Princess lanthe ripped open her father’s seal and unfolded the parchment, scowling as she noted the date of the letter. She reminded herself of dear, dead Pallia’s warning about wrinkles and smoothed her face into more pleasant lines. But her irritation was not so easily banished; it had taken fully ten days for this letter to arrive from Castle Crag. Through winter snows, spring runoff, summer heat, autumn rain—not to mention rockslides, bandits, or plain bad luck—the couriers never moved fast enough to suit her. Andrade’s interdict on Castle Crag and Feruche was a vast inconvenience. But the messages that passed between father and daughter could not have been entrusted to a Sunrunner in any case, she reminded herself, not even one seduced by dranath as Crigo had been.
As usual, Roelstra wasted no time on family news. Neither he nor lanthe cared about her sisters. Besides, she had her spies in his household just as he had watchers in hers who reported anything of interest. It was part of the cynical, amusing game they played in pretending to trust one another. His opening “Dearest Daughter” was in the same vein.
Plague deaths have opened up many excellent possibilities, most notably Einar for me and Tiglath for you. Kuteyn of Einar’s surviving son is now a lad of ten winters, and his widow is a simpering nonentity incapable of governing her own maids, let alone the city and its lands. Additionally, certain documents have come to light suggesting that those lands once belonged to Princemarch. Pimantal of Fessenden will be irked by this, as he has eyes on the same territory. Saumer of Isel will support my claim on this, you will be happy to know, for we recently concluded a secret agreement based on my controlling Einar. You may so inform his agents in your court—and in Volog’s halls as well, so he may decide whether his profit lies in supporting me or Fessenden. He grew used to working with Saumer when the Plague forced them to it. This may continue.
Insofar as Tiglath is concerned, you know of course that Eltanin Ipst his fair-haired darling bride in childbed and their first son to the Plague. The second boy thrives, but Eltanin himself is reported much aged, the result of his personal losses and his own slow recovery from the Plague. Others are similarly weakened, but more of this at another time.
Our Merida allies tell me they are preparing an assault against Tiglath as soon as Rohan is at the Rialla, THIS MUST NOT HAPPEN. We must adhere to our original plan. And I warn you, dearest daughter, that self-indulgence at this time would be fatal.
The princess’ lips curved in a sarcastic smile. The pointed reference to her many lovers was unnecessary. She had not been touched since the beginning of winter, and made very sure that her household knew she slept alone. There were visitors enough to Feruche that would attest to her chastity during this period, persons who could have no stake in the game she and her father would soon play in earnest.
Speak to your Merida cub at the earliest opportunity. Do not let their hot blood ruin our plans for Rohan and his Sunrunner witch. Let the Merida know in the strongest terms that if they spoil this, they will find themselves positively yearning for their wastelands from the smallest, darkest cells in the lowest depths of Castle Crag.
Regarding your unsubtle hints about the future of your sons—if they are like you and me, and I suspect that they are, then telling them what they will have when they are grown will do no good. Currently Rusalka and Kiele are battling for position over young Lord Lyell of Waes, who needs a bride. I find this as amusing as the da\s when yott and your sisters were at it over Rohan. Daughters vie wah each other over men—but sons fight over castles and power. Let us see how your boys turn out before we promise them anything.
In any case, lanthe, with any luck they will be ruling the Desert when they are grown men. They can wait, and take what they like at that time.
She sighed ruefully. She had anticipated this reply and had not really expected her suggestions to find any favor with him. It would have been useful to have in writing gifts of land and castle for her sons, but Roelstra was correct in many ways: they would only grow up trying to outmaneuver each other. lanthe intended they should work together as much as their ambitious natures would allow. She had no illusions about their acquisitive instincts. Ruval at four and Marron at barely three already fought over almost everything, and year-old Segev watched his brothers’ battles with great interest.
