Gruyère woke in twilight, warm and sluggish, unaware that she'd fallen asleep on Snillek's shoulder. Stars salted the sky—just the barest seasoning for now—as the sky darkened. She lifted onto one elbow to find Snillek watching her. She reached over and booped the end of Snillek's long, regal nose.
"Hey. Can I ask you something?"
Snillek's expression remained serious, though her eyes sparkled. "It's true. I hate wearing slippers."
"Ha. Funny. No, not that."
"What. then? I'll answer as well as I can, whatever it is."
Gruyère shifted so she lay on her stomach to face Snillek better. "Do you really think Tarribotia won't ever accept their fierce princess, tail, wings, and all?"
"Hmm." Snillek's gaze grew distant as she gave it obvious thought. "I guess I don't know Tarribotians that well. Kipcup said maybe someday, but I should win them over first. That it would be too much of a shock."
"But what if… I mean, you're the princess. What if you don't win them over first? What's the worst your court, your people could do?"
"Make a fuss. Depose me." Snillek frowned. "I don't know. This is my first princess job. Not exactly playing to my strengths. Dad said to be diplomatic, so I was trying to be. Why are we talking about this?"
"I've been thinking…"
"You've been sleeping."
Gruyère gave a mock-offended huff. "I can think and sleep at the same time."
"I believe it." Snillek lifted her head to steal a kiss. "Gonna share?"
"This has been really hard on you." Gruyère tapped the armor-plated chest. "I think it's even harder for you to lie than it is for me. Exhibit A, this weird not-quest that you don't know what to do with."
"Anti-quest."
"Yes. That."
Snillek got her elbows under her, the teasing drained from her voice. "If you have a solution, I'm listening."
"A solution? Not sure about that. But I have some suggestions."
"Still listening."
"First suggestion—you tell your court the truth when you get back."
Now Snillek sat up, shaking her head. "What? No. I can't do that. They think of me as human."
"I'm going to say it again. What's the worst that could happen?"
"No idea. Revolt? Civil war? Rioting in the streets?"
"Hey." Gruyère took those wonderful, clawed hands. "They know your dad. You told me he came to your mom's funeral. No panic in the streets. No rioting. It's not like Tarribotians don't know what Dzedek look like."
"Yeah. But not what I look like."
"That's fair. So think about that for a bit." Gruyère kissed her cheek. "But remember that this Tarribotian thinks you're gorgeous. Suggestion two—Tarribotia needs to know its dragons."
Snillek nodded, gaze unfocused. "Yeeess, but I'm not sure we mean the same thing. The first step would be acknowledging the great dragons aren't extinct."
"Yes! And acknowledge them as a sentient, technologically able race. And make reparations for the theft of their lands. And—"
"Hold on. You're getting ahead of yourself. I guess we could take vids back, if it's all right with the dragon, but vids can be doctored. Wouldn't be all that convincing."
The suggestions turned into discussion, then into argument, one of the best arguments Gruyère ever had. Snillek was forceful and definite in her opposition or defense of points, but she never belittled Gruyère, never made her feel as if her ideas were ridiculous or stupid. If she hadn't been in love before…
But I'm not—oh, shut up. Of course I am. Get over yourself. Not smart, falling for a paladin-princess, but yes, I love her.
Not the time, though. She pushed the thought and the gnawing anxiety that came with it aside and concentrated on The Plan. Or Plans. Depending on where they ended in agreement.
The argument lasted until the moons were high overhead and they were both so exhausted they fell asleep, then started up again when they had to bring the discussion to the dragons. Not a sentence Gruyère ever thought she'd think, and to add to the strange, discussing with dragons was beyond strange—thoughts flying every which way, the great dragon using her algae tech when she needed to make a specific point through memory.
Snillek followed the dragon's thoughts better than Gruyère—much better, since half the time, all Gruyère got were dreamlike impressions—and Mortimer tried his best to help, running between them with flora and objects from Gruyère's pack that helped not at all. She stopped struggling to understand when Mortimer brought her a square teal flower that smelled like earwax. While she dutifully recorded it, she'd have to leave interpretation for later.
Finally, Snillek rose and opened the hover platform's cargo compartment to strap on her weapons. "All right, let's go."
"But what are we doing?" Gruyère scrambled up from the grass. "Why are you arming yourself to the teeth?"
"We're going to the capital. Rose Quartz Glinting With Moonlight Through Falling Water is going with us, and I won't take her in there unable to protect her."
"That's her name?"
"Best translation I could manage." Snillek scratched at her head scales.
Gruyère hurried to enter it into her data before she forgot any of it. She felt Snillek staring at her, impatient, but she didn't look up until she'd finished. "Okay. You two go. I'll follow with the hover platform in a few days."
Snillek drew herself up, impressive arms crossed over her chest. "You will not. I'm not leaving you out here alone, and you'll never make it back through the scorparach canyon."
"But… I can't leave it here!" Gruyère gestured at the vehicle with both hands. "I didn't steal it, but I didn't have permission to take it, either. I have to take it back!"
Rose Quartz Glinting With Moonlight Through Falling Water made that thunderstorm-on-the-horizon sound in her chest and stomped up to the hover platform. She examined it from several angles, poked it with her nose, and finally closed her fore claws around its sides. Her narrowed eyes clearly said, There. That's settled.
"Ookay. Um. How are we doing this?" Gruyère looked between Snillek and the dragon, but Mortimer was the one to take her by the sleeve and tug her toward his larger mate.
Snillek, of course, vaulted effortlessly to the dragon's back and settled in front of her wings. It took a great deal more huffing, shoving, and pulling to get Gruyère up there. They somehow managed without her tumbling off the opposite side. She even remembered to start her instruments to record the flight. Mortimer landed in a whir of wings and settled in front of her.
Rose Quartz Glinting With Moonlight Through Falling Water leaped for the sky, and the world fell away.
Snillek had asked Rose Quartz to fly as high as she could, to avoid being spotted for as long as possible. She almost immediately regretted it. The air was blasted cold that high. Good thing they'd been dressed for the mountains, but she wouldn't have refused another couple or couple dozen layers. The best she could do was wrap herself around Gruyère while Gruyère held Mortimer close. The little guy put off a lot of heat.
While Snillek could fly, did fly, her wings were nothing compared to the magnificence of Tarribotian dragon wings. She could only fly short distances, a little higher than the treetops, and then not impressively fast. Rose Quartz flew at such altitudes and speeds that she could've hired herself out as global atmospheric transport.
Close to midnight, the lights of the spaceport shone below. Then as the surrounding clouds took on the pastel paints of morning, the first outskirts of the capital appeared in little dots of farmsteads.
