Hell's Gate

Chapter Thirty-Six

Music drifted across the pier from a surprisingly large band, as the Ternathian imperial anthem floated to their ears in an appropriate salute to the arriving delegation. The imperial sunburst crackled from every mast as the longshoremen ran out the boarding gangway which would allow them to disembark, and Andrin's father lifted his arm from her shoulder, then offered her the crook of his elbow, instead.

"My dear, shall we greet Tajvana?"

She gave him a brave smile and nodded, placing her gloved hand on his coat sleeve with careful precision. Lady Merissa removed Andrin's bonnet, so that her dark hair, with its strands of gold, shone in the elaborate hairstyle she'd worked so hard to perfect. Jewel-headed pins and clasps flashed in the afternoon sunlight, like a crown of living fire, and Andrin thanked her softly. Then the grand princess lifted her other arm, crooking her arm and raising her glittering white gauntlet so that Finena rode at the level of her breast as she walked at the Emperor's side.

When they reached the gangway, Andrin released her father's arm to manage her skirts, concentrating carefully on the placement of her feet. The last thing she wanted to do was to trip and fall flat on her face in front of Tajvana's waiting dignitaries. She made it safely to the quay, shook out her heavy skirts, and placed her hand back on her father's waiting arm with a serene smile that belied the tremors in her knees.

The band was swirling and skirling its way through the fourth verse of the imperial anthem as she and her father stepped onto a long, purple carpet that ran from the side of their ship to the center of the quay, where an immense crowd waited. A veritable sea of faces peered toward them, leaving Andrin's fingers damp inside her formal gloves. When they'd crossed the carpet, they came to a halt before a semicircle of elegantly attired dignitaries. One of them, a short broad man in the elaborate robes of the Order of Bergahl, was obviously the Seneschal of Othmaliz himself.

Andrin gazed at him thoughtfully as Finena shifted on her gauntleted wrist. The falcon opened her beak but didn't?quite?hiss, which surprised Andrin, given what she could could sense of her companion's emotions. It was obvious Finena didn't much like him, but Andrin hoped the bird's agitation would be put down to the crowd about them, and not to her reaction to the Seneschal. It would never do to begin their visit here by insulting Othmaliz's ruler, yet, Finena's reaction left Andrin wondering just what it was about the man the falcon disliked.

She knew the history of the Order of Bergahl, although not in the sort of detail she suddenly wished she could command. Bergahl had been the patron deity of Tajvana before Ternathia had arrived. He was a war god, and a god of judgment, whose followers had been pledged to the militant pursuit of justice. The Empire, with its long history of religious toleration, had accepted the religious beliefs of its new capital's people, although the emperors had insisted that civil law was now the business of the imperial justicars, and not Bergahl's priesthood. The Empire had made no objection to the Order retaining its position as the administrator of religious law, however, and with Ternathia's withdrawal from Tajvana, it had gradually reemerged as the dominant force in secular matters, as well. That was really all she could recall, although she also seemed to remember reading somewhere that the Order had been none too scrupulous about how it went about regaining its previous power in the wake of the Empire's withdrawal.

A functionary standing in front of the Seneschal bowed low and greeted them in fluent Ternathian.

"His Crowned Eminence, the Seneschal of Othmaliz, bids greeting to the Emperor of Ternathia and the Grand Princess Andrin. Be graciously welcome in this city. It has been many fine centuries since Ternathia last stood upon its shores."

Her father's arm turned to stone under Andrin's hand, and she heard someone gasp behind them. She didn't know why that phrase had drawn such a violent reaction, but it was quite obvious her father had just been profoundly insulted, and it had to have something to do with that last sentence. After all, this wasn't the first time the Emperor had visited Tajvana, and everyone knew it. For that matter, Ternathia had withdrawn from Othmaliz less than three hundred years ago, which scarcely qualified as "many fine centuries." So why include the phrase in a formal greeting? What sort of point or message could the man be trying to deliver?

She didn't have any idea, but she didn't have to understand the insult to realize one had just been offered. Rather than go hot, her cheeks drained white, and her eyes went cold as gray ice as she stared through the Seneschal as though he didn't exist. Neither she nor her father spoke, and an uneasy stir ran through the crowd behind the Seneschal. Even the functionary, who was doubtless repeating verbatim a speech he'd been carefully instructed to deliver, seemed to realize his Seneschal had blundered gravely, and his face did darken … with embarrassment, not anger.

