make her comfortable and dress her to receive the High Prince. Roelstra triumphant, Andrade thought sourly as she watched. So he had a son at last. Damn him.
She turned, looking around for Ianthe. But the princess had disappeared—and with her, the child.
Ianthe gazed down at the murmuring bundle in her arms and laughed softly with excitement. Its sex made no difference to her. Boy or girl, she had won. Now it was merely a choice among advantages; she had thought them all through.
She paused in the hallway, listening, and laughed again as the ship’s bell pealed a shrill announcement of the birth. It was the agreed-upon signal and Pandsala would be up here soon. Without a boy-child to hand, she would have to bring up a girl. A pity Roelstra had not yet arrived—but Andrade would do even better as a witness. She heard the fretful crying of another infant, quickly hushed, and caught her breath. Her own game was about to begin, the one for which she had devised the rules.
“Ianthe?” Andrade said behind her, and she hid her jubilation at the perfect timing. “What are you doing? The baby will catch a chill.”
“Oh, no, it’s a very thick blanket.” She turned, smiling. “I thought all that chattering in there would scare the poor little darling. Such a beautiful child—I long for one of my own.”
Andrade’s expression clearly indicated her doubts that Ianthe was the motherly type. “Let’s take a look at him,” she said, pushing the blanket away from the baby’s face. “A fine child. Look at all that hair!”
They had been speaking in normal tones, but the ringing bell and the chatter from within Palila’s cabin obliterated their voices at a few paces. Thus Pandsala came with total innocence into the hall from the stairwell, calling out, “Ianthe, I brought another baby back up with me, but—” She stopped cold and gasped, “Lady Andrade!”
Ianthe knew her own face was the perfect picture of astonishment; she had practiced the expression in a mirror until she had it without a tremor of betraying amusement. “Pandsala! Why is that baby away from its mother?”
Pandsala turned sickly white. She staggered slightly against the wall, arms tightening convulsively around the violet-wrapped bundle. Ianthe paused a moment to enjoy the shock in her sister’s eyes, then turned to Andrade.
“Yes,” the Lady said smoothly. “Why have you brought that baby up here?”
Pandsala was still staring at Ianthe, horror congealing her face as she realized how she had been tricked. Her lips parted, moved, but no words came forth. Another peal of the bell signaled the arrival of the High Prince, and they all heard Roelstra’s joyous shout.
“By the Goddess! Can you believe it? I have a son!”
Ianthe looked at Andrade. “Who told him that?” she whispered.
Light spat from the many rings as Andrade gripped her arm bruisingly. “Is it a girl? A daughter!”
“A very sweet little girl,” Ianthe responded with just the right amount of bewilderment. “Father’s used to them by now.”
Roelstra’s presence filled the narrow hallway. “Andrade! What brings you here? Surely you’re not here to congratulate me on my son!”
“For lack of your own physician, I attended your lady. But I hardly think the corridor is the best place to greet your new child.” She commanded Pandsala and Ianthe into the cabin with a cold glance. Roelstra followed, sensing something not quite right. Andrade ordered the servants to take the baby from Pandsala’s frantic grasp and leave the room. Then she locked the door and faced the room’s occupants with a frigid smile.
“Now,” she said, “I will know the truth of this.”
“What are you talking about?” Roelstra demanded. “I want to see my son!” He looked from one princess to the other, then at the closed door. The second child had been taken out by a maid. His eyes slowly darkened. “I do not believe there were twins,” he added, his voice deadly.
“You have no son,” Andrade told him, and Ianthe heard the grim satisfaction in her voice. “I’m wondering which of your daughters will explain this.”
The High Prince swung around to spear Palila with his glance. “What do you know of this?” he shouted.
“Nothing!” she gasped, huddling back into pillows that were no whiter than her cheeks.
Roelstra turned on his daughters. “Whose child was just taken away?”
“Father—please!” Pandsala cried out, and Ianthe judged it a nicely inopportune moment to present her father with his eighteenth daughter.
“I’m sorry it’s another girl, Father, but she’s very pretty.”
Roelstra ignored her. “Andrade, discover the truth