Rohan could not have chosen a worse time for it if he’d tried. With family, servants, and vassals watching every move he made, he could not have snuck a mouse into his chambers, let alone a girl. Having worked himself around to the point where he almost didn’t care if everyone lined up in the Hall to observe his choice of a bedmate, he ran into an unexpected difficulty. Not a single female in Stronghold—with one obvious exception— appealed to him.
The pretty ones were too young, married, or betrothed, and therefore unapproachable. He was, after all, an honorable man. Besides, the picture of himself as infamous seducer was ludicrous. After rejecting the pretty ones, he tried to interest himself in the plain. At this juncture his pride rebelled. Why should a prince of his wealth and importance have to settle for some long-nosed, pillow-hipped girl who reeked of onions? Working up enthusiasm for the task would have been impossible. So back to the pretty ones his gaze went, and they lost any charms they might otherwise have held for him when he contrasted them with Sioned.
Unsurprisingly in a man so young, he directed his anger at her. His masculine pride had taken a severe blow and his sense of humor was incapable of restoring his balance. Rohan cursed his position and his character for landing him in this mess. Production of royal bastards was never a good idea, and he had long ago decided he would never complicate the succession by siring any. Fastidious as well, he had never distributed his favors among the girls at Stronghold, much to their chagrin. To do so now, when everyone knew he would be choosing a wife at the Rialla, would be a revolution of character that would make him ridiculous. So, compelled to anticipate a marriage bed where his lack of practical experience would be only too evident to a woman of Sioned’s undoubted accomplishments, his temper grew increasingly foul.
It did not improve on the late summer afternoon when, moodily staring down at a stack of parchments waiting for his immediate attention, he sensed a strangeness in the air and knew, without knowing how he knew, that the she-dragons had taken flight. He leaned out the window of his private study—Sioned and Urival were still in possession of the library, and he avoided her like poison— and saw the dark shapes rising in the sky. His heart soared with them, air filling his lungs as if he could call out to them and be heard. But in the next instant he remembered what their flight meant.
The vassals were jubilant that night in the Hall. Rohan watched them from the high table, drinking too much wine and pushing his food around on his plate. This would be the last Hatching Hunt, he vowed. What good was being a prince if one couldn’t issue an arbitrary order now and then? He listened to his vassals betting on who would kill the most hatchling dragons, and felt physically ill. Couldn’t they understand that something as beautiful as a dragon should be allowed to fly free as the Goddess had obviously intended?
The next day dawned cool and splendid, Rohan greeted it with a frown and reluctantly took his position at the head of the hunting party. He could feel stares like thin knives pricking into his back. His vassals were uneasy about riirn, and his obvious disapproval of their sport made them even more uncomfortable. That he had worked hard to gain their doubts was no comfort; that he had been trapped by tradition into this triennial slaughter infuriated him. The fierce blue of the sky and the dazzling sunlit sand was an insult to his black mood, and he further disgusted himself when he realized his feelings were being communicated to his horse. The stallion shifted restlessly between his thighs, and it took all Rohan’s skill to keep the horse calmed down.
Jahni and Maarken had the honor of riding between their father and their prince at the head of the hunt. The two boys chattered constantly with the excitement of the grown-up game, bouncing in their saddles and driving their ponies to distraction. Jahni pestered Rohan about how many talons and teeth they might collect from the sand, and Maarken complained for the hundredth time that morning about his father’s edict prohibiting them from entering the canyon with the rest of the hunt. Chay bore his sons’ entreaties with the patience of long practice until they spoke just once too often.
“If you won’t listen to your father, then take heed of your prince,” he snapped. “Don’t you remember what he told you last evening?”
Correctly assuming he was being called on to repeat his warning, Rohan said, “I don’t need to remind you, do I, how dangerous this will be? If you two don’t mind your horses and hold your tongues, I might begin to regret allowing you to come along at all.”
This unexpected sternness from the indulgent uncle they adored silenced both boys for the better part of a measure. At last Maarken slanted a look at Rohan and muttered, “You were much more fun before.”
Life had been much more fun before, Rohan told himself sourly. He had thought himself fully aware of the problems he would face as a ruling prince. But there were so many others for which he was unprepared and inexperienced—that damned word again, he thought in disgust, and turned in his saddle as one of the vassals called out the sighting of a she-dragon in the sky. Rohan did not look up with the others, though, for his gaze abruptly found Sioned. He felt the muscles of his jaw tighten and faced forward again. But the image of her straight-backed form in brown riding clothes, the coil of bright hair at her nape, and the delicate lines of her cheeks and brow stayed with him as if burned into his eyes. She would expect him to arrange some time alone for them, and all he could think about was avoiding her.
The hunt paused to watch the greenish bronze dragon float lazily on thermals, wings spread to reveal shining black undersides. Chay squinted into the glare and mur- mured, “Oh, but she’s a beauty, isn’t she? I don’t think I’ve seen that color more than two or three times before.”
“Will she attack us?” Jahni asked, both fearing and eager for a fight.
“No, she’s not interested in us,” Rohan replied. The dragon beat powerful wings, changing direction. “There, you see? She’s heading for the Veresch. Come on, let’s get moving again. I want to reach Rivenrock by noon.”
