A/N: I have taken considerable liberties, here, with the Royal (Dick) School of Veterinary Studies, which does exist and is an ancient and honourable part of the University of Edinburgh, but does not, so far as I know, actually have its own riding stables (it does have a farm and an Equine Hospital, though). Also, obviously, Tamora Pierce's characters don't teach at Edinburgh ;). I have also invented, for the purposes of this story, an obscure Middle Eastern country of which a certain person we all know and hate is absolute monarch. It is a composite of Carthak and assorted real countries, but does not represent any of them directly. Update A/N: fixing some typos and other fiddly things.
Disclaimer: Tamora Pierce invented them; I am just using them for my own bizarre purposes.
1: Reception
Daine had never learned to like cocktail receptions. She didn't like to drink much at parties, but nor did she enjoy fending off waiters with trays of drinks. It was awkward, too, to query every offered hors d'oeuvre—she had stopped eating meat years ago, but still felt apologetic about her dietary quirks around people she didn't know. This party, at least, featured plenty of non-alcoholic beverages.
But then there was the issue of clothing. Daine's normal working attire ran to khaki trousers and t-shirts; when she wanted to look particularly smart, she wore a suit (the only one she owned, a sober black outfit of pleated-front trousers and single-breasted jacket) and blouse. Parties like this one required considerably more effort, and it always seemed to Daine that her efforts were not entirely successful.
Still, she looked all right this time, she knew. Numair had told her as much, by an admiring look and a low, inviting whistle, when he stepped out of the shower in their hotel room to find her nervously fussing at her hair in front of the bathroom mirror.
Not that he'd said anything directly. "You'll have to beat them off with a stick, love," was what he'd said, leaning down—himself clad only in a skimpy hotel towel—to kiss the back of her neck.
In fact, at the moment she was doing nothing of the sort—though Numair, halfway across the large and elegantly appointed reception room, was surrounded by a gaggle of blonde Scandinavian graduate students (at least, they looked too young to be more than post-docs), many of whom would no doubt need some encouragement to move on to other interlocutors. Daine smiled to herself as she saw him raise his left hand to flip his long black hair out of his eyes—a very natural gesture, but also exactly suited to display his wedding ring. Look all you like, ladies. When this torture session is over, I get to take him home.
Nursing her glass of mineral water, she leaned on a wall and surveyed the room. It was very grand indeed; this was almost certainly the most elegant hotel she had ever stayed in, and this seemed to be the grandest room in it. There was gilding on the elaborately curlicued ceiling, gilded bas-relief decoration on the walls, gilded Moorish-looking screens in the corners to hide the serving stations. Wild arrangements of exotic tropical flowers sat here and there on gleaming credenzas and occasional tables. Hiring this place for the evening must have cost the university a small fortune, Daine thought. And the food alone …
A deeply tanned face entered her field of vision and a light tenor voice said, "Dr Sarrasri, I presume?"
She turned to see a tallish man of about her own age smiling at her and trying to read the conference badge absurdly pinned to her modestly cut, but clinging, blue dress, which read "Veralidaine Sarrasri, BVM&S, MRCVS, Royal (Dick) School of Veterinary Studies & Edinburgh Zoo."
"Just Daine, please," she said, returning the smile and holding out her right hand. Surprisingly, he took it in his and raised it briefly to his lips. He was dressed simply, in a fawn suit, crisp white linen shirt and subtly patterned tie, but even Daine could see that his clothes were—by her standards—appallingly expensive. She looked for his badge, but found he wasn't wearing one, which could only mean …
"Your Highness," she said, trying to decide whether she ought to curtsey. Or bow. Or … something.
"Please don't," said Crown Prince Kaddar. "I'm trying to blend in."
"You don't want to be Onua's assistant all your life, do you?" Numair asks her. He is leaning over the door of the box stall where she is grooming the Dick School's newest equine acquisition, a large, raw-boned bay gelding with a mare's cunning and a stallion's temper. He is gentle with Daine but vicious with anyone else, and Onua's theory is that Daine can tame him—and teach the Equine Medicine students something about horse behaviour in the process.
"Well …" she feels shy, suddenly, with this man whom she now knows to be a world-renowned scholar, holder of chairs in two of Edinburgh's most prestigious scientific schools, not to mention two doctoral degrees. She concentrates on the safe territory of her curry-comb and the tall horse's withers.
"What is it?" he prompts her gently.
"You'll think it silly," she says.
