The Sand Prince Read Free Page A

that was left was to wait for the glowing reviews to come rolling in. In no time, he'd be out of the Guardhouse and living in a big house in the center of Mistra, giving lectures and writing his next book. He thought perhaps a thinly fictionalized version of his own experiences with the demons might make a strong follow up (in his mind, the main character was not a lowly assistant, but the ambassador himself, and the Princess was less violent and more ardent).
    Until that day, though, Malloy toiled as assistant to the ambassador. It wasn't a glamorous position, but it gave him access to things. Interesting and important things. Some of the things were secrets. It didn't hurt to jot down a few notes, just in case. He'd give her the fruit of his best work today: his novel and his secrets. He hoped it would ease the sting of bad news: he was recalled back to Mistra, he would be leaving that very evening. He knew she’d be annoyed, he hoped she’d be overcome with grief.
    Following the now-familiar secret passage to Hellne’s balcony, he found her as he usually did, hair down and with the stone bowls softly glowing.
    After joining (as they called it on Eriis) and taking a moment to make sure nothing was bruised or burned that couldn’t be hidden, he said, "I have good news and bad news."
    She folded her hands and waited, her face, as ever, unreadable.
    "The bad news is I’m leaving."
    He got a reaction, that was something—even a slight frown or a twitched brow was a victory.
    "How dull," she frowned. "How long?"
    "Not long. There’s something going on back home and they need me there. But I’m leaving right away."
    She gave a tiny sigh, reflecting a world of displeasure. "Hmm. You mentioned good news?"
    "Ah! Of course." He handed her a small, flat package wrapped in bright silk. "I made this for you. It’s the key to our being together. It’s yours, now."
    She held the package up and beamed at him, or more likely elected to let him see her approval. "I'll treasure it forever."
    He silently cursed. He'd been so excited about giving her something so special, he'd forgotten her people had no tradition of wrapping gifts. At first she thought the pretty paper or fabric was the gift. But, as she explained to him, when someone handed you something secret, what then? Open it in front of them and risk a disappointed face? That would be unforgivably rude not only on her part, but on the part of the giver who had forced her reaction. He had to admit it made sense.
    And sure enough, she slipped the unopened gift into the slashed pocket of her heavy gown. She’d changed out of the elaborate outfit she’d worn for their trip to the market earlier that day, a narrowly cut blue dress and some sort of see-through silvery veil. He could see a handful of discarded fabric on the floor peeking out from under the bed, where it would sit until Hellne’s maid collected it. She’d left the jewels in her hair, even though the white and blue clashed with the brocaded sage and gold of her ceremonial gown. She fancied the stones and left them in place, barely holding together the coif of soft coils. The gown she wore, he knew, was her seventh best, reserved for the sort of state dinner they had just attended, notable only because it was delayed to wait for the return of the recently appointed Eriisai ambassador, a young fellow named Preeve, through The Door. Oddly, he hadn’t appeared. That she had a seventh best gown—and a fifth, and a tenth—chafed, because the forest green cleric’s robe and dark hose were all he owned. That they were in good repair and flattered his frame hardly helped. These people had a way of sizing you up without ever appearing to notice you, but he had no doubt that they noticed. The only balm was the way she’d undone the lacing—or rather, her maid had undone it—which left her exposed from the nape of her neck to the middle of her back, where her wings were tucked out of sight (he preferred them hidden,