4
Inos was rarely at her best in the very early morning, and her audience with Azak—or his audience with her—was set for dawn. Had she still held any doubts that she had been transported far beyond the bounds of civilization, an appointment for that hour would have convinced her otherwise; but she was ready on time, and so was Kade. And they did not wear veils.
When the royal guests set off for the audience chamber, they were flanked by Zana and six of the older women, all veiled and swathed in black. Eight of the fearsome brown-clad guards escorted them. Protecting them from what? Armed guards within the palace itself? This time the journey was even longer.
But despite her early-morning sulks, Inos found the audience chamber breathtaking. The great hall at Krasnegar would not have made a pantry for it. High-arched windows stretched off along both sides and the mosaic floor shone like a treasure chest, wide as the Kinvale skittle field. Even the emptiness was impressive, letting the soaring stonework display its own naked beauty. That was in striking contrast to the overfurnished mishmash of Rasha’s chambers. Obviously the sorceress lacked taste. The rest of the palace glowed with it, even on this enormous scale, when grandeur could so easily have become vulgar ostentation. Inos glanced at her aunt and saw that she, also, was mightily impressed.
The two of them were conducted to a low dais that seemed designed to support a throne, but there was no throne in sight. They stood in awed silence, instinctively edging closer. Zana positioned herself and the other attendants at their rear. The others were whispering excitedly, as if this were the first time they had been allowed out in years.
Time passed. Inos felt the beat of her heart, and it was speeding up as her anger began to grow. She did not understand the backward etiquette. As visitor, she ought to call on the sultan, but to keep her waiting when she had been placed in the position of honor was deliberate afront.
Then the pale light slinking through the high arches blushed swiftly golden pink and brightened to proclaim sunrise. A trumpet blared, and a small procession wheeled in at the far end of the hall and advanced, with Azak’s unmistakable height in the vanguard. Behind him marched at least a dozen other men, all of them clad in various shades of royal green. A squad of guards entered, also, but remained by the door.
The procession halted before the dais, and for a moment the two parties surveyed each other in silence. Inos took her first close look at Arakkaranian princes and was not impressed. They ranged in age from fresh-faced boys to grizzled elders, but those that could, wore beards. None was as tall as Azak, but they were all ruddy-skinned, red-eyed djinns, and despite their gems and the fine cut of their garments, they seemed a rough, fierce crew. To a man, they were scowling at her in shocked disapproval. She was not accustomed to having men disapprove of her appearance, but the distaste was mutual—she thought she would sooner trust a longshipful of unwashed jotnar.
There was no doubt who was captain of these pirates. His turban, glowing today with pearls, stood clear above all the rest. As he had when she first met him, two days before, he wore a loose tunic and trousers, plus the same wide jeweled belt that would have purchased a kingdom. But now his pants were tucked into high boots and his cloak was of heavy stuff, with a hood thrown back and long slitted sleeves dangling unused at his side. These were obviously outdoor garments, and his scimitar was a more serious weapon than the one she had noticed on him the previous morning. Azak, Inos assumed, was now in his work clothes.
Abruptly he snapped his fingers. A slim youth stepped stiffly forward a few paces and stopped. His red djinn complexion had paled to a sickly pink, his fists were tightly clenched, and something about the way his eyes moved told Inos that he was terrified. Sweat shone amid the fuzz of his mustache. He glanced around. Azak nodded impatiently. One of the older men frowned and nodded, also.
The boy turned back to face the visitors. He swallowed and licked his lips. Suddenly Inos knew what was about to happen, but before she could object, it had happened.
In a quavering tenor the youngster announced: “His Majesty, Sultan Az—”
He was gone; life was gone. His clothes remained, stirring in the eddies of the wind, but they enclosed only a statue of shiny pink granite. As a likeness it was superhumanly perfect, in every cruel detail—mouth still open, eyes inlaid in cinnibar and mother-of-pearl, staring fixedly at nothing. Kade stifled a cry, and Inos felt herself shudder. Azak ignored the transformation. He strode forward two paces and doubled over in one of his gymnast’s bows, with the same elaborate gestures he had used before.
Then Inos saw that the older man in the background was beaming proudly, and she felt a moment’s relief. To proclaim Azak sultan within the palace brought down the curse, so he was using it as a test of loyalty, or courage. It had been the boy’s turn, that was all, and the others’ lack of concern showed that the sorceress would remove the spell before long.
Inos was still much too icily furious to say a word. She curtsied. Azak was a step lower, but his gaze was level with hers, and for a moment they stared at each other, as if each were waiting for the other to speak. He had noted the absence of a veil, obviously, but she could read nothing in his expression except arrogance. There was plenty of that. Young Azak thought he was spectacular, and in a ferocious sort of way he was undeniably handsome. With his ruddy face framed by the trim line of beard, with his fierce hook nose and flashing red-brown eyes, with his overpowering height and physical presence, Azak clearly believed a woman should feel like swooning whenever she looked at him.
He might not be too far wrong, damn him! His neck alone was remarkable.
On the other hand—gander saucing goose—his own inspection of Inos could not be described as desultory. At their first meeting she had looked like something washed up by a flood; now she was better prepared. She was not quite jotunn height, but taller than an imp. She wore no veil. Her lace mantilla did little to hide her honey-gold hair, which must seem as much a rarity to him as green eyes.
