Dragonfly, Page 4

  Yendral began to laugh.

  "What's so funny, my lord?" growled Ramil.

  "That is wonderful--just wonderful--they've sent you the new one," Lord Yendral said, shaking his head.

  "What's so special about the new one?" asked Ramil grumpily.

  "Don't you remember the scandal? She's the farm girl--the one Fergox bribed the priests to choose, if the rumors from Holt are to be believed."

  Ramil threw his tankard at the opposite wall. It chipped the plaster and left a brown stain splattered on the whitewash. "A peasant! I expect you could smell the pigsty, couldn't you, Usk?"

  Lord Usk shook his head, nudging Yendral to stop winding up Ramil. Usk was shocked by the bitterness in Ramil's tone: the Prince was usually the last person to be cruel to another. "No, she seemed very refined as far as I could tell. Remember, Ram, these Blue Crescent people assume the dignity of their elected position. Her background doesn't matter; she's a Crown Princess."

  "You sound like your father," muttered Ramil mutinously. "You can say that it doesn't matter: you're not the one who has to marry her." He looked for his 41

  tankard, then remembered he'd thrown it away. "Marl! Bring me more beer!"

  The serving man appeared in the doorway, fumbling with his apron.

  "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but His Majesty says you're to be sober for this evening. He asks your lordships to take the Prince to the royal baths and scrub some sense into him."

  Yendral stood up. "Consider it done. Come on, let's get this pitiful prince of ours fit for his princess."

  "Roll me in the mud. That's what Her Highness is used to," shouted Ramil as they dragged him down the corridor. "To market, my sweet, to buy us a pig, home to our farm to make it grow big, " he warbled.

  "Can't you shut him up, Yendral?" implored Usk. "What if the Crescent people hear him?"

  Lord Yendral took out a handkerchief and stuffed it in the royal mouth.

  Together the three friends manhandled Ramil all the way to the baths, only letting go when they passed him over to the merciless care of the muscular attendant.

  Tashi felt very lonely sitting in her rooms going through the rituals with only a few attendants to spec-tate. In the palace on Rama she had always known that her sisters were performing the same service at exactly the same time in other parts of the palace, as were the priests and priestesses in the temples throughout the Blue Crescent. It had felt like one great

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  service, all for the Mother. As the only one performing these rituals for thousands of miles, probably at a different time as even the sun was strange here, she found her voice sounded very thin and weak, the bell insignificant, the responses feeble.

  The evening service complete, the Etiquette Mistress displayed the gown she had selected for the banquet: white silk, decorated with golden dragons.

  Tashi nodded her agreement. She didn't really care for it, but then again she didn't care what she looked like. No one would mind as this was not about her at all: it was about the joining of two nations, not a girl and a boy. Her hair was hidden under a sunburst gold headdress and veil, her face paint retouched.

  "You are ready, Your Highness," declared the Etiquette Mistress, noting with quiet approval the composure of the Crown Princess, whom she had always considered too free with her emotions. "You do honor to our people," she added with a rare touch of warmth.

  The Royal Chamberlain led the way to the feasting hall where the Gerfalian court was already assembled. Tashi peeked over his shoulder at the open door and saw that there were hundreds of strangers all waiting for her. She felt terrified. And one of them was to be her husband. They all seemed the same to her--the bearded men with long wild hair and strange clothes, the women with low-necked gowns that clung to their shapely forms, leaving little to the imagination, so unlike the fair-haired, pale-skinned people of her own

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  court. If a woman ventured in public like one of these Gerfalians, she would be considered half-dressed; an unshaven man would be censured by the priests.

  "Her Highness, Taoshira of Kai, the Fourth Crown Princess of the Blue Crescent Islands and dependent territories," announced the Chamberlain.

  The room fell silent. Tashi walked smoothly up the central aisle, keeping her eyes locked on the man at the center of the long table in front of her. She reached the bottom of the dais and bowed as befitted one ruler greeting another.

  "Your Majesty," she said in Common.