Gruyère leaned back to yell in her ear, "Are we landing outside the city?"
"No." Snillek gave her a squeeze. "We're going right for the palace. I intend to tear this all off in one go."
"You think that's safe?"
"Probably not. But I'm a paladin. I've faced down angry mobs before."
The disgruntled noise from Gruyère didn't exactly sound like a vote of confidence. As they approached the palace, Snillek tapped on Rose Quartz's shoulder and indicated that she should circle once before setting down in the central courtyard. Guards were pouring out onto the grass, but when Snillek leaned out and waved, they seemed confused, their weapons wavering and lowering.
Her absurd courtiers had also scrambled outside, pointing and running around, probably shrieking. She was going to have a serious talk with them about security after this. If they were still talking to her. If someone didn't shoot her.
Rose Quartz back-winged, landing slowly to give the humans plenty of time to scramble out of the way. They did, without grace and with much screaming. Snillek leaped from the dragon's back and planted herself between draconian and human Tarribotians.
"It's all right! She won't hurt you!" Snillek patted the air with both hands, hoping that hearing her voice would help. Not much, as it turns out.
To her surprise, it was Lady Higgenblot, supporting a petrified Lord Brightmitt, who answered. "Paladin Snillek? What's the meaning of this? Where is Princess Siel?"
"That's, ah, the thing I need to talk to all of you about." Slowly, no sudden moves, Snillek removed her helmet to reveal her unbewigged head with her horns extended. "You see, I am Princess Siel."
The gasps and shouts of Nonsense couldn't cover the sound of a rifle catch releasing. Out of the corner of her eye, Snillek caught one of her younger guardsmen raising his rifle to his shoulder. Without turning, she bellowed, "Hold your fire, soldier, or I will wrap that rifle around your neck!"
The guard squeaked and dropped his weapon. One of the older guards snorted and muttered in the silence that followed, "Oh, yeah. That's her all right."
Lord Terrapinch spoke up from behind Lady Higgenblot. "Princess Siel, if that's who you truly are, what is the meaning of this?"
"It's really me. Same eyes. Same voice. It's me. Look, I'm sorry for all the deception. And for the whole Flamescale thing. And this is Rose Quartz Glinting With Moonlight Through Falling Water who brought us home. A real Tarribotian dragon. And we need to talk about that, too…"
This wasn't going well at all. The courtiers regarded her with blank or stony faces, some of them clearly too panicked and others too offended and suspicious to listen.
"She is Princess Siel." Gruyère's voice shook, but she raised her chin in defiance at the courtiers' stares. "She's a paladin, and she's incredibly brave and honorable and she's telling you she is."
"And who are you?" Lord Snavelpy, more awake than Snillek had ever seen him, asked with undisguised contempt.
Her voice cracked and trembled, but Gruyère didn't cower. "I'm Gruyère Quackenpool. From the university. Draconic studies."
The courtiers stared some more, though now they seemed confused. Into this new silence, Lord Brightmitt squeaked, "She's a cheese?"
"Why does everyone know that?" Gruyère muttered to the grass.
"I must offer my sincere apologies to both her highness and the court," a tired, raspy voice came from the south courtyard stairs. Kipcup, leaning on a cane on one side and a young guard on the other stood unsteadily on the top step. "This is all my doing."
"Roncil!" Lord Brightmitt dashed across the courtyard, apparently forgetting the scary dragon entirely in his rush to Kipcup's side. "You shouldn't be up!"
Expected a lot of things. Didn't expect this. Snillek had Brightmitt pegged as Kipcup's political enemy. She had to admit she'd read the room wrong on that one, as Brightmitt offered his arm and solicitously helped Kipcup down the steps to a bench at the bottom.
Snillek shook her head as she removed her gauntlets. "Not your fault, Kipcup. You advised me. I made the actual decisions and did the things."
"Don't fuss, Mattim." Kipcup sniffed and patted Brightmitt's arm in a familiar way before he raised his shaking voice to include the court. "Paladin Snillek is indeed Princess Siel. While I had advised her to, ah, deemphasize her Dzedek heritage for her debut in court, her highness rightly feels the time for such cosmetic alterations is over. Though I don't recall advising her highness to return with an actual dragon."
"I'm so confused," Lady Seppleheff murmured, her perfect auburn ringlets bouncing as she shook her head. "This dragon is Flamescale? How did it fit through her highness's bedroom window?"
"It's all right, Tissia." Lady Higgenblot took three steps forward, removing herself from the pack of courtiers to address Snillek. "You are also the dragon Flamescale, your highness?"
"Not a dragon, of course, but Flamescale was my childhood nickname."
With Gruyère's help, Snillek had shed her armor. She checked over her shoulder to see how Rose Quartz was holding up, but the dragon appeared serene, with her front feet tucked under her and her eyes half closed. Mortimer sat beside her, his wings vibrating from time to time, but otherwise still.
To gasps and murmurs, Snillek shook her wings out and stretched them to their full span, showing herself in all her Dzedek-ness. Lord Brightmitt looked one hard breath away from fainting, but Gruyère's eyes shone with delight, with a fondness that gave Snillek courage. She told the story of her frustration that night Kipcup fell ill, of her loss of control and subsequent flight, of Kipcup's advice, and briefly, her quest for any sign of dragons she'd believed extinct.
"I am Tzik's daughter, of an old Dzedek family. Some of me is more human, because Retilla was my mother, but I look like my father, too. This shouldn't be a shock. Not dragons, but alike enough to remind humans of them. Maybe this makes me more suited to rule this planet right now than someone purely human." Which brought her to the guest she'd brought home. "Again, this is Rose Quartz Glinting With Moonlight Through Falling Water, who's agreed to act as an initial envoy for her people."
Lord Snavelpy harrumphed, rather loudly and rudely, Snillek thought. "Envoy, indeed. Dragons are beasts, highness. Nothing but large animals. The histories clearly show they never spoke or built anything. We appreciate your skill in training one, but—"
"Our history regarding dragons is revisionist." Gruyère interrupted him in a strong voice, one she probably reserved for lecture halls. "The little we have is built on half-truths and outright lies."
Lord Snavelpy spluttered. "By what right do you address the court, young woman?"
Rude. Snillek fixed him with her most intimidating glare, pleased when he cringed. "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself. Gruyère speaks as an expert on dragons. She's also my lover. I suggest you listen."
Wide-eyed, Gruyère gave her a nod of thanks and went on. "The Tarribotian dragons were an agrarian culture, most likely cooperative, before humans colonized this world. They speak through thought sendings and plant-based biotech—technology I've never seen before. Humans wanted their land and drove them off, justifying it by saying the dragons were dangerous animals. Many were slaughtered. Murdered. The land we're all standing on is theirs."
