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  Certainly he had never seen a young lady regard him with any kind of interest. It wasn’t going to get any better, either. By now, the Palace would be full of news, speculation, or both, about the Crown Prince’s new bride.

  Once the Crown Prince was settled, there was a strong likelihood—a certainty in two cases—that the rest of his brothers would bring up the brides of their own choosing for approval, Yes, it was that season. It seemed as if Sasha was the only creature in Led Belarus that wasn’t paired up, or about to be paired up.

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  Nor was he ever likely to be. Not even by an arranged marriage. Who’d marry the Fool? Who’d betroth his daughter to the Fool? The very scorn that made his magic possible also made any kind of a normal life impossible.

  The only chance to find a woman lay among the magical creatures of the realm…and he wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to make that kind of alliance with one of them.

  That could be very dangerous.

  Besides, which of them would care to take up with a mere human? Mortal, short-lived, it was the kind of relationship that could only end in sorrow. Songs were sung about that very thing—which, Traditionally, made it all the more likely that any love between him and a creature of legend would end badly.

  Maybe a witch…

  Or maybe not. Witches were settled, and wouldn’t want to pack up and move to be near the Palace. And he couldn’t leave the Palace except to make his rounds.

  He stared glumly down at his reflection in the mead, thinking with resignation that he was, in all probability, doomed to live and die as unicorn bait.

  Finally he couldn’t bear all the couple-ness around him; no one had asked him for a song, in fact, they were all so engrossed in each other that he doubted they had ever noticed him. He went to his room.

  It was a good room in a good inn. He had the narrow bed and the small room to himself; most travelers slept two to four to a bed, whether they knew each other or not. The feather mattress was nicely stuffed and clean, Fortune’s Fool

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  the bedding was clean, the blankets newly aired. Clean, neat—those were the touchstones to this place. And at least he wasn’t staring at courting couples. But it was not much better for his loneliness than being down in the common room had been.

  After lying on the bed staring up at the wooden ceiling for a while, he finally decided that this was doing him no good either. But the afternoon was still young.

  He didn’t have to stay here. And out there was the reason why he favored this inn and this road over all others, including some inns that were downright up to the standards of a Prince. And he could hear its voice calling him through the little window in his room.

  The sea.

  He loved the sea. If he hadn’t been born into the Royal family, he thought he might have been a sailor. He loved everything about it, the ever-changing color, the scent, the sound. Really the only time he didn’t love it was in the winter…and even then, he loved the look of it, just…no one sane wanted to be on or near the sea in a Led Belarus winter, when the Kingdom lived up to its name.

  His mind made up now, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulled his balalaika out from under it, and headed out the door and back down the narrow wooden stairs. No need to lock up here. These people were as honest as they came, and no one would touch his things while he was gone, which was another reason why he liked this inn.

  If ever he was able to leave the Palace, and give over being the Fool…this would be where he would want to live.

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  As if he ever could. As well wish for the moon.

  Bah. Tell your troubles to the sea.

  The odd thing about the sea was that he had always had the feeling it was listening to him, from the very first moment he’d first walked down onto a beach. Well, stranger things had happened, and he had been a part of some of them. Maybe it did listen to him.

  Though if he got a wish-fulfilling flounder one day when he was singing his sorrows…he might well ask it to fulfill three of its own wishes. Wishes were dangerous things, and The Tradition was just waiting for an injudicious one.

  The various couples were so engrossed in each other that they never even noticed him go through the common room, even though normally the sight of the balalaika would have elicited calls for music. He sighed heavily as he opened the bulky front door, made like the rest of the inn from salvaged ship timbers, and let himself out.

  The village was situated a prudent distance back from the shore, behind a ridge of sheltering hills and dunes.

  Despite that most of the folk here made their living as fishermen, it was a lot wiser to have to make a long hike down to the beach than take the chance that your house would wash away in a storm. There was a well-worn path that led down to the shore, over the ridge, around one of the hills, and then wound among the dunes. But he didn’t take it. He wanted to go somewhere that he wouldn’t be running into yet more courting couples; he’d had quite enough of them already, really.

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  As the sun began the slow, downward slide into late afternoon, he found a stretch of beach that was just as deserted as he could have wanted. Settling himself into a little nook among the rocks, he closed his eyes and began to play. The sound of the waves near at hand set his rhythm for him; the sand was soft, the rock at his back sun-warmed. Since there was no one to hear him but himself, he gave in and indulged in the most melancholy of songs; though none of them were anything he had ever written. He just wasn’t the type to write sad songs, even when this mood was on him.

  He had moved on to his third song when, eyes still closed, he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. Irritated, because, after all, he had come down here to be alone, he opened his eyes.

  His irritation vanished without a trace.