But just what he would do when he got there, he had no idea. He only knew he would not kill another dragon. It was obscene, this murder of hatchlings as they emerged into the sunlight for the first time, wings barely dry as they staggered about on unsteady legs. He glanced at Chay over the boys’ heads. Neither did his brother-by-marriage have much liking for this unequal contest. But Chay had no doubts about the necessity of eradicating the dragons, either. Rohan asked himself yet again why he wanted so much to protect these creatures that ravaged lands and herds. He could never come up with a better answer than that they were beautiful and free, and a part of the Desert. But what better answer was there? he argued with himself. Something within him cried out against their destruction. The vassals would find excellent sport today and brag about the hunt for the next three years. Rohan could do nothing but watch in bitter silence and refuse to join in.
At the mouth of the canyon, beneath its rocky spire, the hunt paused. Skins of water and wine were broached and food was brought from saddlebags, guards demoted willy-nilly to squires as they served luncheon. Rohan ate nothing. The holiday atmosphere nauseated him. As the company refreshed itself, Maeta and two other riders ventured into the canyon and returned to make their report to Rohan.
“The she-dragons are indeed gone, my lord,” Maeta told him. “Three cave walls have been battered down and the hatchlings are flown, but there are twelve more by my count that are in various stages of being demolished.” She glanced at the vassals who had crowded close to hear the news. “Good sport to you, my lords.”
Rohan’s face set in stone and he gestured wordlessly for Maeta to help Chay organize the hunt. He would witness this if he must, but he was damned if he’d participate in it.
The hunters rode into the canyon laughing, shouting jests and challenges back and forth. Soon they abandoned their mounts to take the slippery, narrow paths on foot, and Maeta waited with her detachment of guards in the bright sun, holding the horses. None of the hunters was so foolish as to break down the remaining layers of wall in any of the caves, for beyond was an unknown number of hatching dragons. Though small and unsteady on their feet, they could nevertheless exhale a searing fire. The flames dried and toughened their wings—and could crisp human skin right through leather clothes. The trick was to wait until the dragons had torn down most of the wall themselves and then, when they staggered out into the dazzling sunlight, kill them.
Rohan shut his eyes. Goddess, what do I allow here? They attack our herds, so we kill them. But what about wolves, birds of prey, the monsters in the sea? Aren’t dragons part of our world, too? How do I justify this? How do I stop it?
“It seems we’re alone, my lord,” said a soft voice at his side.
He flinched. His stallion reacted to the movement and danced delicately over the rocky soil. He reined in and patted the horse’s neck soothingly.
“Rohan, what’s the matter?” Sioned went on.
“I hate this,” he whispered, staring at the canyon walls so he would not be tempted to look at her. “I’ve always hated this. But I can’t stop it.”
“If you were any other man I’ll tell you that as their prince, you could order them as you like.”
“But I’m-too much of a coward to use my power, is that it?”
“No. I wasn’t going to say that, and you know it. Rohan, look at me, please.”
He did so because he could not help doing so. There was nothing but tender concern in her eyes. She loved him; he felt the emotion reaching out to wrap him in strength and light like a Sunrunner’s weaving.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“The day.” He dug his heels into his horse’s sides and cantered into Rivenrock, unable to bear the look in Sioned’s eyes. He heard another horse following and reined in. But it was Andrade, not Sioned, who rode to his side.
“What have you been telling Sioned?” she demanded.
“Leave me alone.”
“Stop behaving like a child. I know how much you hate what’s happening here today, but directing your anger at her won’t cure anything. Being a prince isn’t all it’s rumored to be, is it?”
“No.” He could stop the hunt with a single command. No one would disobey him. He was their prince. The knowledge that he could order anything he pleased frightened him for no good reason he could think of. “What right do I have?” he burst out suddenly. “Why give me all this power, instead of someone else? What makes me so special? Don’t tell me it was an accident of birth. It was no accident and we both know it.”
“I’ve wondered how much you knew about that,” she responded calmly. “It wasn’t entirely my doing. Oh, I might have pushed Milar toward Zehava, but neither of them needed much pushing.”
The first high-pitched screams came from the hatch-lings as they emerged from the caves and died. There was the smell of blood on the warming breeze.
“My father had a man in mind for me,” Andrade went on. “I refused. So it was up to Milar. She had the spark, but never used it. She passed it to Tobin, and I suspect you’ll pass it to your children, strengthened through Sioned. If you’re looking for a grander design, Rohan, there isn’t one. My father and I wanted the same thing: to see our family powerful.”
There was more, and he knew it, but something else was of deeper concern to him right now. “At least you sent my father a maiden, not a faradhi whore,” he said bitterly.
Andrade sucked in a breath. “You young fool,” she breathed. “If that’s how you view Sioned, then I wish you much joy of your life with her. She’s in your blood now, Rohan. You’ve made Fire between you, and whether you warm yourself at it or let it sear your soul is up to you.”
He kicked his horse forward again, and she did not follow. The morning wore on and the slaughter continued. Sometimes a small frantic shape would take wing through the canyon, and he rejoiced that at least a few dragons would fly free. There were long periods of near silence as the hunters waited for the dragons to break down the walls, but as more caves opened the air grew thick with screams and- death. One of Rohan’s elderly vassals, Abidias of Tuath Castle, climbed down to his horse, the heat too much for him. From his saddle was hung a limp-winged corpse the size of a four-year-old child.
“Here’s one who won’t be gobbling down my sheep!” He patted the little body almost fondly. It was a reddish dragon with black underwings. “I’ll cure his hide for my favorite chair, and string his claws and teeth from my war standard.”
