all so tall. Involuntarily she took another step backward—and bumped into Glarfin.
He moved out of her way so quickly no one but the two of them knew it had happened. “My lady?” he said, very quietly.
“Senators,” she hissed. “And everyone is so tall.” The senators were forming a queue; the first would be bowing to her in only a moment.
“I am standing behind you,” said Glarfin. “And I am taller than any of them.”
She suppressed a little hiccup of laughter, but it meant that she was smiling when the first senator was presented. Last of all was Senator Orflung—wearing an orange sash. To him she dared say, “Thank you for asking me if I wanted to go.”
“It was a—valuable experience, think you?” he replied.
“Yes, my sir, I believe it was valuable.”
She had guessed she would be expected to make a few sentences’ worth of speech, and so had spent some of the morning’s flight slowly putting words together while the wind hummed in her ears and the landscape flashed away beneath her—but she was only thinking of having to do it, of being prepared. Yet she hadn’t been prepared: she hadn’t expected footmen and a topaz-sewn robe—and the senators. She hadn’t expected so many swaying, flapping, confusing, chattering humans to greet her return. She hadn’t expected to find humanity so confusing.