"Greetings, Grandson. I haven't seen you since you were a baby and I must say you've turned
out well." Zaradan gestured to the conquered palace. "A credit to your family. My daughter,
Zarai, would have been proud."
"Thank you, Grandfather," Ramil said faintly, remembering the tales of his mother's father, the Umni of the Horse Followers, and of his presence at Ramil's naming ceremony. What he was
doing here now Ramil could not even begin to guess. "Your decision to come for a family
reunion was very well timed."
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Zaradan smiled, his white teeth gleaming. "That wasn't my idea. I am here merely as a
messenger. Tashi sends her love and returns your horse."
Ramil swayed with shock at this news. Zaradan let go of Thunder's reins and caught his stunned
grandson to his chest, feeling him shake with laughter mixed with sobs.
Thunder trotted forward and gave Ramil a nudge with his nose, checking his rider was all right.
"Oh yes, Tashi told him to take care of you," said Zaradan, laughing. "Not my idea either."
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Chapter 21
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Two weeks into Tashi's sentence, the peace in the Courts of the Goddess was disturbed by the
arrival of exiles from Holt. Four women and assorted children had been accommodated in the
pilgrims' quarters in the palace, separated from the devotees only by a grille. Tashi watched
them closely as they moved among the pilgrims, keeping themselves aloof from the
Islanders. They appeared to be led by a formidable grey-haired woman dressed in white
mourning robes and took no part in the worship in the Enclosure.
Of course if they were from Holt, they would no more worship the Goddess than a goat, Tashi
told herself. But what were they doing here? And why had the Crown Princesses decided to
lodge them somewhere that must be
offensive to their Easterner sensibilities? Her obligation of silence prevented her from asking.
Each day for a week she lingered by the grille, hoping to have her curiosity satisfied.
Strange, it was the first time she had felt anything
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but despair since being sentenced to spend the rest of her life here. They represented to her a
link to the outside world--to the land where she hoped Ramil still lived. And from what she
gathered from the twitter of voices around the white-robed woman, the Holtish exiles were
bitter, complaining about everything from their beds to the food, deeply suspicious of the
intentions of their hosts.
Her silent observation did not go unnoticed by the four women as they sat over their desultory
attempts at embroidery. On the eighth day, their own curiosity got the better of them and the
grey-haired one strode forward to the grille to challenge the young woman hovering there.
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"What do you want?" she snapped.
Tashi took a step back and shook her head.
"Come to gloat over our fall?"
She shook her head vigorously; she had meant no disrespect.
The woman narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
Tashi put her finger to her lips to signal that she could not speak.
"Goddess got your tongue?" sneered the woman. "I expect they've cut it out.
I heard they do that here."
"My tongue has not been cut out," Tashi replied, stung to defend her faith. "I have a duty of silence."
"Which you have just broken," the woman declared triumphantly, glancing back at the other
women.
It was true, Tashi acknowledged. She had failed the
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first test of the obligations imposed on her, just as she had failed at everything else. There was
no surprise in that; hardly any shame, as she was already as low as she could get.
"Yes, I have failed," Tashi agreed humbly. Now that she had broken her silence, she might as well satisfy her curiosity. "Who are you?"
"You have not heard?" The woman seemed displeased not to be recognized.
"No, I'm not allowed out. I am a pris--a devotee." The woman was not fooled.
She moved closer to the grille to stare at the fair-haired girl.
"A prisoner? You are like me then, though they call my incarceration
'hospitality.' What did you do, child?"
What had she done? Everything--nothing. "I broke my vows. And you?"
The woman smiled grimly. "I married the wrong man."
"Can you not divorce him?"
"He is dead--and his Empire another's."
Tashi felt a swoop of alarm. Even in the enclosure, all had heard of the fall of Fergox and given
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thanks for his defeat. She now knew who she was
speaking to and could guess who the other three women were. But what strange paths had
brought them to Rama she could not fathom. She had to get away from them before they found
out about her.
"I'm sorry for your loss," she whispered hastily, and backed away.
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"No, stay!" commanded the First Wife. "You are the first Islander to speak civilly to me."
"I can't, I'm sorry." Tashi walked quickly back to her cell, determined to stay away from the grille in the future.
The First Wife was not a woman to let her desires be ignored. The fair-haired oath-breaker
intrigued her and she wanted to talk to her again. The girl was more like an Easterner than any
of the Islanders the wives had met since disembarking from their ship.
The Etiquette Mistress had been appointed as liaison between the Holtish exiles and the Blue
Crescent court. The Crown Princesses had agreed to shoulder the burden of protecting the
warlord's family as a goodwill gesture towards the new ruler of Holt, but no one was happy to
have the wives in the palace. The Etiquette Mistress met the women once a day to check that
their reasonable demands had been granted and their unreasonable ones dealt with
diplomatically. She had naturally refused the Holtish exiles' request to be given a place to pray
to their own god--worship of Holin in the palace: unthinkable! The Crown Princesses were
seeking more suitable
accommodation for the exiles, somewhere where they could do no harm, but the population
were hostile to having Fergox's family settle among them and so far no suitable solution had
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been found.
The First Wife listened impatiently to this explanation. She drummed her long fingers on the
table as the
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Etiquette Mistress apologized to her with the elaborate courtesy of the Islands.
"So, we are to remain your prisoners," the First Wife rapped out.
"You are free to go out with an escort--for your own safety," explained the Etiquette Mistress evenly. "We keep no one prisoner."
"No?" The First Wife pounced on this admission. "What about the fair-haired girl in the Enclosure--the one with purple robes?"
The Etiquette Mistress's eyes glinted. "You spoke to Taoshira?"
"Who?"
"She spoke to you?"
The First Wife could hear the barely suppressed rage in the woman's voice.
"Yes, we spoke. Briefly," the First Wife said coolly.
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"That should not have happened."
"But it did. I am interested in her. Who is she?"
The Etiquette Mistress swallowed, debating whether she should answer. If the First Wife did not
hear it from her, she could winkle it out from any palace servant.