Trees had been planted generations ago between the princes’ camp and the racetrack, as much to provide the horses with peace and quiet as to protect the tents from the dust and smell. Paddock and pasture had been laid out long ago, too, and the track pounded by innumerable hooves, Rialla after Rialla. The racing oval was a full measure around and wide enough to allow twenty horses between its multicolored rails. Each third was presided over by a judge who watched for violations from a little wooden tower—although anything that happened out of their line of sight went unpunished.
The stands faced south. Seats reserved for the nobility were protected this year by a leaf-green silk canopy that had cost Prince Clutha half a year’s revenues; it would have cost more, but Prince Lleyn had given him a discount on the material, for he disliked getting sunburned while he watched the races. The common folk milled around the perimeter of the track, sampling food and drink from the booths set up there—race day being the only one of the Rialla when merchants were allowed to bring their wares across the river. But highborn or commoner, everyone bet on the races; only the sums wagered were different.
Rohan had always liked race days. This year’s added attraction was that he would not have to bite his tongue and pretend ignorance. As the son of his father he was expected to know horseflesh, and it was a relief to be able to show off his knowledge as he walked the paddock for a time, sizing up Chay’s competition before joining his brother-by-marriage.
Chay finished inspecting Akkal and swung up into his saddle. “I look like-a damned rainbow,” he complained, plucking at one red silk sleeve. White elk-hide trousers and boots completed his own colors, and he wore a blue sash around his waist in honor of his prince.
“Tobin thinks you look wonderful, so shut up about it. Watch out for Lord Reze’s big gray over there. He’s the one horse in the field with legs on him.”
“Going to bet on him?” Chay grinned as he patted Akkal’s neck.
“He doesn’t look that fast!” Rohan turned his head as the trumpet sounded for the first race. “There’s the call. The track’s fast, but I thought I saw a rough section in the second third.”
“Thanks. Go hold Tobin’s hand and remind her that I’ve never fallen off a horse in my life.”
“Blesandin sent you over backward two years ago.”
“That beast had the very devil in him, and I was drunk at the time.”
Rohan laughed and watched Chay guide Akkal into line, knowing he had some time before the start of the race to inspect his own horses. Chaynal raced his stock for business purposes, but Rohan had decided to participate purely for the fun of it. He called his grooms around him and began giving out final riding assignments, then saw Ostvel hovering around the edge of the group, looking wistful.
Rohan gestured him over. “You have an easy face to read,” he observed with a smile.
“I know,” the young man said mournfully. “My lord, I didn’t want to ask but—“
“See that dappled mare? Her name’s Eliziel and she’s a handful on her best days, so be careful. You’ll be riding my colors in the fourth race.”
Ostvel’s eyes shone and for a moment he looked as if he’d drop to one knee in gratitude. Sense got the better of emotion, much to Rohan’s relief. “Thank you, my lord! She’s a beauty! I’ll win the race for you, I promise!”
“You’d better,” Rohan threatened playfully. He gave out the other assignments and went to the royal stands. Being a ruling prince could be fun when one could make other people’s pleasure, as he just done with Ostvel. He looked for Andrade’s blonde head, then climbed up to where she was seated with Camigwen.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said as he took a place beside his aunt. “Where’s Tobin?”
“With Sioned and the High Prince’s charming children,” Andrade replied.
“Oh.” He didn’t want to be reminded that the princesses existed, and he especially didn’t want to worry about what poison would ooze from their remarks to Sioned. “Tell me, Aunt, is Tobin intending to have a good time with them?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her, my lord,” Camigwen said, her eyes dancing, “She’s an education.”
“I agree—but the lessons were rather painful until I grew taller than she.”
“Do you still have the scar where she bit you?” Andrade asked, amused.
“To the end of my days. But don’t reveal my secret, Camigwen—my squire thinks I took it in battle and spreads word of how brave I am.”
“Now that I know your sister, I think your squire is right!” she laughed.
Andrade pointed to the track. “There’s Chay. He’d better win this race—I bet Lleyn a hundredweight of wine against half a measure of his best silk.”
“Start planning your new wardrobe,” Rohan told her.
Jervis, city lord of Waes, had delegated starter’s honors to his eldest son, Lyell. The boy was a gangly sixteen, but stood tall and proud on the platform as he held up the bright yellow flag. The horses lined up and even amid the riot of colored silks it was easy to pick out Chay’s red-and-white, especially when the flag swept down and Akkal surged to the lead.
The first race was a distance trial of three measures that tested heart, lung, and leg. Its matching race would be the last one of the day; the same horses and riders would go the same distance, providing prospective buyers with an excellent idea of the merits of the different studs. Akkal was passed at the measure-mark by Lord Reze’s gray, and the crowd gasped. Chay was always a popular favorite, both for his personal charm and his habit of winning, and the spectators held their breath as Akkal narrowed the gap. The two horses matched each other stride for stride over two-thirds of a measure. Suddenly an arm wearing white striped with russet and Ossetia’s dark green lifted once, twice, and a whip landed with ruthless force across the gray’s hindquarters. Chay’s hands never left the reins, but Akkal’s strides lengthened until it seemed he was flying. When the yellow flag swept down at last, a foar went up all around the track—for nearly everyone had bet on Chay, and won.
“Well,” Andrade said, pleased. “My silk was in doubt for a time, there.”
