Against every evidence of the night’s wispy clouds, the next dawn saw a prodigious downpour that kept everyone in their tents until at least noon. Most of the highborns woke at the first thunder, heard the rain, shrugged, and rolled over to go back to sleep. Their suites did much the same, except for a few luckless souis who had to get fires started in anticipation of the inevitable morning calls for steaming hot taze later on.
Lady Palila’s servants on board the barge were fortunate. They had no need to rig up protection for cookfires, and could provide her and her early guest with a full breakfast prepared in the galley. If they were astounded that it was Princess Pandsala who shared their mistress’ meal, they spoke of it only in whispers, and only among themselves.
“So lanthe tried to make a whore of herself last night,” Palila said, her eyes mirroring the satisfaction in Pand-sala’s. “From what I’ve seen of our golden-haired hero, he’s not the type to appreciate it.”
“You should have seen her, coming back to the tent with her hair in tangles and her feet covered in dirt.” Pandsala laughed. “She’s still there, pretending she went for a walk and took a chill so she won’t have to face anyone. I wish her much joy of Naydra’s remedies.”
“And Lenala’s scintillating conversation! It was good of you to come tell me about it and keep me company this morning. I do believe I’ve done you an injustice all these years, Sala. We work well together.”
“We have much to gain and we both hate lanthe. That makes us natural allies.”
“Well, she’s ruined herself this time. Even if Roelstra doesn’t hear of this, our noble Prince Rohan will never have her now. I would say your cause has been won, my dear.”
“Not quite.” Pandsala stirred her taze with a golden spoon tipped by an amethyst. “There’s something about that Sunrunner girl that bothers me. He never has a soft word for her, and she’s barely polite to him. But Tobin and Andrade are both pushing for her. Rohan seems just pliable enough to give in if the two of them try hard enough.”
“I don’t think Rohan’s that stupid,” Palila mused. “And they’re reckoning without your determination to have him, of course. Besides, the girl’s faradhi, without family to speak of—no matter what Tobin says about her connections to Syr and Kierst. She can’t offer anything approaching what you can.”
“I still wish she was out of the way.” She poured fresh cups of taze and gave one to Palila. “It wasn’t wise of you to come all the way from Castle Crag with your time so near, you know. We don’t want you delivering early in a place where we can’t control events.”
“Why do you think I insisted on bringing those other women along? It took me hours to convince your father that I needed their care and company as well as that of my own maids. A pity one of them didn’t get pregnant when I did.”
“You’re not due for another thirty days or so,” Pandsala said, looking her over with a critical eye. “Although I must say you’re big enough to be at least that long overdue.”
Palila hid her annoyance at this reminder of her bulk. “Goddess forbid I should have to carry a child past the usual term!”
“Even a son?” Pandsala asked archly. “I’ve found all the drugs we’ll need, by the way. It wasn’t difficult. There are merchants enough here so I could buy one thing here, another there. A swallow or two of drugged wine, and they’ll start labor pains almost at once. We’ve thought of everything.”
“Unless all four of us produce daughters.” Palila picked at her nails, frowning. “To be really safe, we should have brought the other two with us.”
“Impossible. Even Father would find that suspicious, even though he hardly knows a woman is alive when she’s pregnant.”
Neither did Palila appreciate this reference to Roelstra’s distaste for child-heavy women. “I told him I wanted their company—and deathly dull it is, too. If I didn’t need them, I’d have them all deprived of their tongues now instead of later. Listening to them is sheer torment. But I have to have them with me a few hours every day for appearances’ sake. I depend on you for rational conversation.”
“And news of what goes on at the Rialla. It’s a pity you can’t be up and about more.”
This, too, was a sore point, and Palila did not bother hiding her irritation this time. Roelstra insisted she attend the important functions—the banqueting, the Lastday ceremonies—but she had no energy and her feet had swollen right out of every pair of shoes she owned. At previous Riall’im she had been constantly at his side, admired, coveted, envied. But last night there had been many women who had dared to flirt with Roelstra—and in Palila’s presence, too. It was infuriating to be so huge and indolent and sickly. Her son would have much to answer for once he was born.
“Sioned worries me,” Pandsala said, returning to her former theme. “She isn’t anything special in looks or wits, but there’s something about her—“
“So you’ve said,” Palila responded impatiently. “I tell you, Sala, don’t bother about her. Now that lanthe’s own foolishness has ruined her, you need have no concerns. On the Lastday feast I see you standing with Prince Rohan as his bride.”