Their fathers were highborn men of excellent lineage and spectacular beauty. lanthe sighed again at the thought of them: Chelan with his smoldering eyes and perfect body, Evais’ incredible imagination in bed, Athil’s erotic games. Poor Athil. He had not been content with clothes and jewels and fine horses as the others had been. He had wanted marriage to the favorite daughter of the High Prince. His sunlight fairness had reminded her of Rohan, and it had been surprisingly difficult to order his death, annoying as his demands had become. At least Chelan and Evais had had the sense to leave when told. It amused her to reflect that she would have jumped at the chance to marry any of them while she still lived at Castle Crag. Years of exercising absolute authority in her own keep had taught her that marriage was not for her.
Yet memories of nights with her lovers stirred her vitals, and she damned the scheme that dictated her continued abstinence. Her spies at Castle Crag told her that her father disported himself with anything in skirts these days, but there had been no more children—not even daughters. lanthe chuckled, for reports also fea- tured rumors that Roelstra was impotent. Served him right.
His letter ended with a caution that this was to be their last communication for a long time. lanthe felt no regret. She burned the parchment and left her private chamber, glad she would not have the trouble of composing a reply. She was compelled to restrain her temper with her father, a discipline she found more and more irksome as the years went on.
Her women were hard at work in the weaving room. The great tapestry with its matching pillows and bed hangings was nearly complete, and lanthe inspected the work with growing excitement. The tapestry depicted various stages of the dragons’ mating ritual, fascinating scenes woven in brilliant, clashing colors chosen by the princess herself. One panel showed males battling in the sand, their talons picked out in crimson and orange, blood dripping from their gaping jaws and from rents in their hides. The violence continued into the next panel, where ten females heavy with eggs circled above a cliff where a male displayed himself in ritual dance, his virility almost obscene.
The third panel depicted male and female in the act, dagger-teeth bared, tongues lashing out, bodies almost visibly writhing. Golden sand spewed up around them in the hot darkness of the cave. There was a terrible fascination in the rutting that made lanthe smile.
The last panel was near completion, about half of it still only sketched in thread and not yet filled in. It was a scene of young hatchlings battling each other, white shells contrasting with blue, dark scarlet, bronze, and coppery hides. A strong young dragon dug his talons into a dead sibling, about to devour him. But in the shadows another hatchling waited, his eyes picked out in livid red as he watched the carnage and sought his chance.
The pillows were small vignettes of mating dragons and fighting sires, hatchlings feeding off each other, flames searing into cavern shadows. They had been her rejected designs for the larger tapestry. The bed hangings showed more scenes of savage mating, and when closed around a bed the thickly stitched curtains would produce a small cave of erotic violence. lanthe smiled her approval of the work and left the room, thinking of the lover for whom she had planned the weavings as she went up to the battlements to enjoy the dry breeze that lifted her hair from her nape and fluttered the hem of her gown. Below her was the border where Rohan’s garrison sheltered in barracks carved into the cliffs. Three times in the last years lanthe had sent for their captain when the Merida attacked trade caravans, attacks she planned most carefully for times when she wished the prince to know she had been delivered of a son. She laughed lightly and leaned against the pink stone wall, remembering the pleasure of flaunting her sons—sons his faradhi bitch would never bear him. But the fourth summons had gone down to the captain only fifteen days ago, and the attack had been arranged for a different reason. When the garrison captain had arrived, lanthe had invited him to dinner as was customary by now—and had talked of dragons. There were ancient caves in the higher mountains where the great beasts might go this year to mate. Rohan was interested in anything concerning dragons, and by now had undoubtedly been told about these caves. But even if he did not investigate on his own, lanthe had other plans. She had learned in a hard school that one must always have other plans.
She turned as her eldest son called out imperiously, and saw the nurse bringing all three boys for an evening hour with their mother. She kissed them all and dandled the youngest on her knee, gloating. Strong, healthy boys they were, long-limbed and handsome like their fathers, clever and quick-witted like her. Ruval and Marron chattered of the day’s doings, fighting as usual over who had thrown a ball farther and run faster. She had produced sons, where the Sunrunner could not even carry a child halfway to term. She knew all about Sioned’s failure to produce an heir, rejoicing that the difficulty was natural and she had not been put to the trouble of arranging miscarriages for the faradhi.
