Chapter 2 of Princess of the Sea

Chapter Two

The sun was setting in a blaze of red-golden fire when the guests began to arrive in carriages. Wintress was in the hall with the fountain, wearing a long black dress and greeting the guests. Henry was in a blue tunic and pants, with his narrow gold crown, discussing taxes with a few dukes his own age. Corwin sat in a smoking room, not smoking himself, talking with several older men who were smoking gilded pipes and laughing over some odd story about a dwarf and an ogre in a bar, when he stopped listening and got up, walking to the doorway and staying there. Silira had arrived.

She was coming down the wide curving stairs, illuminated by a shaft of sunset light from the open cupola above the fountain, wearing the silk dress, her hair up, a long string of pearls looped around her neck. She'd taken them off her cloak and pulled a thread from it to string them together. Best not to be a walking treasure, she thought, but that was still how Corwin saw her, silver slippers flashing from under the hem as she slowly came down. He didn't say anything for a second, then came forward.

"Ah. This, gentlemen, is...is..." He looked at her. "Lady Silent, a mute visitor from...foreign climes."

Henry saw her and waved. "Hey, Corwin! Lady Silent! We're going to the hall or Mother will tear your brains out. She's getting that look." Wintress was standing behind him, staring at him through her veil. He turned and quailed. "Ah...let's go!" He and his friends fled, and the nobles followed them, muttering about Silira's odd appearance. "Must not be human, old man..."

Colin offered her his arm. "Shall we?" She smiled and took it.

So far, so good. Nobody was being formally announced, but there was an imposing butler with a chest like Cinderella's pumpkin standing in the wide doorway and making check marks on his list. He nodded when he saw Colin, and then frowned when he saw Silira.

"Lady Silent," Corwin whispered to him. And so she would be known.

Corwin took her inside. She liked the place. It reminded her of home. Everything was huge and simple and mostly stone. Pillars lined one side of the room. Windows filled the wall behind them, casting long shadows over the golden-yellow walls and smooth marble floor of the semicircular chamber. The tables were all round, made of ebony to complement the black floor. One was raised above the rest on a high black dais. The next two to either side of it were slightly lower, the next pair lower still, and so on until the lowest pair was level with the floor. The platforms made a set of stairs around the curved edge of the half circle.

The people fascinated her. Everything about them--the glorious clothes, the faces, the voices--was strange and wonderful to Silira. She wished she knew some of them, but others creeped her out. Not all were human. She knew that this was not the Seelie Court, or (heavens forbid) the Unseelie, but they had their ambassadors as well. Nonhumans had their own courts, which didn't mix much with the humans even though they lived side by side. They kept to themselves. If there was an island with humans and nonhumans living together, the human court would rule the humans and the Seelie Court would rule the others. The Unseelie court, being composed of evil nonhumans, would just kill the humans. There was a bull with the head of a man, politely standing instead of sitting at a table that was otherwise full of what looked like Arabian humans. A small dragon curled around a chandelier on the ceiling, lit it in a puff of smoke, and flew to another.

Henry was at a lower table with numerous other young boys, and he winked at her as she passed. She rolled her eyes and went on with Corwin. With some trepidation, she realized they were going to the highest table.

Queen Wintress was in the center of the line. On her right were three Arabian dignitaries, speaking in slightly fractured Eleschic and glancing briefly at Silira with black eagle eyes. On her left were a few other kings, but there was an empty seat just to her left, probably where the king of Eleschi used to sit. Corwin, with Silira next to him. "My aunt canceled," he whispered to her. "So there's room for you. She came down with diamonditis and didn't want to be seen in public. Ironic, considering she doesn't want to speak and you do." He paused. "Do you?"

She nodded, discreetly lifting her feet from the floor.

He sighed. "Good. Listen, don't worry about people asking why you're here. They'll just assume you're a random princess or something. This isn't the highest table--well, it is literally, but it's not meant to hold only monarchs. Just the ones who really need to talk to Mother. Also our relatives. Henry's not here because it goes over his head. I'm not trying to say you're inferior. Just that people won't automatically think we're engaged. They'll know you're a visitor."

Just then, the king to Corwin's right stopped talking to his neighbor and noticed Corwin. "Ah! Your Highness! And...lady I don't know! Royal greetings and happiness to see you again from Blank, king of Asterisk."