An agony of hate throbbed in Rohan’s skull, hate for this spectacle and for himself in being ultimately responsible for it. He felt every death cry like a sword in his heart. He could do nothing.
“Rohan!”
He swung around, furious as he recognized Sioned’s voice. How long had she been watching him—and how dared she intrude? But the terror on her face swept away his anger. She pointed at the canyon wall, where far above them was a small cave, the ledge narrower than most. Shadows dripped from overhanging rocks so he could not see whether there were dragon-made walls, but he saw very clearly two small figures clinging to the ledge. Jahni and Maarken hauled themselves up and stood looking down into Rivenrock.
Rohan yelled to the boys as he jumped down from his stallion, but dragon screams and human shouts echoed too loudly through the canyon for him to be heard. He started climbing, scrabbling for footing in the loose stones, and heard Sioned follow. His gaze on the cavern ledge, he gasped aioud as a flash of light came from the
DRAGON PRINCE 161 shadows. Sioned’s harsh breathing sounded behind him, in time with his own. As they scrambled upward, the boys cried out in fright. He shouted an order for them to find shelter, but the ledge was neither deep nor wide, without large rocks for them to hide behind. If anything happened to the twins, Tobin would murder him—and he would want her to.
Rohan struggled to the ledge on all fours. Heaving himself up, he saw Jahni huddled against the face of the cliff, trembling head to foot, as far away from the cave’s mouth as it was possible to get without falling into the gorge. Maarken was frozen on the stony shelf, staring at a hatchling dragon as small and terrified as he. Rohan knew he would never be able to draw his sword in time to kill the hatchling. The little creature’s eyes had kindled and his lungs expanded in a deep inhalation, teeth gleaming like fine white needles as his jaws opened for a burst of flame that would mean Maarken’s death.
“Maarken!” Sioned screamed from behind Rohan. “Get down!” In the next instant a thin, broad sheet of Sun-runner’s Fire flared up from the rocks to hover between the dragon and the boy, touching neither.
The hatchling reared back, a squeal of alarm leaving his throat along with a blast of fire directed up at the sky. Rohan found purchase on the ledge and hauled himself upright. Ignoring the uncertain footing, he sidestepped Sioned’s Fire, drew his sword, and slapped the dragon on the backside with the flat of the blade. The hatchling howled with the bruising pain, flapped his wings, and jumped to one side. Too frightened to defend himself against the sword-wielding prince, the dragon scrambled around the flames, beat his small wings with desperate strength, and flew.
The Fire vanished, and Rohan glanced over his shoulder to find Sioned clambering up onto the ledge, shaking with relief. Maarken was trembling, too, as Rohan scooped him up into a fierce hug.
“Are you all right? Not burned anywhere? Maarken, talk to me!”
The child shook until Rohan thought his slight bones would shatter. His arms went around Rohan’s neck and he stammered out, “I’m all r-right—“
From the corner of his eye he saw Sioned rocking the terrified Jahni in her arms. Holding Maarken tighter, he said, “You scared me half to death! Do you know you could have been killed?”
“We only wanted to s-see the dragons! I’m sorry!” Maarken sniffled. “Mother’s going to be mad at us.”
“And then some.”
“Did you kill the dragon?”
“No. He flew off.”
“Good. I’m glad.” The boy drew away and knuckled his eyes. “He was just a baby. He didn’t know we didn’t want to hurt him.”
Rohan nodded. “Are your legs working now?” He set Maarken down. “We’d better get out of here before your dragon’s brothers and sisters come to find out what all the fuss is about.” He glanced over at Sioned and Jahni. “Everything all right?”
“Fine,” she replied, setting the boy on his feet. He clung to her wrist with both hands, but his tears had dried. “A bump or two, I think. But it could have been much worse, couldn’t it? I hope this teaches you both not to disobey your prince.” She arched a brow at each child in turn, and Rohan hid a smile as they looked away, shamefaced.
“Lesson learned, I think,” Rohan said. “Come on, let’s go back down.”
They slid down the loose rocks much faster than they’d climbed up, and by the time they reached bottom Chaynal was there to meet them. He grabbed one son in each arm, hugged the breath out of them, told them they were ungovernable little terrors who ought to be horsewhipped— then clasped them to his chest again, eyes closed, lips moving in a soundless prayer of thanks.
Rohan watched for a moment, then glanced around for Sioned. She had started back up the path and he ran to catch up with her. “What are you doing?”
“You dropped your sword. I was going back up to get it for you.”
He put a hand to his empty scabbard. “I’ll be damned.
I didn’t even notice. But I’ll go, Sioned. You’re not numbered among my servants,” he added, a tiny smile touching his mouth.
Her eyes regained their sparkle. “You promised me some time alone with you—but I didn’t know it would take so much effort!”
Rohan chuckled. “All right, but let me go first. There may be a hatchling or two left up there.”
He led the way, muscles protesting this second slippery climb, and when they reached the ledge he poked his head cautiously over, watching for telltale signs of dragons. There were none. He pulled himself up and turned to help Sioned. But she was already beside him, brushing dirt from her hands as she looked around.
“It’s a miracle none of us fell off,” she commented, shaking her head. “Do you want some light?”
