The moment king and daughter entered, Ullo snapped to attention, and Morimaros of Aremoria bowed his head respectfully.
“Your Majesty of Innis Lear,” said Burgun, stepping forward. “What a charming garden this is, and a surprise on this cold, sharp cliff. It seems roses are a perfect flower for your island, as beautiful and hearty as they are.”
“And tangled,” Lear said, amused. “And sharp and treacherous.”
Ullo blinked, then smiled as if it were the only reaction he could think to have.
“Lear,” the king of Aremoria said only.
“Aremoria,” Lear returned.
Retaking attention, Ullo swept his hand toward the Fool. “Your Fool has kept us well entertained, sir, as we awaited you.”
“And you”—the Fool stood to offer an elaborate bow—“entertained me beyond well, king, verging toward ill, if all things are circles.” Taller and lankier than the king had ever been, he kept his hair short and spiky, dyed henna red, and dots of red painted the outer corners of his eyes and bottom lip, like a woman.
Lear embraced his Fool fondly, saying, “Your wit rarely comes full circle, friend.”
“More of a spiral, I’d say, beginning and ending only in your ability to comprehend.”
Lear laughed, and so did his Fool, their heads knocking together as if they were alone in all the world. Though Elia understood the joking, or so she thought, there seemed something still she could not catch.
“You’ve brought a star priest with you,” said the king of Aremoria lightly.
Elia met his gaze: Morimaros watched her dispassionately.
“Ah, no.” Ullo of Burgun bounded forward, his hand out to Elia. “This is the princess Elia of Lear. My lady, only a dullard could mistake your unique beauty for anyone else.”
Morimaros’s lips pulled into a line Elia could not read. She gave the charts over to one of Lear’s retainers and allowed Ullo her hand, saying, “But I am a star priest, my lord, and so it was no mistake.”
Ullo touched her fingers to his lips and smiled. “I am rather overwhelmed at meeting you, and apologize for any misspeaking.”
She squeezed his fingers, and he released her. His eyes trailed down her neck and across her breasts with open intimacy. As her flesh went cold, she turned her face to Morimaros. “My father did bring a star priest with him. You wished your birth chart analyzed.”
“We are to be honored by your very own prophecies?” Ullo said, hand over his heart.
The king of Aremoria did not react but to flick his eyes at Ullo. Elia hid another smile, believing Morimaros had stronger feelings for Burgun than for her. That should make remaining detached easier.
It was Lear who said, one arm about his Fool, the other waving at the retainers, “Here are the charts, if my dearest daughter obliges, and perhaps in your stars she’ll find some preference for her favors.”
“I would petition the jewels of heaven to tilt in their courses toward me,” Ullo said prettily.
Elia wished Morimaros would say, I need rely on no such petitioning, or some such, that might put the king of Burgun down, but Morimaros was silent.
She gestured for the charts to be placed upon the well’s tabletop and glanced between the two kings. “I must begin with knowing your times of birth, so we might choose the correct charts.”
Morimaros paused in consideration.
“Do you know it?” she prompted gently.
“I do, lady,” he said just as gently. “I only would not want to remove from Ullo the chance to be first.”
“Sporting of you,” Ullo snapped. “Perhaps there is some star sign now which of us should be preferred.”
Casting her gaze up at the blue sky, Elia said, “I’m afraid the afternoon stars have no signs for us, influencing instead beyond our means to see.”
“Perhaps a worm sign, then?”
She looked sharply to the speaker: it had been Morimaros.
“Do you listen to the language of trees?” the king of Aremoria continued. He held his expression as cool as ever, but Elia warmed at the question.
“Worm signs!” Lear cried, scrubbing the air with his arms. “None such in my court.”
Elia’s pulse jumped, and she forced her pleasure hard away. “Of course not, Father,” she soothed.
Ullo frowned sympathetically. “Only the purest prophecy for such as ourselves.”
“Indeed,” Lear said. “I will be the star of this afternoon and say Ullo will have his reading first.”
Elia glanced at Morimaros with slight apology, wishing she might say something to him, but in the end these kings mattered little to her.
Ullo was twenty-four years old, born under the Violet Moon of the Year of Past Shadows. Elia paged through the proper charts while Ullo leaned over her shoulder, smiling prettily in the corner of her eye, but not pressing near enough to touch or overwhelm her. He smelled of properly burnt sugar and a current of sweat, but not unpleasantly so.
The Year of Past Shadows had been full of repeating patterns in the dawn clouds, tied back to the year before, and thus given its name. Elia kept that in mind as she carefully marked a blank sky map with stars from the night of Ullo’s birth, counting everything forward, wishing she knew the clouds and very worm signs Morimaros had asked after. Or had a handful of holy bones to cast. But her father did not allow bones, or any such earthly predictions, in his records. Unlike bones and earth, Lear said, the stars see all, from their greater vantage point, and are not marred by subjectivity.
The king of Burgun’s birth star was the Rabbit’s Heart, rising under a crescent moon to inflict sharpness on an otherwise generous spirit. Perhaps the sharpness of a crown, she assured him, so long as he did not allow it to make him bitter.
“With so sweet a lady as you beside me, bitterness would be impossible,” he replied.
Elia demurred,
