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was a sign of some sort of flaw in the King’s power.
    They had arrived in a city of tents and pavilions whose streets and landmarks were constantly changing. They passed through a series of shelters made of rags and sticks put up by poor camp followers, who included women and little children, and then through a whole market of booths for peddlers and money changers, burning torches and braziers flaring dangerously in the early evening. Temporary smithies… kitchens… painted wagons and herds ofhorses… everything enchanted Linnet as they rode into Tent City. The gypsies of Hoad, those mysterious Travelers (mostly called Orts in Diamond because they were the leftover scraps of a people who had lived in Hoad before the King’s people took command of the land) stood braiding ribbons into the manes of the horses they had already sold. They looked up as the newcomers rode by but did not smile. The wind, lifting strands of rusty hair from Linnet’s forehead, smelt of freshly bruised grass, but under this innocent smell there was a taint that made her wrinkle her nose a little, an edge of decay that came and went, so that, sometimes, she thought she must be imagining it.
    Linnet had believed she would stay with her father and mother and attend all the King’s parties, so she was furious when, after a few hurried hugs, kisses, and promises, she and Lila were led in another direction. Yet her disappointment was blotted out almost at once, for there were so many new and amazing things to be seen on the crowded, muddy tracks running between the tents. In spite of weariness Linnet wanted to laugh aloud, not because things were funny but because they were so surprising.
Tomorrow
, she thought still later, as she tumbled to sleep,
tomorrow I’ll be part of it all. Tomorrow will be nothing but excitement and surprises.
    But next morning she found she was expected to study just as if she were at home, not with Luce, who was beyond study, but with the third Prince, the mad one. He was a whole two months younger than her, and though nobody was supposed to say so openly, everyone knew there was something wrong with him.
    Carrying her quills and book, Linnet stumped crossly after Lila to a pavilion on the edge of the city of tents. Inside, with a small, folding frame set up in front of him to serve as a desk, sat Dysart, Prince of Hoad.
    He had rough, wavy, mouse-colored hair that stood on end like a puppet’s wig, a big nose, and a wide smile. His right eye was a light clear blue, while his left was hazel, so it was as if two different people were looking out of the same head. As she came into the tent, he caught her expression and burst into wild laughter. Later she was to think someone had stolen part of Dysart’s life, and he filled the empty space by laughing, and that she had been able to tell this from the first moment she ever saw him.
    His laughter died away as she stalked by him without another glance.
    “You’ve brought only one book,” he said curiously.
    “It’s all I need,” Linnet replied, noticing with alarm, however, that he had a whole pile of books beside him, some of them wrapped in silk and velvet, as if they were treasures. Suddenly she didn’t want the mad Prince to know her book was her only book, and though he continued to stare at her with undisguised interest, she refused to look back at him.
    “People say you’re fierce—they say you were born with teeth like needles,” he said inquisitively. “Go on, show me. Smile!”
    “And people say you’re a fool,” Linnet retorted. Then she was ashamed, partly because her words made her seem rough when she wanted to be graceful, and partly because she sounded unkind. But he answered in an unexpectedlypatient voice, as if he were correcting a mistake he’d corrected many times before.
    “Not a fool. Get it right: I’m mad,” he said. “There’s a difference between a foolish Prince and a mad one.” Then he laughed again.
    The wall of the tent