  He was being watched and listened to, quite atten-tively in fact, by someone who had perched atop a nearby rock herself. But she was possibly the most adorable little creature he had ever seen in his life.

  She was blond, with silky hair the color of silver-gilded thistledown, done in a single thick braid down her back with a red bow at the end, and a much bigger one at the back of her neck that framed her face like a pair of wings. The top of her head was probably just below his collarbone, and he wasn’t a tall man. Her bright green eyes were slightly slanted, and her mouth looked as if it smiled a lot.

  One thing was certain though; this was no peasant girl.

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  Her clothing was a little odd for sitting on the beach; a bright red skirt, a white blouse embroidered heavily in red, and unless he was terribly mistaken, both were silk.

  She had a bright red leather belt and boots to match, and looked like a little czarina about to go for a ride.

  There wasn’t a horse to be seen, however. He hadn’t heard a horse anywhere near here. There were no boyars at all close to this village, and no one’s summer house either. No one in this village was prosperous enough to dress their daughter in silk. There was certainly something odd going on here.

  Something magical? Probably. He should be wary, perhaps. On the other hand—

  On the other hand, he thought wryly, if there was any danger, or any danger develops, I suspect my unicorn brigade would come charging down to the beach to save me.

  Very embarrassing, but he could probably live with embarrassment if it got him out of a tight spot.

  And she was very, very pretty.

  Where was the harm? How often did he get pretty girls smiling at him and wanting to spend time with him?

  “You play very well,” said the girl, with a smile. “But whatever are you doing, sitting in the sand?”

  “I’m staying at the inn and at the moment it is rather overfull of courting couples,” he replied. “They wouldn’t pay any attention to my music anyway—they’re too busy looking deeply in
to each others’ eyes, and listening to each others’ voices. I’m Sasha.”

  “My name is Katya—Ekaterina,” she replied. “Would Fortune’s Fool

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  you rather be alone? I can go. The last thing I would want to do is to disturb a musician. I expect you get little enough peace.”

  He noticed that she made no immediate move to get up. In fact, she looked very much at ease on her rock. Definitely magical. Who or what else could find a rock comfortable to sit on?

  He grinned at her. “Well, I would be very pleased if you would stay. A musician always likes an audience.”

  True on both counts. His dissatisfaction and loneliness at the inn had everything to do with being the only person there who was not with someone. He felt immensely cheered now.

  “I’m not a musician by trade,” he added. “I just travel about on business for my father.” Also true. It was not wise to tell falsehoods in the presence of a magic creature. They could take those falsehoods and make them true. “I play what I can remember, and some music of my own, but I can’t claim to have a large number of songs in my head. Is there anything you would like to hear?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Anything at all. I don’t know enough of your music to give you names of songs. I only know that I very much like what I have heard you play so far.”

  Well the last thing he was going to do was lapse into melancholy again. So what would be cheerful? He thought about all the couples in the inn, and smiled slightly. Well, why not? He sang one of the songs of his 126

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  own making, about weddings and the contentment of a couple who were happily suited to one another. He preferred that to a love song, because not every contented couple was madly in love. In fact, being madly in love wasn’t always a good thing. Being madly in love could lead to jealousy, suspicion, any manner of negative things. The Tradition had a way of twisting what you did to its own purposes, and his purpose was to keep his land from having too many bad things happen in it.

  From there, he moved on to other songs, some with a purpose, some without. It did no harm to sing the songs of peace and prosperity here…and in fact, now that he came to think of it, he modified a couple of them on the fly to include the sorts of things that fisherfolk would need. Fair winds. Good catches. Safely out and safely back again. And—always, always remembering to honor the Sea King. Many a Traditional tragedy had begun by angering the Sea King. Katya nodded her head and tapped her feet in time to the music, and once or twice even got up and danced to one of his dancing tunes.

  He played past sunset and into moonrise, and finally it was his tired fingers and not a lack of will to continue that caused him to halt.

  “I hope your parents are not going to fly in a rage that you are out of the house at this time of night,” he said—fairly sure now, since she had said nothing about parents or needing to be home, that she was not going to have that particular difficulty. In fact, he was fairly certain that she was not human…or at least, not an ordinary human. She Fortune’s Fool

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  had told him nothing about herself save her name, and he was quite, quite certain that it wasn’t her “true name”

  either. No, she was something magical. But whatever it was, he was just as sure that she meant no harm.

  “Oh, I am my own person and need ask leave of no one for my comings and goings,” she replied with a toss of her head and a grin. “But you are right. It is late and I should be going. I will come here tomorrow, though, if you like.”

  Sasha, you goose, you’re half in love with her, aren’t you?

  He couldn’t help chiding himself at the same time that he was congratulating himself that she wanted to meet him again. But how could anyone not be in love with her?

  She was altogether adorable.

