Chapter 3

After that the tribesmen were often amused to see their King cantering alongside Princess Arnon’s pretty child, evidently engaged in serious conversation. One day, after a visit to Petra, Zendi presented his young preceptress with an armful of scrolls which he had bought. Ione, on her knees, laid them out in a row on the rug and caressed them with worshipful hands, murmuring, ‘Thaumasia! Thaumasia!’ To have such a rich library—it was indeed wonderful! Marvellous!

As for Fara’s early knowledge of her origin, she had been contented with the explanation that her father was a Prince who had been required to leave them that he might perform his duties as the ruler of a faraway country. Now that she was asking for a little more information, Arnon would talk of the great cities in which she had lived with Fara’s father, carefully avoiding any mention of her unhappiness.

‘Will my father ever visit us?’ Fara had asked wistfully.

‘He would find it difficult,’ Arnon had replied; and this was the exact truth. ‘Great rulers,’ she went on, ‘have many cares.’

‘But—does he not care—at all—for us?’

‘A ruler’s life, my dear, is not his own. His only concern is for the welfare of his country.’ Arnon despised herself for what, in this case, was a ridiculous lie; but felt that it was an easy way out of a painful discussion. The time would come soon enough, she knew, when the whole matter would have to be faced; but she hoped to postpone it as long as possible.

Fara was beginning to be aware of her loneliness and singularity. She was nearing ten and growing very restless. She needed companions of her own age. It had been a long time since Kitra had brought Voldi along when she came to visit. One day Fara ventured to inquire how he was.

‘Oh—that boy!’ exclaimed Kitra, busying herself with her needlework. ‘He thinks he is quite a man now. Growing so fast; tall as I am. You know how boys of that age are, Fara. They don’t want to play with girls. All they think about is their horses—and hunting dogs—and archery—and fencing.’ Her eyes slid past Fara to Arnon. ‘You may be glad Fara is a girl. I never have a peaceful moment when Voldi is riding that unruly horse of his!’

‘Fara rides too,’ said Arnon quietly.

‘Yes—I know,’ said Kitra. ‘And Fara rides very well indeed!’

Then the talk veered off to another topic and Fara strolled away to her own room. She languidly took up the little tapestry on which she had been investing oddments of unoccupied time. Ione joined her. They sat in silence for awhile, Ione exasperatingly tranquil, Fara recklessly stabbing her needle into the stiff fabric.