“If you ladies will excuse me, I’ll go take a look at that gray and see if he’s going to be in any shape for his revenge this afternoon.”
He met Chay on the path back to the paddock, where Akkal would be walked and rested for the final race. Radzyn’s lord had dismounted and was indulging himself in a few creative descriptions of his opponent.
“Did you see what that whoreson did?” He asked Rohan furiously. “Flicked Akkal with his whip, right in the middle of the third where no one would see him! I’ve never even put a spur to Akkal, and he had the nerve—!” He stroked the stallion’s sleek neck protectively.
“I didn’t see it,” Rohan confessed. “But I had a look at the gray just now. You’ll be able to take him in the last race, Chay. No trouble.”
“Take him?” Chay’s eyes flashed. “He’ll choke on our dust!” A groom came up and Chay handed him Akkal’s reins, giving precise instructions for the horse’s care that obviously insulted the boy. As they walked along the row of paddocks, the trumpet sounded for the second race and Chay smiled tightly at the sight of one of his favorite mares prancing eagerly to the track. “Reze has a mare entered in this one, too,” he said. “I hope he can get used to losing. But isn’t that Ostvel over there with Eliziel?”
“I’m letting him ride the fourth. He wanted to impress Camigwen.” Rohan winked. “It’s not uncommon for a man in love.”
“Next thing, you’ll be riding.”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea.”
“Don’t be an idiot! Princes don’t ride in these races!”
“No?” He called out to one of his grooms. “How’s Pashta feeling today?”
“Ready, my lord. What race do you fancy?” The man grinned.
“Brochwell Bay for emeralds,” he replied casually, and waited for Chay to explode. He was not disappointed.
“You’re crazy!”
“I’ll see to it at once, my lord,” the groom said. “And may I say I’m glad you’ve decided to enter?”
“You may not,” Chay snapped, then rounded on his brother-by-marriage. “Impress the girl if you must, but not at the risk of your neck! There’s not a woman alive who’d thank you for bringing a pair of broken legs or worse to your wedding night!”
“What I bring to my wedding night will be in perfect working condition,” Rohan answered.
“Oh, wonderful,” Chay said in a voice that dripped sarcasm. “I’ll be sure to tell that to everyone while you’re galloping out to Brochwell Bay and back, with whole measures between where nobody will have an eye out for you—Rohan, didn’t you hear a word we said last night?”
“I’m riding, and that’s an end to it,” he stated, turned, and came face to face with Princess lanthe. Cool and lovely in lavender with silver jewelry, she had not come to the paddocks to admire the horseflesh, and they both knew it.
“It was an exciting race, Lord Chaynal,” she said gracefully. “Your wife will look magnificent in her rubies.”
“I hear you’re responsible for the idea,” Rohan said.
“Excuse me,” Chay interrupted. “I see one of my grooms signaling to me.”
Rohan looked, saw nothing of the kind, and shot a murderous look at Chay. The older man grinned and left him alone with the princess.
“Are you enjoying yourself, cousin?” she asked him.
“More so than last time, before I became an eligible prince,” he answered forthrightly, and they started back to the stands.
She blushed, with fascinating results. “It must be tiresome for you.”
“I’m sure you go through the same thing, being an unmarried princess.”
“Mostly I see ambassadors,” she said, looking down at her hands. “But I won’t consider any man who can’t be bothered to meet me himself.” She was shorter than Sioned, and when she glanced up at him her heavy dark lashes were thick veils over her eyes. “It’s a little like being offered at the Fair.”
“A little,” he agreed. “May I escort you up to your sisters? I have an entry in the next race that I’d like to watch.”
Thus it was that Sioned’s first view of him all day came as he guided lanthe to a seat, her fingertips resting elegantly on his wrist. Rohan saw at once that he had done something both smart and stupid. There was advantage in being seen publicly with Roelstra’s daughters, dividing his attentions among them. But he had made a personal error by placing himself in a position where he could compare them directly with Sioned. She was less beautiful, less regal, less elegant—and she was also the only woman he wanted.
“Here you are at last!” Tobin said brightly as he sat down. “Is Chay all in one piece? I suppose he’ll spend all day with Akkal instead of with me. It’s easy to see which of us he values more! But I’m having a wonderful time with our cousins, and it’s so nice to be out of the hot sun. How sweet it was of Prince Lleyn to see to our comfort!”
There was more in a similar vein, and Rohan blessed her for turning into a scattershell for his benefit. Sioned sat in cool silence, her back stiff and her expression set in stone. She wore a russet linen gown and no jewelry but her Sunrunner’s rings and his emerald. Aware that noticing the ring had brought a smile to his lips, he looked from her to Pandsala.
She met him stare for stare, and unlike her sister lanthe did not blush. He offered a pleasantry about the weather; she responded with a polite nod. He asked if she was enjoying the races; she nodded again and stared down at the track. Rohan began to feel irked. He deserved better than this and had nearly decided to go about getting it when he realized that he was reacting precisely as Pandsala wished. The notion that his clever self had nearly been outsmarted by this girl both amused and irritated him, Pandsala with her ploy of indifference and lanthe with her obvious interest were a potent pair. All at once he wondered if Andrade had foreseen his reaction, and provided Sioned to counter any attractions he might feel toward the princesses. Certainly he had twice today come close to forgetting his probable lifespan if he wed either. But the thought of Sioned kept him from any serious danger.