The picture enchanted the princess, who laughed gleefully. “Did I tell you what he said yesterday about my eyes? My bridal necklet will be of diamonds!”
“Delightful,” Palila said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “But now that your new position is assured, we ought to make some plans. I’ll get your father to give you Feruche as a wedding present, and through the pass there we’ll be able to control much trade—to our mutual profit, as we planned, with no one the wiser. Our sons will be very rich men.”
“Very rich princes,” Pandsala corrected silkily. “And the firmest of friends.”
Palila smiled her sweetest smile. “Naturally, my dear! Now, we really ought to be planning what you’ll wear on the Lastday ceremonies.”
They spent the rest of the morning discussing Pandsala’s wedding gown, these two strange and dangerous allies.
Sioned was less fortunate in her physical circumstances. Instead of a snug, dry cabin on board Roelstra’s barge— something a Sunrunner would not have appreciated anyway—she was stuck inside a leaky tent. No sooner did she and Camigwen and Hildreth stop one drip than another began. The beds were damp and the wet wool carpet smelled awful. But there was nowhere to go for escape, and when Cami ‘suggested a game of chess to take their minds off their misery, Sioned gladly agreed.
But her mind was not on the game. She could not stop thinking about what she had seen the previous night. Had Rohan welcomed lanthe? Had the Fire interrupted the first caresses of their lovemaking? Sioned’s response to Roelstra’s advances had educated her most painfully in the fascinations of his deadly breed. Had Rohan felt the same?
She lost to Cami in less than fifteen moves. Rising, she grabbed up a cloak and pulled the hood up over her hair. “I’m going for a walk.”
“You’ll catch a chill,” Hildreth warned.
“This is the cloak Tobin lent me—see?” She spread its folds to show the fur lining. “I’ll be warm enough.” As Cami began her own protest, Sioned exclaimed, “I have to get out of here!”
She pushed aside the sopping tent flaps and started walking. The cloak, made for the much shorter Tobin, reached only to Sioned’s knees. She knew she must look absurd, but there was nobody to notice her in her rich crimson cloak over plain riding clothes. A few guards huddled beneath the slight shelter of entry overhangs; a servant or two hurried through the rain on errands. Sioned left the maze of tents for the river and crossed the bridge to the Fair. The booths were shut down and deserted, bright hangings drenched, wood dark with rain. The mer- chants had taken their wares back to the tent village over the hill for safety and protection from the storm, and undoubtedly sat cursing the weather that deprived them of a day’s sales. Deserted, silent, the place looked like a battlefield, lacking only corpses and black-winged birds to pick the benes clean.
Sioned gave an annoyed shrug at the grim turn of her thoughts, and kept walking up the crest of a hill, where a small wood provided welcome if inadequate shelter. Damn Rohan’s leaky tents. Damn Rohan.
Hunkering down beside dripping ferns, she forced herself to think things through once again. It wasn’t even last night’s scene that was bothering her, she admitted privately; she could understand if Rohan had desired lanthe for a time. She had felt the same around lanthe’s father. The trouble lay deeper, and she looked down at her rings with a bitter smile twisting her lips.
What would Andrade say if she knew what Sioned had done to that Merida? Meaning only to frighten, her conjuring had killed. Worse, she felt no real remorse over the man’s death. He had tried to kill Rohan; that was reason enough for him to die.
She tried to believe she hated Rohan for doing this to her. The truth was she hated herself for allowing it to happen. She hadn’t meant for the wine steward at Stronghold to die either, but he had, his mind pulled apart by two Sunrunners warring for control. Sioned was partly responsible. But she could not feel much remorse over him, either.
She had killed for Rohan and she did not even have the excuse yet of being his princess. What would happen in the future, when she could hide behind that convenient obligation? Rohan’s power over her was terrifying, but it was power she had given him along with her heart and her mind. She could be his princess only—and feel like only half a person if she gave up being a faradhi.
It must be possible to balance them, be both Sunrunner and princess. Andrade would never have done this if it was impossible to be both. No prince or princess had ever been an active Sunrunner as well; it was too dangerous. She huddled more deeply into her cloak and closed her eyes, wondering why Andrade should think her strong enough to resist using her power if her husband or her lands were in need. Sioned had not intended to kill, but that was no excuse. She had shattered a faradhi’s most binding vow in Rohan’s defense.
