Rohan had decided to travel in much less state than his father had always done. He felt uncomfortable with the ceremony Zehava had delighted in, and ceremony translated into people who arranged it. Thus the column of attendants and baggage wains stretched a mere half-measure behind him on the road to Waes, and camp was blessedly quick to set up in the evenings. Not that this sped their progress much, but at least he could see the end of the column when he looked back over his shoulder.
The dry scrub of the Vere Hills gave way to the summer green of lowlands watered by the Faolain River, and they crossed into Meadowlord. The pace slowed as eyes bred to stark sand feasted on trees and grass and grain. The people were different here than in the Desert, too— plump and rosy-faced, lacking sun-wrinkles and browned skin. No riders hurried ahead of Rohan with announcements that his royal highness would soon grace their humble earth by riding over it, or with commands to clear sheep and cattle out of the way. Rohan enjoyed the delays that gave him a chance to talk with the herdsmen and villagers, who more often than not were unaware that the unprepossessing young man they greeted owned the passing line of horses and wains. He was offered bowls of fresh milk and tree-ripened peaches, shown smiling babies and given glimpses of blushing maidens whose admiring glances did a great deal for his self-esteem.
The group had sorted itself into three sections that first day out: Rohan in the lead with his family and their personal retainers, then the Sunrunners, and lastly the baggage carts with servants and guards to protect them.
Not that they needed protection in peaceful Meadowlord. If a soldier drew his or her bow, it was to take down a choice bit of game for the night’s cookpots.
Rohan found the simple pleasure of a long ride in open country a blissful relief from the tensions left behind him at Stronghold and those waiting ahead of him at Waes. No one approached with any problem more serious than where to make camp for the night, and usually one of his family rode at his side. Tobin in particular was excellent company—when she could be parted from her lord. There were always flowers in her hair, picked by Chay every morning, and he saved a sprig of whatever he found to wear in his swordbelt. With their children at Stronghold in the care of an adoring grandmother, the Lord and Lady of Radzyn behaved like young lovers again. Rohan smiled indulgently and imagined himself and Sioned in similar circumstances.
She rode with the others of Goddess Keep and he saw very little of her. Rohan had accomplished his purpose in making sure his vassals knew who she was, but he had not counted on her graphic demonstration of her advantages as a wife. To have singled her out during the journey would have been foolish, even though he knew none of his people would gossip at the Rialla about his probable choice of a bride. He watched her from a distance, aching with worry, for her eyes were lackluster and she rode round-shouldered, seeming not to notice the beauty of the country at all.
The vassals picked to accompany him also rode with him sometimes. He had been pleased with the results of his maneuver and could not have chosen better himself. Farid of Skybowl was a dry-humored man of middle years who had been selected because he had an uncanny ability to wring profit out of a holding that consisted of rock, water, and nothing else. High in the Vere Hills, Skybowl sat on the slopes of an ancient lake that resembled a round cupful of sky. The keep had been built handspan by slow handspan out of gray stone brought up the sides of the crater, where terraced fields yielded enough to feed a small herd of sheep and not much more. But somehow Lord Farid endured and even prof- ited from his herd and his small quarry, and rarely asked anything of his prince other than wine or a little food to tide him through an unusually long winter.
Rohan had visited Skybowl as a child, and the sight of so much water in one place had astonished him. Wonder had given way to terror when his father had picked him up and tossed him into the shallows. Zehava had jumped in a few moments later to make sure his heir did not drown while he learned perforce to swim. Lord Farid, however, had taken Zehava to task for scaring Rohan, and in the days that followed had taken the boy out to demonstrate the finer points of the art of staying afloat. Rohan had overcome his fear of water and even regretted leaving Skybowl—and had never forgotten Farid’s defense of him.
The second vassal chosen was Eltanin, who ruled Tiglath, a walled northern city formerly held by the Merida. Eltanin was a young man and had inherited from his father only a few years earlier, and his eagerness to attend the Rialla was augmented by his hopes of finding a wife there. Rohan liked him, and in their conversations Eltanin shyly admitted that he could understand exactly how Rohan felt about being an inexperienced young man in an important position.
