Except for Joret Dei. She sat on her hassock in the center of the room, her back straight, her expensive silken skirts ruched forgotten around her, as she rested her chin on her fists, her steady blue gaze on the harpist as though the answer to the world’s dilemmas lay just behind the music.
The duchess drawled, words etched in acid, “You realize he and his fellow raptors stooped on us only because Sartor has become untenable.”
“I know.” Below another song began, this one a slow, plaintive ballad in a Toaran counterpoint.
Yaska turned toward Joret, presenting a perfect profile.
“Until Servitude Landis dies and Lissais the Hypocrite re-establishes a bearable life for Sartor’s court, the young courtiers have nowhere else to go,” the Duchess continued, amused.
“There is an entire world outside of Sartor,” the baroness kept her gaze on that motionless profile.
Prince Valdon was not present—the word was the king had sent him to see to something or other at the harbor. Was it accident that Yaska had finally accepted an invitation? Of course not.
“Their world—” A swoop of the duchess’s fan toward Yaska. “—is court. In Sartor they are made to be servants to servants. Sarendan has no court, they’re all fighting one another, or about to. Khanerenth’s court is made up of merchants and the military pretending to have rank. The west is impossible, the rest of the east is too small and boring, except for the Land of the Chwahir, which has nothing we would recognize as a court, and he can’t go to Colend.”
Secure in the knowledge of her triumph, the baroness pretended she was not aware of the duchess’s insult in telling her what she knew quite well herself. Her son, sent to Colend for seasoning, had reported in a private letter how angry King Lael had been to discover that his carefully selected garden of beauties had been competing for Lord Yaskandar Dei’s attention right under the royal nose. Lael had suavely invited his honored and distant cousin to leave. She smiled. “I know.”
“And anyway,” the duchess finished, “Joret and our Valdon made a ring marriage last year, speaking vows of eternal exclusivity. We were all there. You heard them.”
“I know.” The baroness laughed. She liked young Valdon, and Joret Dei was astoundingly self-effacing for so beautiful a girl raised from foreign barbarity to a step from a civilized throne. Not self-effacing in a meek way. She was strong in a way that no Adrani courtier really understood, with her steel daggers, and riding around on horseback accompanied only by that grim, armed maidservant. Joret never raised her voice, nor was she rude, but somehow she had caused the entire court to superficially accept the presence of the sailor woman Jeje sa Jeje, peculiar as she was—and if they laughed, it was behind closed doors where the sailor Jeje (and Princess Joret) could not hear them.
A song ended, and Princess Joret tapped her fingers lightly against her palm in applause. Lord Yaska smiled down at her, whispered something, which won a smile back.
The baroness smiled. Really, young people would be young people, and the important thing was that everyone would be talking for years about how the affair began at her musical party.
Her hostess book lay ready to collect their charming scrawls on their way out, if the evening were memorable enough.
Now that is fame, she thought as Yaska leaned forward again to murmur soft words to Joret, his long hair brushing her shoulder.
Chapter Twelve
TWO weeks later Jeje followed a tall, stone-faced footman into the royal palace on the highest hill of Bren. They walked down a long marble hall with vaulted ceilings painted the gold of sunrise. The only sounds were their footfalls and the rustle of his burnt orange brocade tunic. Finally they reached a huge round room in which was an indoor fountain with water cascading down it in complicated arcs.
The footman turned his head slightly. The yellow silken tassel dangling from his tall brocade hat trembled as he murmured just above the splash of the fountain, “Wager you never thought to step inside this building, eh?”
“No.”
“Last year I was sent down to watch your drills every month or so,” he stated.
You mean spy. Jeje almost said it, but remembered Wisthia’s last caution, Words are now your weapons. Don’t use them unless you must.
So she shrugged, and the footman said, “Are you affronted that I speak? I assure you, the days of servants’ tongues being cut out are long over. Though not on Toar,” he added. “Dangerous ports, dangers everywhere, there.”
Jeje’s lips parted. A sailor! This king’s spy in the stiff brocade and close hat was once a sailor! Again she caught herself about to rush into words. Don’t throw your knife on the floor, Jeje. “Never been to Toar,” Jeje said slowly. “Bad stories out of some parts.”
