Royal Airs Read online

  Ace Books by Sharon Shinn

  THE SHAPE OF DESIRE

  STILL LIFE WITH SHAPE-SHIFTER

  TROUBLED WATERS

  ROYAL AIRS

  MYSTIC AND RIDER

  THE THIRTEENTH HOUSE

  DARK MOON DEFENDER

  READER AND RAELYNX

  FORTUNE AND FATE

  ARCHANGEL

  JOVAH’S ANGEL

  THE ALLELUIA FILES

  ANGELICA

  ANGEL-SEEKER

  WRAPT IN CRYSTAL

  THE SHAPE-CHANGER’S WIFE

  HEART OF GOLD

  SUMMERS AT CASTLE AUBURN

  JENNA STARBORN

  QUATRAIN

  Viking / Firebird Books by Sharon Shinn

  THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET

  THE TRUTH-TELLER’S TALE

  THE DREAM-MAKER’S MAGIC

  GENERAL WINSTON’S DAUGHTER

  GATEWAY

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  Copyright © 2013 by Sharon Shinn.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-58976-2

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Shinn, Sharon.

  Royal airs : an Elemental Blessings novel / Sharon Shinn.

  pages cm. — (An Elemental Blessings novel)

  ISBN 978-0-425-26171-2 (hardback)

  1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Fantasy fiction. I. Title.

  PS3569.H499R69 2013

  813'.54—dc23

  2013027604

  FIRST EDITION: November 2013

  Cover illustration © Jonathan Barkat.

  Cover photos: sunset and clouds © Pavel Vakhrushev/Shutterstock;

  stormy clouds © Shebeko/Shutterstock.

  Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

  Interior text design by Tiffany Estreicher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Dedication

  Who’s Who in Welce

  Random Blessings

  Quintiles & Changedays

  Money

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  To Margaux, who never has time to read, and Denise, who sometimes does. You have both been blessings in my life.

  WHO’S WHO IN WELCE

  THE PRINCESSES

  JOSETTA, daughter of Queen Seterre and Navarr Ardelay

  CORENE, daughter of Queen Alys and Darien Serlast

  NATALIE, daughter of Queen Romelle and an unknown lover

  ODELIA, daughter of Queen Romelle and King Vernon

  MALLY, the decoy princess for Odelia

  THE PRIMES

  ZOE LALINDAR, coru. Daughter of Navarr Ardelay, wife of Darien Serlast, mother of Celia

  NELSON ARDELAY, sweela. Father of Kurtis and Rhan, brother to Navarr, uncle to Josetta and Zoe

  MIRTI SERLAST, hunti. Aunt of Darien

  TARO FROTHEN, torz. Distant relation of Romelle

  KAYLE DOCHENZA, elay

  THE POLITICIANS

  DARIEN SERLAST, regent of Welce

  QUEEN ELIDON, King Vernon’s first wife

  GHYANETH, prince of Berringey

  FILOMARA, empress of Malinqua

  RANDOM BLESSINGS

  ELAY

  (AIR/SOUL)

  HUNTI

  (WOOD/BONE)

  SWEELA

  (FIRE/MIND)

  joy

  courage

  innovation

  hope

  strength

  love

  kindness

  steadfastness

  imagination

  beauty

  loyalty

  clarity

  vision

  certainty

  intelligence

  grace

  resolve

  charm

  honor

  determination

  talent

  spirituality

  power

  creativity

  CORU

  (WATER/BLOOD)

  TORZ

  (EARTH/FLESH)

  EXTRAORDINARY

  BLESSINGS

  change

  serenity

  synthesis

  travel

  honesty

  triumph

  flexibility

  health

  time

  swiftness

  fertility

  resilience

  contentment

  luck

  patience

  persistence

  endurance

  surprise

  wealth

  QUINTILES & CHANGEDAYS

  The calendar of Welce is divided into five quintiles. A quintile consists of eight “weeks,” each nine days long. Most shops and other businesses are closed on the firstday of each nineday.

  The
first quintile of the year, Quinnelay, stretches from early to deep winter. It is followed by Quinncoru, which encompasses late winter to mid spring; Quinnahunti, late spring to mid summer; Quinnatorz, late summer to fall; and Quinnasweela, fall to early winter.

