Dargonesti

undersea kraken had destroyed the fortress. As he spoke, idle warriors gathered around, listening intently.

“Where is Axarandes?” asked the desk officer.

“In the arms of Quenesti Pah,” replied Samcadaris. “The goddess willing, he will live.”

The old officer took out a sheet of parchment and a stylus. He wrote for several seconds, then said, “Herald, you will go to the court. Here is your pass. Ask that the Speaker see these people as soon as possible.”

Many of the warriors in the rotunda protested his hasty decision. The old officer glowered and hammered on his desktop with the pommel of his dagger. The warriors fell silent. He finished writing, dusted the parchment with sand, and rolled it up. Tying it with a silken cord, he handed the scroll to Tiahmoro.

“You may wait here until the Speaker grants an audience, lady,” said the desk officer. “I will send word to those on watch.”

For the first time in many days, Vixa relaxed, at least a little. A flush of satisfaction warmed her tired body. She saluted smartly, saying, “Thank you, sir!”

The warriors dispersed, still arguing among themselves about the strange story. Tiahmoro departed, and Vixa lingered at the desk.

“Sir, may I make a request?” she asked softly.

“What is it?”

“If I am to meet the Speaker of the Stars, I would like to make myself more presentable. A bath and clean clothes would be most welcome.”

“Me, too,” grunted the dwarf.

The old elf eyed her torn and stained attire. “We have no female garments here, lady.”

“Soldier’s attire would suit me well, sir.”

He looked at her for a long, considering moment, seeing for the first time the warrior’s bearing beneath the privation and grime. He made up his mind. “Samcadaris,” he called. “See to their needs.”

The soldier led Vixa and Gundabyr away. The dwarf was taken to the soldiers’ common bathing room. Samcadaris escorted the Qualinesti princess to his own room. He called for a bath to be drawn, then departed. Servants brought fresh linen underclothes and an officer’s knee-length robe. Vixa washed the salt and dirt of many days from her sunburned skin. When she got out of the bath, she found the new clothes were an excellent fit. Sometimes her height was an advantage.

Half an hour after she’d left, Vixa was back in the rotunda, refreshed and ready to meet the Speaker of the Stars. Gundabyr was there as well, dressed in clean clothing. The elves had scrounged up leggings and a tunic for the dwarf. The hem dangled below his knees.

“Word has come back,” said the desk officer. “The Speaker of the Stars will see you this night. His Privy Councillors will be in attendance. Your audience will be in the Quinari Palace.”

Gundabyr grumbled at this. He’d hoped to see inside the Tower of the Stars.

The old Silvanesti went on, “Captain Samcadaris will accompany you. Herald Tiahmoro will conduct you.”

A short time later, Samcadaris and the herald reappeared. They had changed attire as well and were now clad in their finest dress uniforms: polished steel breastplates, greaves, and vambraces etched in gold with the monogram of the Speaker, and short red capes. Samcadaris’s helmet bore a plume from the rare golden peacock, the sacred bird of House Protector, indicating that he had distinguished himself greatly in battle.

An honor guard of forty warriors was drawn up in the street outside. Vixa and Gundabyr took their places in the center of the column. With Herald Tiahmoro in the lead, they marched away to the Quinari Palace. Idlers and couples strolling in the mild evening air stepped back and watched the glittering procession go by. They looked at Vixa and Gundabyr with surprise and unconcealed suspicion.

The cavalcade approached the gleaming facade of the palace down a long, ceremonial avenue lined with statues of former Speakers. Silvanos, in the guise of warrior, lawgiver, and father, was here. Next came Sithel, in similar poses, and then Sithas, the tragic Speaker who’d reigned through the Kinslayer War and the sundering of the elven nation.

The Quinari Palace was far larger than the residence of the Speaker of the Sun in Qualinost, and far more elaborate. Three three-story wings radiated out from a central tower. Three hundred feet tall, the tower was made of rose-veined marble. The wings were faced with colonnades of green marble, and each column had been formed by powerful magic into a graceful spiral, in imitation of a unicorn’s horn.

