Pegasus

CHAPTER 11

It was a fine clear day for flying, the sky blue and very far away in that come-chase-me way that always made Sylvi especially yearn for wings—and almost no wind, at least not on the ground. She had learnt, by flying with Ebon, that what was going on a few spans straight up might be quite a bit different from what was happening standing on the ground, but the few wisps of cloud she could see didn’t seem to be moving very fast. There were three draia—one for luggage, including gifts—and twenty-two pegasi to carry them, plus a dozen more who would fly with them.

They collected themselves in the Inner Court, those who were going, where the private good-byes and good wishes would be said: the pegasi, her father and mother, Hirishy, Danacor and Farley, and Thowara and Oyry—Garren and Poih were on patrol, and Lrrianay would meet them on arrival—and half a dozen human attendants, including Fazuur, Minial and Ahathin. But there were more pegasi than humans. It felt very strange to be outnumbered . . . and she was soon to be alone with . . . She looked at Ebon, who was looking at her. Ebon had never given any sign of minding being far more outnumbered than she was now when they went to a festival, but she wondered what he might think about it that he had never told her. And he had never been alone with . . . Again she stopped her thoughts.

She glanced around; a good half of these pegasi she didn’t recognise. Several of them were noticeably broader and sturdier than the average, although none was bigger than Ebon. They all seemed bigger to her today than they usually did. Once her father left, and she was . . . She silenced her thoughts yet again. The Caves! Think about seeing the Caves with Ebon.

All of these pegasi, when they caught her eye, nodded, and said, “Fwif,” which was an honorific like “lord” or “lady.” She nodded back and said, carefully,“Wheehuf,” which was a polite greeting like “good day, sir” or “good day, madam.” The pegasi rarely used gender specifics, which was one thing she didn’t have to try to learn; wheehuf would do for everyone. And it was one of her better pegasi words; not only was it one of the harmless ones that everyone knew and could remember from one day to the next, she could say it without Ebon making faces. She had said this to him a few days before and he’d wheeled his ears mockingly and replied, Choose the mountain you have to fly over, as they say. I don’t want to wear myself out.

The crowd was waiting in the Outer Great Court—no, the crowd began in the Outer Great Court. A Silversword major had informed the king that much of the huge space inside the Wall was full of humans wanting a glimpse of the historic event, many of whom had travelled a long way for the opportunity. As a result the human king had asked and the pegasi agreed to fly one complete circuit inside the Wall before heading northeast toward the Starclouds. Sylvi discovered that she was trembling. She walked out through the high wide arch on her father’s arm, with the queen and the heir behind them. The crowd roared, and the sound was bewildering. She didn’t understand; what were they roaring about?

Her father had stopped in the gateway, so perhaps he hadn’t noticed her involuntary recoil. Old stories came into her mind and she thought, They sound as if they’re seeing off a war party. She gave a convulsive shiver and her father squeezed her arm against his side and murmured, “Courage, young one; be glad of their enthusiasm. Be glad of all those village fêtes you went to, and all the pony rides Ebon gave the littles, because they’re part of the reason you’re going today—because all these noisy people thought you should.” He lifted his other hand and waved and, after a moment, so did she. The crowd was divided into two parts, and between was a long clear straight path stretching as far as she could see: for the pegasi to gallop down, carrying the draia.

The pegasi came through the arch behind them. Human servants were carrying the already-loaded luggage drai, and they set it down, spreading out and then lifting the loops of rope that went round the pegasi’s necks; but the pegasi themselves, with their tiny feather-hands, fastened and checked what on horses would be cruppers and belly bands: there were two shamans per drai, to ensure that the ooffhaloah worked as it should. The draia for herself and her father lay over the pegasi’s backs; the pegasi slipped them off, where they lay in unrecognisable little huddles on the ground. Even knowing what Ebon had told her about the ooffhaloah, even knowing that the pegasi had to be able to use their wings and their legs freely in flight and therefore the passengers needed to hang below their carriers’ feet—Sylvi had perhaps been betrayed by her forbidden knowledge of flying because she said at once, shocked, when she’d first heard of the prototype human-carrying drai, “But what about landing?”