  "Princess Taoshira, you honor all Gerfal with your presence." King Lagan came down the steps to greet her, kissing her hand in Gerfalian style. Tashi had been warned to expect this so did not flinch at the contact. "Please be seated at my side."

  He led her to her chair. Tashi noted with pleasure that it was of equal magnificence to his own. She swept her gown into an arc as she sat. A dog promptly flopped down on it, drooling on the priceless fabric. King Lagan bent and stroked the beast.

  "My favorite hound," he said in explanation. "Do you like dogs, Princess?"

  Warming to this fatherly man, Tashi was about to tell him about her own dog, the one who helped her keep her flocks safe on Kai, but then remembered her status.

  "I love all animals created by the Mother," she replied, giving the answer the priests had taught her.

  "What, even wasps and wolves--and pigs?" A young

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  man snorted on her other side.

  Tashi turned to him with a frown. He looked different from the others--his skin was darker and his black hair tightly curled like a Southerner. She wondered if he was some kind of entertainer, a court jester perhaps. He was very sloppily dressed and had already spilt something on his red velvet tunic.

  "Yes, even those, for they all have their place in the Mother's plan for her world," she said in a haughty tone that the Third Princess would have been proud of.

  King Lagan was looking thunderous but he struggled to keep his temper.

  "Princess, may I introduce my son, Prince Ramil, to you."

  Tashi faltered. "This is Prince Ramil?"

  "Yes, this is Prince Ramil," the young man repeated, giving her an insolent smile and tapping his chest.

  "Ramil!" warned the King.

  "Oh, I apologize, Princess. I am hopeless at these sort of introductions."

  Ramil seized her hand and kissed it quickly. "You-honor-us-with-your-presence," he gabbled.

  Tashi was aware that all eyes were upon them. She wanted to slap the boy for his behavior but instead clasped her hands in her lap. It was worse than she had feared: he was unspeakably rude and not even trying to be pleasant to her.

  "Thank you, sir," she replied quietly, trying not to show that she was upset.

  "Your welcome to a stranger displays all the qualities I have come to expect of Gerfalians."

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  Ramil frowned. If he was not mistaken, the little peasant had just reprimanded him.

  "And your present to me on your arrival--apologies that I was unable to attend, by the way--shows all the generosity of your people." He pulled a sorry-looking piece of paper out of his pocket. To Tashi's horror, he spread it flat, obliterating her model, and made a crude paper dart. "Here, accept this with my dutiful best wishes." He dropped it in her lap.

  "What's this?" said King Lagan, picking up the dart and looking at it in confusion.

  "A love token, Father," said Ramil, tucking into the plate of meat in front of him.

  "Strange token, my boy. There's nothing written on it."

  Ramil merely smiled and shrugged. "The Princess understands. It's a Blue Crescent tradition."

  Tashi swallowed and dug her nails into her palm to control herself. She feared she was going to burst into tears in front of all these barbarians. The gold trimmings of her headdress trembled.

  "I am sorry, Your Majesty, but I find I am tired after the long voyage. I will retire. Please enjoy the feast in my absence." Tashi rose to her feet and swept from the hall before anyone could stop her.


  Everyone jumped to their feet to bow as the Princess made her escape. King Lagan narrowed his eyes at his son.

  "What?" said Ramil innocently.

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  Chapter 3

  The King and his ministers were holding an emergency meeting. The Crown Princess had refused to leave her quarters for the last week, and

  preparations for the wedding were making no progress as the Blue Crescent delegation was withholding its cooperation.

  "What has got into the girl?" asked the King. "She said she was tired. She can't still be tired!"

  Prince Ramil sprawled in his chair, feeling quietly pleased with this development. Perhaps his father might be having second thoughts about the advisability of the union.

  "Your Majesty, I have spoken to the Etiquette Mistress," replied Lord Taris,

  "and, after much prevarication, I persuaded her to explain the situation. It appears our greetings turned out in Crescent culture to be a catalogue of insults to the Princess."

