Zanna had been prepared for her father’s anger, but his disappointment was more than she could bear. “I thought I could depend on you to be sensible,” Vannor stormed at her. “I know you miss your mother—don’t you think I miss her, too? I know you don’t want Sara in her place. But I won’t have my home turned into a battlefield, Zanna! Sara is your stepmother, and you’ll treat her with respect!”
Zanna, choking with tears, was unable to speak. Vannor, who had been about to leave, turned quickly and came to her, putting his arms around her as she sobbed. “Look, lass, don’t cry. I’m not such a fool as to put all the blame on you for what happened—I’ve spoken to Sara.” He looked so grim that Zanna wondered what had been said between them. “She’ll not mistreat Antor again, I promise. But she isn’t used to children, and—”
“Curse it, Dad, why must you make excuses for her? Can’t you see she’s—” The mad, untirrielywords spilled out of Zanna before she could stop them—and were silenced abruptly by Vannor’s slap. “You watch your mouth, girl, or by the Gods I’ll—” His face twisted with rage and anguish, Vannor stamped out, slamming the door behind him.
The merchant went downstairs, completely at his wits’ end. He was ashamed of what he had just done, and sickened by his earlier scene with Sara. He adored both his wife and daughter—but why couldn’t they try to get along? He rubbed his aching head. Gods, what a night! When he’d left that morning, everything had been running smoothly as usual. He had come back a few short hours later to find the house in an uproar!
In the brief time since his return, Vannor had calmed his bawling son and turned him over to a bristling Dulsina, (who, judging by the look on her face, meant to have words with him before the night was out). He had dismissed the nursemaid, who’d been outside, flirting with the gardener, while Antor was getting into mischief. Having sent the girl packing, in tears, he had found himself confronted by a furious cook, with baggage, who announced that if her Solstice Feast was no longer good enough for him, he had better make his own in future! Hebba had marched out, leaving him gaping. As if these disasters were not enough, he had followed them up with a blistering row with Sara, who was no longer speaking to him, and had hurt his favorite daughter. What a bloody awful Solstice this is going to be! Vannor thought bitterly.
It was only then, as he was heading for the welcome sanctuary of his library, that he remembered the visitor. Vannor groaned. If that idiot Yanis was desperate enough to come to the house, it had to mean trouble. Yanis, who was sitting by the roaring log fire, leapt to his feet when Vannor entered the library, his handsome face taut and anxious.
“Vannor, I’m sorry to come here like this. I know what you said about secrecy, but . . .” He looked away, biting his lip. “Oh Gods,” he muttered. “It wasn’t my fault, I swear! How was I to know they would—”
“Whoa, whoa!” Vannor held up a hand to stop the young man in mid-protest. “If this is more bad news, Yanis, for the Gods’ sake, let me get myself a drink first!”
Vannor had not been Zanna’s only visitor that night—her stepmother had come close on his heels. Sara’s visit had been brief, and she had said very little, but her words had turned Zanna cold with fear. “Well, brat—since you are so protective of children, perhaps you ought to have some of your own,” she had said, with vicious sweetness. “Now that you’ve turned fifteen, I must take my duties as a stepmother more seriously, and start casting around for a suitable husband for you!” And with a whirl of skirts, she had gone.
Long after Zanna had wept herself out, she lay awake in the darkness, dreading the future. She knew that Sara would never rest now, until her troublesome stepdaughter was out of the way for good. Vannor s daughter was a practical girl, and she faced facts squarely. Marriage was the obvious solution to Sara’s problems, and Zanna felt a chill go through her. Oh Gods, she thought. She’ll dress me up like a stupid doll, make Vannor give me an enormous dowry, and hand me over to the first witless, overbred merchant’s son who wants the money! The thought filled her with such panic that she wanted to run—but where could she run to? Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the face of her father’s mysterious visitor came into her mind: his shaggy dark hair falling across those dark gray eyes, which crinkled at the corners when he smiled . . .
The door of her room opened quietly, and Zanna started, blushing as though her thoughts must be transparent. To her surprise, her visitor was Dulsina. “Shhh,” the housekeeper whispered. “Light the candle and get dressed—you’re going away for a while.”
“What?” Zanna froze. Horror congealed like a choking lump in her throat. “Dad?” She could hardly form the whispered words. “Is he sending me away?”
“No, you goose—as if he ever would! Listen, Zanna. Your stepmother is as furious as a wasp in a bottle tonight. Now that you’ve made trouble between her and Vannor, she’ll—”
“I know what she plans to do,” Zanna said wretchedly, “and it’s worse than you could possibly imagine. She wants to marry me off, Dulsina!”
“I heard,” Dulsina said grimly. “It’s a housekeeper’s privilege to eavesdrop! Not that Vannor is such a heartless dolt as to force you to wed against your wilt . j. But you know how desperate he is for his daughters to make a good match. There would be pressure on you to consent. Anyway, you’re young yet to be thinking of husbands, no matter what the custom is among these witless merchants! I thought to send you to my sister Remana until the fuss dies down. Antor can go, too— doing without the pair of you for a while might bring that old fool Vannor to his senses!”
Zanna wondered if she was dreaming. Though it might be wise to get away until Sara had calmed down, it was not like levelheaded Dulsina to come up with such a wild idea. And never before had she heard the housekeeper criticize her father. In a daze, she dressed herself warmly and began to pack some clothes under Dulsina’^direction, while the housekeeper explained: “You’ve a good head on your shoulders, Zanna—I know you can be trusted with the secret. My sister Remana is— was, I should say—wed to Leynard, leader of the Nightrun-ners.”
Zanna gaped at her, a nightgown, half folded, forgotten in her hands. The Nightrunners? The elusive smugglers who traded with the prohibited Southern Kingdoms for silks, gems, and spices and had driven generations of Garrison Commanders to despair? Prim Dulsina had a sister wed to a smuggler?
“You may as well know,” Dulsina was saying. “Your dad made his fortune through trading in partnership with the Nightrunners. His visitor tonight is my nephew Yanis—he became leader last year when Leynard was lost at sea. When he goes back, he’ll be taking you with him.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “Mark you, he’s afraid of Vannor, so the less he knows of the truth, the better. I’ll give you a note for my sister —Remana will take care of you.”
“But what about Dad?” Zanna protested. “He’ll be so angry. And what if Sara arranges a husband for me in any case? Anyway, if I know Dad, he’ll come and fetch me straight back again. Besides, I’ll miss him so! How can I leave him—and at Solstice, too?”
“Child, you worry too much!” Dulsina hugged her. “Vannor won’t blame you—it’s me he’ll be angry with. And Sara will be much too busy to make mischief.” She grinned. “With you away, Vannor will see who was really running the household— and I won’t be taking up where you left off! Let Sara occupy herself with all those tiresome details that you and I have been taking off her shoulders. If she wants to play the great lady, it’s time she learned that there is far more to it than sitting around counting her jewels!”
“But what if Dad comes after me?” Zanna persisted.