21 #4
Liege Roxalin, the one in the crimson robe, bounces from her seat and rushes forward—or she tries to, but she has to pick her way down a pile of her belongings before she can grab both of Vawn’s hands. Her fingernails are unusually long, ragged at the edges, and unadorned by glyphs.
“Your arrival is such a marvelous surprise,” she says in a faint, girlish voice, batting her frosty lashes. “We are delighted. Aren’t we, dearest?” She turns back to glance at her brother.
“Quite,” says Liege Remin, rising and descending from his seat. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.”
“Quite pleasant, apart from all the attempted assassinations and such,” Vawn says brightly. “Nothing like the imminent threat of death to make one appreciate the finer things of life.”
“Indeed. I think about that every day. Every single day.” Liege Roxalin pulls Vawn’s hands closer to her chest. “By Lune, you’re even prettier than I remembered. Isn’t he, Remin?”
“Quite,” replies Remin.
I don’t like the way they look Vawn up and down, from his long legs to his broad chest to his handsome face. Like a pair of predators assessing a meal.
“Fate has conspired to bring us together again,” says Roxalin, still clasping Vawn’s hands to her breast. “I always knew we would find a way to make this treaty work. It’s meant to be. It’s our destiny. The three of us. Lune smiles on those who wait patiently.”
I’m beginning to hate her babyish, trilling tones.
Her voice sounds like an affectation to me—a high, thin, girlish twitter, designed to allure a certain type of man.
I’m tempted to step forward and demand she release Vawn’s hands, but she doesn’t pose a threat to his life, so I have no real reason to do so.
“I am happy to provide you and your people with a place to settle,” Vawn says. “We saw the devastation that is occurring throughout your country. You have my deepest sympathies for your losses.”
“It’s dreadful, really,” says Liege Roxalin. “Whole forests and herds lost, not to mention the barrow-gardens and the temples. Some people say there’s a famine, but I don’t like that word. Our goddess Lune would never allow things to get so bad.” She shudders.
Her brother speaks up, his tone a frail breath, like frost on glass. “Your Highness will be happy to know that most of our army is still intact, since they are stationed near the border where the land is firm. We have the strength to help you reclaim your throne, if you help us.”
“And the tundra voles?” asks Vawn. “Will they come farther south? Could they eventually be a threat to Belavrin?”
“Our naturalists says they will not move southward,” Liege Remin replies. “They prefer the cold, and your lands are too temperate for their liking.”
“Enough political chatter,” interposes Roxalin. “You should rest, pretty prince, and then we shall have a feast.”
“A feast during a famine?” Vawn asks, with a tight smile.
“Just a little baby feast. A tiny one. Oh, don’t look so dismal, you beautiful man—it’s our way of welcoming you. Why shouldn’t we enjoy a fine meal on such a special occasion?”
“As long as we aren’t taking food from the mouths of your citizens’ children,” Vawn replies.
Roxalin’s eyes narrow briefly, but she only pats his face and says, “How good of you to think of the children. You really are the sweetest man there ever was—other than my dearest precious brother.” She reaches out and squeezes her brother’s shoulder, then releases a happy sigh.
“By Lune, I can’t wait to see the two of you together. ”
Remin’s bone-white cheeks flush faintly “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Roxalin.”
“Of course, of course. Nothing is decided yet.” She gives each of the men a wink and then flounces back to her throne. “Inaya, see them to their rooms.”
The Stewardess ushers us out of the throne room and along two more cramped hallways. “Your Highness’s suite is just down the hall, and your bodyguard’s room is here.”
She opens the door to a dark closet, more like a burrow than a bedroom.
The only clear space is the bed, an oasis in a sea of clutter.
There’s a low fire burning, but objects are piled so close to the hearth that the proximity terrifies me.
Sparks could catch on an old handkerchief or a discarded pillow, and the entire contents of the tiny room would be ablaze in a moment.
Vawn peers into the space, frowning. “My bodyguard will sleep in my room. I require her presence to feel safe.”
“Very well.” The Stewardess sounds relieved. “I’ll have that fire put out at once.”
Vawn’s suite is small and unkempt, but less suffocatingly full of objects, and there’s a long sofa which Inaya promises to have made up as a bed. I pretend not to notice the small white head and beady eyes of an ice-rat poking out of a sofa cushion.
“Get some rest if you can,” says the Stewardess. “Please ring the bell by the door if you need anything. If it’s in my power to give, I will provide it.”
“Thank you,” Vawn and I say in unison, and the Stewardess smiles a little as she steps out and closes the door.
I stand still, eyes wide, staring at Vawn. Without speaking, he takes out the flask and offers it to me again.
This time, I drink.