Shades of the Wind by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Page A

“My destiny is sealed.”
    “Seals were made to be broken,” Kaelin said. “That is why they are crafted of wax.”
    Olabishi came forward as quietly as a shadow and laid a hand on Catherine’s arm.
    Once assured of her companion’s attention, the Rysalian woman began to sign. When
    she was finished, she turned away, her attention once more on the rugged peaks of
    Mount Manu.
    “What did she say?” Kaelin inquired.
    “She agrees with you that I should speak with Prince Khenty. She said she was
    warned not to tell me about this place or its master but I should be told.”
    “Yes, you should,” Kaelin said. He reached out and took hold of Catherine’s upper
    arm. “And right now is as good a time as any.”
    * * * * *
    Though he searched for his employer, Kaelin could not find him and had to give
    up. He apologized to Catherine and explained to her that he would speak with the
    prince at the first opportunity for there were certain things she needed to be made privy
    to.
    “Can’t you tell me?” Catherine asked.
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    Kaelin shook his head. “Khenty would prefer to be the one to tell you.”
    Neither Olabishi nor Holly would tell Catherine what it was that seemed so
    important for her to know. When she sought out Nyria later that afternoon, the
    housekeeper mumbled something about being too busy to converse with her and then
    hurried off. With no one willing to speak with her, Catherine retired to her room to read
    until the evening meal.
    “The master has much to do and sends his apologies for not joining you,” Nyria
    told Catherine and Olabishi when they came down for the meal. Kaelin had left earlier
    and Bahru was nowhere in sight.
    “Have you informed Lord Bahru the evening meal is being served?” Catherine
    asked.
    “He is with the master. If the master allows the taricheutes to eat, it will be a small
    portion to be taken as they work,” Nyria said, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Lord
    Bahru will learn to make the master angry is to suffer the consequences. He will be less
    inclined to do so after this night.”
    Although Catherine couldn’t seem to dredge up even a modicum of sympathy for
    Bahru, she was uneasy that he had made an enemy of the prince so early on in their
    acquaintance. Bahru had told her the support of his patron would be needed if he was
    to make a success of his career with the Guild and obtain the assignment in Abaddon—
    wherever that was—that he so coveted.
    “Two years in the wretched hell of Diabolusia and I will have earned the right to go
    to Abaddon,” Bahru had told her on their first night aboard the ship. “I will put up with
    anything for that plum assignment.” He had raked his small black eyes over her.
    “Anything.”
    That her fiancé despised her had been a shock to Catherine and she had asked why
    he had asked for her hand if that was not what he wanted.
    Bahru had sneered at her. “It is not you I want but what you represent,” he had
    snapped. “I can not have one without being forced to take the other.”
    Climbing the stairs to her room after a delicious meal of roast chicken, new potatoes
    swimming in a fragrant butter sauce, green beans sautéed with slivers of almonds and a
    heady wine that relaxed her though she drank only the one glass, Catherine thought
    again of the disdain Bahru aimed at her each time they were in the same room together.
    Such an attitude did not bode well for their future together.
    A future she was finding less and less palatable as the days passed.
    * * * * *
    Bahru’s stomach was growling. All he’d had to consume was stale bread and water
    that had tasted brackish. He had complained to Nyria that he was sure he would come
    down with some vile tropical fever—or a strange ailment of the intestines—for having
    drank the sulfur-tasting stuff. With a mulish expression on his thin face, he was
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    following the housekeeper’s instructions and was now approaching the