“Even I must draw the line somewhere, I suppose.”
Sasha considered Rhillian with amusement. “You know, you're nothing like what I'd been led to expect before I met you.”
Rhillian raised eyebrows at her. “How so?”
“The White Death of Petrodor,” said Sasha, teasing. “Errollyn has so much respect for you when he usually has no respect for anything…” Rhillian grinned, “and the archbishop wets his bed when he dreams of you, and even Kessligh doesn't push you around. But you're not two spans tall and breathing fire. I must say, I'm disappointed.”
“Good,” said Rhillian, around her mouthful. Even with juice dribbling on her fingers and chin, she still managed to look poised and elegant. Catlike, Sasha thought. She'd heard people described like that before. Rhillian was the first who truly matched the description. “Let me tell you a little something about Errollyn.”
“Yes?”
Rhillian licked some juice from her finger. “He's insane.”
Sasha laughed. “You two are impossible! Can't you just call a truce?”
“No seriously,” Rhillian insisted, in a manner that was not serious at all. “I've been thinking on it. Of all the many philosophical inflections of the Saalsi tongue, all the many shades of meaning and description that you're always complaining about…”
“I am not.”
“They all fail to do Errollyn justice,” Rhillian concluded. “He's a raving loon.” She managed to keep a straight face for several heartbeats, before she and Sasha burst into laughter.
Errollyn, Sasha had gathered, was different. A du'janah, they called him, a term which Sasha still did not entirely understand. All the serrin seemed to have great affection for him, and he for them, as always seemed the case between serrin…yet there seemed an unspecified distinctness about Errollyn and his position amongst his own people. All of those who served Saalshen's interests abroad-the talmaad-were direct and straight talking, by the convoluted standards of the Saalshen serrinim, but Errollyn was even more so. Sometimes, Sasha thought, he enjoyed human company more than serrin. And sometimes, she fancied that some serrin, perhaps including Rhillian, found that…disconcerting.
Yet for all their strangeness, Sasha was only too well aware that her new serrin friends were far more at home in Petrodor than she was. She had been here a matter of weeks, Rhillian had been in Petrodor for three years now, and while Errollyn was younger and less experienced, even he was nearing the end of his second year in Petrodor. Saalshen's trading interests in Petrodor were vast, and had deep roots. There had been serrin outposts here for more than three hundred years, it was said. Two hundred years ago, following the invasion of Saalshen by the Bacosh King Leyvaan, Saalshen had expanded its trading range in the hopes of new human allies from other parts of Rhodia. Petrodor, then a simple fishing town, had erupted into unanticipated wealth, size and power. Yet, despite all the serrin had done for the city, its residents were not always grateful.
Some Lisan sailors moved slowly through the crowd, careful not to touch anyone. They had long, dark hair, broad faces and slanted eyes. The swords in their belts were curved, and even their sleeveless undershirts were light skins, to go with their leather pants and hide boots. They stared at Rhillian and Sasha as they passed, with neither friendliness nor curiosity.
Rhillian smiled at them. She waved and called a greeting in the Lisan tongue…Rhillian was not much of a linguist, by serrin standards. She only spoke five foreign tongues, besides all the Saalsi dialects. Amongst the talmaad that was almost retarded. The Lisan stared, expressionless, and moved slowly on.
“Spies?” Sasha suggested, watching them go.
“Assuredly. The families know their own cronies wouldn't be very welcome down here. So they pay the Lisan to come wandering through, knowing the locals can't very well object to sailors on the docks. There's not much the Lisan won't do for gold.”
“You're just so popular with everyone,” Sasha remarked.
“Oh, they're here to watch you at least as much as me,” Rhillian said cheerfully. Sasha didn't like that. “Uma to Kessligh Cronenverdt, the hero of Lenayin, returned to Petrodor to reunite the Nasi-Keth. The families always hated the Nasi-Keth, at least as much as the serrin, possibly more. Demon serrin they expect to fight, but for humans to actually join forces with those demon serrin…well, that's traitorous.”
“That's okay,” said Sasha. “I'm used to wealthy Verenthanes hating me. Makes me feel at home.” A running child thudded into her leg, stumbled, then kept running, oblivious. Another chased her. “Hey!” Sasha called, spilling some of Rhillian's wine on her shirt sleeve. “That was my leg, if you don't mind!” But she was more amused than annoyed. She'd done far worse at that age.
“Human children can't see in the dark either,” Rhillian observed. Her green eyes flashed as the firelight caught them, an inhuman gleam.
“So far I've fallen amongst the commonfolk,” Sasha remarked, shaking wine from her sleeve and examining the stain. “I led the first Lenay rebellion in a century and the Udalyn people pronounced me their saviour. Now just look at these indignities.”
“It's the indignities that remind us what life really is,” Rhillian replied. “Even the greatest king suffers minor indignities. And can be undone by them.”
“Only a serrin could find something profound in a wine stain.”
Rhillian smiled. Her gaze shifted to the north, as she retrieved her cup to take a sip. “Just look at Porsada Temple.” The white walls and spires seemed to shimmer above the dark waters. The reflection on the bay was ghostly, amidst the outline of ships. “Such a beautiful thing. It's almost enough to make one wish to be a Verenthane.”
“It's very pretty,” Sasha agreed, dryly. “But I wouldn't go that far.”
“You don't think it's a little revealing?” Selyna asked her princess, dubiously.
“Oh nonsense, I think it looks wonderful.” Alythia considered herself in the full-length mirror. The gown was a radiant lime green, with flowing folds and a decorative bustle at the back. The front clasp was a gold and onyx brooch, pinned upon a somewhat lower bust than was typical for Petrodor. The brooch went well with the pins in her waves of dark hair, falling about her partly bare shoulders. “Oh I love these earrings, too. Where did you find them, Vansy?”
