The Suncat: The Estralony Cycle

By E. D. Ebeling

Abducted fifteen years ago and raised by his father's enemies, Demyan Eliav has finally discovered his true identity: Crown Prince of Lorila. He scarcely has time to recover from the news before he's stabbed by a revolutionary, abducted by a smuggler, and imprisoned by a lord who has designs on the throne. 

Eliav thinks it's all over for him. Until his cousin appears in his cell, offering to assume his identity and take his place. Eliav accepts--he has little choice--and finds himself in a strange city, surrounded by political dissidents. For his own safety he adopts a dangerous disguise: Ulfrim the Giant, the mythical revolutionary and pamphleteer.

Books in the Estralony Cycle:
Wind Over Bone
Aloren
The Suncat

• Language: English
• Publisher: E. D. Ebeling
• Release date: Jan 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524259372

Book preview

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This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Hippolyta Press

Chicago, Illinois

Text copyright © 2016 by E. D. Ebeling

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

Author contact:

[e-mail]

edebeling.wordpress.com

Cover design by A. Miller

First Edition

ISBN-13: 978-1522844785

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Books in the Estralony Cycle:

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Wind Over Bone

Aloren

The Suncat

One

(Trenin)

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Melza jumped and pointed at the butterflies. Blow at them, she demanded. With your magic. They crossed back and forth above us, shining yellow against the dark mountains. They’d been eating our cabbage. Look how many. Ugh.

Ugh, I agreed, and dropped the weeds I’d pulled.  Too tired.  It was mid-afternoon.  The sun was burning through the mist, turning my forearms red.  I should have been enjoying it––naked sun didn’t come often into our valley.  But my skin was pale as a newt’s belly and tanned scarcely better.

Trenin, Trenin, Trenin, Trenin––  My little stepsister sounded like a catbird.  I raised a hand, to shut her up, and caught a gust of wind.

I turned it; it tore into the butterflies––about thirty of them––and blew them into her stomach. She scrabbled with her arms and tried to catch them.  I turned my hand to tease her and the wind yanked them away.  Too hard.  The wings shredded and the little bodies dropped around her into the grass.

Don’t do that.  She shook the shreds out of her hair.  You’re a wicked boy.

And you sound just like your mama. Look.  I pointed at a patch of goldenrod and she moved her head, following my finger. Wind bent the flowers over, tearing the dander away in sparkling swaths. The dander slammed into Melza and stuck to her. You’re beautiful, I said.  The most beautiful girl ever.

And you’re wicked.  She spat a wad of yellow onto the ground and began running toward the house.

Mel, I shouted, walking after.  Faster, Mel, the vodlaki are coming. She turned round just outside the kitchen door and stuck out her tongue.

She disappeared inside, and I noticed movement under the hawthorn thicket on the side of the house.  A glossy roan stepped out of the shade and stared down her nose at me.  She tossed her head and rattled her chain. You really think you’re fine, don’t you? I said to her, walking up to the door.

Come in here, a woman called from inside.

I recognized the voice––low, with a human accent.  Hello, my lady.  I wrapped myself around the door.  Did you teach your horse to act sneery?

The countess got me by the ear and pulled me in.  She was a merry lady with loads of dark brown hair. Why are you covered in butterfly wings?

I was blasting pests off the cabbage.

Were you blasting cabbage off the cabbage? said Konrad, who believed in working with his hands.

Over by the stove Melza was sneezing furiously.  Melza, I said.  She made bug-eyes at me and buried her head in her mother’s apron.  Come here. I’ll give you a vorpal. It’ll make you feel better.

Don’t.  Her voice was muffled.

What’s a vorpal? said Helse, who was plucking a hen. She did a pretty, tilting thing with her head, and I walked over behind her and gave her one. Good gods.  She pulled her ear away from me, face red.  It felt like you were stirring my brain with a stick.

Feels good, doesn’t it? I said.

You’re seventeen. She pushed me away.  Go find a girl your own age.

She was only a year older. She wasn’t usually so cold––it was probably because the countess was there.  And everyone else.  Why are you all in the kitchen? I said.

Helse picked a feather out of her brown hair.  Kitchen work.

I have news, said the countess.  You’re probably the last to hear.