"Try me."
"I'd really like … I'd like to be able to help animals when they're sick or hurt. Not just do first aid, I mean, but really make them better. And … and I'd like to work with wild animals, not just cats and dogs and cows and things…"
He smiles, though she doesn't see it. "You want to be a vet."
A nod.
"You're in a good place for it," he points out.
"But … you need all sorts of A-levels, and I haven't got any," she protests. "Even my O-levels weren't very good."
"Why not?"
"Why not, what?"
"Why weren't your O-levels very good?"
She shrugs, embarrassed. "I didn't like school very much, in Snowsdale. People were … not very kind to me. And my teachers all thought I was stupid. You know – stupid mother, stupid—"
"You're not in Snowsdale now."
"Yes, but … Onua pays me well, for what I'm doing, but not well enough to afford—"
"I could teach you," Numair offers.
This is so unexpected that she stops her work to stare at him. The horse whuffles in protest until the curry-comb begins moving again.
"I can't pay you."
"We could trade. You could teach me … archery, and riding. I'm a terrible horseman. You could help me improve."
"You're a biochemist."
"And a wildlife biologist," he reminds her. "But mainly, your humble servant" (he bows extravagantly, and she giggles) "is an autodidact. That means 'self-teacher,'" he adds. "Most of what I know, I've learned on my own. That means I can learn along with you, and I can help you learn to … well, to learn on your own. And then we can tackle the admissions office together, you and Onua and I. What do you say?"
She looks up at him now, finally, her blue-grey eyes shining. "When can we start?" she asks.
"It's a great honour to have you here," Prince Kaddar was saying.
"Who—me?" Daine said incredulously. "Oh—you meant the conference." She felt her face grow warm and blessed the not-too-bright lighting.
"Well, yes," he said, smiling, "but I did mean you particularly, in fact." His English was elegant and flawless, with just the subtlest hint of a pleasant accent (pleasant, Daine belatedly realized, because it reminded her of Numair's even subtler one). "We've followed your career with considerable interest."
"'We' being…"
"Ah, well, some of us at the university here—I did my undergraduate work there, you know, though I'm at Cairo now—and also, er, my uncle. He has an impressive royal zoo, as you may be aware, and also a personal aviary that he's very fond of. I've shared with him several of your papers on animal behaviour …"
"I'm … very flattered," Daine said. She was finding herself awkward and tongue-tied in the presence of this charming and, presumably, very powerful man. If he's like this, what must his uncle be like? Where was Numair when you needed him, drat it? Or even Alanna, or—what was his name—Numair's thesis advisor?
"Doct—I'm sorry, Daine, have you met Professor Reed?" she heard her companion say.
Yes, that was it—Lindhall Reed. "I have, actually," she said, turning to smile at the newcomer. "It's lovely to see you again, Professor."
The tall, grey-bearded man returned her smile. He wore a badge reading "Lindhall Reed, PhD, School of Botany and Zoology, Cairo University." "The pleasure's mine, my dear. We were introduced earlier by another of my students," he added, by way of explanation to the Prince. "Well, a former student, rather."
"Oh?" Kaddar inquired—politely but, it seemed to Daine, without genuine interest.
Something seemed to occur to Professor Reed. "As a matter of fact, Kaddar, you ought to meet him as well as Dr Sarrasri—Daine," he corrected himself. "I'm sure the two of you could have some very productive discussions."
He began to look around him, vaguely. Daine touched his arm. "He's over there," she said, nodding in Numair's direction. "Amidst all the blonde beauties."
Lindhall Reed chuckled. "I should have known," he said. "If you'll excuse me for a moment …?"
"You're a graduate student, I think you said?" Daine asked, after a moment. "What's your field?"
She had chosen her question well: the prince's face lit up, and he answered enthusiastically. "I began with biochemistry," he said, "but that's really my uncle's interest, not mine. I dabbled in zoology also. But I'm back now to what really interests me …" His voice trailed off; he was looking straight at her, but appeared distracted.
"Not zoology, then?" Daine prompted, puzzled.
"Well—that is—" he began. "I am interested in animals, of course. But what really fascinates me—" he was warming to his topic again—"is botany. Desert plants in particular, the survival mechanisms they've evolved, and of course developing drought-resistant strains of crop plants."
"That sounds a very useful field of research," Daine said, nodding. She approved of rulers, and future rulers, who took an interest in the well-being of their countries.