Without waiting for his answer, she conjured a small flame just inside the mouth of the cave. Rohan smiled, knowing she had guessed his real motive in wanting to come back up here. Maybe she even shared the desire to investigate. He peered into the dimness, but other than shell shards, there was no further evidence of dragons.
“Was there only the one?” she asked. “What about all these other eggs?”
“Come inside and I’ll show you.” The little flame lit their way inside, and soon they were standing in the center of the cave. Walls rose in ragged curves to meet high overhead. “There must’ve been about twelve eggs. But only one of this group was strong enough to survive.”
“But—oh!” She swallowed hard as the light picked out several withered wings and blots of dried blood. “You mean the one we saw lived because he—“
“Exactly. It’s unusual for only one of a clutch to survive, but I suppose this one was pretty ruthless.” He shrugged and poked at a shard with the toe of his boot. “They’re not so different from us, you know,” he mused. “We just wait until we’re grown to kill each other off. And it might be said that we consume each other, too, if you think about it.”
“I’d rather not, thank you. Will we need more light?”
“Please.”
The flame brightened and now they could see the jagged stones of the walls and the high ceiling, a cave large enough for a she-dragon and her mate. Rohan ran his fingers over the stone. “A river flowed through here once, ages ago. It carved out the soft stone. But the dragons hollowed out a lot of it, too. See where they’ve been at work with their claws?” He pointed out the marks that had deepened the cave. “They use the debris to make the hatching walls.”
“And then the little ones break them down. Those that hatch first do the bulk of the work and exhaust themselves, so they’re fairly easy prey for the later ones.”
“Very good. We’ll make a Desert dragon out of you yet.” He crouched down in the sand, scooping up a handful to sift through his fingers. It glistened in the light of Sunrunner’s Fire.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Sioned murmured.
“Give me your waterskin,” he said abruptly. She did so, and he pulled the cork out with his teeth. Pouring the contents over his hand, he rubbed the fine sand with his fingers. Shining grains remained in his palm. With a soft exclamation, he emptied his waterskin and poured sand into its narrow neck.
“What are you doing?” Sioned asked, mystified.
“It’s not obvious?”
“Rohan, more sand is the very last thing you need!”
“Look at it, Sioned. And at the shells.”
With a lift of her finger she conjured the Fire higher. By its light the whole cave sparkled. She picked up a stray shard and examined it. “It’s ragged where the dragon poked through it with his claws,” she said slowly. “But on this side it’s smoother, almost as if it had been—melted?”
“To dry and toughen their wings after they’re born, they breathe fire. They also breathe it at each other. Roast dragon meat is their first dinner.”
She gulped. “Go on.”
“They lose the capability by winter. But look what happens when they breathe fire on their own shells.” He plugged the waterskin and stirred the shining sand with his fingers.
“Rohan,” she whispered. “This can’t be real gold.”
He hefted the waterskin full of sand. “I’ll take this home and do a few experiments, find out for sure. But do you know what it means if I’m right?”
“You can’t let the dragons be killed off—and you certainly can’t tell anyone else about this! Every other prince would be marching across your borders within days!”
“Do I look that stupid?” He rose to his feet, grinning.
Sioned laughed. “You look like someone who’s just found his heart’s desire. I had no idea you were so greedy!”
“Oh, but I am!” Light-headed with his discovery and its possibilities, he laughed back. “And I found my heart’s desire at the beginning of summer, as filthy and sweaty as she is right now.”
“The things you’ll say to seduce me,” she chided playfully.
All the effervescent excitement died. “And you know all about seductions, don’t you? Who was it for you, Sioned?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Who was it?” he demanded. “The man who taught you—“
“I don’t know. I never wanted to know. What difference does it make?”
“What did he do, wear a robe and a mask to bed? Never say a word so you wouldn’t recognize his voice? Did you expect me to welcome the idea that you’ve been with other men?”
Her green eyes lit with fury and her conjured Fire leaped in response. “Do you expect me to be ashamed? It’s something that happened and doesn’t have anything to do with us!”
“How many, Sioned?”
She gasped. “How dare you! You have no right to ask me that, as if every man at Goddess Keep had been through my bed! I never asked you about your women, did I?”
He was so startled he almost forgot to be angry. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you think I’ve wondered ‘how many’ of the women at Stronghold have been in your bed?” she spat. “Neither your hands nor your mouth are exactly virginal! It was one night, part of my training as a Sunrunner that happened before I’d ever seen you in the Fire!”” She took a step closer, glaring at him. “Did you think I’d try to father another man’s child on you? Is that the real reason you’re waiting so long before marrying me? How dare you ask ‘how many?’ How many has it been for you? But I promise you now, my lord prince—there’ll be na other women once you become mine! I may have no right to question you about the past—but your future is mine.”
She stalked out of the cave and the Fire vanished with her, leaving Rohan alone and speechless in the dark. He stayed there for some minutes, his adult brain telling him he’d made a fool of himself. But something wiser chuckled softly with satisfaction. The inner laughter continued as he picked his way carefully out into the sunlight. He found his sword, the thing he’d ostensibly come for, and sheathed it before pausing at the ledge to watch Sioned’s swift descent. A little of the laughter escaped. His smile did not fade all during the long ride back to Stronghold.
Sioned flung herself across the blue-green bedcover, having just slammed her door in Camigwen’s startled face. She had no desire to attempt an explanation of her refusal to attend the evening’s banquet, nor to hear reasons why she should change her mind. Punching an inoffensive pillow into lumps, she spent a great deal of creative energy cursing men in general and Rohan in particular. Stupid, arrogant, thick-skulled, jealous, possessive—
A knock on the door interrupted the muttered invectives. “Go away!” she shouted, and punched the pillows again.
