Often she made reference to things that Blade did not understand without immediately explaining them to him.
«Would you say that His Magnificence Kul-Nam is mad?»
Blade sipped wine and nibbled on a rough sandwich of flat, dark bread and goat's-milk cheese while he searched for the right words.
«I would say that he is not entirely sane at the moment. He is likely to become less and less sane as time goes by, but how rapidly I do not know.»
«Does his present madness affect his ability to rule?»
«It seems to be making him dangerously sensitive to anything that seems to threaten his dignity, let alone his power. It has already led to some unjust and unwise moves. Remember that rebellious town?»
She nodded. «But he is not yet unfit to rule?»
«Ask a question I can answer,» he said, slapping her playfully on the rear. Then he went on, soberly. «He is not the best ruler that Saram might have. But so far he is not so bad that civil war, chaos, and the onslaught of the Steppemen would be preferable. If it were left up to me, I would probably grit my teeth, hold my nose, and do what I could to keep Kul-Nam alive and on his throne until there was someone better to put in his place.»
Tarassa nodded. «You sound very much like Count Durouman.»
«Who is Count Durouman?»
«Oh, a nobleman who commands a squadron in the Royal Fleet of Nullar. He was a friend of my husband's, and I have taken his counsel on several occasions.»
Blade was absolutely certain that Tarassa had told him the truth about Count Durouman. He was just as certain that she had not told him the whole truth. He made a mental note of the name, for some occasion when he could catch Tarassa off her guard.
Blade found no such occasion that night, and after a while he gave up listening and waiting. No matter what pleasures Princess Tarassa might allow herself, the statesman and the ruler were always there along with the woman.
Eventually they fell asleep in each other's arms. When they awoke it was dawn. Blade knew that, because sometime during the night a panel had been opened in the ceiling of the chamber. Pale pink dawn light and a cool, scented breeze crept in.
Tarassa was sitting beside him, propped up on a stack of pillows, still entirely naked. She had a carved board across her knees and a piece of parchment spread on it. She was writing on the parchment with quick, bold strokes, dipping her pen in a silver inkpot held out to her by a kneeling servant girl.
Finally she folded up the parchment, shoved it under her pillow, and dismissed the girl. Then she turned to Blade, who was watching with an expression carefully intended to show a polite lack of curiosity.
«That was a letter to Prince Durouman.»
«I thought he was a count.»
«Indeed, he is that, among the nobility of the Kingdom of Nullar. But he is by right a prince, for he is the true heir to the throne of Saram.»
«He is of the house that Kul-Nam's grandfather overthrew?»
«Yes. He is the great-grandson of the emperor who perished. The kings of Nullar have been good to the exiles over the past century, for they have no great love for the usurpers of Saram. At the same time, they have been cautious. They have given the exiles titles and honor, wealth and positions of trust. They have never been willing to aid them in an attempt to return to their rightful place upon the throne of the Empire.»
«That is not unwise of them. The attempt might fail, with nothing to show for it but another war with the Empire.»
«That is true. Or rather, it has been true. What you have told me and what I have heard from others suggests that times are different now. As Kul-Nam grows more and more bloodthirsty in gripping his power, he will put more and more people in fear of him. In the end he will weaken that which he seeks to strengthen.»
«So you think it is time for Prince Durouman to strike?»
«It is time for him to know all that I have learned and to consider what he should do. I will ask for your help in speaking to him.»
«You think he is so much better than Kul-Nam that it is worth a civil war to place him on the throne of Saram?»
«I do. I would ask you to take my word for it, but you are not a man to do that.»
«I am not. I gather you have summoned him here?»
«Yes. I do not know when he will come, for he must come alone and secretly. He is negotiating a marriage with the king's daughter, Princess Varra, and he will be careful to do nothing to endanger it. But he will come, sooner or later.»
«That is good,» said Blade. He reached out a hand and stroked her hair, then her cheek. «We have time for ourselves, then.»
«We do,» she said with a smile. Her own hand reached out and stroked Blade intimately. Her other hand moved under the pillow and drew out the letter, then placed it on the floor beside the couch.
«So that it won't get wrinkled,» she said, and turned to him.
Chapter 19
The letter to Prince Durouman could not go off for several days. After it was sent, nothing Blade or Princess Tarassa could do would bring Prince Durouman to them any faster. So they put him out of their minds and turned to the work at hand.
Blade quickly understood why Princess Tarassa's subjects respected her and were willing to bear the expense of her little pleasure palace and her other indulgences. Out of every ten waking hours, she devoted nine to the work of ruling Parine and only one to her personal affairs and pleasures. When she was not at her desk reading or dictating state papers, she was in her audience chamber hearing complaints, dealing out a brisk but even-handed justice, presenting or receiving gifts. When she was in neither of those places, she was in the saddle crossing and recrossing the island. Once she even boarded one of Parine's few galleys and spent an exhausting and uncomfortable week touring the other eight islands that made up the principality.
The only thing she did for her own pleasure was to move her household from the marble palace to the Prince's Suite in the main castle overlooking the harbor. That way, Blade could more easily keep an eye on his ship and still spend each night with her. Even that meant giving up the luxury of the palace for a sparsely furnished, dank, and generally grim suite of cramped rooms at the top of the castle keep.
Blade had no real work after the first few days. The workers of Parine's modest shipyard knew their business, their tools were good, and their backs were strong. As the days went by, Blade realized that by hovering over the workers he could do nothing except annoy them and probably slow down their labor. His ship was in the best possible hands.
The galley's crew was just as well off. Word rapidly got around the town and the island beyond it who these men were and what they'd done. They found themselves greeted as heroes of a battle against the pirates, who were cordially hated in Parine, and victims of the tyranny of Kul-Nam, who was hardly more popular. They were wined, they were dined, they found all the women the loneliest sailor could hope for, and they seldom had to pay for anything.
Blade had been worried that his crew might be jealous of his relationship with the princess. Instead, he occasionally found himself being almost jealous of his sailors. On an average day they saw a good deal more of their girls than he saw of Princess Tarassa. Their girls did not have to work twelve hours a day ruling Parine!
Blade found himself spending many hours of his free time talking war and politics with the commandant of the castle. The commandant was the first of the four officers who'd visited Kukon upon her arrival. When he was not putting on an act, he was a sensible enough man, well educated and obviously a competent soldier. He came from one of Parine's oldest families-in fact, from one older than Princess Tarassa's own.