She wondered what the Desert had done to the woman these last six years. Scrawny and withered, lanthe told herself scornfully, her skin lined and rough, for she was not the type to pay strict attention to her looks. Motherhood had ripened lanthe’s beauty, turned girlish slimness to lush curves of breast and hip and thigh, though she had been careful to keep her waist trim. She had been just as careful to guard her skin and hair from the ravages of hot sun and wind, and had used Palila’s tricks to prevent her pregnancies from marking her flesh. She would require all her perfections for this game, and knew herself to be flawlessly beautiful.
Marron climbed up onto her lap, nearly dislodging Segev, who screamed and clung to her with one hand while battering at Marron with the other. lanthe hugged them to her breast, cherishing her triumph in their existence. When they were grown, they would hold the Desert and rule over Princemarch besides. The path to power for a woman lay in the men she controlled, and she laughed aloud as she played with her sons. The lands and castles might become theirs, but they were forever hers.
Tobin folded her hands in her lap and looked up at her husband. The morning sunlight that shone off his dark hair showed the faintest traces of silver. He wore supple riding leathers that clung to the long muscles of his thighs, and his open-throated shirt revealed an expanse of strong chest, sun-browned from long days outside. He stood before her, boots planted firmly on the sandy beach, scowling.
“You’re giving me that look again,” she observed.
“You were far away from me again,” he countered.
“I’m always right here, love.”
“Your body, yes.” He dropped down beside her and rested his elbows on his drawn-up knees, staring out at the Sunrise Water. “I can’t say I understand where the rest of you goes.” He shrugged. “Just so you always come back, Tobin. I keep thinking about what happened the night of Zehava’s ritual. I almost lost you.”
Tobin looked down at her hands. On the middle finger of the left was the first Sunrunner’s ring, sent by Andrade two years ago, set with a small chunk of rough amber.
Talisman against danger, she reminded herself, and sighed. She felt the need of protection now.
She and Chaynal had gone out riding early, trying the paces of two newly broken mares along the beach below Radzyn Keep. The sea was laced with white foam as it reached greedily onto the sand. A measure to the north along the bay was their port district where ships of all sizes folded their sails to become a winter-bare forest of masts as cargoes were off-loaded. It was good to see ships in the harbor again; their presence meant trade was at last resuming its usual pattern after the desperate years of the Plague and its aftermath. Radzyn was the only safe anchorage along the Desert coast, and Chay’s forebears had grown rich on trade long before they had started breeding the finest horses on the continent.
Tobin had brought an impromptu breakfast along, and after tethering the horses to a driftwood log had spread out a feast of flaky pastries stuffed with fruit and meat. But the morning had been interrupted in a fashion she had grown more or less accustomed to over the years, for a gentle whisper had touched her mind, and with it the feel of Sioned’s colors. Once again she had been caught up in this strange and wondrous thing Sioned had taught her how to do. As many times as they had communicated this way, she was always enchanted by the sweet clarity of her sister-by-marriage’s light. Though at times there were darker accents when Sioned was troubled or unhappy, the colors were always fresh and shone with the beauty of her spirit. Tobin treasured her touch.
Her gaze returned to Chay and another smile crossed her features. He was made of ruby and emerald and sapphire, all the deep strong hues that were the perfect foil for her own amber and amethyst and diamond. It had impressed Sioned that Tobin thought exclusively in gem colors, for the faradh’im of old had symbolized their patterns of light with precious stones and considered them representative of certain powers and qualities of spirit. It had pleased Tobin that Andrade’s gift of a first Sunrunner’s ring had been set with amber. And the thought of protection against danger returned her thoughts to where they had begun.
“Rohan’s going dragon-hunting up around Skybowl, perhaps even as far north as Feruche,” she said.
Chay stared at her. “You’re joking! I’ve told that idiot he shouldn’t ride within fifty measures of Feruche!”
“When have any of us ever been able to tell him anything?” she asked rhetorically. Digging her fingers into the warm sand, she felt the gritty coolness beneath, the pressure that trapped her hands. “Sioned doesn’t seem worried about it.”
“But there’s something else, isn’t there? And it’s not hard to guess what.” Chay shook his head. “She’s bound to have heard the rumors. There are several vassals who want Rohan to put her aside for another wife, or at least take a mistress who’ll give him an heir.”