"So they've come to take it back?" Lord Terrapinch cleared his throat when everyone turned to stare at him, but he forged on. "After all these generations? This is our home. We're not the ones who drove off the dragons."
"Between the extermination of dragons and the expulsion of humans, there's a lot of middle ground, Terrapinch." Snillek couldn't quite keep the growl from her voice and sighed. They needed to know their princess was their princess. "Though you're brave for speaking up, and I hear your concern. That's why the envoy is here. To talk about all the ground in between."
"That was perfect," Gruyère whispered beside her. "All diplomatic and royal."
"Thanks," Snillek answered out of the corner of her mouth.
Lady Higgenblot strode the rest of the way across the courtyard, hands extended. "The court welcomes you home, your highness. You, your new consort, and your guests. I'm so pleased you are safe and back with us."
She stood practically under Rose Quartz's nose, and Snillek realized she'd underestimated Elaclar Higgenblot. Kipcup was a quiet, subtle mover of pieces, but this woman had steel in her bones. The jovial, socially involved courtier was her polite face, her diplomatic face. The court would sit up and roll over for her when she spoke in that voice.
"Captain Gadabiff, please show Rose Quartz Glinting With Moonlight Through Falling Water and Professor Quackenpool to the south lawn, where there is proper space for the envoy. Professor, you'll let the guard know what foods the envoy requires?"
"Oh, um, sure." Gruyère startled, probably not expecting to be addressed directly or maybe just shocked that Lady Higgenblot had gotten the whole draconic name right. "Mortimer can help figure out what fruits are best for her."
The humans in the courtyard seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief at the word fruits, but Lady Higgenblot's brows drew down. "Mortimer?"
"One of the envoy's mating group." Gruyère indicated the bumblebee dragon. "Though, I feel like I should ask his actual—Oh, really?" She looked up at Rose Quartz with a start. "Wow. I'm thinking Iridescent Dust Specks Slipping Through Volcanic Rock In Sheer Cliff Faces At Sunset is going to be a lot for humans." She turned back to the smaller dragon. "Is it okay if we call you Mortimer?"
He trilled his acceptance, and the three of them went off with the commander of the guard. Palace staff were already gathering up Snillek's armor and discussing the disposition of the faithful hover platform as Snillek turned back to her courtiers, where Lady Higgenblot's social smile had returned.
"And you've returned in plenty of time for Winterfest, highness. How delightful!"
Snillek blinked at her. "Really? We're still doing this?"
"The court has been abuzz with preparations, your highness." Kipcup was suddenly at her elbow. How the hell had he gotten there? "It wouldn't do to disappoint your people now."
Her people. Yes, these were all her people—the humans, the dragons, the off-worlders who had made a home at the spaceport—and she'd better get off her butt and start acting like it. Solving things. Making sure things worked. For everyone.
"Fine. But I'm not wearing a princess dress."
Kipcup tipped his head to the side and sniffed. "Between the princess dresses and the paladin's armor, there's a lot of middle ground, your highness."
"I'm so glad you're still here to throw my words back in my face, Kipcup." Snillek patted his shoulder as gently as she could. "No sarcasm. Really. I'm glad you're all right."
"I'm enormously pleased to see you again too, highness. And look forward to the years of sarcasm ahead."
Snillek nearly shot back a snarky remark until she realized a thing that sat warm and bright under her heart. Stuffy little Lord Kipcup was teasing her.
Consort carried a certain weight, apparently. Gruyère wasn't aware if or when her status had become official, but the palace staff certainly had made up their minds. They'd given her a suite not too far from Snillek's royal chambers. A suite, for pity's sake, bigger than her family's apartment had been, with a bed in which she could've housed an entire dragon-moth social hive. Why she even had her own bed, she couldn't fathom. Every evening after dinner, she went up the special staircase and slept in Snillek's bed.
Convenient, though, since the table in the sitting room was the perfect size for spreading out her notes and getting her research in order. Since data had started to come in from the camera placed with the dragon moths, she had to get organized before she drowned in new information. The little queen had retired to a tiny cavern—cozy for her—and there were eggs. Gruyère had danced a bit when she saw them. Probably the most productive she'd been in ages, since people brought her food and lovely clothes to replace her dusty, travel-worn things and reminded her when to join her princess for this or that when she got too wrapped up and forgot.
Best of all, no condescending colleagues or undergraduate students interrupted her with demands on her time. Her days became divided into thirds—dragon article, Rose Quartz, Snillek.
Though being an honored guest in a palace was incredibly weird, like a dream or a story happening to someone else, after a few days of compiling and writing, she decided to see if she could start asking for things.
"I'm sorry, Professor." The poor gardening supervisor furrowed her forehead. "You'd like tubs of… algae?"
"Yes, please." Gruyère flapped her hands at the nearby lily pond. "Preferably kinds that grow in shallow pools, but ideally, as many varieties as you can find?"
Gruyère thought she might get a few buckets of pond slime. What the gardeners showed her the next day, quite proudly, were seven planting tubs with seven quite-different shades of pond slime.
"Oh… oh, wow. Thank you." She stared at each tub in turn. "How did you… I mean I guess they are just tiny plants…"
"We called in an algae expert." The gardening supervisor was all smiles. "Where would you like them, Professor?"
The answer had to wait while Mortimer inspected each tub carefully, buzzing excitedly between them. Apparently satisfied, he hovered in front of Gruyère, trilled at her, then raced off toward the south lawn.
"I need them to go to Rose Quartz. The great dragon," Gruyère said in her most confident voice. The looks she got… They were scared. Of course they were. "You don't have to take them for me. If someone can find me a hover cart, I'll take them, no problem. Pretty sure she's expecting the tubs now that Mortimer's gone to tell her all about them."
The supervisor squared her shoulders with an expression of grim determination. "We'll take them for you, Professor. No need for you to endure this alone."
"Ah… thank you?" I think.
Obviously nervous, the gardeners came with her to see Rose Quartz, who, not at all shockingly, didn't eat them. She reclined with her front feet crossed before her, as regal as any empress, while Mortimer buzzed about her head, his little bugle sounds practically shouting, See! Here they come now!
The skittish gardeners lined the tubs up in front of Rose Quartz, not within reach of that huge head, but close enough to be respectful. Then they scurried back to a safe distance. Rose Quartz tipped her head to the side and sent amused thoughts at Gruyère.
"I have no idea how you go about making a communications pool." Gruyère waved a hand at the algae. "But I thought someone should at least offer to try."