All at once it occurred to her that perhaps Andrade had counted on exactly that.
The concept stunned her. The Lady was wily, manipulative, ambitious, and arrogant, yet she could not intend for Sioned to ignore all traditional restraints on the use of faradhi power. Surely she could not be that cruel, to make Sioned responsible.
But maybe she was. Maybe in making a princess of a trained Sunrunner, she had calculated that the gifts would become partisan ones, that Sioned would break the vows for the sake of her prince. Andrade could not have ordered such a thing, nor said outright that she expected it of Sioned. But, abruptly, it made sense. Andrade had said nothing, but Sioned suddenly realized what was being asked of her. Not merely to create a son who would be prince and Sunrunner as well—but to create the new rules by which her son would live.
And Rohan—what would he ask of her? Could she trust his wisdom to keep her from having to make the choice again and again? She trembled inside the heavy fur, knowing that she had made her choice: Rohan. And for him she would do whatever she had to, as faradhi and princess.
As she sat under rainy branches there was yet one thing that puzzled her until the obvious answer occurred to her. The princes would be livid when they found out Andrade intended to marry one of her Sunrunners to a prince. But they did not yet know, thanks to Rohan’s little scheme with Roelstra’s daughters. Wiping rain from her face, she smiled with grim anticipation of the uproar. If they disliked that event, they’d have fits when the children were born.
Sioned was unaware of those who watched her from the meager shelter of other trees. Walvis was nearly invisible, shivering in a cloak wrapping him from nose to boots. Meath was invisible to both squire and Sunrunner, whom he had been following since Hildreth warned him of Sioned’s restlessness. He told himself that if she wanted to be alone to think, she could at least have picked a nice, dry tent instead of wandering all over the countryside. Muttering a curse under his breath, he huddled closer to his tree.
Rohan was at that moment cursing himself for inflicting his more radical ideas on unsuspecting princes. Despite the rain, the conference continued—if one could dignify the current argument by that polite term. Rohan had made a serious error, inexcusable even by his weariness. He had not slept after lanthe had left him, and had come very close to seeking out Sioned for satisfaction of desires the princess had aroused. The very idea had disgusted him. Still, he had not closed his eyes until dawn, for as he considered lanthe’s actions, he worried more about their implications. To put the finish to his discomfort, rain made him nervous right down to his Desert-bred bones. But a prince could make no excuses for his mistakes, not even to himself. Rohan, listening to the conflict that raged around him, wished he’d kept his stupid mouth shut.
He had begun well enough. In innocent tones he had put forth the suggestion that it would be useful for him to know what his borders were. He really did need to know, after all, exactly what he was prince of. His intention had been obvious enough even for a dull-witted prince like Saumer of Isel. The Merida attack had again prompted the question of rights to certain Desert lands—with Roelstra doing the prompting—and Rohan wanted to define what belonged to him—and, more importantly, what no longer belonged to his enemies. The princes did not realize that his true goals were more subtle. With everyone agreed on what he owned, failure of the Merida to remove themselves from Desert land would give Rohan the legal excuse he needed for invasion. No other prince would dare aid the Merida while Rohan was engaged in recovering what had been decided was his. But, more far-reaching than this, he knew that stable government required stable borders. He had intended to start by proposing distinct boundaries for his own lands, and then in future years encourage other princes to do the same. But they had leaped ahead to things Rohan had hoped to save for the next Rialla. He had not counted on the fierce rivalry between Princes Saumer and Volog. They shared their island in an uneasy truce that had never come within shouting distance of real peace, and their borders fluctuated yearly. When Rohan proposed precise definition of his own lands, they had seized on the concept like dragons discovering an unprotected deer.
“What shall set the precedent?” Roelstra had injected into the discussion, and the battle had begun.
Everyone had a precedent. Everyone’s great-great-grandsire -had had a precedent. That was what territorial wars were all about. Rohan condemned himself for a fool, because another war seemed ready to break out right now. But he had no one other than himself to blame for this.
Yet as he glanced toward the High Prince, wondering why Roelstra did not intervene to settle this, he learned something very interesting. Roelstra actually wante.d them at each other’s throats. The conflict between Saumer and Volog had ignited the same kind of argument between the princes of Firon and Fessenden. And though Roelstra’s face was composed into serious lines, his eyes were laughing. Their disunity was his goal and his delight. Divisive-ness was the key to his personal power.