The door opened and a soft voice that was not Cami’s said, “Perhaps I can help, my dear.”
Sioned leaped to her feet, crimson as she made her bow to Princess Milar. She had spoken only once to Rohan’s mother, formal words in company with the other recently arrived faradh’im, and there could be no reason for this visit that Sioned could think of—unless Andrade had been talking. She gulped as the princess smiled and seated herself in a chair.
“I’m glad we’re going to have this little talk,” the princess said with a disarming smile. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment, but we’ve all been so busy.” She gestured to the other chair. “Please. Unless you’d prefer I came back another time.”
Sioned sat down, unable to say a word.
“Now we can be comfortable while we discuss things. I was about your age when I came here to marry Rohan’s father, you know. What a difficult man he was! Nearly as bad as his son, if you want the truth. It’s a strange place, the Desert, and its rulers take as much adjusting to as its climate. When I arrived here, Stronghold was in a terrible state, without a comfort to be had. Can you imagine, the only table in the Great Hall was Zehava’s and everyone else had to stand while they ate! But I changed all that, and I changed Zehava, as well.”
She went on in this vein for some time while Sioned wondered wildly what she was leading up to. But during the princess’ seemingly aimless chatter, the tension gradually seeped from her. Milar was as crafty as Andrade in her own way. Sioned smiled.
The princess noticed at once and interrupted herself in the middle of a sentence about the gardens. “That’s better. You see, you needn’t be frightened of anything here, especially not of me. Certainly not of tonight’s banquet.”
“I’m not frightened, your highness,” Sioned told her. “Only a fool.”
“That makes you a perfect match for my son,” Milar said dryly. “But we’re all a little foolish at times, aren’t we? My sister seems to think I’ve made a career of it. You mustn’t worry about any little misunderstandings between you and Rohan. I had plenty with his father! Oh, the names we used to call each other! You really must appear tonight, you know. We want to thank you in public for saving Jahni and Maarken. Don’t worry about what to wear, I’ve taken care of that. You’ll come and enjoy yourself, won’t you? Please say you will!”
The blue eyes were so artlessly appealing that it was impossible to refuse. If Rohan ever looked at her this way, she’d be helpless. And she told herself with a twinge of annoyance that she already was, like it or not. At the moment she liked it not at all. She nodded slowly, and Princess Milar clapped her hands together in delight.
“Oh, splendid! I’ll send the dress to you at once, and one of my maids will do your hair. I think you’ll approve of the gown,” she finished with a happy smile, rising with a rustle of gray skirts and a wash of rose scent. “I’m positive my son will!”
“Your highness, it’s very kind of you to go to so much trouble for me, but I think I should tell you something about myself and your son and—“
“Oh, my dear!” Princess Milar laughed. “There isn’t anything important you can tell me that I don’t already know! And it’s no trouble at all to arrange suitable clothes for you. When you return from Waes, I’ll have filled a whole wardrobe. Women in our position have certain obligations, you know. Your friend Camigwen understands them quite well. I do like her very much, Sioned. But as I was saying about obligations—I hope you won’t find them too tedious. There are compensations, even when our men are being difficult.”
Sioned watched the door close behind the princess, dazedly wondering if there was anyone left at Stronghold who did not believe Rohan would marry her. Was the “secret” such common knowledge that they would never be able to pull off his plan?
The maid arrived some time later, bowed low enough to indicate that she considered Sioned a princess already, and said, “Good evening, my lady. I’ll just spread the gown on the bed and we’ll take care of your bath before we start on your hair. Her highness says not to worry if you’re a little late, because it’s the perfect night for making an entrance. If you’re ready, my lady, then we can begin.”
Sioned began to suspect that Andrade—and Camigwen— had a hand in influencing the prevailing attitude here. They probably felt that if everyone behaved as if Sioned was Rohan’s acknowledged bride, he would be pushed into an admission of it in public. She doubted they fully understood his stubbornness.
Sioned herself was of two—perhaps three—minds about the future. She wanted Rohan. She wanted his schemes to succeed, for she knew that their life together in peace might depend on concessions he could gain from the High Prince at the Rialla; the charade was necessary. But she also resented Andrade’s meddling in her fate, and her encounter with Rohan had given her some angry second thoughts about him.
The maid gossiped away, and Sioned learned something interesting: mindless chatter was a very good thing when one wanted to avoid listening to one’s own thoughts.
“Where is he?” Milar pleated her napkin atop her plate and glanced yet again down the length of the Great Hall.
“If I knew, I’d find him and drag him here by his nose,” Andrade snapped. She was tired after the long ride in the heat, and wanted nothing so much as her dinner. But the vassals and guests would touch neither a morsel of food nor a drop of wine until their prince finally decided to grace the high table with his presence. He was not fool enough to be hiding, although from the expression in Sioned’s eyes during the ride back from Rivenrock, hiding would seem the wisest course until her temper cooled. Andrade could make a shrewd guess about the words that had passed between them.