The king behind him and his queen greeted them as well. It seemed that most of the people from here were European, near neighbors of Eleschi, except for the Arabs. Corwin was greeting the visitors and introducing Silira as Lady Silent, but she tapped him on the shoulder and gestured discreetly at the Middle Eastern men on Her Majesty's right. He glanced at them, then back at her. She tried to look curious, as if she were asking, "Why?" It was hard to learn to speak with your eyes.

Corwin looked at them and frowned slightly. "What about them?"

"Does she know sign language?" the foreign queen said from a few seats down.

Silira shrugged apologetically.

"You want to know why they're here?" Corwin said. "Everyone else is European."

She nodded, smiling.

He laughed. "I'm good at this." A few chuckles from the right. Corwin's mother stayed engrossed in conversation with the Eastern delegates. "Well, they're just...here...Why are they here? Either they want something from Mother, or Mother wants something from them, or..." He leaned over to look at them, then gasped. "That's..." Corwin flopped back into his seat, staring ahead, stunned. "It's the Kadif. It's really him. He never comes. Even though he should. It's his duty as a human monarch, but he never comes. Calls himself an Emperor who rises above us, even though there are kingdoms larger than his. Like yours, yes?" he asked the king beyond Blank. "Anyhow, he thinks he's superior. Nothing wrong with Arabs in general, but there's something wrong with him."

One of the three dignitaries from Astrakhan, whom Wintress had been keeping busy with polite conversation, rose and bowed to those assembled. He cleared his throat, then began a long speech in Astrakhani. "He's not even speaking Eleschic," Corwin muttered resentfully. "Protocol says you speak the language of the country you're in, and he's being all superior, thinking he doesn't even have to speak our language. I think a war might be in order soon."

The Astrakhaner finished, smiled, and sat down. Wintress addressed him in Astrakhani.

"A interesting speech. And all concerning the virtues of diplomatic relations and the diablerie of war."

"Yes." Ambassador Ben-Rasta nodded, a hint of superiority in his smile. "War is, after all, a terrible thing. Especially if the country you fight has a large army."

She rolled her eyes. "Like yours?"

He nodded, no longer smiling. "Exactly."

Corwin spoke to Silira, not turning his head. "Brace yourself. Here it comes."

The ambassador nodded and spoke briefly in Astrakhani to an underling who had sidled up behind them, who rose and opened a door in the side of the hall. Twenty youngish women in veils and gold-colored tops and wide gold trousers filed out, going to the center of the hall. They all had their hair tied into a tight, sleek bun. Most were Arabian, but a few were European, one or two were African, and one was Asian. They formed a circle in the center of the council chamber.

The Kadif rose, smiling. His black eagle eyes regarded the other leaders with cold contempt. He said something in Astrakhani, projecting his deep voice so everyone could hear him. He was lean and tall and handsome in an unattractive way. His longish hair had hints of grey at the temples, but he was strong and obviously not a man you wanted to cross. "Do you speak--" Corwin whispered, but Silira was already shaking her head. "All right." He translated. "...good people of all countries, I present to you the fattest...no, greatest...group...of eminent dancers in all of my vast and glorious empire, brought from my palace of gold and silver, blah, blah, blah, and may I impose upon you tonight by giving you the pleasure of the dance of the windy sands, et cetera..."

Silira laughed (silently) and held up a hand, indicating she had heard enough. Corwin rolled his eyes discreetly and stopped translating. Silira wondered if someday she should learn Astrakhani.

A group of underlings slipped into the chamber and set up their instruments along the edge of the semicircle of tables. The Kadif sat down. Polite applause filled the room. Corwin clapped, and grinned when Silira did the slow clap. She couldn't believe this. It seemed like a dream. She was on her way to getting the three things she wanted--souls for everyone else, her soul, and Corwin. In that order. My point here is that she's not virtually stabbing herself for Corwin's sake, but for millions of people's sakes.

The music struck up. She had never heard anything like it, nothing so mysterious or weird, nothing that got into your blood like this. Anyone could dance to this and not be so bad, but nothing in the world is so bad as something that is not so bad. Also, the dancers were trained. And they were not smutty. Their aim was not infatuation; it was skill and speed, maybe even perfection. They danced as if their lives depended on it, now slow, now fast, whirling in circles, feet moving as fast as a sandstorm. Corwin's attention slipped from Silira to the dancers. "Interesting," he mumbled. "They're not so bad."