Rohan sat back in his chair, chewing his lip. He had never realized before how Roelstra kept the princes doing pretty much what he wanted. Now he understood. They fought among themselves, encouraged by the High Prince, who waited until factions were ready to tear each other to shreds before proposing some compromise that would see both sides indebted to him for the settlement. And Roelstra would call it “peacemaking.”
Rohan stared down at his hands to hide the disgust he knew must be in his eyes. He wanted only to claim what was his and nurture it in real peace. Care, caution, and cooperation coaxed the Desert into bloom; his vassals had to work in concert to survive, pushing aside their petty differences. It was not the same in richer lands. There was little work involved in bringing forth fruit and flowers from Princemarch or Ossetia or Kierst-Isel. The rulers of those lands had time for other things, and for many years Roelstra had seen to it that their energies had been wasted in quarrels. All that time, al! those resources, all that power of mind and wealth—and it had been squandered. Rohan felt as angry at the waste as if he had caught someone purposely draining precious water from the cisterns at Stronghold.
Government was the fine art of coordination. Rule was the subtle and divisive art of power. What Rohan wanted most—peace by rule of laws understood by all—Roelstra would work to prevent with all his might. Rohan understood that now. More, he understood lanthe’s desperation which had driven her to him last night. She had seen the chance of gaining power through him, and it was the only thing she had ever learned how to want. She had only her father’s example of waste and treachery to learn from.
Suddenly he thought of Sioned, and his heart ached. He himself had played at Roelstra’s game of divisiveness without even knowing it, setting Sioned against the princesses the way Roelstra set the princes against each other while he sat back and enjoyed the show. Rohan had even pitted his own heart against what his mind had made him think was so very clever. But he could not live that way. He needed Sioned beside him—openly, honestly, freely. He saw himself now as an arrogant child who had played the wrong game and hurt not only her but himself in the process.
He became aware that Prince Lleyn was watching him. The faded blue eyes smiled knowingly for a moment, and then the old man got to his feet.
“My lords,” he said; then, more loudly, “My lords!” They settled down. “I congratulate Prince Rohan on his excellent if revolutionary idea. But I suggest that without maps and documentation, we’re wasting our time.”
“Can you solve our problems, cousin?” Roelstra asked smoothly.
“I believe so. We must apply to Lady Andrade.”
“For what?” Saumer asked, a world of suspicion in two syllables.
“Not for a ruling, certainly,” Lleyn reassured him. “But before the next Rialla she might be persuaded to organize land claims so everyone will know where everyone else stands—literally. I suggest that we save the drawing of borders until three years hence, and search our archives for proper precedent.”
“I approve,” the High Prince said. “Your words are wise, as ever. In fact, I am inspired by them to suggest something else rather new. 1 propose that until we have all agreed on our borders, that things as they stand now be considered the legitimate boundaries of our lands, to be revised as necessary in three years’ time. I further propose that any prince who attacks another be swiftly punished by the rest of us.”
Saumer frowned. “Let me understand this, Roelstra. If, say, Haldor attacks Chale over a few square measures that are in dispute—“
“Then I would be there with all my armies as soon as I could to defend Prince Haldor’s rights. And those of us on the border of Meadowlord or Syr—Prince Rohan, for instance—would come to Haldor’s defense as well. It would take much of the profit out of war, and we could cease spending our substance on useless wars.”
“I like it,” Ajit of Firon declared.
“So do I,” said Saumer, with an eye on Volog, who smiled.
“May I speak?” Rohan heard himself say.
“Please do, cousin,” Roelstra replied graciously.
“I think that Prince Lleyn should be the ultimate arbiter of any serious disputes. These are not matters for Lady Andrade to decide, and on his island Lleyn has little interest in who owns what on the continent.”
“Are you agreeable to this proposal, Lleyn?”
The old man bowed to the High Prince. “I shall do myself the honor of accepting the task.”
Sanity at last, Rohan thought gratefully.
“I hope,” Roelstra went on, “that we will be able to work out differences between ourselves without bothering Lleyn.” The hint was not missed by a single man present, not even Saumer. “And now, my lords, we deserve a rest. Prince Vissarion has kindly provided refreshment in his tent. We meet back here this afternoon.”