  "Insults! But you met her yourself! We held a feast in her honor. What more could Her Highness want?" King Lagan stroked his favorite hound's silky ears to

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  calm himself. His country was on the brink of disaster and all because of some white-faced girl who was keeping to her room in a tantrum. He wanted to box her ears. Didn't she understand what was at stake?

  "I fear we got it wrong from start to finish. The worst insult apparently was offered by Prince Ramil himself."

  The King rounded on his son. "What did you do?"

  Ramil sat up indignantly. "Nothing. You were there. She sent me this stupid paper bird. How about that for insults!"

  "That 'stupid paper bird,' Your Highness, was her personal sign, the dragonfly," said Lord Taris.

  "Didn't look anything like a dragonfly," grumbled Ramil.

  "To hand your symbol to another is to entrust them with yourself--the fragility of the paper expressing the delicacy of each person's soul."

  "Oh." Ramil started to have an inkling of what he had done.

  "Your son took this gift, flattened it out, and made it into a paper dart."

  "Ramil!" growled the King.

  "I didn't know!" he protested. "What was I supposed to think? She came thousands of miles and gave me a squashed paper model."

  "Actually, the squashing was my fault," admitted Lord Usk, his blushing cheeks clashing with his coppery hair. "It was very neat the way she made it, but by the time it reached Prince Ramil, I'd . . . er . . . sat on it."

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  King Lagan buried his face in his hands and groaned. "So we have a stranger in our midst, a princess, but also, let us remember, a girl of sixteen.

  She's come to do her duty by giving herself in marriage to my son, behaving with decorum beyond her years, and what do our young people do? They snub her, sit on her gifts, then fling them back into her lap."

  Ramil and Usk looked at each other guiltily.

  "Suggestions?" rapped Lagan.

  "Send her home," mumbled Ramil.

  The King scowled at his son.

  "I think we owe her an apology," said Lord Taris. "Your Majesty, if you could perhaps speak to her?"

  "I'll talk to her, but Ramil is the one who should apologize."

  Ramil felt hot under the stares of all the ministers. He knew that Hortlan and Yendral would tease him unmercifully for crushing his future wife's gift like an ill-mannered oaf. But it hadn't been his fault. He'd warned his father that the two cultures were completely incompatible.

  "Of course I'll say sorry," Ramil said grudgingly. "I did not intend to insult her."

  "No? I am surprised to hear that." Lagan felt like shaking his son. He sat there so sullen and uninterested in the business, almost as if it were someone else's betrothed they were talking about. He acted as if he had no inkling of the true seriousness of the situation. Gerfal could not afford the failure of this union. "I'll seek an audience with Her Highness and then perhaps,

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  Ramil, you can make your own peace with her in a suitable setting, away from the confines of the court. Do something that shows that you do have a good side. Sometimes I need reminding you have one too!"

  "The Princess shows an interest in the horses, Your Majesty," interjected the chamberlain as the King and his son exchanged stony glares. "She apparently visited the stables early this morning."

  "That's it!" Lagan thumped the table. "Take the girl riding. Show her you can be considerate, if you try."

  "So I'm allowed out again, am I?" Ramil said, folding his arms across his chest.

  "Even you, Ramil, would not abandon a foreigner in the forest. I trust you to show her the courtesy of a host," Lagan replied, moving on to the next item on the agenda.

  Tashi was in a terrible state. She realized she had to face the Gerfalian court again, but now that she had hidden in her rooms for a week it was doubly difficult to come out. She felt humiliated--and knew she was a failure.

  Wrapped in one of the furs bought in the Ice Archipelago, she paced the private terrace in front of her chamber, staring down on the city below her with unseeing eyes. She already hated it here and suspected that the people despised her. Even in the stables, the servants had all gazed at her like some curiosity in a menagerie. No one lowered their eyes respectfully as she passed.

