Whispered Magics (20 page)

Rhis grimaced, for the first time thinking about what those
words meant. She’d grown up with all those narrow stairways and stone rooms and
cold slate floors, so she was used to them. Would a visitor think them
barbaric? Maybe it was better that no prince had shown up to court her!

Anyway,
now
she’d
see a real palace. Impatience gnawed at her when she realized just how long a
trip lay ahead of her. Though Nym was small on the map, it would take several
days to wind down through the treacherous mountains. If the weather held. If
the weather turned truly severe, as it sometimes did, she could be held up a
week or more.

She wished that she could travel about by magic, as Sidal
and her mother did. But people other than mages seldom traveled by magic,
because apparently it was dangerous, and sometimes had nasty effects. And you
could only go one at a time, to specially designated destinations—either a
place, or, more rarely, a person.

Rhis looked down at her ring. Would it be dangerous for
Sidal to transfer directly to Rhis, wherever she might be? Rhis considered her
sister, who had professed not to like dangerous circumstances—but who was
obviously ready to face them if necessary.

People are surprising
,
she thought, settling back in the cold coach, and pulling a soft woolen quilt
up around her chin.
Even the ones you
think you know
.

o0o

A long series of days followed, each much alike, as the
coach made its way steadily northward. The journey out of Nym did not take
weeks, for the weather stayed relatively mild. They descended steadily through
the fir-dotted heights, down into pine forest, then at last reached the Common
Road along the coast of Arpalon. They sped along smoothly paved roads through the
rolling hills, under a variety of trees Rhis had only seen drawings and
paintings of.

The inns they stayed at were comfortable, but after the
first exciting night of sleeping away from home, she found that the inns
blended into a series of big wooden buildings with nice beds and fine meals,
supervised by the quiet, efficient staff that Elda had sent to protect Rhis.
These servants also kept her from talking to anybody on the road, nor did they
tell anyone who she was. The days when Nym’s royalty were routinely kidnapped
for fabulous ransoms if they left the protection of the mountains were not all
that
long in the past.

Rhis knew these things, but she still found traveling to be
very dull. She caught glimpses of people who looked interesting, from far-away
places, as she was conducted straight to her room at night—and then to her
carriage in the morning, after her lonely breakfast.

She had begun the journey resenting the fact that Elda had
arranged for her to meet her younger sister, Princess Shera of Gensam, at the
border. By the time Rhis had made her way north without speaking to a single
person except the quiet Keris, she was looking forward to Shera, in spite of
how boring her letters had been.

Shera was a year older than Rhis. When Rhis turned six, not
long after Elda married Gavan, Elda had insisted that it would be seemly for
the two princesses to start a correspondence. She had supervised each of Rhis’s
letters, saying, “It’s as well you learn early how royalty carry on a
correspondence, for you never know when you might need it.”

So Rhis had had to write, in her very best handwriting,
formally phrased letters describing her studies—and not much else. Just once
she’d said something about her favorite ballads, but Elda had been horrified.
“You have to remember that to the rest of the world, Nym is a country full of
wild people. No one in those old songs was the least bit civilized.” So Rhis
had had to recopy the letter, leaving out her favorite subject.

The letters she received back were neatly written, and very,
very uninteresting. Elda had obviously told the truth: civilized princesses
really did just brag about their studies, and proper interests, like growing
flowers. Rhis was always glad when winter came, preventing messengers from
getting through too often, which slowed down the tedious exchange.

When at last her cavalcade neared the border of Arpalon and
Gensam, Rhis was so looking forward to seeing Shera she felt she could talk
about roses and starflowers all day, if only she could
talk
.

They were to meet at the ancient Royal Inn on the border,
where many treaties and royal marriages had been negotiated in the turbulent
past.

The word ‘inn’ was misleading, Rhis decided when she saw the
huge building with its numerous windows and fine columned archways. A great
many well-dressed people strolled about, and for the first time she was glad of
her entourage when they rolled up the carriageway to the splendid courtyard.
Nothing in Nym was this fine! People stared so when she emerged from her
carriage, but no one smiled.

She walked inside quickly, glad to follow Mistress Ranla,
her father’s courier, who was the leader of the entourage. A brief glimpse of a
spacious area full of fine furnishings and handsomely dressed folk strolling
about was all she got before she was conducted up a grand, sweeping stairway to
another story, and then to a suite of huge rooms where nothing was made of
stone. The walls were smooth wood painted a warm cream color.

She sank down onto the nearest chair, as servants and
retainers curtseyed and moved about arranging things. A few moments later a
girl her own age approached with a cautious, uncertain step. She was much
shorter than Rhis. She had a round figure, a moon-shaped face, and the
honey-brown skin common to their end of the continent, with a rosebud of a
mouth. Her hair was a rich chestnut brown, glinting with red highlights, and it
had natural wave that made long bouncy curls that Rhis envied at once. Her
gown, light green trimmed with pearls and dark green ribbons, was at least as
fine as the finest of the gowns in Rhis’s trunks, and it made her brown eyes
look greenish, contrasting delightfully with her reddish hair.

