left-hand neighbor inquired.
Her left-hand neighbor was Prince Emthoro, Shandie's cousin. He was a dark man, gaunt and saturnine, with a sharp nose that twitched when he was being malicious. He frightened her. His brown eyes were restless and shiny, and oddly slanted. She feared the ambition behind them, for he was third in line to the throne, after her child. Somehow she had come to believe that Emthoro, more than anyone, was likely to rip away her disguise and denounce her as the fraud she was.
But he was third in line; she granted him her fourth smile of the evening. "Maya is very well, thank you."
"Growing like a troll, I suppose?"
"Growing as fast as a troll."
The prince chuckled. "I did not mean to imply that she was growing to look like a troll. I'm sure that would be sedition. How soon will you join Shandie in Qoble?"
Her stomach knotted. "That is entirely up to his Majesty to decide. He knows how Shandie and I feel."
Eshiala was by nature a recluse. Six weeks after their wedding, Shandie had gone off to the wars, and at times now she thought she had forgotten what he looked like. She had nightmares of being reunited with him and curtseying to the wrong man. Fortunately he had left her pregnant, and a princess was allowed to disappear from view during her confinement. Even after that excuse had been exhausted, she had continued to refuse as many invitations as she dared. After two years she was still a stranger at court.
The last ten months she had spent blissfully rearing her baby. Although she had been forbidden to nurse her, she doted on little Maya. She would cheerfully just sit and hold her for hours. But now Shandie had been appointed proconsul in Qoble and he wanted her to join him there. Maya would have to stay behind in Hub. She was too young, too vulnerable, too important, to go journeying.
Emthoro must be reading her thoughts. "A woman's place is with her husband, surely?" he asked in his silkiest voice.
"Of course," she lied. Why, why must she give up her baby to go and live with a man she hardly knew?
"Eh?" the imperor bellowed. "What's that you're saying?" The rest of the table fell absolutely silent.
The prince rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly, just enough that the other diners would see, but not Emshandar, of course. He raised his voice to a bellow. "We were talking about Eshiala going to join her husband, Sire! In Qoble. "
"Shandie?" The old man worked his mouth for a moment. "He'll survive, I'm sure. Lots of pretty girls in Qoble! A mother's place is with her child! "
Emthoro's nose twitched. "That's exactly what I was telling Eshiala, Sire!" he shouted back, and without a blush.
Then the imperor pulled something out of his mouth and turned to the servants to demand that they take away this plate of unchewable tasteless rubbish and bring him another bowl of soup, with more spice in it this time. The other diners, deciding that he had nothing else to say, picked up their conversations again.
Emthoro had not finished with Eshiala. "Have you ever visited the Imperial Library, Cousin? "
She could not recall. The Opal Palace was so huge that she could not remember what parts she had been shown and what not. "I don't know," she admitted miserably.
"Oh, I think you would have remembered. There's a great hall with rows and rows of balconies and a huge rose window at one end. "
"Then I'm sure that I've never been there."
Emthoro smiled mysteriously. "You haven't heard of the Puin'lyn statues?"
"Should I have?" He was obviously going to talk to her at length, so she would have to try to listen and eat at the same time. She resumed her attack on the lark, or whatever it was.
"The Imperor Umpily III wanted some statues," the prince explained, expertly dissecting a slice of flesh from the tiny carcass before him. "For somewhere public ... I forget where ... and commissioned the greatest sculptor of the day, Puin'lyn. That's an elvish name. "
She knew that, of course, but she merely
Her left-hand neighbor was Prince Emthoro, Shandie's cousin. He was a dark man, gaunt and saturnine, with a sharp nose that twitched when he was being malicious. He frightened her. His brown eyes were restless and shiny, and oddly slanted. She feared the ambition behind them, for he was third in line to the throne, after her child. Somehow she had come to believe that Emthoro, more than anyone, was likely to rip away her disguise and denounce her as the fraud she was.
But he was third in line; she granted him her fourth smile of the evening. "Maya is very well, thank you."
"Growing like a troll, I suppose?"
"Growing as fast as a troll."
The prince chuckled. "I did not mean to imply that she was growing to look like a troll. I'm sure that would be sedition. How soon will you join Shandie in Qoble?"
Her stomach knotted. "That is entirely up to his Majesty to decide. He knows how Shandie and I feel."
Eshiala was by nature a recluse. Six weeks after their wedding, Shandie had gone off to the wars, and at times now she thought she had forgotten what he looked like. She had nightmares of being reunited with him and curtseying to the wrong man. Fortunately he had left her pregnant, and a princess was allowed to disappear from view during her confinement. Even after that excuse had been exhausted, she had continued to refuse as many invitations as she dared. After two years she was still a stranger at court.
The last ten months she had spent blissfully rearing her baby. Although she had been forbidden to nurse her, she doted on little Maya. She would cheerfully just sit and hold her for hours. But now Shandie had been appointed proconsul in Qoble and he wanted her to join him there. Maya would have to stay behind in Hub. She was too young, too vulnerable, too important, to go journeying.
Emthoro must be reading her thoughts. "A woman's place is with her husband, surely?" he asked in his silkiest voice.
"Of course," she lied. Why, why must she give up her baby to go and live with a man she hardly knew?
"Eh?" the imperor bellowed. "What's that you're saying?" The rest of the table fell absolutely silent.
The prince rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly, just enough that the other diners would see, but not Emshandar, of course. He raised his voice to a bellow. "We were talking about Eshiala going to join her husband, Sire! In Qoble. "
"Shandie?" The old man worked his mouth for a moment. "He'll survive, I'm sure. Lots of pretty girls in Qoble! A mother's place is with her child! "
Emthoro's nose twitched. "That's exactly what I was telling Eshiala, Sire!" he shouted back, and without a blush.
Then the imperor pulled something out of his mouth and turned to the servants to demand that they take away this plate of unchewable tasteless rubbish and bring him another bowl of soup, with more spice in it this time. The other diners, deciding that he had nothing else to say, picked up their conversations again.
Emthoro had not finished with Eshiala. "Have you ever visited the Imperial Library, Cousin? "
She could not recall. The Opal Palace was so huge that she could not remember what parts she had been shown and what not. "I don't know," she admitted miserably.
"Oh, I think you would have remembered. There's a great hall with rows and rows of balconies and a huge rose window at one end. "
"Then I'm sure that I've never been there."
Emthoro smiled mysteriously. "You haven't heard of the Puin'lyn statues?"
"Should I have?" He was obviously going to talk to her at length, so she would have to try to listen and eat at the same time. She resumed her attack on the lark, or whatever it was.
"The Imperor Umpily III wanted some statues," the prince explained, expertly dissecting a slice of flesh from the tiny carcass before him. "For somewhere public ... I forget where ... and commissioned the greatest sculptor of the day, Puin'lyn. That's an elvish name. "
She knew that, of course, but she merely
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