Royal Airs (55 page)

His turban had been lost in the struggle, and Rafe was sure he wasn’t the only one taking surreptitious glances at the prince’s ear. It had the familiar triangular pattern cut into the cartilage, though Ghyaneth hadn’t bothered to decorate the pointed edges with hoops. The marks were enough for him.
By this you will know that I am royal.

“I think, Prince Ghyaneth, it is time we had a very honest discussion,” Darien said with his usual imperturbability.

Ghyaneth turned his bitter stare at the regent. “Just kill me and be done with it,” he said. “Though I warn you. When my cousin Siacett takes the throne of Berringey, she will be just as determined as I am to see this pretender put to death. He is a threat to her and her children as surely as he is a threat to me.”

Darien shook his head. “I am not going to kill you. I want to find a peaceful solution to our differences.”

Ghyaneth nodded in Rafe’s direction. “Then hand that man over to me and let me go.”

“Since I have gone to considerable trouble to keep Lerafi alive, you must realize that is not going to happen,” Darien replied. “We must discuss other options.”

“He is an enemy of my people!” Ghyaneth burst out. “You know his heritage, but do you know
why
his bloodline is dangerous? Malinqua and Berringey have been rivals for generations. We have never declared outright war, but there have been incidents—ships mysteriously lost at sea, outposts raided, ambassadors murdered. Subriella’s marriage to my uncle was supposed to bring peace between nations. But it only made things worse.”

Ghyaneth raised his clasped hands to gesture in Rafe’s direction. “And now this man who
should
be dead is returning to Malinqua, possibly to sit on the throne? A traitor with Berringese blood in his veins ruling over the nation that is our greatest enemy? Perhaps
your
country may be safe from war, but war will come all the same, and thousands will die, if that man becomes king of Malinqua.”

Probably Darien had something he wanted to say to that, but Rafe couldn’t contain himself. “I won’t go to Malinqua, then,” he offered. “I’ll stay in Welce. I won’t look for a throne in either country. I never wanted to be king anyway.”

Josetta looked at him sharply and then looked away; the stakes were too high, just now, to think about what such a promise might mean to the two of them. Anyway, Ghyaneth was regarding him with a sneer.

“You can swear any vows you like while we are talking treaties,” he said disdainfully, “and you can break them the minute I sail away. I have learned all I need to know about the honor of the Malinquese.”

Before Rafe could answer that, Darien took control of the conversation again. “If you could be convinced that Lerafi Kolovar would stay in Welce, never traveling to either Malinqua or Berringey, would that be enough to make you drop this blood feud? Would you agree to return to Berringey without him and make no more attempts on his life?”

Ghyaneth spoke aloud the exact words that were in Rafe’s head. “It seems unlikely you could make such a guarantee.”

“But if I could?”

Ghyaneth gave an elaborate shrug. “Then yes. I would allow him to live out his days here in your backward little repellent nation. But you won’t be able to convince me.”

Darien nodded at Zoe and she pushed her way to the front of the group. Her smile was friendly but, Rafe thought, rather wicked. “Rafe, show us your hand,” she said. Mystified, he extended his right hand and turned it from side to side for everyone to see. It was raw from the straps and the seawater and the general abuse of the day, but he supposed that wasn’t the point.

“Prince Ghyaneth, watch closely,” she said, holding out her own hand. She didn’t touch Rafe, but it was clear she was concentrating on him. He had the strangest sensation, as if he’d drunk an entire bottle of wine, or replaced his familiar blood with the burning salt water of the ocean. A dark stain quickly spread along his fingers and knuckles, and he felt a deep, dull pain.

Zoe had bruised him without laying a finger on him.

“I am the prime of blood and water,” she told Ghyaneth in a chatty voice. “If I want to, I can pull the blood out of any man’s body and leave him a dry corpse. I don’t even have to touch him.”

Behind him Rafe heard a sharp crack of laughter and Nelson’s crow of delight. “I think I see where this is going,” the sweela prime said to himself.

Zoe ignored him, taking one step closer to Rafe. “Bend your head,” she instructed, and a little fearfully, he did. Her fingertip pushed gently through his hair and came to rest on the back of his skull. His head pulsed with a sudden sharp ache; he bit his lip to keep a gasp from escaping. The agony lasted only a moment, then she lifted her hand.