The Duke of Dirlan’s dead, said Konrad to her.  We already know.  I was fetching supplies from Ningrav last week.

No, said the countess and she started laughing.  She laughed so hard she put her elbows on the table for support.  I mean, yes.  But it’s something else.

Something very good, said Melza’s mother, whose name was Dreida. The Ravyir’s escaped Keldanst and he’s going to get married. I was surprised to hear her say so much––she was usually shy around the countess.

No, the countess said.  His son’s been found.

A bastard? said Helse.  I always wondered.

No, said the countess shortly.

Helse blew feathers off her hands and squinted at her, and Dreida pried her daughter off her skirts.  The Crown Prince has been dead a long time, I said.

Turns out he didn’t die at all, said the countess.

Konrad scratched his big hooked nose.  He’s got to be, what? Seventeen? Eighteen?

How do they know it’s him? said Helse.

They don’t. said the countess.  They want me to go to Even-Alehn and have a look at him.

What’s he doing in Even-Alehn? I said.

Why you, my lady? said Konrad.

He should look something like his mother, said the countess. The dead Ravinya had been her sister.

Konrad’s gaze drifted over to me.  Is it common for boys to look like their mother?  Trenin doesn’t look at all like his.

He’s got his mother’s eyes, said Dreida, stroking Melza’s curls. I had no memory of my mother. Dreida had been my mother the past sixteen years.

His father, too, said the countess.  I know the Ravyir’s face, and I knew his father’s face, and his grandfather’s face.

Even then it won’t be enough, said Konrad.  The country’s a patchwork falling apart, and each piece has a little king who’d rather this prince be a fraud.

He probably is a fraud, said Helse.

The countess pushed her hair out of her face.  She couldn’t abide hats, she told me once.  Her hair was wild, like a bramble.

I bet he isn’t, I said.  What fraud would try his luck with this country?  He’d have to put it all back together.

I want Trenin to come to Charevost with me, said the countess.  I stared at her.  My hand went up and brushed pollen off my eyelashes.  He knows very little about the outside world.  It makes me nervous.

I opened my mouth to tell her all the things I knew about the outside world, and Konrad said, Would it be safe? He was harmless enough as a child, but sometimes I reckon he doesn’t know good from bad.  A bit funny in the head.

This was too much.  My eyes stung.  I breathed through my mouth so they wouldn’t hear the snuffing.

Helse laughed at me. You’re sensitive as a skinless frog.

Sometimes I wonder, the countess said softly to Dreida, if she didn’t get the boy on Rischa.

Who’s Rischa?  I turned and  surreptitiously wiped my nose with a sleeve.

A study in remorse.  You’re almost a man, Trenin. You can’t stay here.  Your mother would have agreed.  We must get you used to people.

I don’t want him to go.  Melza slipped her hand into mine, and sat on my foot.  I’m going to Charevost with him.

Dreida watched me with wide eyes. She moved her head––a nod, I thought.  Yes, I said, yes.  Dreida, come with me and help me get used to people.

It would be unbearable for you, Dreida said.  You would be a human prince and I would be a Rielde.

This human prince will make it so you’re treated well. I threw a bit of magic into my words: Come. I managed to look as pathetic as possible. Dreida nodded. 

Two

(Rivka)

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We were hunting, my cousin Ell, and I, and Lady Toad.  Bouncer was hopping round the hedgerows like a big, yellow rabbit, flushing up partridges and pheasants so Lady Toad might have a go with her new Aclunese hand-cannon.  We’d been at it for three hours, Ell and I bagging the kills, loading the cannon, igniting it, and being as unhelpful as we could get away with. The sun was almost to its midpoint, and we were all hot and hungry, though Lady Toad wouldn’t admit it.  She was trying to out-shoot her older brother, who made the mistake of always treating her like a girl.

It had rained the night before, and the bugs were loving it.  I wasn’t, though.  The slippery logs were lying under the humps of grass, tripping me up so I wanted to yell; Ell would grab my arm and shush me, brown eyes laughing.  We knew we’d catch it if we broke Lady Toad’s concentration. Bouncer yelled though, and acted like the half-grown idiot she was.  She wasn’t ready for hunting; she still chased squirrels and voles, and all that moved.  I wished I was a hound sometimes. They were treated better than the Rielde, and they got to kill things.

