The Floating Islands (30 page)

There were Tolounnese soldiers on the lower tower, though. They spotted Araenè and Prince Ceirfei right away, their attention drawn by the flying Quei. Then they clearly argued about who would have to go up that dangerous flight of floating stairs to deal with the startling appearance of the Islanders.

“There seems no reason for hurry,” commented Prince Ceirfei, assessing the general tenor of this argument. “In fact, well. Come here, Araenè. Look there. What do you think?”

The prince was standing on the very edge of the balcony. Araenè stood back a little farther and wished for a railing. But she saw at once what he meant. “They have the whole palace. There’s no fighting anywhere.” She glanced at Prince Ceirfei, worried. “You don’t think they
can
have taken the whole city?”

“They probably pressed to take the palace first,” the prince answered calmly. “If they meant to hold Canpra, that would have been important. I wonder if they realize yet that, now they’ve lost their mages and been cut off from all possible supply and reinforcement, they can’t hold the city for long, even if they take it? Or whether they understand how to let it go?”

“Your … uncle,” Araenè began, and hesitated.

“The king meant to take a position at the Five Towers. One of my cousins was to hold the University, the other to go down to the Deep Run.”

“And you …”

“I was meant to stay out of the way,” agreed Prince Ceirfei. “In case.” He didn’t say,
In case my uncle and both my cousins die.
He didn’t say,
They might be dead right now.
He didn’t have to.

Araenè stared downward. “They have bows.” At least three of the Tolounnese soldiers below had wicked-looking crossbows. “Maybe we shouldn’t stand here? That’s not too far to shoot, is it?”

“They are not shooting.”

This was true. One of the soldiers had his bow in his hands, but he didn’t have a bolt in place. The other two just had their bows hanging across their backs. Apparently they didn’t mean to just solve their dilemma by simply shooting the Islanders.

“I think …,” Prince Ceirfei said thoughtfully. “Direct action is indicated here.” He glanced at Araenè. “What do you think?”

He seemed to honestly care about her opinion. Araenè hesitated. “Trei is the only citizen of Tolounn I’ve ever met.…”

“True,” the prince agreed. “And your cousin is both direct and brave, which I have taken as a measure of Tolounnese character.” He studied her. “You, however, could go back to the hidden school. That might be best.”

Of course he would suggest that. Araenè said tartly, “If anybody will need a door suddenly open at his back, it will be you.”

“Well.” The prince’s mouth curved in an unwilling smile. “That’s true.” He glanced down. “Quick, then, before that poor man who lost the toss gets halfway up.”

There was indeed a soldier on the stair: only on the second stone from the bottom and already looking unhappy about it. Prince Ceirfei stepped out onto the first stair, then down to the second, and offered a hand back to Araenè. When she hesitated, he said a little sharply, “I’m kajurai. I can coax the winds to support me. Can you say the same? I’d offer the same assistance to a boy, I promise you.”

Araenè flushed and then laughed. She didn’t say,
That’s not why I don’t want to take your hand.
She only stepped out onto the first stair and … took the prince’s hand. His hand was much bigger than hers—broader and longer both, seeming too large for his body. He would grow into his hands, presumably. She wondered how old he was, but couldn’t remember. Older than she, obviously. Seventeen, eighteen? He held her hand in a firm, impersonal grip. Araenè could imagine Trei helping her like this. But holding Ceirfei’s hand was not at all like holding her cousin’s hand. She bit her lip.

The prince descended one step at a time, backward, with only the occasional casual glance over his shoulder to find the next stone. He made it look easy. The winds, still violent with their new freedom, pushed hard against Araenè. But Prince Ceirfei did not seem to feel the wind. He steadied Araenè against even the fiercest gusts.

There were forty-nine stairs between Quei Tower’s balcony and the lower tower where the soldiers waited. Araenè counted, and wondered what the significance of the number might be. Forty-nine divided by seven twice. Was that significant somehow? She wondered what Master Tnegun would tell her about that number if he’d been here. That made her wonder if he was all right, and then she tried hard to focus just on the next step and on Ceirfei’s hand supporting her.

Then they were down. The soldiers had drawn back to give them room. Ceirfei stepped down onto the roof of the tower and turned, drawing Araenè up beside him.

