Negotiations

Eddinday, the 39th Day of Spring's Beginning, In the Year of Our Kings 990

Temmin blew an errant strand of blond hair from his face, then tried brushing it away with his shoulder. Horse hair stubbornly clung to his sweaty hands; Jebby had needed a good combing, and Temmin didn't like to leave it to anyone else. He finally gave up and pushed the lock out of his face with his fingers, leaving several coarse chestnut strands of Jebby's hair in among his own. Hadn't he just used a shedding blade two days ago on the beast? Where did all this hair come from? Oh well, it was spring, he thought.

They'd ridden hard that morning, and longer than usual in an attempt to clear his mind and calm his body. Temmin hadn't been back to the Lovers' Temple since his overnight visit ten days before, and Neya's Day was five days from now. He was nervous, frustrated, apprehensive, and very tired of having only his hand for company now that he knew what was out there waiting for him. He didn't know exactly what his role during the Spectacle would be, or even if he had one, and no one seemed to be in any hurry to tell him. All Ellika would talk about was the last ball of the season, the night before Neya's Day. Blah, blah, blah, dressmaker, blah, shoemaker, blah, thought Temmin sourly.

At least Sedra wasn't obsessed with clothes, though she was going to the ball as well; it was at the Keep, after all, she could hardly escape. But she was tense herself, even more withdrawn and quiet than usual since the unofficial announcement of her betrothal to Brinnid.

That king's arrival was some time between Neya's Day and Nerr's Day--a span of more than 40 days, but the Keep would be notified in time for a grand welcoming ceremony. More ceremony, grumbled Temmin to himself. He'd been to more ceremonies in the last three weeks than he had in the previous three years. Oh sure, some of them had been all right. He hadn't minded the balls that much. And he supposed his Temple presentation counted as a ceremony, and he hadn't minded that at all. Still. Knowing he was required to dress up and behave like some stuffed mannequin with the sign "Prince" hung round his neck made him crazy. Temmin huffed in disgust, and so did Jebby in uncomprehending sympathy.

The riding master came whistling into the stable, stopping abruptly when he saw the prince. "Oh, hullo, Cappel," said Temmin absently. "What's ado, anything?"

"Bit surprise't to see yer highness so late in t'day, if I may be so forwart," said Cappel in his clipped Far Isles accent.

"Jebby is shedding so, I could stuff a sofa cushion with what I get when I comb him. He could use a good grooming twice a day in the spring."

"Once I'm sure's enough, yer highness," chuckled Cappel. "I c'd have a groom finish t' beastie up fer you, it's gettin' late in t'mornin'."

"Oh," said Temmin, "I'm not in any hurry for my lessons today." He finished currying Jebby, put down the comb and picked up the flicking brush. Little puffs of dirt rose up as he worked over the horse's broad back. "Though I am getting fairly hungry," he added reflectively as his stomach let out a long gurgle. "There wouldn't happen to be anything lying about the stable that I could eat, would there?"

"D'you fancy hay, yer highness?" said Cappel. "For that's all t' eat here. Nay, go along now t'yer mother. We'll finish yer boy up, eh, Jeb?" he said, patting the chestnut's flank. He took the flicking brush from Temmin and shooed the prince out.

"Cappel," said Temmin, turning, "why did you leave the Far Isles?"

"Me?" said Cappel in surprise. "Why, I came wit' my dad, an' some horses for his majesty's grantfather, yer great-grantfather, King Warin, b'lieve he was Sevent', eh? Ridin' master offer't Dad a place, and nothin' to hold us to the Far Isles, so we stay't. Yer grantfather, King Temmin--he was the Fift', you'll be the Sixt', yer highness, eh?--he made me ridin' master in my time, and his majesty yer father kept me on." He eyed Temmin sideways. "Beggin' yer pardon, yer highness, why d'you want to know?"

Temmin shrugged. "I just need to learn more about Sairland and the Far Isles, I suppose."

