She wisely, and unusually for her, saidnothing.But then she never had been able to beat him in a battleof wits, and she could not bully him here where the long arm andquick slap of her mother could not reach.
Standing tall, Aleksandr squared hisshoulders and met the king’s watching gaze head on.“I am, as myhalf-sister said, the eldest and bastard son of King Maksimillian.”He locked eyes with Princess Sahar.“I do not pretend to beanything other than what I am, a horseman of the Northern Steppeshere to win these races and any prizes I might claim on the meritof my stallion’s strength and my riding abilities.I am, if nothingelse, honest and straightforward”—he glanced pointedly at the Wolf,whose black gaze coolly assessed Aleksi from head to toe and backagain before Aleksi turned back to Sahar—“in my intentions and myproposals.”
Beside him, the Wolf snarled low, and beforehim, green eyes flashed fire.Aleksi stepped back into line with adeliberate low bow to the princess, who placed both hands on thetable, hesitated a moment, and then stood and walked around thetable and up to the line of riders amidst a grassfire of gasps andwhispers.
She eyed each man in turn, and not one, noteven one of the many who had pledged to win the races in her honor,would meet her gaze for more than a fleeting moment before lookingout into the courtyard of buzzing bees or up into the night sky.Until Yago the Wolf, who met and held her gaze with a smug leerAleksi longed to swipe off his pretty face.
It was obvious that the prince had no ideawhy Sahar was standing there, but Aleksi did.He remembered herwords earlier in the day when speaking of the princess and her marewinning the races.He jostled the man to his right, making a placefor her to stand in the line of riders, and as he did, the Wolf,catching on more quickly than Aleksi cared to give him credit for,swept his arm to indicate the open space.With a gracious nod ofher head and a smile that lit her entire face, the princess took aplace amongst the riders.
She stood there beaming for a moment beforeshe stepped forward, trailing her intriguing, intoxicating scent.“I am Princess Sahar,” she said, her low, smoky voice filling thenow quiet courtyard.“Eldest and only daughter of King Asad andQueen Oona.I will win these races on my mare Lasair, the last foalout of Storm Chaser and Cloud Dancer, for the honor of my familyand every woman here.”
CHAPTER 2
Dance of Blades
The riders’ introductions complete, they wereseated at three tables facing the makeshift stage of sanded stonewhere servants brought them trays of sweet meats, and pitchers ofspiced wine and yeasty beer.Sahar returned to the royal table,where she sat staring straight ahead at the stage the servants werepreparing, studiously avoiding meeting her parent’s questioninggazes.After what seemed an eternity, her father stood and thegathering quieted.Again, he held his hand out to his queen, andagain she took it and stood beside him.
“My queen and her sister will sing and danceand play for us,” the King announced.
He smiled at his wife with pure adorationbefore loosening his hold of her hand, and the queen returned hissmile as she slowly slid her hand from his.Sahar glanced at herbrother, Asim, and they exchanged quick smiles.
Their parents had been holding hands theirchildren’s entire lives, and always seemed loath to let go.Whileit had been wonderful growing up amidst and aware of their parent’slove for each other, it had also sometimes made them feel likeoutsiders, though they had neither of them ever felt any lack oflove from their mother or father.
Since the night they had first met as theBlack Mane and the Swan, her parents had lived in a world of theirown, a world that others could be a part of, but never fullyinhabit.
Sahar’s auntie, Lyrra, gave her husband,Nasim, a tender kiss on his cheek and took her place on the stoolin the middle of the stage and began to run her fingers over herharp’s strings, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until shehad the harp, Nightingale, singing a series of scales.Satisfied,she nodded to her sister, the queen.
“We will sing ‘The Sailor’s Tale,’” the queenannounced, smoothing her skirts.
It had been Grandfather Aaron’s favorite.Dead and gone these ten years past, he had been the onlygrandfather Sahar had ever known, and the man who had taught herhow to navigate by the stars.A seafaring Northman trader, it washe that her mother and Aunt Lyrra had sailed across the Mid-EarthSea with some twenty and three years ago, setting into motion theevents that had brought them all here.