Shamir Taje stepped in front of Andrin and her father and cast a scathing glance at the stammering official. The functionary's face blazed red as he tried to hold the First Councilor's gaze. He wasn't very successful.

"You're greeting is received in the spirit in which it was given. Please tell your Seneschal," Taje's words could have been shards of ice, and the title came out as very nearly an insult, "that His Imperial Majesty, Zindel chan Calirath, Emperor of Ternathia and Warlord of the West, requires immediate conveyance to quarters appropriate to his rank and station.

Taje's icy tone made it clear that he seriously doubted the Seneschal was capable of producing either. Even the Seneschal flushed. But then he lumbered forward, a ponderous man in jeweled robes that made him look like a decorated egg.

"A thousand pardons for my herald's clumsy greeting! You are warmly welcome, of course, to the city of your ancestors. Please, my own carriage is waiting to take you and your lovely daughter to the Great Palace. Suitable chambers have been made ready for you there."

Andrin bristled silently. She was no more a "lovely" daughter than the Seneschal was a polite host; but she gave him a chilly smile and a gracious nod, answering his offer as her mother would have, had Empress Varena been there.

"Your hospitality will, I'm sure, be admirably suited to our needs," she said in flawless Shurkhali, the official language of Othmaliz.

The Seneschal's eyes widened. Then his gaze was drawn almost hypnotically to Finena, and those same eyes nearly popped. His Adam's apple bobbed with alarm under his ornate, jeweled collar, and Andrin's smile widened as she realized he was afraid of her bird! She found that thought quite comforting and hoped the Seneschal's carriage was a deliciously cozy affair that would allow him an up-close look at the falcon during the whole drive from quayside to palace.

"May I present Finena," she said sweetly, still speaking in fluent Shurkhali. "She's a Ternathian imperial peregrine falcon and my devoted and constant companion."

The Seneschal gave her a weak smile.

"Such a handsome and unusual creature, my dear Grand Princess." It was obvious the man would avoid Andrin's company with all the religious fervor of his holy office. "Ahem. My carriage is this way."

He gestured elaborately, and Andrin inclined her head graciously. As she did, she caught her father's eye and realized it was twinkling wickedly, which made it a bit difficult for her to maintain her own decorous solemnity as they set out side by side. They had to run a gauntlet of Othmalizi dignitaries, and Andrin did her best to memorize as many as possible of the names and faces. Any she forgot, Lady Merissa would be sure to remember. One of Merissa's most useful talents?it very nearly qualified as a Talent?was an eidetic memory. Lady Merissa never forgot anything. It made her utterly priceless as a protocol instructor for a grand princess of the blood. Tiresome at times, but priceless.

Beyond the dignitaries waited a sea of common folk, including a double line of reporters?dispatched to Tajvana from every nation on Sharona, judging by their attire. Andrin's eyes were dazzled by flash powder long before they reached the Seneschal's ornate carriage, which proved to be an antique closed coach, literally dripping with gold.

"Still using the Ternathian Imperial coach, I see," someone muttered behind Andrin's shoulder. "You'd think he could have ponied up the money for his own carriage, at least. He's wearing enough cash to buy several carriages."

Andrin's lips twitched as she recognized the voice of the Earl of Ilforth. In that moment, she very nearly adored the pompous ass. Only Mancy Fornath would have been so crass as to comment on the Seneschal's carriage, but his observation gave her another insight into their host … and not a flattering one.

The Seneschal started to offer Andrin his hand to assist her into the carriage, but this time Finena did hiss. He jerked his hand back with unceremonious speed, and Andrin bit her tongue, composing her expression as she allowed her father to hand her up the step into the ornate carriage, instead.

The conveyance certainly smelled as if it were several centuries old, she thought tartly. The leather seats, while ornately tooled, should have been replaced at least a century ago with something less … musty. She was intensely grateful for her cloak, and she was very careful to make sure it lay between her brocaded skirts and the odiferous, ancient leather.

Another calculated insult? she wondered. Or simply a host unwilling to spend his own money on fancy coaches when the imperial "leavings" were still serviceable? The coach certainly looked grand from the outside, and given the outrageous expense of the garments he wore, he clearly believed he deserved the grandeur he aped, regardless of whose grandeur it had originally been. Or how musty it had grown since they'd abandoned it.