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  On her desk lay the many drafts of the letter announcing her decision to return home unmarried. She hadn't plucked up the courage to send it yet, but she knew with a fierce certainty that she could not abide to be married to that sneering boy who'd insulted her so publicly. All who had travelled with her were whispering about it behind her back. She understood that scuffles had broken out down at the docks between sailors from the two navies. If she stayed much longer, she'd end up causing a war, not bringing about an alliance.

  The Etiquette Mistress appeared at her elbow.

  "Your Highness, the King wishes to speak to you. He is waiting outside and asks if you are at leisure?"

  Tashi felt a momentary panic: she couldn't refuse to see the King though she would've liked to. She smoothed her robe. There was no time to change into more formal attire. She was wearing barely any makeup apart from the everyday kohl around her eyes. At least her hair was decently covered.

  "Tell the King I will receive him now," Tashi said stiffly.

  The Mistress departed and returned swiftly with the King. He strode towards her, arms outstretched.

  "My dear princess! It grieves me that we have offended you."

  Tashi flinched back but, before she knew it, found herself hugged to his chest and patted on the back.

  "You have been so brave to travel all this way and we failed you. My son is heartily sorry for the incident

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  with the paper dragonfly. He had no idea of its significance and thought you were playing a joke on him."

  Tashi disentangled herself from his robes. "A joke, sir?"

  "Come, sit by me." King Lagan slapped the seat beside him. "Damn chilly out here, isn't it?"

  He was swearing and talking about the weather now. Tashi did not know what to do.

  "Don't be scared: I'm not going to eat you, if that's what you're thinking,"

  continued the King. Without all that make-up and glitter, he could see that she was a pretty little thing. And so young. It made him sad to think that she'd come to the other end of the world to marry his inept son when she should be growing up peacefully in her own home. Another sacrifice. He pulled her gently to the seat beside him. "There, that's better, isn't it?"

  Tashi nodded, finding it easier to do as he asked than explain why it was inappropriate for a Crown Princess.

  "We got off on the wrong foot last week, but I would like us to start again. I think it wise for you to get to know Ramil away from everyone. He's a good boy really."

  Tashi supposed she could forgive a father for blind prejudice but she could see no redeeming feature in the Prince.

  "He's offered to take yo
u riding, if you would like that."

  "Your Majesty is very kind, but I do not ride."

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  "What! Not ride! Well, then there's a treat in store for you. Ramil is an excellent rider--gets it from his mother, Zarai, a princess among the Horse Followers. He'll have you in the saddle and away before you know it. He's a very good teacher."

  Tashi did not trust Ramil to come within a foot of her, let alone teach her to ride, but she did not know how to refuse this attention without seeming rude.

  "I would not dream of taking up the Prince's time. If I am to learn to ride, I would be happy with one of the ordinary instructors."

  "Time? Why, there is nothing more important than him spending time with you. Say nothing more on the subject. Tomorrow morning, just after nine, he'll be waiting for you in the stables."

  King Lagan rose and patted her again on the shoulder.

  "I hope to see you at dinner, my dear. Good afternoon."

  Tashi watched him leave, in a state of shock. He'd patted her several times--

  no man had touched her like that since her father said goodbye to her on Kai four years ago. He'd called her "my dear" as if they were already kin. Clearly he did not respect her, regarding her as a wayward daughter to be cajoled into accepting his son's grudging attentions.

  She returned to her desk, folded up the latest missive, and slipped it into the tube for the carrier pigeon. It was no good. The alliance could not go ahead.

  Her embassy had failed. Let the Third Princess take her place if she wished.

  Tashi was going home.

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  Ramil waited in the stables with Leap and a white mare he had selected for the Princess. Whisper was a gentle animal, suitable for a novice. Ramil's spirits lifted now that he was back among the horses: at the very least he'd get beyond the walls, even if it was with his ball-and-chain of a princess dragging behind him.

  He heard feet on the cobbles and turned to see the Princess approaching with two attendants, her painted face ghostly in the dark of the stables. She was wearing a ridiculous gown covered with dragonflies. Was that a reminder of his mistake?

  "Your Highness," Ramil said with a bow.