Even after almost four years’ practise, she and Ebon didn’t always get it right, and she was lying free on his back with no ropes to complicate the issue. She realised what she’d said and blushed so violently she thought she could feel her hair frizzle in the heat, but several of the humans also present laughed and her father said mildly, “Well spotted, Sylvi.”

Pegasi did carry other things this way, and when they glided down toward landing they leaned against the ropes—their harnesses were asymmetrical to take this odd strain—till they were horizontally taut, to lift the baggage, whatever it was, above ground level, and the carriers said their words to hold it there. It still took a good deal of practise for a team of pegasi to learn to do this reliably and accurately. Their very best teams were carrying the king and his daughter—and there were the six shamans flying with them to strengthen the holding words.

Ebon was one of the six pegasi carrying the princess. How did you manage that? Sylvi had said, very impressed, the evening the names of the carriers—the doorathbaa—were read out.

Ebon, unusually for him, took a few seconds to reply. Well, he said at last. I pleaded and pleaded and pleaded and pleaded and begged and begged and nagged and whined and whinged and so on like that. I really didn’t think I was going to make it. And then I thought I can’t not make it, so I went on begging and being a pain in the neck and the rear and all four legs and forty wings. They won’t take you unless you’re grown, you see, although I’m bigger than Traa or Maoona. Dad, who never gets cross, said to me once that I could mess up the whole trip if I kept on about it and I thought about that, and about telling you you couldn’t come after all because I’m a . . . a . . . hafwuffab. What do you call someone who is really irritating and stupid?

Fool, dolt, nitwit?

Eah. All of those. But I thought about it some more and I couldn’t not do it. I think even Dad got it finally. That I wasn’t just being . . . I don’t know. But what happened is that Guaffa—he’s the one who—who takes care of the doorathbaa—there’s another word, clafwha, which is being the head of something when you’re not the head of something. You humans don’t seem to do it—your heads head. But Guaffa is the clafwha of the carriers, the doorathbaa. Guaffa cracked, thank wing. I’d been pestering him as much as Dad. He told my dad that if it was okay with him and I could do it he’d have me. And Broraakwha kind of wanted not to do it because his hrmmhr is about to pop with their first baby and he was sure it would happen while he was gone.

So Guaffa took me out with a rope around my neck and his and a beastly great boulder in the drai—I swear it was half a mountain, heavier than you’ll ever be unless you bring some of those stone heads you walk down your wall on in your pockets—but I wasn’t going to fail so I didn’t. I think we flew to the end of the world and back. I was never so tired in my life but I wasn’t going to tell him that. All Guaffa said was “I can see why they call you Stone-Carrier” but he took me. Then I had to learn all this team stuff—and I had to learn it fast. Once they’d taken me, though, there was no more question and they just drilled and drilled me. It’s all tricky but landing’s the worst. Well, landing’s always the worst. I was kind of hoping I’d get some ideas about our landing problems but I didn’t, and I don’t think any of the holding words would do anything, they might make it harder to roll if you fall. I haven’t had any special training for ooffhaloah either. Never mind. I’m third rope on your drai and that’s what matters.

Ebon was kneeling by his rope-loop now. A single pair of human hands could pick up even a thick rope easily, but the pegasi’s alula-hands were too weak. It took two pegasi to lift a rope loop, and the pegasus whose neck the loop was to lie round would kneel as well, to make the effort less. Once the rope was settled, the pegasus would stand while the rest of the harness was fastened and fiddled with till the fit was perfect. They did it so gracefully there seemed no anxiety or hurry to it—no forced allowance for weakness—and they did it quickly. It seemed almost a dance, perhaps a cotillion, or a sort of high-level musical chairs, because all the pegasi who weren’t being or hadn’t yet been fastened into the harness helped with the harnessing, pair and pair, till the last six were harnessed by the six pair who were not carriers.