"T' Far Isles, I still miss 'em, beautiful and green, and the horses, oh! But I'd never go back, no, never. No work, and t' Sairish lords, they own everythink and everyone. Though to see King Brinnid, t'will be a think for an old man like me, yer highness. Oh!" said the old man, realizing his slip, "I've said too much."

"No, it's all right," said Temmin, "I know word gets around. Just not outside the Keep, eh, Cappel? Thanks for taking care of my Jeb."

Once Temmin got back to the Keep, he was informed in the kitchens that he'd completely missed breakfast, terribly sorry, your highness, but that a tray could always be sent to his room with a little something, just send Jenks down for it whenever you'd like, your highness.

Jenks scolded him into the tub the minute Temmin walked into the study and didn't seem inclined to get him any breakfast at all. "You were due back nearly two hours ago, your highness! How am I going to get you washed and dressed and fed before your lessons begin!" He stomped out of the bedchamber.

"You are going to get me a little something, aren't you?" Temmin called hopefully from the tub.

"And what little something would that be?" said the Teacher just outside the bedchamber. "Your clothes, perhaps? Do say you mean your clothes."

"Gah!" shrieked Temmin, shrinking into the tub. "Stay out there! You're early!"

"No, in fact, you are quite late," said the Teacher. "This is the second time I've come round to start our lessons today, and I shall not be leaving this time for fear you'll slip out again. Wash and dress yourself quickly, please. I know Jenks isn't here, but you're a big boy now and I have every confidence in you."

"Oh, get stuffed," mumbled Temmin to himself as he quickly scrubbed down.

"I have excellent hearing, your highness," called the Teacher.

"I'm sure I'm sorry!" Temmin rinsed off, clambered out of the tub and hurriedly dressed, thankful for once that Jenks so carefully laid out his clothes for him. He raked his fingers through his wet hair, picking out a still-clinging strand of Jebby's, and walked into the study. "There! Oh, thanks so much, Jenks, I'm dying for coffee." He pounced on the tray Jenks had set on the window table and nearly swallowed his coffee, cup and all.

But he only managed to get half a loaf of bread, a beef steak and several tomatoes down before Teacher slapped the cover back on his breakfast. "Your studies, your highness. Now, don't make faces, luncheon will be soon enough. We have taken up only minor matters in the last week, and it's time to embark on a more thorough study. Is there anything in particular you wish to study, or shall I choose?"

"Depends," said Temmin, moving to the library table. "What would you choose?"

"I would think," said the Teacher, tapping a long finger on the globe, "that the Treaty of Ilhovin would be a good place to start."

"Oh gods, a treaty? Really? I can't think of anything more deadly dull!"

"What would you prefer, then?"

Temmin spun the globe himself until he came to Sairland. "I'd prefer to learn more about Sairland and the Far Isles. This Brinnid person is about to abscond with my sister, and I want to know what she's in for."

"Your lack of historical knowledge is an endless source of fascination, your highness. What did those alleged tutors teach you at Whithorse?" said the Teacher. "The Treaty of Ilhovin was the beginning of the great alliance between Sairland and Tremont, 364 years ago. And I promise there's nothing dull about it."

"Oh!" said Temmin, brightening. "That's all right, then! Which Ilhovin was the Peacemaker again? The Second?"

"Correct. His marriage to Princess Macca of Sairland and the Far Isles cemented the Treaty, and led to the only time in Tremontine history when a woman ruled the kingdom."

"Oh, now there you go again, no queen has ever ruled in Tremont," said Temmin, rolling his blue eyes.

"Indeed there was one. She is left out of the official succession of kings, but she ruled."

"And I suppose you were there."

The Teacher sighed. "Fetch your book, please." Temmin pulled out the book bound in Tremontine red leather and opened it.

"Once upon a time," said the Teacher in that hypnotic voice, "Sairland and Tremont had no alliance. Tremont saw Sairland as a competing sea power, though the fount of our culture; Sairland saw Tremont as a nation of rude, usurping barbarians."