“Why, they’re boys!” exclaimed one of the men. “At least …” He gave Araenè a close look, seeing through her boys’ clothing to the truth as no Islander ever had. “One boy and a girl?” He started to smile; the others likewise.

“You will respect my companion,” Prince Ceirfei said in a cool, impersonal rebuke, and the smiles disappeared instantly. The prince glanced around at the soldiers thoughtfully, and the one who had opened his mouth to say something visibly changed his mind. To the man who’d started to climb up the stairs, Ceirfei added with a slight, gracious nod, “There was no need for us to put you to the trouble. But you owe Lady Araenè your thanks; she might have fallen.”

Araenè tried not to blink at her sudden elevation.

The soldier
did
blink. Then he turned to Araenè and said, sincerely, “I do thank you, Lady! I did not look forward to that climb! Forgive us if we offended you.”

Araenè didn’t have any idea what she ought to say. She returned the nod, trying to match Ceirfei’s cool manner.

“Well,” said another man, evidently the senior, “but is there anyone else up there?”

“I give you my personal word,” the prince answered, “that there is not.”

“Your personal word, is it?” said the man. Not exactly skeptically. He studied Ceirfei. “Kajurai, are you?”

“Recently, yes,” Ceirfei said, and paused for effect. He
really
did that well, Araenè thought: not a man on the tower was looking anywhere but at him; if she’d pulled a door into place right behind them all, they would never have noticed. It was reassuring just to think she
could.

“I am Ceirfei Feneirè. My mother is Calaspara Naterensei. Terinai Naterensei is my uncle. I wish to speak to whatever officer commands here, if you please. I am confident,” the prince added softly as the soldiers all stared at him, “that he will wish to speak to me.”

It was really remarkable, Araenè thought, how respectful the soldiers were after that. They had been respectful before. But it was different after Ceirfei told them who he was. Ceirfei said, “Your commander is in the king’s apartment?” and effortlessly took the lead, encountering not the slightest protest from the soldiers. He could not have looked less like a prisoner. Araenè stayed close by his side and hoped she looked half as confident.

They seemed to go a long way. At last a man—an officer, Araenè guessed—came out of a room and frowned at them, and they halted. The soldiers escorting them murmured to the officer, whose eyes widened. He looked closely at Ceirfei. “A kajurai?”

“That also,” Ceirfei acknowledged.

“I see. And this … young woman?”

“Lady Araenè Naseida will accompany me,” Ceirfei said, in a tone that implied there was nothing extraordinary about this.

Araenè tried to look confident and important and noble, the way Ceirfei did just by nature. She felt horribly uncomfortable, in boys’ dress but with everyone addressing her as a girl. A lady. Maybe the soldiers would think she’d dressed as a boy because of the war. That would even make sense.

“Of course,” the officer said now, making no protest at all. “The general will want to see you, Lord Prince. If I may ask you to wait here for only a moment?” He went back into the room. It was indeed merely a moment before he came back out and held the door for Ceirfei.

Ceirfei graciously inclined his head and offered his hand to Araenè. She was shy of taking it here, in front of everyone, but she stepped up beside him. They went through the door.

The rooms were large, open, and richly appointed and looked out over the city from three huge windows. A large table took up most of the space to one side; a map was unrolled across its surface, held in place by pewter mugs and sheathed daggers. The rest of the room was occupied by a dozen men, all but one of them armed. The man who drew the eye was the one who was not armed: a heavyset man with broad shoulders, a homely, rugged face, and a grim expression. He stood behind an empty chair, his hands resting on its back.

Ceirfei stopped before this man. For a moment they regarded each other in silence. Though Ceirfei looked, in one sense, very young and slight measured against the powerful Tolounnese commander, in another sense he did not look slight at all.

The Tolounnese commander said, “Prince Ceirfei Feneirè. I am Parron enna Rouharr, commander of all Tolounnese forces remaining on Milendri.”

Ceirfei inclined his head courteously. “General Rouharr. I am familiar with your reputation. I am pleased to find you well. I will ask you whether you have recent word of my uncle. Or of my cousins—Prince Imrei? Prince Safei?”

