Page 29 of A Monsoon Rising

“I was hungry when the falconer said I could name him …” Talasyn trailed off as she read the Zahiya-lachis’s elegant, flowing script. Then she looked up at Alaric with wide eyes. “My grandmother and my father are joining us for supper tonight.”

The diplomatic schooner from the Roof of Heaven made landfall on Iantas together with the purple-hued drape of dusk, its multitude of blue-and-gold sails rippling in wind-tossed harmony with the swaying tops of the coconut palms. Queen Urduja and Prince Elagbi disembarked and, arm in arm over the white sands, mingled with the villagers who had come out to the landing grid to receive them, asking after their welfare, commiserating with their losses.

Talasyn observed it all, standing at Alaric’s side, from where they stood at the castle entrance. If there was one thing she couldn’t fault her grandmother for, it was how she treated her people. The Zahiya-lachis would never be warm—she had her son to compensate for her in that area—but she always listened to the commonfolk’s concerns and tirelessly sought solutions for them. The Nenavarene revered her for it.

But even if Urduja had been a cruel or absent ruler, the Nenavarene had to revere her anyway. For she was blessed by the ancestors, who watched over the Dominion from their great ships in the Sky Above the Sky.

Talasyn had not grown up in Nenavar. Though she had picked up the habit of calling on the ancestors when she was cross, she felt no spiritual connection to them. She hardly even believed in the Continent’s gods; there’d been precious little room for faith in the slums and gutters of Hornbill’s Head.

Still, Urduja’s regal bearing, the way her white hair andsilver dress and the gemstones she was covered in glimmered beneath the faint stars, against the crashing surf—it all contributed to the illusion of divinity. And with his golden robes and golden dragon circlet, Elagbi was the sun to his mother’s moon as he escorted her up the stone path to where Alaric and Talasyn were waiting.

“How long does it take these two to get ready for the day?” Alaric asked Talasyn out of the corner of his mouth. “Your father takes longer than the Zahiya-lachis, I’d wager.”

Thus it was that, when the Night Empress greeted her family and bade them welcome to her and her husband’s demesne, she was struggling not tolaugh.

Elagbi’s easygoing confusion and Urduja’s frozen outrage at her granddaughter’s lack of composure did not help Talasyn regain control in the slightest. As she and Alaric led the way to Iantas’s dining room, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, she sank her nails into his arm in an attempt to ground herself and he nudged her in admonishment.

“Kindly do not pinch me, Lachis’ka.”

“It’syourfault,” she retorted through stifled laughter. “Don’t make me sic my eagle on you.”

“Please, no.” His lips twitched. “Anything but Watermelon.”

Talasynchoked. But before long she could feel Urduja staring holes into her back, and that was enough to sober her.

In the dining room, the food was laid out in communal dishes on banana leaves that bedecked the glossy, maroon-toned narra table, with attendants at the ready. Both Jie and Sevraim had made themselves scarce, neither wanting to intrude on what was technically a family meal, and so it was only the four royals who sat down—Urduja and Elagbi side by side, Alaric and Talasyn across from them.

A stilted silence reigned supreme. The sound of sloshing liquids as the attendants poured water and wine into theirgoblets echoed through the cavernous room, all the way up to the high vaulted ceiling.

“It’s good that the two of you are getting along,” Urduja finally said, ladling pale cubes of freshly caught mackerel cured in palm vinegar onto her plate. “This alliance could certainly benefit from some amicability between its two key components.”

Talasyn had enough experience with Nenavarene doublespeak to know that Urduja was subtly warning her, just as Vela had. Reminding her of what was at stake, of the fact that her marriage could only ever be strategic in nature and nothing more.

It stung, although she wasn’t too keen on figuring out exactly why. She glowered at each scoop of rice that she doled out onto her plate.

Alaric, for his part, seemed to be in no hurry to respond, either. It wasn’t until they’d begun eating that Elagbi made another attempt at conversation. “There is an eclipse tomorrow night, is there not? Will Their Majesties be training here at Iantas?”

“Yes, down by the beach,” said Talasyn. “Daya Vaikar and her Enchanters will be present as well. They have a new amplifying configuration that they’re eager to test.”

“I should very much like to observe.” Elagbi shot a beseeching glance at Urduja. “What do you think of sailing back to Sedek-We the day after tomorrow instead, Harlikaan?”

“I,” said the Zahiya-lachis, “have several councils to attend in Eskaya. It would be better to have you there as well, but—you’re free to do as you please.”

“Wonderful!” Elagbi beamed. “Then I am Their Majesties’ guest for the next two days.”

Talasyn fought back a snicker at Elagbi’s obliviousness toUrduja’s pointed hint, while Alaric looked mildly scandalized that his father-in-law had invited himself to stay at someone else’s home. But it was simply a norm among Nenavarene families, and he and the Dominion princewerefamily, whether anyone liked it or not. Talasyn bumped her knee against his under the table. His features smoothed into a polite mask.

“We are honored to host you, Your Highness,” Alaric told Elagbi. “Should you require anything to make your stay more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“I am the picture of an undemanding houseguest,” Elagbi declared. “The Lachis’ka can well attest to that.”

“It’s true.” Talasyn smiled at her father. His occasional visits, whenever he could tear himself away from his duties, had alleviated her sense of isolation the past month, and she was happy to be able to spend more time with him.

Urduja caught Talasyn’s eye. “Since you have your hands full, Alunsina, I’ll instruct the tailor not to drop by until next sennight.”

“The tailor?” Alaric repeated, and Talasyn cringed as she realized that, with everything that had happened that day, she’d forgotten to tell him.

“We’re hosting a ball here at Iantas after the Moonless Dark,” she supplied. “A masquerade, to celebrate the Voidfell’s defeat. The tailor will be paying a visit to take His Majesty’s measurements and discuss options.”

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