Although Ebon was the only black, the pegasi were variously coloured, from white to cream to gold to copper-red to dark, fresh-ploughed-loam brown and deep shadow or silver grey, and the three groups that made the three circles, six or eight spokes around each central boss, seemed to be creating some pattern with some meaning beyond the simple fact of preparation for the flight to come. Some . . . Sylvi shook her head; I’m just a little dizzy, she thought. Too many people watching us. Too many people watching the princess who is going to the pegasus country—and the pegasus Caves. How many of them know about the Caves?

Ebon caught her eye. Don’t worry, he said. We’ve got this netted. Tight as silk.

It comes with the breathing, she said. Worrying.

When every particle of harness was secure exactly where it should be, the accompanying pegasi moved away from the carriers. For a moment—as if the purpose of the pattern they had created was about to be revealed—all twenty-two carriers stood motionless, perfectly arranged in their three circles, tails and necks arched, wings only a little roused—and more beautiful than moonlight or summer dawn or the face of your true love. The mutter of excitement and curiosity among the human crowd died away to silence.

And then Guaffa, who was, in the absence of Lrrianay, leader of the pegasi, bowed his neck, stamped one foot, and lashed his tail twice, left, right, and murmured a few words: and Sylvi, without thinking about it, only grateful to understand something, and having spent the last several weeks cramming herself with the pegasus language including everything Ebon told her about the doorathbaa, immediately moved forward to settle herself in her drai, because she knew that was the signal. There was a quick rustling whisper through the crowd, but she didn’t think about that either.

Fazuur bowed calmly to his sovereign as if Sylvi was supposed to go first, and the king then settled himself in his drai too—and Sylvi realised what she had done. When I blurted out Ebon’s name at our binding, I didn’t notice, she thought. This time it’s only that I’ve been doing my lessons. But I’m sure someone will tell Fthoom anyway....

Two pegasi tucked a blanket over her, leaving her gloved hands free, and one of them, one of those she didn’t know, quickly and neatly threaded and tied a light rope over her, in a zigzag through the rope-loops that edged the drai, and stepped back. Sylvi thought she felt just the lightest brush of a feather-hand against her cheek, and looked up: there was a faint smile-wrinkle across the pegasus’ nose. She smiled back, and felt a little better.

Guaffa threw up his head and lashed his tail right, left—Sylvi heard awwhinnaw, which means “listen”; but she got a bit lost after that, and he’d be mostly speaking in silent-speech. He’s just reminding us that this baggage will get a sore bum if we mess up the lift-off, said Ebon, but Fazuur was translating it as “We thank you for the extraordinary honour and privilege . . .” Blah blah blah, thought Sylvi, and stopped listening.

Then, more precisely than a company of the King’s Own Silver-swords, the pegasi moved, back and forward and sideways, till the draia were clear of the ground. Inside wings were arched to allow for the presence of ropes, and Sylvi felt the tingle of magic, felt it slipping down over her like another sort of slender pegasus cord, strong and soft as pegasus silk. Then she heard the Now! through Guaffa’s nostrils, and the pegasi burst forward in a canter that became a gallop almost at once, and then a run, the flat-out run of a sighthound after a hare, thrilling and terrifying, and before she believed it could be possible they had leaped into the air. Sylvi’s stomach gave a lurch, indicating its desire to stay behind, and she felt sick in a way she never had flying with Ebon—not only, she thought, because he was a little more gradual about their take-offs, not least to avoid spilling her off. She wound her hands through the pair of loops thoughtfully made large for this purpose and stared down at the sea of dark and pale faces staring up at her.

The pegasi banked right, for the flight round the inside of the Wall. She glanced over at her father, who was also holding on, but with only one hand, and waving with the other. She looked at her own straining fists and thought, Be a princess. Be your father’s daughter. And he’s never even flown before. She untwisted her right hand, and waved.