Bouncer yelped and twisted her body around when her paw struck a rock. Lady Toad tisked sympathetically.  And, I thought to myself, the hounds weren’t kicked and called ‘worthless’ and ‘buffoon’ when they lamed themselves.

Bouncer tried limping along on three legs, then decided it wasn’t worth it, and lay on her side.

Lady Toad dug in the bag, cursed.  I need three more, she said.  Flush for me, Ell.  Rivka’s too lazy.  And she pointed at a big blackthorn.  It wasn’t that I was lazy.  I didn’t like being shot at, which was what happened when you flushed birds for Lady Toad.  Though she claimed she were aiming for the birds, we knew she was aiming to scare us.  Besides which, it was almost impossible to aim a hand-cannon.

Ell was little, and sensitive, and couldn’t stand being beaten.  She did what she was told.  She stepped toward the blackthorn, her eyes shifting wildly around like she was looking for an escape.

I’ll do it, milady, I said quick.  I’m faster than Ell.

You may be faster, but you’re a damn coward, said the lady.  You’re worse than the hares.  You don’t go where I want you to.

Midfire? I said, before I could stop myself.

Yes.  She said it cool as an iced plum.  You’re to light the cannon, as Ell won’t do it.  She lifted her face to the sky, as if to ask why she’d been burdened with such damn cowards.

Ell, you hain’t got to, I said.  I’ll go to Lord Hagyen—

My father’s gone to Ederul, said Lady Toad.  Will you go to my brother instead? If Lady Sanne was a toad, her oldest brother was a crocodile.

Riv, Ell whispered, he’ll put you on the thresher again. Milady won’t shoot me, she likes me.  I’m mild.

Mild as a little mouse, said Lady Toad, smiling.

My stomach squeezed.  Ell wasn’t a mouse, but a person, who liked whistling and making reed houses for the marsh wrens.

But Lady Toad hadn’t shot a serf yet, especially one she liked, so I breathed deep through my nose, and prayed to Paronna that Lady Toad would shoot true.

I held the slow match ready, and Lady Toad wedged the cannon under her arm and pointed––it was a big man’s weapon, but the lady was stout enough to take the kickback without falling over.

Ell ran through the bushes, blonde head flashing like a bird in the dappled light.  Light it, said the lady, and I did, just as a woodcock and his hen flew up, trilling.  The pop never happened.  Again, she yelled, and the cord singed my fingers.  The cannon went off unexpectedly, knocking us both down.

Lout, she said, pushing me away, and then said more excitedly, I got one. Saw it flapping behind the bush.

She called Ell’s name.  Bouncer answered: a long, thin bawl that raised my hair.  Run off, she muttered.  Go get it, Rivka.

I walked round the bushes, legs shaking.  I knew what I would find.  I didn’t even feel the thorns picking at my arms and ankles.

Ell was slumped over a branch.  She had a hole in her head, red as her mouth.  Her brown eyes stared at the ground.

Lady Toad? I said, not thinking.  She didn’t hear me.  Milady, I called, voice hoarse and thin as a reed.  Come look.

What? she said, coming over.  And then: Oh.  She got angry. There you’ve done it, she said.  Lit it twice.  As though that had anything to do with it.

She thought for a minute––I could see it happening; it looked painful. Here’s what happened: She tried firing it herself.  It exploded and she died.

There’s a hole in her head, I said. Too small for an explosion.  I shook my head and started to cry.  I had loved Ell, her frail little arms.

Don’t you dare, said Lady Toad.  I’ll break your hands.  You’ll never fix anything again.  But she didn’t make good on her promise, just stood there when I ran toward the village.

***

We put Ell’s mother to bed with a wet towel over her eyes.  My uncle stood at the door, hollow-eyed, face like a burlap sack.

It’s murder, said my other uncle.  The Ravyir passed a law.  She’ll have to be tried.

No, she won’t, said his wife.  Some man wrote a law some ten years back halfway across the country?

We can get reparation.  We can go to Dirlan.

What’s in Dirlan?  Corpses?

Hush, Loysa, said Aunt Sera, and she looked at me with wet eyes. Where is she, Riv?