Her father sat beside her, and the Seneschal took the seat opposite theirs. Other carriages conveyed the rest of their delegation, falling into line behind the one-time Ternathian imperial carriage as they set out with a jolt through the streets of Tajvana. Her father began to chat easily with the Seneschal, discussing the sights they passed. Andrin listened with half an ear, but it was the sights themselves which absorbed the lion's share of her interest.

Tajvana, unlike its Seneschal, was more than worthy of that absorbed interest. The main avenues were broad, paved with stone and lined with palm trees. Narrow gardens ran down the center of each avenue, dividing the lanes of traffic, which had apparently been rerouted to make way for the official procession, and spectators lined the streets. They were probably there to gawk at the arriving Emperor of Ternathia, Andrin thought … and that was when she received the biggest shock of the day.

Roars of welcome greeted them along every city block for miles. Children waved ribbons in the green and gold of the Ternathian imperial flag. Women threw armfuls of flowers. The city's wildly enthusiastic greeting overwhelmed Andrin, who hadn't expected anything like this outpouring of visible joy. The Seneschal remained silent, apparently unaware of the tumult, but his eyes were hooded and dark as he watched his own people greet a foreigner, an Emperor whose family had ruled the Seneschal's homeland for thousands of years.

Andrin could almost feel sorry for him.

So many people were waving in such wild delight that she found herself waving back. It was a purely spontaneous response, and she was astounded when her simple gesture caused grown women to burst into tears and toss still more flowers her way. Uniformed police, many of them mounted, were very much in evidence, apparently to keep the crowd's enthusiasm from spilling over into a headlong rush toward the carriage. As she watched, however, she noticed that not quite everyone along the route was openly delighted. Here and there she saw young men of military age whose glances were hostile and suspicious. She saw older men whose eyes were cold, without the fire of youth, but equally suspicious. She even saw a few people carrying signs whose words she couldn't read, since other people in the crowd invariably snatched them out of the air almost before their owners could unfurl them.

She glanced at her father, whose keen gaze had also noticed those scattered signs of protest, and decided her best course would be to emulate him. He, too, was waving graciously to the crowd through the other window of the ancient carriage. She followed his example, continuing her own greetings, although the first thrill of the moment had faded into a more sober consideration of the deep currents running through Tajvana's society. She wanted very much to find someplace private to discuss the situation with her father and Shamir Taje. Andrin hoped the anti-Ternathian sentiments were a distinct minority, but her eerie vision of the Great Palace in flames drew a shiver down her back.

Surely no one would be insane enough to burn down a palace full of innocent people?

The child in her hoped not; the budding imperial heiress, who was beginning to understand that anything was possible when politics came into play, wasn't so sure. She was abruptly glad that her personal guardsmen?and her father's?rode in the carriage directly behind theirs, less than twenty feet away, and that the entire security retinue would be housed in the same Palace wing they were. She wasn't accustomed to thinking that way, but she had a sudden depressing vision of spending the rest of her life taking such dark factors as the very real necessity for full-time security into consideration.

Davir Perthis stood at the window on the seventeenth floor of the Mahkris Shipping Corporation Building and watched the procession winding its way through the streets of Tajvana. He'd been in this building, at this window, for the arrival of every delegation to the impending Conclave. He'd watched all of them rolling down the city's avenues towards the Grand Palace. Some had been greeted by curious crowds. One or two?like Emperor Chava's Uromathian delegation?had been greeted with near-silent, cold-eyed suspicion. None of them had been greeted by anything like the roaring sea of people who had turned out to welcome Emperor Zindel back to his family's ancient capital.

Perthis smiled, just a bit smugly, at the thought. He never doubted that thousands would have crowded the sidewalks no matter what he or SUNN had done. But he did doubt very much that as many thousands would have been there, or that the welcome would have been quite so frenzied.

His smile faded. Whether or not he achieved his goal remained to be seen … as did the interesting question of whether or not he'd still have a job when it was all over. No matter how Perthis looked at it, his last few weeks of effort were a clear violation of both SUNN's internal code of conduct and its official editorial policy against taking sides on political issues. Jali Kavilkan had never specifically said so, yet Perthis strongly suspected that the executive manager knew exactly what he was up to. That probably made Kavilkan's silence either a good thing or a very, very bad thing, but whatever happened to his career, Perthis had no regrets.