The dragon made a soft chirring sound and scooted forward on her belly to get a closer look at the tubs. She examined each thoroughly, peering at the algae, sniffing each type, and delicately dipping a claw tip into two of the tubs so she could lick at the contents. Finally, she tapped three of the tubs, her thoughts clearly asserting, These.
Two of the gardeners let out horrified sipping gasps when Rose Quartz patted the lawn in several places and gouged out a long strip of turf. Poor gardeners.
"Um. Sorry about that. I think Rose Quartz is going to try to make a communications device." Gruyère held her hands out wide. "I know, I know. It sounds mad to us, but her tech isn't like ours."
It helped that the dragon's digging was neat and precise as she excavated a shallow oval. Mortimer began to bring her light-colored stones to line what Gruyère assumed would be one of the algae communication ponds eventually. Looked like it would be a while, though, with Rose Quartz heating stone with tiny breaths of blue flame, reshaping the rocks into thin, delicate shapes before placing them carefully in the depression.
Gruyère observed for a couple of hours, taking notes, and left a vid recorder running when it looked like neither dragon scientist nor dragon engineer would stop work for explanations. Her earlier article, which had been about all Tarribotian dragons having the same evolutionary ancestor based on fragmentary DNA evidence, had morphed and exploded into the need to merge at least two draconic races into one and the absolute need to approach the great dragons from a diplomatic rather than a zoological viewpoint.
Difficult to maintain a tight focus. There was just so much new information. Only a problem in the not letting her article become a monster, though. She had to remind herself that there would be other articles. An initial book as soon as she could manage. Every other part of her was wriggle-dancing with unholy glee. My data. All mine.
The glee was finally sinking in and didn't even leave when palace staff came that afternoon to take more measurements. Apparently, she needed yet another special outfit if she expected to be able to escort a princess to Winterfest festivities.
Maybe Snillek would let her keep her palace clothes in the, ah, palace. She certainly didn't have room in the dinky closet in her apartment. I could get a rack. And the clothes would take over my living space. I'd have to call Snillek to come rescue me from a clothes coup.
She held her breath so she wouldn't giggle like a lunatic while being measured. No need to distress the poor palace staff too much in one day.
"Papa, you never told me you were sending me to a planet where wild academics roam free." Snillek leaned back in her office chair, feet kicked up on the desk, since no Kipcup hovered to disapprove.
"Holy shards, it's good to see you." Papa's distress came through the vid call in crystal clarity. Her private comm equipment in her suite was better than some military sets she'd come across. "I heard things went a little sideways there? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Papa. Truly. Things did get a little, ah, strange. I assume you've talked to Kipcup."
"He was worried about you, you know." Papa's tone held a hint of accusation. "And I gather feeling guilty for sending you on a wild chase into the, er, wilds."
"Poor Kipcup. I was worried about him, too. He wasn't having a good day at all when I left."
Snillek told the story from start to finish, editing out the possible assassination attempts so she wouldn't worry her father more. Not too much more. She did not, however, leave out Gruyère.
"She's wonderful, Papa. I've never felt so…" She struggled for a good-enough word. Nothing was good enough. "At ease? Content? Whole? With anyone else."
"I like that she picked an Earth cheese for her name." Papa gave her a serious nod. Something gleamed in his eyes that made Snillek uneasy. "Gruyère is an excellent word."
"What is it?" Snillek fought to stay casual and relaxed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Her father wiped tears from his eyes. "You make me proud, little one. I don't think I've told you enough."
"Thanks, Papa. I'm glad to hear it. But I'm still saddled with this madhouse of a court."
He regained his composure and folded his hands in front of him. "You are not a diplomat. You never will be."
Didn't he just say he was proud of me? Oh well. "Right. Not exactly shocking news."
"But you are a leader, Snillek. I've watched you with our troops. Seen vids of you evacuating civilians from a bad situation." He leaned closer to the imager. "So lead, daughter of mine. Be yourself and tackle problems the way you tackle monsters."
"You, ah, don't think I'll cause a revolt that way?"
"Use sense, of course. See people's strengths. But be you." Papa leaned back with a sharp-toothed smile. "They won't know what hit them."
She laughed like a dutiful daughter and signed off, but what he'd said meshed with something she'd turning around in her mind.
"Tippa!" She called through to the bedchamber. "Do I have any princess-appropriate clothes that aren't dresses?"
The tip-tip-tip of cute shoes hurried through the suite, and Tippa stuck her head around the office door. "Yes, highness. You have, for example, clothes for tennis and lawn bowling. Did you have something specific in mind?"
Lawn bowling? "Ah, hmm. Maybe some boots that don't look like they're for battle? A long kilt with a jacket?"
"I think we can get close, highness." She retreated to call out, "Allech! Sewing kit!"
Impressive lungs for such a small human.
Snillek didn't have the leisure to be impressed by Tippa's bellowing capacity after that, since her lady's maids were taking measurements and asking rapid-fire questions. When the figurative dust had settled, they'd dressed Snillek in a pair of elegant, wide-legged black trousers, efficiently altered to accommodate her tail, a nearly formal shirt with gold buttons and a long, split-tailed velvet jacket in a soothing dark blue. Boots in her size, ankle length with a low heel and as elegant as the rest of the outfit, appeared out of a special closet Snillek hadn't even realized was there.
"Anything else you'd like, highness." Allech gave her a deep bow. "Send us specifics and we'll have it made for you."
She blinked at them. "Ah. Thank you. I didn't think to ask. Just thought I was stuck in dresses forever."
"They're traditional and expected." Tippa exchanged a glance with Allech. "But, begging your pardon, highness, in many ways you aren't traditional or expected."
Be you.
She thanked them both and promised that she would have a list for them by the end of the day. As she strode out of her suite, she pulled her personal link out of her pocket. "Kipcup? Where are you?"
"In the East Garden, highness," came the not-quite-immediate reply. "By the lily pond."
"Good. I'm coming to you. I have questions."
"Very good, highness."
Nothing got done in court sessions. They seemed a tradition that had outlived their usefulness. Things within the jurisdiction of the ministries still happened, though, so there had to be a way outside of formal sessions.
She found Kipcup enjoying the dappled sunshine on a convenient bench by the pond. While she couldn't swear that the figure hurrying away when she appeared had been Lord Brightmitt, it seemed a good bet. Something to tease Kipcup about, certainly, but later.
"That suits you extremely well, highness." Kipcup nodded after giving her a once-over.
"Thanks. But I didn't come for a critique of my outfit." She plunked down beside him on the bench. "I think you've been holding out on me. Or maybe holding back until I was ready."
A furrow appeared between Kipcup's eyebrows. "Perhaps a more specific accusation, highness?"
She held up both hands. "Not accusing. But look here. Somehow, despite all the yelling and shouting each other down in the audience chamber, my ministers accomplish things. And I know you know how things happen."