Rafe tilted his head back to stare at her. Her expression was still sunny. “I’ve made odd little tangles in a couple of Lerafi’s arteries. If he tries to leave Welce, those tangles will burst apart,” she explained. “There will be a little—” She seemed to search for the right word. “Explosion of blood in his head. It will kill him instantly. Lerafi will never trouble you in Berringey or Malinqua.”

The expression on Ghyaneth’s face was a cross between triumph and suspicion. “Most excellent,” he murmured, “but only if I can believe you speak the truth.”

“I don’t think
Rafe
is the one who will be troublesome,” Kayle said in a dissatisfied voice. “
Ghyaneth
is the one who’s running around trying to kill people. He might try to harm Rafe even if he has this—this condition—and how will you stop him?”

“I concur,” Mirti said. “Ghyaneth’s sense of honor is different from ours.”

“Oh, I agree with both of you,” Zoe said. She placed one hand flat on the table and leaned across it, placing the tip of her finger against Ghyaneth’s temple.

The prince jerked his head away. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Hold him still,” Zoe said in a businesslike voice, and Nelson and Darien wrestled Ghyaneth into a tight hold. The prince thrashed noisily, but the two men held his head motionless while Zoe again laid her finger against his face. Ghyaneth kicked out against his captors and almost succeeded in upending the table, but Nelson and Darien were immovable. A few moments later, Zoe lifted her hand and they released him.

“What did you do?” the prince panted, staring up at her with fear and horror.

“Exactly what I did to your cousin. I put a few kinks in the arteries that feed your brain. If Rafe is murdered or dies under mysterious circumstances—” Zoe held out her hand, the fingers splayed, and then suddenly contracted them into a tight fist. Rafe felt all the blood in his own body snap in her direction, and by the murmurs of discomfort that went around the room, he guessed everyone else did, too. “If Rafe dies, I will cause those kinks to burst. And
you
will die.”

“You can’t do that,” Ghyaneth said uncertainly. “Not from hundreds of miles away. No one can do that.”

“Really?” she said quietly. She pointed a finger in the prince’s direction, and he cried out in pain as a bruise blossomed on his exposed forearm. She pointed again, and he leaned over and clutched his ankle. Again, and he rolled to one side, now cradling his bound hands against his shoulder. “I think I can make your blood respond any way I choose, and it doesn’t matter how far away I am. If Rafe dies, I promise you will learn that I am telling the truth.”

“But anything could happen to him!” Ghyaneth cried. “He might be run over by one of your elaymotives! He might be robbed and killed by thieves! That would have nothing to do with me!”

“I think I can tell the difference between a tragedy and a murder.”

“And my cousin!” Ghyaneth went on, even more desperately. “If she hears of this,
she
may well have him killed just so I am slain in retaliation and she takes the throne in my place!”

“That’s not my problem,” Zoe said. “
You
are my problem, and I have taken care of you.”

Nelson had started laughing. “Oh, that’s elegant, that is,” he said, slapping his hands together. “I swear, Zoe, you have your father’s sweela mind and your grandmother’s coru heart.”

Darien looked around the room. “Are we all done here? Is everyone satisfied with the parameters of our agreement?”

Rafe took a deep breath. It was probably his imagination that he could still feel Zoe’s fingertip pressed against his skull. “I am,” he said. “I will stay in Welce or know my life is forfeit.”

Ghyaneth glared at Rafe, at Darien, at Zoe, at everyone in the room. “I am not satisfied, no, it is impossible to be
satisfied
when dealing with savages,” he spat. “But I will happily depart this place, and I will leave my cousin in peace. If that’s what you’re waiting to hear from me. And because I am an honorable man, you have no cause to doubt my word.”

“I believe him,” Nelson declared. “He’s speaking the truth.”

“Good,” Darien said. “Prince Ghyaneth, we will see you back to your ship and guarantee you fair winds and favorable seas until you are well on your way.”

Darien helped Ghyaneth to his feet and the room quickly emptied out, only Josetta, Corene, and Rafe remaining behind. Rafe because he was too exhausted to move, and the princesses to keep him company.

“And
that
,” said Josetta, “is the reason some people are afraid of Zoe.”