His mare came m second in the race. Through the next interval and the race following he divided his attention between his sister and the two princesses, ignoring Sioned completely. She did not appear to notice.
To lanthe he said, “I have great hopes for my entry in the fourth. There she is now—her name’s Eliziel, which means ‘cloudfoot’ in the old language.”
“She’s a beauty,” lanthe responded warmly. “Do you take an interest in the old tongue, cousin?”
“After a fashion. Mostly to name my horses.”
Sioned’s brows shot up. “We’re taught at Goddess Keep that the old words have great power and should not be used lightly, my lord.”
“How quaint,” Pandsala murmured.
“Who’s that up on Eliziel?” Tobin asked quickly.
“Ostvel,” Sioned supplied in a colorless voice. “I marvel, my lord, that you allow someone from Goddess Keep on one of your precious horses.”
“He more than earned the privilege on the way here, so I rewarded him with the honor of riding her.”
His own reward was a frigid silence. Tobin giggled and pointed to their right. “Oh, look—there’s Camigwen with Andrade. She looks as if she doesn’t know whether to be proud or terrified!”
Ostvel on a mere horse was an excellent rider; Ostvel mounted on a mare of EliziePs quality inevitably won the race. Rohan grinned smugly.
“Camigwen will look lovely in carnelians,” Tobin observed.
“Is that to be the prize for this race?” Pandsala asked her sister, then turned to Rohan without waiting for an answer. “Will you really give the rider gems won by your horse?”
“He needs a wedding gift for his lady.” He delighted in having made not only Ostvel’s pleasure but Cami’s as well. Being a prince was wonderful fun.
“How generous of you,” lanthe said, smiling. “And how lucky that carnelians will suit his lady so well, according to your sister. But surely such jewels are a little grand for a faradhi.”
“A beautiful woman deserves beautiful things,” Tobin said sweetly. “All the better if the man has the taste to match her bridal necklet to her coloring.”
“No two women are alike,” Rohan agreed blithely, and won a blank stare from Sioned for this idiotic statement. “For Pandsala, for instance, nothing would do but diamonds to match the sparkle in her eyes. And for lanthe—the darkest of garnets, though they would be poor rivals to the color of her lips.”
“And Lady Sioned?” lanthe purred.
“Emeralds, of course,” Pandsala said before Rohan could open his mouth. “You do have the most remarkable eyes,” she added to the Sunrunner.
Sioned nodded civil thanks for the compliment. “I would settle for common river stones from a man I truly loved.”
“A man who truly loved you would provide emeralds,” Rohan shot back. “Whoever he may turn out to be, I hope / provided him an example in that ring.”
“You gave it to her?” Pandsala was shocked into an honest reaction, and Rohan struggled bravely not to laugh.
“He did,” Tobin affirmed. “She saved my sons’ lives on the Hatching Hunt.”
“Not I, your highness,” Sioned protested. “It was Prince Rohan who chased the dragon away.”
“A dragon!” lanthe exclaimed. “Cousin, you must tell us all the details!”
“I will, at some other time,” he said, rising to his feet. “You ladies must excuse me—I need to talk with Prince Lleyn. We have bet on the next race, and I want to see his face when he loses.” He distributed smiles all around and left the silken battlefield with relief.
After the fifth race—which Rohan lost to Prince Lleyn, much to the old man’s delight—there came a break for refreshments and the paying off of debts. Rohan declined Lleyn’s offer of lunch and went down to the track; there jumps were being set for the next few races. Two fences, two hedges, and two “stone” walls made of painted wood—he measured them with his eyes and nodded to himself. They were nothing Pashta couldn’t handle with ease.
He watched the sixth and seventh races from railside, making mental notes about the number of strides necessary between jumps. No one paid much attention to the slight, plainly dressed young man who cheered on Lord Chaynal’s horses. Prince Haldor of Syr’s entry took the sixth, and a stallion from Radzyn Keep won the seventh. As the eighth was called, Rohan felt a tug on his sleeve.
“It’s time, my lord,” his groom said. “I’ve brought your shirt.” He held up a sky-blue silk blouse, and Rohan stripped off his tunic before sliding his arms into his colors. The men and women around him, having heard the honorific and seen him change clothes, gaped. Then someone gave a mighty guffaw and clapped Rohan on the back.
“I’ll be wagering on you, my lord!”
“The odds should be very good against me!” Rohan answered, grinning. “Enjoy your profits!”
On the way to the paddocks, the groom provided him with a wealth of information. The course was easy enough until the climb to the sea cliffs began. There the trail turned rocky and dangerous; many horses would founder on the way up, still more on the way down. Pashta’s training in the Desert would serve him well here. As for the other entries, all were considered inferior, but Rohan was to keep an eye on Prince Haldor’s stallion. The Syrene horse had been battle-bred to sink his teeth into anything that got in range.
“I’d slow Pashta a bit during the two measures back from the Bay, my lord,” the groom finished. “He won’t save much for the jumps on his own—you know he’ll run his heart out for you, so you’ll have to make him spare himself.”
Til remember.” He entered the paddock and approached the stallion, who was in fine trim and seemed to know that all the attention meant he would be racing today. He butted Rohan’s shoulder playfully with his nose, and the prince laughed.
