“Have you come to see our brother, sir?” asked the dark-haired girl, rising from her seat and placing the lyre upon it.
“No, I was drawn here by the beauty of your playing and the sweet voices which accompanied it. I am a stranger here, and a lover of all things beautiful, and I can only thank the fates for the vision I find here.” The younger girls laughed, but the older sister merely smiled.
“Pretty words, sir, well phrased, and I don’t doubt well rehearsed. They have the smooth edges of weapons that have seen great use.”
Sieben bowed. “Indeed, my lady, it has been my pleasure and my privilege to observe beauty wherever I can find it; to pay homage to it; to bend the knee before it. But it makes my words no less sincere.”
She gave a full smile, then laughed aloud. “I think you are a rascal, sir, and a libertine, and in more interesting times I would summon a servant to see you from the premises. However, since we are at war and that makes for the dullest entertainment, I shall welcome you - but only for so long as you are entertaining.”
“Sweet lady, I think I can promise you entertainment enough, both in word and deed.” He was delighted that she did not blush at his words, though the younger sisters reddened.
“Such fine promises, sir. But then perhaps you would feel less secure in your boasting were you aware of the quality of entertainment I have enjoyed in the past.”
Now it was Sieben’s turn to laugh. “Should you tell me that Azhral, the Prince of Heaven, came to your chambers and transported you to the Palace of Infinite Variety, then truly I might be mildly concerned.”
“Such a book should not be mentioned in polite company,” she chided.
He stepped closer and took her hand, raising it to his lips and turning it to kiss her palm. “Not so,” he said softly, “the book has great merit, for it shines like a lantern in the hidden places. It parts the veils and leads us to the paths of pleasure. I recommend the sixteenth chapter for all new lovers.”
“My name is Asha,” she said, “and your deeds will need to be as fine as your words, for I react badly to disappointment.”
“You were dreaming, Pahtai,” said Pudri as Rowena opened her eyes and found herself sitting in the sunshine beside the lake.
“I don’t know what happened,” she told the little eunuch. “It was as if my soul was dragged from my body. There was a room, and Druss was sitting opposite me.”
“Sadness gives birth to many visions of hope,” quoted Pudri.
“No, it was real, but the hold loosened and I came back before I could tell him where I was.”
He patted her hand. “Perhaps it will happen again,” he said reassuringly, “but for now you must compose yourself. The master is entertaining the great Satrap, Shabag. He is being sent to command the forces around Capalis and it is very important that you give him good omens.”
“I can offer only the truth.”
“There are many truths, Pahtai. A man may have only days to live, yet in that time will find great love. The seeress who tells him he is about to die will cause him great sorrow - but it will be the truth. The prophet who says that love is only a few hours away will also be telling the truth, but will create great joy in the doomed man.”
Rowena smiled. “You are very wise, Pudri.”
He shrugged and smiled. “I am old, Rowena.”
“That is the first time you have used my name.”
He chuckled. “It is a good name, but so is Pahtai; it means gentle dove. Now we must go to the shrine. Shall I tell you something of Shabag? Would it help your talent?”
She sighed. “No. Tell me nothing. I will see what there is to see - and I will remember your advice.”
Arm in arm they strolled into the palace, along the richly carpeted corridors, past the beautifully carved staircase that led to the upper apartments. Statues and busts of marble were set into recesses every ten feet on both sides of the corridor, and the ceiling above them was embellished with scenes from Ventrian literature, the architraves covered with gold leaf.
As they approached the shrine room a tall warrior stepped out from a side door. Rowena gasped, for at first she took the man to be Druss. He had the same breadth of shoulder and jutting jaw, and his eyes beneath thick brows were startlingly blue. Seeing her, he smiled and bowed.
“This is Michanek, Pahtai. He is the champion of the Naashanite Emperor - a great swordsman and a respected officer.” Pudri bowed to the warrior. “This is the Lady Rowena, a guest of the Lord Kabuchek.”
“I have heard of you, lady,” said Michanek, taking her hand and drawing it to his lips. His voice was low and vibrant. “You saved the merchant from the sharks, no mean feat. But now I have seen you I can understand how even a shark would wish to do nothing to mar your beauty.” Keeping hold of her hand he smiled and moved in close. “Can you tell me my fortune, lady?”
Her throat was dry, but she met his gaze. “You will… you will achieve your greatest ambition, and realise your greatest hope.”
His eyes showed his cynicism. “Is that it, lady? Surely any street charlatan could say the same. How will I die?”
“Not fifty feet from where we stand,” she said. “Out in the courtyard. I see soldiers with black cloaks and helms, storming the walls. You will gather your men for a last stand outside these walls. Beside you will be… your strongest brother and a second cousin.”
“And when will this be?”
“One year after you are wed. To the day.”
“And what is the name of the lady I shall marry?”