"Ah." Sniff. "Yes, our forward progress regarding the political arena was interrupted rather abruptly."
"Yeah. Sorry about that." Snillek aimed a mock swat at his knee. "Now stop being cagey and tell me."
"No need to abuse me, highness." Sniff. "I've been very ill." But he smiled when he said it, so he was joking in his quiet Kipcup way. Then the smile vanished, extinguished. "Rulers have approached this in different ways, with greater or lesser success. Your mother's method was to separate from the herd and engage individually."
"She forced secret deals?"
Kipcup waggled a hand back and forth. "Say rather that she brokered agreements. She was a confident woman but preferred persuasion to coercion."
"You admired that a lot." It was a guess, but she knew Kipcup well enough to say it was an educated guess.
"I did, highness. Coercion only fosters enmity, whether outright or simmering undetected for years."
"Reasonable. Not like I'd planned to hold a knife to anyone's throat."
"I am relieved to hear that, highness." Sniff. "Lady Higgenblot is already your ally. Keep her close."
"I'd managed that much all on my nonpolitical own." Snillek grimaced. "But only when I got back."
"There was much to digest when you first arrived." Kipcup leaned back against the bench, obviously tired. She resolved not to keep him much longer. "As for when to swoop down on your ministers to catch them alone, they tend to have fairly reliable routines."
"Do they? Go on."
"As an example, Lord Snavelpy will most likely be on the North Lawn now." Sniff. "Lawn bowling. Or, for instance, Lord Brightmitt will most likely be in his study until it's time to change for dinner."
"That so?" Snillek patted his shoulder as she rose from the bench. "Lovely chat. Try to get some rest. I'm going for a stroll around the grounds."
The little huff might have been a laugh. "Good hunting, paladin."
She gave him a grin and a wink before she strode off. North Lawn, North Lawn… Probably need to head north for that. Which she did, found she had to reenter the palace, took two wrong turnings, and ended up on what could only have been the North Lawn.
Mostly she knew this because it was an enormous expanse of grass without a huge dragon sitting on it. A couple of uniformed palace staff—presumably there to carry equipment—watched from the edge of the lawn, but Lord Snavelpy played alone. Kinda sad, actually.
At least Tarribotian lawn bowling looked mildly interesting. Several white wire arches, each about a foot high, had been stuck in the lawn in a precise triangular pattern. Probably involved lots of measuring to set up. Each arch had a colored ball placed near it—red, yellow, or blue—and the object appeared, at least if Lord Snavelpy was any good, to roll a larger black ball across the grass and hit the smaller balls through their respective arches. Maybe.
She waited until he'd taken a shot and lumbered across the lawn to collect his ball before she hailed him. "Lord Snavelpy! Good afternoon."
He straightened and squinted at her, caution radiating from him as he rolled the ball from hand to hand. "Highness."
"Do you need an opponent, sir?"
His squinting became a skeptical frown. "Do you play?"
"No, this isn't a game we had growing up. Willing to bet you could teach me, though."
Skeptical slid into speculative. "You do seem the sporty type. Well, come on then, girl. I'll show you."
The staff hustled to set the field up again, and one of them brought Snillek a second hurling ball. It fit easily into her hand, perhaps too easily. She made a note to keep her claws in so they didn't hinder her throws.
Lord Snavelpy demonstrated while he explained game play and scoring—which had to do with how many wickets a player successfully maneuvered in a turn and how many their opponent could "steal" from them when they missed. This was complicated by different wickets having different values assigned them, but Snillek thought she was getting it.
The change in the elderly lord was astonishing. As soon as it became clear that Snillek was serious about learning, his face opened, and his expression warmed. He laughed, of all things—she didn't remember ever hearing him laugh—while he cajoled and encouraged her.
"More of a twist as you release!" He called out as she nearly hit the red ball through the third wicket. "Don't be too timid, girl! You won't hurt the ball's feelings!"
She joined him in his good-natured laughter, and though she had ulterior motives, she found she was having fun. Shells and sacs, when's the last time that happened with my courtiers? Her brain supplied the answer swiftly and forcefully—never.
They played through three rounds, with—naturally—Lord Snavelpy beating her soundly, but he appeared to enjoy having any sort of opponent at all. She wondered how long he'd been playing alone.
"An excellent game, sir." Snillek shook his hand as the staff hustled in to collect equipment. "Thank you for being patient with a raw beginner."
"Pshaw. You're better on your first day than some I could name after playing for years." Lord Snavelpy chuckled, then the warmth suddenly fled from his face. "You didn't come searching for me to play, though."
"I'm glad I did, but I won't deny it." She had the impression that direct was best with this minister and that painfully honest was even better. "Setting aside the objections concerning unnecessary tech, tell me, Lord Snavelpy. What are your most pressing concerns about the planetary satellite proposal?"
"Taxes," he spat out, his brows drawn down into an angry line.
"Mmhmm," she encouraged, hoping for more.
With an exasperated huff, he gave it. "The first thing they do is raise the tax on grain sales. Always the first thing. Grain taxes are high enough! It drives the smaller families out of business! And they don't want to hear it!"
They meaning, presumably, the court in general and possibly Snillek's mother, too. "Tarribotia's strength is agriculture. If we don't have that, we crumble."
"Precisely!" He didn't quite bellow, and now he watched her in that speculative, curious way again, like an aging rock eagle unsure of his ability to catch a particular fish. "You have a proposal."
Snillek shook her head. "Not yet. I'm fact-finding right now. But if there was another way, if the farms weren't imperiled by the project, would you still oppose it?"
He harrumphed and grumbled a bit before saying, "I would consider it. But Kita Brightmitt's boy better start listening to his elders."
Not for the first time, she wondered how old Lord Snavelpy really was. "The best I can ask right now. Thank you again for the game. I'd look forward to more regular ones, if you'd be willing."
A little smile curved at the corner of his mouth. "You come join me anytime, highness. And bring that girl of yours, too. She looks like she'd have a good arm."
She took her bemused leave and only realized when she was halfway across the lawn that he'd called her highness instead of girl. Progress came in small degrees sometimes.
Right then. Brightmitt's study next. Since she had no idea where that might be, she had to stop for directions twice. Not that anyone would refuse her directions. She was the princess, after all.
Her original intention hadn't been to bully. But someone like Brightmitt, for all his nervous charm and the fact that he was obviously smitten with Kipcup, was too much a courtier. If she didn't surprise him, there was a chance he would be, well, slippery.
"Lord Brightmitt." She winced as his door banged against the wall. The farking thing had looked heavier than it was. "How do you intend to fund your full satellite net?"