Silira was slightly jealous, but not very. After all, he showed every sign of becoming her friend. Also, she loved the music. She couldn't stop her feet tapping under the table. Her fingers began to tap out the melody on the tablecloth. She began to concentrate on the moves of the dancers, trying to understand the steps of the dance. Left, right, two forward, clap, clap above your head, clap at chest level...

She heard the Kadif speak softly to Queen Wintress in Eleschic. Ironic that he finally respected her by speaking her language, since what he was saying was entirely disrespectful to his fellow monarch.

"They dance like...like they dance for their lives, yes? They do."

"What?!" Wintress said, almost above a whisper. Corwin was still watching the dancers, but Silira subtly kicked him under the table and subtly pointed to his mother. Corwin listened as well.

"...cannot insult us so," the queen mother was saying. "How dare you?!"

Silira tried to look as if she wasn't listening to the Kadif, and noticed that everyone else was doing the same thing.

"Why not?" the Kadif said, still in Eleschic. "They belong to me. I bring my shoes. I bring my spiked tubaharp. I bring my dancers."

"Slaves!" Corwin whispered fiercely. "Not the kind that are called slaves but really aren't, not the kind who are really just paid servants who can leave whenever they want and are only called slaves to make the master feel superior. Captives. Probably daughters of losing soldiers. I heard there were dancers, but the fellow said they were free!"

King Whatsit of Blank stamped his foot under the table. "Nothing we can do, that's the worst of it."

Corwin was hastily assuring his neighbors that Eleschi had nothing to do with this. The queen was hissing whispers at the Kadif with a diplomatic smile on her face. The Kadif was smiling back in an infuriating way. The people too far away to hear were wondering if something was going wrong.

"They are good, yes?" said the Kadif, keeping his voice low. "Better than any of your country. And you can send no one down to stop them, or I am...insulted? Yes. Insulted. Perchance...angry. Furious. Sit. Watch slaves. I keep laws of Astrakhan. You keep laws of...of diplomacy. Lawbreakers are pumiced."

"Punished," the queen spat. "And I keep the laws of Eleschi. No slaves within my kingdom. You agreed to this."

"Why? Are you stronger?"

"Are you crueler?"

Corwin had been listening to this and realized that Silira was gone. "Lady Silent!" he whispered, as loudly as he dared. "Where are you? Oh, this is just wonderful..."

He saw her.

It was her hair he noticed first. She had her back to him, running silently and speedily down the stairs that the platforms made, stealing a tablecloth from a table full of old gentlemen absorbed in the dancers. She slid it over her hair and into the shadow of a pillar. She was now very near the dance, not visible unless you knew where to look, looking almost like one of the dancers. From there, she could barely tell that the top table was in secret uproar.

He didn't understand at first, not until a line of dancers passed the line of pillars and her silent ladyship slid out of the shadow and into the dance.

Silira had a few reasons. One was that she liked the music and the dance and this was a challenge that just begged her to try it. Yes, it hurt, but she was full of pent-up energy. She was beginning to get used to the feeling in her feet. Soon, she would barely notice it. It would become part of her, resented but not paid any attention unless she had walked a long time and was tired. There was no point in trying to walk as little as possible. She would be walking a good deal if she had to get the option of eternal life for everyone she'd ever loved. Another reason was that the Kadif annoyed her intensely. A lesser reason was that she wanted to get Corwin's attention back. The slaves were modest, yes, but they were still dancing girls. And something simply had to be done. This wasn't violent. It wasn't an insult. She was merely telling the Kadif that she sympathized with the slaves and he could do nothing about that. And, though she didn't know it, that drove him mad the most of all.

Corwin suddenly put things in perspective. A mysterious and beautiful stranger turns up on the doorstep, wearing a cloak sewn with thousands of rare pearls, slightly damp, huge striking eyes...no, striking wasn't the word, they shocked you with their size and intensity and beauty, bluer than blue. She can't speak, but seems to understand him, even to know him well. And she enters eagerly into their game of thrones. And now she's in the middle of the ring, escaping from certain death and dancing while she's at it...dancing perfectly. Those of the guests who weren't absorbed in puffed-up conversation with the queen (i.e. Ben-Rasta), were looking at her, realizing how good she was. No, good would be an understatement.