Once they’d flown over the Wall and were headed toward the mountains Sylvi began to enjoy herself—although she didn’t dare look down. She’d never flown in daylight before. She could look ahead toward the rise of the Starclouds’ green foothills—her view constantly interrupted by the beating wings—and up into a blue sky that seemed both close enough to touch and farther away than it ever seemed from the ground. There was more wind up here, as she’d guessed, and as they drew nearer the mountains it began to be gusty, and the pegasi side-slipped like birds to take advantage, or to keep their course, the draia swaying beneath them—and Sylvi’s stomach, having decided to make the best of it after they’d left the Wall behind, began to object to the mode of transport again.

It was not a very great distance between the two realms—ordinarily the pegasi flew it easily in less than a day—but carrying heavy burdens slowed them down and wearied them sooner. They stopped three times, in each case setting down in mountain meadows surrounded by pathless trees. Sylvi knew there were no land-routes to Rhiandomeer but there was something a bit daunting about the unbroken circle of trees, despite the size of the meadows and the bright friendly scatter of wildflowers. She thought, Yes, you would think so, you poor wingless human. She would have liked to ask her father if he felt the same way, but it didn’t seem polite to suggest that the pegasi were doing anything that might make their human guests uncomfortable (aside from failing to persuade the wind not to gust), even if they couldn’t understand what she was saying. And where were they supposed to stop, in a country with no roads?

Ebon may have guessed. What do you think? he said on their first halt. She’d been washing her hands and face and having a drink at the stream, and was now staring at the whispering trees on the far bank. The rustle of their leaves sounded like counterpoint to the noise of the water cascading over its bed: beautiful but lonely. It’s very—quiet, isn’t it? she said finally.

This wasn’t what she meant. It wasn’t quiet; there was the wind among the trees, and birdsong, and the melody of the water, and scuffling in the undergrowth, and a few hums and whiffles from the pegasi—and the occasional word from her father. She was trying to think what else to say that was nearer to what she did mean, before Ebon started teasing her for being hopelessly urban and too accustomed to the bustle of the palace, and how noisy humans were, when he said, It is a bit, isn’t it? It’s nicer at home. You’ll see.

They had set out as early as there was good daylight, and it was still nearing twilight when a huge double spiral of torches began to light up below them. There was a wide space at the centre of the spiral, and Sylvi knew they were going to land there when the pegasi tightened the ropes of her drai again—and this time, although she had not heard anything earlier, she heard all six of them say the holding-words, one right after another, a singing sort of noise on a falling scale, almost like a very short round in six parts: and then once, twice, more, as the shamans flanking them spoke. She saw the air shimmer with the ooffhaloah—or perhaps that was just her eyes, tired after a long windy day, staring at torchlight through the fast-dropping twilight—felt it settle around her, felt both the drai and the ropes stiffen with it—and her drai bobbed up till she was riding even with the straining necks of Ebon and Sorlalea on her either side, their inner wings brushing the edge of her drai.

They had set down and flown out again from their three rest stops with the great heave they’d made in the Outer Court—and counter-heave on landing, with the vast wings arched and scooping the air like bells to slow them as quickly as possible—and each time she found herself worrying about fragile pegasus legs . . . this final time, audibly enough, apparently, for Ebon to hear her, because he said, Stop it, you baggage, we know what we’re doing. She was distracted by the slight breathlessness of his remark, since they didn’t have to breathe for their sort of talking. And then they were down.

They set down with astonishing gentleness—the more astonishing for how exhausted they must all be. But her six bearers were galloping before she knew they had landed—she could see her father’s bearers galloping ahead of her and only then realised that she was hearing the faint soft tap of pegasus hoofs to either side of her as well; her drai glided as smoothly as a boat on a still lake. They galloped on through the path made by the spiral, emerging as the last torches were lit: It’s another dance, she thought, like the dance of the harnessing.