“True enough. But everywhere has some bad parts, some good.”
He’s talking to me for a reason.
She was here after two weeks of evasive messages conveyed through third parties while the royal family was apparently at one of their other homes, supposedly for King Galadrin’s health.
Wisthia had said cheerfully, My brother—actually my nephew Val—has now made Barend and his proposal a top priority. He says he owes it to Cousin Evred for ending the Venn rule over the seas. She’d sent daily messages from Prince Valdon to Barend via the royal palace, going along with the fiction that Barend was a royal “visitor.” The messages were meant to be opened by all interested eyes: each day she begged him to attend her because they had so much of import to discuss and the rulers of Iasca Leror and Anaeran-Adrani would soon be asking about progress.
However nothing happened until this very morning, just after dawn. As a brief storm lifted three fighting ships slid into the harbor, the foremost a long, low, knife-lean black-sided trysail known to sailors all over the southern seas: Elgar the Fox’s Death.
Outside the islands the rest of his Fox Banner Fleet waited in blockade formation, at least twenty silhouettes, with the wind at their backs.
Quite suddenly an invitation arrived for Wisthia to join the royal family. Nothing about the king’s health or other palaces. “And don’t mention it, either,” Wisthia had said as she walked around Jeje, critically inspecting the crimson-and-gold silk robe that they’d had made. “You take away a ruler’s face, even in private, and they tend to throw the whole kingdom at you in order to get it back.”
That’s just why I hate kings, Jeje thought now. She kicked at the fine hem of her robe as she walked.
Still, she loved this outfit. Marlovan formal robes were silk woven with cotton, but this was pure silk, otherwise it reminded Jeje of what Hadand had worn at that dinner. The voluminous black trousers, the golden sash at her waist, the high necked linen shirt under the long, billowing crimson robe all felt comfortable, and she liked the way they looked.
She met the footman’s eye. He smiled wider for a moment, then faced front as they ascended a broad marble staircase about as wide as a three-master’s foredeck. He’s telling you to watch wind and sail. So do it. Barend’s life depends on you.
Two more footmen in the burnt orange brocade and tall, tasseled hats stood before a door at the end of the hall. The door was a double one, carved with figures and symbols Jeje suspected had to do with history. Tau would know; the reminder hurt. She wished more violently than ever that he was here instead of her. He’d do everything right.
The doors opened onto a round chamber. A half circle of tall windows flooded with winter light. Around the windows and along the plaster-smooth walls someone had inset brilliantly colored mosaics of summer birds. They were interwoven in artful clusters, drawing the gaze toward crystal-faceted glowglobes in the white-and-gold domed ceiling.
If all this was supposed to intimidate, well, it worked.
Jeje walked slowly across the parquet floor—wood inlaid with a stylized ivy pattern—her attention shifting to the three people seated in chairs carved to match the tables and wall cabinets. The windows behind the three cast them almost in silhouette. She knew it
probably wasn’t diplomatic, but she raised a hand, shaded her eyes, and gave them a quick look over.
King Galadrin was short, round, and old, his gaze vague. Wisthia had explained that he’d waited until he was nearly sixty to get an heir as he’d wanted to postpone the kind of trouble he himself had caused when young. From two out of a series of consorts had come the princess and prince.
Prince Kavnarac was big, his expression welcoming. Jeje had been prepared to like him as he’d been Tau’s friend; meeting his steady eyes, she felt as if he was silently encouraging her. Maybe he’d sent that sailor footman.
The princess was totally unexpected. Jeje had imagined someone even taller and more imposing than Prince Kavna, but Princess Kliessin was Jeje’s own height, and they were built much the same, except Jeje carried not a whit of extra flesh—she was far too active for that. The princess showed the effect of little physical exercise and too many rich meals. She was beautifully dressed, her contrasting colors of yellow and blue joined by silken braid turning her solidity into gravitas.
“You come alone?” the princess spoke in Sartoran. All just as Wisthia had said. So far.