The lord in question jumped back from the complicated flowering plant he'd been watering, dropped the can on his foot, and uttered a tiny, strangled sound very much like, "Eeep."
Snillek put her hands on her hips. "Well?"
"I… I…" He put a hand to his chest. "Grain taxes? I would assume?"
"Tsk. It's not a proper proposal if you don't have a plan to fund it, is it?" Actually, she had no idea. Maybe that's how it had always been done here. If so, that had to change. "Find something less ruinous than overtaxing farmers and have it on my desk by end of week."
That also sounded good, though she hoped it was figurative. The thought of Lord Brightmitt bringing a proposal to lay on her desk, quaking all the way, didn't make her happy. She didn't smile, but she did add, "Please."
"Yes, highness." Lord Brightmitt pulled himself together for a deep, elaborate bow. "I will do my best."
Perhaps not handled as well as she could have, but agreement was agreement. The rest of Snillek's afternoon ended up split between Lady Norelca—who spent the meeting knitting, since, as she said, if a person couldn't keep count and hold a conversation simultaneously, what kind of a math person were they?—and Lord Terrapinch, who was quite pleased to show her his new song-lizard habitat. Lady Norelca stated tartly that funding couldn't be spun out of sugar, but perhaps her highness would consider her proposal on import tariffs, and Lord Terrapinch agreed that, yes, he did get too worked up in court sessions, and it was time to have regular budgetary meetings with Lady Norelca again.
Snillek didn't even ask why they had stopped meeting. No need to pry unless things fell apart between them again. Not a bad afternoon's work. She thought she might tackle Lady Higgenblot the following day. Not actually tackle her—that wouldn't go over well—but to see if they could schedule regular meetings. Luncheons. Not meetings. For Eleclar, to keep up her vivacious, social outer shell, it would be luncheons.
"This… works really well."
Snillek turned from side to side in the full-length mirror. No princess dress for Winterfest, as Kipcup had promised, but nothing entirely martial, either. The soft black kilt came to midcalf, her boots were knee high, and the overrobe of gold-embroidered midnight blue fell just below the bottom of the kilt. Her tail could move freely, and specially tailored openings accommodated her wings, while her Tarribotian modesty remained secure.
It had been a whirlwind of days since her return as she did her best to get a better handle on the interconnected oddities of government. While she'd initially dreaded a Winterfest put on by a people who'd never seen one, she had to admit now it was a welcome break.
"I'm pleased you approve, highness." Kipcup nodded with a little sniff. "It suits you admirably well. Shall we see it with the diadem?"
Which was Kipcup's polite way of saying, Don’t forget your rot-cursed crown. She settled the gold circlet of stylized flames on her head—nothing huge or ostentatious this evening. Just the right hint of royal.
"Perfect, highness."
"I really wish you'd think about not attending, Kipcup." Snillek turned from the mirror to find him staring out the window. "Has the guard made any progress with investigations?"
His attention snapped back to her. "Investigations, highness?"
"You're more tired than you let on. Yes. Into your poisoning."
Kipcup flushed, staring at his shoes. "Ah. Yes." He sniffed, cleared his throat. Sniffed again. "There was no poisoning, highness. Not as such."
"What in all rancid shell membranes does that mean?"
"It was a logistical failure, highness. One that has caused me more than a little embarrassment." Kipcup sniffed again, softer than most of his sniff punctuations. "Staff had wished to bring out your grandfather's goblets for you. The ones of silver that were too large for your mother's hands. They had not been used in some time and required cleaning. From what the household staff tells me, and I should have checked, the staff washing the goblet you used that night were not experienced with this particular cleaning agent and some residue remained. The wine reacted with the agent, and it was apparently this that you smelled when you asked if the wine had gone off."
Snillek opened her mouth. Closed it. "So you're saying I was nearly accidentally poisoned, and you were poisoned because someone didn't rinse a cup well enough?"
"Ah. Well." Kipcup shifted uncomfortably. "Most likely not. The cleaning agent isn't deadly. It might have upset your digestion a bit. But I have since learned that I am dreadfully allergic to this particular cleaning compound. Hence my reaction to it."
She sat on the window seat beside him and took his hand. "Shards. Kipcup. We nearly lost you. I want this cleaning compound, whatever it is, cleared from the palace. And no more drinking from metal cups."
"Yes, highness." Sniff.
"What about the other attempts?" Snillek gripped his hand a little tighter as if she could will answers from him. "The statue? The marbles? The wire?"
"It took digging and many quiet reassurances that there would be no repercussions for information, but they were, truly, all accidents. The statue's foundation had crumbled. A soldier leaned against it to catch sight of you and was too frightened to admit it when it fell. Likewise, the marbles. Carelessly left on the steps by the small child of one of your chambermaids. The wire was left from your great-grandmother's reign. She kept song lizards, and that was one of their perches. One of the oldest retainers finally remembered."
"And my mother? Don't keep me in suspense here."
Kipcup stared at their hands, a suspicious wet gleam in his eyes. No, no, I don't know if my heart can take it if he cries. But no, he was too self-contained for that. He allowed himself a large sniff and went on. "After a thorough review, we found it was an unfortunate intersection of events, highness. Landing Day is celebrated in the grand hall, with the palace doors opened and the people permitted to come and tour the palace. There are… cakes."
"Cakes," Snillek repeated, she hoped in an encouraging way.
"Yes." Sniff. "Normally, your mother would have been by the doors when they opened, followed by the procession of cakes. Trays and trays of iced finger cakes. Quite the sight. That day, though, she'd had trouble with her shoes, had broken the heel on one and had gone back to switch to a new pair. The shoes were new, and therefore slippery-soled. She was late and therefore hurrying. Instead of descending with careful grace with a hand on the rail, she came rushing down the center of the grand staircase and slipped on a cake that had fallen off its tray. She might yet have caught herself if her heel hadn't snagged the hem of her gown. An accident, highness. A terrible, ridiculous accident."
"So no one's trying to kill me. This is a good thing. Why do you look like your pet died?"
"Highness, these are all housekeeping issues. Administrative issues. I feel I've failed you."
Snillek covered his perfectly manicured little hand with both of hers. No, this sort of thing wasn't her strong point, but she felt by now that Kipcup was her friend, and she couldn't watch him tear himself apart. "Hey. No. You've been nothing but amazing from the second I met you. Do we need an overhaul of palace maintenance and policies? Probably. Like why a member of the cleaning staff has to bring a small child to work. But that happens at the start of any new administration, right? You had a Dzedek princess to corral. You've been a little busy."
"Thank you, highness." If his eyes shone a bit too wetly, she wasn't going to mention it. "You have a kind heart, and Tarribotia is lucky to have you."