  The quintiles are separated by changedays, generally celebrated as holidays. Quinnelay changeday is the first day of every new year. Since there are five changedays, and five seventy-two-day quintiles, the Welce year is 365 days long.

  MONEY

  5 quint-coppers make one copper (5 cents 25 cents)

  8 coppers make one quint-silver ($2)

  5 quint-silvers make one silver ($10)

  8 silvers make one quint-gold ($80)

  5 quint-golds make one gold ($400)

  ONE

  Rafe shuffled the deck for the third time and handed it to the woman on his right so she could cut the cards. It was clear the other three players distrusted him, and even the card cutting didn’t reassure them he wasn’t cheating. But they were too convinced that the next hand would be the winning one to call him out or stop the play. They merely watched him with a narrowed suspicion and nodded to indicate they were still in the game.

  Rafe dealt the cards slowly, deliberately, making sure all his movements were visible. As it happened, he knew how to slip a trump from the bottom of the deck, how to hide a wildcard up his sleeve, but he didn’t bother. Not with this particular group—two elay men barely in their twenties and a wild-haired sweela woman who was probably his stepfather’s age. None of them could play half as well as they thought they could, but all were too caught up in the gambling fever to admit it. Rafe shrugged to himself. That was an elay man for you—a dreamer, a misty-eyed romantic with no practical sense. And all the sweela souls he’d ever encountered were so impetuous that they ignored their impulses to cold reason whenever the stakes were high. Of course Rafe was winning handily; it would be more astonishing if he were losing.

  Once the cards were dealt, everyone gathered them up and sorted them into suits. Rafe kept his expression amiable but impassive as he looked over his hand. Two wildcards; that was a stroke of luck. Only two trumps; a potential disaster. Ah, but he had six cards in the suit of skulls. He could probably turn that to his advantage.

  As his opponents frowned over their own cards, each trying to formulate a strategy, Rafe glanced casually around the bar. The clientele tended to turn over pretty quickly as the night progressed; he liked to keep track of who had walked in while his attention was elsewhere. He liked to guess who might be interested in playing a round of penta with him, who might be desperate, and who might be trouble.

  Trouble came with some regularity to this little bar, which was situated solidly inside the crowded, noisome slum district of the city of Chialto. But it was actually one of the more respectable establishments, given its location just south of the Cinque, the five-sided boulevard that made an inner loop around the city. Traders’ sons and merchants’ wives felt safe enough to come here for a night of excitement that might include high-stakes gambling, high-proof liquor, illegal drugs, and companionship that could be purchased. As long as they stayed within hearing range of traffic on the Cinque, they didn’t need to worry overmuch. But farther south, a little closer to the canal, and the illicit thrill could turn into a grim struggle for survival. No one walked those streets just for fun.

  Tonight, at least so far, the bar was relatively quiet. The public space consisted of one big room, crowded with tables and a half dozen booths against the far wall. It was windowless here on the street level, so no matter what the time of day, the smoky oil-lamp illumination made patrons fail to notice how long they’d been sitting there, drinking or playing. The clientele was largely male, though a few women were always part of the mix. Some, like the one at his own table, were leathery old crones with a lifetime of hard experience chiseled into their faces. More were younger, prettier, plumper, not yet ruined by a brutal life, though clearly in peril of encountering a disastrous end.

  Well, who isn’t? Rafe thought, turning his attention back to his tablemates. “Everyone ready to bid?” he asked.

  One of the elay men nodded vigorously. He was a slim, pasty-faced blond with full, sensuous lips; Rafe had mentally dubbed him the Loser, since his reckless style of play was all but guaranteed to leave him bankrupt before the night was over. “More than ready,” the Loser exclaimed. He seemed almost feverish with excitement. Rafe assumed he had drawn the majority of the trump cards, and wasn’t hiding that fact very well.

  “I suppose so,” said the other elay man, whom Rafe was calling Sad Boy because of his morose expression. Sad Boy had actually won a few hands by retaining trumps when Rafe had not expected him to, which argued a certain unexpected skill at the game, but his betting had been so erratic that he hadn’t profited much by his victories.

