At sunset Darit led them to the massive tent at the center of the camp. Sage pulled Nicholas to her as they followed Darit past two guards standing outside the curtain that acted like a door. Inside, the air was cooler and brighter than she expected, thanks to several horizontal vents in the peaked ceiling. The noise level dropped as well, absorbed by ornate tapestries hanging vertically around the outer walls, creating a sanctuary from the bustle outside. A low table had been laid out with quality but light and practical plates and flatware. Sage wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it was something more exotic than the standard forks and spoons she was used to; it was almost disappointing. From the scents wafting from the covered dishes, however, the food was less likely to be so.
Darit halted about ten feet from a kneeling man, who didn’t appear to react to their presence, giving Sage time to study his profile by the light of the low lamp beside him. His skin was sun-bronzed like most Casmuni, but while the hair colors she’d observed ranged in shades of cedar, the king’s wavy hair and close-clipped beard were nearly black as ebony. A long, embroidered coat was tucked behind him, which differed from the loose breeches and jacket tunic she’d come to think of as Casmuni styled. On his left side a curved sword peeked out from the coat. Calloused hands rested lightly on his thighs as he sat in the center of a worn indigo carpet with his eyes closed.
After several seconds, the king—for she assumed that’s who he was—opened his eyes but did not look at them. “I hear my friend has brought guests,” he said.
“Da, Palandret,” answered Darit, bowing low.
Without further acknowledgment, the king stood and stepped off the carpet, then bent over and picked it up. Gold stars had been woven into the rug’s faded blue-violet background, giving it the appearance of the night sky. He hung it on a pair of hooks with care, like it was precious to him, and at last turned to face them.
He wore no crown or symbol of royalty she could see, other than perhaps the gold embellished belt and the jeweled hilt of his sword. The long jacket hung to his knees, but he matched Lieutenant Casseck in height, though not in thinness of build. In the light, his eyes were a deep shade of green, reminding Sage of dried seaweed. With purposeful strides, the king came to stand just beyond arm’s length of them. Sage tried not to fidget and hoped Darit hadn’t omitted anything in his instructions.
The king studied her with an expression of dismay. “Has my friend brought me a pair of wendisam?” he asked. Sage had no idea what wendisam were, but it didn’t sound good. “They are but boys.”
Darit’s mouth twisted up in what Sage had come to know as his ironic smile. “If My King would speak to them, he would see they are anything but.”
The king raised his eyebrows and looked back to Sage and Nicholas. As Darit had bowed the first time he spoke, Sage crossed her arms over her chest and lowered her head; Nicholas followed her lead. “Bas medari,” she said, choosing to go with the older, more formal greeting.
His expression was even more surprised when she looked back up. “They speak Casmuni?”
Four days among the desert men had improved her grammar, pronunciation, and vocabulary, and she understood much more than she could speak, but that wasn’t enough. “Very little,” she answered.
“My friend is modest,” said Darit, and Sage blushed that he’d called her his friend more than from the compliment.
The king’s eyes had never left hers. “And a woman.” He now looked her up and down.
Sage ground her teeth a little and reminded herself the Casmuni did not think it polite to speak directly to someone they hadn’t shared water with.
As if also remembering this, the king gestured to his left and a servant appeared, holding a silver tray with a chalice and pitcher. He calmly took the cup and poured water into it, then looked her straight in the eyes as he took a long drink before extending it to her. Sage took a trembling step forward and accepted the chalice without breaking eye contact. Darit had described most sharings as casual, but when one met a king for the first time, all formality was observed.
The Casmuni king didn’t reach for the cup when she was finished, which Darit had told her meant she was to hand it to Nicholas. It also meant the prince wouldn’t be addressed except through her, but she was glad to have them assume she was of higher rank. Nicholas took his sip and handed it back to Sage, and she offered it back to the king.
The king replaced the chalice on the tray and extended his hands to her, palms down. “You are welcome in my tent,” he said formally. “I am Banneth, the seventh of that name.”
Sage warily reached out, placing her fingers under his, and he grasped them gently. “I am well welcomed,” she said awkwardly, hoping that would work. “I am called Sage Fowler.”
The king struggled to say her name as Darit had, then gave up and released her hands. “I am sorry I cannot say it correctly.”
“It is nothing.” She extended an arm to the prince. “This is Nicholas Broadmoor,” she said, giving him her uncle’s surname. Banneth clasped one of the prince’s hands briefly and stepped back.
Now what?
Nicholas’s stomach roared audibly, and the king smiled. “Yes. I think we should eat.”
67
THE TABLE COULD have seated six, but there were only the four of them. Sage was invited to sit at Banneth’s left hand, with Nicholas beside her and Darit on the king’s right. The two men were casual and comfortable with each other. It was obvious they were close friends, and she was gladder than ever she’d helped Darit and Malamin escape.
Darit gave an account of his mission, though Sage only understood sporadic words. His report sounded very thorough, and Banneth ate and asked questions, casting occasional looks at Sage and Nicholas.
“Saizsch gave me this,” said Darit, now speaking slowly for her benefit. He pulled out her dagger and offered it to Banneth. “As a sign of friendship and to aid in our escape.”
The king accepted the knife and unwound the leather strips on the hilt. She’d used the ones on Alex’s knife to bind Nicholas’s wrist, so now it was obvious the daggers matched. Banneth ran his thumb over the golden SF. “Saizsch Fahler,” he said, pairing her name with the letters.
There was room for a Q, but it would never be there now. The food in her mouth suddenly tasted like ashes.
“I do not think she knows what it meant,” Darit said.
Sage’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two men. What unknown custom had she breached?
Banneth looked amused. “I assume you will not accept,” he said.
Darit chuckled. “No.”
The king turned to Sage, suppressing a smile that reached his eyes nonetheless. “Giving one a weapon means you are friends.” He held up the dagger. “Giving a gift with your name on it like this proposes marriage.”
Sage choked, spitting crumbs all over her plate. Nicholas pounded her on the back until her coughing subsided. When she could finally breathe, she drank all the water in her cup to avoid looking at Darit or the king.
Banneth handed the dagger back to her. “Don’t ask,” she said in response to Nicholas’s confused look. Face flaming, Sage jammed the weapon on her belt. “I have much to learn about Casmun.”
“As I have much to learn about Demora,” Banneth replied. He paused thoughtfully. “Are you familiar with any other tongues?” he asked in Kimisar.
Before she could debate how to respond, Nicholas’s head jerked up, his eyes wide, giving himself away. Sage took another slow sip of water from the cup Darit had refilled. “Yes, I am,” she said in Kimisar.
“I take it no one asked,” said Banneth with a glance to Darit, who looked shocked. “And it was not something you wished to reveal.”
“I chose to leave it unsaid,” she answered.
“Wise as well as brave.”
She felt herself blush again. “I do not know all my friend here has told you about me, but I do not consider myself either wise or brave.”
“I assure you he said nothing bad.”
Sage’s mouth twisted up on one side. “But not all of it was good.”
Banneth chuckled. “Good people are boring.”
“Yes, they are.”
“I’m sure you have many questions,” said Banneth. “Please ask. I will answer.”
“So I may return the favor?”
The king smiled wryly. “Of course.”
“Are we your prisoners?”
He shook his head. “No, you are my guests.”
She wasn’t quite ready to believe him. “What do you plan to do with us?”
“That I have not decided,” he said. “I do not yet understand what your presence means.” She tensed a little. “But should you wish to leave, I will not stop you.”