One

In which Prince Daystar is set upon by feminine suitors and inspects the transmitting floor to get away from them (and also because he likes transmitters)

The thing about the women in Upper Vale, Daystar thought, was that they never really asked if he wanted their company. They simply appeared on his arm, hanging there as if they belonged and smiling those dreadful smiles that dared him to be rude and yank free.
“I would love to have you accompany me to the generators, Lady Snowtiger,” he smiled, gritting his teeth and even managing to look friendly. His craggy face and solid jaw gave him a stern look; he rarely looked approachable, especially when wearing his court robes. The draping garment of blue silk almost concealed his simpler tunic and trousers despite being open-fronted and added to his height.
Not that Snowtiger was in anyway deterred. The dark-skinned woman looped her arm a little further through Daystar’s, letting her hips swing slightly as they walked and holding to him harder than necessary on the stairs.
“I am so glad you let me come with you,” she simpered, stroking his sleeve as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “The generators have always fascinated me.”
I’m sure they do, Daystar thought dryly.
A hand claimed his other arm, and Daystar suppressed a groan as Willowsong leaned against his shoulder, smirking at Snowtiger, who glared.
“How terribly peculiar,” the blond woman laughed. “I thought you said they were boring.”
“I said no such thing,” Snowtiger snapped, tugging Daystar a little closer to her.
“You can’t play a man by pretending to share his interests,” Willowsong declared indignantly. “Now me, I could never get enough of studying generators…”
Daystar let her voice fade to the back of his head as she began reciting a clearly memorized section from the Encyclopedia of Magical Equipment, and tugged bit at Snowtiger, who was too busy glaring at her rival to turn the next corner onto the observation balcony. Dancingmist turned from where she stood, waiting, and flashed a withering look at the two women on Daystar’s arms before beaming at him and trying to weave into his line of vision. Daystar looked easily over her head onto the transmitting floor. The generators hardly looked impressive, each one merely a large cube of hollow stone, but they hummed with the power they contained, and bright copper lines flashed on the floor where the power flowed from the generators here up into the great castle of Ebon Reach and across the kingdom to the fourteen baronies. A glance told him that the three woman were now too occupied in snubbing each other to cling on him properly, and he quickly pulled free, stepping lightly through the gate at the edge of the balcony and shutting it firmly behind him. Their voices trailed off in disappointment as Daystar jogged down the narrow stone stairs, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Noblewomen they might be, but only the royal family and certain assigned servants were allowed on the transmitting floor.
“My best dress and he won’t even look at me,” Dancingmist whined behind him.
“Not that you’re much to look at,” Snowtiger countered.
Daystar had to admit that it was on the contrary. The girls wore full, fluffed skirts with elegant sleeves that cascaded from their elbows in lacy ruffles, and the neat brocade bodices showed their figures well, allowing even a usually plain girl such as Dancingmist to compete with stunning beauties like Snowtiger. Nearly all the women he encountered were easy on the eyes, even if they were hard on the ears and the head.
“If he wasn’t the prince, I wouldn’t look at him twice,” Willowsong growled, obviously thinking him out of earshot.
“Feel free to leave off your courtship any time you like,” Dancingmist said viciously.
“As if I’d leave him to you,” Willowsong retorted.
“Bah,” Snowtiger laughed. “He prefers me over either of you.”
“Don’t come over so high and mighty, Snowtiger. We all know what you’re willing to stoop to if it would gain the prince’s hand in marriage.”
“Can I help being irresistible?” Snowtiger didn’t appear embarrassed.
The conversation faded mercifully, and Daystar turned his full attention to the softly glowing transmitting floor. He had always loved the feeling of the generators, the hum of power that came from the dragon’s magic. A pity they caused so much trouble.
A floor director in simple gray clothes dropped to his knees before Daystar as he descended from the last step, and the prince quickly gestured for him to rise. Respect was one thing, but he didn’t want it to waste time.
“Have the efforts at conservation been successful?” Daystar asked.
“Yes, Prince Daystar.”
They moved between the generators, passing more transmissions operators in gray who monitored the power output.
“Another cube has been emptied, but we have contacted the Freetransmitters Guild and asked them to experiment with more efficient means of transmission.”
“I assume they want something for it.”
“More energy, Prince Daystar.”
Daystar nodded. “For experiments, they say?”
“Yes. Prince Daystar?” the man faltered in his intended question and seemed to lose his courage, staring down at his feet.
“Speak on.”
“Well, the Freetransmitters don’t like us,” the floor director admitted, still avoiding Daystar’s eyes. “Call us the Slavetransmitters and say we’re under-qualified. Not that we’re ashamed to serve the Crown,” he added quickly, “but nobody likes dealing with them. Is…has there…” the man swallowed and looked up at Daystar. “Has anyone been able to talk to the dragons?”
