Hell's Gate

Shamir Taje stepped in front of Andrin and her father and cast a scathing glance at the stammering official. The functionary's face blazed red as he tried to hold the First Councilor's gaze. He wasn't very successful.

"You're greeting is received in the spirit in which it was given. Please tell your Seneschal," Taje's words could have been shards of ice, and the title came out as very nearly an insult, "that His Imperial Majesty, Zindel chan Calirath, Emperor of Ternathia and Warlord of the West, requires immediate conveyance to quarters appropriate to his rank and station.

Taje's icy tone made it clear that he seriously doubted the Seneschal was capable of producing either. Even the Seneschal flushed. But then he lumbered forward, a ponderous man in jeweled robes that made him look like a decorated egg.

"A thousand pardons for my herald's clumsy greeting! You are warmly welcome, of course, to the city of your ancestors. Please, my own carriage is waiting to take you and your lovely daughter to the Great Palace. Suitable chambers have been made ready for you there."

Andrin bristled silently. She was no more a "lovely" daughter than the Seneschal was a polite host; but she gave him a chilly smile and a gracious nod, answering his offer as her mother would have, had Empress Varena been there.

"Your hospitality will, I'm sure, be admirably suited to our needs," she said in flawless Shurkhali, the official language of Othmaliz.

The Seneschal's eyes widened. Then his gaze was drawn almost hypnotically to Finena, and those same eyes nearly popped. His Adam's apple bobbed with alarm under his ornate, jeweled collar, and Andrin's smile widened as she realized he was afraid of her bird! She found that thought quite comforting and hoped the Seneschal's carriage was a deliciously cozy affair that would allow him an up-close look at the falcon during the whole drive from quayside to palace.

"May I present Finena," she said sweetly, still speaking in fluent Shurkhali. "She's a Ternathian imperial peregrine falcon and my devoted and constant companion."

The Seneschal gave her a weak smile.

"Such a handsome and unusual creature, my dear Grand Princess." It was obvious the man would avoid Andrin's company with all the religious fervor of his holy office. "Ahem. My carriage is this way."

He gestured elaborately, and Andrin inclined her head graciously. As she did, she caught her father's eye and realized it was twinkling wickedly, which made it a bit difficult for her to maintain her own decorous solemnity as they set out side by side. They had to run a gauntlet of Othmalizi dignitaries, and Andrin did her best to memorize as many as possible of the names and faces. Any she forgot, Lady Merissa would be sure to remember. One of Merissa's most useful talents?it very nearly qualified as a Talent?was an eidetic memory. Lady Merissa never forgot anything. It made her utterly priceless as a protocol instructor for a grand princess of the blood. Tiresome at times, but priceless.

Beyond the dignitaries waited a sea of common folk, including a double line of reporters?dispatched to Tajvana from every nation on Sharona, judging by their attire. Andrin's eyes were dazzled by flash powder long before they reached the Seneschal's ornate carriage, which proved to be an antique closed coach, literally dripping with gold.

"Still using the Ternathian Imperial coach, I see," someone muttered behind Andrin's shoulder. "You'd think he could have ponied up the money for his own carriage, at least. He's wearing enough cash to buy several carriages."

Andrin's lips twitched as she recognized the voice of the Earl of Ilforth. In that moment, she very nearly adored the pompous ass. Only Mancy Fornath would have been so crass as to comment on the Seneschal's carriage, but his observation gave her another insight into their host … and not a flattering one.

The Seneschal started to offer Andrin his hand to assist her into the carriage, but this time Finena did hiss. He jerked his hand back with unceremonious speed, and Andrin bit her tongue, composing her expression as she allowed her father to hand her up the step into the ornate carriage, instead.

The conveyance certainly smelled as if it were several centuries old, she thought tartly. The leather seats, while ornately tooled, should have been replaced at least a century ago with something less … musty. She was intensely grateful for her cloak, and she was very careful to make sure it lay between her brocaded skirts and the odiferous, ancient leather.

Another calculated insult? she wondered. Or simply a host unwilling to spend his own money on fancy coaches when the imperial "leavings" were still serviceable? The coach certainly looked grand from the outside, and given the outrageous expense of the garments he wore, he clearly believed he deserved the grandeur he aped, regardless of whose grandeur it had originally been. Or how musty it had grown since they'd abandoned it.

Her father sat beside her, and the Seneschal took the seat opposite theirs. Other carriages conveyed the rest of their delegation, falling into line behind the one-time Ternathian imperial carriage as they set out with a jolt through the streets of Tajvana. Her father began to chat easily with the Seneschal, discussing the sights they passed. Andrin listened with half an ear, but it was the sights themselves which absorbed the lion's share of her interest.

Tajvana, unlike its Seneschal, was more than worthy of that absorbed interest. The main avenues were broad, paved with stone and lined with palm trees. Narrow gardens ran down the center of each avenue, dividing the lanes of traffic, which had apparently been rerouted to make way for the official procession, and spectators lined the streets. They were probably there to gawk at the arriving Emperor of Ternathia, Andrin thought … and that was when she received the biggest shock of the day.

Roars of welcome greeted them along every city block for miles. Children waved ribbons in the green and gold of the Ternathian imperial flag. Women threw armfuls of flowers. The city's wildly enthusiastic greeting overwhelmed Andrin, who hadn't expected anything like this outpouring of visible joy. The Seneschal remained silent, apparently unaware of the tumult, but his eyes were hooded and dark as he watched his own people greet a foreigner, an Emperor whose family had ruled the Seneschal's homeland for thousands of years.

Andrin could almost feel sorry for him.

So many people were waving in such wild delight that she found herself waving back. It was a purely spontaneous response, and she was astounded when her simple gesture caused grown women to burst into tears and toss still more flowers her way. Uniformed police, many of them mounted, were very much in evidence, apparently to keep the crowd's enthusiasm from spilling over into a headlong rush toward the carriage. As she watched, however, she noticed that not quite everyone along the route was openly delighted. Here and there she saw young men of military age whose glances were hostile and suspicious. She saw older men whose eyes were cold, without the fire of youth, but equally suspicious. She even saw a few people carrying signs whose words she couldn't read, since other people in the crowd invariably snatched them out of the air almost before their owners could unfurl them.

She glanced at her father, whose keen gaze had also noticed those scattered signs of protest, and decided her best course would be to emulate him. He, too, was waving graciously to the crowd through the other window of the ancient carriage. She followed his example, continuing her own greetings, although the first thrill of the moment had faded into a more sober consideration of the deep currents ru