She shifted in her chair, the cushion beneath her doing little to ease the soreness of too many hours in the saddle. The rest of the company was growing nervous, eyeing the main doors. Andrade took mental inventory, matching each vassal to his battle flag draped high above the torches, which were themselves set high enough to give off light but not too much heat in this perpetually warm room. At the end of the Hall huge double doors stood wide open, as did the windows on either side of them and along the outer wall, to admit any breeze that might stray in to cool the diners. But the banners moved only fitfully and the torchflames were steady and smokeless. Andrade licked her dry lips and pushed a lock of hair from her neck, cursing her nephew’s lateness.
All at once her eyes popped as Rohan strode through into the Hall. He walked the long aisle between the tables with the ease and authority of absolute ownership, dressed in black and silver, his golden hair gleaming as if it had been polished. Andrade choked on a giggle completely unsuited to her age and rank. The entrance was pure Zehava, son of the dragon, and she forgave him her discomfort for the amusement of seeing him dazzle everyone in the room.
An open-necked shirt that clung to his body was tucked into snug black trousers. Silver embroidery winked from his throat, wrists, and the tops of his high black boots. Two rings—one topaz, one emerald—shone from his fingers, and a single fat onyx swung near the angle of his jaw from a silver clasp that circled his ear. The effect was perfect—and not intended solely to impress his vassals.
Rohan paused to make his bow to his mother. The two halves of the high table had been pushed apart so that Milar sat on one side of the division and Rohan on the other. He took his seat next to Andrade, and as Walvis came forward to pour his wine the feast began at last. Andrade looked him over and murmured. “Now, what is all this in aid of, I wonder?”
Tobin was frankly staring. “You look wonderful!”
“Thank you,” he said airily. “But Tobin, I’m surprised at you! Your hands aren’t red from spanking your two hellions.”
“Chay did it for me—and they won’t be able to sit down for two days. But where’s Sioned? I want to thank her.”
“Isn’t she here yet?” he asked with a casual glance around the Hall.
“She will be,” Milar said. “Now, don’t embarrass her, Rohan. She’s really rather shy, you know. How handsome you look, darling! I’m glad I haven’t been sewing my eyes blind to no avail.”
“You should’ve had your women do it,” he scolded fondly.
“Don’t be silly. It gave me something to do while Andrade bored me with her stories. Besides, my women are planning how to change the prince’s suite for you when you get back.”
“It sounds as if you’re not coming with us,” Chay said.
“I’ve too much to do here.” She dipped delicate fingers into a bowl of scented water held by her squire. “Rohan will want to bring his bride home to rooms suitable for her. And that reminds me—go upstairs and find her, Jary.”
The squire hurried off. Conversation stopped for a few moments while everyone pretended not to notice Rohan’s blush. Andrade crooked a finger at Walvis. “Set a place at the high table for Lady Sioned, and don’t be subtle about it.”
The boy bowed, his usual wariness of her dissolving into a pert grin. “My lord ordered it earlier, my lady.”
Andrade winked at him. “Very thoughtful. I approve.” She turned to her nephew. “She’ll murder you for it, you know.”
“She should have thought of the official consequences before she saved Jahni and Maarken today.” His eyes lit with wicked anticipation. “It wouldn’t be princely of me not to thank her in public.”
“I still say she’ll murder you.”
“That egg hasn’t hatched yet. But what do you think of my first portrayal of ruling prince?” He picked up his goblet and struck a pose.
She laughed. “Very impressive. I like the jewelry. Don’t ever wear more than that, Rohan. Your hair and eyes do it all. There’s not a woman in this room who’s not drooling over you. But I suspect it’s the woman who’s not here yet whose eye you want to catch.”
“Dearest aunt, that egg hasn’t even been cracked, so don’t anticipate its dragon’s flight.”
Her brows arched. “My, how poetical we’ve become with our phrasing, my lord prince! Practicing for Roelstra —or for Sioned?”
“The former, of course. Better high-flying phrases than what I’d really like to say to him.”
“Spent days thinking them up, have you?”
“Years.” He grimaced, lifted his winecup to his lips, and stopped in mid-motion. Andrade followed the direction of his gaze and in the abrupt hush heard Chay give a low whistle of admiration. There was much to admire as Sioned made her way across the flagstones to the high table.
Quietly attired, without jewels, and with her hair in a simple braid threaded with thin gold ribbons, still she was as regal as a princess dressed in dark green silk just the color of mossberries in shadow. She looked neither to right nor left and her movements were a little rigid as she paced up the center aisle, all eyes on her. Walvis started forward to her rescue, but Rohan put a restraining hand on the boy’s arm. Andrade nodded to herself; Sioned would have to get used to being stared at, for once she was Rohan’s wife she would often be on public display.
The prince got to his feet as the Sunrunner made her bow to him. As she bent her head and her knees, gaze stubbornly directed on the floor, Rohan stepped between the tables and stood at the dais before her.
“A moment, my lady,” he said as she rose, his voice carrying admirably to the far ends of the Hall. The girl’s cheeks were crimson as she glanced up wildly, eyes like a startled bird’s. Rohan continued, “We wish to thank you formally for your courage today on the hunt. For our sister and her lord, for our lady mother and our aunt, but most especially for ourselves we thank you. You have kept safe the two young lords who are our heirs—until we can get one of our own.”
Andrade settled back to enjoy the show, fully approving Rohan’s words and the furious flash in Sioned’s green eyes. Naughty boy, to use the royal “we” to imply their mutual children!