"I was hoping," Kaddar said, now wearing a bashful expression that Daine found utterly inexplicable, "that while you are here you might allow me to show you some of the local sights. And my uncle, as you may know, is anxious to have your opinion on the behaviour and health of some of his birds."
Daine nodded again; she was back to feeling puzzled. "I'd like that very much," she said, "though I don't know that I'll have much free time for sight-seeing—the conference timetable is very full, you see." He was looking at her very oddly. "It's a great honour to be offered a personal tour—"
"Daine! There you are!" said a woman's voice, as a small but strong hand clapped Daine on the shoulder. She turned and smiled, this time with profound relief. "Hello, Alanna."
The short, stocky redhead was rather startlingly attired in a fitted, calf-length violet silk dress; the conference badge pinned precariously to the shoulder of this garment, just where one might attach a corsage, read "Lt.-Col. Alanna Trebond-Cooper, FRCP, MSP, School of Clinical Sciences & Community Health, University of Edinburgh."
"Your High—er—Kaddar, have you met Dr Cooper?"
Prince Kaddar seemed to find Alanna easier than Daine to talk to; within minutes the two of them, with very little input from Daine, were deep in a spirited discussion of the difficulties of enforcing new immunization schemes.
"One thing about immunizing animals," Daine remarked, "you can always sedate them if they won't listen to reason."
"Listen to the girl, Lindhall," said a mocking baritone voice somewhere above and behind her. "I don't believe she's ever had to sedate an animal in her life."
Was it her imagination that there was something possessive in the touch of the large, warm hand on her shoulder?
"My wife," Numair went on, now addressing the prince, "will no doubt try to convince you that she's a perfectly ordinary zoo vet. Believe me when I tell you she's nothing of the kind."
Well, I'm not about to tell any of these people that I'm some sort of animal psychic. I have enough trouble explaining that sort of thing at home.
About to give her husband an irritated look, she caught Kaddar frankly staring at them and, instead, reached up to cover Numair's hand with her own. "My husband finds it amusing to exaggerate my talents," she said, her gently mocking tone exactly matching his.
"Kaddar," Lindhall Reed interjected smoothly, "allow me to introduce Professor Numair Salmalín of the University of Edinburgh. You've read some of his work, I think? Ar—Numair, his Highness, Crown Prince Kaddar Iliniat."
The two men shook hands—warily, so it seemed to Daine. The prince still looked a bit shell-shocked.
Lindhall and Numair steered the conversation toward the latest fossil discoveries in the Rift Valley, a topic that interested Daine, and apparently Kaddar, moderately but Alanna not at all. Daine took the opportunity to quietly invite the older woman to help her search for the ladies' toilet.
"Your husband has quite a possessive streak, hasn't he?" Alanna chuckled as soon as they were out of earshot.
So it wasn't my imagination. "He's not like that usually," Daine replied. "He must have eaten something that disagreed with him. Or maybe he's just feeling the heat."
Alanna shot her young friend a shrewd look. "The heat he's feeling is your royal friend's eyes on you," she said.
"What?" Daine sputtered. "I hardly know the man, Alanna. I met him less than an hour ago. Surely Numair doesn't think—"
"What he's thinking, if I'm any judge," said Alanna, "is that that young man's interest in you is not entirely intellectual. You hadn't told him you're married, had you?"
Daine thought about it. "No," she said, "I suppose I hadn't. I don't make a habit of announcing my conjugal status to everyone I meet," she added defensively. "It didn't come up."
Alanna raised an eyebrow. "And you didn't notice that he was trying his best to flirt with you?"
"Well …" Daine fidgeted with her wedding band. "I did think he was behaving a bit … oddly. He offered to squire me round the local sights—that was certainly unexpected. But I'm sure I was behaving oddly as well. I don't meet foreign royalty every day, you know, the way some people do."
This drew a snort. "Well, clearly the prince is smitten," said Alanna decisively. "If he's got any sense, though, he'll try to get over it before the next time he bumps into Professor Salmalín."
"I can look after myself, you know," Daine retorted, nettled. "I was archery champion of Yorkshire three years running, and I work with dangerous animals for a living. He needn't be so—so protective."
Alanna laughed. "I was on active duty in Northern Ireland and the Falklands, lass," she said, "but that doesn't stop my husband threatening dire retribution when someone looks at me cross-eyed. It's what men do. Reminds us, in case we didn't know, that they aren't as highly evolved as they claim."