“And she’s just fool enough to listen. Chay, she’d never give him up—and he’d never let her go.”
“Sweet wife, everybody knows that. But you know who the heir presumptive is, don’t you? And that means I can’t say a word. If I defend Sioned, they’ll think I want Maarken to be the next prince. And I’m damned if I’ll encourage the idea of a new wife or a mistress!”
“There has to be something we can do. I’m not sure Maarken would want the burden of a princedom. He’s been so fragile since Jahni died.” She could still see him wandering around Radzyn, searching for his brother, or waking up in the middle of the night crying out for him.
Chay drew patterns in the sand with one finger. “He doesn’t need the Desert crown hanging over his head. In many ways he’s like me, Tobin. We’re good at things on a Radzyn scale, but we’d be hopeless at running a whole princedom.”
“I don’t agree with you, but I understand what you’re trying to say. You’d both be unhappy living anywhere but here by the sea. It’s taken Maarken quite a while to adjust to Lleyn’s court, much as he’s fond of the old prince. Meath has told me on the sunlight that he did better once they gave him a room overlooking the bay.”
“Where else could we have sent him? There’s no safer place. Whether we like it or not, he’s Rohan’s heir.”
“No one would dare attempt Maarken’s life!”
“Not while he’s in Lleyn’s care, no. But where do you think Roelstra would stop? And, failing him, the Mer-ida? They don’t have any tender feelings toward me, you know. Graypearl is the only place for Maarken until he’s old enough to defend himself.” He smiled slightly. “Even if he does get sick crossing water. Should we have expected that?”
“Andrade seemed to. And he’s working with Meath and Eolie.” Her hands clenched around the sand. “Damn Roelstra!”
“And Rohan wants to get within spitting distance of lanthe.” Chay shook his head. “My love, have I ever told you that your brother is a fool?”
“I’ve known him longer than you have. He’s fool enough to go for the throat of anyone who suggests anything about Sioned. Are you sure there’s nothing we can do or say to keep the vassals quiet? They’re bound to mention it.”
“They can try,” he answered grimly. “We’ll just have to trust what little sense Rohan has to keep Sioned from acting on any insane ideas.” He squinted into the morning sunlight and got to his feet. “Sails coming in, and a turquoise banner. The Syrene ship finally made it.”
“From Prince Jastri? What does he want? And why come in a ship?”
“He wants horses. What else? And the ship means he wants them fast. I’m only a minor athri, love. I trade in what I understand, and leave the fancy politics to others.” He helped her to her feet. “I’ll send Jastri’s emissary around to you after we’ve finished haggling over horseflesh. You hear things in people’s words that I never do.”
“Minor athri,” she scoffed. “Warlord bred of ten generations of pirates—and legalized thief into the bargain.”
“Makes me the perfect mate for dragon’s spawn like you, doesn’t it?”
Sioned stood at her windows, watching the sand and sky. She had never seen so many colors as there were here in the Desert. She had not expected this bounty when she married Rohan, had not dreamed that her faradhi senses would find shades of light here that she had never seen anywhere else.
Her childhood home of River Run had been painted in blue and green, lush with flowers and the brilliant plumage of birds. Goddess Keep’s sunsets were the amazement of all who saw them. She had traveled through sunny farmland and shadowed forest, absorbing the colors of abundant life. But after six years of watching the seasons change, she was still caught by the colors unique to this harsh land. Each sunrise over the Long Sand brought subtle variations on blue and red and yellow; clouds sometimes streaked the dawn sky like wind-blown wheat sheaves tinted a thousand different colors. The blazing noon sun showed her frail silvers and palest golds across the sands, ruddy darknesses stealing along the rocks, and white so pure it hurt her eyes. Evening, especially in spring and autumn, created a rosy glow and strange greenish shadows that faded to purple along the dunes and wrapped Stronghold in mysterious warmth as night fell. And the stars—she had always thought them mere pinpricks of shining in the sky, but in the Desert she felt their colors, scarlets and blues and fiery oranges that sparked her senses. Most of all she loved the colors she sensed in the stars.