Rohan was not completely happy about the third choice, but he hoped to use Baisal of Faolain Lowland to advantage. The athri’s new keep was his sole concern, which in some ways made him the perfect advocate for the other lords. Stone for his castle was far down on everyone’s list of priorities, so he would fight tooth and claw for the other lords’ wants in the hope that Rohan would eventually get around to haggling for his Syrene stone. The young prince marveled at the odd logic of his vassals in sending Baisal, but it made sense of a sort. At least they hadn’t saddled him with Abidias of Tuath Castle.
The journey was a miracle of organization, especially as there were nearly a hundred people to oversee. Princess Milar’s chamberlain had stayed at Stronghold to help with remodeling chambers for Rohan’s use, and the loss of his nervous fluttering was a blessing. Rohan had expected Urival, as Andrade’s chief steward, to take offi- cial charge, but instead the duty had fallen to Ostvel and Camigwen. The young woman was a wellspring of capability and firmness, and her Chosen was a man of tact and good humor. Between them they provided meals that were both delicious and on time, efficient organization of the camp, and strict supervision of everything. Rohan mused about persuading Andrade to part with them. His mother’s chamberlain would drive him utterly mad if they dealt with each other on a daily basis, and Sioned had admitted a total lack of the talents Camigwen had long since mastered. Besides, she would like having her friends with her at Stronghold.
Accordingly, on the fourth afternoon of the journey Rohan instructed Walvis to bring Ostvei up from his usual place with the faradh’lm. Respectful but not obsequious in manner, with an open, cheerful smile, Ostvel spoke to him not as underling to prince—which would have made Rohan uneasy—but as knight to lord. The difference was one Rohan appreciated more and more as time went by and his new power set him apart.
“I wanted to thank you for keeping this menagerie in line on the trip,” Rohan began.
“Thank you, my lord, but it’s not really so difficult. Not with my Camigwen ordering everyone around!”
“Please compliment your lady for me. Do you plan to marry soon?”
“Well, my lord, she comes of a very good family up in Firon—as you can tell by the color of her skin and those eyes of hers—“
“Mmm, yes. Those eyes,” Rohan murmured, and Ostvel smiled at the compliment.
“I’ll confess, my lord, the minute I saw them—“ He shrugged and gave a comical wince. “And we weren’t more than fifteen, either of us! Her people aren’t as highborn as some of Sioned’s, but certainly they’re more exalted than my family. I told her long ago that until I could offer her the chief steward of Goddess Keep for her husband, I wouldn’t offer her anything.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t matter to her. But pride makes us do odd things, doesn’t it?” he added with a rueful smile.
“Doesn’t it just,” Ostvel agreed, sighing. “But I expect I’ll give in soon. She’s persuasive, is my Cami—and I get persuaded nightly.”
Rohan blinked at this casual reference to their intimate life. Chay and Tobin had never made any secret that they expressed their love for each other frequently in bed, but they were married people, not just betrothed.
“I’m not faradhi-trained,” Ostvel went on. “But that makes me even luckier that she chose me, my lord. Sunrunners know what’s what when it comes to that sort of thing.”
“So I’ve been told,” Rohan murmured.
“Lust she could have had with a dozen other men, but for her, love comes only with me,” Ostvel said with shy pride. “And it’s no timid, frightened girl I find waiting for me, either.” He laughed. “That’s what makes her so damned persuasive!”
Rohan chuckled. “It doesn’t seem so terrible a problem, you know!”
“That’s the beauty of a woman, my lord. The predicaments they land you in are always the most exquisite ones.”
“Of all the predicaments waiting for me at the Rialla, the women will provide the most interesting ones— although I’d hardly call them ‘exquisite,’ “ Rohan admitted.
Ostvel’s smile vanished. “Just so, my lord,” he said colorlessly. “If you’ll excuse me, I should be seeing to the baggage train. They’re falling a little behind.” He gave a brief nod and wheeled his horse around.
Rohan regretted the loss of easy warmth with a man he was sure could become a good friend in time. But having begun the charade, he had to keep on with it.
On the eighth day they crossed the Faolain—by bridge, to the profound relief of the faradh’im. They bore the teasing of their less vulnerable companions with good grace, caring for nothing so long as they were allowed to ride over the bridge instead of rafting the river. Rohan called a halt early that day and had Ostvel set up the tents for the first time on the journey. Carpets and furnishings were not brought out, for it was only necessary to find out what sort of arrangements would work best at the Rialla.
