But the sounds of sea and wind continued to quiet as the song of the killer whales resonated through the hull of the ship. I could feel the vibrations in the soles of my feet. The sounds were not exactly beautiful; they were too alien, too eerie for that. Their song sounded more like a language I did not understand, or like the echo of voices in another room, too far away to make out the meaning of the words.
There was another cry from the mast. A strange ship appeared at the mouth of the dark river that flowed between two jagged icebergs.
The new vessel had a single mast with a square, crimson sail. The fact that it had a sail was very nearly all it had in common with Volin’s ship. The Ice Blade was long and narrow, and sat low in the water like a river barge. There was a sort of tent of red cloth at the back, but other than that there was no shelter aboard at all, not even a planked deck. Instead, almost the entire bottom of the ship was taken up with rowing benches. Six benches on the craft, six men to a bench, eighteen oars churning through the water on each side, bringing it gliding to the side of our ship in near silence. As it came closer I could make out the strange figurehead that reared up above the rowers, a long necked serpent with glittering green-painted scales and bared fangs behind red lips.
A man stood at the dragon’s side, one arm slung around its neck as if to aid his balance. He wore a belted robe of a similar shape to those donned by the Whisperers at home, but rather than undyed linen it was fashioned of some rich purple cloth, trimmed with grey fur. Long dark hair, hair that a Whisperer would have bound back modestly, streamed away from his pale, narrow face. I couldn’t make out his features, only the straight line of his strong brows, but something gave me an impression of strain, of immense, even painful effort.
“Is that the Prince?” Elo asked, in a hushed voice. “He’s older than I expected – ”
“No,” Sereh cut her off tersely. “That’s their magician.”
Elo and Ane made scandalised faces. I hoped mine was less revealing.
Within moments the strange, narrow ship had come abreast of Captain Volin’s larger vessel. Lines were tossed across and tied up by the efficient sailors, and a wide gangplank lowered by Volin’s men. There were shouts from the crew, thuds and squeaks from ropes and sails, and the ever-present slapping noises from the sea. Yet beneath that, everything seemed to grow more and more still. Even the orcas had fallen silent.
A group of men appeared at the top of the gangplank.
Without thinking I stood, pulling my ladies in my wake as I moved toward the newcomers stepping gingerly onto the rocking deck. My gaze swept over them searchingly, then desperately, seeking in vain a face that matched the palm sized official portrait, painstakingly painted on translucent porcelain to better capture the glow of life, that had been presented to me at the opening of betrothal negotiations.
The painted Prince had a handsome face. A little rounded, as expected of a man a year my junior in age. He had reddish gold hair that made a high widow’s peak on his forehead. A faint cleft in the chin. Eyes of a pale shade that might have been blue or grey, and which, in the painting, seemed to smile.
That boy could have been almost any one of the half dozen young men standing here now, alongside the pale, purple-robed man.
Volin appeared in my peripheral vision, hurrying toward the group. He bowed deeply at them, made welcoming noises – but his eyes were fixed on me. He jerked his head sideways, arching a brow meaningfully. This one!
Prince Uldarana was taller than I had expected. Taller than I. Slim, but with shoulders that might yet fill out into broadness as he aged. His face was browner than the face in the portrait, and a little more freckled. A young man who enjoyed spending time outdoors, perhaps. He was dressed like the others in clothes that looked rich – a deep red overcoat edged in black fur and embroidered at the cuffs and hems with the six pointed gold star of Silinga’s flag – but still practical for a sea journey. His hair was longer than the painted version too, and paler, a softly waving halo of ruddy gold. The chin was rather more decided. Even stubborn.
He was staring back at my little knot of Yamarri women with almost the exact same look of half-smiling panic that my own face must have displayed a few seconds before. With a dart of self-directed irritation I realised: this was the point of those distinctive white furs. Elo had been right. He had expected me to wear them.
Clammy with self-consciousness, I made myself step into the empty space on the deck between the two groups, signalling at my ladies to hold their position behind me. The Prince’s attention narrowed to me instantly, and he made a similar gesture to his own attendants as he, too, stepped forward.
There was no protocol for such a meeting as this. No mandatory script to follow. Without second guessing myself I dipped into a deep, straight-backed curtsey. It was the most formal obeisance a Royal Princess of my line ever performed. Until now it had been reserved for my Mother, my Queen.
I felt the Prince’s stare on the top of my head like the prickle of gooseflesh as my skirts billowed up around me in scarlet waves. He watched me rise again, wordless, and then pressed his left fist to his breast and dropped to one knee before me, bowing his head. I gazed down at the star-burst shaped parting in his waving hair, seeing the dark red colour close to his scalp – and was caught in his clear, blue-grey gaze as he looked up at me, directly into my eyes, for the first time.
He is more handsome than the portrait, I realised, with some surprise.
Something he saw seemed to give him courage. He smiled. It was a wary, cautious smile, but better than nothing. “Well met, your Royal Highness.” The words were halting and strangely accented. He spoke in Yamarri! I felt an answering smile creep over my own face as he sprang back to his feet and finished – slightly more loudly, and in Silingan, for the benefit, I assumed, of his attendants – “I welcome you to the waters of Silinga.”
“Well met, Crown Prince,” I replied in Silingan, hoping my voice sounded less dry and dusty than it felt. “I – am glad to be welcomed to your home.”
We looked at each other. Everyone else looked at us. The water gurgled against the sides of the ship, and behind me someone cleared their throat. The Prince’s eyes flicked away from mine as he swallowed, and then snapped back guiltily. I kept my gaze fixed upon his face with an effort of will.
Keep smiling. Keep. Smiling.
3
One of the Prince’s young attendants let out a sudden, war-like shout, raising both fists skyward. The Prince and I both jumped violently. He relaxed at once into flustered laughter. I held my face immobile to prevent an annoyed scowl. But the excruciating moment was at least broken.
The rowers from The Ice Blade began swarming up the gangplank, pushing everyone forward to the centre of the deck as they dumped boxes and rolled wooden barrels up over the bulwarks. The crates and boxes were pulled open to reveal hams, fruit, cheeses and bread – fresh food, the first we had seen in weeks. The Black Tern’s crew fell on the barrels with joy, uncorking them and passing around metal cups of a foaming, amber brew.
“To the Crown Prince’s good health! To the Princess’s beauty! To a happily married life – and healthy children!” one of the attendants cried, and everyone gulped down the contents of their cups as if they had been filled with water. I felt a mortifying heat suffuse my cheeks, and raised my chin, smiling still more brightly.