Zindel gaped. She was right. Howan Fai Goutin was the crown prince of Eniath, and Eniath’s people were Uromathians. Culturally. Religiously. Racially.
“Triad’s mercy,” he whispered as a crushing mountain lifted from his shoulders, from his chest. He was suddenly able to breathe again. The sunlight shone more brightly and the scent of the sea had a saltier tang in his nostrils.
“I ought to have thought of it myself,” Andrin said quietly. “I should’ve remembered that lovely dance I’d enjoyed with Howan Fai at the pre-coronation ball…and the conversation I was having with him and Darcel and Alazon when that awful Glimpse struck. It was so unfair, coming in the middle of a conversation when-” She paused for a moment, then gave her head a little toss. “In the middle of a conversation with someone as sensible as Darcel,” she went on in what her father suspected wasn’t what she’d been about to say, “and a young man I actually liked, one with enough courage to ask a girl a foot and a half taller than he is to dance with him. I should have remembered him, but there was too much crashing down on me. Janaki’s death, the accords, Chava…It was all too much for me to think straight, but Darcel remembered for me.”
“Shalana be praised,” he said, brushing her hair back where the breeze had caught a tendril and wafted it across her face. “You found it. You found the answer none of us could see.”
“No, Papa. Darcel found it. Although,” her lips quirked briefly, “I think he was more than a bit embarrassed to be bringing it up with me.”
“Gods, gods,” Zindel said softly, tears brimming in his eyes. “This must be what Janaki Glimpsed, ’Drin!”
“Janaki?” Andrin’s gray eyes darkened again at her dead brother’s name, and Zindel’s hand moved from her hair to cup her cheek. “Janaki had a Glimpse of Darcel and me?”
“Not a very clear one, love. You know”-Zindel’s voice wavered for a moment-“his Talent was never as strong as yours or mine. But he loved you with all his heart, and he knew Darcel Kinlafia would be important to you before he ever sent him to us.”
She looked deep into his eyes, as if searching for something which had been left unsaid, and he gazed back steadily. She knew, he thought. She knew Janaki wasn’t the only one who’d had a Glimpse of her and Kinlafia, and he wondered suddenly if that was what she’d edited out about her conversation with the Voice. But she only looked at him, then nodded with a maturity that was heartbreaking in someone who was barely seventeen years old. A maturity which realized some questions could not be asked, even of a father.
“I understand, Papa,” she said softly, and he felt a fresh pain, because one day, he knew, she truly would understand, and Glimpses seldom showed happy or joyful visions of the future.
“I know you do, dear heart,” he told her, cradling her face between his hands and smiling sadly. “I know you do. But”-he drew a deep, shuddering breath-“thank all the gods there are that Janaki had that Glimpse. And that Darcel Kinlafia is the man he is.”
“In more ways than one,” Andrin agreed in heartfelt tones. “I don’t think he was deliberately pushing me together with Howan Fai, but he and Alazon were the ones who invited him to join us when I decided I needed a rest. And I think it may have been my telling him how close an ally King Junni’s become that made him think of Howan Fai…and remind me about him last night, Marnilay bless him! I can’t pretend even to myself that I really know Howan Fai, but at least I know I like him, and when I think about him compared to Chava’s sons.…” Her voice wavered with sudden tears. “Oh, gods, Papa, I’ve been so scared.”
He caught her close, held her as though she were made of glass. He held her until she stopped trembling. Then held her until he’d stopped trembling. When he knew he could actually control his own voice, he kissed her brow and sat back on his heels.
“We’ll have an amended list in your hands before sunset, sweetling,” he promised, and her eyes softened at his use of her childhood nickname. Shadows of the fear she’d just admitted lingered in them, yet it was a fear she’d conquered. One which could no longer conquer her, and his heart swelled with pride in her.
“I don’t feel particularly sweet at the moment, Papa,” she told him, and she smiled that smile again. The one any hunting lioness might have envied. “At the moment, I feel positively wicked.”
He let go a genuine laugh. “You’ve earned the right, child. More than earned the right.” He lifted her hands, kissed each one in turn, then said, “Enjoy the sunlight and the breeze, Andrin. I have a few things to see to, this morning.”
He walked briskly back across her bedroom, reaching the doorway in four long strides. He nodded once more as he crossed the sitting room, passed Andrin’s saluting bodyguards, and stepped back into the hallway, but this time it was a very different nod and he had to remind himself to maintain the grimly inexorable stride with which he’d arrived. There was no point pretending Chava wouldn’t have sources within Calirath Palace’s staff, and the last thing he could afford was for one of those sources to see him bounding along with the eager, anticipatory buoyancy which had replaced his morning’s earlier despair.
It took him less than five minutes to reach the chamber where his Privy Council had already gathered, despite the earliness of the hour. There were extra armsmen in the green and gold of the House of Calirath outside the council chamber’s door, as well, and they snapped to attention as he strode past them.
The assembled councilors rose at his entrance. Their faces were uniformly grim, most of them pale and worried. Partly that was the lingering shock of the news of the crown prince’s death and the knowledge that the mysterious Arcanans-the Arcanans who, it seemed, truly did use what could only be described as magic-had conquered no less than four entire universes in barely two weeks. But it was also deeply personal, he realized. The grimness of men and women who understood what marriage to one of Chava Busar’s sons would do to Andrin yet saw no more way to avoid that fate than he had.
He looked at them, recognizing their grief and treasuring their devotion to his house and family, and then-finally-he let loose his own ferocious smile.
“Shamir!” he crowed, thrusting the list into the First Councilor’s astonished hands. “Get this thing properly completed immediately. I want the names of every unmarried Uromathian prince from Eniath, from Hinorea, from every damned royal family of Uromathian culture this ball of rock ever produced. Even the ones who’ve emigrated to the colonies. Andrin’s done it, by Vothan! She’s found the way out. Well don’t just stand there gaping like ninnies! We’ve only got a few weeks to whittle that list down to a candidate who’s actually worthy of her hand!”
Shock at his smile had stunned all of them motionlessness while they listened to him. But now answering smiles-wicked, nasty, delighted smiles of sudden understanding-blossomed on every face.
“And need I remind any of you of the need for absolute secrecy on this subject? If Chava gets wind of what we’re doing, he wouldn’t be above assassinating the best candidates.”