Most would say the Desert was lifeless. Except for small, isolated places, there were no trees, no grass, no flowers; no creatures singing to each other in the wastes; no rivers glinting with fish; no crops, no fruit ripening amid broad leaves. It was unlike any place Sioned had ever lived, yet she knew there was life here. She could touch it with her faradhi senses. The life of the Desert was in its millions of colors.
She turned as someone entered the antechamber, and smiled to see the vivid colors worn by her nephew Tilal. She went to him and set a cloth cap on his dark curls. “There—that finishes your outfit. Come look in the mirror.”
He did, eyes widening. “Oh! You put in River Run’s colors with my lord’s!”
“One day your knight’s tunic will be in the same combination—Rohan’s blue and silver, your own piack and green. If it’s all right with your father, that is.”
“Mama will be thrilled,” Tilal answered with a mischievous grin.
Sioned tried unsuccessfully to restrain a smile. To cover the lack of respect due her sister-by-marriage, she returned to the windows and gazed down into the courtyard. The horses were saddled and ready. Soldiers filled their waterskins at the well, and Ostvel strode among them checking off things on his list. The sight of him reminded Sioned of something else, and she beckoned the boy over.
“Did Ostvel give you the purse your mother sent? You’ll find plenty of things to spend your money on, but remember to save some for the Rialla.”
“I only took half, but I hope it’s enough to buy new strings for Ostvel’s lute.”
Sioned’s brows arched in surprise. Ostvel had not touched the lute in a long time—and not because the strings were old, she told herself sorrowfully. It was impossible to persuade him to make music when Camigwen was no longer here to listen.
“I made him promise to teach Riyan,” Tilal finished smugly.
“That was very clever of you! I wish I’d thought of it myself.” She took a few coins from a bowl atop a large chest and tossed them one by one at the boy, who laughed as he caught them. “Use these to buy the strings, and spend your own money on yourself.” . “Thank you, my lady! Now I know I can afford the other things I want!”
“Such as?”
“They’re a secret.”
“Even from me?” she coaxed.
He hesitated. “Well . . . yes. Is that all right?”
“Of course. But do find something you want, Tilal. Riyan has quite enough toys.” She laughed as the squire’s green eyes went wide with amazement that she had guessed correctly. It had not been so difficult; the self-centered child who had arrived at Stronghold had undergone a great many changes, all of them for the better. “Your mother sent that money so you could have a few luxuries for yourself,” she reminded him. “And there’s nothing wrong with buying yourself a present now and then.”
“Thank you, AunJ Sioned,” he said as he pocketed the coins. Walvis bellowed his name from the courtyard below and he leaned out the window to yell down, “I’m coming!” Then he went back to the mirror to inspect himself once more.
“You look very grand,” Sioned teased. “And in a few more years you’ll be spending all your money to impress the ladies.” She adjusted the fall of his light cloak. “You won’t let my lord ride too far or fast in this heat, will you? And make sure he eats a good dinner, whether in the halls or up in his own rooms. You know how he is.”
“Yes,” Rohan said from the doorway. “We all know how he is. Tilal will make sure I come back pampered and fat, without so much as a broken fingernail. Woman, you worry too much.” He tugged the cap playfully down around Tilal’s ears. “Let that be a lesson to you. Choose a wife who’s convinced you’re older than ten winters and can take care of yourself.”
The boy resettled his cap and grinned up at Rohan. “I’ve never seen you lesson her on the matter, my lord!”
Rohan snorted. “Run downstairs and tell Ostvel I’ll be along soon.”
Tilal bowed formally to them both and left the room, remembering to close both inner and outer doors behind him. Alone with her husband, Sioned suddenly found she had nothing to say, could not even look into his eyes. Her gaze traced the silver embroidery on his gold silk outer robe, thinking he would glisten in the sunlight from the top of his blond head to the toes of his polished boots. Beneath the sleeveless knee-length robe he wore blue trousers and a white shirt, with a topaz set in silver resting below the hollow of his throat.