The size of the encampment proved formidable. Rohan’s tent was the largest, a silken thing of blue, silver, and gold that Zehava had ordered for this Rialla. The pavilion would be useless in the Desert itself, where shelters had to blend into the colors of the sand. But Rohan had to admire the proportions of it as he wandered around inside, finding that his father had provided for a private area as well as a public one. Rohan and Ostvel toured the encampment, plotting out the exact location of each tent at Waes, and despaired of arranging things to the convenience and satisfaction of all until Camigwen arrived and had all settled in the time it took her to draw a map in the dirt.
Rohan kept the pair with him for a time, asking questions about the horses, the food, and the furniture. Although interested in their answers, he was more concerned with observing them. Cami was brisk and decisive, remembered every detail, and kept a mental inventory of everything. She was in her element, and Rohan knew she was the very person to free Sioned of the running of Stronghold. Ostvel was her match in logistics when it came to the horses and guards. Rohan resolved to put his proposal to them once the Rialla was over—though at the moment it was nearly impossible to believe that in another ten or twelve days, all this would be finished and Sioned would be his.
He wandered slowly among the tents after they left him, thinking about the future. If only it could all be over now, and he and Sioned could ride back to Stronghold in perfect understanding, handfasted and sure of each other. Plans that had seemed so clever and exciting now only irked him. He kicked, at a tent stake, telling himself he was testing its security in the ground. But he had never been very good at lying to himself.
“Well, nephew,” Andrade said at his side, startling him. “Your little entertainment will begin soon. I’m looking forward to it.”
By the early evening light she looked tired, her bright hair dusty and the lines of her face dragging downward. “I hope you sleep better tonight, beneath a tent,” he said, concerned for her.
“I’ll not sleep well until you and Sioned—“ She broke off with a shrug. “But I suppose that will have to wait until you’re through scheming.”
“Does it ever stop?”
“Not for a prince. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me what I know about Roelstra. He probably knows everything about you, through his spies.” Her eyes looked haunted, but before he could say anything she went on coolly, “Although I hope they’re only the things you want him to know.”
Rohan took her arm and they walked through the encampment. “I’m more interested in his daughters.”
“I’ll just bet you are. He’s kept them tight in Castle Crag, so I’d judge them anxious for freedom. Only the legitimate ones will be proposed to you, so you needn’t worry about the others.”
“I’m going to look them all over. The more the merrier.”
“The dragon among the herd, you mean,” she countered with a smile. “I see more and more of your father in you, Rohan—in your own sweet, ruthless way. Since those girls probably don’t have hearts, you won’t be breaking anything. But you’ll wound their pride, which is more dangerous.”
“You’ve taken a hurt to your pride, too,” he commented gently. “Have you found out anything about this faradhiT
“No, but I will,” she replied in a grim voice. “Roelstra will answer for this. I’ll wait until you’re through with him, but leave me some pieces.”
“He used your Sunrunner to spy on me—he owes us both. But tell me about his daughters.”
She did, as much as she knew, and Rohan listened attentively. Naydra was pretty, placid, and malleable; Lenala was stupid, end of report. lanthe and Pandsala were the ones to be wary of.
“lanthe is the most beautiful and seems to be the most intelligent, so she’ll long since have figured out the advantages of marrying you. I’d be surprised if she doesn’t slip into your tent some night. As for Pandsala, she’s nearly as beautiful and almost as srriart as lanthe, or so I’m told.”
“By whom?” he asked, knowing she wouldn’t answer.
“Never you mind. Just have a care to Sioned’s feelings. Tobin and I will do what we can to protect her from their spite. Have you decided just how and when you’ll end your little comedy?”
“I thought I’d see what develops,” he answered. “Is that dinner I smell?”
“One day soon you’re going to have to give me a straight answer, you know. Yes, that’s dinner, and I’m starving. Chay and Tobin are coming to my tent for family dinner tonight. You’ll do me a favor by joining us to provide some intelligent conversation. I don’t know how long Til be able to stand watching them watch each other.”
