Dance of Destinies (The Galactic Mage Series Book 5) by John Daulton

winked at her, and he had the look of mischief on his face, though it passed very quickly. Pernie thought he looked kind of scared. She wondered what could make a man like that look that way. She wondered if that was why he was wearing the bulky Earth suit he had on. It seemed like only bad things happened to people when they were wearing one of those.
    “So what is it that you require of me this time, friend Seawind?” asked the Queen. “I’ve given you my subject to be trained as bodyguard to your High Seat. Has Miss Grayborn proven inadequate? I can give you any other subject as you and the treaty require. Simply say the word, and they will serve.”
    “She is quite adequate, friend Karroll,” Seawind said. Pernie thought she saw the War Queen flinch at that, as if she’d been bitten by an ant somewhere deep in her armored pants. But it passed quickly. “The time of Tidalwrath is near. The prophecy requires that we send this child to the new world for a time.”
    The Queen looked startled by that. It was only a flash of it, but Pernie saw it. She’d felt exactly the way Her Majesty had just looked many times, especially whenever Kettle caught her sneaking cakes, or when Nipper caught her trying to get one of the big crossbows out of the Calico Castle armory again. There’d been so many times where Pernie had worn such an expression over the brief course of her ten and a half years that recognizing it on someone else’s face was like looking in a mirror.
    It was gone as quickly as it appeared, however, and the royal countenance was once again as placid as the surface of a mountain pond. “And which new world would that be, friend Seawind?”
    “Earth,” he announced.
    The placid pond became more so.
    “Why, of course,” she said, her tone light and, to Pernie’s ear, relieved. “And your timing is excellent. We were just this morning talking about that very thing.” She pointed with her golden scepter into the crowd. “You, there, what’s your name again? Come hither.”
    A man in his middle years came forward. He was tall, well dressed. His hair was black with wisps of white at the temples, brushed back over his head and shiny just like his boots. Pernie thought he was very handsome, although not as handsome as Master Altin.
    The man bowed and answered as asked. “Ivan Gangue, Your Majesty. Third seat on the Transportation Guild Service council.”
    “Yes, that’s right. Ivan Gangue.” She looked back to Seawind. “Councilman Gangue here came this morning with a petition for a thousand … what do you call them again?” She looked impatient as she waited for Gangue to answer her.
    “ Visas , Your Majesty. The Northern Trade Alliance refers to them as visas.”
    “Yes, of course, visas. The TGS feels that the NTA has been too stingy for too long, and my people have finally got that skittish planet full of blanks to get over their fear of magicians long enough to allow a few Prosperions access to their world. Frankly, it’s about time, as the whole thing is entirely insulting. So, friend Seawind, as I said: your timing could not be better.” She paused and looked to Pernie for a moment, then back at the elf. “Might I inquire as to why she must go?”
    “Yes, friend Karroll, you may inquire.” Seawind put on a smile, but everyone in attendance could tell he did so as a formality.
    Her Majesty regarded him for a time, expectant, and when nothing followed, she prompted first with a raising of her eyebrows, then a few moments after with a circular on-with-it-then movement of her scepter. Neither of those worked, however, so she had to say it aloud. “And the reason would be …?”
    “Because it suits the prophecy.”
    “Oh, dear Mercy, friend Seawind, of course it does. It always suits the prophecy. If not this one, then some other. But what I’m after is the reason for why it suits the prophecy.” She propped up a smile much as he had done.
    “I cannot say, friend Karroll.”
    “ Cannot