Rohan escaped from the close atmosphere of the violet tent and drew up the hood of his cloak against the rain. The morning had not been quite the disaster he’d feared at one point, but there were many things he had to think through. He needed privacy, and there was none to be found in his own camp. At Stronghold he could have disappeared for hours as he chose, but where could a prince hide at the Riallat
He went down to the river, hoping no one else would venture out in the rain for a stroll, and from the corner of his eye caught sight of Meath slinking around the trees on the opposite shore. He supposed he ought to be reassured by the zeal of those who watched over him, but the constant surveillance annoyed him, too. Briefly he considered making a game of it, trying to outwit the faradhi, but the dutiful portion of him forbade it. He would be an idiot to go off alone without escort, what with the Merida possibly roaming around.
Rohan finally saw the perfect place for privacy: the steps leading up to the bridge. He felt a little foolish as he slid beneath them and hunkered down out of the rain, but Meath could think what he liked. He drew his cloak more tightly around him—like a dragon with wings folded against the rain, he told himself with a grin. The wooden planks above leaked a little, and he shifted around to find a spot where he wouldn’t get dripped on, finally settling down snug and hidden from prying eyes.
The morning had not been so bad, he reflected, though Roelstra’s suggestion about mutual aid and defense troubled him. The possibilities for mischief were endless. He set himself to thinking as the High Prince might—something far too easy for his peace of mind—and the scenes that played out in his head were far from reassuring. Any attack, no matter who arranged it, would compel the other princes into punitive action. Questions would come only later—if the fighting stopped. For there were factions among the princes that would not vanish in the face of any treaty. Athr’im picked fights with each other all the time, more often than not on the orders of their princes, who usually kept out of the actual battles. Rohan’s own father had used the tactic often enough, though he had loved fighting and was always in the thick of any minor war. Rohan, however, had no intention of living that way.
But he could easily imagine a force of mercenaries laying siege to a keep and placing the blame on someone else. High Prince Roelstra could march through in the attacked prince’s defense—and work whatever damage he cared to inflict. By the time everything had been sorted out, no one would be certain what had happened.
Still, perhaps everyone would think twice now about making war. Localized conflicts were one thing; major wars were to no one’s profit. Rohan shrugged, knowing that all he could do was hope for the best.
He felt better about his own proposal of legal borders. Not for nothing had he gone over every document in Stronghold’s archives. He already knew what was legally his—not only regarding the Merida, but along his borders with Syr, Princemarch, Meadowlord, and Cunaxa as well. He would have to give up a farm or two, but he would also gain substantial properties in return. In all his vast holdings, he could afford to cede a little in exchange for undisputed right to the rest of it. The vassals involved would have to be appeased, of course, now that they were going to own the land, but thanks to his father he had money enough to soothe the loss of a few square measures here and there.
What a dragon’s egg he had cracked today, he thought with a smile. The princes would go mad rummaging around for old treaties and the surveys made by faradh’im long ago. In their searching they would, without even realizing it, come to value the precedent of law. With luck and a push here and there, he could persuade them to extend that belief to other things.
Footsteps sounded on the bridge above him, returning from the other bank, and for a moment he thought it must be Meath. But the steps were too light to belong to the big Sunrunner. As the person descended to the gravel shore, curiosity got the better of him. He peeked out from his shelter and with complete delight recognized the girl wrapped in a cloak much too short for her.
“Sioned!”
“Who’s there?” She whirled around, fear in her voice.
“It’s only me. Rohan. I’m under the steps. Come in out of the rain.”
She approached, her riding boots muddy to the knees, and bent to peer in. “Whatever are you doing?”
“I could ask you the same. Come on.” He held out a hand, which she ignored. “You’re supposed to be safe and dry inside your tent,” he scolded as she crouched down beside him.
“Your damned leaky tent,” she corrected. “And you’re supposed to be in a conference.”
“I got bored.” He shifted around to kneel behind her, careless of the mud, and began rubbing her arms and shoulders. She was shivering beneath the fur-lined cloak. “You’re soaked through! How long have you been outside, woman? Here, let me warm you up.” He tried to draw her back against him, intending to hold her while explaining his discoveries of the morning, but she shrugged him off angrily.
“Don’t handle me as if I’m your property,” she muttered. “You don’t own me yet, my lord prince.”
Bewildered, he kept his mouth shut. A few moments later he was rewarded for his self-control.
“I saw lanthe last night, coming out of your tent! The only reason I’m even speaking to you is that she didn’t look very happy.”
Rohan was glad her back was to him so she missed his delighted grin. “I didn’t give her much reason to be. You conjured Fire last night, didn’t you?”