“No plain river stones for our Sioned, eh, my lad?” he whispered, rubbing the white blaze down the stallion’s face. “We’ll beat them all in a walk.”
Pashta’s huge dark eyes closed lazily, almost a wink. Rohan laughed again, then mounted and gathered the reins.
“I’ve had to slip in weights, my lord,” the groom said. “Rules say all the horses carry the same. You haven’t enough flesh to cover your own bones, let alone make up the legal weight—so remember he’s carrying extra today.”
The blue silk clung to him in the afternoon heat, and he shifted his shoulders against the trickle of sweat down his spine. As the trumpet sounded he stood in the stirrups to signal his readiness and told himself he was not nervous. He’d never ridden in a Rialla race before—no prince had—and as he walked Pashta decorously to the starting line the prize jewels became secondary to not making a fool of himself. He glanced up at the stands only once, but could not see Sioned’s red-gold hair in the crowd. Perhaps it was better so.
Nothing prevented her from seeing him, however, and her careful composure nearly cracked. What did that madman think he was doing? She shared a horrified glance with Tobin.
“lanthe, look!” Pandsala exclaimed. “There’s Rohan!”
“I didn’t know he would enter the races himself!” lanthe said.
“Neither did I,” Sioned muttered. “I didn’t think he was that foolish.”
A section of the railing had been shifted so the horses could exit the track before the first jump. Excited spectators strained against the fences as the yellow flag dropped. Sioned held her breath as thirty horses thundered past, jostling for the best position through the gap. It was surely too narrow for all to get through safely, but somehow they made it. Everyone squinted for a last look as the horses topped a rise before vanishing.
Sioned listened to the shouted wagers and wished she had the courage to ride the sunlight and follow the progress of the race. She cared nothing about Rohan’s winning; she simply prayed he wouldn’t break his neck. She intended to perform that service herself to repay him for this insanity.
“Will you not wager on Prince Rohan’s success, like the rest of us?” lanthe’s’ voice was smooth as warm honey.
“I have nothing of value,” Sioned began, spreading her hands to indicate her poverty—then caught sight of the emerald. “What will you wager against this emerald, your grace?”
“You’d bet against the prince?”
She smiled, wondering if some of Rohan’s recklessness had infected her as well. “I doubt him as a man, not as a rider. I had another wager in mind.”
“Yes?” The dark eyes were wary, and the lips Rohan had complimented were stretched into a false smile.
“My emerald against whatever you like that neither you nor your sister will win him.”
“How dare you!” lanthe hissed.
Sioned laughed. “Your grace! Never tell me you doubt yourself as a woman!”
“I doubt your manners, Sunrunner! But I cannot lose, for there is no one else worthy of Rohan—as you of all people must know. Do you want him for yourself?”
“I haven’t yet decided,” she lied easily. “But if you’re unsure of yourself in the matter ...”
“Done!” the princess snarled. “Your emerald against all the silver I wear!”
“Done,” Sioned nodded, and insulted the princess further by taking visual inventory of the necklet, earrings, bracelets, and belt. lanthe crimsoned with rage and turned her back on Sioned.
She gazed down at her emerald, not believing for an instant that she might lose it, but knowing all at once how much it meant to her. Biting her lip, she glanced quickly around at her companions. They followed lanthe’s lead in ignoring her. Sioned made her decision, rose, and edged her way to the outer stands where the sunlight was unshaded by the green silk awning.
She felt the sweet warmth on her skin, permeating her bones and blood. Lacing her fingers together, she felt the rings grow warm—even the emerald—and she was reminded of the night in the Great Hall at Stronghold, and Tobin’s assurance that this ring had a magic all its own. She faced in the direction Rohan had gone and her gaze darted down the sunlight until she saw him clinging close to Pashta’s neck as they neared the wood. Her breathing quickened in response to his; she winced along with him as, entering the trees, branches whipped at his shirt and hair. The cliff trail ahead of him was murderous, and Sioned’s heart began to beat very fast.
Rohan cursed as a sharp branch tore his shoulder. Cries of alarm came from all around him and set his palms sweating inside his riding gloves. He wrenched his horse around a fallen rider, thanking the Goddess for Pashta’s years in the Desert which had made him swifter of wit and hoof than most of the other horses. Out of the wood now, they made the turn up the steep slope that culminated in a green pylon near the cliff edge. Behind him, Rohan heard an anguished scream and there was a crunch that sounded like cracking bones. But he had no time to look back, for the pylon loomed up—and the horse beside him, its rider wearing Lord Reze’s colors, had left him almost no room to make the turn. Pashta’s ears were laid back threateningly; the other horse faltered slightly on a slippery patch and Rohan took the chance presented, urging Pashta through the narrow gap and closer to the pylon. He rounded it in a tight curve— and an instant later heard a terrible cry followed by a heavy splash in the surf below. Rohan winced; it could have been him and Pashta. His sole ambition now was to emerge from this wild ride alive.
The field was down to twenty. Nineteen too many in Rohan’s opinion, and in Pashta’s, too; the stallion, nevei one to allow another horse precedence, made for those ahead with single-minded fury. Rohan pressed his cheek to Pashta’s neck, branches slashing his shirt to ribbons, and simply hung on.
