Niahi stretched out both hands and spread the fingers. Even like this her hands were barely as large as Sylvi’s small human palms; Niahi’s fingers were less than half the length and width of Sylvi’s, the palm was a dot, and the littlest finger was barely there at all. She had five fingers on each hand—four and a thumb—which seemed to be the most common; Ebon, Lrrianay, Hibeehea and Aliaalia all had ten fingers, although Feeaha and Oyry had only eight, and Hissiope twelve.
Your hands are so beautiful, said Niahi, and stroked Sylvi’s with both of hers. It is not just that they are big and strong; they are—the way they fit together—the proportions are perfect. Ours are so little the joints make them knobbly, and the last joint doesn’t have room to bend very much. And yours are not all covered in hair or feathers, so you can admire them properly, the long finger bones and the fan of bones across the backs of your hands, the long arc of the web between the thumb and first finger, and the littler webbing between the other fingers. And you have wrists that turn and turn—turn in all directions.
Sylvi said, embarrassed, I don’t think we admire our hands much.
You should, said Niahi. If I were a sculptor, I’d want to sculpt human hands. Maybe Ebon will. The—yelloni—what do you say, when it’s around your wrist? Bracelet—will last a long time if you don’t cut it off. Oh—I should have asked—I’m sorry!—you may not want to wear it forever. Here, I can— and she began to tease some of the hair-ends free.
Sylvi snatched her hand away from the little hands, noticing as she did so that there was no strength of resistance from Niahi: it was like drawing her hand through ribbons. I will wear it till it falls off, she said. Niahi gave a little hrooo of audible laughter. That will be a long time!
The flight went on and on as Sylvi thought about seeing her family again—and yet it seemed longer still when she thought of saying good-bye to the pegasi—when she thought of how far away they already were, and how much farther still she was going. For we will come to visit you, she heard, over and over again, in her memory. She also heard Redfora’s voice saying good-bye. She had barely met Redfora, she could not possibly miss her—no, but she missed asking her all the questions she would like to ask another human who spoke to pegasi. She already missed Niahi. She missed her lightness, her laughter, the silent melody of her voice.... The pegasi’s silent voices were as individual as their faces, as noisy human voices. How both simple and cumbersome it would be to talk always with her mouth again; how familiar and crude. How easy and familiar it would be to be a human among other humans again; how awkward and ungainly.... She wasn’t sure if it was the wind tearing water from her eyes.... And soon she would be saying good-bye to all the pegasi.
Even Ebon. Their fathers had demanded this as a condition to letting her visit go ahead, that both their peoples should see that their loyalties were to their own first. It’s not for the pegasi, though, she’d said sadly. I know. It’s for us humans.
There was a long pause and then Ebon had said, Yes. But it won’t be long. I’ll be back almost as soon as it takes you to have one of your baths.
But that’s not right either. I should visit you as often as you visit me! Oftener! You’re apprenticed to a sculptor! I’m just the king’s surplus daughter!
You’re not surplus to us, said Ebon. And—dearheart—you’re forgetting. The Alliance says we visit you.
There was another long pause, and then she said—sadly, drearily—And I can’t fly. You have to fetch me.
There was the Wall.
And there was the palace.
Home.
They circled once over Banesorrow Lake before they came down. They were returning when they had said they would return, so they were expected; but her father wouldn’t be waiting for her, he’d be working, and she could imagine—she hoped she could imagine—the messenger bursting into his office and saying,“ The pegasi! They’re here!” or perhaps “ The princess! She’s back!” The queen, she thought, would be pacing up and down along the outer wall of the Great Court, dictating to a secretary trotting beside her and watching the sky—she’d be the one who sent the messenger.
Sylvi thought, And she ’d see twelve pegasi, with their shining coats and great beating wings . . . and a hammock.
There was a stream—no, a river—of people pouring out of the Great Court gates and into the parkland where the pegasi would land. She could hear some conversation among the pegasi, although—as if it were the wind in her ears that was preventing her—she couldn’t hear what they were saying. But she saw the pause in the human river, and then the bright red-and-gold of the footmen’s formal livery, two pairs of them pacing slowly, and then half a dozen senators in their court dress—she thought she saw Orflung’s broad bright orange sash—oh, dear. Had her father told her her return was to be a state occasion? He must have done, and she had forgotten. But she should have known. She should have known it would be....
There was her father, wearing one of the long sparkly king robes—and even the Sword at his side!—hand in hand with her mother, who was wearing a sparkly queen robe; a step behind the queen was Hirishy. Two of her brothers were there, wearing gold chains round their necks and dress swords at their sides. Danacor was missing. She felt a brief flicker of fear—don’t be silly, she thought, he’s often gone—and then the pegasi were gliding down the last little way—they were cantering with barely a jolt to their passenger—trotting—walking. She pulled her laces free, ready to stand up as gracefully as she could.
One of the footmen had come quickly forward, and he was beside her almost as soon as the drai had fallen to the ground. It was Glarfin, and he was smiling and trying not to smile, because smiling wasn’t grand enough. When he caught her eye, however, the smile broke out anyway, and he mouthed “Welcome home, lady” at her. She grinned and murmured, “ Thank you, lieutenant.” He had a robe over his arm and he unfolded it gravely, and then flung it round her shoulders in a highly practised court attendant’s gesture. Court robes tended to have monumental armholes, so she managed to slip her arms through them without finding herself trying to make her elbow touch her ear, or scrabbling at it like a cat clawing curtains. Glarfin, pretending to do nothing, delicately held the collar till Sylvi had it settled across her shoulders.
The robe, she saw, was one of her mother’s—the one that was Sylvi’s favourite, stitched all over with golden topazes. It had been her mother’s mother’s, and her mother’s mother’s aunt’s, and the aunt’s mother’s, who had also been married to the king. It’ll be too long, she thought anxiously, but it wasn’t; it had been taken up for her. Surreptitiously she wiggled her fingers; the sleeves had been shortened as well. She put her foot out and the hem poured topazes over it; she crossed her arms with a flourish, watching the topazes sparkle and then threw her arms wide again as her mother put her arms around her and whispered, “Welcome home, and happy birthday, darling.” Then her father hugged her too, and for a moment she forgot about both topazes and pegasi, as she felt her parents’ arms around her for the first time in three weeks. Her brothers saluted her formally, Oyry and Poih at their shoulders, but Garren caught her eye long enough to give a quick flick and twist with his left hand, which had meant “let’s run away” to generations of royal children: it was a slight revision of the formal sign of hospitality made to pegasi attending any official gathering.