My uncles and I went to collect Ell before Lady Toad could dump her in the river.  We brought her to the hall kitchen and fearless Heidl, the head housekeeper, went to fetch Lady Toad’s brother.

You want reparation? said Lord Aravin.  Lady Toad been drug to the kitchen too, on her brother’s orders.  She looked sulky and a bit scared, but much better than Ell, who was spread out on a table like a cut of meat. Heidl had put a cloth over her face.  We have no money, said Aravin.  Our house is mortgaged to those bloodsucking Kamstars, and the Caveiras are squeezing us of everything else. Have a holiday tomorrow.  Bury her.

A holiday? said Ell’s father, finally showing some emotion.

Not enough? said Lord Aravin, and he picked a doll off the floor, probably one of Heidl’s daughter’s playthings.  Have a doll. They don’t take fever.

My lord, said Heidl softly, Aden–– We stared where she pointed, at the youngest of the Karvals, who peered fearfully through his nurse’s legs. They’d been playing with Heidl’s daughter in the corner. I blinked: no, she wasn’t suggesting we kill Aden.  He shouldn’t have to hear.

Take him upstairs.  He turned to his sister and said calmly, You killed one of my serfs. He didn’t believe her story, then––they didn’t have the tightest of bonds, she and him.  A girl.  She should have grown and made more serfs for me.

Lady Toad scowled. You’re making more serfs than ever she would’ve.

Lord Aravin looked passing cross at this. Ladies ought not to shoot hand-cannons. I wondered what your first big kill would be.  Perhaps I should have you skin and eat her.

She made a disgusted face.  How can you talk like that?

Shut up and go to your room, he said.  So Father knows where to find you.

***

Later in the day we did Ell’s death rites, burning rosemary so Sister Longing might find her, and sage, so Brother Living wouldn’t.  We put tinder and flint in her little hands, so if Veles lured her underground she could find her way back to the world river.  Her father wanted to set her afloat on the Nolak in the old Rielde way, but my aunts were against it, saying some evil man would find her and desecrate her body. Such was the state of Lorila.  So we buried her on the east bank, where the marsh wrens liked to nest.  And all the while I thought of how Lady Toad had threatened to break my hands.

Aunt Sera often said I had a head for gears, and Aunt Loysa, that I had a head of gears.  They were both right.

Two years ago I fixed the threshing mill so two men could power it rather than six.  Lord Aravin seemed impressed by it, and I worked up the courage to ask him for more grain for my uncle Norr’s large family.  ‘You shall have as much as you can thresh in two days,’ was his answer.  His men kept watch.  They allowed me no breaks and a pittance of water.  I was a girl of twelve. I fainted halfway through the second day.  All the Rielde protested, and old Lord Hagyen stopped it, but at least my uncle Norr got his grain.

Lord Aravin was into cockfighting that year, buying big, nasty birds that went right for your eyes, and hosting the fights in the courtyard when his father was away.  His father disapproved, thinking the sport cruel and common, and Aravin hid his habit with the help of a groomsman named Esher.  Esher disposed of the dead birds by dropping them down an abandoned well. Soon there were more dead birds than the well could hold.

Esher was a roamer, and he took off for the blue one day, but not before he told me about the roosters. In those days I sometimes worked at the house as a maid, so I took all the dead roosters and used them to block up Aravin’s privy.  His filth soon spilled over the floor.  The roosters were found, covered in the telltale slashes of their brothers.  Aravin was beaten bloody by his father and I was well pleased.

***

The night after we buried Ell, I lay on my pallet, thinking of Lady Toad, her long, haughty nose, her stinking breath, her kitten’s voice.  I thought of how she’d go on doing them terrible things with never a real consequence.  I thought of how she killed Ell as though she was a chicken.

I got up, dazed with anger, and went to the armory.  I told the keeper that Lady Sanne had sent me to fix what was ailing the hand-cannon.  I had done things like this often enough before, so the man shrugged and let me take the thing outside.

I went to the smithy.  Gorstin the ferrier was probably filling himself with ale somewhere––Ell had been his cousin, too.  He wouldn’t begrudge me pounding away at his forge; I’d done it before. But never for so terrible a purpose.

