Sylvi giggled—and set off running, Ebon trotting nonchalantly at her side.
Three years later, they were still using their old idiom: In forty years, what will we be like? In ten, twenty, thirty-seven years what would they be like? Fifteen years old was already worlds beyond twelve; it was, in fact, harder and harder to go on not imagining adulthood. When Sylvi turned sixteen she would take her place in the council—and Ahathin would no longer be her tutor.
“And you don’t need a Speaker,” he said, “although for the purposes of the royal bureaucrats who need someone’s name to write in the blank space, I should be honoured to retain the title.”
“Oh, but I will need an adviser!” said Sylvi.
“There will be many folk clamouring to be your advisers—” began Ahathin.
“Yes, I know,” Sylvi put in hastily. “I would like to appoint you my adviser on advisers.”
“Very well, my lady,” said Ahathin. When he said “my lady” he was serious. “Subject to your father’s agreement, I accept.”
Being a grown-up was something that happened to you whether you were ready or not; she and Ebon had each watched three brothers cross that threshold. Farley and Oyry were recently returned from a diplomatic visit to Peshcant, in the hopes of reminding them that if taralians, and possibly worse, were breeding in the wild lands between the two countries, then Peshcant was also at risk. Garren and Poih had been making a tour of the locations in the Kish and the Greentop Mountains that the queen had felt needed regular patrolling; there were now several semipermanent camps where soldiers could be stationed. And Danacor and Thowara had been visiting Lord Gram, who had a daughter who might become the next queen.
(“She has a good head on her shoulders,” said the present queen, “but she’s a terrible shot, and worse with a sword. She’d make a superb quartermaster. But who are we going to marry Farley to? He’s the one needs settling.”)
Sylvi finally managed to talk to Danacor about how strange everything had become. Danny had less and less time to talk to anyone but messengers and ambassadors and administrators and agents, and occasional aggrieved ordinary subjects dogged enough to stay the course through the lower functionaries and insist on speaking to the king or his heir. But she thought he might understand what it was like for her—he’d been through the ritual of the sovereign’s heir, which had to be even huger and scarier than having the most powerful magician in the country hate you.
She’d told Danacor about the Sword looking at her, and he’d said, “Unlucky for you. Neither Farley nor Garren got the full treatment. Dad says the Sword has sleepy days and wakeful days. I got a wakeful day, but the heir usually does. So did you, I guess. I don’t know why, except you never know with the Sword.” He grinned at her. “Maybe it was surprised to see a girl. But you know—the ritual of binding to your pegasus really counts for something. Unlike, say, the Exaltation of Water.”
The Exaltation of Water was famous not only in their family but among most of the country. It was supposed to be a rite to honour the water that flowed through the kingdom and to ask that it continue to flow as it did, bright and clear and lavish—the country had many fine rivers, which provided not merely drink and washing but the running of many wheels to produce power—but in practise it had degenerated into a yearly epic water fight. A royal family with three boys in it had set the tone for so many years that by now, when all three boys were theoretically grown, the small-excited-boy version of the rite continued to prevail. Even Danacor forgot himself during the Exaltation of Water. Sylvi, as soon as she’d been old enough, joined in enthusiastically, and had no desire to see it revert to a few discreet sprinkles and some wet feet. This enthusiasm was shared by all the small, medium-sized and large boys who lived not too far from the mouth of the Anuluin, where the ritual was held, who could easily attend year after year, as well as many of their fathers—and mothers, sisters and sweet-hearts.
“The binding means something to everyone who goes through it. Whatever you think about the treaty and its provisions—”