Corwin began to clap.

Where she came from, there was a move that was easier than most, and, for her at least, more fun. It was called, of all things, the Ascension, like the going-up ceremony. The thing was, you used your tail to do it, twisted and spun and gathered momentum and then shot upward. She could do it in five seconds back home, but here there was no way to swim up. The air, she knew from experience, simply did not hold you up. She had never done it on land...but she had done it once in air. Into air. When she first went up.

She decided to do it.

Slowly, then faster, the applause spread.

She started to spin. Momentum was paramount. Silira had to spin faster than any of the others, and they were good. She had to spin like a top until she became a blur.

The Kadif and the Queen were still talking. Wintress had quieted down somewhat, lowering her voice and strengthening her argument. Her voice was softer than the Kadif's now. He was still smiling now, like a hungry wolf. "Crueler, say you so?"

She arched one black eyebrow. "Are you? We cannot allow cruelty to exist. Neither can we allow war to exist without a good reason. We must talk. We must remain cool and collected. Neither of us wants war."

Silira began pushing up with each step, rising up and down, bouncing quickly. The whole council chamber was a blur of gold and black around her. She heard more people clapping, and caught the swiftest of glances of Corwin's face, laughing in triumph and amazement.

"I want war," the Kadif said.

Queen Wintress sighed. "Then why this?"

"I ask you to surrender. We will say...you want to marry me. I will be king. Eleschi will be in my empire."

"I don't suppose this is because you're madly in love with me," she countered in Astrakhani.

He laughed. For all his cleverness, it was a very stupid laugh. "No."

Silira pushed off for the final time, then shot up, jumping with all of her strength. At the same time, the dance ended. The slaves stopped, standing in a circle with a unified stamp. The sunset flamed over the sea through the windows, shining through her golden hair as the veil slipped off and she spun around, hair flying out, skirt flaring, applause for what they thought was the chief dancer ringing through the room.

The Kadif stared.

The Queen coughed. "Excuse me? I thought we were having a heated discussion."

He nodded distantly. "Yes. I...I have no blonde dancer."

She looked at Silira and frowned. "Who is that?"

He turned to her, furious, reverting to his own language. "Don't pretend you don't know this girl!" he spat. "You planned this! This is your answer! You side not with me, but with the slaves!"

"You are crueler," the queen said. "Actually, I don't like cruelty. I like to think no one here does. If I must fight you or put up with your attacks, your cruelty, your raids and slavery and lack of grace toward women or anyone else, I will fight."

Silira had landed, hair hanging around her face, blue eyes burning with intensity, one hand on the floor, one hand in the air behind her, one knee down.

The world came into focus again. She shifted into a sitting position and got her breath back, wondering what she'd started. She looked up at the top table and saw Corwin running down from it, Henry laughing near it, and the Kadif with clenched teeth, infuriated by the Queen's cool smile.

Corwin came into her line of vision, much closer now. The slaves had filed out, secretly smiling under their veils, knowing that the oppressed people had friends in high places. She looked up at him again and took his hand. He helped her up, not saying anything. He was too astounded at the sheer impossibility and wonder of this girl.

Henry, however, was better at that sort of thing--meaning, giving credit where credit was due. "THAT WAS AWESOME! THAT WAS WONDERFUL! YOU ARE THE STRANGEST GIRL I HAVE EVER MET, AND, ASIDE FROM MY MOTHER, THE ONLY ONE WORTH KNOWING!"

Corwin laughed, slightly hysterically. "What have you started? No, sorry, you haven't started anything. But that was..." He paused, trying to think. "That was good. Extraordinarily good. But some people won't think the same thing. Quick--leave the same way they did. Once they know who you really are, they'll ask questions. And I don't think either of us could answer them. Let me guess--the Kadif was getting on your nerves?"

She started laughing and couldn't stop. The look on the Kadif's face had been priceless.

"Go," he whispered. "I'll tell you what happens in the morning. And I'll get Henry to bring your supper. I think the Kadif might kill you if you stay here much longer. Really, he has rage issues."

She nodded and got ready to leave. Her work there was done. But he reached for her shoulder and pulled her back for a second.

"Frankly," he said, the last words he would say to her that night, "you were brilliant."