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-blond hair of the line of Silvanos, but Speaker Elendar’s face was surprisingly free of the haughty expression that seemed the norm for his courtiers. While Vixa and Gundabyr studied him, he studied them as well, peering through a gold wire frame in which was set a polished glass disk.
“A dwarf. I’ve never seen a dwarf before,” the Speaker said, his voice deep and resonant.
Quite devoid of self-consciousness, Gundabyr stumped forward and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Your Majesty.” The air was filled with elven gasps. Gundabyr compounded his indiscretion by asking, “What is that thing you’re holding?”
“My crystal? Oh, I have a weakness in my eyes that keeps me from seeing clearly things that are more than an arm’s length away,” was the calm reply. The courtiers seethed with indignation at the dwarf’s informality, but the Speaker of the Stars seemed unconcerned. “It enlarges things. See?”
Gundabyr took the proffered object and held the two-inch-wide glass disk to his eye. “By Reorx!” Turning to Vixa, he exclaimed, “I want one of these things! All those late nights I spent at the forge, trying to read recipes from the Forgemaster’s Journal …”
Speaker Elendar regarded the dwarf with unconcealed amusement. “I shall have one made for you, Master Gundabyr. And you,” he said to Vixa, “are said to be my cousin. Is this true?”
She bowed as she would to her uncle, Speaker Silveran. “I am Vixa Ambrodel, Sire. Your father and my grandfather were brothers.”
“Yes, but not very good brothers.” There was no malice in his tone. He smiled at her and added, “And now you’ve had quite an adventure, haven’t you? Oh, yes, I’ve heard it all, Cousin. You lead an active life, like all those of the line of Kith-Kanan.” The Speaker sighed.
Vixa could have sworn that there was a wistful quality to his words, as though the Speaker of the Stars, for all his power and prestige, envied her.
Agavenes and Druzenalis had come up behind the others. The Speaker asked the marshal about the current military situation.
“Great Speaker, since the destruction of Thonbec, there has been little sign of the invaders. We have reports from farmers and fisherfolk of the enemy on both sides of the river, but none have been seen more than a league north of the fortress,” reported Druzenalis.
“And what do you make of that, Marshal?”
Druzenalis did not even glance at Vixa and Gundabyr. “I say it is a diversion, Majesty. It smells of Qualinesti duplicity,” he replied coldly.
Vixa was outraged. “What? How dare-”
“What sort of invasion is it that fails to follow up on a significant victory?” the marshal went on. “Thonbec has fallen-so where are the enemy? Had they struck within a day of the citadel’s fall, the element of surprise would have been on their side. I believe, if anything, this is a diversion from the true attack, which will come from the west.”
More shocking than the marshal’s accusation were the nods of agreement from the assembled Silvanesti nobility. Vixa exploded, “That’s ridiculous! The Speaker of the Sun is devoted to peace! Everyone knows that!”
“I have stated my opinion.” Druzenalis put a hand on the hilt of his short ceremonial sword. “Great Speaker, I think this girl is a spy and a deceiver. I say she should be thrown into prison. Let her ponder the unwisdom of trying to make fools of the Silvanesti.”
The Speaker leaned forward, his blond eyebrows rising. “It is strange the enemy has not invaded Silvanost yet. Have you an answer for that, Cousin?”
Vixa took a deep breath. Angry ranting would do her no good. She must make her case calmly, sensibly. “Majesty, the Dargonesti are used to living in the depths of the sea. I can think of many reasons why they have delayed-the sunlight blinds them, the fresh water of the river could be distasteful to them, their kraken may be unmanageable-”
“The outlander is delaying,” Druzenalis cut in. “Send her to prison, Sire. And the dwarf as well.”