“I know you want to come with me,” he said quietly. “But if the rumors are true and the Merida are readying another attack against Tiglath, I want you safe in the south.”
She nodded. The progress had been her idea, after all. Visiting each keep would spare them the bother of a vassals’ meeting at Stronghold before the Rialla. Sioned would go to the southern holdings while Rohan toured the north. The tactic was satisfactory on many counts. Each athri.would be honored by the presence of one of his rulers, which would emphasize his personal relationship with them and underline Sioned’s status as a working princess—as well as prevent the vassals from coming together to indulge in their usual squabbles. Besides all that, Rohan and Sioned would be able to see for themselves the state of each holding, and not be dependent on other sources of information regarding crops and herds. The convocation of vassals would be held after their return from Waes this year, when Rohan would present them with the terms he had won from the other princes on their behalf.
“I’ll miss you,” he said, stroking her braid with one finger.
“You’ll have a.care to yourself won’t you?” she asked wistfully.
“Walvis and Tilal will see it to. I’m sure you gave each of them a list a measure long.” He took her face between his hands. “Smile for me, beloved. When you don’t smile, the whole world is dark.”
She rubbed her cheek to his palm and closed her eyes.
“Sometimes I wish I was a Sunrunner, too, or had inherited at least a little of what Tobin did. Then I could talk to you when we’re apart.” He embraced her, rocking gently back and forth. “You take care as well, my lady.”
“Ostvel says if you give him one more lecture on the subject he’ll tear his hair out.”
“I haven’t been that bad, have I?”
“Worse.” She drew away and smiled. “Remember to give Eltanin’s little boy the present I sent along. Walvis has it, and gifts for the others as well.”
“Hadaan will be furious that I didn’t bring you along to Remagev so he can flirt with you.”
“Your kinsman is a sweet old devil who flirts better with his one eye than most men do with both! Give him this forme.” She kissed Rohan’s lips soundly.
When she drew back he said, “I’ll tell him about it. Most of it.”
“Well, don’t tell him about this one.”
When she finally let him up for air, Rohan reflected dazedly that it would be nothing less than kindness to omit a description; Hadaan was an old man. Rohan was a young one and wasn’t sure he’d survive.
He kept and arm around her waist as they walked through to the hall. “Come downstairs with me?”
“Certainly not. There’ll be a stormcloud of dust and I’ll be coughing for days. I’m going to be a properly forlorn wife and stand on the battlements waving my scarf.”
Rohan made a face at her. “And people call me a fool!” He paused at the top of the stairs. “One of Andrade’s itinerant faradhi is supposed to be at Tiglath soon. If there’s any news, send to me there.”
“I will.” Sioned smoothed back his hair and smiled. “Goddess watch over you and bring you home safe, love.”
After kissing both her palms in homage, he hurried down to the courtyard. A short while later he was at the head of the seventeen riders wending their way through the tunnel into the Desert. Tilal was just behind him, Rohan’s standard proudly secured in his right stirrup. Walvis came next as knight-commander of the squadron. Emerging from the tunnel into glaring daylight, Rohan waited until he was sure he could see the keep, then turned in his saddle. He nearly burst out laughing, for there was the promised slender figure—waving a piece of silk the size of a battle flag. He called a halt and Walvis, understanding his wink, had the riders wheel smartly about to salute their princess.
Rohan saw the smiles on even the craggiest warrior faces. His people loved Sioned nearly as much as he did. They were proud of her beauty and her status as a Sunrunner; they approved of her care of him and his obvious happiness with her; and they loved her for herself. She tended their wounds and sicknesses, helped their wives in childbed, and had established a school for their children. From her household monies she dowered their marriageable daughters and sons. That she was utterly useless when it came to the everyday running of the keep was a matter for affectionate laughter, a ioic.c that endeared her to them. Rohan knew that if he was ever so far out of his senses that he attempted to take a mistress, his own retainers would make sure he returned to his right mind in a hurry.