A long time later, as Rohan left his aunt’s tent in the dark, he tried to recapture the feeling of freedom he’d had on the journey. Impossible now. Conversation at dinner had revolved around the Rialla. Tomorrow they would reach Waes, and the next day the princes would begin their talks. Rohan walked slowly to his own tent and stood outside it for a time, staring moodily at the gilt poles with their stylized dragon heads on top. Ostvel had ordered guards set around the royal tent tonight, good practice for the Rialla when such would be necessary, and one of them paused in his measured pacing to salute Rohan.
“Will you be retiring now, my lord?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Very good, my lord.” After saluting again, the man continued his rounds.
Rohan remembered the last Rialla, when he’d been watched far less formally and all the real attention had been on his father. No longer could he go where he pleased; he would be the cynosure of all eyes from now on, his movements watched, his words analyzed, his every gesture commented on. Feeling suddenly stifled, he turned and headed down toward the river.
He stood on the shoreline and watched the black water. The moons had not yet risen, and the starlight was feeble between wispy clouds. Up the opposite shore trees splayed darker shadows, a breeze whispering through them in answer to the low, insistent murmur of the river. Rohan shivered, reacting to the hint of autumn in the air, and rubbed his hands together to warm them. He was not meant for such places, he told himself, places with a careless abundance of water and effortlessly thriving crops and herds. He had been bred to the bone-burning heat of the Desert, the harsh winter wind off the Long Sand that could strip away a man’s flesh and bury his skeleton without trace. Yet even dragons sought out softer lands—to pick them clean. Rohan shivered again, and not from the chill, before turning to walk back to his tent.
The simple shift in position saved his life. A finger’s breadth from his ribs the air suddenly hissed with the sound of a passing knife. He dropped instantly into a crouch, boot-knife in his hand, eyes scanning the darkness. A second blade whisked past him, missing his head by a handspan, and he cursed his fair hair that shone even in the moonless night. The nearest cover was twenty paces up the slope. All he could do was become a shadow like any other.
A bird sang out and small animals chittered furiously as a nest was disturbed. Rohan stayed frozen, listening. When the night settled back to silence and there was nothing to be heard but the river, he blinked the cold sweat of tension from his eyes and got slowly to his feet.
Though he presented an easy target now, the night was free of more knives. He waited a moment, then searched the riverbank. A thin hilt was embedded in the mud, angled down as the assassin anticipated Rohan’s defensive crouch. He pulled the knife out and ran his fingers down the fine, smooth blade, catching his breath. It was not made of Cunaxan steei, but of glass.
He hid the knife with his own inside the top of his boot, and returned to his tent. Walvis drowsed in a corner near the lamp, Rohan held the glass knife to the light, unsurprised to see the characteristic notch in the blade that was meant to catch in the victim’s flesh when he tried to remove it. The hilt was wrapped in thin strips of brown leather, the blade made of green glass. A tight smile stole across Rohan’s face and he hid the knife deep in his saddlebags where his squire would not find it.
So the Merida wished to warn him, he thought as he gathered a blanket around him and settled down to sleep. “Merida” meant “gentle knife” in the old language—gentle because the sharp glass blades were as quick and deadly as steel, and the Merida had come to power as a guild of assassins renowned for their silence and skill. Rohan’s death would have been nice for them, but failing that, the knife had put him on notice that they were near. They wanted him nervous and suspicious, hoping he would make mistakes. Rohan smiled again and stretched beneath the blanket. This new problem added to all the others set excitement welling in his blood, eagerness for the coming battles of wits and nerve. If the Merida had meant to frighten him, they had failed.
Sioned reined in her horse at the top of the hill, looking down in wonder at the vast encampment. Other princes had arrived early and set up their tents, and Sioned identified them for Cami and Ostvel, who had come to inspect the area before the main column of Rohan’s suite arrived.
“That yellow group over by the woods, that’s Prince Saumer of Isel. He’s as far away from Prince Volog as he can get—they share their island very unhappily, so they stay away from each other at the Rialla. The orange tents are Prince Durriken’s. He’s going to bake down there, so far from any trees.”
“Who’s been drilling you in this information?” Cami asked. “Urival?”
