Lianne has estimated the journey to be about a month. They stay close to the road for the most part, in out-of-the-way inns to avoid other travelers (Lianne's not sure what her parents have done about her disappearance, but she doesn't want to risk discovery until they cross the border — she imagines what it would be like to be found, to go back, and she is much more careful not to be seen.)
As they pass through the last few villages on the road south, Lianne purchases a white veil (Lerant has a burnoose from his uniform already), and they enter the Great Southern Desert proper.
A storm is brewing a few days later. The wind and sand whip around them, lifting their headwraps and causing their horses to stagger (keep your footing, now, it wouldn't do to lose horses in the middle of the desert).
"Lerant?" Lianne calls.
"What?" he yells back.
She taps her head with a shake of her head and slides off her horse, stumbling over to Lerant. "It's going to be a sandstorm. We need to find shelter."
"What? Are you sure it's not just wind? We're nowhere near Persopolis, where are we supposed to go?"
She pauses (The Bloody Hawk is nearby, isn't it? But the Bazhir report to the king — should she risk it?)
"I know somewhere we can go," she replies finally, leaning closer so she can be heard without yelling, "at least for shelter."
They ride through the speeding winds to the Bloody Hawk tribe.
"Halef Seif!" she cries out as they come into sight of tents and a few men packing up for the storm. Lianne dismounts and runs over to say hello. Lerant grabs her reins and leads both horses over to the group He feels a bit left out, but there is so much about Lianne he does not know already, so it's not so bad.
"We should get out of the storm," the man who must be Halef tells them, and helps Lerant put their horses inside. Halef leads Lianne into a tent (What kind of soldier are you, Lerant? Going into a possible hostile's home with the girl you should be protecting?) and Lerant follows.
-:-
"So what brings you to the desert?" Halef asks Lianne.
She shrugs, seemingly casual. "Traveling," she says vaguely.
He is too sharp (Lianne has a horrible flashback to Uncle Raoul's muchtooknowing eyes, but she will not let information slip this time)."Who's this young man?"
"A friend," she says. Changing the subject, "May we stay at the Bloody Hawk until the sandstorm is over?"
"Of course, Princess. You are always welcome here. I'm sure Kara and Kourrem will want to speak with you as well."
Lianne jumps up and turns to Lerant, pulling him up and doing an odd dance. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the shamans. They're amazing, you'll see!"
Lerant laughs and gives Halef a respectful nod, and they go to see Lianne's friends.
Kara and Kourrem are happy to see Lianne, and they chatter contentedly and catch up (Lerant learns that Lianne spent weeks here as a child, and is practically one of them — how strange, how strange to learn so many new things about someone you've given up everything for and barely know, but Lerant is getting used to it). A few days later, when the sand is settled, Lerant and Lianne ride south again.
-:-
It is the early spring of 463 in the Eastern Lands, and Lianne and Lerant ride into the capital of Tyra. Their cloaks are splashed with mud and sand and their horses exhausted, but a lightly veiled Lianne jumps off her horse with vigor and twirls blissfully in a circle. (Free at last, she is a person now, and not a crown, or a ring, or a throne.)
"We made it!" she screams happily, disregarding the sideways glances from passerby. They look away as Lerant dismounts and pulls her into an embrace. Tyra is more conservative in many ways than Tortall, but Lianne could care less.
She's not a king's daughter here, and he is not a traitor's nephew, and their only duty here is to live (and that is what you wanted to do, Lianne, are you happy now?).
They're in the capital to stay, and it's safe to do whatever they want — even if they're exposed, Lianne knows enough of diplomacy to recognize that Tortall couldn't do anything to them without Tyra's cooperation. (And why would Tyra cooperate? The only thing Princess Lianne is good for is marriage to Maren, and Tyra doesn't benefit from a stronger alliance between Tortall and Maren, quite the opposite.).
Lerant and Lianne go to rent a house with their new Tyran coins (exchanged from Lianne's gold nobles), and it's a little awkward (it isn't proper at all for them to live together unmarried, but curse propriety, she's not a princess anymore, and she doesn't care what commoners think, anyhow.).
"I'm off to find the textile guild!" Lianne calls as Lerant moves their packs into their new home and stables their horses. "I'm going to see if they need an apprentice. Will you be all right here?"