Lrrianay came forward first to greet her father—the back pair of his doorathbaa were still holding the ropes tightly while the front ropes had been gently let slacken so that he stepped, standing, out of his drai—and he put his hands on either side of the pegasus king’s eyes as the pegasus king put his feather-hands on the human king’s temples. His wings met behind Corone’s back, like an embrace.

Sylvi had belatedly stripped her gloves off and was fumbling for the ends of the lacing that held her in her drai.

Hey. Move before I strangle.

She wanted to say something appropriately rude—the harnesses were made so beautifully they didn’t move a finger’s breadth, or a feather-hand finger’s breadth, as the draia swung up or down—but she was too occupied. And then she realised they had stopped, and she was standing too. She let the last lace-end drop, and stepped forward, and her pegasi all moved lightly toward her, so the last ropes fell slack and her drai fell to the ground. She half heard a kind of exhale—not the pegasi—no, as if the magic were sighing in relief—and there was a faint twinkle on the ground, as if the magic had coalesced, and fallen, as a kind of shining sand.

Oh, thank you, she said. Thank you, thank you.

Lady, your closed-wing servant, said Ebon drily.

Remembering her manners she said aloud,“Genfwa, esshfwa,” which was the best all-purpose thank you she knew—the pegasi had rather an abundance of different thank yous for different occasions. There was probably a better one for now, but Sylvi’s memory refused to provide one. She turned where she stood, and all six of her bearers nodded, and five of them smiled—she couldn’t see whether black Ebon did or not, in the torch-flickering dark. But by then she was facing forward again, and the knots were let loose and rope-loops lifted off her bearers, and here was the pegasus queen herself to welcome her. Sylvi took a deep breath and bowed.

“Welhum, fwooth shile off humaa hing an swaah bohn-bluah uff ouu deeahss Ebon,” Aliaalia said, or almost sang: Welcome, fourth child of the human king and sworn bond-blood of our dearest Ebon. Ebon sounded like a verse in the song: Ehhboohn, and she swept her wings out and back in a gesture so grand and beautiful and effortless it brought a prickle of tears to Sylvi’s eyes. The queen’s golden wings caught the torchlight and for a moment there was no sky and no land, just two vast burning wings. And then she folded them and was the queen of the pegasi again, greeting the strange human child—briefly she half roused her wings to stretch her tiny feather-hands toward Sylvi, and softly brushed her temples.

Sylvi thought, even their speech is a dance, and, shyly, because her own voice seemed rough and flat, with none of the singing echoes of the pegasi’s voices, replied, “Genfwa, ihhu, Ebon sa sshira sshira fra, dooafwa swhee,” and she held her hands out, one toward the queen and one toward Ebon: the important person she was speaking to and the important person she was speaking about. It was a much grander gesture when you had wings: her arms felt very thin and naked. She hoped she’d said, Thank you, crown-wearer, Ebon is my very best friend—and was feeling a little bit pleased with herself, because it wasn’t a sentence she’d memorised, as she’d memorised her speech, and the words had come to her as if she were speaking a language she knew.

It was only then that she noticed another pegasus standing near the queen, and without knowing anything about him except that he was important enough to be standing alone by the queen she knew immediately that he was much more than that—that he was terribly important—perhaps more important than the queen, possibly as important as the king himself. The queen dropped her hands and stepped back and Sylvi was left to face this alarming pegasus by herself. She wasn’t accustomed to pegasi being alarming.

No, not quite by herself; five of her six bearers had left her, but Ebon had stepped forward and was standing by her right shoulder. Even without his silence warning her, she knew not to speak to him in front of this pegasus.

She had no idea what to do. The queen’s gesture had been both generous and flattering; putting your hands on someone’s temples in greeting was both a great honour and a great intimacy. She had no trouble resisting any temptation to reach out to this pegasus; she felt that trying to touch him might be like putting your hand in a fire—while the queen’s burning wings had seemed like a blessing. She shook herself out of her paralysis, folded her hands over her breast and bowed.