A dun-colored horse came out of nowhere and plowed into them from the right. Rohan nearly toppled from his saddle. The other rider wore the pink and crimson of Lord Tibayan of Pyrme—but the face that grinned viciously at him had the brown eyes, dark hair, and ritual chin scar of Merida Blood. Rohan swore luridly in recognition, and the Merida laughed.
Sioned had lost sight of him in the forest, but as the horses raced onto the flat plain, she stiffened in shock as a dun stallion slammed into Pashta. Yet Rohan had been prepared for the attack—his fist lashed out in a backhanded blow that swayed the other rider in his saddle. Sioned caught her breath as a whip came up in the man’s hand. It came down across Rohan’s already lacerated back and his blond head jerked in pain. Sioned’s fingers clenched into numbed, bloodless claws. The Fire in her rings spread up through her whole body as if she was suddenly sheathed in flames then leaped forward on the woven sunlight. Her lips moved as she gathered herself to activate an ancient technique Urival had taught her at Stronghold.
Rohan’s back was afire with pain. He turned his head just in time to see the Merida lift a hand, glass knife winking in the sunlight. Rohan couldn’t believe that the man would attempt a throw from horseback at a moving target—then revised his opinion as the knife whizzed a finger’s span past his shoulder.
Pashta picked up speed, not shying in the slightest from the glittering blade that shattered on the stones ahead of him. Rohan, thighs aching with the force of his grip on his horse, let the stallion have his head. Distance between himself and the Merida was what he wanted now, before the next knife could reach its target. This desire coincided precisely with his horse’s passion to conquer the four stallions ahead. They were nearing the track now, and they overtook one horse on the gallop through the opening in the rails. Rohan remembered his groom’s warnings and took the reins in a tighter grip. Pashta responded to minute signals of hands and knees, and cleared the first jump with smooth precision—unlike the horse directly ahead, whose rider had been sloppy. Losing rhythm, the dappled stallion faltered and the rider’s whip could not compel him to speed. Rohan passed him between jumps and flinched as he saw the blood-flecked lather on the animal’s flanks.
Again he dared a look behind him. The Merida was catching up fast. Rohan turned to face the next obstacle, guided Pashta over it. But as the stallion’s hooves plowed into the dirt, Rohan felt dizzy, disoriented. He shook his head, his throat and nostrils clogged with dust, thinking that what he needed was air. But he could not help another glance back over his shoulder.
He saw nothing—but the Merida’s thin lips parted in a high-pitched scream, body straining backward as if to escape some hideous vision, dark eyes stark with terror as his mount crashed into the rails.
Between a hedge jump and a stone wall Rohan passed a tiring horse whose rider wore Syrene turquoise. Sure enough, the stallion’s head whipped around to try for a bite out of Rohan’s thigh. Pashta’s ears flattened and it took aH Rohan’s skill to keep the two horses from turning to battle it out. Pashta submitted to Rohan’s orders, stuck his neck out, and ran.
There was only one horse ahead now, clearing the fifth obstacle easily, and as Rohan measured the distance he said into Pashta’s ear, “It’s all right if we don’t catch this one, you know. I can well afford a few emeralds on my own.”
But the stallion had been bred from Chay’s finest studs and mares and he saw only one horse and one jump between himself and victory. Rohan let the reins go slack on the sweating neck after the last fence was cleared. There was only space and the bright hues of the railings and the yellow flag sweeping down like a dragon’s wing— and the other horse half a length behind him.
Sioned unwound her fingers and chafed them against her thighs. The conjuring had been both more and less difficult than she’d feared. Urival had taught her well, but sustaining the fearsome Fire-image of a dragon for only those few essential seconds—and for only one man’s eyes—had drained her of energy. She felt only fierce joy as the enemy toppled from his horse—yet an instant later she cried out with the rest of the crowd as the dun stallion went down.
“No, I didn’t mean—“ she whispered, stricken by what she had done. “Oh no, please!” But though the stallion struggled to his feet from the dirt, the rider, flung halfway across the track, did not move.
She heard Tobin cry out and forced herself to return to the others. The three princesses were hurrying down the steps. Sioned waited until she could breathe without gasping, then followed, careful to keep her distance.
They were waiting for Rohan in the paddock by the time she joined them. He rode up slowly, dismounted, and ignored everyone as he walked the lathered stallion, crooning to him and rubbing his neck and flanks tenderly. A groom came up and flung his arms first around the prince and then around the horse before leading the latter away for a much-needed rest. Rohan wobbled a bit on his feet, winced, and gratefully accepted a large winecup from another groom.
Worry competed with pride as Sioned saw the slashed shirt and the bloody scrapes on his back, face, and arms, much worse than she had thought. She wanted to go to him, scold him for his foolhardiness, and then hug the breath out of him before resuming her verbal abuse. Forbidden these things, she watched enviously as his sister did them all.
“Your clothes are shreds, you’re scratched raw, and I’m positive you’re limping, you idiot,” Tobin said sharply. “Take off those rags and go wash this minute. There’s no telling how many of those cuts will fester if you don’t.” ,
“Yes, Tobin,” he replied with teasing meekness. “Just don’t hug me again, please!” He seemed to notice the other women for the first time. “Don’t look so appalled,” he said, smiling slightly. “It was only a race.” lanthe’s delicate fingers plucked at his sleeve. “You took a very great risk, cousin,” she said. “The horse behind you was not so lucky.”
