The Ships of Air by Martha Wells

Author:Martha Wells [Wells, Martha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Adventure, C429, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9780380807994
Publisher: Harper Voyager
Published: 2004-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

They ended up back in the main hall, Tremaine curled in a corner of the couch with Ilias sprawled next to her and Giliead on the floor in front of them. The large room was nearly empty except for a small group of refugees seated on the other cluster of couches and a couple of weary-looking young officers near the corridor down to the Observation bar. The crystal-covered lights were turned low, though the entrances to the Promenade deck on either side of the chamber had been closed off with curtained doors. To Tremaine the place had a late-night, much-used feel, like a theater after the show was over. All that was missing was the scent of stale smoke and wine.

Avoiding the subject of Pasima, Tremaine had told them about her hopes for Arisilde. “So I think it makes sense. Arisilde needs a body, Ixion knows how to make bodies.”

“He won’t give you the curse, not willingly,” Giliead said, eyeing her thoughtfully.

“Willingly is the key word.” Tremaine shrugged, well aware it wasn’t going to be easy but not ready to admit it. “He’s a sorcerer who treated with the Gardier. We execute enemy sorcerers. Or we would, if we could catch any. When we get to the government-in-exile, they’re going to need a reason to keep wasting someone’s time warding a prison for him.”

Giliead lifted a brow. “It won’t do any good to kill him if he just goes back to another body hidden on the island somewhere.”

“That’s the part where it gets tricky,” Tremaine admitted.

Ilias frowned. “How is the god going to get out of the sphere and into the body?”

“He’s not a god.” Tremaine gestured, frustrated. “And I don’t know that part yet. It’s just an idea.”

“We never bargain with wizards,” Ilias told her firmly. “It’s a good way to get your insides boiled.”

Giliead contemplated the scuffed tile floor. “You think your friend would want that?”

Tremaine knew he wasn’t talking about getting their insides boiled. She rubbed at a worn spot on the upholstery, avoiding his eyes. “After he’s got a body, he can tell me.”

“Who’s this?” Ilias asked, looking at something above her head.

“What?” Tremaine stared. After a moment she realized Giliead was looking expectantly in the same direction. She twisted awkwardly around. A young girl was standing behind the couch, smiling tentatively. She had long reddish brown hair braided neatly back, and her plain blue coat and skirt, white stockings and sensible shoes all spoke of a boarding school.

She said, “Hello. I’m Olympe Fontainon.”

“Oh. Oh.” Tremaine blinked, staring up at her as the light dawned. There were two men in dark tweed suits standing a short distance away regarding the refugees, the officers, the Syprians and Tremaine with equal suspicion. They had to be Queen’s Guards, members of the traditional personal bodyguard for the queens of Ile-Rien.

The Princess Olympe sat down on the marble-topped cocktail table next to the couch, crossing her legs neatly and looking even more like a child. Tremaine, who had never followed the court much, tried to remember how old she was and failed.

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