“Princess Milar. Let’s see—red is Prince Vissarion of Grib, that silly pink for Seldeen of Gilad, and green for Chale of Ossetia—that one’s easy, Cami, you remember when he came to visit at Goddess Keep and the whole place was awash in green uniforms.” She identified the colors and their owners effortlessly, glad now of the princess’ instruction. Scarlet, black, leaf-green, the turquoise of her own native Syr—she knew them all. Conspicuously absent were the High Prince’s violet tents, and when his name was left out of her inventory Ostvel gave her a curious glance.
“He makes an entrance?”
“He makes an entrance,” she confirmed. “He’ll sail down the Faolain tomorrow morning with all due ceremony. Looks like a carnival, doesn’t it, with all those colors clashing against each other?”
“And people doing the same,” Camigwen observed. “Especially princesses. No, I will not be quiet, Sioned! Two gowns were all you’d allow Princess Milar’s women to sew for you—two, when you’ll have to appear at five times that many functions!” She turned in her saddle, eyes flashing. “How long have we been friends? Don’t you know how much I want your happiness? Why won’t you do anything to secure it?”
“After he’s had a good look at the princesses, I’ll know that if he chooses me it’ll be because he really wants me.”
“To hell with the princesses!” Camigwen exploded.
“The others are almost here,” Ostvel interrupted. “We’ll have to find a good place to set up camp. Fight with her later, Cami, we’ve got work to do.”
“How can I fight with her when she doesn’t care?” But she followed Ostvel down the hill, leaving Sioned to stare down at the gaudy camp, biting her lip.
By evening the Desert contingent was established in blue tents. Having done her part at Camigwen’s direction, Sioned slipped away to explore. The Rialla would officially begin tomorrow with the High Prince’s arrival, and she would have to become Rohan’s extra eyes, ears, and tongue. She must behave as if she did not want him, conduct herself with silent modesty in public and private— and try to ignore a growing desire to flay the royal daughters until their skin was in ribbons.
But something more serious worried her, and that was the Sunrunner Roelstra had somehow corrupted. Andrade had questioned her during the journey, but Sioned had been unable to supply many details. She was certain, however, that whoever it was had also been there the night Princess Tobin had been ensnared in the moonrunning. It was a pity she did not know how to identify and seek out this renegade faradhi and help him. Sioned’s heart cringed every time she recalled his despairing plea to be forgiven.
As the sun went down, lights were lit within the tents, making huge colored lanterns of them. Sioned paused in her walk through the camps—unchallenged because of her rings—and watched the shadow-shows given by people unaware that their movements could be seen against the light. One expanse of scarlet silk showed her a man and woman locked in an embrace; laughter sounded and the light was abruptly extinguished. Farther along, a turquoise tent showed one man gesturing angrily at another. The latter’s defiant posture slowly wore down until he fell to his knees with head bowed. Sioned wondered what might be seen on other nights, especially against the blue walls of Rohan’s tent.
She returned to the Desert camp and sat down on a small stool outside the tent she would share with Camigwen and three other faradhi women. A brazier filled with glowing coals was before her and she gestured them into flame with a wave of her hand. The motion brought a quick spark from the emerald on her finger. Both hands out in front of her, she stared at her rings. Eight of them now, but only seven earned in the faradhi manner. She still did not know why she had done so dangerous a thing as to weave herself into the distant faradhi’s working—or, rather, she knew why and feared to admit it. What would she not do for Rohan? she wondered, troubled anew by her response to him. Urival was right to be wary. She would use her gifts and her skills on Rohan’s behalf, no matter what his intentions. Her power with sun- and moonlight was nothing compared to his power over her.
Rebellion stirred, and she told herself she would not become one such as the other faradhi obviously was to Roelstra. Yet the man hated his enslavement; Sioned knew that her own would be welcome. Goddess, what a fool her heart had made of her. She glared down at the emerald, which Tobin had informed her had been in the family for nobody knew how long. It was said to be possessed of a magic all its own. Green for her eyes, she thought, damning Rohan again for putting her through the public display.
The gold rings caught her attention and her thoughts turned to the discovery in the hatching cave. If Rohan was correct, then life would change drastically in the Desert. With unlimited wealth, he could buy whatever he wanted for himself and his people. He could purchase whole princedoms and their princes—or princesses, she added with a grimace. Everyone had a price.