Rohan’s expression tightened, and Sioned glanced away.
“We heard on the way here that the rider is dead of a broken neck,” Pandsala said. “The horse will survive, although he’ll never race again. As for what actually happened—no one seerns to know, or to have ever seen anything like it. They’re investigating how.”
Sioned looked anywhere but at Rohan. She had killed a man for him. Moreover, she had done it using her faradhi gifts—a thing absolutely forbidden, the worst thing a Sunrunner could do. She could hear herself confessing to Andrade that she had not meant to cause a death, she hadn’t—but as she looked at Rohan again, she learned a bitter truth: he was her price.
“He was a Merida,” the prince said.
“What?” Tobin’s cheeks went white.
“He tried to unseat me during the race. Oh, stop it, Tobin, I’m fine,” he added irritably, shrugging off her concern. “Pity he’s dead. I wanted to talk with him.”
Sioned saw a warning glance pass between brother and sister, and rallied to provide the necessary distraction. In as sharp a tone as she could muster, she said, “It’s a risk that might have been very expensive for your highness.”
“No word of congratulation on my victory, Lady Sioned?”
She could have strangled him for the look in his eyes. Tobin came to her rescue by saying, “Go dunk yourself in the river. I swear I was able to smell you all the way from the stands.”
He smiled down at her. “Sister dear, you’re so soothing to my conceit.”
“Well, you’re not soothing my nose! Chay!” she called out as her lord came toward them. “Take Rohan to the river and throw him in.”
“No time,” Chay responded, and paused to lift Rohan off his feet in a hug that made the prince’s face screw up with the pain of his cuts and bruises. Setting him down, Chay went on, “Wonderful ride, you daredevil! I’ve got to get ready for the last race, but tell me all about it over dinner tonight!” He leaned down to kiss his wife and strode off.
“Perhaps we should return to the stands and watch Lord Chaynal’s race,” Sioned suggested coolly.
“You still haven’t congratulated me,” Rohan said with his sweetest smile and a wicked gleam in his eyes. “But perhaps you bet against me and lost?”
“Oh, I have a wager going, my lord,” she replied with equal sweetness and a glance at lanthe. “But on another race entirely.”
Chay won his race by a handy third of a measure, leaving Lord Reze’s horse breathing dust as promised. After this the highborns left for their tents to rest before making ready for the evening’s banquet. The commoners returned to the Fair, the servants to their duties within their masters’ camps. Sioned knew she could have attended the feasting if she’d wished, for Tobin had firmly established her as a friend, but she also knew she was incapable of spending another instant in the princesses’ vicinity—especially if they were in Rohan’s company. So she went down to the river, sat beneath a tree, and tried not to think about him—and what she had done for him today.
Full of himself he’d been, flushed with triumph, attention, and a safe escape from mortal danger. Flirting with that insufferable pair, using those eyes and that smile to an effect he was only too happy to exploit. Speaking to Sioned only in hopes of igniting her temper. Damn him, anyway.
A cheer went up from the direction of High Prince Roelstra’s tents and she made a sour face. The awarding of prizes had begun. Tobin would have her rubies, Cami her sultry carnelians. Sioned hoped Rohan choked on his emeralds.
“Congratulations, my lord prince,” she muttered, and lay back flat in the damp grass to watch the clouds drifting over the rising moons. She knew what her trouble was—one of her troubles, anyway. She was jealous. Sickeningly, foolishly jealous of the jewels and silks and beauty of the two princesses, jealous that they could flirt with him and she could not, jealous of his compliments and attention. “But you’re mine, you conniving blue-eyed son of a dragon,” she whispered. “And by the Goddess, I’m going to prove it to you.”
But did she want a man who could make her do what she had done today? She argued with herself for a long time, one part of her reasoning that she had probably saved Rohan’s life by setting up the conjuring of a dragon to terrify the Merida. Yet that conjure had killed. Against all her intentions she had broken the most binding of faradhi vows. It was the culmination of what Urival had warned against—using her powers for Rohan alone, not caring a damn for anyone but him. Her feelings had betrayed her into murder. Could there be any justification for that? Was it possible to merge faradhi and princess into someone new? How could they ask her to serve so many loyalties? Her training at Goddess Keep, her love for Rohan, her duty to the Desert—what about her duty to herself, to Sioned? She was not even sure she had a choice.
She could marry Rohan and forswear her gifts, become only a princess and reject all temptation to use them to his benefit. But part of his reason for wanting her and Andrade’s in proposing her was the power she possessed. She was expected to be both faradhi and princess. If she stopped being the former, then what example would her children have in the wise use of gifts they would almost certainly inherit? They would have princely powers from Rohan—but they would befaradh’im as well. A Sunrunner’s loyalty was to Goddess Keep, not to any single princedom. She was being asked to split herself—and her children—between Andrade and Rohan, and the choice was tearing her apart.
No. That was a lie. She put her hands over her face and turned onto her stomach, unable to bear the touch of soft, cool moonlight on her cheeks. She had made her choice today. She had used her powers to kill.
It was not the first such death, either. She remembered the wine steward at Stronghold, how he had been caught between her and Roelstra’s faradhi, how he had died. She had made her choice then and not even realized it.
