Firebirds Soaring (43 page)

She watched them make their way clumsily up the rigging, laughing at one another’s efforts; by nightfall Nadav was queasy, especially as the wind rose and the seas became choppy, but some strong steeped ginger took care of that. Raec had no problem adjusting to the motion, as his grandfather had many years before.

Their readiness to work improved Risa’s mood at once, as her grandmother had hoped; she soon began looking forward to shared watches. The two visitors were easy on the eyes, fun to talk to, and they seemed to appreciate her world, which was the sea.

Two days out they lined the rail to watch a fleet of warships on maneuvers. These were new brigantines, flying the twined golden lilies and stylized crown of the royal house of Elsarion, a flag of deep blue with white edging.

Raec and Nadav stared silently at the tall masts, the graceful curve of wind-taut sails, the huge ships aslant as they raced by, white spraying down one side.

Nadav whistled. “Impressive!”

“Even more,” Risa said, “when you consider a few years back they didn’t even have a fleet. Nobody quite knows how the king managed to put one to sea so fast.”

They leaned against the rail as the wake from the passing warship hit them in slow-rolling bumps. Up in the high rigging, sailors were busy doing things.

“I wonder if my parents know. Of course they must. But obviously they don’t mind,” Raec murmured, more to himself than to the others.

Nadav flicked up a hand. “It’s not like the Adranis are attacking anyone.”

Risa said, “My mother is a navigator on a Sartoran warship. Posted in the western part of the Sartoran Sea. But she hears all the eastern gossip. Says that so far the Adranis have been strictly observant of maritime treaties. And, since they’ve joined the roving patrols, there’s been a lot less pirate interference with trade. The worst of the pirates in this sea were operating out of the waters just west of Anaeran while all their troubles were going on. No longer. The new king wiped them all out in one fast strike.”

They were silent, considering what they’d heard about that king, now ruler of a considerable land. Some even called it an empire.

The subject was still on Raec’s mind when his watch ended. He went below, got a mug of the savory, thick soup the cook made each day, and ducked under the bulkhead into the cramped little wardroom just off the galley, which was shared by everyone. The wardroom was seldom crowded. At any time of day or night most of the small crew were either on duty or else asleep. There was no time that everyone had free, except some evenings; then they all gathered on deck.

Risa was there, just finishing her own soup, when Raec entered, head bent to avoid thunking his forehead into the bulkheads.

He put his square-bottomed mug down opposite Risa, then dropped onto the bench. “You hear a lot of talk on your travels, do you not?”

She shrugged. “We tend to hear the most popular rumors. Can’t tell if they’re true or not. Or how much truth is mixed with embroidery.”

“How about this? When you were in Al Caba last, did you hear much about the deposed rulers of Send Alian?”

She chuckled. “Not much beyond that they got offered exile or their old title and lands back. That would be in the time before the treaty forced on the Adranis and Enaeraneth made those coastal lands into kingdoms.” She set her mug down and looked at him askance. “What’s your interest in ’em?”

“Well, they sent a diplomat to my parents about their princess.” He hesitated, then said, “My mother felt sorry for her. So I thought I’d go meet her.”

Risa’s brows rose. “Meet her? On the
Petal
?” She flapped her hands around her. “Aren’t you supposed to do that kind of thing with warships or yachts, and not a smuggler? And don’t you need a lot of minions running around blowing horns, and wearing silks, and so forth?”

Raec’s quirked eyes gave away his effort not to laugh as he said portentously, “
Especially
so forth.”

She chuckled again.

He said, “I would if this visit was official in any way. It’s not. My mother told the diplomat that no one can come offering princesses—or former princesses—to me until I’m twenty-five. But I thought I’d go myself. See, my parents promised they wouldn’t force any political marriage on me. I can pick for myself. So I thought, if I go with all the ‘so forth’ then what I’ll see is her own ‘so forth.’ I’d like to see just a person.” He nodded. “So I’m going as Raec. A traveler.”

She frowned. “Wait. So, you just go and . . . spy on her.”

“No! I want to
meet
her.”

“If you don’t tell her who you are—but you know who she is—aren’t you spying?”