She tried to believe that she did not, that nothing could induce her to betray her training as the other faradhi had done—but the living refutation suddenly walked into view, arms wide as he stretched. Hot color rose in her cheeks and she turned her face to the fire. For him, anything; it frightened her. He would never ask—or so she had to believe—but it was bitter to know she would betray anything and anyone for him. “Sioned?”
His footsteps whispered in the damp grass. She held out her hands to the brazier again, gaze fixed on her rings as he crouched beside her.
“You’re up late. You must be tired—it was a long ride, and I’m sure Camigwen didn’t spare you a share of the work.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Nor I. Roelstra’s arriving tomorrow, and I’m worried.” “Surely you know what you’re going to do.” Her gaze strayed to his fine, sun-browned hands, held near hers as he warmed them at the fire.
“More or less. But-it all may change when I meet him face to face, one prince to another. What if he sees through me?”
“If those who love you have their doubts, why worry about a stranger?”
“Oh, I’ve been fooling my family for years,” he replied, and she knew he had not heard her implication. “Sioned, what if I fail? I must have those treaties. Only then can I begin to build a life for us.”
“If it’s what you truly want, you’ll find a way to succeed.” She heard the platitude and loathed herself for it. “Sioned, please look at me.”
Unwillingly, she did so. His face was all gold and Fire, his eyes reflecting the flames.
“I need you to want this, too. Before, it was for myself and the lands my father gave me. But now it’s for you as well. The private reasons are just as important as the public ones.”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s been difficult, and it’s going to get worse for both of us before it gets any better. What you said to me on the Hatching Hunt, for instance. I can pretend to be what I’m not, but 1 can’t and wouldn’t change the past even if I could. You have to trust me.”
He held her gaze in silence for so long that she began to tremble inside with nerves. “Tell me one thing,” he said at last.
“Yes?” she asked, wary.
“Tell me you love me.”
Sioned looked away from those impossible eyes, unable to speak.
“You do, and I know it. But I need to hear you say it, Sioned. And that should tell you everything you need to know about me.,Maybe the next days are going to cost us more than we’re willing to pay, but I’ve got to believe it’ll be worth it in the end. When it’s all finished here, we can go home and love each other in peace. This isn’t our beginning yet. That has to wait until w’e’re safely in our own country again. But the life we’ll have, Sioned—when I’m able to put my sword away for good, between us we can—“
“Your highness?” someone ventured from beyond the firelight, and Rohan cursed under his breath. He got to his feet and brushed his fingertips over Sioned’s hair as he left her.
“Yes, Lord Eltanin. Forgive me, I’d forgotten we were to talk. Shall we go to my tent and be comfortable?”
The firelight reached for him, unable to give up the touching of his body and hair. Sioned went into her tent, huddled on the bed, and did not sleep.
At dawn she rose and dressed in her riding clothes, careful not to awaken the other faradh’im. But as she was pulling on her boots, the encampment roused with noises a warrior would have associated with imminent attack. Swords clanged, boots and hooves pounded in the dirt, guards shouted orders. Sioned leaped up and pulled the tent flap aside, astonished by the frantic activity.
“What in the name of—?” Camigwen, long hair streaming down her back, pressed to Sioned’s side. “Why are they all running around, shouting at each other?”
The other Sunrunners, startled from sleep, crowded around and speculated among themselves, but no one had any answers until Ostvel strode past the tent and called out, “Get dressed, all of you! Hurry!”
“Is something wrong?” Cami asked, bewildered.
“That’s one way of looking at it,” he tossed back, leaving them more confused than before.
Cami pulled on her clothes and followed Sioned outside. They spotted Ostvel in the crowd that flowed down to the river. As they reached him, they heard him give a sharp order for the guards to form ranks.
“Fasten your tunic, woman! Straight lines, now! Look alive, even if you’re not awake!” When they were arranged to his satisfaction, he turned, caught sight of the faradh’im, and gave an ironic salute. “Good morning, ladies. You’re just in time to line the riverbank with the rest of us poor mortals. The High Prince has arrived.”