But, knowing what she now knew, she could refuse to marry Rohan. She could stay Sunrunner only and not become a princess, remove all temptation. She could see him wed to another woman.
Never.
She lay there a long time, breathing deeply of the moist, pungent scent of crushed grass beneath her cheek. The night chill made her shiver. She had no choice, and she knew it. She had set the trap herself with her own feelings, her pride, her needs. She would marry Rohan, be Sunrunner and princess. If they expected it of her, it was no less than she expected of herself.
Sioned sat up, raked her fingers back through her untidy hair, and stared moodily out at the river for a time. Then, rising, she went down to the sandy shore and searched by moonlight for a few smooth river stones. She rolled them between her hands, a grim smile crossing her face. She had faced up to the truth. Rohan was her price, and she had been well and truly bought. There was a strange peace to the knowledge. But now it was time he paid up, too.
Pocketing the stones, she thought of her purchases at the Fair and a slow excitement began to build inside her. She nurtured the feelings carefully, conjuring details in her thoughts: smooth golden skin, sunsilk hair, lean body pressing close, flesh warm and lips opening. . . . She would have victory tonight to match his, and the princesses could rage at leisure. The thought of their fury made her laugh aloud. Rohan was hers; she had paid for him.
Her senses abruptly warned her that she was not alone. She turned as a deep, resonant voice said, “Your laughter is as lovely as your name, Lady Sioned. And your face is lovelier still.”
“Your royal highness!” she managed, and bent her knees to the High Prince, her mind whirling.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he continued. “I’ve just returned from seeing Lady Palila to the barge. She sleeps better there than in.the tent.”
“Has the banqueting ended, then, your grace?”
“Only just. It began early, and I’m thankful it didn’t end late. There’s much work to be done tomorrow. But I found myself wakeful, and decided to walk along the-river. Beautiful, isn’t it? Especially in the moonlight.”
He was neither speaking of nor looking at the river; he referred to Sioned herself, and they both knew it. She felt his masculinity deep in her bones, her already sensitized body responding to Roelstra’s undeniable attractions. “Very beautiful, your grace,” she stammered, mortified by her awkwardness.
“Would you do me the honor of sharing the moonlight with me, Lady Sioned?”
One did not refuse a request from the High Prince, especially not when one planned to be the wife of his chief rival. She could use this time to glean information for Rohan—and, if she was clever and lucky, perhaps learn something about Roelstra’s Sunrunner as well. She smiled, recovered some of her poise, and nodded agreement.
“Did you enjoy the racing today?” he asked as they began their leisurely stroll. “I saw you in the crowd, seated with my daughters and Princess Tobin.”
“It was very exciting. Lord Chaynal rode well, didn’t he? I’m told he always does.” She paused as he lifted a branch out of her way. “Was the princess pleased with her rubies?”
“Naturally. It’s the nature of a beautiful woman to covet those things that enhance her beauty. That’s why I’m surprised to find you dressed plainly—although charmingly—and without jewels. You ought to be covered in silks and emeralds, my lady.” He smiled.
Just you wait, she wanted to tell him. “Perhaps I’m not pretty enough to be covetous, or perhaps Lady Andrade breeds it out of us faradh’im.”
“I’m sure some generous man is waiting to indulge you as you deserve.”
She had a moment of panic that he might have seen through the game she and Rohan were playing. But as she slanted a glance at him through her lashes, she saw that he had another man in mind—and the realization nearly made her stumble on the smooth sand.
“But—but I’m a very unimportant person, your highness. I would bring a man very little.”
“Your lovely self would be more than enough, even if you were not a Sunrunner. You set too low a value on yourself, my dear.”
“And what value would you set on me, Prince Roelstra?” she asked boldly.
“I believe you know the answer to that, my lady.”
This was a dangerous man. The price of discovering this frightening piece of information was rising rapidly. “It’s very late,” she began nervously.
“Not any later than it was a few moments ago, before certain things were said.” He touched her shoulder.
His eyes were a paler green than hers, and avid as they traced the lines of her face and body. Sioned was astounded. His mistress was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. He could have any female he wanted, just for the asking. She was out of her depth and utterly confused.
“But I see I’m upsetting you,” Roelstra said, and took his hand from her shoulder. Her flesh felt cold after the heat of his fingers. “As many times as I’ve observed you in the last days, you haven’t looked at me at all. I’m a stranger to you, I know. But I hope you’ll allow me to change that.” His voice was low, caressing, seductive, and her reaction to it scared her. “I am a patient man, Sioned, and a powerful one. When you’ve decided that the little prince isn’t man enough, I’ll be waiting.”
“What are you offering me?” she whispered, knowing full well what he meant.
“Whatever you would have of me. In return I would expect certain things—nothing you would not gladly give.”
“Such as?”
“I find you beautiful and desirable, Sioned. I believe you know what it means when a woman captures the eye of the High Prince. I would honor you above all others, and we would give to each other as pleased us both.”
“And you would take what you wanted—especially my honor.” She knew now what he was truly after, and was terrified.
“My daughter lanthe described you as proud, but I believe I could change your mind.” He moved closer to her, fingertips on her shoulders, sliding up to her neck and jaw.
A trembling invaded her body, born of both fear and desire, and she wondered wildly if Rohan felt the same thing around lanthe. To accept would mean death—yet there was a fascination in this man’s touch. Was it there in his daughter’s? She backed away and shook her head. “I am no man’s whore, not even when the man is you.”