When she stood up again and looked at him, he was still looking expressionlessly back at her. Pegasi were rarely expressionless, even if you couldn’t read what the expression was, and after four years with Ebon she read most pegasi very well. After a silence that could have been no more than a few heartbeats but felt like a century he said,“And so you have come to us, Sylviianel, bond-sister to Ebon.”

She blinked. He’d spoken the words aloud—managing the individual words very clearly. The oral pegasus language all ran together; there were breaks between phrases, not between words—and the phrases tended to be long (pegasus lung capacity had something to do with this). On the rare occasions Sylvi had heard a pegasus try to speak human—usually Lrrianay—they sounded as the queen did, a kind of singing blur with no sharp consonants. She’d never heard a pegasus speak as this one just had—but he had also, she thought, half said them in her mind. In her mind? Like Ebon? In this case—if she weren’t imagining it—it was an uncomfortable and off-balancing mode of communication, almost scratchy, as if she were sitting on a burr. No, she thought, don’t be silly, it’s just strange. And it’s too strange after the day I’ve had, she thought, hopefully or sternly, not wanting to be frightened if she didn’t have to be, when she’d only just arrived, when her father was leaving her here alone the day after tomorrow.... Her father was standing statue-still on the far side of a row of torches. She knew that stillness: he was stopping himself interfering. He was leaving the day after tomorrow. . . . But the queen hadn’t frightened her.

“Sir,” she said, “ffffffwifwif.” Great sir. There were several more ff’s than she needed, because she was stuttering with nerves, but that made his greatness greater, which was perhaps a good idea. She did not try to speak silently—she didn’t want to speak silently to this pegasus, even if she was able to. She tried not to shrink toward Ebon, although out of the corner of her eye she saw that his feathers were ruffling up, which indicated he was upset too.

The queen said, “Thiiss iss Hibeehea, ouu gheaaesss shamaaahn.”

“And Speaker,” said Hibeehea. “A service you appear not to require.”

“Oh, sir!” she blurted out, too miserable at the revelation that she’d gone wrong already to try to think what she ought to say, or whether she could say any of it in pegasi. “I only wished to show that I am trying !” Awkwardly she added, “Ffffwhifwif. Sangharaharah. Tisianhaa!” Sir. Beg much pardon. Am trying!

Mysteriously, this was the right thing to say. Some of the stiffness went out of Hibeehea, and the queen laughed aloud, raising her head and letting a long, light, singing heeeee slip out between her lips.

“It is partly my fault,” said her father from where he stood next to his bond-brother, and Sylvi noticed that he was not speaking slowly, as he did when, in the human palace, he hoped Lrrianay might understand. “I have told her to study your oral language and to ask Ebon to help her. I’m afraid I have led her to believe that the unusualness of the bond between her and her bond-brother puts a greater responsibility on her, in this and in other things.”

“As it does, king,” said Hibeehea. “As it does. And it is not to be expected that children should understand all the ways of speech and courtesy, especially in a stranger’s home. Nor perhaps should it be expected that an old shaman, long accustomed to the undisturbed ways of his people, should at once perceive what is happening under his nose—especially in a strange child of a people whom my people have believed for a thousand years cannot learn to speak to us as we speak to each other. Welcome, small one, you have studied well.”

Now what? Do I say thank you or genfwa? she thought. Oh, wasn’t there a thank you just for shamans? What . . . mlaaralalaam perhaps? Should she risk it? So she said all three, getting into a muddle about the aa’s, and added some extra ff’s again to ffffwifwif. To her surprise he unfolded one wing and touched the centre of her forehead with the tips of his primaries. And then he walked away.

Whew, said Ebon. That was worse than flying over the mountains with Guaffa and a boulder.

What just happened? Can he hear us?

Not now. I mean, yes, me anyway, but he won’t be listening. Shamans don’t listen unless they give you fair warning. But don’t talk to me if he’s talking to you!

But what happened?