His smile was a distant memory now, as he allowed the horrific images of Shaylar Nargra-Kolmayr's final Voice transmission to play through a corner of his mind. He'd convinced Kavilkan to transmit those images raw, without the normal process of editing out the emotions and surface thoughts of the originating Voice. Kavilkan had wavered back and forth for an hour or two, well aware of just how horrible that transmission would be. In the end, he'd shown the moral courage to authorize it anyway. Not because of its titillation value?although SUNN was no more immune to the need to maintain high viewership than anyone else?but because it was important for Sharona's people to know what had really happened out there. Not to be fed some sanitized version, but to experience the terror and the anguish?and the raw, blazing courage?of Shaylar Nargra-Kolmayr.

And so, every SUNN Voicenet subscriber, which meant effectively every Sharonian with even a scrap of telepathic Talent, didn't just know what had happened. They'd been there. They knew, with absolute fidelity, exactly what Sharona faced. And they knew exactly who had fired first. Who had shot down an unarmed man, holding out his empty hands in an effort to open some sort of dialogue.

The print accounts had pulled no punches, either, and Perthis was privately prepared to admit that the print journalists as a group had actually done a better job of analysis. But the sheer, raw, punch-in-the-gut impact of the Voicecast transmissions were what had truly awakened the white-hot fury sweeping across the entire explored multiverse.

And it was also the Voicecasts which had first emphasized the need for a planet-wide government to meet the emergency. Not some temporary lash-up designed to deal with the immediate crisis. Not even some international military alliance to coordinate the forces of existing nation states. No. What Sharona needed?required?was a functioning government. One which could give orders to anyone's military in its own name. One with no need to debate strategies and accept limitations because it was forced to cajole its "allies" into cooperating with it. One with the force of law behind its decisions. One which could speak for all Sharonians … and which could wage deadly war in their name.

Whether or not Kavilkan had recognized what Perthis was up to, Tarlin Bolsh certainly had. The international news division chief had chosen his "talking heads" well, and he'd shaped his entire division's editorial policy to point subtly in the direction Perthis wanted to go. For example, the guest lists for all of the various Voicenet discussion shows his division produced had seemed to somehow feature distinguished statesmen and foreign-policy experts who all just happened to have very favorable views of the Ternathian Empire and its current Emperor.

Bolsh's people had also produced both a series of print articles and a Voice documentary on Tajvana's millennia-long history. They'd made the direct link between the scope of the present crisis and the innumerable crises which had already been met, coped with, and?for the most part?hammered into submission here in Tajvana. And in the process?quite accidentally, of course?they had pointed out exactly which dynasty had done the hammering.

The documentary had been a superlative historical survey. It had also been scrupulously accurate, which had only made it even more effective for Perthis' purposes. By now, everyone in Tajvana had either viewed the Voicecast version, or read the print version, and been reminded of their city's glory days under the Caliraths.

Inevitably, there'd been some backlash. Much of it, Perthis admitted, was completely justifiable. Tajvana?and Othmaliz?were independent once more. They had better than two hundred years of independence and achievements in their own names of which to be proud. The thought of being once more submerged into someone else's massive embrace, losing that regained individuality as part of some vast, corporate whole, wasn't going to find a ringing welcome in every heart.

But against that stood the Calirath reputation for honor and responsibility. For the administration of impartial justice, and for fairness. And Perthis had been quietly astonished by how many Tajvanis?and how many people of other nations?had turned in their moment of greatest fear and uncertainty not to their own governments, but to the Calirath legend. The life of Emperor Halian had been recalled from the dusty archives, and with it the memory of of his death, personally leading his army in the defense not of his own people, or his own Empire, but of their Bolakini allies. He and his army had been hideously outnumbered, but they had been all that stood between a Bolakini city and the barbarian horde which had slaughtered its way across half of Ricathia.

The Ternathian Navy had been waiting, just offshore, prepared to whisk Halian and his troops safely out of the path of destruction. And Halian had refused.

Refused not simply to withdraw his army, but to have himself taken to safety. And so three quarters of his army had died, and him with it … but the walls of that Bolakini city still stood today, and the statue of the dead Emperor lay before the Halian Gate, exactly where his hideously hacked and hewn body had been found on the field of battle, surrounded by every member of his Imperial Guard.