Snillek gave him a full, sharp-toothed smile. "Thanks. Now no more maudlin stuff. We have a party to get to."
"Indeed, highness." He rose, still moving a little slowly, and tucked his hand into the crook of her offered arm.
As they strolled from her suite, she couldn't help asking the last remaining question that had been itching in her brain. "So you and Mattim Brightmitt. How long has that been a thing?"
Sniff. "We've been circling each other for years, highness. But the Dowager Lady Brightmitt still held out hope that he would marry a woman. It was only a year ago that she passed away and Mattim felt free to, ah, pursue his own interests."
"Just so you know, you have royal endorsement. You're an adorable couple."
Kipcup blushed an amazing shade of red, but he did stand a little straighter as they made their way through the halls to the guest suites. Snillek greeted the people she recognized—palace employees and courtiers alike—and nodded to the ones she didn't, with Kipcup murmuring the name to her if it was someone important. She tended to do better with the palace staff. So many of the minor courtiers looked alike to her still.
Honestly, she was pleased with herself when she managed to stop at the right door.
The door in question opened on her first knock as if someone had been waiting behind it. Someone had, though not who she'd expected. Mortimer hovered with his front claws still on the doorknob, dressed in an iridescent bow tie that suited him beautifully. He trilled at her as he hovered away from the door and zipped over to where Gruyère stood in the suite's parlor.
She wore a blue that matched Mortimer, her suit form-fitted to her curves, with its cropped jacket and pants that ended midcalf, with yellow embroidery running up the outside of each leg. Her shirt, in a blue just a shade darker, continued the theme with gold buttons and embroidered cuffs. No more braids—she'd taken them out in favor of wearing half her tight curls as a crown atop her head with the rest falling loose around her shoulders.
Snillek knew she was being rude and staring and absolutely couldn't help it. Kipcup had to poke her in the ribs.
She recovered just as Gruyère was starting to shift uncomfortably, bowed low, and murmured, "Pardon, my lady. I must be at the wrong door. I was looking for a scruffy, dusty scientist."
"You found her, your highness." Gruyère tugged at the hem of her jacket, a little grin threatening to break through her scowl. "A horde of lady's maids forced me to clean up."
"Sorry about that." Snillek chuckled and strode over to take her hands. "But I like the result. You look stunning."
"Decorum, highness," Kipcup's dry tones came from the hall. "Royalty does not drool in public."
Gruyère laughed and leaned around her. "Hi, Lord Kipcup. I love your shoes."
"Thank you, Professor." Kipcup turned the right shoe to better show off the chunky heel. "New for this evening."
"A little extra height for dancing. I should've thought of that."
They shared a look, a smile, and Snillek knew she'd missed something. Being socially dense was irritating sometimes. Gruyère took one of Snillek's arms and Kipcup the other, while Mortimer hover-perched on her shoulder. They walked together out of the palace's front gates and into a carefully arranged chaos that created a warm, joyous bubble inside her that grew and grew until it burst as a laugh.
Outside the palace, lining its massive outer courtyard and drive, spilling out into the streets of the capital, a carnival was in progress. Stalls and tables, singers and dancers, acrobats on miniature hover platforms and the brightly colored crowd enjoying it all. No, the stalls didn't have the traditional candied zef flower balls, but she thought she spied something close. No, there was no stick betting, but there were other games. Snillek breathed deeply and even caught the scent of spiced dzida, the fried pastries made of insect flour that she'd loved so much as a child.
"Highness?" Kipcup murmured, cautious, worried.
"It's wonderful. Magnificent, Kipcup. First Egg! It's almost like home."
The little man beamed. "Mattim and I had ample time for research, highness. Your father's help was most enthusiastically lent as well."
Thanks, Papa. The warm bubbles swelled again, and Snillek couldn't help grinning like an idiot. She released Kipcup to Mattim Brightmitt when he jogged over to them. He offered her an elaborate bow, though his eyes never left his Roncil. Sternly, she warned Lord Brightmitt not to tire him, though she could tell no one believed her frown.
"They're so good together." Gruyère let out a happy sigh. "It makes me happy, and I'm not sure why."
"I think, my dear cheese, that when we're in love, we want to see everyone else being loved."
Gruyère glanced at her sideways. "Is that a really roundabout way to say you love me, Paladin Snillek?"
"It is." Snillek's heart thudded so hard she thought it might try to make a break for it and run down the street. "I don't suppose you might love me, too?"
"Hmm." Chewing on her bottom lip, Gruyère made a good show of thinking hard about it. "I do love Paladin Snillek. I'm not so sure about Princess Siel yet, since I don't know her that well."
"Plenty of time for you two to get acquainted." Snillek patted Gruyère's hand on her arm. "I'll be your chaperone."
"I'm not sure you have the right credentials."
"Are you laughing at me?" Of course she was. That was the point. Snillek let out a mock growl and swept Gruyère into her arms. She spun them once and leaned down to claim Gruyère's lips in a searing kiss. "Propriety be farked. I do love you. And the court approves."
"Do they?"
"Yes. Having a scholar consort is quite proper, from what I hear."
The laughter dimmed in Gruyère's eyes. "It's a shame I have to go back to the university in a couple of days."
"It is. And I'll miss you." Snillek's smile refused to fade, though, and Gruyère smacked her arm.
"What? What aren't you saying?"
"I've convinced the university, with bullying and funding promises, that Draconian Studies should have its own facilities here in the capital. A small department at first, but with all the new information, I'm sure it'll grow."
That wide-eyed look of surprise Snillek found so adorable was back. "Oh my gods. You did that for me?"
"For you, of course. And I need advice on draconic relations tossed in there, too." Snillek drew herself up. "I'm the princess. I can do that."
"Well, I have to finish my article…"
"You will now. Lots of data to present."
"And there's equipment and files to move over…"
"Any help you need, it's yours."
"I assume Biology gave you someone to head this new department?"
"Of course. Some up-and-coming new star in the field, I'm told." Snillek laughed at Gruyère's puzzled frown. "You. I told them it had to be you. In my best royal voice. You're the one with the fire, the courage, the firsthand knowledge."
Snillek's heart clenched when the frown deepened. She's supposed to be happy…
"Snillek… That's going to cause a lot of resentment."
"I did think of that. And I've funded quite a few research grants across the department." Snillek took Gruyère by the arms, leaning her head back to take a deep breath. "Shells, love. I'm sorry. Say I didn't do the wrong thing here, wanting to surprise you. I'm very new at, well, all of this."
Gruyère regarded her seriously for a long, anxiety-inducing moment. "You really should check with me before you rearrange my life from now on."
"Got it."
"And you probably should ask me about academic politics before you wade in."