“I see that now,” Rafe said. “I had no idea she would go to such extremes. Or do you think it was Darien’s idea?”

“Oh, no,” said Josetta. “That was all Zoe.”

“Well, I’m not sorry you’re staying in Welce, but are you sad you’re not going to Malinqua?” Corene asked him.

He managed a faint laugh. “I’m too tired and too unnerved and too beaten up—
again
—to figure out how I feel about anything,” he said. “I’ll miss my brother. I’ll miss the chance to get to know my grandmother better.”

“You’ll miss the chance to be a
king
,” Corene said. She glanced between him and Josetta. “Although—they might name Josetta queen of Welce. And you could marry her. And then you could be king. Unless she marries a lot of husbands, and then you could be
one
of the kings.”

“I don’t think I want a lot of husbands,” Josetta said.

“Well, do you want to marry Rafe?”

The question hung in the air a moment while Rafe and Josetta studied each other. He could feel himself grinning, and she couldn’t quite keep a smile off her lips.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “Maybe. But I am very, very,
very
glad he won’t be leaving for Malinqua.”

TWENTY-NINE

J
osetta had a hard time releasing her hold on Rafe’s arm once they made it back to shore and the various heroes of the day began dispersing. Naturally, the regent and the primes needed to gather so they could discuss the ramifications of the afternoon’s events, but Rafe declined to join them.

“I would like to spend a little time saying my goodbyes to Steff. And I must tell my grandmother what occurred and why I can’t accompany her back to Malinqua,” he told Josetta gently. They were standing face-to-face at the edge of the pier, holding hands, trying to ignore the surrounding turmoil of the general deboarding. “She will be disappointed—and angry, I think, with both Zoe and Ghyaneth. I will have to convince her that I am not so sorry events have transpired this way.”

“I hope you’re not,” Josetta replied in a low voice. “In some ways you’ve become a prisoner of Welce, and I would understand if you didn’t like that! But I just don’t see—”

“I don’t see many other options that would keep me safe,” he interrupted. “And since this option keeps me near you—well—I am going to consider myself lucky.”

“Josetta!” Darien’s peremptory voice carried easily over the clangor of ships and men. “I would like you to join our conference!”

She kissed Rafe quickly on the mouth. “Come with your grandmother to the dinner tonight,” she said. “If you’re up to it. If not—I’ll come back to your lodgings as soon as I can. But it might be late.”

He touched his forehead briefly to hers and then released her. “I’ll be waiting.”

 • • • 

C
orene had opted out of this particular meeting—Josetta wondered glumly how she’d managed that—but otherwise the usual group convened in one of Kayle’s beautifully decorated salons. Subtle scents sweetened the air; invisible chimes occasionally drifted across the room. The temperature was delightfully cool in contrast to the muggy heat outside, and the repast Kayle had grudgingly offered was bountiful and delicious.

The primes, the princess, and the regent gathered around a highly polished table of wood and inlaid gold and reviewed the events of the day. The general consensus was that they had escaped with less damage than they could have and that the future looked promising, if not entirely free of difficulties.

“Berringey might stop all trade with Welce,” Mirti warned. “And that will have an economic impact across the provinces.”

“I understand,” Darien said. “We have discussed opening new trade routes farther west. Now might be the time.”

“We can step up our exports to Malinqua, too,” Kayle said. “That horrible empress has already ordered three elaymotives and she’s very interested in my flying machines. I’m sure she’ll be willing to make other deals with us.”

“Will she?” Nelson asked. “She was disappointed that we didn’t fall in with her bridal plans.”

“She was, but she brings a grandson home with her, which should make her happy enough,” Darien answered. “We had some private talk last night and I came away believing she is generally pleased with the results of her visit here.”

Josetta happened to be glancing in Nelson’s direction, so she caught the sharp look he sent Mirti’s way. The hunti prime nodded, and Nelson sat up straighter in his chair.

“If we’re done rehashing Malinqua and Berringey, I suggest we return to the most pressing issue of Welce,” Nelson said. “The succession.”

Kayle threw his hands in the air. “Will we never be done with that topic? First we’re to have a queen. Then, no, we’re to throw out the whole government and start over again. I don’t care. Let’s just
settle
it.”