He laughed. “If you wanted to intrigue me, you couldn’t have chosen a better way to do it. But if you mean to reject me—I suggest you reconsider, Sioned.” He look down at her, still smiling, and without warning took the step that separated them. Before she could move or protest, he had taken her shoulders once more and bent to capture her mouth. Just as suddenly he released her, bowed as deeply as if she had been born royal, and strode up the slope to his tents.
Sioned was frozen, shivering, terror and lust at war within her. The High Prince wanted her—and as a woman, she could not be immune to the compliment of this powerful, alluring man’s desire. But she was also a Sunrunner, like the one already corrupted into betraying their kind. Roelstra wanted her faradhi skills for himself.
And didn’t Rohan want the same thing?
She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking convulsively. Rohan loved her. She repeated that to herself over and over again. It did no good. He would use her gifts just as Roelstra would, only Rohan had the blessing of Lady Andrade who had arranged it all. She took the river stones out of her pocket and gripped them until she thought her bones would crack around them. Who was she to judge which prince would be more worthy of using her? She laughed bitterly. She had no choice. And how she hated them all for it.
Rohan was half-asleep by the time he slid between the sheets of his bed, fuzzy-headed with wine, gloating still over his victory. He mumbled a dismissal to Walvis, who left the tent, and shifted around to find a position that wouldn’t chafe the cuts on his shoulders and back. But wine had dulled the aches and as sleep crept up on him he turned his thoughts to dreams of Sioned.
It crossed his drowsy mind that he must be picking up some of her conjuring abilities, for she was almost real in his arms, her soft lips caressing his forehead and her slim fingers stroking his cheek. He smiled and reached for her, finding it entirely natural that there were indeed smooth shoulders beneath his palms, the skin warm velvet. She sat on the bed beside him and began a greedy exploration of his body. As she pushed aside the blanket for access he gasped aloud, eyes wide as her hand cradled his stirring flesh.
“Shhh,” she whispered, placing her fingers on his lips. He kissed them, wishing the lamp was closer to the bed so he could see her face. The soft light from the glass-shaded candle on the far table combined with the glow of the watchfire filtering through the tent walls to backlight her night-darkened hair. She continued her caresses, sensations he’d never known existed ripping through his body.
“Stop,” he said at last. “My turn, damn it, girl—“ He was surprised to hear his voice so thick and throaty. He slid his hands down her arms, back up to her shoulders, along her breasts that were covered by silk warmed with the heat of her body. He clasped her waist in his hands and pulled her closer.
And froze.
Slender enough, but not as firm as he remembered. Pliant now, the way her shoulders and arms had been, with a slight covering of soft flesh between bones and skin. But he knew Sioned to be firmly muscled, very strong, not sleek-fleshed like this. A scent of rich perfume came from her body, not the clean fragrance of wind and wild things he had come to associate with her.
This was not Sioned.
A sudden flare of fire outside in the brazier reshaped and sharpened the shadows within the tent. The woman turned her head in alarm, and Rohan got a good look at her profile. The violence of his reaction made him shove her completely off the bed and she sprawled on the carpet, sobbing for breath.
“lanthe,” he whispered at the same time the guards outside shouted that there was fire.
“Hide me!” she pleaded frantically. “If anyone finds me here—“
“Get out! I don’t give a damn what happens to you!” He rose and tore the blanket from the bed to cover his nakedness, feeling sick. “I’ll distract them, but you’ll have to run fast. Go on!”
“Rohan, please—“
Her face was eerily lit in blue by the flames through the silken tent. “You want to be found in here with me!”
“Yes!”
He hauled her up by an elbow and shook her. “Did you think you’d force me into marriage by tricking me into dishonoring you? You fool! Get out!”
“You wanted me!” she flung at him.
“Shut up.” He pulled her over to the entrance and drew one of the flaps aside. The guards were trying to stamp out the small fire that had leaped from the brazier onto the grass. “If you’re here when I come back, I’ll see to it everyone knows you for the whore you are. Wait until I’ve got their attention, then run!”
He pushed through the flaps and tightened the blanket around his waist, feeling a total fool. He ordered the guards to run and get water buckets; they obeyed. Only he glimpsed lanthe’s flight. Other people emerged sleepy-eyed from their tents, and Rohan sent them back with calming words. The fire was out, and there was no more danger.
When all was quiet, he returned to the brazier. The green grass should not have caught fire. He inspected the patch that was now soaked with water, expecting to find it charred. It was not. There had been no fire—not of the usual kind.
Rohan looked around him, and in the far shadows thought he saw a slim shape in a dark dress. He started for her, but one of the guards approached him with apologies.
“My lord, I don’t know how it happened! The fire leaped right up out of the brazier!”
“Never mind. No damage done.” He went back inside his tent, for the shadow had vanished. Just inside the doorway he stopped as his bare feet contacted a few small, hard objects on the carpet. He bent, picked them up, and slowly smiled. How had she gotten them in here? he wondered. While lanthe was leaving and he was speaking to the others? It seemed probable.
“So you yourself were watching over me tonight,” he whispered. “May I always defend you as effectively, love.”
He held the stones a little while longer, then placed them in his jewel coffer next to the emeralds he’d won that day.