"My solemn promise."
She shifted her hands to Snillek's shoulders. "I really get my own department? In town?"
"Yes. I can show you the space tomorrow. It'll be reconfigured to your specifications. And I'll need your help figuring out what the dragons want and need."
"Okay, your highness." Gruyère stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on Snillek's cheek. "I'll let you get away with it this time." She leaned in closer to whisper in Snillek's ear, "And thank you. This is amazing."
Snillek's heart stopped running around in circles screaming, and they strolled off to enjoy the festivities. Mortimer abandoned them to do his own exploring. They stopped for snacks here and there, visited with Rose Quartz, who was observing the human activity with avid interest, and spoke to whoever had the desire and courage to approach.
"Well, this looks… colorful." Snillek slowed as they approached a booth with some sort of game she couldn't quite puzzle out.
"Aww, those are so cute and fluffy." Gruyère wasn't looking at the game. She was staring at the prizes—were they prizes?—hanging just under the booth's awning. Stuffed black-and-white cows, of all things.
"Try your hand, highness?" The woman working the booth gave her a cheeky grin. "Win one for your consort?"
Gasps came from the crowd gathering around them, as if the people were afraid of their warlike princess's reaction to such an overly familiar tone. Snillek crossed her arms over her chest, knowing perfectly well how huge and forbidding she looked, and the crowd pulled back a step. The booth operator paled and swallowed hard.
"I suppose it can't be any harder than lawn bowling." Snillek rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. "Why not?"
The collective sigh of relief might have been her imagination, but shells and sacs, now she'd gathered a crowd. Should've thought of that before you pulled your intimidating paladin thing. The game was an odd one. In the center of the booth was a large tub, maybe three meters across, and in this tub, going round and round in seemingly random patterns, were flower cups in cheerful yellows and oranges. On the counter in front of the attendant, lay a long line of plastic lizards in bright, royal Tarribotian green.
"All right." Snillek set a coin on the counter. "Talk me through it."
The attendant's grin—and her coloring—had returned. "If it pleases your highness, you toss the lizards into the cups. Six lizards for a kepec. The more you get into flower cups, the bigger the prize."
"It's fixed, highness!" Someone called from the back of the crowd. "No one ever gets the lizards in!"
"It's not!" the attendant shouted back. "You just don't know how to toss lizards!"
Snillek chuckled. "I do like a challenge. How many safely landed lizards for a cow?"
"Oh, ah." The attendant's smile slipped a hair. "That'd be four, highness. Four lizards."
"Got it."
The first round of lizards went badly, but Snillek had expected that. The crowd behind her groaned in disappointment as the sixth one hit off a petal and fell in the water. But now she'd found the pattern and those flowers didn't stand a chance.
She set another coin on the counter. "Again."
"As you wish, highness." The attendant gave her a little wave-bow, slid the lizards to her, and stepped back.
Snillek narrowed her eyes, focusing on just the turning, spinning flower bowls. Her first throw was close, but the lizard didn't hit center and slid out. The crowd groaned in disappointment. The second hit true, landing with a plastic clatter in the center of a yellow flower. The next missed. The last three all landed in lizardly majesty in flower cups. With a relieved laugh, the attendant took a fluffy cow down from its hook and handed it over. Snillek promptly gave it to Gruyère, who hugged it tight, her eyes dancing.
The onlookers actually cheered.
Bemused, she told Kipcup about it when they caught back up to him at the palace ballroom.
"Celebrations are the perfect venue for showing your populist side, highness." He nodded and sniffed. "Your human side, if you'll forgive me. The people see you starry-eyed and trying to impress your lover—a thing that is relatable. Warmer than a distant princess on the balcony."
"Begging your pardon, highness, but you can be intimidating," Lord Brightmitt added softly.
"I'm, ah, sorry I yelled at you the night of the incident, Mattim. And the other day in your office. That came out more forcefully than I'd intended." Snillek patted him on the shoulder and peeked inside the ballroom. "Holy Mother of us all. This looks amazing."
Silk bunting decorated the walls and wound around the pillars in Winterfest colors—white and gray for the winter, yellow for the returning sun. The woven-reed ovals for the First Egg and the red flower wombs for the mother hung from the bunting. Then Snillek looked up.
"You didn't—how did you—?" Snillek gaped at the stone lanterns hung from the ceiling, the proper filigree carved ones for Hak clan celebrations with images of dzudai leaves and tree crickets. "Papa sent them?"
"We asked your esteemed father for something from home." Lord Brightmitt actually stood there wringing his hands.
"You asked, Mattim." Kipcup sniffed gently. "I wasn't up to thinking that far. Take credit where it's due."
"They're beautiful. It's perfect." She shocked them with hard hugs before striding toward the musicians. "Though now you've done it. You'll all have to learn Dzedek dances tonight."
They did, too, Snillek's stuffy, proper courtiers giggling and teasing each other as they stumbled through dances that emphasized leaping and often worked better if one had a tail for balance. Maybe some of the merriment was to please her, but it all made her wonder if her courtiers had simply been stuffy and overly proper around her, a ruler suddenly thrust on them whom they didn't know at all. Except for Lord Snavelpy, who'd leaned more on the side of rude rather than stuffy, but even he'd dredged up a smile from somewhere.
"What are you thinking?" Gruyère smiled up at Snillek as she whirled them around the floor later in a more traditional Tarribotian dance.
Snillek tucked her tail so she wouldn't sweep Lady Higgenblot off her feet as they passed. "I'm thinking, maybe I can do this princess thing, after all."
"So you're thinking you'll stay?" Gruyère chewed her lip, though her eyes shone. "Long-term?"
"Barring any other surprise planets I'm supposed to be ruling? Yes. I am."
"Hmm. And what about paladining?"
"Not a word, love, but as long as everything's stable here, I don't see why I couldn't take a job from the guild now and then."
"The paladin princess?" Gruyère gave her a serious nod. "Has a nice rhythm to it. Is that what you want, Snillek? Instead of what people expect?"
"What I want"—Snillek halted them in the middle of the dance floor for a swift kiss—"Is to be with you. That first. Beyond that, I want to be…everything I am. And not just a piece here and a bit there."
"Very sensible, paladin highness." Now Gruyère smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Makes it easy for me, since above all else, I want to be with you."
And you and I will watch each other grow into what we both should be. That was the point, wasn't it? The one she'd been fighting for so long. Denying half of what one was or selling short all the talents one had, that was a shadow existence. Better to say Yes, this is me, all of me, and live that whole life bravely, with passion.
Snillek laughed as she whirled them back into the dance, among friends, with her love in her arms, beneath the dappled light of the lanterns from home.