Daystar hesitated. The growing death toll caused by failed diplomatic missions was a guarded secret, but it would be impossible for people not to notice that the king’s emissaries were leaving for the Cinderstrand and never coming back. Until someone found out how their pact with the dragons had been broken, they could not restore it, and all hope of renewing their magical energy would be dashed.
“King Felstar is doing all he can,” Daystar hedged, hoping to be reassuring. These people deserved to know something. “If there is a way to restore the pact, we will find it. And I’ll send a liaison to deal with the Freetransmitters Guild. They aren’t blind to the need for efficient transmission.”
The room around them dimmed, and Daystar looked up to see that they had reached the edge of the active cubes. Beyond them, empty cubes stretched into darkness, long since drained of their energy. Long ago, Upper Vale and the dragons of the Cinderstrand had made a pact: Peace between their people, and energy from the dragons. Every hundred years, these cubes were filled with burning dragon power that lit the kingdom from one end to the other. But these cubes were long since overdue for a refill, and Upper Vale no longer remembered their terms of the pact, nor would the dragons tell them.
“The men are asking, Prince Daystar. What do we do when they run out?”
“You told me the conservation efforts are succeeding?” He turned to the man, hoping to reassure him, as well as the other transmissions operators who were listening to them.
“Yes.”
“Then you have given us the time we need to find a solution before such a thing happens.”
The man bowed in acknowledgment, his posture seeming to ease.
“Have you encountered any difficulties, Floordirector? Situations I should know about?”
The director brightened at being addressed by his little-used highname. “The barons.”
Both men spared a glance towards the distant balcony, where two more young women had joined the first three. “They’re trying to bribe my men, or sneak in with their own freetransmitters and rewire to give themselves more energy without being noticed. We need more guards.”
Daystar drew his writersplate from an inside pocket and pressed a small button on the edge of it, waiting for the sheet of glass and silver to energize. Magic crackled down the surface, and he noted the floor director’s request, drawing lightly with a pointed stick of ivory. The magic captured the writing immediately, rolling the text around itself as he wrote and stowing it in the bottom corner to be accessed later.
The barons already desperate for energy, and not even on full rationing yet. “Have they succeeded at all?”
The floor director shook his head. “No. My boys know the wiring too well, and none of them would take the money. But it’s a nuisance, having to rewire again, and the freetransmitters they bring in don’t know how to cut the power flow before they transfer cables and just leave it leaking everywhere.”
“How much have you lost?”
“That’s the thing, Prince Daystar. No way to tell. We can’t measure magic in the cube.”
“You’ll have the guards,” Daystar assured him.
“Thank you.”
They strolled back through the functioning cubes. Daystar took his time, greeting the operators and their apprentices, offering words of encouragement. It was important that all these servants know their rulers appreciated their service. Their loyalty would be invaluable in the turbulent years to come, especially if no agreement could be reached with the dragons.
Daystar looked up at the women on the balcony, who alternated between snapping at each other and leaning on the railing in the most becoming ways they could manage. The Crown controlled the generators, each barony given a carefully regulated stipend of energy each month. Those who were favored by the king often received more; Daystar’s father, King Felstar, preferred to keep his barons constantly competing against each other for his approval to prevent too close of an alliance between them. And what better favor could a baron provide than an appropriate wife for the kingdom’s only heir? All fourteen had sent their most beautiful heiresses to compete for Daystar’s favor, clearly hoping to beguile him with swift infatuation.
“Prince Daystar.” Dawncaster swept a low curtsy as he reached the top of the stairs, dark hair falling loosely around her face. She moved effortlessly past her rivals and they gave way with dark looks.
“Lady Dawncaster.”
“I’m surprised these vixens haven’t scared you off with their yapping.” Dawncaster laughed lightly at the angry looks sent her way.
“Not for lack of trying,” Daystar admitted, hoping the insult would gain him some peace for a few hours.
“Come, gentleladies,” Dawncaster smiled. “The prince is never going to decide who he prefers if he doesn’t have the chance to admire us properly from a distance. Men prefer to want whatever they can’t have; we must be mysterious and unattainable for the moment if any one of us is going to make any progress.”
“You’re not getting rid of us so easily,” Dancingmist retorted.
“Getting rid of you? Of course not!” Dawncaster winked at Daystar, and he couldn’t suppress a smile. “I intend to be mysteriously unattainable myself. Come. We can snap at each other far more comfortably in my chambers over a game of cards.”
The four girls trailed grumpily behind her as she swept back up the stairs from the overlook, turning to blow Daystar a kiss over her shoulder. Dawncaster overshadowed her rivals in intelligence and genteel, and Daystar could not help but respect her. If she held to her usual pattern, Dawncaster would keep the other girls occupied for the rest of the day before seeking him out at dinner that evening to beguile him with her charming wit, an event which he reluctantly admitted he looked forward to. While she might present herself to her best advantage and flirt blatantly, Dawncaster didn’t parrot his interests and even opted to disagree. Unlike the other ladies, who played against each other, Dawncaster played for him. Politics permitting, Daystar sometimes thought he might let her win.