“The Sailor’s Tale” was a song about a manwho had left his family to sail the open seas in quest of treasureand adventure, and his twenty-year journey home.It was a songSahar knew by heart, and she sang along, her voice barely above awhisper as her mother swayed her hips and rolled her arms andshoulders in rhythm to the sea’s swells, her gaze a thousandleagues away.Her father never took his eyes off of his wife, as ifhe could keep her from sailing away from him with sheer will.Andin a way, he had.
He had gone against the Panther, his ownfather and king, to win her mother and sister their freedom.Aspart of a bargain struck with the Panther, the Black Mane had sentthe Swan and the Dove away, but the Panther went against his wordand ordered his guards to go after the sisters and kill them.TheBlack Mane and his brother, the Cheetah, discovered their father’sbetrayal and rode after the sisters, saving them from the king’sguards.They took refuge in the palace of the Oryx, where the BlackMane and the Swan were married.When they had returned to thePanther’s palace, they were husband and wife, but the Panther hadrefused to accept their marriage, and so they left the City of theGreat Valley and never returned.
Sahar glanced over at Yago the Wolf, whoseparents had been part of that tale as well, for it was Yago’smother, the Fox, who the prince Black Mane had been betrothed to,and his father, the Ox, who bore a scar across his cheek from theBlack Mane’s blade in defense of the Swan.Their son, the Wolf hadbeen born only seven moons after his parents’ quiet, hastymarriage.
Sahar and Asim, twins who were as far apartin looks as in temper, were the Black Mane’s and the Swan’s onlychildren, born ten and eight moons after their parent’smarriage.
Where Sahar was dark-haired and green-eyedwith a temper that flared quickly and burned hot and fast, Asim waslight-haired and golden-eyed with a temper that could cook at a lowsimmer for days before coming to a full boil, if ever.They were astrange mix of their parents, both the good and the bad, as Saharsupposed all children were.But being twins and the progeny of suchwell-known parents made them all the more noticeable, and notable.It seemed every person who ever met or even heard of them had anidea of them, whether true or not, including that bastard son of aNorthern king, Aleksandr—who had called her soft and proud andspoilt—and now watched Sahar almost as much as he did her motherand aunt as they played and sang.
Yago the Wolf watched Sahar as well, thoughnot so boldly.His manners were more courtly, his actions moreprincely, and it had been he who had stepped aside and opened aspace in the line of riders for her.When her mother and auntfinished their song and took their bows, it was he who clappedfirst.
“We will sing ‘The Tale of the SpringMaiden,’ ‘The Lord of Winter,’ and ‘The Sun God,’” her Auntie Lyrrasaid, smiling as shyly as a newlywed bride at Nasim, her husband ofover twenty years.
Halah came and sat down beside Sahar in thequeen’s empty seat as their mothers got into character.The oldestof Nasim’s and Lyrra’s four living children, she was more like asister to Sahar than a cousin.Daughters of sisters married tobrothers, they had grown up together in the palace along with Asimand their cousin’s younger brothers and sisters.Sahar’s heartdropped as the laughing face of Ommar, Halah’s deceased olderbrother and Asim’s childhood friend, came to her unbidden, and shetook several slow, calming breaths until her heart resumed itsnormal rhythm.
“Munir has asked to speak with my fatherafter the feast this evening,” Halah whispered excitedly intoSahar’s ear.“Our Auntie Mouse told my mother that she saw Munir atthe gem bazaar yesterday.”
“Oh, Halah,” Sahar said, pushing the memoryof Ommar back into the deep, dark recesses of her soul in which itdwelt, hidden and obscured but never fully buried.“I am so happyfor you.Munir is a good man and he loves you so.”
“As I love him.”
Halah was glowing, and Sahar truly was happyfor her, if perhaps a little jealous, but if anyone deserved to behappy it was Halah, whose heart was good and pure.
“Come to my chambers after things are settledbetween you,” Sahar said, standing.“Tell me everything then.Now Imust go prepare for the knife fight.”
The fight was actually a dance she and herbrother, Asim, performed.Though well-honed, it was not withoutsome risk, for they had discarded their wooden blades the year theyturned ten and six, and now danced with metal blades.They hadteased and argued plenty over the years about who would win if theyactually fought.Sahar was quicker and likely more cunning, butAsim was stronger and had a longer reach.Still, Sahar was gladthey would never have to find out.They had shared a womb for ninemoons and a bedchamber until they were seven years of age, and theywould gladly sever a limb before they would willingly harm theother.