The cannon was muzzle-loaded.  I dug through the scrap metal for the right piece of iron.  It was stuck to the floor and covered in rust––a short piece of rod.

I jammed it up the cannon’s muzzle just short of the powder chamber, and dropped two lumps of lead after it. I took the stock off, and heated the iron at the forge until it glowed cherry red. The lead had melted inside, plugging the thing. I plunged it in a bucket of water and it made a hiss like an adder.  I poured some water down the muzzle, and sure enough, none came out the touch hole. Sure, it’d be heavier than normal, but it wasn’t like she was accustomed to carrying it about herself.

I polished and oiled it, put the stock back on, and poured black powder into the touch hole. You didn’t normally put it in that way, but I’d stopped up the muzzle.

I took it back to the armory.  The old man eyed it suspiciously, as if to make sure I hadn’t rubbed out the fanciful etchings.

I went to bed and tried to sleep.

The next day I was pickling cabbage with my aunts and cousins, when my grown cousin Joff stumbled through the door, looking like he’d seen his own death.  He had a ghastly cut on his forehead.

Lord and Lady preserve me, he said.  Hide me Mam, they’re gonna think I done it.

Done what? asked Aunt Loysa.

His lordship. He said he’d better try his sister’s gonne.

Gonne? said my grown cousin, Floy.

The cannon.

Changing the name of the beastly thing already? said Aunt Loysa. Anything with so many names is trying to flee its past. Well I daresay you had naught to do with anything.

I lit it, Mam, said Joff.  I loaded it and lit it like normal, but it exploded.  It killed him.

We all stared at him for a bit.

I saw those in Evenalehn, said Floy, who’d been abroad.  Had a habit of exploding at a touch––didn’t matter whose.  They can’t blame you.

No one’ll be blaming you, I said, oddly calm.  It’s the cannon.  It’s faulty.  Should be melted down before it kills someone else. I stoppered my jug and decided it was time to leave the village.

Three

(Andrei)

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I’ve found you a manservant, said Trid.

A man— I rubbed the sweat from my eyes. A manservant?

It’s not going to be me anymore.

When were you ever my manservant?

We were in Benmarum.  We’d landed three months ago in the city of Even-Alehn, to ask the senate for troops.  Because, as Trid had put it, the people of Lorila would be more likely to accept me as their next Ravyir if I had a contingent of soldiers to back me.

It was hot, midday, and I wanted to jump into the ocean.  Instead we were walking over a bridge towards the flower sector, because Aly pined if she went too long without flowers. 

Trid eyed me askance. You look like a jackal without whatsisname—Orvimal. Even Mir dressed better than you.  Now that his uncle was dead Trid had become Duke Caveira of Dirlan.  Being a duke made him ornery.

Your Grace, I said, knowing it would drive him over the edge, I can do perfectly well without a man poking around were he oughtn’t.

No, you can’t.  And I’m tired of forcing you to wash.  Next thing I know I’ll be mixing you nightcaps and tasting them for poison.

I don’t need––

He turned to face me, walking backwards.  But you’ll stink and look horrible and everyone will laugh at you, and we won’t get our men.  Your manservant’s name is Feo.  He’s an Affran Rileldine.  Floy found him for you.

Floy hates me.  Surprised Aly wasn’t running her mouth, I looked past Trid’s shoulder––he was still taller than me, but I was catching up––and didn’t see her.

Where’s she gone?  I tried not to sound panicky.

Probably ahead.

There was only to follow the yelling.

There, Aly shouted, make as much saloop as you like. She and the vendor were standing in his shop door, waving their hands like crazed people, and I peered past them––at a glass roof with the sun streaming through, and shelves full of wilted orchids, flowers dried up into little raggedy pennants. That’s what you do, don’t ye?  Milk em like cows?

You killed them? I said to her. Girelden have the sometimes unfortunate habit of infecting the nearby plants with their emotions.

They both ignored me.  Milk? said the vendor. "They are not for salep, they are for display, my beauties, my cordiatha erad, that you flattened with your wicked eyes!  Murderess, with your stinking gralion. I told you could not come in with your gralion—"

"I’ll gralion you," she said, and I caught her fist and pulled her away.

Hey, said Trid, I believe he loves plants more than you, Aly. He reached into his pocket and paid out a few silvers to the vendor, which calmed him down some.