Rohan held out one hand to her. Helplessly, she put her fingers in his, and a moment later was wearing the emerald ring. Andrade nearly choked. He had placed it on her left third finger, the one reserved for a tenth Sunrunner’s ring and which for a faradhi was never circled by any other.
“It is our desire that you wear this as a reminder of the debt we owe you,” he said. Pulling Sioned firmly up beside him on the dais, he gave her over to Walvis’ escort and as the squire took her to her place at the high table, Rohan lifted his winecup. “The Lady Sioned,” he called out.
The assembly roared out her name and drank to her health. Sioned looked like someone whose health was in need of a few toasts. Andrade grinned behind her goblet and mused on what methods the girl would use to make Rohan pay for this.
He waited until the Hall was quiet, then spoke again. “My lords, I’ve listened carefully to your wants and needs for the lands you hold of me. Your desires are many and varied. But I have never negotiated at a Rialla before, and I am reluctant to commit myself to promises I may not be able to keep. Therefore I ask that before I leave for Waes in three days’ time, you choose from among yourselves three to accompany and advise me.”
Andrade stared. Chay would be going to the Rialla as usual, of course, but for lesser lords to accompany their prince was not done. What scheme was the boy hatching now?
“My father Prince Zehava once told me that the promises of a prince die with him. I do not intend that this shall be the case with me. The vows he made to you in former years are unknown to me, but I do know that he concerned himself first and foremost with the wealth and happiness of his lands. If we are to keep the Desert strong and prosperous, we must work together. But it has occurred to me that—“ He paused and took a deep breath, not entirely for effect, Andrade saw with narrowed eyes. “You and your families have served me and mine long and well. Yet with the exception of my lord of Radzyn Keep, who received the grant on his marriage to my sister, none of you truly own the lands and keeps you administer. Upon my return from the Rialla, what I propose is this. In autumn I will travel to each of my holdings, inspect it, allow you to show me its strengths and weaknesses. If all is to satisfaction, I will invest those who show themselves worthy with the privilege Lord Chaynal alone now enjoys.”
Pandemonium.
“I hope you know what you’re doing!” Chay shouted to Rohan over the racket.
“Darling,” Milar said worriedly, “do you think this is wise? Zehava broke all precedent by gifting Chay with Radzyn, and it was for the best, of course, but—“
“You’re out of your mind!” Tobin exclaimed.
But Andrade understood. The vassals would be kept busy readying their keeps for Rohan’s inspection—and when he returned with whatever he decided they deserved from the Rialla negotiations, they would agree to anything in order to have true ownership of their lands. Moreover, Sioned would be accompanying Rohan on this progress, which would afford everyone the chance to get to know her. Lastly—if she read him right, which she believed she did—a war with the Merida was in the offing next spring. People who fought loyally for the prince who ruled them would fight ferociously to protect lands deeded to them by written law in a promise that would not die with this prince.
She touched Rohan’s arm, and he turned to look at her. “Make them pay for it,” she advised.
“With enough to support Stronghold every year from now on,” he agreed.
Andrade nodded her approval. “You give them what they already have, and they pay for the privilege. Very economical, Rohan.”
He sat down and took a long swallow of wine. “Being a prince is thirsty work,” he commented.
As the moons rose, wine flowed in torrents and conversation in the Hall never let up for an instant. Andrade relaxed happily into the tumult, appreciating the quality of the entertainment Rohan had given her. It had been years since she’d been in the midst of doings like these, and if he was capable of a show like this at Stronghold, his performance at the Rialla would be something prodigious. She could hardly wait.
The night was not yet finished with surprises, however. Andrade kept an eye on Sioned, noting that the girl ate and drank almost nothing. Rigidly controlled, she sat with her hands folded in her lap, her lips compressed, her whole demeanor ice in contrast to the fire of her hair. As the dishes were cleared away and steaming pitchers of taze were placed along the tables, Andrade saw that Sioned no longer stared at her hands, but down the long aisle between tables to the main doors. Curious, Andrade glanced that way. Moonlight made hazy rectangles of the tall windows on either side of the entry, cool silvery light competing with the warmer glow of the torches. But Sioned was not watching the light. Her attention was on someone down at the bottom of the Hall. She rose slowly to her feet and glided along the outer aisle next to the window wall behind the diners’ backs. Andrade anticipated her course and stiffened as she saw the object of Sioned’s stare.
The wine steward Andrade had warned Milar about stood in one of the patches of moonlight beside the doors. His pale eyes were glazed over, his face blank, his body frozen in place. She recognized the look of someone being used by a Sunrunner as distant eyes and ears.
Sioned stood now before the second window, her slender body limned in quicksilver shadows. Andrade got to her feet, but knew it was too late to stop the faradhi. Coldly, politically, she knew there was no better time for Sioned to demonstrate her usefulness as Rohan’s princess.
Silence flowed in a slow wave up the Hall as people noticed Sioned. She lifted both hands; the emerald spat fire from her finger and her other rings took on a strange glow. As light gathered between her hands, Andrade shared a gasp with the rest of the Hall. But only she and the other faradh’im knew that this was a skill Sioned should not have had. In the unlit space before the open doors a form coalesced, called up by the Fire Sioned had woven into the moonlight. The image wavered, steadied, became recognizable. Andrade’s fists clenched as she recognized Roelstra. Someone screamed.