Show him! Even dressed in a tent, she thought she should be able to raise male blood pressure merely by fluttering her lashes. Thus.
Yes, his pupils dilated satisfactorily.
She wondered about her own pupils, and who had come out ahead. Evil take him! Barbarian!
Having expertly appraised her and allowed her a chance—however inadequate—to admire him, Azak bowed again. “Your Majesty is an honored guest in this, the humble house of my fathers. If anything at all is lacking to make your stay more enjoyable, your Majesty’s whims command the nation.” Without waiting for a reply, he bowed to Kade. “And your Royal Highness, also.”
Kade curtsied, while Inos struggled with her anger—and lost. Rashness won over caution. If this troll-size savage required his followers to suffer petrification just to soothe his bruised arrogance, then he obviously put a very high value on courage, and Inos was not going to be outdone in that, despite Rasha’s warnings. A brief sojourn as a statue might be a restful experience anyway.
“We are deeply honored by this opportunity to visit with—” She took a deep breath. “—our cousin of Arakkaran.”
Kade uttered a small cry of alarm, but nothing occult transpired. The royal courtesy had been too subtle for the curse to detect. Azak had noticed, though. His eyes widened, and something like a small smile flexed his beard.
With her heart still thumping madly, Inos pushed her luck a little farther. ”And we welcome the chance to view the beautiful kingdom of Arakkaran . . . blessed with so noble a ruler.”
This time even the mob of lackeys caught the circumlocution. Glances were exchanged, lips pursed. Azak beamed and bowed again, lower than ever.
“Your Majesty is most gracious!”
Her Majesty was quivering with terror at what might have happened, but was determined not to show it. “I trust that you have fully recovered from your ordeal, Cousin?”
Azak’s eyes glinted again, but he faked bewilderment. “Ordeal, Cousin?”
“Two days ago? When we first met, you seemed to be smitten quite severely for a while. An agonizing experience, I think?”
“Ah, yes!” He waved a large hand dismissively. “The slut sorceress seeks to break my will with mere physical pain. She should know by now that the effort is wasted.”
Inos displayed shock. “It has happened before?”
Azak shrugged, but his face was bright with pleasure at this opportunity to inform his followers about the incident. “Many times. Pain is nothing. She also inflicts plagues upon me: vermin or suppurating sores, disabilities in major organs. I have been struck blind, crippled . . . I expect she will learn in time that no prince of Arakkaran can be swayed from his duty by such trivia. ”
Uneasy expressions flitted over the faces of those princes of Arakkaran then present.
“But what can she hope to gain by such atrocities?” Inos exclaimed.
Another shrug. “Voluntary recognition of her ludicrous claim to an unmerited title. I will not submit if she chars my bones. But now, if there is nothing more that your Majesty requires at the moment . . .”
But there was! This futile little ceremony was all a fake, a game that Azak had accepted to suggest Inos was his guest and not Rasha’s. Inos had played along for him, so now it was his turn.
“Well . . .”
“Yes?” Azak stopped halfway into a bow.
“I am most eager to view some of this beautiful kingdom—” Just in time Inos stopped herself adding “of yours.” The narrowness of her escape took her breath away.
“Of course! A carriage and escort . . . some ladies of high station to accompany—”
She had already noted his high boots and drawn conclusions. “You are going riding, Cousin?”
Several hairy mouths behind him fell open in shock, and even Azak blinked. ”You ride?”
“I do. Is that surprising?”
“Peasant women ride donkeys, I suppose.”
“In the Impire ladies of the highest rank ride, many of them very well. And I could certainly use a little exercise right now.” Plus a long talk about sorcery and politics and running kingdoms and military campaigns and things.
Kade uttered a small moan. “I suppose if we do not actually—”
Inos turned to her and smiled sweetly. “No need for you to come with us, Aunt.”
“Inos! I . . .” Kade was shocked speechless.
“I am sure that I shall be perfectly safe in the company of . . . our cousin of Arakkaran. Is that not so, Cousin?” Azak’s hot eyes flickered from niece to aunt and back again. Inos hoped she was conveying challenge, not entreaty, but for the moment the sultan was obviously nonplussed.
“I shall be quite safe, Aunt. Surely you will not insult the . . . our royal cousin by implying otherwise?”
Kade stuttered, flushing.
Clearly Azak had other plans for his morning, but he was aware of his debt to Inos. He swallowed hard, the corners of his beard flexing cutely. “Of course I shall be delighted to escort your Majesty in person.” He was a terrible liar.
“Wonderful! Who else could better show a queen the kingdom?” Still Inos remained unpetrified—the curse was obtuse at detecting innuendoes. “If I may have about ten minutes to change? I hope that my riding garb has been cleaned . . .” She glanced around at Zana, who was quite boggle-eyed at the conversation, but who nodded in agreement. “Ten minutes, then?” Inos extended queenly fingers.
Azak shied backward as if she had stabbed him. For a moment his face showed something that Inos thought might be horror. She wondered what terrible offense against the customs of Zark could be represented by a lady offering her hand to be kissed. Then the huge young man jackknifed himself in another great bow.
He straightened with ill-concealed fury. “However long your Majesty requires . . . I am at your service always.”
Of course he was! Inos curtsied demurely, rewarded him with a last flutter of eyelashes, and departed in search of more suitable clothes without another glance at her aunt.
Ally-gathering was about to commence.