remembered that I’d been a princess, once, though all of my House is dead, our servants unmade, and our lands forfeit to the enemy who had destroyed us. Who had then been destroyed himself, by my hand, so it was anybody’s guess who held the Sea King’s honors now in Sempeki, the Land of the Flowers, since the heir-by-blood—that’s me—has no intention of returning.
“Ahzie told me it wasn’t nice to give a lady her wine in a coffee mug,” Borgan admitted, “and he sold me two wine glasses and a bottle of wine and a contraption to open the bottle with. But, see, I never figured to be entertaining two ladies at the same time, so you caught me short-glassed. Other thing I can do is offer a beer.”
“Thank you,” Nerazi said drily. “I will hazard the mug.” She settled cross-legged onto her sealskin and met my eyes. Hers showed red in the starshine.
“Good evening, fair Nerazi,” I said, showing off my court manners. “I trust that all of your affairs prosper.”
“It is seldom that all of one’s affairs flourish, my lady, but I have no cause for complaint of my treatment at the hands of the universe.”
“Does the universe have hands?”
“Thank you,” Nerazi said, taking the Bug Light mug from Borgan, and, “Surely it must, for are we not warp and weave of the universe?”
Fortunately, I didn’t have to answer that, because Nerazi raised her mug with great seriousness.
“For those present: joy, constancy, and hope.”
The air shivered a little as her words struck, which meant that a true and powerful well-wish had just been bestowed upon us by one of the most puissant trenvay I know, period. Borgan might be badder than Nerazi, magically speaking, but Borgan has the edge of being a Guardian.
“How fares your grandmother, Princess Kaederon? Her passings up and down this land are sorely missed.”
Nerazi and Gran go ’way back. I’m not sure I want to know how far back, actually—but at least I didn’t have to dance with the truth here, as I’d had to do with Henry.
“She’s entered her tree and is taking healing there. It’s the opinion of my grandsire that she has taken a wound to her soul. Sempeki is not . . . kind to souls, and especially to those souls rooted in the very heart of the Changing Land. I hope—but cannot know—that she will emerge soon, and hale.”
“That must be the hope of all of us who value her,” Nerazi said solemnly. “And your lady mother, does she thrive? She also was struck to the soul in Sempeki, was she not?”
The torment my mother had endured had nothing to do with Sempeki. She’d freely given her soul to the man who had murdered our House, in exchange for my safe passage to Gran. The man who had taken my mother’s soul and sinned upon it as if it were his own—he was dead now; my mother’s soul was returned to her, and she had the . . . courage, I suppose it is, to have forgiven him. To pity him, who had laid waste to Houses and bloodlines not only in the Land of the Flowers, but across all of the Six Worlds. We got off light here in the Changing Land, but we really don’t have much for an Ozali to want.
“My mother is frail, but improving. Dancing at Midsummer Eve was a tonic for her.”
“Excellent. Her many friends hope to see her soon and often among us.” Nerazi sipped wine. “Friend Borgan, you may wish to know that the ronstibles have again taken up residence in their natural abode.”
I sat up straight, my heart cramping in my chest. Ronstibles are sea witches, close enough, and not too very long ago, the pair of them tried their very best to kill Borgan—or at least imprison him indefinitely. He’d managed to elude them, but—
“You told me you’d taken care of them!” I blurted.
Borgan threw me a startled glance over his shoulder, then held out a hand.
“It’s okay, Kate,” he told me.
I put my hand in his.
“How exactly is this okay? If they’re on the loose, they can start hunting you again. And if they
“Ahzie told me it wasn’t nice to give a lady her wine in a coffee mug,” Borgan admitted, “and he sold me two wine glasses and a bottle of wine and a contraption to open the bottle with. But, see, I never figured to be entertaining two ladies at the same time, so you caught me short-glassed. Other thing I can do is offer a beer.”
“Thank you,” Nerazi said drily. “I will hazard the mug.” She settled cross-legged onto her sealskin and met my eyes. Hers showed red in the starshine.
“Good evening, fair Nerazi,” I said, showing off my court manners. “I trust that all of your affairs prosper.”
“It is seldom that all of one’s affairs flourish, my lady, but I have no cause for complaint of my treatment at the hands of the universe.”
“Does the universe have hands?”
“Thank you,” Nerazi said, taking the Bug Light mug from Borgan, and, “Surely it must, for are we not warp and weave of the universe?”
Fortunately, I didn’t have to answer that, because Nerazi raised her mug with great seriousness.
“For those present: joy, constancy, and hope.”
The air shivered a little as her words struck, which meant that a true and powerful well-wish had just been bestowed upon us by one of the most puissant trenvay I know, period. Borgan might be badder than Nerazi, magically speaking, but Borgan has the edge of being a Guardian.
“How fares your grandmother, Princess Kaederon? Her passings up and down this land are sorely missed.”
Nerazi and Gran go ’way back. I’m not sure I want to know how far back, actually—but at least I didn’t have to dance with the truth here, as I’d had to do with Henry.
“She’s entered her tree and is taking healing there. It’s the opinion of my grandsire that she has taken a wound to her soul. Sempeki is not . . . kind to souls, and especially to those souls rooted in the very heart of the Changing Land. I hope—but cannot know—that she will emerge soon, and hale.”
“That must be the hope of all of us who value her,” Nerazi said solemnly. “And your lady mother, does she thrive? She also was struck to the soul in Sempeki, was she not?”
The torment my mother had endured had nothing to do with Sempeki. She’d freely given her soul to the man who had murdered our House, in exchange for my safe passage to Gran. The man who had taken my mother’s soul and sinned upon it as if it were his own—he was dead now; my mother’s soul was returned to her, and she had the . . . courage, I suppose it is, to have forgiven him. To pity him, who had laid waste to Houses and bloodlines not only in the Land of the Flowers, but across all of the Six Worlds. We got off light here in the Changing Land, but we really don’t have much for an Ozali to want.
“My mother is frail, but improving. Dancing at Midsummer Eve was a tonic for her.”
“Excellent. Her many friends hope to see her soon and often among us.” Nerazi sipped wine. “Friend Borgan, you may wish to know that the ronstibles have again taken up residence in their natural abode.”
I sat up straight, my heart cramping in my chest. Ronstibles are sea witches, close enough, and not too very long ago, the pair of them tried their very best to kill Borgan—or at least imprison him indefinitely. He’d managed to elude them, but—
“You told me you’d taken care of them!” I blurted.
Borgan threw me a startled glance over his shoulder, then held out a hand.
“It’s okay, Kate,” he told me.
I put my hand in his.
“How exactly is this okay? If they’re on the loose, they can start hunting you again. And if they
Similar Books
