Stopping here, just inside the entrance to the audience hall, was a compromise that served both her dignity and that of the Wakir. Halt glanced at the Arridi captain as he registered her statement. He thought he saw a small light of approval there as well. It occurred to him that perhaps Evanlyn's sense of self-worth and confidence was being tested – and this would probably not be the last time it happened.
'I shall inform his Excellence,' said Selethen. This time, Halt was sure he saw the slightest trace of a smile on the dark face before the tall warrior moved away.
He disappeared into one of the many side doors. There would likely be galleries and hallways running the length of the building, Halt thought, as well as offices and rooms for the Wakir's staff.
Now that they were alone, he felt it was an opportune moment to let Evanlyn know that she had acted correctly.
'Well done,' he said in a low voice. She didn't turn to look at him but from the three-quarter viewpoint he had, he saw her cheekbones move and knew that she had allowed a faint smile to touch her face.
'Wasn't sure what to do,' she murmured back to him.
'Trust your instincts,' he told her. She knew more about these situations than she realised, he thought. She'd spent years at Duncan's side and she was quick-witted and intelligent. 'When in doubt,' he added, 'be pompous.'
'Don't make me laugh, Halt,' she said out of the corner of her mouth. 'I'm as nervous as a cat here.'
'You're doing fine,' he said. As he said it, a door opened at the far end of the room, on the left-hand side, and half a dozen men emerged, led by a man who could only be the Wakir.
He was a disappointing figure, Will thought. So far, he only had experience of Selethen and his soldiers. They were tall and lean and had the look of trained fighting men about them. The Wakir looked like a clerk – a hilfmann, he thought, remembering his despised antagonist at the Skandian court.
The Wakir was a good head shorter than any of the others in his entourage. A head-and-a-half if compared to Selethen, who, as a mere captain of the guard, had brought up the rear. The Wakir was also a little overweight – no, Will corrected, he was fat – a fact that could not be concealed by the flowing robes he wore. And the face beneath the oversized turban seemed to have been formed from soft clay, moulded hastily to form features, with a squashed lump of a nose set in the middle. He looked around uncertainly, saw the Araluan delegation, scratched his backside and took his seat on the carved, decorated chair. He had to sit well forward to make sure that his short legs actually touched the ground. Had he sat back, they would have swung, childlike, some five centimetres from the polished wood floorboards of the platform. 'A giant, isn't he?' Horace muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
'Shut up,' Halt replied, in the same fashion.
'Children, children,' Evanlyn said quietly in mock admonishment. Will regarded her with admiration. She stood straight-backed and confident. She was handling all with great skill and aplomb, he thought, as if she were born to it. Then he shrugged mentally. She had been born to it. For a moment, he had another flash of his own inadequacy. Then, as Evanlyn stepped out towards the dais, he hurried to fall in step with the others.
Their boots rang on the tiled floor, echoing off the bare walls as they proceeded down the large room. Evanlyn stopped just short of the dais, waiting to be announced.
Selethen stepped forward, between her and the Wakir.
'Your Excellence, may I present the delegation of Princess Cassandra of the Kingdom of Araluen. Princess, may I present his Excellence Aman Sh'ubdel, Wakir and overlord of the province of Al Shabah.'
Evanlyn inclined her head deeply. She'd been told by Lord Anthony that strict protocol required a woman to curtsey in this sort of situation. But she'd told him that she'd be damned if she did.
'Excellence,' she said, holding the bow for several seconds, then looking up.
The Wakir gestured for her to approach and as she stepped towards the low dais he said, 'Please be seated, my lady.'
Evanlyn froze in mid-step. A small frown crossed her face.
'I am Crown Princess of Araluen, Excellence. As such, I am addressed as "your highness". Or, if that isn't acceptable to your own dignity, "Princess Cassandra" would be suitable.'
Good girl, thought Halt, although his face remained inscrutable as ever.
The Wakir seemed a little flustered by her reaction. He glanced to one side and for a moment, Evanlyn had the distinct impression that he was looking to Selethen for guidance. She had an urge to look at the captain as well but she knew she must keep her gaze fixed on the Wakir.
'Of course, of course! A slip of the tongue. Apologies, Princess… your highness,' he said, waving a hand to dismiss his unintentional gaffe. 'Please, please, sit with me.'
For a moment, Evanlyn fought an overwhelming urge to giggle as she wondered what he'd do if she took him literally and hopped up to sit on his knee on the massive carved chair. She struggled to keep a straight face, realising that the urge was a reaction to her nervousness. Her hesitation served her well, however, as the Wakir took it as a further sign of her displeasure. He rose from his chair. Will had to hide a smile as he saw how awkward this movement was. The short-legged Arridi ruler had to skid his behind forward to the edge of the seat, then virtually drop to the floor.
Having been shorter than most of those around him all his life, Will enjoyed seeing someone else struggling with the problem.
'Sit, your highness, please!' he repeated and Evanlyn nodded her consent, moved to a richly upholstered bench that Selethen placed before her and sat gracefully. The Wakir nodded. He climbed back aboard his seat, wriggling his backside again to get into position, cast another sideways glance, then licked his lips nervously. Evanlyn thought she might as well take charge of matters.
'We've come to discuss the ransom of our friend Erak, Oberjarl of Skandia,' she said. Her voice was high and clear. 'We understand you have set a sum for this?'
'We have,' the Wakir replied. 'The sum required is… ' Again he hesitated and again there was that sideways shift of the eyes. Evanlyn frowned. The man seemed very unsure of himself, she thought. Then he continued. 'Eighty thousand reels of silver.' There was a renewed tone of confidence in his voice now that he spoke the figure, as if it had just been confirmed for him.
Evanlyn shook her head. 'Too high,' she said firmly. The Wakir jerked back in his seat in surprise.
'Too high?' he repeated and Evanlyn nodded. She was conscious of Anthony's briefing on this matter. They'll expect you to bargain, he had said. It's a virtual insult if you don't.
'We're offering fifty thousand,' Evanlyn told him calmly. The Wakir's hands flew about his head in an agitated fashion.
'Fifty thousand? But that's… ' He hesitated and Evanlyn finished for him.
'Our offer.'
The Wakir's hand played with his chin, tugging at the loose flesh below it. His eyes took on a crafty look.
'All very well to offer such a low price, your highness. But how do I know you are capable of paying even that much? How do I know you are authorised?'
'You have my seal,' Evanlyn said simply. She had seen the seal box that she had returned to Selethen the previous day. It was sitting on a side table beside the Wakir's chair. He looked at it now, picked it up and opened the hinged top.,
'Aaah, yes. Your seal,' he said, studying it.