The Forgotten Way (Champions of the Crystal Book 6)

Chapter 6.2

Sabrina had been more right than she knew, she realized as she entered the banquet hall a few hours later. She felt much better after her nap, but she had badly miscalculated her outfit. She had seen no other women on her way to her room, and Ranfir had told her not to worry about local fashions but just wear whatever she chose. Since the palace interior was warm but sheltered from direct sun, she chose a sleeveless silver gown that draped from her shoulders. It wasn't showy, but it was a far cry from what the other women were wearing—billowing dresses of bright hues that covered them from ankles to wrists, with their hair almost completely covered by a complicated turban-like scarf. Practical desert wear, she supposed, feeling almost naked in comparison.

Ford entered a few moments after her and took in her expression of dismay. "You look wonderful," he assured her as he came to stand beside her. "Don't worry."

"Ranja usually figures this kind of thing out for me," she explained. "I feel like an idiot."

"Just keep it in mind while we're traveling. I know you sunburn."

"I took that into account, believe me. But I'm going to have to buy a hat or something; I didn't think I'd need one on a space station." She turned to Ranfir, who was approaching them. "I'm afraid I'll need to go shopping before we leave tomorrow. Can you recommend someplace?"

Ranfir shook his head. "I've taken care of it. I saw that our sun bothered you. A traveling outfit and kit will be provided for each of you before your departure."

"You're not coming with us?" Sabrina asked.

"Unfortunately, my uncle has need of me here. You will be gone several days, and there is pressing business to take care of," Ranfir said. "Chancellor Hanat will escort you. He is very capable."

"Naturally," Ford said. "I don't see any place cards, Lord Ranfir—does this mean we choose our own seats?"

"I'm afraid not. The order of seating is always predetermined. You, your highness, are of course at my uncle's right hand. I will make sure Lady Sabrina finds her seat among the ladies."

Sabrina didn't like the sound of that, but she knew better than to question the arrangements. Ford glanced at her with a sympathetic expression, and she gave him a little smile.

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Sabrina had been to some challenging state dinners in her time, but this one, she thought, won the prize for sheer boredom. Seated at the women's end of the strictly segregated table, she found no one who could speak Lthosyenne or Praxatillian and was reduced to communicating with hand gestures and shrugs. The other ladies seemed polite enough, but she was alien to them in all senses of the word.

She missed the days when Mara had extended the Crystal's massive store of languages to her for translation—after her second adventure with Pharon crystal, Sabrina had resolved to steer clear of all outside access to her mind and had applied herself to learning languages the old-fashioned way. Her Praxatillian had been fluent since the Regency, but Lthosyenne was a more ancient and complex language. So far she had focused on that, and there had been no time to review the Fiersain language on their short journey there.

After dinner, the ladies retired to a large salon, where they had dessert and chatted among themselves. Sabrina found the woman who appeared to be the hostess and pantomimed a headache, succeeding in being excused with a sympathetic smile. She then congratulated herself on being sufficiently unimportant to go to bed early.

It was her old nightmare—being chased through the caves of Giandrah by unseen Reissians—that woke her sometime after full dark. She sat up in bed, panting, and then gasped as one of the shadows near the door moved. Her panicked grab for the stunner under her pillow wasn't fast enough, and she found her wrist caught in an alarmingly strong grip.