His mouth opened to deny it, then it was his turn to frown. It was not, she was surprised to see, an angry frown, it was the forehead-pucker of perplexity.

He was silent for what seemed a very long time, as the
Petal
rocked its way through the water, and his supper slowly cooled, then he looked up, his expression a rueful smile. “I guess you’re probably right. Now I feel stupid.” Then he shrugged. “So, what if I amend the plan to this: I go as I am, and let her know who I am. So if she wants to meet me without either of us having to summon up the mighty forces of minions and so forth. Would that sound more fair? ”

Risa said slowly, “That’s fair.”

Raec flashed his sudden smile, very different from Nadav’s rakish, dashing grin. Then he drank some soup, and when he spoke next, it was to ask if she’d ever seen any pirates. They chatted about smugglers, privateers, and pirates as he finished up his meal, then he returned to the deck.

Risa followed more slowly. After sundown, Granny Risa gave orders for them to slacken sail for the night, and lanterns were strung all along the rails and up on the yards so that the three crew members who played instruments could entertain them.

It was a balmy night, so singing and dancing lasted a long time. Risa usually participated, but this night she leaned against the rail outside of the golden circles of light as the ship’s boy, Risa’s youngest cousin, taught Raec a complicated dance known as Pirate’s Revenge.

Nadav drifted up and joined her. “You don’t dance?” she asked.

“I tend to stay with the ones I know.” He flashed his grin. “Will you waltz with me?”

“I don’t know any toff dances.”

He just shrugged, adding with a disarming smile, “Those are what I’m used to.”

Raec stumbled, nearly falling down; he caught hold of a shroud just in time, as everyone laughed. Risa thought back. Raec had been the one to urge Nadav to climb the masts, and he’d been the first to try mending a net. It seemed to her that though Raec did not mind making a fool of himself attempting something new, Nadav did mind. And wouldn’t do it, at least not in front of others.

“So did he tell you why he’s going to the former Send Alian?” she asked Nadav.

His black brows slanted up. “You mean Princess Jasalan?”

“Yes.”

“He told me about your recent conversation.” He executed a bow. “You are now beholding the minion and the so forth, all embodied in one fellow. Me.” He laid his hand on his chest. “I’m to go ahead and sound her out. He was somewhat chagrined,” Nadav added, his smile fading.

Risa let out her breath slowly as she watched Raec dancing on the forecastle, his long blond hair firelit gold in the mellow lantern light. Now he’d gotten the complicated shuffling steps. He wasn’t graceful like his friend—it was not a graceful dance, though maybe Nadav could have made it that way—but he moved with a kind of careless ease that Risa discovered she liked more than grace. Grace was, well, conscious. Ease wasn’t. Or maybe she had the words wrong. Granny could tell her.

Just then Raec laughed as the ship gave a lee-lurch and he fumbled another step.

“I hope it works,” she said, trying to convince herself. “He’s so nice.”

“He’s easy to get along with,” Nadav said. “Even tempered. But you really don’t want to see him angry.”

“Ahah. Turns mean, eh?”

Nadav shook his head. “I’ve never seen him act mean, and we grew up together. He just gets very, very intense.” He held out his hand, palm up. “Those who think they know him find it unsettling.” He chuckled. “If you want temper, you may apply to my sister. Her storms will satisfy anyone with a taste for lightning and thunder.”

Risa had heard stories about Lady Tara Savona—that she was both the most beautiful and the most spoiled high-born girl in Remalna’s court. Some had also said that she fully expected to be the next queen.

But future queens were none of her business, so she just nodded, and when the dance ended, she decided to take a turn in the next.

Granny Risa, sitting at east in her favorite chair on the captain’s deck, watched in approval as her granddaughter stomped and twirled and kicked, laughing with the grandson of her first love.

And she watched over the succeeding short span of days as Young Risa and the visitors worked together and talked together. Never anything profound, or dramatic. Young Risa was too guarded for that. But she watched as, gradually, though Nadav was far more handsome than Alaraec, far more witty in his banter, more dashing when the two young men practiced their weapons on the foredeck after their watches, Risa drifted to Raec’s side at the rail when he was free. Never any serious conversations. Just pleasant chat.

