bronze fin-gerbowl out of the window. It made a satisfying clang as it hit the pavement below.
She flung herself on her bed. She'd do her duty but Goddess help Prince Ramil if he expected
any more from her than that. If he did, she would make his life very unpleasant.
The point when Ramil completely lost his temper was when he was refused entry to the stables.
He had intended to fulfill his promise and take his little sister riding, but a guard stopped them
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both at the entrance.
"I'm very sorry, Your Highness, but the King has ordered that you are not to be allowed in here."
The guard, a jovial man for whom Ramil had often bought a drink in the inn by the castle gate,
was now looking very sober and very serious.
Inside their loose boxes, the horses neighed, sensing the presence of their favorite rider at the
door.
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"Ram, where is the pony?" whispered Briony, clutching her brother's hand nervously.
"The pony is in the stable, but apparently I'm not able to fetch it for you."
Ramil could feel his temper getting the better of him. "The Princess--is she allowed in?" he snapped.
"Of course, Your Highness." The man lowered his spear.
"And if I order a groom to bring the pony here, will I be allowed to take my sister into the park?"
Ramil asked acidly.
"No, Your Highness, I am ordered to keep you in the castle."
Ramil turned to his sister. "Sorry, Briony, lesson cancelled. Run back to your nurse."
27
Leaving Briony bewildered by this sudden change of plan, he strode out of the courtyard,
heading for his father's chambers. King Lagan was closeted with the Prime Minister, Lord Taris, a
map spread on the table in front of them, dotted with tiny figures of men and ships.
"So, I am to be a prisoner in the castle, am I, Father?" Ramil asked, not stopping for the
courtesies of greeting.
Lagan pushed a division of soldiers towards the mountain passes crossing to Brigard.
"It is my wish to keep you close by until the marriage takes place," Lagan answered calmly.
"That is outrageous, Father! You are treating me like a criminal!"
Lagan sat back and regarded his son astutely.
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"Would you give me your word that you will not desert us?"
"Of course, I--"
"Would you swear it on the good name of your mother?"
"I . . . " Ramil faltered.
"Exactly."
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Ramil twisted his riding gloves in his fingers. "Do you think she would've approved of this,
Father?"
Lagan picked up a model of a cavalry officer thoughtfully. "No, 1 know that she would not. She
would've saddled your horse for you and bribed the guards to let you leave."
"So why are you doing this to me?" Ramil cried in despair.
"Because she would have been wrong. Sometimes the head, rather than the heart, has to rule."
Ramil could have screamed with fury. His particular heart had become a fiery ball of loathing.
"I hate you, Father."
"Do not say that," Lagan replied wearily. He had had just such a scene with his own father and his punishment for his choice then was to have to live through it again today. "I am trying to
save Gerfal. I'm saving you from yourself. If you ran from your duty, believe me, you would
never forgive yourself."
Ramil was burning to throw something, to hit his father even. "You talk about duty, Father, but
you forget that I can show no duty if I cannot choose. How 29
will you know whether or not I would act as becomes a prince of Gerfal if you do not allow me
the chance to make my own mistakes or even make my own right choices? How can I ever be fit
to rule Gerfal like this?"
Lagan nodded his approval. "You argue well, my boy, but the time to give you that opportunity is
29
not now. Later, I promise, you will have plenty of freedom to show you are fit to rule."
"But--"
"I cannot risk the nation's happiness on your experiments in rule."
"All right then. Shut me in the dungeon--show the people just what you think of me."
Anger flashed in Lagan's eyes. "You are being insolent, proof that I was right to confine you!"
Ramil gave a hollow laugh. "Unfair, Father; very good maneuvering, but unfair. Do not try to
blame me for your injustice towards me!"
Lagan rose, assuming the full dignity of his position, his green robes sweeping the floor.
"Consider, Prince Ramil, in your pride and your selfishness, that I could be wrong to you but right for our people. Tell me, in my place, would you put the happiness of your own child over your
duty to your nation? Tell me, what would you do?"
Ramil glared at his father. "I would trust my son."
He left the chamber, slamming the door behind him.
30
The crown barge glided up to the palace mooring accompanied by the quavering pipes of the
royal orchestra. Streamers fluttered gently from the prow--orange in honor of the passenger
who was to take this journey to the sea. Tashi was bringing nothing with her. All her belongings
and ceremonial robes had been packed by others and sent ahead. They didn't feel like hers in
30
any case. She'd struggled for years to make herself into the Fourth Crown Princess, but the
marriage decision had driven a breach between her two selves. The princess was an empty shell,
a collection of words, actions, and drapery; Tashi was far away, hidden somewhere inside
herself, watching it all with disdain.
The other three Crown Princesses stood beside her as the priests went through the ceremony of
farewell.
"I have asked the Etiquette Mistress to write a new set of rituals suited to your life as a traveller, sister," said Korbin haughtily.
"As the Goddess wills," murmured Tashi.
"We would value frequent messages from you," said Marisa, "and will expect the nuptial visit of you and your consort in the spring."
Tashi nodded, not trusting herself to say anything on the subject of consorts.
"A word in private, sister," Safilen spoke gently, taking Tashi's arm. The other two rulers
watched in surprise as she led Tashi aside. The courtiers tried to ignore this break with
precedent, keeping their eyes to the barges gathering in a flotilla of orange ribbons. The sun
glanced off the network of canals that
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crisscrossed the plain before the palace, making the water dazzle liquid gold. Swallows swirled
in the sky above the jade-colored roof of the palace.
The Second Princess drew Tashi into an arbor covered in a vine, grapes dangling in ripe clusters.
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She cupped Tashi's pale face in her hand and looked deep into her green eyes.
"You are unhappy, sister."
Safilen said it as a statement, not a question.
Tashi blinked, feeling tears spring into her eyes. No one had mentioned her emotions since she
arrived at the palace. It was as if she had been stripped of the desires, hopes, and fears of youth
and slowly become a machine created to rule. Now, just when she needed to be at her most
hardened, the Second Princess was talking about feelings.
"You think we voted for you because you are the most junior among us?
That you do not matter?"
Tashi nodded.
Safilen dropped her hand from Tashi's face and instead took Tashi's fingers in hers. Another
unparalleled sign of sympathy.