“Who are you?” Sioned raged at the wine steward, speaking not to him but to the unknown faradhi who controlled him. “What else have you seen for your master, the High Prince? Tell me what you plot against my lord, or I’ll follow you all the way back to Castle Crag and wrap you in your own shadows!”
The High Prince’s specter moved. His lips formed words unheard, his hands coming up to grip invisible shoulders. The steward’s head lolled back and forth in time to Roelstra’s movements as he shook the distant faradhi.
“Tell me!”
The steward’s face was a mask of terror now. “I swear on my soul—“
“You have none! Were you planning to kill him? Tell me!”
“No! No, I swear to you—“
“Hear me, Roelstra! Tell him my words, traitor! Tell him I’ll see him and his dead if he harms my lord!”
Andrade grabbed Rohan’s arm to prevent him from running to Sioned. He swung on her in a black rage. “No!” she hissed. “Let her be!”
Sioned’s eyes were wild as she proved herself worthy of her rings—and more—by tangling the other faradhi in light, threatening him with limitless shadows. But it had gone on too long; Andrade sensed the strain of the conjure and the moon weave drag at her own perceptions, and knew Sioned had not the strength to continue much longer. With the skills possessed only by a Lady or Lord of Goddess Keep, Andrade quickly gathered strands of light; sorting, separating. It was as if she unraveled a fine silk veil made of a thousand colors, each painted in silver and Fire, then rewove them into the unique pattern that was Sioned. Yet the girl fought her off, her strength still formidable as she struggled to keep the link between herself and the faradhi at Castle Crag. It took almost everything Andrade could call up to bend Sioned to her will.
All at once the steward’s face turned, and even over the distance between them Andrade saw someone else looking out of his eyes. Hopeless, desperate, the man cried out in a voice not his own: “My Lady—forgive me!”
She cringed back from that terrible plea and .tried to find the pattern of colors that would identify the Sunrunner. But the steward’s body arched in a spine-cracking spasm and he slid to the floor even as Roelstra’s ghostly fingers let go of the unseen traitor. Skeins of light tightened around Andrade, then shattered into fragmented colors behind her eyes. She moaned, pressing her aching skull between her hands. A mist of whirling hues concealed Roelstra’s image. Then all was gone.
“Why did you stop me?” Sioned’s voice rang out in furious accusation. Then she swayed, the emerald’s fire dying at last as she sank to the floor in a graceless heap.
As Rohan ran to gather her in his arms, Andrade heard someone calling her own name in frantic tones. “Andrade! Andri, look at me, please!”
Eyes aching, she turned to her sister, aware that despite Milar’s lack of training she had felt the backlash of Sioned’s power. She clung to her twin’s arm. “Mila—get me out of here. I mustn’t show weakness!”
“Urival!” Milar cried out.
Somehow she stayed upright and in control of herself as she left the Hall at Urival’s side. Once beyond the doors, however, she sagged against him. Without ceremony he lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs to her chambers. She was marginally aware of being propped in bed amid soft pillows.
After a long time she opened her eyes. Urival sat beside her, waiting, and when she frowned at him, he said, “How much have I taught her? Enough, obviously. I knew you’d be wondering.”
“How much does she know?” Andrade winced as she sat up.
“Not everything. Yet. I assume you’re not speaking of her faradhi skills.”
She grunted and sank down again. “You taught her too much.” When he only shrugged in reply, she accused. “You always favored her—helped her, taught her, looked after her—“
“And you have not?”
“I should never have sent you to her. You should not have been the one to make her a woman.”
“Perhaps the same thing could be said of your coming to me the night I became a man. She knows you’re using her, just as I knew you’d use me. I was willing to play along, but I don’t think Sioned will be as biddable. You heard her tonight.”
“She’ll lose sight of her rings, become Rohan’s princess first and a Sunrunner second. That’s not what I wanted, Urival!”
“We always knew there was a risk. But to be fair, I don’t think either of us ever suspected her strength.”
“You taught her too much,” she grumbled again. “You care too much about her.”
“And you care too much about power!” Urival rose and went to pour wine. More calmly, he went on, “She’s recovering, as is Tobin. I’ve got Camigwen with her and Sioned, and Ostvel soothing Chay and Rohan. Milar ordered the steward’s corpse decently taken care of.”
She sat up again, finding it more agreeable this time as she sipped from the winecup he handed her, “How long have you known it was me that night?”
“The Goddess’ spell can reveal as well as conceal,” he answered with a small shrug. “What do you plan to do about Sioned?”
“Give her a seventh ring, of course. A pity the coffer isn’t here, but I’m sure my sister will part with something of her own to mark the occasion.”
“Sioned already received her seventh ring tonight—and somewhat in advance of demonstrating her skills,” he reminded her.
“Damn Rohan.” She finished the wine.
“It’s not just the ring that’s wrapped around her finger. It’s his vassals. I was watching their faces.”
“What you mean is they’re frightened of her power lest it be turned against them. Damn them all!” She threw the empty cup across the room. It clattered against the dressing table before rolling on the floor.
“Lie back and be still,” Urival ordered. “If you were fully recovered, it would have hit the wall.”
“What has Roelstra done?” she demanded of him. “The usual spies didn’t content him—he took one of our own, a Sunrunner—“
“But against that Sunrunner’s will, Andrade. That was a cry from the heart.”
“What difference does that make? He’s a traitor, whoever he is.” She gazed up at Urival for a long moment. “Perhaps it’s just as well you taught Sioned so much. She may need it.”