“What if I did?” she said sulkily. “She was there to seduce you or kill you, and I wasn’t about to let her do either.”
“I wonder which would have been worse?”
She twisted around and stared at him, her lashes all tangled with raindrops he longed to kiss. “How I’d love to be able to hate you,” she whispered.
Rightly interpreting this as a declaration of emotions having nothing to do with hatred, Rohan took her in his arms. They sat there in the mud beneath the leaky bridge and kissed each other, hampered by the bulk of their clothing, the chill, and a total lack of adequate space. Rohan had never been happier in his life.
They might have stayed like that all afternoon and well into the evening, but gradually Rohan became aware that rain no longer dripped into his hair, the blue-gray dimness of their hideaway had brightened with sunlight. Reluctantly he eased his hold on her. She pressed her hands to his chest and nestled her head comfortably against his shoulder.
“There’s so much to tell you, and there’s never any time. Rohan, meeting in secret will be fun once we’re married and don’t have to in order to talk to each other, but for now it’s getting ridiculous!”
“Just wait till I get you alone in Stronghold this winter,” he promised.
“Saddle the horses and let’s go home, then!” She laughed and moved away from him. “Only a little while longer, I know. Just remember that I don’t really mean the things I say around other people.”
“Not even about the river stones?” he teased. “I found them last night. Very romantic!”
She turned crimson and pushed at his shoulders. “Get out of here before they miss you. And go change clothes— you’re caked in mud.”
“So much for romance.” He stole another kiss. “As for you, my lady, go dry off and get into something warm.”
“I was warm until you let go,” she complained, her arms sliding around him again.
“Stop that. Sioned, I absolutely forbid you to seduce me.”
“Will I need to?” She giggled. “Oh, very well. I’ll go. I suppose it wouldn’t be very elegant of me to sneeze my way through our wedding. I’m going to look gorgeous in those emeralds, you know.”
“Greedy witch,” he accused. “Just for that, I’ll have your necklet made of river stones after all.”
“Oh, no, you won’t!” She took his face between her hands and kissed him soundly. When she let him go, he said the only thing possible under the circumstances.
“I love you!”
The green eyes filled with tears. “You’ve never said that before.”
“Of course I have!”
“No. That was the first time.”
“But you knew, Sioned. You must’ve known.”
“I like to hear it sometimes, Rohan. It makes things easier.”
“What things, love? The princesses? Don’t pay them any attention.”
“Yow did,” she reminded him tartly. “But it’s not really them.”
“Then what is it?”
She lifted the hand that wore his emerald. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to wear these other rings honestly.”
“I don’t understand.”
A small sigh escaped her. “I don’t know anymore what I’m supposed to be. Sunrunner or princess or both? I feel—caught.”
He finally understood her earlier words. “Sioned, no one can own you unless you allow it. Not me, not Andrade. Anyone who tries will want to use you. I promise I won’t do that. I love you so much—I don’t ever want to see you hurt. Don’t be afraid of me, love. 1 won’t trap you.”
“You already have.” She forestalled his protest with another kiss. “Just keep your other promise, Rohan. Always be honest with me. Please.”
They crept out of the small space, shivering in the brisk wind that had blown the clouds away, and parted— she returning to her fellow Sunrunners, he to his fellow princes. Neither of them noticed their shadows: one a faradhi, one a squire, one an expert swordsman of Rohan’s own guard. And none of these saw the figure in a dark violet cloak who stood concealed by a tree, hate seething in her dark eyes.
The next afternoon Lady Andrade stood in the conference tent, setting the seal of Goddess Keep on a score of documents. All the princes watched as she dripped hot black wax onto the white ribbons Urival had placed on each parchment and pressed her seal to leave an image of the great castle. Secretaries had been at work all day to make the requisite number of copies—and there were plenty to be made, Andrade reflected, with her nephew’s name on quite a few of them. Privately she was amazed at what he had accomplished here. He had gained a good deal and given away just as little as Zehava ever had. Andrade suspected that the other princes were beginning to realize that behind the guileless smile and innocent blue eyes were a cunning brain and a driving ambition, but they were all eager to conclude treaties with the man they thought would soon be Roelstra’s son-by-marriage. The High Prince had led them to believe it; Rohan had not had to say or do a thing. And all the princes were locked into these agreements for the next three years.
