Page 91 of The Isles of the Gods
The ambassador shows no such hesitation, and turns unerringly for our inn, walking toward it alone.
“I’ll go,” I say, and I hurry out the door and down the stairs, only just resisting the urge to break into a run.
I reach the ground-floor entrance as she does, and when she looks up, her gaze lingers on me. I didn’t think she’d recognize me, but I do bear a close resemblance to my father, and I assume she registers it, because she nods a greeting and walks past the gaping innkeeper to join me.
Possibly the innkeeper is wondering who I am, as I just came down the stairs without ever having gone up them, but the ambassador is very imposing, and it’s also possible our hostess hasn’t noticed me at all.
The ambassador hasn’t bothered changing since the party Selly described—she’s in a sapphire-blue dress and one of the oversized coats that are in fashion here. It’s all perfectly tailored, but nothing about her fits with our surroundings. It’s like the moment in a dream when some strange detail tells you that you’re dreaming. The sparkle of her dress against the rough timber of the walls, the jeweled pins in her hair—just one of them would cover a week’s stay here.
For all her strangeness, though, she’s here and she’s real. When she reaches me, we turn wordlessly together to make our way up the stairs.
“You look like a Wollesley to me,” she says quietly.
“Yes, my lady.”
“You must have a story to tell,” she murmurs.
“Yes,my lady.”
“Well done,” she says simply.
And I’d like to pretend the words mean nothing, but thetruth is, they ease something inside my chest. We’ve done the impossible. She must have believed Selly’s story, or she wouldn’t be here alone.
But she still stops short when she opens the door to our room to find Leander standing there by the window, as if some part of her didn’t actually expect to see him here. Slowly she walks in with a polite nod for Selly, who’s standing beside him, back in her shirt and trousers, those fingerless gloves of hers dry again and free of salt, once more hiding the backs of her hands. Her hair is braided up into a crown, but that’s the only trace of her morning’s adventure.
I close the door behind the two of us.
“Your Highness,” the ambassador says quietly, staring athim.
“Lady Lanham,” Leander says, and I suppose I’ve gotten to know him better than I thought over the last few days, because I see the flicker. For an instant his gaze locks onto her, as if in shock, and my whole body tenses—can we trust her? Then he’s easing into one of his signature grins, like they’ve run into each other at a party. “I didn’t know you’d been posted here.”
Selly and I exchange a glance. Do we need to be ready for something?
But as if my mind has been running a quick and frantic search through my mental catalog, it suddenly tosses up the reference card I need, and my gut twists. We went to school with Penrie Lanham—I remember she won the athletics medal every year. She was tall and long-legged, with brown eyes and sleek black hair like the ambassador, always laughing about something.
And she was one of Leander’s crowd—which means she was almost certainly on the progress fleet.
Judging by the resemblance that’s now obvious to me, Lady Lanham must be a close relative. Leander says nothing, though. This isn’t the place for her to learn that news. I glance back to Selly and shake my head a fraction, and she eases back from her readiness.
Lady Lanham doesn’t seem to notice anything out of place, and she raises one brow, taking us in. “This is a story I amverymuch looking forward to hearing,” she says.
“You’ll barely believe it,” Leander replies, “but I’m looking forward to convincing you it’s true.”
“I’m told,” she says, with a nod to Selly, “that the Mellaceans believe they’ve killed you, Your Highness. That puts us in a very dangerous position. I told Her Majesty in my latest report that we’re doing our best, but tensions run higher here in Port Naranda every day—since I sent my last report, the situation has become even more serious.”
“We were warned more than once not to go too far from the docks,” he agrees.
“It’s more than that. I’ve already sent some of my junior staff home. The first councilor attended church yesterday, with most of Mellacea’s leaders. The green sisters grow stronger every day, and they preach that Macean must be awakened from his slumber and strengthened by faith so he can claim what Mellacea is owed. By which they mean the territory of other countries.”
“They’ve preached that for centuries,” Leander points out.
“True. But now their congregation is listening. I cannotstress enough the change in their position. The green sisters are to be takenveryseriously, and their agenda influences—or dare I say, controls—that of the Mellacean government in most significant respects.”
“And they want a war,” he murmurs.
“Just so. If news of your death were to become public—with the implication that the sacrifice has not been made, and Barrica is vulnerable—I have no doubt the Mellaceans will be emboldened to the point of attack. They would see it as the final step in resuming the war they’ve been waiting on for solong.”
A sick feeling takes root in my stomach. “And Her Majesty would respond to the insult of her brother’s apparent murder, starting a war herself, if they didn’t attack first. She will believe we have secretly strengthened Barrica by now.”
