“Angilki’s too old for her,” he said. “It will have to be a neutral. But you’re right about Kinvale. Next year, perhaps.”
The stranger spoke quite softly, so that she had to strain to hear. “You may not have that much time, friend.”
Then another pause, but not so long.
“I see!” Her father’s voice, curiously flat and expressionless.
“I am sorry.”
“Hardly your fault!” The king sighed. “It was why I sent for you—your skill and your honesty. Honesty and wisdom. And I knew you would not hold back the truth.” Another pause. “Are you sure?”
“Of course not.” Inos heard footsteps on bare planks, receding. Then the strangers from farther away: “Have you tried this?”
“No!” That was her father’s monarch voice.
“It might tell you.”
“No! It stays shut!”
“I don’t know how you can resist.”
“Because it causes trouble. My grandfather discovered that. It has not been opened since his time.”
“Thinal saw one like it once,” the visitor muttered. “It stayed shut, also. For the same reasons, I suppose.”
She had no idea what they could be talking about. They seemed to have moved to the far side of the room, near the south window. She strained to hear the voices over the thumping of her own heart.
“Even if I am right… about you… then there might be hope… if we two were to cooperate.”
“No, Sagorn, my friend. I have always refused and I always shall, even for that. Don’t think I don’t trust you.”
The stranger—Sagorn?—sighed. “I know whom you do not trust, and you are right. And you have not told your daughter?”
“Heavens, no! She is only a child. She couldn’t handle that!”
Handle what? Inos wanted to stamp her foot with frustration, but of course she was hardly daring to breathe, let alone stamp.
“But you will?”
Another pause.
“I don’t know,” her father said softly. “If… if she is older when… or maybe not at all.”
“You must!” The stranger spoke in a tone that no one used to a king. “You must not let it be lost!” His voice reverberated in the empty room.
“Must?”
Inos could guess at her father’s mocking, quizzical expression.
“Yes, must! It is too precious… and it is Krasnegar’s only hope for survival. You know that.”
“It would also be her greatest danger.”
“Yes, that is true,” the stranger admitted. “But the advantages of having it outweigh the disadvantages, do they not?” His voice became diffident, almost pleading. “You know that! You… you could not trust me with it? If I promised that later I would tell her?”
She heard her father’s dry chuckle. He had come closer. She must be prepared to run.
“No, Sagorn. For her sake. I trust you, friend, but not… certain others.”
The other man sighed. “No, certainly not Darad. Never trust him. Or Andor.”
“You keep them away, both of them!” That was a royal command.
“Yes, I will. And so will Jalon.”
The stranger’s voice was suddenly very close. Inos wheeled around and started down the stairs as fast as she could safely and silently go. Jalon? The minstrel? She was sure that was the name she had just heard. What had he to do with this? And who was this Sagorn?
Then—-
Dust! With horror she saw her own footsteps below her, mingled with those of her father and his visitor, giveaway marks on the deposits of years. Coming up, she had not noticed them, but going down they were obvious, even in the dim glow coming through the grimy panes. Panic! They would know that she, or at least someone, had been listening.
At the bottom she stumbled against the heavy door and the rusted old hinges creaked horribly. She squeezed through the opening, dashed across her father’s bedroom, and was plunging down the next stairs when she heard a shout behind her and then a clatter of boots.
It was a race, then. She must escape from the tower and, certainly, she must hide her precious packet of silk until the storm blew itself out.
She reached the dressing room, skidded on a rug in the middle of it, regained her balance, dashed down the next flight, and burst into the withdrawing room, into an astonished collection of six matronly ladies just sitting down to Aunt Kade’s midmorning salon.
For a long moment Inos wavered on one foot, with the other still in the air and arms spread like a cormorant. She stared her horror back at their surprise, poised on the verge of sprinting through their midst and out the door on the far side. She was very tempted—at least she would be able to dispose of the silk—but the way was cluttered by all those ladies on the edges of their gilt and rosewood chairs, by Kel the footman with a serving trolley laden with Aunt Kade’s finest china and her magnificent, enormous, silver tea urn giving out its usual disgusting odor of burning whale oil… And then Aunt Kade had risen, and all the others did so also, and it was too late.
Aunt Kade’s plump face was turning pink and assuming that fretted look that Inos so often provoked these days. Whether to welcome or scold… She was probably also chewing over problems of protocol and the dowdy brown worsted. Then she made her decision.
She beamed. “Inosolan, my dear! How nice that you can join us! May I present these ladies? Mistress Jiolinsod, Mistress Ofazi…”
Feeling as if her head had come off and floated out through a window, Inos forced a smile on a face not there. Tucking the silk behind her in her left hand, she offered her right to each of the simpering matrons. To be invited to one of Princess Kadolan’s tea parties in the palace was a screaming social success, and to meet Princess Inosolan as well was probably a stupid honor.
Especially, she realized, when the princess was wearing her dowdy brown worsted, regally emblazoned—at least on the right sleeve—with silver cobwebs. Oh, horrors! There were probably cobwebs on her hair and face, also, while the society ladies were all dressed in their best gowns and bonnets, and loaded with every piece of jewelry they owned or, likely, had been able to borrow.
Boots on the stairs! With a wail, Inos jumped loose from the fourth introduction and started backing away from the door.
Her aunt spluttered at such gaucherie. “Inos!”
And then the door flew wide and a man appeared in the doorway—an elderly man, tall and stooped. He folded his arms and straightened, and his gaze swept the room. Inos had never seen him before, she was certain, yet he had known what she looked like. He had a gaunt face, with a hooked nose like an eagle’s beak and fierce blue eyes. Deep clefts ran down at the sides of his mouth, emphasizing the nose and the strong chin. Wisps of white hair showed under the brown hood of his cloak. His gown bore traces of cobwebs.
“Doctor Sagorn!” Aunt Kade exclaimed in delight. “How nice that you are able to join us! May I…” Her voice tailed away as she saw how the newcomer was staring ferociously at her niece, as that niece continued to edge backward.
Inos was fighting a spring tide of panic, drowning in rising terror before that deadly glare. Her hips touched the trolley and she could back away no farther. Where was her father? Why had he not come, also?
And how in the world had this sinister old man come down the stairs so quickly? He must have outrun her and her father both, yet he was not even panting. She was.
“Inosolan?” Aunt Kade sounded vexed. “What are you holding behind your back, dear?”
Her mouth opened and nothing came out.
“Silk!” said the terrifying Sagorn. “Silk with yellow dragons on it.”
A sorcerer!
Inos screamed in terror and turned to flee.