General Rouharr said steadily, “I have no recent word of either the king of the Floating Islands or of Prince Imrei. Your other cousin … I regret to inform you that I believe your cousin Prince Safei may have been wounded in the … conflict. I had just been discussing with my men my, ah. My
strong
desire to speak to your uncle. However, I did not know where to send a man of mine to find him, nor has he sent me a representative.”

“I see.” Ceirfei stood in silence for a moment. Then he observed, “General Rouharr, I believe you find yourself in an unusual situation.”

There was a little stir around the room. The general held up a hand, and it stilled. He was smiling, but grimly. “Prince Ceirfei, I concede that the situation in which I find myself is indeed unusual. Seldom do the short-term and long-term prospects of a … conflict … seem more disparate.”

“Just so.” Ceirfei studied the Tolounnese general for a moment longer. Then he said formally, “General Rouharr, I am prepared to offer terms for your surrender.”

For a long moment, no one moved or spoke. Then the general replied, “Prince Ceirfei, I am prepared to hear your terms.”

“No!” one of the other men cried. He was a younger man than the general, taller—very distinguished in manner, but clearly furious. “Parron, do you not see what has walked into our hands and offered himself as a hostage to our need? Only send any man anywhere in the city with
this
news, and we may guarantee terms from Terinai Naterensei! Far better terms than
surrender
! We need not hold out longer than—”

Araenè found herself in a towering rage against this man. Against all the Tolounnese, who came here for
no reason
and smashed up Milendri and invaded Canpra, and
killed
people, and then said things about
taking hostages.
She shut her eyes and thought hard about doors: ebony doors with carved dragons, the sort of friendly, cooperative door that might open to … open to … She opened her eyes, reached out with both hands. The room seemed filled with the overwhelming fragrance of nutmeg and cardamom. The urgent green taste of cilantro filled her mouth and tingled across her palms.

She
did something.

Before her, the dark bulk of the Akhan Bhotounn loomed suddenly in the room. It was open to a wide and spinning sky—spinning because the “friendly door” was neither level nor set solidly in place: it stood high up on one corner and swung ponderously but smoothly through a wide arc. It did not seem to swing quickly, but no one had time to move. It engulfed the young man who had threatened to take Ceirfei hostage. He fell into the empty wind with a sharp cry. The ebony door slammed shut behind him and twirled smoothly into the air: gone.

There was a stunned pause while everyone except Ceirfei stared at Araenè. She flushed, crossed her arms over her chest, and glowered back at them all.

Ceirfei looked thoughtfully at General Rouharr and lifted one eyebrow. “Well,” he said, breaking the silence, “I
thought
I knew your reputation. Perhaps I was mistaken, if you would take hostage a royal emissary of the Islands after he put himself freely into your hands.”

The general dropped his eyes. “Prince Ceirfei …” His voice trailed off, and he lifted his gaze once more to meet Ceirfei’s cool stare. “Prince Ceirfei, as you did not, prior to your arrival, find it convenient to arrange the safe conduct customary for an emissary, permit me to offer it to you now. Also, of course, to your companion, the lady mage Araenè Naseida.”

Ceirfei inclined his head graciously. “One would expect no less of Tolounnese honor.” He did not glance at the spot where the other man had stood. No one looked that way.

“So,” said General Rouharr. He hesitated fractionally, then said, “As I believe I was saying, I am willing to hear your terms, Prince Ceirfei.”

Ceirfei said, “I cannot speak directly for my uncle. However, if you put yourself and your men into my hands, I swear he will respect my claim.”

This time, no one argued that they should instead take the prince hostage.

The general said to Ceirfei, “Let us be uncomplicated. I will surrender myself and all my men to your authority. The lives of all my men will be spared, and they will be treated honorably, as befits honorable men defeated through no fault of their own. They will be returned to Tolounn for a reasonable ransom as soon as the exchange can be arranged.” He stopped. Waited.

Ceirfei nodded. “Acceptable, in principle. Who defines ‘honorable treatment’? Who defines ‘reasonable ransom’?”

“You, as the victor, define both terms. I will trust you, under the circumstances, to define them with fitting generosity. I will ask you to agree plainly that I may so trust, Prince Ceirfei.”

Ceirfei nodded again. “You may: I assure you. I notice that you do not include yourself in these terms, General Rouharr. Is this the Tolounnese custom?”