"Gralion," she said.

Means feet, I said.  She thought it meant Gireldine, probably.  Her feet were bare and white with dust.  You can’t do that here.  I pointed at them. They don’t like it.  You need to wear sandals.  She muttered something under her breath.  Not everyone is trying to insult you. You can relax.

Hard when you feel an idiot, she said.

Trid laughed, and we walked away from the sad orchids. Then why do idiots always seem so relaxed?

"Why haven’t you taught me foot yet?" Aly asked me.

We haven’t reached that part of the body, I said.

Trid broke down again.  Andrei, he said, wiping his eyes, "you are such a patient fellow."

Not patient enough for a manservant, anyhow.

Floy’s found you a manservant, said Aly.

I heard.

I think she’s in love.  Not with you, she added, as though the idea were ludicrous.

Do you think I need a manservant? I asked her.

She looked me over and grinned. No.

Slobs, said Trid. I’m not inviting either of you to dinner in Lorila.

I’m not too sad about it, I said.

I think they eat Elde there, said Aly.  Let’s go swimming.  It’s why I brought trousers.

***

Later, as we walked back to the high sector, shirts slung over our backs, some girl selling melon stared at Aly’s bare feet.  Aly must’ve been tired. Instead of throwing a clod of manure, she just said,  Funny how you can go round half-naked here, so long as you wear sandals.

Different places, different customs, said Trid.

So I can go naked to meet my aunt? I said.  What do I need a manservant for?

Leave it alone, said Trid.  She’s Lorilan.

Shan’t she be able to recognize me better if I’m naked?

Trid ignored me and we walked through the carriage door of the Consul’s sister’s house, where we were staying.  The porter

let us into the front hall with a look and a sniff. Floy and the Consul’s sister Muhoren were at the foot of the stairs, arguing.

I don’t know where they’ve gone, said Floy, looking harried.

He’s due at the statehouse in half an hour, said Muhoren hysterically.

And he’ll probably show up looking like a drowned rat, said Floy. But he’ll show up.  Trid went with them.

Here I am, I said.

Looking like a drowned rat, said Trid.

You see? said Floy. Trid’s dependable, and Andrei’s in sore need of a manservant.  I’m always right.  Lords, the girl had sand.

You’re wrong this time, I said.  I’ve decided to go naked.

Aly pinched Floy’s arm.  Feeling as if I’d swallowed a bug, I walked off to my room.

I lay on my bed, looking at the ceiling.  It was painted with porpoises and swirling strands of seaweed, and it made me seasick.  I turned on my side and put my head in my hands.  The door creaked open. Aly or Trid.

Worried? said Aly.

No, I said.

Don’t think she’ll recognize you?

I don’t want her to.

Yes you do. She’s your aunt.

I nodded.  Right.  Yes I do.

You don’t want to go to Lorila.

"I don’t like the sound of Ravyir. It’s brutish."

Better than Andrei the Bastard.

Bugger the both of them. I sat up.

She sat beside me on the bed. You can at least try.  If you don’t like it, you can leave it to Trid.

He wants to be a doctor.

No law against the Ravyir being a doctor.

I had to laugh.

Politics is a game, she said.  That’s what Mordan says. Bunch of words.

What magical bunch of words is this?

She leaned close to my ear, and said in a deep, gravelly voice, Andrei the Terrible eats cannonballs for breakfast.

I pushed her off the bed.  Thank you.  I feel better.

She rose and draped herself over my thighs. Pushing girls makes you feel better.

Pushing Girelden makes me feel better.

Floy came in then, without knocking.  I supposed you’d both be in here. Aly slumped back onto the floor.  Here’s your boy, Feo, Floy called out the door. I didn’t know if she were talking to Feo or me, but I shot up from the bed and looked wildly around for my shirt.

Aly was sitting on it. Feo came in: he was tall for a Rielde and dressed impeccably in a green tunic and breeches. His curly brown hair was lighter than his skin.

Prince Demyan? said he.  I nodded.  I am well experienced in looking after a lord’s private needs.  I pushed Aly off my shirt.  I was trained in Dagona in both the Lorilan and Benmar styles, and I served a great house for ten years.  You’ll be in very capable hands.