  “In that case, since I am not particularly needed at home, I’ll just prolong my visit to the seashore,” he said with an answering grin. “I couldn’t possibly leave you here to stroll on the sand alone.”

  “Then I’ll be off until tomorrow!” She jumped to her feet, laughed gaily, and ran around the boulders they had chosen to keep the breeze off.

  And when he rounded them himself, she was nowhere to be seen.

  Definitely magic.

  Sasha, you’re such a fool.

  That I am, he told the sensible part of himself. But at this moment, a happy one.

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  quiet happiness, something not to be shouted, but to savor.

  She hadn’t thought it was going to be nearly so nice; when her father had first told her she needed to go to Led Belarus.

  The Sea King had sent for her as soon as she was rested from the long swim home from Nippon. As always, when her mission was successful, he let her recover before needing to hear the detailed account of what had happened.

  They sat together over breakfast…which was, she reflected a little sadly, nothing like a breakfast on the Drylands. Raw fish, kelp, some fruits and vegetables from the Drylands, but nothing that couldn’t stand immersion in water and nothing cooked. It was probably very healthy, but…

  But the food wasn’t why they were meeting together, and she continued on with her story—leaving out the early misadventure with the courtesan’s robes. When she was done, it was clear that he was quite happy with how she had conducted herself, so far from home. He was very interested in the overture from the head of the kitsune clan. “I think I had heard once they were notable for mischief,” he observed, “but also for loyalty and wisdom. I believe we can strike a good bargain here. But now—” He grimaced. “I hate to send you out again so soon, but…I am presented with a puzzle. It is the Kingdom of Led Belarus.”

  She tilted her head to the side. Led Belarus was very Fortune’s Fool

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  close, geographically speaking, to the Palace. And never once, in all the time that she had been alive, had there been any problems with that little Kingdom.

  But then, her father hadn’t exactly said there was a problem.

  “A puzzle? But they have been quiet for three generations, Father. No great evils, only a modest prosperity and—” and then it struck her “—and they are too quiet, are they not?”

  He nodded glumly. One of the little reef fish flitted over to their table to beg scraps, and he absent-mindedly fed it bits of lettuce. “The real peace and prosperity is little more than twenty years long. This troubles me. It may be nothing. But such quiet invites The Tradition to create some dreadful catastrophe, or put it in the mind of some evil mage to move in and take over. People become complacent about bad things happening, and it becomes easy for evil to invade. The Tradition does not like quiet.”

  “Quiet does not make for stories and songs,” she sighed. “You are quite right, Father. This should be looked into. Even the tiniest of Kingdoms can attract great evil.” Then she smiled. “At least it is not far. And Led Belarus does not live up to its name in summer.” And besides…there would be good breakfasts….

  So she went. As soon as she set foot on the beach, she asked The Tradition to give her proper clothing, and got the most delightful red-and-white outfit in lovely silk!

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  leather waist-cincher and matching boots. She pointed the toe of the boot outward, looking at its decorations.

  Boots fit for dancing in! She smiled happily. The colors delighted her eye, and there was no doubt it was very practical. And by the sort of sheer happenstance that could only be the hand of The Tradition at work in her favor, no sooner had she gotten clothed, than she heard music from farther up the beach. There was something about the music, too. This was no ordinary musician, she was sure of it, the song carried a burden of melancholy far heavier than mere wor
ds and tune could convey. Of course, at that moment, she had no notion of just how fortuitous this meeting was to be.

  Picking her way carefully through the wrack and flotsam cast up by the last tide, she found the source of the music. The playing was solid and skilled, though not mas-terful. The singing had a great deal of heart, and the singer’s voice was pleasant. But there was some hint of something behind the music that she couldn’t quite identify.

  She climbed carefully and quietly up to the top of a boulder, taking care not to disturb the singer, and got her first glimpse of him. What she saw made her smile with pleasure.

  Oh my. Now there is a handsome fellow!

  He was blond, the sort of white-blond like hers, which looked unreal; his shock of hair was a bit untidy, but that was to be expected, given that he was out in the wind.

  He had a good, broad brow that suggested a lot of intelligence. His eyes were closed, so she couldn’t see what Fortune’s Fool

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  color they were—but he had high cheekbones, a good nose, and a strong chin. His mouth looked as though he smiled more than he frowned, but there were some odd worry lines creasing his forehead.

  He was not a tall man, but he was very well built, and his hands were those of a musician rather than a warrior.

  She couldn’t place his clothing; a white, high-necked, embroidered shirt, a wide sash, soft suede trousers and riding boots. It wasn’t peasant gear, but other than that, she couldn’t identify what sort of job he did, although it did seem rather too well made and unworn for that of an ordinary minstrel.

  As she examined him, he seemed to sense that she was there, finished his song, and opened his eyes.

  She had expected blue eyes, but instead, they were a startling and striking shade of intense violet.