As Temmin gazed at the book, the Teacher's words once again filled the empty pages, rapidly turning into pictures; a rolling sea appeared, and three ships built in the style of 4 centuries ago formed on the waves. Two were sleek and fierce-looking, bristling with oars and armaments and flying the plain, dark red flag of a Tremontine privateer; the third was lumbering, sparsely armed and slow, a single rank of mostly broken oars waving futilely above the water line. As Temmin watched, the graceless ship struck its colors--a black raven with six red stars beneath its wings against a white background, bracketed with dark green stripes on each side--and a cheer arose from the Tremontine ships, faint over the sound of the sea.

"Tremontine privateers, aiming primarily at Nijan merchantmen, indiscriminately raided Sairish merchant ships as well. There was no treaty, after all, which made them fair game. The Sairish responded in kind--" the scene shifted to a near-identical reversal. Three ferocious Sairish privateers flying dark green flags striped in black overwhelmed a clumsy, fat Tremontine merchantman. The merchantman's main mast was broken, Sairish sailors were pouring onto its decks, and the naval flag of Tremont--three golden triangles clustered in checkered formation in the upper right of a dark red field--was trod underfoot.

"And then Nija made its move against Sairland, pressing against their narrow mutual border and blockading the main port of Apecto." The scene shifted to show large ships with strange ribbed sails and low-slung hulls in formation around the wide Sairish harbor at Apecto, its outlying shipyards in flames. A little cutter tried to slip through the formation, and Temmin watched as it was riddled with arrows, finally sinking on a direct hit from a sort of slingshot affair on the biggest ship. "Sairland appealed to Tremont for assistance, and Gethin the Fourth sent the fleet to break the blockade. Nija had no wish to enter into warfare with Tremont, and the blockade was broken."

The Nijan ships faded away, and a great Tremontine fleet appeared in the calm waters of Apecto. Atop the grandest ship's highest mast flew the long gold pennant that signified the presence of royalty. "Gethin sent his only child and heir, Prince Ilhovin, to Sairland to negotiate a treaty." The perspective changed; Temmin felt as if he were swooping down onto the quarterdeck of the flagship. There stood a striking young man of about nineteen. He wasn't handsome in the typical way; he was of middling height, and wiry, his legs long and slender in black hose and pantaloons slashed to show a white silk lining. His nose was prominent and hawklike, his brows were thick, and his mouth was a long, thin-lipped slash. But its corners tipped up, not down, and his amber eyes were lit with a fierce, intelligent humor. His close-cropped hair was honey-colored beneath a flat black hat trimmed with a dark red cockade, and his full beard was short and silky.

The perspective changed again, soaring from the quarterdeck low over the waters of the harbor to the party standing at the harbor wall waiting for the prince. "Chief among the hopes of both Gethin of Tremont and Creithig of Sairland was that their children, Ilhovin and Macca, would marry." A young woman appeared, just a little apart from the crowd. She was tall, almost as tall as Ilhovin, and solidly but gracefully built. Her eyes were large, gray and serious in a rosy oval face, and her hair fell down her back in two long red-gold plaits. Were those freckles across her nose? Temmin thought they were. Her brows were arched and fair, and her carriage was proud but not haughty. Her dove gray dress was in the old Sairish style, the flat stomacher embroidered with pearls and gold thread. A dark green and gray plaid shawl as large as a blanket was tucked in the girdle at her waist and fell in graceful folds over her head and shoulders; a man next to her wearing a similar shawl over one shoulder must be the king, Temmin thought absently. Was she beautiful? Not next to Allis, or Emmae, but she was certainly arresting. Something about the set of her chin reminded him of Sedra.

"Macca was the youngest of two, and as there are no barriers to the rule of queens in Sairland, she was trained along with her older brother the prince to rule, just in case. She was under no obligation to accept Ilhovin's suit, as a Tremontine princess would be. And so Ilhovin found her--proud, independent, and suspicious of his wooing."

Temmin felt the room, his hunger and his body fade, and he was taken into the story fully.