“A wedding gift from Lord Nandryn of Valhanan,” said Vansy, fastening a lace tie at the back.
“I must go through some of those boxes again,” Alythia thought aloud, adjusting the lie of fabric on one shoulder. So many gifts, they'd been piled into an entire cart for the journey from Lenayin. Upon the wedding train's arrival in Petrodor, there'd been a second, even larger round of gift-giving. Most of Petrodor's ruling classes had turned out for the marriage of the heir of Family Halmady to a Lenay princess.
The splendour had been breathtaking. Long processions out along the Besendi Promontory to Porsada Temple. Families in colourful costume, with coloured flags flying in the breeze, before an azure ocean view. The Porsada Temple, as white as polished quartz against the sea, its spires soaring skyward. The ceremony itself, the guests asparkle with more jewellery than all the lords of Lenayin could possibly have owned.
Ceremony enough to allow her to forget the disaster of her train's send-off from Baen-Tar. The turmoil and delays, the fighting, her father's absence when her betrothed, Gregan, had arrived to escort her to Petrodor. It had been a rebellion…and of course her wretched sister Sashandra had just happened to be leading it. Sasha had always hated everything that Alythia thought best about Lenayin, everything that counted for true civilisation. She had thrown in her lot with the pagan Goeren-yai to fight the Verenthane Hadryn in the north; which had meant that King Torvaal had been in Hadryn when her future husband had arrived in the capital Baen-Tar.
Alythia had been so embarrassed, and so angry. But she was here now, and the wedding had been a wonderful success. For sheer finery, the Petrodor Families were a whole level above even Lenayin royalty. She and her two maids had worked all afternoon to select this dress and its accompaniments. She'd done some extra tailoring herself to get it looking this good. Princess Alythia was renowned as the most beautiful Princess of Lenayin, and that from a good crop, too. She'd show the Petrodor families she belonged.
She turned away from the mirror as Selyna and Vansy continued their adjustments. The chambers’ windows were many-paned, and worked into a light, wooden doorway that opened onto a balcony. Glass doors. Alythia had never seen such architecture. How wonderfully sophisticated beside the heavy stone and thick wood of Baen-Tar! The Halmady Mansion's walls were a sandstone brick, creamy yellow in colour, as was much of Petrodor. The chambers’ floor was polished floorboards, but downstairs, many of the important rooms were spanned with polished marble.
Beyond her balcony, a firework streaked across the sky. Most seemed to be coming from the ships out on the harbour. Each ship shone with many lamps, and from this height, they seemed like a collection of children's toys, all lit up with festival charm. Alongside Halmady Mansion sat Torgenes Mansion, a beautiful building of three floors, great forward columns, many balconies and a sloping, red-tile roof. And, of course, great perimeter walls topped with spikes and guard posts…but Alythia had lived all her life in Baen-Tar, surrounded by enormous city walls as tall as five men, and such modest defences as these took little getting used to. Beyond Torgenes Mansion, the great, curving sweep of Petrodor Harbour continued, alive tonight with even more lights than usual.
A door opened and Alythia turned to find Gregan Halmady paused in the doorway, staring at her. She curtsied and pretended a shy smile. “Good evening, my husband,” she said, with a forced effort to get her thoughts back into Torovan. Chatting with her Lenay maids, it was sometimes difficult. How strange to be married to a man who only spoke Torovan. “You look very handsome.”
And he did. Gregan Halmady had twenty-five summers (three more than herself) and a breadth of shoulder that was pleasing. He had a round face and curly hair that grew out as much as down. That was odd too. Alythia couldn't recall having ever seen a Lenay man with such curly hair. He had nice eyes, a widish nose, and excellent taste in clothes. He was dressed now in an embroidered dark tunic with a wide Torovan collar and a silver clasp at the throat. There were rings on his fingers, a silver-pommelled sword at his hip and tight pants that tucked into knee-high black leather boots.
Gregan always dressed nicely. Most Torovan men did. When Alythia had first seen him, she'd been so relieved. Her father and eldest brother had assured her that she would not be marrying an ugly man, but then, what would they know?
“How do I look?” she pressed impatiently when her husband did not immediately reply.
“You look…amazing.” Alythia believed him. The night following their wedding, he'd made those feelings clear enough. And on most nights since. Alythia smothered a dainty giggle behind her hand.
“I could tell Selyna and Vansy to leave us for a moment, if you wished? The carriages will not expect us immediately, will they?”
Gregan, to her disappointment, appeared somewhat anxious. “I…well…no, M'Lady, I think I really must attend to the procession. Mother will be up to see you shortly.”
And he departed, closing the door behind. Alythia frowned. “He's so timid!” she exclaimed, turning back to the mirror. “I wish he'd just grab me sometimes!”
“A Torovan man is not a Lenay man,” Vansy said knowingly, combing out her princess's hair, with several pins yet to go in. Vansy was tall and sensible, an older girl from Tyree. Selyna was smaller and dark, from northern Banneryd. “Torovan men have more manners.”
“Too much so, sometimes. And why must he call on his mother all the time?” Alythia and Lady Halmady were not on good terms. The old lady was a witch.
“Family is so important here,” Selyna ventured.
“Hmph,” said Alythia. “And he called me ‘M'Lady,’ did you hear that? He always does that, even when we're alone sometimes. And he's always anxious, like he's scared he'll offend me or something.”
“I think he merely needs time to get to know you,” Vansy said decisively, sliding in another pin. “Marriage is a big thing to a young man, especially one who's never had much experience with women before.”
Alythia frowned. “Don't you think?”