smile in his voice. "That's right."
"Lord Dumin will be disappointed." Otavas and Dumin i'Janina a'Vasil, Lord High Commander of the Shkoden Navy had disliked each other on sight. Fully aware that Dumin considered him not only feckless but dangerously foreign, the prince thought the Lord High Commander a self-righteous, pompous, old harnivatayger —which had no direct Shkoden translation although a number of the younger bards were cheerfully working on it. While he wouldn't go so far as to wish the older man an injury, he wasn't above enjoying his disappointment. "He wanted you to chose a navy captain."
It suddenly became clear why Otavas found her choice amusing. "Yes, well, I wanted a captain who actually wanted to go on this voyage; not one encouraged to volunteer by Lord Dumin." Leaning back in her chair, Jelena twisted the royal signet around her finger. It had been sized to fit her just after her mother's death, but she'd lost so much weight during those dark quarters that only her knuckle kept her from losing it with every movement of her hand. "I didn't expect hundreds of volunteers—successful captains are seldom reckless captains—but neither did I expect to have so few to choose from. Fewer still after subtracting Dumin's politically motivated suggestions. And do you know why?"
Although he did know—at least he knew what Jelena believed—Otavas obediently shook his head, realizing that she was going to say it again regardless.
"Kovar," she declared, eyes narrowing. "There've been no songs wondering what might be over the next wave, no songs extolling the adventure of discovery. There've been no songs about this voyage at all, and the people of Shkoder know very well what that means. Kovar is against the idea, and the bards take their cue from him."
"And you can't tell the bards what to sing…"
"Or I'll be spending the rest of my life wondering about every new piece of information—is it the truth or is it what the bards think I want to hear?" Shoving back her chair, she surged to her feet and brandished a sheaf of maps at her grinning consort. "I don't care what that narrow-minded old man thinks, the Starfarer will find the homeland of the dark sailor, and when she comes back with proof, I hope he'll enjoy eating his words. And if she doesn't find the dark sailor's homeland, then she'll just keep going west until she lands in the silklands in the east, giving the Fienian traders the surprise of their lives and proving once and for all that the world is round. And Kovar can eat that, too." Pausing for breath, she finally noticed Otavas' expression. "What are you smiling about?"
He swung himself over the desk and scooped her into his arms. "I'm just happy to see you like this. Alive. Questioning. It's exciting." Pushing the maps aside, he drew her close. "I'm thinking," he murmured against her ear, "that maybe we should go on our own voyage of discovery."
Her eyes widened, then slid nearly closed as he took her earlobe between his teeth. "And discover what?" she sighed.
"Why not the center of the Circle?"
"Tavas!" But her protest at his irreligious comment carried little force. She arched her back as he unfastened the bottom three buttons on her tunic and slid a hand in under the outer layer of wool. "Now?"
"Now."
"Here?"
"Why not?"
The maps fell unheeded to the floor.
A familiar knock froze them in place.
One hand fumbling with Otavas' belt, the other entwined in his hair, Jelena turned scarlet and forced her voice into something resembling normal tones. "I'm busy, Nikki."
"Begging Your Majesty's pardon," the page's voice came muffled but audible through the heavy door, "but you asked me to remind you about that meeting with Lord Brencis and Lady Hermina. They're waiting for you in the small audience chamber."
"Tavas…"
"I know." He released her and stepped back so she could fix her clothing. "But it's lucky for
"Lord Dumin will be disappointed." Otavas and Dumin i'Janina a'Vasil, Lord High Commander of the Shkoden Navy had disliked each other on sight. Fully aware that Dumin considered him not only feckless but dangerously foreign, the prince thought the Lord High Commander a self-righteous, pompous, old harnivatayger —which had no direct Shkoden translation although a number of the younger bards were cheerfully working on it. While he wouldn't go so far as to wish the older man an injury, he wasn't above enjoying his disappointment. "He wanted you to chose a navy captain."
It suddenly became clear why Otavas found her choice amusing. "Yes, well, I wanted a captain who actually wanted to go on this voyage; not one encouraged to volunteer by Lord Dumin." Leaning back in her chair, Jelena twisted the royal signet around her finger. It had been sized to fit her just after her mother's death, but she'd lost so much weight during those dark quarters that only her knuckle kept her from losing it with every movement of her hand. "I didn't expect hundreds of volunteers—successful captains are seldom reckless captains—but neither did I expect to have so few to choose from. Fewer still after subtracting Dumin's politically motivated suggestions. And do you know why?"
Although he did know—at least he knew what Jelena believed—Otavas obediently shook his head, realizing that she was going to say it again regardless.
"Kovar," she declared, eyes narrowing. "There've been no songs wondering what might be over the next wave, no songs extolling the adventure of discovery. There've been no songs about this voyage at all, and the people of Shkoder know very well what that means. Kovar is against the idea, and the bards take their cue from him."
"And you can't tell the bards what to sing…"
"Or I'll be spending the rest of my life wondering about every new piece of information—is it the truth or is it what the bards think I want to hear?" Shoving back her chair, she surged to her feet and brandished a sheaf of maps at her grinning consort. "I don't care what that narrow-minded old man thinks, the Starfarer will find the homeland of the dark sailor, and when she comes back with proof, I hope he'll enjoy eating his words. And if she doesn't find the dark sailor's homeland, then she'll just keep going west until she lands in the silklands in the east, giving the Fienian traders the surprise of their lives and proving once and for all that the world is round. And Kovar can eat that, too." Pausing for breath, she finally noticed Otavas' expression. "What are you smiling about?"
He swung himself over the desk and scooped her into his arms. "I'm just happy to see you like this. Alive. Questioning. It's exciting." Pushing the maps aside, he drew her close. "I'm thinking," he murmured against her ear, "that maybe we should go on our own voyage of discovery."
Her eyes widened, then slid nearly closed as he took her earlobe between his teeth. "And discover what?" she sighed.
"Why not the center of the Circle?"
"Tavas!" But her protest at his irreligious comment carried little force. She arched her back as he unfastened the bottom three buttons on her tunic and slid a hand in under the outer layer of wool. "Now?"
"Now."
"Here?"
"Why not?"
The maps fell unheeded to the floor.
A familiar knock froze them in place.
One hand fumbling with Otavas' belt, the other entwined in his hair, Jelena turned scarlet and forced her voice into something resembling normal tones. "I'm busy, Nikki."
"Begging Your Majesty's pardon," the page's voice came muffled but audible through the heavy door, "but you asked me to remind you about that meeting with Lord Brencis and Lady Hermina. They're waiting for you in the small audience chamber."
"Tavas…"
"I know." He released her and stepped back so she could fix her clothing. "But it's lucky for
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