Halian was not the only Calirath who'd made a similar decision. Oh, there'd been the occasional Calirath coward, even the occasional Calirath treacher or tyrant. At least one Emperor had clearly been insane, and there were persistent (unproven) rumors that he'd eventually been assassinated by his own bodyguards. But there'd been remarkably few of those over the endless, dusty centuries of the dynasty, and people had remembered that, too. Two hundred and thirty years of freely granted independence had not been long enough to erase the memory of millennia of just government and protection, and the groundswell not just here in Tajvana, but all across Sharona, was building steadily, exactly as Perthis had hoped.

No doubt that explained why the Seneschal had made such an unmitigated ass out of himself, Perthis thought with a wry grin. He'd never thought much of the Seneschal at the best of times, and the man's current conduct had knocked any respect Perthis might have had for him right on the head. Obviously, he was terrified by the notion that the Caliraths might, indeed, return to Tajvana?and not, Perthis suspected, simply because of the power and authority he would lose if they did. There'd been rumors for quite some time of serious abuses of office on the current Seneschal's part. Most probably, those rumors represented only the tip of the reality's iceberg, and the Seneschal must be sweating bullets at the thought of what an impartial investigation of his conduct as the Othmalizi head of state might reveal.

It was hard to think of anything the Seneschal could have done to improve his case, but the course he'd adopted had done exactly the reverse. Perthis had heard about the odd greeting the Seneschal's herald had produced … and Taje's response to it. He had no idea what that had all been about, but he fully intended to find out.

What mattered at the moment, however, was that everyone knew that whether they'd understood the subtext or not, the Seneschal had offered some deep and personal insult to the Emperor of Ternathia upon his arrival. Zindel's response to that insult (or, perhaps, his lack of response) had only underscored the pettiness and stupidity of the man who'd offered it. And, Perthis grin turned into a broad smile, Grand Princess Andrin's response?like her falcon's?had been magnificent.

Perthis had never seen the grand princess with his own eyes before. In fact, he'd discovered that there was remarkably little press coverage of Andrin or either of her younger sisters. All he'd really known about her was that she was about seventeen years old, tall, reputed to be both quiet and intelligent, and that she had already demonstrated that she possessed the Calirath Talent.

He hadn't been prepared for the perfectly poised, elegantly groomed, ice-eyed young woman who had inspected the rotund, squat, undeniably oily Seneschal as if he were some particularly loathsome slug she'd discovered on the sole of her sandal. She'd been perfect?perfect?standing there like a tall, slender statue of ivory flame, crowned in the fiery sun-glitter of her jeweled hair, and the Seneschal's obvious terror of her falcon had only made it better. Her father had made the Seneschal look petty; she'd made him look ridiculous, and that was far, far more deadly.

Perthis raised one hand in salute to the raven-haired young woman waving from the window of the hideously overdone, antique carriage rolling past below him. He hadn't counted on her, but he'd already set his research staff to work on her. She might just prove almost as effective for his purposes as her father.

Not, Perthis' smile vanished, that she was likely to thank him for it once she realized what he'd actually done to her and her family.

The approach to the Great Palace was lined with cheering crowds all the way to the ornate palace gates, which were guarded by men in Othmalizi uniform. They carried the same Model 10 as the Ternathian Army, something Andrin was proud of herself for recognizing. Her father had not allowed her to skip that portion of her education, just because she wouldn't be serving in Ternathia's armed forces.

The officers in charge of the guard details saluted sharply as the Seneschal's carriage passed through the gates, and their men presented arms crisply, but there was a taut professionalism under that military theater. Their eyes were sharp and intense, obviously screening the passengers in each of the carriages behind them in the long procession, as well. Andrin found that rather reassuring as she thought of the protesters she'd seen along the way.

The palace's drive ran down a short avenue of palm trees, then ended in a circular space before the glittering building's ornate main doors. Those doors, Andrin knew, were panels of solid, burnished silver, more than twice her father's impressive height. Her study of the Grand Palace's history had already told her that, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of their mirror-bright magnificence, and she swallowed a silent gasp of amazed delight as she finally beheld them with her own eyes.

If the Emperor was particularly impressed by the sight, he gave no sign of it. He simply exited the carriage first and handed her down. Then he stepped courteously aside for the Seneschal, and waited for their host to precede them across the stone-paved drive to the main steps. Those steps were of polished white marble, lined by liveried servants who bowed or curtsied nearly to the ground as they passed.

