Chapter 3

‘Don’t you ever feel penned in, Ione?’ The tapestry sailed across the room and landed on the bed. ‘How does it feel to be a slave?’ Fara went on savagely, as if she meant to offend. ‘If I were a slave, I’d run away! Why don’t you?’

‘Where would I run to?’ asked Ione, blinking back the tears, for Fara’s rudeness had hurt.

‘You could go home,’ gruffly.

‘But—this is my home, dear; same as it is yours.’

‘Nonsense!’ muttered Fara. ‘You can’t be contented here any more than I can! This place stifles me! Sometimes I think I’ll jump out of my skin!’

‘Your mother would be very sorry, Fara, if she heard you say such things,’ reproved Ione.

‘Well, she won’t,’ declared Fara. ‘But’—suddenly dejected—’I had to say it to somebody. Please forgive me.’

‘Of course,’ murmured Ione, quick to understand. ‘It’s natural for children of your age to be restless. You’re growing so fast that the encampment isn’t big enough to hold you. You will get over that when you are older.’

Fara crossed the room, flung herself down on her bed, and lacing her fingers behind her head, stared at the blue ceiling.

‘Wouldn’t you like to see something besides sheep?’ she mumbled, mostly to herself. ‘And go to some place where they talked about other things than the price of camels—and how are we going to find enough grass? Wouldn’t you like to live in a great house—in a great city?’

‘No, dear,’ replied Ione, when some rejoinder seemed necessary. ‘I have done that. I’m quite satisfied to be here—where I am, in these beautiful mountains.’

‘Maybe I should be satisfied too,’ admitted Fara. ‘I wish I was like other people. There’s something wrong with me, Ione,’ she exclaimed impulsively. ‘I’m different! And I hate it!’

It was not until she was eleven that Fara learned how and why she was different. She came by accident upon the soul-sickening truth about her father’s perfidy and her mother’s incurable unhappiness and her own defenceless position as a half-breed. She had ridden with Arnon, that midsummer afternoon, to the King’s encampment. Zendi was absent on a tour of the eastern tribes. Rennah and Arnon lounged in the Queen’s suite while Fara and the spoiled young Prince Deran strolled about indifferently inspecting the kennels and stables.

Tiring of this entertainment and agreeing that the sun was too hot, the children returned to the spacious living quarters, where Deran, eager to impress his guest, led the way into the huge, high-vaulted tent which was set apart for the exclusive use of the King and his Councillors. With a boyish swagger, Deran stalked about, explaining the various appointments. Having casually seated himself in the King’s massive chair, he invited Fara to do the same. He wouldn’t think, he said, of letting anyone else sit there. Fara smiled prettily to show her appreciation. Thus encouraged, Deran led her around the ancient table, declaiming what he knew about the symbolic carvings, and—in a hushed voice—called her attention to the impressive documents which lay waiting official action.