I couldn’t help myself.  This one’s too formal, I said to Floy. Throw him off the balcony. Floy scowled.  I pulled the shirt over my head, getting the strings caught in my mouth, and noticed that Feo’s face looked fish-sick.  Perhaps they really did such things in Lorila. You needn’t take me seriously. I pulled a string from my mouth.  I only push Girelden.

Yes, Your Grace, he said.  I might have known you were a joker.  He didn’t look as though he thought the joke very funny.

I’m sorry about him. Aly stood up, pushed past me, and walked towards the door.  He grew up wrong.

Floy followed Aly through the door and called back in to me: Remember your privilege.  It was something she said a lot.

The girls disappeared, to do whatever they usually did before meetings with important people, and Feo stood there with his leather case, looking expectant.  I broke the silence: I really didn’t mean it. I’m a bit of a monster.

Don’t say that, Your Grace, Feo said.  We can’t help how we’re raised. But we can help other things. He pulled a pair of shears from his case. They looked alarmingly big.

What other things?

Your hair.  He pointed at a chair.  We can’t have Countess Haek mistaking you for a yak.

As he was cutting deftly around my face, he had a moment of confusion. Why are your eyes brown?  He looked dismayed, as though he’d mistaken me for someone else.

I am human, I reassured him.  I beat up a demon.  Took the gold right out of my eyes.

Such a joker, Your Grace.

***

Because we were late, Muhoren insisted we ride in her carriage. The statehouse was a broad, terraced building overlooking the city, with more curtains and lattices than walls. So as to discourage scheming and encourage transparency, Consul Calragen said to us the first time we saw it. But I’m afraid all it really does is encourage the schemers to scheme elsewhere.

Calragen met us just inside, where a great many ministers were blustering around with papers and sealing wax, looking important and put-upon.

Dressed in the best of Lorilan fashion, the old man said, looking us over.  Good.

I’m not, said Aly.  She was dressed in a long, pleated tunic, the sort favored by Benmar women.  She looked striking in it, especially now her dark hair was a proper length for plaiting.

Not to worry, my lady, said Calragen kindly. You look like a Noreme flower no matter the fashion. She ducked when he patted her on the head.

Muhoren put a hand on Calragen’s shoulder.  Esteva’s here.

Already time, is it?

We’re late, dear brother, by ten ticks.  I swear, Muhoren whispered to me, he gets more senile every time I see him––

Follow me, my lords, if you please, said Esteva, a tall woman with streaks of white in her black hair.  She led us over to one of the staterooms, rang a small bell, and opened the door.

His Grace, the Grand Duke of the Felns, she said, looking as though she were addressing the doorpost.  Her ladyship, the Countess of Charevost, and Lord Eianhurt of Garada.  She sounded positively bored.

A full showing, said Calragen delightedly.  We’ve caught them in our net, boy.  He slapped me on the back.  Go in, then.  Before they escape.

Half-believing him I walked quickly into the room. Aly and Trid fell on either side of me like an asymmetrical honor guard.  The city wishes you luck in your affairs, said Esteva behind us, and she shut the door.  Before she could yawn, probably.

There were no tables or chairs, no decoration except for the sheer purple curtains on every side, and behind them a glimpse of columns and potted trees.  It smelled of jasmine, a wild, sad smell that reminded me of something deep in my past.

The Lorilans looked as dark as the people of Even-Alehn in the light of the oil lamps. But we walked over, and I saw it wasn’t so: only one of the men was dark. Like Trid. The other man had curly white hair, and the countess was fair, with dark hair.

Your Grace? said the dark man uncertainly, more to Trid than me.

No, said the countess, that’s Rokal’s boy. Can’t you tell?  She nodded at me.  Its him.  She walked up and stopped a pace away from me. She was almost as tall as I was. Brown eyes. So it’s true. How very odd.

She turned suddenly to Aly.  What’s he like?

I frowned.  Made my life hell.  But she just said, He’s a bit of an ass.

The countess smiled at this assessment. You’re Reyna Lauriad.

Yes, said Aly.  I held my breath, waiting for it.

I met your mother once. You look like her.  We were both caught off guard.  And you, the countess said to me, you’re the image of my sister.  I shouldn’t wonder that you’re a bit of an ass.