  Sweela Woman merely nodded, so they all called out their bids and laid down the proper cards. Rafe had the low cards in flutes, roses, and horseshoes, which made the others smile; on the face of it, he had the weakest hand. Sad Boy had the low skull and Sweela Woman the low fish. No wonder the Loser was grinning like a fool, and pushing a stack of quint-silvers to the middle of the table. He probably had high cards and trumps.

  It would be a pleasure taking his money.

  Sad Boy and Sweela Woman made more conservative bets. Rafe offered a slight shrug, which he hoped they would interpret as disappointment over a bad hand, and pushed a silver toward the pile of coins. “Looks like it’s your play,” he said to the Loser, and the game was on.

  It unfolded almost exactly as Rafe had anticipated, with the Loser scooping up the first four rounds with ill-disguised triumph, and recklessly expending his trumps without any regard for which cards it would be prudent to hold in reserve. The Loser was clearly astonished when Sad Boy won a play and wrested control of the game for the next two discards, and even more astonished when his next trump was overmatched by Rafe, who had been keeping track. No trumps, no wildcards left.

  “Skulls,” Rafe said, and laid down the eight. Sad Boy and Sweela Woman tossed in skulls, and the Loser pouted and flung down the three of roses. Rafe spread the rest of his cards on the table. “I think the remaining rounds are mine,” he said in a pleasant voice.

  Sweela Woman groaned and Sad Boy actually laughed. “I wondered where all the skulls were!” he exclaimed. “All I had were flutes and roses, and they didn’t do me a damn bit of good.”

  Sweela Woman was watching Rafe appraisingly. “Even if you’ve been cheating all night, you weren’t cheating on that hand,” she said. “You’re brilliant at this game. I suppose you know that.”

  He smiled at her. He’d always rather liked the sweela folks he’d encountered. They tended to be self-absorbed and overbearing, but embued with a certain irresistible charm. As if it never occurred to them that, despite their loud voices and arrogant attitudes, people might not like them.

  “Since much of my income depends on being brilliant at penta, I am aware that I play it well,” he replied.

  “Hell of a way to earn a living,” she said.

  Rafe shrugged and gathered the cards, straightening them into a neat pile. “Every job has its downside,” he said. “The ills of gambling are no worse than those of working in a factory ten hours a day, building smoker cars for rich people.”

  Sweela Woman laughed at that, and even Sad Boy looked amused. The Loser frowned, leading Rafe to guess he was one of the rich folks who owned an elaymotive. In the past five years, the gas-powered vehicles had gone from being gape-worthy curiosities to commonplace carriages, though horse-drawn conveyances still accounted for three quarters of the traffic along the Cinque.

  “Never did want to spend much time working myself to the bone just so a rich man got richer,” Sweela Woman agreed. “But I still don’t think a gambler’s life is the one for me.”

  Rafe shuffled the cards, loving the quick, ruffled sound they m
ade as they interwove. “You might like it better than you think,” he said. “Gambling favors the folk of mind and fire.”

  “Gambling favors the cheaters,” the Loser muttered.

  In response, Rafe offered him the deck. “You deal,” he invited. “Count them first, make sure they’re all there. What can I do to convince you I play a fair game?”

  The elay man hesitated, as if thinking up tests. His friend said in a tone of great irritation, “Either trust the man and play, Edwin, or don’t trust him and walk away. Frankly, I think he’s honest.”

  “But he keeps winning,” Edwin complained.

  “I think it’s more that we keep losing.”

  Rafe left the cards on the table and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms on his chest. Let them see him relaxed and sure of himself; let them believe he didn’t care whether or not they played one more hand. In truth, he’d prefer to win another few silvers, even a quint-gold or two. He rented a small apartment on the third story above the bar, paying by the nineday, and the money was due tomorrow morning. He had enough to cover it, but he might go hungry a day or two until he had another run of good luck.

  The elay men were now arguing in earnest, keeping their voices low enough that Rafe could pretend he wasn’t listening. Since there was a break in the action, Sweela Woman opened her handbag and pulled out a small, delicately carved box. Rafe wasn’t surprised when the lid opened to reveal a couple of small, gilded bags and a ceramic cup no bigger than a thimble. She carefully opened each bag, shook out fine white powder from one and coarsely ground green leaves from the other, and combined them inside the cup. As soon as the ingredients began to curl with smoke, she dumped the mixture into her wine and began to slowly sip it down.