He smiles at her and hefts her saddle off of Heiress. "Yes, of course. Don't you trust me to look after myself?" he teases.
"Not a chance," she replies with a wink. She rummages through their things for a newly bought basket and, with a last wave, heads down to the market square to look for work.
The middle-aged woman in charge of the guild hires Lianne as a textile apprentice, for ten copper Tyran coins a week — about five copper nobles in Tortall. Not much, but Lianne brought plenty with her and they won't run out for months, unless they handle their money poorly (but just in case, Lianne will work too).
She buys a few loaves of bread, a jug of milk, and a bit of mutton, and returns home to find their gear put away and Lerant waiting for her in the small house (and yes, yes, she reflects as he pulls her close, this is what she wants).
-:-
It has been two months since Lianne left Corus, and Lerant has been hired as a guard at the Palace of the Ruling Council of Tyra (and Lianne is a scandal again).
She walks through the market square, and gossip falls over her as the spring rain does, dripping down her braided black hair and her plain weaver's dress and into her heart.
"That Lianne chit—has she no shame—unmarried!—textile guild—disgrace" and she tries, she tries to let the drops of conversation roll off of her like the (un)breakable girl she is (wants to be).
Lianne thinks of Kally, with her intense eyes — thinks of Vania, with her head held so high. She imitates that confidence, and the words fall under her feet where they belong. Because she is just a little better than these people, isn't she? She feels ohso shallow and guilty when she thinks like this, but they deserve it, scorning her and Lerant for their own petty reasons.
But then — but then — she hears it.
A speck, a fleck, of dialogue, and she slips under the tide, and the words splash around her.
"Did you hear about Sarain — the alliance with Tortall — Princess Vania — K'mir—?"
Lianne spins, searching for the source of the words desperately. There's a woman from the guild over there, a tall man by the jewelry stall who looks vaguely familiar, too many people she does not know.
Perhaps the people talking were the cluster of merchants — yes, that sounds right. She takes a moment to try to calm her trembling hands (oh Lianne, this is important — you were polite and perfect and refined all your life, but now you can't even stop shaking? Calm down.).
"Hello?" she says hesitantly.
One of the merchants gives her a brittle smile. "May I help you, madam?"
"Yes, I heard..." Lianne swallows. "Do you know what has happened with Sarain and Tortall?"
"You mean the new warlord?" says the woman.
"New warlord?" Lianne repeats. "What? What does that have to do with Tortall?"
The woman nods her head and leans closer. "Zhir Anduo, the son of the old lord. Before Ganadhar took over and tried to unite Sarain, the first zhir Anduo killed the Warlord, Adigun jian Wilima. Before you would have been born, of course."
Lianne cannot process that for a moment, but when she does, she almost chokes. (Adigun jian Wilima — Wilima. Her grandfather.) The woman gives her a searching look and Lianne clears her face and gestures at the woman to continue.
"So in any event, young zhir Anduo met with the leaders of all the major countries —Tyra, Tortall, Maren, Galla, you know. And the strange part is, he didn't seem to care all that much about border lines or hunting rights or those things that rulers always care about. But he wouldn't back down on a marriage agreement. He wants that young Princess Vania of Tortall."
"Vania?" Lianne says. "Are you sure it's Princess Vania?"
"Yes," says the woman, pursing her lips. "It'd be her or the Gallan princess, and everyone knows Galla is full of barbarians. The Tortallan princess is said to be a bit full of herself, but not a bad sort. Still a good deal too sweet for heartless zhir Anduo."
"What about..." Lianne licks her lips. "What about Princess Lianne?"
The woman gives her a blank stare. "Who?" her eyes light up with recognition after a moment. "Oh, the missing princess?"
Lianne nods slowly.
"No, no," says the lady with a flippant gesture, "even if they could find the girl, she's said to be much less beautiful as her younger sister, so the warlord likely wouldn't want her anyway."
Lianne's eyebrows shoot up despite herself (well, darling, if that's not ego-killing, what is?) "Thank you," she says with a strained smile, and excuses herself. She has to hurry to work — she is working on a big project with another apprentice, a rich jewel-tone tapestry for a Tyran silk merchant.
She will think about Vania later (someone needs to).