She gave a correct nod as Rhis rose to her feet. “Princess
Rhis?” Her voice was high, with a slight lisp.

“Princess Shera?” Rhis said, giving the same nod.

“My parents bid me welcome you to Gensam,” Shera said in a
carefully modulated voice. “I trust our journey together will be pleasant.”

Rhis knew what to say to that. “Thank you. In my turn, I am
to convey greetings and thanks from my parents to yours, and from your honored
sister, Princess Elda, as well.”

The conversation proceeded like that for a short time, each
girl admirably formal and dignified and very, very proper. Rhis was glad of her
lessons with Elda. At least she wasn’t making a fool of herself. But by the
time a quiet servant had brought in hot chocolate and biscuits, Rhis was
feeling the strain of so much dignified, formal conversation. At the thought of
two more weeks of it, she found herself wishing that she would be alone after
all.

When next Shera spoke, it was to praise the inn’s garden.
Rhis half-listened to the slow, lisping voice enumerate the fine early blooms
and important plants that she had found in her five days’ stay while waiting
for Rhis’s arrival. Since very few flowers grew in cold, high Nym, Rhis didn’t
recognize half the names she heard, and she couldn’t help her mind wandering.

She was choosing her fourth biscuit—she wasn’t hungry, but
at least it gave her something to do with her hands—when she happened to look
up, just as Shera started to yawn.

The princess closed her jaw at once, her eyes watering
slightly.

“If you are tired, Princess Shera, it will not discommode me
if you wish to retire to rest,” Rhis said politely, hoping to get rid of her
for a time.

Shera’s polite expression was betrayed by a blush. “I’m not
tired—” she said quickly, then she turned even redder.

Rhis stared. Was it possible that Shera was as bored as she
was? How to find out, without making some terrible mistake in etiquette that
would disgrace her family—her entire kingdom?

“Not tired?” she repeated in her most polite voice.

“Well, a little, maybe. There was music last night, and
perhaps I stayed awake too long to hear it,” Shera said, just as politely.

“Do you, ah, like music?” Rhis asked, even more politely.

Shera’s eyes widened slightly, an expression of surprise and
delight, but then her face smoothed into blankness, and she said very formally,
“Fine music is a very appropriate diversion.”

Rhis almost choked on her biscuit. Elda had often said that,
in just the same voice:
Fine music is a
very appropriate diversion
—meaning, of course, that ballads and the like
were most definitely not ‘fine music’ or ‘appropriate.’

“Princess Elda says that often,” Rhis said slowly, watching
Shera’s face.

At the mention of Elda’s name, Shera’s little nose wrinkled
slightly, then her face smoothed and she languidly picked up her hot chocolate
cup, her fingers held precisely in the approved position.

Rhis took a deep breath. “I,” she said bravely, “happen to
like ballads. And I know that those are not considered fine music.”

Shera hastily lowered her chocolate cup. She gulped once or
twice, her eyes tearing again, and Rhis clapped her hand over her mouth in an
effort not to laugh.

“Ballads?” Shera squeaked, her big greeny-brown eyes going
wide and round.

Rhis nodded firmly. “Love them.
All
of them.”

“Do you . . . know . . .
Prince Aroverd and the Snow Woman
?”
Shera asked, her voice high, and not at all modulated.

Again Rhis nodded firmly. “All twenty-seven verses. And I
know the older version—”

“—
The Snowlass and the
Toadfield
,” Shera breathed.

The girls stared at each other.

“My favorite part is when she turns the invading army into
toads,” Shera said.

“I like that part, but my favorite is when she pushes the
evil Red Mage into the swamp and stops the prince’s runaway coach before it
sinks—”

“Oh, I love that part, too.” Shera gave a fervent sigh. “I
used to pretend I was the Snow Lass, going on adventures, and having princes
wanting to marry me.”

Rhis dared one more thing. “I can play it on the tiranthe,”
she said quickly.

And again Shera’s eyes widened in delight, but this time she
forgot to smooth out her face. Instead, she clasped her hands together. “Oh, I
do
envy you,” she said. “We could never
learn to play anything.”

Rhis grinned. “Elda told me that only entertainers play. A
princess might strum if a boy professes to like music, but only to look
decorative, and that proper princesses summon entertainers when they want real music.
But proper princesses don’t ever want ballads. So after I learned the chords
from a tutor, and she sent him away, I learned in secret from the cook’s
nephew, who comes home every winter from his group of traveling players. Of
course I wasn’t allowed to pack my tiranthe for the trip.”

Shera grinned back. “Shall we call for one?”

“Let’s,” Rhis said, adding, “I’ll buy it for the trip, and
teach you what I know!”

We hope you have enjoyed this sample of
A Posse of Princesses,
by Sherwood Smith

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