I don’t know exactly. But he hasn’t been happy with you and your dad coming here. You particularly. Your dad didn’t get a Speaker here because he and my dad are bond-blood. If you can talk to the reigning monarch you don’t have to be able to talk to anyone else—that’s something out of one of the oldest chronicles, from before your first king, before the Alliance—I don’t know who else we’re supposed to be able to do silent-speech with, but it’s a really long time ago. And then you humans happened and you couldn’t talk to our sovereign but we were still allies, and this bonding thing was invented. Although before you and me they’d decided being able to talk to the sovereign was symbolic—but humans never come here so the rule never got used with you anyway. Some of the older ones, especially the shamans, who—who hold us together, you know? The shamans hold all of us together like those words they taught us hold the draia—they got really worried about the old rule with you coming here and they decided that our dads were going to count as being able to talk to each other, but what about you?

So it’s this big good thing that your dad doesn’t get a Speaker and then it’s this big uneasy thing that you’re going to have to have one because you can’t talk to the king even though the reason you’re here is that you can talk to the king’s fourth son. So to make the uneasiness go away you have the huge honour of Hibeehea as your Speaker. He’s scary but he’s not a bad old bird really and having decided to support your coming he said he’d be your Speaker. And it may be an even huger honour to you as a mere fourth child to have Hibeehea Srrrwa as your Speaker as it was for your dad not to have one, are you following me? And then you act like he’s superfluous. I didn’t teach you anything to say to my mum! You see?

I see.

She turned and looked for Hibeehea. She didn’t see him at once, and shouldn’t have been able to pick him out from the crowd of pegasi; in the torchlight, and tired as she was, the silky gleaming backs of the pegasi swirled together and began to look like some exquisite and impossible kind of marble. But perhaps he felt her looking for him, because there was suddenly a little space around him, and he turned and looked back at her. She crossed her hands over her breast again and gave him her deepest bow, even deeper than she’d offered the queen: the sort of bow that, when you’re tired and worried, you could easily not be able to get back out of, or you might even fall over, the sort of bow you shouldn’t risk making when it was important. She told herself that this was the best bow she had ever made, and felt herself come gracefully back to upright again in a way that even when she wasn’t tired and worried and a little frightened was rarely possible for her. But she was surrounded by pegasi, who were perhaps the most graceful creatures in the world, and she wanted, very badly, to make a good impression on one of them.

He couldn’t have known what a bow like that cost her, the graceless human princess. But in spite of the distance between them, and the uncertain light, she saw his ears briefly quirk, and the black shadow lines when he smiled at her, and while his return bow was only a lowering of the head, he held it down the length of time it took to take a long, slow breath. And then he nodded at her, and turned away.

There was food after that, but she was by then so tired she could barely eat, except to recognise that she didn’t recognise about half of what was offered to her. It all tasted good however—and she realised with the first bite that she was tremendously hungry, and was even willing to put off sleep a little longer to eat—and she ate and ate. She sat next to her father, but he spent more time looking around than he did eating, and when she looked at him he seemed so baffled and disoriented that she felt even more lost and far away from home....

And he was leaving her here alone. . . .

The banquet in her father’s honour was tomorrow, and the morning after that one human passenger in one drai would fly back to the palace. She looked at him again, and he caught her eye and smiled, and with the smile he was her father again, king of his country, visiting his friend, king of the pegasi.

But the day after tomorrow she would still be here, alone.

They had brought certain things from the human lands: grapes and melons from the king’s glasshouses, tender crumbly white rolls from the king’s kitchens, which the king and his daughter knew the pegasi liked. There was a whispery murmur of speech, which Sylvi was too tired to try to translate; she was too tired also to try and read the pegasi’s kinetic language; she did respond to the sign-language gestures of welcome and welcome, friend, that some of the pegasi had learnt to greet them.

Please feed me and go away, she thought. She hadn’t realised she’d thought it aloud till there was a tickly sensation across her ear, which was Ebon’s mane as he shook his head and laughed at her.

All you did was sit there, he said. Why are you so tired?

I sat very diligently, she said.