The honor guard halted and opened ranks. Samcadaris waved Vixa and Gundabyr forward. They mounted a long set of wide steps between double rows of fantastically clad warriors. At the top of the steps, two Silvanesti awaited them, one in armor, helmet, and the swinging gold cape of a marshal of the realm, the other richly robed in midnight blue and wearing a heavy necklace of star sapphires.

Samcadaris bowed to these two worthies. “My lord Druzenalis! My lord Agavenes! I and my charges beg leave to enter the palace of the Speaker of the Stars.”

The marshal, Druzenalis, held up his baton of command. “Enter, all. His Majesty awaits within,” he intoned. The civilian called Agavenes said nothing, but Gundabyr and Vixa felt his hard gaze raking over them as they passed.

The interior of the palace was cool and dimly lit. It gave off an essence of great age, and to the nervous Vixa, felt cold and forbidding. She still remembered running and playing with her cousins and siblings in the corridors of Speaker Silveran’s residence. She couldn’t imagine anyone rough-housing or talking above a whisper in this place. It was as solemn as a temple.

Courtiers gathered in side passages to stare at them. The Silvanesti ladies were all fabulously beautiful and fabulously dressed. Vixa tugged uncomfortably at the neck of her borrowed attire. One nervous hand combed her damp hair, which had a tendency to dry into unruly ringlets.

Stop it, she commanded herself. You’re behaving like a fool. How many of these delicate, ethereal beauties, in their robes of silver silk or tissue of ruby, have ever fought chilkit on the bottom of the ocean? These fine damsels in their gauzy trains wouldn’t know one end of a sword from the other. It was certain that none of them had raced through the ocean waves in the guise of a black-and-white dolphin. Vixa’s back straightened. The Silvanesti ladies were surprised to see a smile appear on the sun-reddened face of the tall Qualinesti girl.

Bronze doors two stories tall swung apart for them. The black polished floor beyond was like a mirror. A scarlet carpet led from the doorway deep into the throne room. Columns soared to the dark ceiling. Druzenalis and Agavenes entered first, bowed to the distant throne, stepped aside. Glancing right and left, Vixa saw that Tiahmoro and Samcadaris were as nervous as she. Their faces were frozen; their hands clenched the hilts of their ornamental swords. Only Gundabyr appeared relaxed in the face of this magnificence. Vixa envied him his composure.

They passed beneath living arches of ivy and vines laden with grapes. Off to one side, a band of musicians played a delicate tune on instruments made entirely of glass. Vixa could see a dais ahead, with the throne upon it. Like the Speaker of the Sun in Qualinost, the Speaker of the Stars used a chamber in his palace for the day-to-day running of his kingdom. The audience hall in the great Tower of the Stars was saved for more auspicious gatherings.

Vixa found herself squinting at the throne. It was occupied, but she couldn’t make out any details. It was as if fog veiled the throne dais. Gundabyr, too, rubbed his eyes.

The air around them shimmered. For a moment it seemed a magical illusion, but then they felt a light touch on their heads and faces. It was like a cobweb, no more substantial than that. Gundabyr put out his hand and snagged a wisp of something. The dwarf peered closely at the gossamer threads. Gold! Spun as fine as any spider’s web. Now he was impressed.

Three more wispy veils, and they could see the throne more clearly. The larger, taller seat was occupied, but the consort’s chair next to it was empty. Nobles of the realm stood in two lines on either side of the dais. About five paces from its base, the crimson runner ended. Vixa stopped there, and held Gundabyr back so he wouldn’t violate protocol by approaching too close.

The absolute ruler of the Silvanesti sat in an oddly casual posture-slouched down in his marble throne, one leg straight out in front of him, the other bent. A scroll lay across his lap. Its length spilled down his stretched leg and lay loosely coiled on the floor. The Speaker of the Stars appeared to be engrossed in his scroll. He didn’t even look up at his visitors’ approach.

Vixa cleared her throat. The Silvanesti lords glared at her. The Speaker looked up from his reading.

He was moderately young, less than two hundred years old, Vixa guessed. He had the hazel eyes and white-