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Chapter 1

The Fourth Crown Princess of the Blue Crescent Islands had sixteen rituals to observe from the

moment of waking to when she broke her fast. These included getting out of bed on the right-

hand side; turning to the east to bow to the sun; submitting to having her hair groomed with

forty strokes from a silver-backed brush by the Under Mistress of the Royal Chamber; and--

Princess Taoshira paused. What have I forgotten? Goddess rot the Etiquette Mistress's rule

book, I know there's something else.

"Your fingerbowl, Your Highness," intoned the Senior Mistress of the Chamber, holding out a

bronze basin.

Fingerbowl! Why do I always forget the fingerbowl? Taoshira rinsed her fingertips delicately and

dried them on a white linen towel.

Probably, chimed in another voice in her head, because when you were at home -- before you

were chosen as princess -- you had to wash your hands under the pump in the yard, jostling the

serving girls for your place in the line.

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Taoshira, or Tashi as she used to be known to her family, almost smiled at the recollection--then

remembered that the Crown Princess was not allowed to show emotion until she had said the

Four Blessings, the true beginning of the day in the Royal Palace, and accompanied the words

with the

appropriate gesture.

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"Eternal Goddess of Mystery, give our people wisdom" (touching her head);

"Gracious Mother of Mercy, look upon our people with compassion" (right hand on heart);

"Kind Sister of Healing, bless all who are ill" (hands outspread);

"Joyful Child of Hope, prosper our work this day" (fingers arched, thumbs touching in a triangle).

The four attendants gathered in her bedchamber gave the required response in unison: "As the

Goddess wills."

Tashi was relieved that was over. She liked the morning prayer to the four faces of the Mother

Goddess but had not yet got used to the fact that she was now an official priestess for the entire

nation. If she forgot to say it--or even fluffed the words--her people believed that dire

consequences would be felt throughout the land. It had been very different mumbling the same

prayers to herself up on the hills of her family's estate on Kai, the northernmost of the islands

that made up the Blue Crescent, named for the curving shape of the isles in the Sapphire Ocean.

In those days, as a faithful Kaian, she had said the words with only her goats to hear her as the

sun broke over the jagged crests of the

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Marine Mountains. She had never dreamed that she would be snatched from that life as

abruptly as a kid is plucked from the ground by a bird of prey.

From insignificant daughter of an impoverished matriarch, she had become one of the four most

powerful women in her world.

Tashi stood with arms outstretched as the Assistant Under Mistress of the Chamber removed

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her nightgown. That was another thing that had taken a lot of getting used to: standing stark

naked in front of her attendants with only her long fair hair to veil her while they went through

the ceremonial dressing.

Over the last four years, from blushing furiously she had progressed to thinking of other things

while they fussed over her. The ceremony had its set order: first placing on the white silk under-

robe, then the sleeveless orange tunic of the Fourth Crown Princess, next the flamboyant

embroidered gown (today was one of her favorites--the dragonfly design), and finally the orange

sash.

Four items of clothing. Her life was ruled by that number. It had decided her fate when the last

Fourth Crown Princess had met an untimely death at the age of twenty. The Blue Crescent

Islands always had four crown princesses, one from each isle of Rama, Lir-Salu, Phonilara, and

Kai. It had been the princess from the smallest and most northern island that had died, so the

priests and priestesses of Kai had gathered to identify the next candidate.

Their choice was restricted to all eligible twelve-year-old girls of matriarchal families.

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Normally, the choice fell on the greatest and most wealthy households, but it seemed that in

Tashi's year something had gone awry and she--the

youngest daughter of a family whose claim to matriarchal nobility was largely on paper--had

been chosen. Her family had long since ceased to be noticed at court, their wealth dwindling

until they had become hill farmers in an obscure province.

There had been no question that she would accept the role. Tashi had known that her family

would benefit hugely from having their daughter at the seat of government--and she also shared

the belief that the Goddess's hand was behind such decisions, no matter how imperfect her

human agents.

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Though Tashi had wondered many times over the years that had

transformed her from free-living goat herder to a key part of the most formal court in the known

world, whether the Mother had not chosen her for a bit of light relief from her three co-rulers.

She sometimes felt she was more court jester than ruler as she struggled to submit to her new

life.

Only to herself would she admit that the ceremonies and duties were driving her mad; and yet

she was committed to repeating the same pattern day in, day out for the rest of her life, for the

good of the nation.

The Etiquette Mistress, one of the highest ranking officials in the court, arrived even before the

breakfast.

"Now, Crown Princess, shall we resume our lesson on the right degree of bow to give the

Gerfalian ambassadors?" she asked, opening her scroll at the correct place.

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"As the Goddess wil s," replied Tashi, keeping her face inscrutable.

Ramil ac Burinholt, Prince of Gerfal, had risen before the sun for the hunt.

The dawn had found him and his friends riding pellmell through the Royal Forest, leaping fallen

trees, whooping with excitement as they picked up a trail. Ramil loved the reckless speed of the

chase and rode like the wind when the mood took him. His mother had originally come from the

hot deserts of the far south, princess of a dark-skinned people known as the Horse Followers.

His friends always said it was her blood in him that caught fire when he and his stallion, Leap, set

off on one of their mad careers through the forest, leaving all the others behind. The

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professional huntsmen just shook their heads in despair and let the young Prince go, knowing

from experience that he would return when it suited him, having caught nothing.

At one with his galloping horse, Ramil entered a state of pure happiness.

The greens, oranges, golds, reds, and browns flashed by as Leap streaked through the trees.

Twigs snatched at Ramil's clothes but were unable to catch him. The rush of air was cool on skin.

Harness jingled and leather creaked in a tuneful counterpoint to the rapid thud-thud of the

hooves. Leap's footing was sure; he was fresh, ready to run for as long as his rider wished. It was

their great game, their moment of release from stable and council chamber.

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Having covered a mile in this fashion, Leap barely slowed for the stream that crossed their path,

jumping it in one bound. Once on the other side, he pulled up by a thicket of hawthorn and

snickered to his rider.

"What's the matter, boy?" Ramil asked, patting his mount's sweat-stained neck.