Jeje performed the bow she’d practiced.“Queen Wisthia is indisposed,” she said, as rehearsed. “Sends her deepest regrets.” It had sounded stupid to lie so obviously, until Wisthia explained that not only did it let the Brens know she knew they’d been lying about the king’s health, it also gave room for negotiation. Remember, I don’t actually represent Evred. He probably has no idea I’m even here.
Jeje was relieved when the king mumbled a few words of welcome, then turned to examine a golden bowl of nuts. A servant, unobserved until now, sprang to his side and began to crack shells.
“Please convey our best wishes for her recovery,” the princess said with the kind of mordant sarcasm that reminded Jeje unpleasantly of Fox.
Out there on the harbor, yes. Why?
“Your ambassador presented her credentials as Princess Wisthia of Anaeran-Adrani,” Kliessin said. “We shall continue to use the title she herself acknowledged.”
Wisthia had prepared Jeje for that, too. Jeje bowed again. “I am Jeje sa Jeje, envoy from Iasca Leror. To us she is known as the Queen Dowager of Iasca Leror.” And wouldn’t Inda laugh if he heard that “us.”
The reminder of Wisthia’s relationship to Barend tightened the princess’ tense face. “And so we come to your purpose here.”
Kavna’s hand had tightened on his chair arm, a gesture so subtle Jeje might not have noticed if the emerald in his ring hadn’t flickered in the light from all those windows.
Jeje suspected he was trying to warn her to be careful, but she didn’t need the warning. Except for the continuous crunch and crackle of breaking nut shells, the room was silent.
Kliessin said, “If you are an envoy from Iasca Leror, then presumably you will have firsthand information of events there?”
Jeje’s palms were damp. She resisted the temptation to wipe them down her silken robe. “I was not at the battle,” she stated. “Though I received almost daily reports from the Harskialdna’s staff.” Absolutely true. Tau was Inda’s staff. The letters might not have been official reports, but they sure did cover exactly what was happening, almost as it happened.
Kavna said, “Then you can enlighten us as to what is rumor and what isn’t?”
The princess’ brows twitched together, and Jeje figured she’d wanted to control the entire conversation. But his question had nothing to do with policy.
Jeje said to him, “I think I can. They fought the Venn to a standstill in and around the pass between Idayago and the rest of Iasca Leror. So the Venn left.”
Kliessin leaned forward. “Left. What does that mean? Surrendered? A truce? A hiatus?”
“They sailed away,” Jeje said, as coached. “That is what I am permitted to say. For more information, you are invited to communicate with King Evred.”
Kliessin huffed, almost a grunt. “No officials sent by proper channels—no ships until two weeks ago—yet everyone seems to know what happened. Only details differ. Some maintain that Prince Rajnir knelt at your Harskialdna’s feet and laid his weapons down, others maintain that Fleet Commander Durasnir performed that role.”
“For details, you must apply to King Evred, who was there.”
Princess Kliessin waved a hand, brushing King Evred aside. “What I really want to know is how could his army commander be busy fighting the Venn and then a scarce month or two later be defeating pirates at various points around our southern seas?”
“I don’t know anything about pirate battles,” Jeje said stolidly, feeling the worst twinge of regret yet.
Kliessin sat back. “I note you did not attempt to claim that your Elgar the Fox commanded all these victories. And had time to sail about menacing people as the mysterious Captain Ramis.”
“Him, I saw,” Jeje said—her first unconsidered words. Her fists tightened. “He’s not Inda.”
Kliessin’s eyes narrowed. “You saw this man? In person? Did he tell you who he was?”
“No. Never spoke.” Jeje’s brow lowered. “But I saw him’n Inda, side by side, at Ghost Island. At the battle against the Brotherhood, we saw the Knife. Big Venn warship with black sail. Ramis on the captain’s deck. One eye, face all scarred.”
“You saw a one-eyed man with scars,” Kliessin drawled, her tone silky. “But you do not in fact know who he was, anymore than you can furnish his place of birth, his antecedents, or anything else that time and money have not been able to discover. Facts that have been discovered about everyone else concerned, including your ‘Inda.’ I am relieved you did not attempt to convince me that he and the Elgar the Fox sitting out in our harbor are one and the same man. You were apparently there when Fleet Master Chim interviewed Elgar the Fox onboard his ship, with his red-haired captain standing at his side.”