The enormous doors swung open as they approached. Each panel was a bas relief masterwork, illustrating key scenes of Ternathian history that Andrin recognized at a glance. She lifted the hem of her skirts as she stepped across the raised threshold?a curious architectural feature she'd never seen before?then paused as a servant bowed low and slipped her cloak from her shoulders. Other servants were taking the coats and cloaks of other members of their delegation, which followed discreetly behind, and Andrin stepped forward once again. Her footsteps clicked on the marble floors, and she managed to keep her lips closed against a powerful urge to gape.

It wasn't easy. The Great Palace put Hawkwing to shame.

Andrin had never witnessed such opulence in her life. The huge entry hall alone was stunning, a glittering marble room filled with the finest art treasures of Sharona. She'd seen illustrations of at least half the marble and bronze statues they passed along the way in textbooks on art history and the masterworks of antiquity, but she didn't have time to admire them the way she wanted to. There was too much to do, and too many people to see, and she forced her attention back to the task at hand.

Othmalizi courtiers bowed low as they passed. Great ladies in gowns as elaborate as Andrin's curtsied, graceful as flowers and jeweled more splendidly than most reigning kings and queens. It was a daunting experience for any seventeen-year-old, but Andrin refuse to let anyone see that. And it helped enormously, she discovered, that?due entirely to Lady Merissa's efforts?she could rest secure in the knowledge that her own attire at least matched that of the court ladies, while Finena's silver feathers shone as brightly as any jewels in the sunlight streaming through tall windows and skylights.

And my great-grandmothers lived in these rooms, she found herself thinking again and again as they passed from one stunning chamber to another. She quickly lost track of the rooms they'd crossed, a seemingly endless maze of corridors and vast, echoing chambers. It seemed to go on forever, but they finally ended their journey at last in what was clearly an audience hall. One which was filled at the moment with a glittering array of people whose widely varying skin and hair color?not to mention their garments?proclaimed them to be official delegates to the pending Conclave.

Andrin stiffened internally at the sight and scalding anger flared through her. Their host had brought them straight from the docks to an official function, without even offering them the chance to rest or wash the salt from their skin, or even the slightest warning that this reception awaited them.

Another calculated insult? Or just gross insensitivity?

Then another thought flickered through her anger. Had these people already been assembled here for some other event? Or had everybody come to this room specifically to greet her father's arrival? She didn't know of any discreet way to find out, and there was little time to think about it as a waiting functionary called out their names in a piercing voice.

"His Crowned Eminence, the Seneschal of Othmaliz! His Imperial Majesty, Zindel chan Calirath, Emperor of Ternathia! Her Imperial Highness, Grand Princess Andrin of Ternathia!"

Polite applause greeted them, and Andrin gave the assembled crowd a brief, decorous courtesy, carefully balancing Finena on her arm. Her father gave an equally brief bow, and a ripple of conversation ran through the room, much of it focused on the falcon riding her arm. And then the inevitable round of introductions and greetings began.

The first face Andrin saw belonged to a Uromathian prince, several years her senior. The young man's almond eyes had gone wide with stunned envy and shock when he saw that Finena wore neither hood nor jesses. Another Uromathian prince standing beside him was gasping something to his older companion, but she wasn't close enough?or sufficiently fluent and Uromathian, yet?to catch what he was saying.

Unlike Finena, the falcons both princes carried wore jeweled and tasseled hoods. Strong leather jesses bound each bird's taloned feet to its owner's gloved wrist, and Andrin flicked a cool glance across the bound birds and inclined her head to the princes as she swept past on her father's arm. Another Uromathian prince farther down the line caught her glance and startled her by grinning and sweeping an ornate bow to her, balancing his own falcon carefully on one wrist. He was not a handsome young man, but his eyes sparkled with open delight as he took in the stunned gazes of his fellow Uromathians.

Andrin committed his face to memory, determined to find out who he was, where he came from, and why he was so pleased by his peers' dismay. If she asked Lady Merissa?and she fully intended to do so?her protocol instructor would doubtless have his name, rank, family pedigree, and net worth to the last decimal place by the time they sat down to supper tonight.

But first they had to endure an endless receiving line. It was rapidly apparent that at least two thirds of the delegations had already arrived, and each member of every single delegation was waiting with bated breath to meet the Emperor of Ternathia and his overly tall daughter. And she was overly tall, she thought glumly. In fact, she towered over most of the men and all the ladies, until the Farnalian delegation reached them, at which point she wanted to throw her arms around the Dowager Empress of Farnalia with a gasp of pure thanks for standing taller than she did. The elegant, silver-haired Dowager Empress flashed a conspiratorial smile as Andrin greeted her formally, then dropped a wink that cheered the girl immensely.

