Tryss stared at the fragments of his invention and felt as if his heart, too, was breaking into pieces.
“Who did this?” he heard himself saying in a wounded, incredulous voice. “Who would do something like this?”
“Your cousins,” Drilli said in a low voice. She shook her head. “It’s all my fault. They’re jealous of you. Because of me.”
She made a little choking sound, and he realized she was crying. Amazed that she could be so upset about something he had made - though with her help - he took a step toward her, then hesitantly put an arm around her shoulders. She turned toward him, her eyes shining with tears.
“I’m sorry.”
He drew her close. “It’s not your fault,” he told her, stroking her hair. “If you believe that, they win.”
She sniffed, then straightened and nodded. “They haven’t won yet,” she said firmly, wiping the tears from her eyes. “We’ll show them. We’ll show all of them. Just... not tonight.”
He looked at the remains of his harness and felt hurt and disappointment harden into a knot of anger deep inside. “Next time I’ll make two harnesses. Maybe three.”
“And I’ll get
“Better still, tie them up somewhere for the night.”
Drilli managed a smile. “Hang them by their ankles.”
“Next to a tiwi hive.”
“Covered in rebi juice.”
“After removing their clothes.”
“And their skin. With a seeding knife.”
“You’re scaring me now.”
Drilli’s smile was feral. She bent and picked up the splintered blowpipe. “Do you need any of this, to make another?”
“No.”
“Good.” She took a basket from a hanger, squatted and began gathering up the pieces. ,
“What are you going to do with them?”
She grimaced. “One of us has to tell the Speakers you won’t be demonstrating your harness. If I go, they’ll know someone else believes in you. And showing them this will convince them you weren’t messing them around.”
Tryss felt a heavy weight settle around him as the full effect of his cousins’ act became clear. The Speakers knew what he was working on. People would suspect he had blamed others for the failure of his invention - or lacked the courage to demonstrate it. He would be—
“You’d better find your parents and tell them.” Drilli straightened. “Be quiet about it and pretend everything’s normal.”
She hesitated, then stepped up to him. Her lips quirked into a smile, then she leaned forward and kissed him. He blinked in surprise, but as he began to kiss her back she moved away. She winked and pushed aside the door- hanging.
“I’ll see you there.”
And then she was hurrying away.
Watching the Siyee ambassadors closely, Auraya recognized the telltale signs of weariness. Being small in stature, they did not have a great tolerance for intoxicating drink, and, like children, they were energetic in their movements but tired quickly.
Dyara was talking quietly to Tireel. Auraya heard snatches of their conversation.
“... courage to cross so much landwalker territory, when your people have had good reason to fear us.”
“We flew high and mostly at night,” he replied. “Landwalkers do not look up often. When they did, they probably thought they were seeing large birds.”
Dyara nodded. “You will not need to take such precautions on your return. Auraya will not allow you to be harmed.”
“For that we are grateful. It seems to me that the gods must be in favor of this alliance, or they would not have given one of you this power to resist the pull of the earth.”
Auraya smiled. The Siyee ambassadors did not call her Gift flight. They saw no similarity between using magic, as she did, and riding the winds. Even so, they believed that she, of all landwalkers, might truly understand their people. The ability to fly was at the core of what they were, both physically and culturally.
As Zeeriz yawned she looked pointedly at Juran.
Juran straightened, then cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him.
“I would like to offer a prayer,” he said. “And wish our guests a good journey one last time before we retire.” He paused, then closed his eyes. “Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Sam. We thank you for all you have done to bring us together tonight, in order that we may bring peace and understanding to the lands of Ithania. We ask that you watch over Tireel of the Green Lake tribe, Zeeriz of the Fork River tribe and Auraya of the White as they journey to the land of Si. May you guide and protect them.”
He opened his eyes, then picked up his glass. At once servants hurried forward to add a dash more tintra to their glasses. Auraya smothered a smile as she saw Zeeriz’s look of dismay.
“I wish you a safe and pleasant journey.” Juran looked over the rim of his glass at one ambassador, then the other. His grave expression softened into a smile. He raised his glass to his lips and sipped. As all followed suit, Auraya noted how Zeeriz gulped almost all of the tintra in his glass, as if to get rid of it faster.
Tireel grinned. “We’ll look after Auraya,” he assured Juran.
“She’ll be treated like... like...” Zeeriz began.
“Like an honored guest,” Tireel finished.
“Thank you,” Juran said. “Then we’d best let you both get some sleep in preparation for your long flight.”
He pushed back his chair and rose. Auraya turned to face Zeeriz and, finding him gone, looked down. She had ordered high chairs to be made so the Siyee would sit at an equal height to any other occupants of the dining table. It was always a surprise to find herself suddenly towering over them again at the end of a meal.
Zeeriz’s eyes were closed. He swayed a little, then opened them and blinked up at her.
“It’s just not fair how much you landwalkers can drink,” he muttered.
She chuckled. “Let me take you back to your room.”
He nodded and let her guide him out into the corridor. She heard Dyara and Tireel following, still talking. The ambassadors were staying on one of the middle floors of the Tower, close to the dining hall. Auraya and Dyara bade their guests good night, then started toward their rooms. As they reached the great staircase, Dyara gave Auraya a speculative look.
“You seem more worried about this journey than the last,” she observed.
Auraya glanced at Dyara. “I am,” she admitted.
“Why do you think that is?”
“I must do it alone.”
“You can still consult with Juran or me,” Dyara pointed out. “It is more than that, I think.”
Auraya nodded. “Perhaps I didn’t care quite as much whether I succeeded with the Somreyans or not. It’s not that I didn’t care at all,” she hurried to explain, “but the possibility of failing with the Siyee, of giving them reason to dislike us, bothers me. They are, I guess, more trusting of us. The Somreyans weren’t. So, if I fail, it will be akin to betraying their trust.”
“You didn’t feel the same obligation to avoid betraying the trust of the Dreamweavers?”
Auraya shrugged. “They never trusted us in the first place.”
