all patience fled. ‘Now.’
Asher took the hint. Dropped the broom and ran for the dormitory, swearing under his breath with every pounding step.
Bloody Matt! Bloody Matt! Bloody bloody bloody Matt!
They were nearly halfway to the main palace gates, the king’s magnificent enclosed carriage riding smooth as melted butter, when they heard a pounding tattoo of hooves approaching’ from behind. Scant moments later one of the smartly trotting carriage horses whickered and a young, feminine voice cried: ‘Hold up there, Matcher! I want a word with His Highness!’
As the coachman shouted a reply, Asher looked at the prince. Gar’s face was pinched with displeasure and his manicured fingernails were drumming on his knee. ‘Barl save me,’ he muttered. ‘What does she want now?’
The carriage slowed. Stopped. The prince pulled down the sliding window beside him. ‘I’m in a hurry, Fane! Whatever it is will have to wait!’
Fane. Her Royal Highness the Princess Fane. Prince Gar’s younger, only sister. A prodigious magical talent, so the gossips down at the Goose said, and the king’s undisputed heir. Beautiful, too. Asher had never met her, or seen her even. He wriggled a little on his seat to get a glimpse.
‘It can’t wait!’ retorted Princess Fane. Mounted on a panting sweaty brown pony, dust marring her rose silk tunic and crimson leather leggings, her annoyed face was almost level with her brother’s. ‘Do you think I’d have galloped all this way like a madwoman on some servant’s inferior plug if it was something that could wait?’
‘You gallop everywhere like a madwoman, Fane,’ the prince replied, sighing. ‘On anything with four legs. Why should this time be any different?’
They looked eerily alike, the princess and her brother. Slender. Fair, even for Doranen. The same elegant eyebrows, the same straight nose, moulded lips, firm chin. Her eyes were blue, though, her lashes extravagantly long and darkened with something. She was exquisite, fust like the gossips had said. But that beauty was marred now with temper; her grip on the reins was so tight the pony’s lips had curled back and its eyes were rolling in protest.
‘Just be quiet and listen!’ she snapped. ‘I absolutely must have that copy of Trevoyle’s Legacy you borrowed from Durm. I’m being examined on the Schism the day after tomorrow and —’
‘I told you this morning, Fane, I returned it to the Master Magician last week.’
‘He says he doesn’t have it.’
‘Then I don’t know what to tell you.’
The pony grunted as Her Highness bounced in tk saddle. ‘Gar\ You were the last one to see it. There isn’t another complete copy of that text in all the kingdom and I need it! Do you want me to fail my examination?’
‘What I want, Fane, is for you to go away. I’m due at Justice Hall and I can’t be late. Have you tried a seeking spell?’
The princess’s cheeks flushed. ‘Yes, I tried a seeking spell’
‘Oh.’ Her brother bit back an unwise smile. ‘Well. Even I know they’re unreliable. Why not ask Mama? She’s tk best in the kingdom when it comes to finding lost objects.’
‘Mama is locked up all day with a bunch of stupid women talking about stupid things like flower fetes!’
‘Can’t Durm do a seeking spell for you? Or Father?’
The princess’s blush deepened. ‘Durm won’t, and he’s told Father not to either. I’m supposed to find it for myself.’
‘Well,’ said the prince, one hand on the windowpant ready to push it closed again, ‘let me know how you get on. I certainly wish you luck. And now I’m leaving. Goodbye.’
Ignoring her outraged shriek he shoved the window shut, then tugged on a short blue bell-rope overhead. There came a musical jangling, the sound of a whip cracking, then the carriage rocked gently and rolled forward as the harnessed horses sprang into their knee-snapping trot.
‘My sister,’ said the prince as they continued on their way.
Asher took the hint. Dropped the broom and ran for the dormitory, swearing under his breath with every pounding step.
Bloody Matt! Bloody Matt! Bloody bloody bloody Matt!
They were nearly halfway to the main palace gates, the king’s magnificent enclosed carriage riding smooth as melted butter, when they heard a pounding tattoo of hooves approaching’ from behind. Scant moments later one of the smartly trotting carriage horses whickered and a young, feminine voice cried: ‘Hold up there, Matcher! I want a word with His Highness!’
As the coachman shouted a reply, Asher looked at the prince. Gar’s face was pinched with displeasure and his manicured fingernails were drumming on his knee. ‘Barl save me,’ he muttered. ‘What does she want now?’
The carriage slowed. Stopped. The prince pulled down the sliding window beside him. ‘I’m in a hurry, Fane! Whatever it is will have to wait!’
Fane. Her Royal Highness the Princess Fane. Prince Gar’s younger, only sister. A prodigious magical talent, so the gossips down at the Goose said, and the king’s undisputed heir. Beautiful, too. Asher had never met her, or seen her even. He wriggled a little on his seat to get a glimpse.
‘It can’t wait!’ retorted Princess Fane. Mounted on a panting sweaty brown pony, dust marring her rose silk tunic and crimson leather leggings, her annoyed face was almost level with her brother’s. ‘Do you think I’d have galloped all this way like a madwoman on some servant’s inferior plug if it was something that could wait?’
‘You gallop everywhere like a madwoman, Fane,’ the prince replied, sighing. ‘On anything with four legs. Why should this time be any different?’
They looked eerily alike, the princess and her brother. Slender. Fair, even for Doranen. The same elegant eyebrows, the same straight nose, moulded lips, firm chin. Her eyes were blue, though, her lashes extravagantly long and darkened with something. She was exquisite, fust like the gossips had said. But that beauty was marred now with temper; her grip on the reins was so tight the pony’s lips had curled back and its eyes were rolling in protest.
‘Just be quiet and listen!’ she snapped. ‘I absolutely must have that copy of Trevoyle’s Legacy you borrowed from Durm. I’m being examined on the Schism the day after tomorrow and —’
‘I told you this morning, Fane, I returned it to the Master Magician last week.’
‘He says he doesn’t have it.’
‘Then I don’t know what to tell you.’
The pony grunted as Her Highness bounced in tk saddle. ‘Gar\ You were the last one to see it. There isn’t another complete copy of that text in all the kingdom and I need it! Do you want me to fail my examination?’
‘What I want, Fane, is for you to go away. I’m due at Justice Hall and I can’t be late. Have you tried a seeking spell?’
The princess’s cheeks flushed. ‘Yes, I tried a seeking spell’
‘Oh.’ Her brother bit back an unwise smile. ‘Well. Even I know they’re unreliable. Why not ask Mama? She’s tk best in the kingdom when it comes to finding lost objects.’
‘Mama is locked up all day with a bunch of stupid women talking about stupid things like flower fetes!’
‘Can’t Durm do a seeking spell for you? Or Father?’
The princess’s blush deepened. ‘Durm won’t, and he’s told Father not to either. I’m supposed to find it for myself.’
‘Well,’ said the prince, one hand on the windowpant ready to push it closed again, ‘let me know how you get on. I certainly wish you luck. And now I’m leaving. Goodbye.’
Ignoring her outraged shriek he shoved the window shut, then tugged on a short blue bell-rope overhead. There came a musical jangling, the sound of a whip cracking, then the carriage rocked gently and rolled forward as the harnessed horses sprang into their knee-snapping trot.
‘My sister,’ said the prince as they continued on their way.
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