So when they reached Al Caba at last, and Risa stood at the tiller herself, guiding them unerringly through the busy ship traffic, Granny Risa contemplated her granddaughter’s thoughtful expression, her silence.

When at last they anchored and the ship’s boys helped the guests lower the pinnace to the water for the trip to the dock, Granny summoned Risa to her side.

“Tide’s going to turn soon,” Risa said, her face closed, her voice light.

Granny Risa said, “Let’s pay for anchorage. I want to go ashore and look for a cargo. Pay for our journey. We can give the crew a watch or two of leave in rotation. It might take me a day or two to find the sort of consignment that will net us a good profit.”

Risa’s brow cleared. “Good profit. I like the sound of that.” And, in a lower voice, “Maybe this journey won’t be a waste after all.”

 

“I don’t believe it.”

Princess Jasalan of Send Alian frowned at the scowling young man who stood by her parlor window, his beringed hands flipping at the curtain sash. “Lored.” She thumped her arms across her front. “Does that mean you think I am a liar? ”

Lord Alored Masdan, heir to the biggest duchy in the region, flushed to the roots of his red hair. The two reds clashed horribly, Jasalan thought.

“No!” he exclaimed. “It’s just—I think they are lying. Or he. It just sounds, well, preposterous.”

Jasalan frowned at her chief suitor. Plenty of girls thought Lored handsome. And he was—very tall, very strongly built, with all that waving red hair falling back from his high brow. But his ears stuck out on the sides, his nose was too short, and as for all that height and strength, whenever he moved, she couldn’t help but think of a redwood tree crashing down in an old forest. Whenever he was in her parlor, she had to stop herself from watching over the porcelain dishware and her mother’s crystal statuettes.

She knew that these things should not bother her. But they did. She’d pretended they didn’t when it seemed he was the best suitor she could expect. Now that was no longer true.

Her voice was more sharp than she intended. “So you think they’re imposters? Speaking court Sartoran?”

“Anyone can learn court Sartoran.”

“What are they going to do, abduct me under my father’s nose? ”

“No. Well, yes. That is—”

Jasalan flushed. “My father may have lost a kingdom. But I can assure you, he won’t lose
me.
Because I don’t intend to be lost.”

Lored sighed. Now his fingers wrenched at the brocade. “It’s just that I thought we had an understanding, you and I.” He scowled. “What business does that fellow have coming here anyway? Remalna is at the other end of the Sartoran Sea. If he really is a prince, surely he can find someone to court there.”

“There aren’t any princesses the right age,” Jasalan reminded him in an even more tart voice. “Father sent one of his royal messengers just to sound out the situation—find out if Prince Alaraec was promised to anyone. There aren’t a whole lot of crown princes of the right age, for that matter. And some of them might not like the fact that I’m a princess in nothing more than title,” she finished in a bitter voice.

But he did not hear her bitterness. “I want to be there for this interview,” Lored said.

She just stared at him, so Lored took his leave in tight-lipped silence.

Relieved to be rid of him at last, Jasalan whisked upstairs to her room. She rapped out fast orders to her maid.

She hadn’t actually told her father yet about the surprising interview that morning with the handsome young man who’d only introduced himself as “Nadav.” Those blue eyes! Usually people with brown skin and black hair had varying shades of brown eyes—her family certainly did—which made the blue startling.

She realized her strongest wish was that he was actually speaking for himself. Like people do in plays and some of the romantic ballads—where the hero speaks to the lady of “his friend” when actually he’s courting for himself.

Oh, if “Nadav” were really Prince Alaraec!

She was wearing her best gown as she descended to her parlor. The evening carillon echoed the last notes through the marble archways and corridors of what was once her father’s summer palace, on the ridge up behind the harbor.

The glorious colors of sunset turned to silhouette the visitors at the big window overlooking the harbor. They gazed out at the long peninsula curving toward the horizon, and beyond to the vast and sparkling sea.

At her step they turned around. There was the handsome Nadav, his eyes even bluer than she remembered. Next to him a slim fellow almost as tall whose coloring, compared to Nadav, was about as interesting as old oatmeal: pale hair, pale eyes, probably pale skin where the sun hadn’t given it a brush of light brown.