"You probably don't remember me, my dear," the Empress said, her voice quiet but surprisingly deep with emotion. "You were only a baby the last time I was in Estafel, but your grandmother and I were dear friends as girls. I stood beside her at her wedding, and she stood with me at mine. You must come and see me at dinner this evening."

"Grandmama has spoken often of you," Andrin replied, smiling in genuine delight. "I should adore a chance to visit with you, at dinner or any time at all."

"You're kind to humor an old lady. I'll see you this evening." The Empress pressed a socially correct kiss to her cheek, but her hand was warm and strong when she gripped Andrin's fingers.

The only other good thing to come out of that interminable receiving line was the chance to discover the name of the Uromathian prince with the infectious grin. When he reached Andrin and her father, she discovered?to her secret delight?that while he might be Uromathian by blood, he was no subject of Emperor Chava.

"Junni Fai Yujin, King of Eniath, and Crown Prince Howan Fai Goutin," the Othmalizi functionary handling the introductions intoned.

Like many of the semi-nomadic people he ruled, Junni Fai Yujin was a large man for someone of Uromathian blood. He was shorter than Andrin, but only by half a head, and his shoulders were actually broader than any part of her. That was a distinct first for any of the men she'd so far met from the other Uromathian delegations, and he bowed over her hand with fluid grace, despite his size. He spoke no Ternathian, and her Uromathian wasn't up to the radically different dialect spoken in Eniath, which shared almost as much linguistic heritage with Arpathian as it did with Uromathian.

She curtsied deeply, indicating her respect for his kingdom and his people?and for their renown as falconers. To her amusement, the king was staring at Finena more rapturously than he was at her, and she angled her arm to bring the white-winged falcon to a better viewing angle.

"Finena," she said softly, stroking the glossy white feathers.

"Finena," the King breathed in response. He glanced up at her, his dark eyes filled with questions he lacked the words to ask. Then he turned to his son and rattled off something Andrin couldn't begin to catch. Crown Prince Howan Fai Goutin, whose family name?like those of all men of Uromathian dissent?was traced through the middle name, not the last, spoke in halting Ternathian.

"Name of silver one is …" he paused a moment, mentally translating. "What for meaning?"

"What does her name mean?

"Please?" he nodded.

"White Fire," she said, and Prince Howan's eyes glowed.

"Ahhhhh …" The sound was almost reverent, and then the prince turned and spoke formally to his father. Andrin caught three whole words of the rapid exchange. Then King Junni ask another question, which Howan relayed.

"Please, why Finena no corded?"

Andrin glanced at the jesses on both the King's falcon and Prince Howan's. They were magnificent birds, and she longed to see both of them flying unhindered through the bright sky as free as Finena herself. Then she looked up and met Prince Howan's gaze for a moment before she turned and spoke directly to King Junni himself.

"Does one chain the wind?" she asked simply. "Finena is free. She stays for love of Andrin."

Prince Howan hissed softly. When Andrin risked a swift glance in his direction, she found not the censure or displeasure she'd half-expected to see, but a look of such respect it stunned her. He spoke briefly to his father, and King Junni made a sound almost precisely like his son's. Then he lifted Andrin's free hand and drew her fingers forward, resting them briefly against his own heart. He turned to her father, still holding her hand, and bowed with deep formality. Then he spoke again, and prince Howan once again translated.

"My father says Ternathia grows wise daughters. He must talk with you. Soon. Before Conclave."

"Ternathia is honored." Her father bowed. "It will be my pleasure to speak with Eniath, whenever King Junni Fai Yujin chooses."

King Junni bowed again, still with that deep formality, and departed with great dignity. The crown prince gave Andrin a piercing glance and an equally formal bow, then followed his father down the receiving line, and Zindel leaned close to stroke Finena's wings.

"Well done, indeed, 'Drin," he murmured in a low tone, for her ears alone. "That was as nice a piece of diplomacy as I've seen in many a year. I need Eniath's support in Conclave, and I wasn't sure I could get it. Now there's at least a piece of common ground?and mutual respect?to build from."

She went nearly giddy with pleasure and wanted to give him a radiant smile, but contented herself with a small upturn of her lips, acutely conscious of the crowd of people watching her every move. Controlling her face was difficult, but she managed it, and his eyes lit with an approval that made her feel as if her feet were floating ten inches above the marble floor.