“All this, for him?” Cami marveled, gesturing to the bustle around them that was repeated in every other prince’s camp.
“AH this and more. But the Desert is not going to present him with the very picture of a rabble in arms,” he added sternly to the troops. He snapped out an order and they marched down the slope to the river. Sioned and Camigwen followed in their wake, grateful for the path they carved out of the crowd.
Upriver, Sioned could see violet sails limp in the motionless morning sunlight. Roelstra had not been scheduled to arrive until later, and Sioned suspected he had come early on purpose. Keeping people off balance seemed to be a favorite ploy of princes, to judge the breed by her own. The barge rounded a slight bend in the Faolain and drifted majestically toward the dock. Immense, painted white and gold and violet, it could easily hold over a hundred people in luxurious comfort.
“Will you look at that!” Camigwen whispered.
A man standing nearly snorted. “Aye, and look at the wary watcher on the prow! Some use dragons, some use monsters horrible as the sea creatures they’re put up to scare—but Himself’s ship changes guardian ladies the way Himself changes mistresses. It’s said the latest is with him, big belly and all.”
Though Sioned’s interest was not in Roelstra’s mistress but his daughters, she inspected the magnificent carving. She gave the craftsman full credit for incredible skill and, if the image was accurate, the High Prince’s mistress full credit for surpassing beauty. As the barge floated past, figures and then faces were visible on the upper deck. Most of them were women, and the face matching the wary watcher belonged to a lady who was indeed heavily pregnant. The other women were slim and elegant, high-piled hair glittering with jewels, white dresses accented with violet trim. Four were dark, one was blonde, and the sixth had hair the color of tarnishing copper. All of them were beautiful.
Roelstra himself was even more impressive than his ship. Tail, clad in a white cloak and a violet tunic, he stood at the rails of the upper deck with one hand lifted to greet the crowd. But Sioned, watching closely, saw that his gaze lingered on no one; he seemed to be looking for someone, and Sioned knew who it must be.
“And there’s Himself,” the man beside her said, “all dressed up to dine off my own lord and all the rest. His whore looks ready to whelp—may it be yet another girl! The princesses are a fine lot—lovely as Lord Chaynal’s purest bred fillies, and kicking down their stalls to get at the best stallion, the young Prince Rohan—beggin’ your pardon, ladies, but what I think, I say out plain. Seventeen daughters, would you believe it? You’d think that with as many women as Himself has bedded, there’d be at least one boy in the litter. But no, the Goddess gives as she sees fit, and there’s justice in her giving. My own lord, now, I’m glad he’s happily wed. I wouldn’t want one of the royal bitches as my lady, and that’s the honest truth—beggin’ your pardon again for my unseemly talk, and in the presence of gentle-bred faradhi ladies like yourselves, as well! Come along with me if you want a good view of the show. I’ll escort you close and you’ll see my lord and all the others come down to greet Himself.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Camigwen told him with her dazzling smile. “Our own escort seems to have abandoned us. Lead on, sir!”
“Care of a Sunrunner brings Goddess blessing,” he replied with a wink and a gap-toothed grin. “But the truth is I like being seen in company with pretty women!”
He made a path for them by shoving others roughly out the way, and to any protests growled only, “Faradh’iml” Sioned bit back a smile as she realized that while giving them protection and a good vantage point, he was also using them as the perfect means of getting close to the action himself. They neared the dock and she searched the throng of highborns for Rohan. The short pier was crammed with nobility—even Lady Andrade was there, along with Tobin and Chay. But of Rohan’s blond head she saw nothing.
High Prince Roelstra and his mistress had descended from the upper deck, his daughters trailing along behind. The barge slid smoothly into dock and trumpeters blew out a fanfare, answered by a stately drumbeat from eight young men wearing the Waes city lord’s garish red and yellow. Sioned’s escort pushed through to the very front of the crowd onshore, and she scanned the assembly once again. There was still no sign of Rohan. Surely it was unwise to be late for the High Prince’s arrival—and even worse to miss it altogether. She began to be afraid, for there was no conceivable reason for him to insult Roelstra in this fashion.