Jeje thought back to that day. Felt like years ago, but was just the previous winter. She recalled the long-nosed fellow Chim had termed a king’s spy. “Inda and Fox are two men. The plan was for one to fight the Venn on sea and the other on land.”
Kliessin smiled, then leaned forward again, gaze unwavering. “So you were in fact building a navy right under our noses? A navy waiting for a signal from Barend Montravair, or from you, who trained them, to rise and overthrow us?”
Jeje gaped. “To do what?” Astonishment was followed by an indignant squawk. “Why would anybody want to do that? I just told you, the plan was to fight the Venn!” Then flushed up to her ears. Images of being hustled straight out to execution—burning ships—war declarations galloping out right and left—made her insides hurt. Wisthia was supposed to be so smart at diplomacy, why hadn’t she seen that coming?
King Galadrin watched his servant crack another shell, drop the nut onto a golden plate, and hold it out. He said quite mildly, “The only difference between you Marlovans and the Venn is that you don’t have a navy. Yet.”
Kliessin said, “My people watched you spending more time training those sailors in hand-combat than in boarding and repelling. We heard the rumors that you waited on a signal. When the message came for you and Taumad Daraen and Fleet Master Chim to meet your Elgar the Fox in a secret cove, we thought that was the signal.”
Kavna smiled at Jeje. “But your Inda really did capture a Venn navigator, just as he’d promised. That wouldn’t help him here, but it would against the Venn.” Embarrassed and unsettled as she was, Jeje sensed that he was addressing his sister though he faced Jeje. “Then Inda and his fleet sailed to find the Venn,” Prince Kavna finished. “Just like he promised Fleet Master Chim.”
Princess Kliessin said in a more normal voice, “We never told the Venn envoy about the navigator. We did put Chim and the captains you’d been training to the question.”
Jeje gasped. “Kinthus, I hope!”
Kliessin drawled, “I thought torture was the sport of you Marlovans.”
Jeje was about to retort that she wasn’t a Marlovan, but sh
e clapped her jaw shut. She’s goading me to yap!
Kliessin leaned back and let out a long sigh. “So far your story upholds the testimony of Chim and Mistress Perran. As we cannot—until there is a formal declaration of war—put foreigners to the question.” Her regret was obvious.
Jeje’s resentment spiked. She’s definitely trying to sting me to say more than I should.
“The other thing that leads me to believe you is that your fleet pay ran out early last summer. Though I deeply resented the strain on our budget when we took over, especially as the pirate’s and the normal mariner’s idea of pay differ drastically. The lack of secret funds as well as the lack of orders suggested the fleet really was intended to fight the Venn.”
Jeje was mentally wrestling with the realization that everyone, including Wisthia, had known all about the fleet being trained. They just had not known its purpose.
While Jeje struggled with these new insights, Princess Kliessin decided that she had heard enough. So far, the words from this clumsy excuse for an envoy matched what the troublesome Fleet Guild leaders had all said. She paused, wishing yet again that the Guild Council in Sartor would let her break this “Fleet Guild” (no true guild at all) and throw them out of the country. Instead, she had to stretch the navy budget beyond tolerance to support that raggle-taggle fleet of Chim’s, and she had to pay an army of scribes to open, read, note, and reseal every one of those damn letters those would-be pirates sent out of the Fleet Guild. But her reward, if it was a reward, was as close to conviction as she could come that this mysterious Inda Elgar was as politically ignorant as he was militarily brilliant.
At least I’m saved the cost of a mass execution, she thought. I will not tolerate pirates. So . . . it was time for the raggle-taggle fleet to be tamed and run like a real navy. The advantage was that she gained ships for a navy far too small after the years of Venn control.
Kliessin smiled, and smacked her hand down on the arm of her chair. “Bringing me to my last question. If Elgar the Fox, who’s never lost a battle anywhere, has not been training a navy under my nose, what is that black ship doing out in our harbor right now?”