If you don’t want me to come to Lorila, I said, I’ll be very happy not to.

The countess laughed.  It was pleasant, from deep inside her.  How like her he is, she said to her two companions.  Did Rischa have anything to do with him?

What are you suggesting? said the man with the white hair.

That he won’t be as tractable as you’d like, Grand Duke Augor.

Don’t hold us in suspense, said Trid. Is he the Crown Prince, or isn’t he?

I think, said the countess, we should give him a chance.  What do you say, Lord Eianhurt? she said to the dark man.

He does look like Leva, if not like his father.  But must every son look like his father? I say yes.

Good. And you, Your Grace? she said to Grand Duke Augor.

The Grand Duke gave me a long look. His face is uncannily like his mother’s, especially when he scowls. And he was found with her broach.

Is that good enough for you? said the countess.

He’s got the Eliav nose.

"It is very long," said my aunt, the countess. I wrestled with the urge to cover it with a hand.

Young Caveira, the Grand Duke said to Trid, you can go back to chasing women.  Trid turned rosy as the quartz temple in the middle of the city. Aly laughed a bit.

Did you really pull your birthflowers? said Lord Eianhurt to Aly.

The scent of jasmine grew so strong it almost made me retch.

Oh, Corban, said the countess.

I’ve been hearing of nothing else, said Eianhurt.  And here she is.

Let’s go, said Trid. I hate my country.

How did it feel? said Eianhurt.

Shall I show him how it felt? said Aly. I was beyond thankful she’d the stomach to get indignant, but I couldn’t risk them changing their minds.

Let’s go swimming, Al, I said.  I whispered to Trid, There’re plants in here.

I hear you, said Aly.  I always hear you.  And why should we go swimming at night?

Forgive my husband, said the countess.  He’s been smoking something foreign.

We’ll visit with His Grace at a later date, said the Grand Duke.  We hope he sees fit to cooperate with us.

He hopes for your cooperation as well, I said.  And that the rest of your evening is spent learning discretion.

This will be fun, I heard my aunt say on our way out.  Especially if he brings little Princess Aster.  I didn’t think she was being sarcastic.

***

We ate dinner at a Virnrayan friend of Muhoren’s.  My relief made me monstrously hungry, and I tore into the curried fish so fast I didn’t notice my tongue swelling up and nose running until I’d finished.  It was a complicated pain and I quite enjoyed it.  Trid said he figured I would turn out a masochist. Aly, on the other hand, had to pour yogurt down her throat, and when she disappeared for a while I suspected her of emptying the contents of her stomach. She was oddly well-mannered in front of people she didn’t know.

Little Princess Aster, said Trid apologetically to our host, is a maiden too delicate for such robust flavor.

Later that night when Floy opened her and Aly’s door, Trid said, I think little Princess Aster will need an extra mattress.

Shut up, said Aly.

She sleeps on the floor most nights, said Floy.

She was right.  Sometimes Aly would crawl in bed with me, and come morning she was invariably curled up on the floor. She was used to hard things, she said.

Feo was waiting for me in my own chamber.  I was too exhausted to care when he unbuckled my boots and took my coat off.  I batted him away and put my nightshirt on.  As I was splashing my face in the proffered bowl, he asked, How did you fare, Your Grace?  Did the countess accept you?

In a manner of speaking.

You’re the Ravyir’s son?

I think, I said, wiping my face with a towel, I’m whoever the people in charge want me to be.

That’s fatalistic.

Doesn’t mean it’s not true. I collapsed on my bed.  I suppose Feo blew out the lamps, but I was asleep by then.

Trid often said I could fall asleep in a smithy.  That didn’t mean I was a heavy sleeper, and that night I awoke to the sound of creaking leather, the silence of a held breath.

I wasn’t such a fool that I remained perfectly still.  The man who’d looked after me in Norembry—Mir—had taught me to be ready for this sort of thing.  Part of being raised wrong, I suppose.

I kept my breathing steady. Then I made a sleepy noise, and readjusted my head so I could see my new manservant bending over me as if to give me a kiss.

He wasn’t an ugly fellow––I could see why Floy had fallen for him.  I could have born a kiss.  But silver glinted in the dark: the outsized shears were raised