She nodded cordially to Roelstra when the last document bore her seal, and he turned to the assembled princes. “Cousins, I thank you for a peaceful and profitable Rialla. May we all reap our just rewards from our work here, and meet in even greater friendship three years hence.”
As they bowed to Andrade and filed out of the tent, she drew her cloak a little closer against the sharp breeze coming through the entry. Urival replaced ribbons, seal, and wax in their case and stacked Goddess Keep’s copies into a coffer for transport. The neat, graceful movements of his hands caught her attention, lulling her somehow, and she gave a start as Roelstra’s voice came from behind her.
“A few moments of your time, Andrade, if I may.”
“Of course. Urival, I’ll expect the catalog to be done by tomorrow morning. Get Camigwen to help you. She has a clear hand.”
“If I can pry her away from Ostvel,” he murmured with a slight smile. He gathered up the two cases, bowed, and left her alone with the High Prince.
“Please sit down,” he invited, and Andrade sank into a chair. Roelstra seated himself opposite her at the table. “You know my hopes regarding your nephew and one of my daughters.”
“A blind man could see it,” she replied pleasantly. “You can be subtle when it suits you. I wonder why you’re so obvious now?”
“Without insult, may I venture the opinion that there was no other way to get the idea across to Rohan? He’s been very intent on the business of the Rialla, and unresponsive to any but the most direct hints about my girls.”
“I think he’s received the impression you wished him to have,” Andrade told him straight-faced.
“But I understand you have your own candidate for his hand.”
She nodded. “In her own way, Sioned is as stubborn as Rohan.”
“I have an offer to make you, Andrade. Lady Sioned doesn’t really want him. He would do much better by way of wealth and prestige by taking one of my girls. A marriage bond with me would be a very good thing, and we all know it.” He paused. “As you also know, I have been without a Sunrunner at Castle Crag for some years now.”
“That was your doing, not mine. Johoda was highly skilled, but you rejected his service.”
“An action I have come to regret. As you are aware, I have other sources of information. But now I need a faradhi.”
“And you want Sioned.” Her fingers beat a steady rhythm on the table. “You may not have her, Roelstra.”
“And if she herself should request it?”
Andrade burst out laughing. “For the honor of being your whore? Don’t fool yourself, Roelstra—not about this girl, nor about yourself. You’re no longer young. You’re thicker than you used to be, and the years are beginning to show. Scarcely the handsome youth who came riding into my father’s keep nearly thirty years ago, looking for a wife!”
He gave her a narrow smile. “Thank the Goddess I chose neither you nor that witless twin of yours.”
“Your memory is failing, I see,” she taunted. “Milar loathed you on sight, and I had already seen what you’d become.”
“I will have Sioned!”
“You will have nothing!” She leaned forward, no longer laughing. “Do you think I’d even consider entrusting that girl to a man who has already corrupted onefaradhil Oh, yes, I know all about it—and you knew that I knew. You have my permission to explain yourself.”
He surged to his feet, towering over her. “Your permission? How dare you accuse me—“
“I ought to have accused you before the other princes!”
“And why didn’t you?” he shot back. “Too proud to admit you can’t control everyone and everything the way you control Rohan?”
“Whatever gave you the idea that I tell him what to do or say? You have a great deal to learn about him, Roelstra.”
“I warn you, Andrade—“
She rose, pulling her cloak around her. “It was your face, the face you wear now, soiled by power, that I saw in the Fire while I was still a young girl. Live your own life as you will. But / warn you, Roelstra. Don’t you ever touch one of my faradh’im again.”
She swept out of the tent, racked by an inner shaking. Goddess, how she hated that man, wanted to ruin him— but without the renegade Sunrunner at hand, she had no proof. She surprised herself with the depth of her need to see Roelstra utterly broken. But she knew that only when he was would Rohan and Sioned be safe.
The High Prince ignored his servants as he strode onto his barge. He heard Palila’s voice rise on his name, but had no time for her—bloated, useless Palila, who would never bear him a son. He entered his own cabin and locked the door against her, should she manage to lever her bulk from her couch, and thought of Sioned’s slender body, Sioned’s graceful movements, Sioned’s fathomless green eyes—and Sioned’s faradhi rings.
He opened a compartment concealed in the wood panels and pulled out a small velvet sack. Weighing it thoughtfully in his hand, he considered Crigo’s needs. The man was valueless. He would receive no more than what he already had in his tent.
There was more than enough dranath here for Sioned.