With the first step Roelstra took onto the wooden planks, every highborn sank to one knee—everyone except Lady Andrade, who only bent her head. He gestured graciously for them to rise. Some of them wore respectful faces, others looked guardedly resentful of the act of homage. Lord Chaynal’s bright gray eyes were without emotion, but Princess Tobin looked carved of ice in her gown of white and red, her husband’s colors. Roelstra distributed smiles all around, then turned to Andrade.
She smiled with poisonous sweetness visible even at a distance when Roelstra presented his mistress to her. Sioned shared a grin with Cami. “I’d give a lot to listen in,” she whispered, and their escort chuckled.
A commotion at the steps to the pier turned all heads. “ ‘Way! Make way!” a man bellowed. “Move aside for His Royal Highness Prince Rohan!”
Sioned clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle giggles— not that anyone would have heard her in the sudden buzz of speculation and outrage that followed close on this arrogant proclamation of Rohan’s presence. He strode up the steps two at a time, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt and running a hand through his hair as if he had dressed in such hurry that he hadn’t had time to comb it. A masterpiece of effect, Sioned noted gleefully. He had arrived late on purpose so he would not have to bend his knee to the High Prince.
Andrade had come to the same conclusion, though she was more successful in hiding her amusement. She slanted a look at Tobin, who was red-cheeked and tight-lipped, black eyes snapping with mirth. Chaynal prudently hid his grin with a fit of coughing that made it necessary for his hand to cover his lower half of his face. His quicksilver eyes danced merrily as Rohan gave Roelstra a short bow that was perfunctory courtesy between princes.
In a breathless voice the young man said, “Pardon, cousin! Today of all days I overslept! I didn’t hear a single murmur of all the fuss, can you credit it? Why didn’t you warn me, Aunt?” he asked plaintively of Andrade, his eyes little-boy wide. “High Prince Roelstra must think me the worst kind of scattershell!”
“Not at all, cousin,” Roelstra responded smoothly. “I understand that the demands of fatigue on healthy youth are answered only by enough sleep.”
Rohan bestowed on him his most endearing smile. “My father always said you were a generous to a fault— and I’m glad you’re generous with my fault!” His gaze went to the woman behind Roelstra and his eyes rounded to their largest. Andrade nearly choked. The effort not to laugh brought tears to her eyes.
“Are you all right, Aunt?” Rohan asked solicitously, without a hint of wicked enjoyment in his eyes. When she nodded helplessly, he turned again to Roelstra. “I know it’s not polite to stare, but—“ He shrugged, sighed, and stared anyway.
“It is I who have not been polite. I have failed to introduce you to my daughters. Come forward,” Roelstra snapped at them over his shoulder.
They were presented: Naydra, Lenala, Pandsala, and lanthe as. princesses, Gevina and Rusalka by the title of Lady. Rohan bent over six slender hands and pressed his lips to the insides of six braceleted wrists. Naydra openly looked her appreciation of Rohan’s golden looks; Lenala simpered; Pandsala turned crimson. lanthe looked Rohan straight in the eye, holding his gaze for a long bold moment before glancing away. Gevina giggled and protested that he tickled her skin, and Rusalka snatched her fingers away as quickly as she could.
“My daughters,” Roelstra said casually when Rohan had finished saluting them. “The ones old enough to make the journey with me this year.”
“And with even more at home!” Rohan exclaimed admiringly. “What iuck for you, cousin, to live in so fair a garden! My father always said that his daughter was his greatest treasure—and you have seventeen of them! Oh—do you know my sister, Princess Tobin? And her lord, Chaynal of Radzyn Keep?”
They were introduced. Andrade promised herself a good long laugh when she had time and privacy to enjoy it.
“But you must be weary,” Rohan went on to the High Prince with the sweet solicitude of a young man for one nearing his dotage. “I shouldn’t keep you standing here in the hot sun. I look forward to talking with you very soon, cousin—and, may I hope, your charming daughters?”
The High Prince and his entourage returned to their barge until their tents could be raised and furnished. The other princes and highborns left for their own camps, the welcoming farce over, all points going to Rohan in a game few were yet aware was being played. As Andrade descended the steps of the pier, she caught sight of a pale, intense face crowned by untidy red-gold hair, and lost all amusement at Rohan’s performance. Sioned had eyes only for him, and in those eyes was her heart.