Blue Crescent Islands has
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ever sat on a horse. They're all for boats and canals, not roads and carriages like a civilized
country!"
"You're being ridiculous, Ramil. The waterways of Rama are among the wonders of the world."
Ramil was annoyed with himself, recognizing he'd gone completely off the point with his
sweeping attack on Crescent culture.
"Look, Father, put yourself in my shoes. You know as well as I do that marriage to one of them
would be a living death. They are so formal they have sixty things to do before and after
belching. God knows what you have to do before kissing a Crown Princess!" Ramil shuddered at
the thought.
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"Don't do this."
"We have no choice. It is the only way our two countries can be brought to trust each other--we
need the Blue Crescent if there's to be a throne for you to inherit."
Ramil tried a different tack. "I thought the Crown Princesses didn't marry."
"This one does."
"Which one? They're all near ninety, aren't they?"
"You exaggerate, Ramil."
"So I'm to marry one of four but I'm to have no say in the choice, not even to say which I'd
prefer?"
"Correct. This is a marriage of state, not a farm boy picking a milkmaid at a barn dance."
Ramil bunched his fists. "I'm not going to do it, Father."
"You will do it for Gerfal. You will do it to show that you take your responsibilities seriously."
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Ramil stood up abruptly, with half a mind to storm out. "You can talk. You always said you
married Mother for love."
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Lagan threw another log on the fire. "I married selfishly. I weakened Gerfal by choosing your
mother."
"She was a princess--"
"Of a people that counted for very little here in the north. If I hadn't met her at the Great Horse Fair, I would've been married to Fergox's sister, did you know that?"
Ramil shook his head.
"I ducked out of the match, I admit. Junis was not the woman of my dreams. I knew my father
was planning the wedding so I took the decision out of his hands and married in a ceremony in
the desert before he could stop me."
Ramil suddenly understood. "So is this why you have not told me any of this before? You were
afraid I'd bolt and hitch up to the first likely looking woman?"
"Yes. You are very much like me, Ramil. I was afraid you'd make the same mistake."
"But your marriage to Mother was not a mistake. You were happy--you had me and Briony--"
"We were happy, yes, but Gerfal was not. Think what might have been if I had allied us to Fergox
by marriage: we wouldn't now be fearing for our future. But if you do your duty, you give Gerfal
a good chance of surviving free of the warlord. Indeed, even better: you stand to expand our
own power westwards--we could see Burinholts on two thrones."
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Ramil seethed with anger--he felt like a sheep herded into the shearing shed, about to lose the
comfortable fleece of dreams and pleasures that had so far made up his life. "But you forget the
elections they've got there."
Lagan waved his hand airily. "Practices can change. Those elections are open to abuse and have
been manipulated by Fergox. Why do you think an insignificant girl was chosen as the new
Crown Princess? He's bribed some of the priesthood--he's weakening the rulers. When the
Crescent Islanders realize this, they will want to put a stop to it, drag the Islands away from the
vagaries of elections into the modern age of strong hereditary leaders. To men."
Ramil considered his father's words carefully before replying. "So what you are really asking me
to do is to marry this crone to cement an alliance while all along we're planning to take over?"
"Not a crone. I have already said we will only accept a woman of child-bearing years. And yes,
we can offer the Crescent Islands strong leadership when the time is ripe."
"Can I refuse?"
"If you refuse, I will open negotiations with Fergox for a suitable match for you. I understand his sister is still unwed. The Inkar Yellowtooth will no doubt accept a fresh young man like you in
her bed."
"You are joking!"
"Sadly, I am not. I wish to spare my people a war we cannot win. Without the Blue Crescent, the
only future
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is as a vassal state of Fergox. He would ask just such a sacrifice of us--a pledge of our loyalty."
Ramil was overwhelmed by a desire to start the day again; go back to the forest but this time
forget to come home.
"So I have no choice?"
"No, I'm sorry, but you don't."
"The wedding--when, where?" Ramil snapped.
"The details are yet to be decided. Go and take a bath."
Lagan dismissed his son with a sigh. Ramil stalked out with his shoulders hunched. It grieved the
King to know that he had just shattered his relationship with his only son. He remembered
exactly what it had felt like to have his father behave as king rather than loving parent. His
father had never treated him the same after his marriage to Ramil's mother, and his beloved
wife had barely been received at court until the old king died. He feared Ramil would now hold a
similar grudge against him.
Once the Prince had gone, the King rang a bell. The chief of his guard came in.
"See that Prince Ramil does not leave the castle until further notice," ordered Lagan. "Make sure he does not visit the stables on any pretext."
If the guard thought the order strange, he did not say. He bowed and left quickly to organize a
twenty-four hour close watch on the young heir to the throne.
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Chapter 2
T
ashi was the last to arrive at the Hall of the Floating Lily, the seat of government in the four isles and one of her favorite places in the palace. The roof opened out from a central dome in the
shape of an inverted water lily, petals becoming cream-colored pillars turning blush-pink where
they joined the mosaic floor. The patterns on the ground reflected the rich culture of the Blue
Crescent: the ever-present motif of the water lily, perfect beauty floating on the water like the
Islands themselves in the Sapphire Sea; the dragon of eternity chasing its tail; the leaping
dolphin, legendary friend of the first Mother; the dragonfly, the herald of the Great Goddess
herself, catching fire with a fragment of her glory.
Tashi approached her fellow rulers with a carefully measured step. Marisa of Phonilara, the First
Crown Princess, was already sitting on her throne--the Throne of State, which was carved like a
ship in full sail--her white robe spread around her so she looked like an old wrinkled figurehead.
The Second Crown Princess,
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Safilen of Lir-Salu, a fine-looking woman in her fifties, was just taking her seat on the Throne of
Plenty--a magnificent piece decorated with images of the harvest of land and sea. She swept the
folds of her green robe, embroidered with golden sheaves, so that they rippled gracefully to rest
on the floor. The Third Crown Princess, Korbin of Rama, followed her, sitting down swiftly on the
Throne of Justice. Her face was set in a frown, fingers stroking the blue sash in her lap in a subtle