But sooner or later his vassals would start hinting about his childless state. He was fertile; it was Sioned’s inability to carry a child that was the problem. The athr’im honored and respected her; half the letters from Stronghold bore her signature alone, and by now her authority was firmly established. She had studied Desert laws and customs thoroughly; her decisions were wise and fair when she sat in justice alone during Rohan’s absences from Stronghold. But the vassals would want the assurance that only a male heir could give. Rohan shrugged in sudden annoyance that verged on anger. It was as if they considered a woman to be worth no more than the sons she produced, no matter what else she accomplished and how much she gave.
But at least he would not have to deal with any of that for some days yet. His first destination was Remagev Keep, the last of a series of castles that had once reached across the Long Sand all the way to the sea. Through the years the fortresses had been abandoned one by one as the land became impossible to live on, even for the hardiest sheep and goats. Remagev was the only one not in ruins, and from it Rohan’s great-grandsire had begun his reconquest of the Desert and driven the Merida north. His distant cousin Lord Hadaan now held the keep. Childless, the last of his branch of the royal line, he had asked Rohan some time ago to find a worthy athri for Remagev—and part of the reason Ostvel had yielded his usual position to Walvis on this journey was that Rohan intended Hadaan to notice the young man. - After Remagev they would visit Skybowl, then several small manor holdings nestled in the hills, and then Tiglath. Rumor had the Merida poised in the rocky plains for yet another attack. Rohan wondered sourly if they would ever learn. Sioned had discovered a spy this past winter at Stronghold, a wayfarer craving a few nights’ shelter, who had been caught trying to break into Rohan’s pri- vate study. She had been all for sending the man back to his people in a large number of small boxes. Gentle as his lady could be, she had a streak of ruthlessness when it came to protecting what was hers—especially Rohan himself. He had ordered that the spy be given a horse but no water, and set him free in the Desert with a few trenchant words of warning for his Merida masters.
But they would never give up. Rohan knew that only too well, and it saddened him. War was such a waste of lives and substance and time. Yet he had no choice. The Merida had sworn to take Stronghold and butcher every member of Rohan’s family. So he must keep fighting, keep pushing them back, keep them penned up where they could work no serious mischief. He cursed the lack of alternatives, but it seemed he would have to live by the sword for some years yet so that his sons could live in peace.
Sons. The forbidden subject again. He called Walvis forward, brows arching as the young man made him a formal bow from his saddle.
“I’m practicing my manners.” Walvis explained. “Lord Hadaan is a real stickler for proper etiquette.”
“When it amuses him—or when he’s got his second eye in! Father used to tell me Hadaan kept the eye he’d lost to a dragon in his pocket and sometimes changed it with the real one when he wanted to scare people. I used to stare at him until my head ached, trying to figure out which was the real one! But I’d like you to keep both your eyes open, Walvis, and take a good look at Remagev for me. I’m considering some changes there. It could turn into a real asset if we put some effort into it. Hadaan is more warrior than athri, and the last time we visited the place was a mess. I’d hate to have to abandon it.”
“I’m no expert yet, though Ostvel’s been teaching me. But I’ll survey the place as best I can, my lord, and tell you what I think.”
Rohan turned the conversation to other things, satisfied with his ploy. Walvis would come away from Remagev excited about plans for renovating it and remain unaware of who might be in charge of the work until Hadaan made his decision. If all was agreed, then Sioned could start looking for a bride for the boy—a redhead? came the whimsical thought. Rohan would elevate Walvis to athri of Remagev Keep, Hadaan could live out his remaining years untroubled by duties he had never liked anyway while giving Walvis the benefit of his experiences in the Desert—and Rohan would end up with a revitalized keep, a loyal vassal, and the satisfaction of having rewarded the landless youth for his many years of service. Yes, he reflected with a smile, sometimes being a prince was an excellent thing indeed.
With Rohan gone, attention turned to preparations for Sioned’s departure for the south. She and Ostvel would head straight for Radzyn and spend several days there before following the line of holdings along the coar* to the Faolain. Sioned’s brother, Lord Dawi, would cross the river and meet her for a private visit at Rohan’s suggestion for the twin purposes of family duty and political soundings. Prince Jastri, kin to the athr’im of River Run, had succeeded to his father Haldor’s princedom, and Rohan had a few ideas about expanding the small port at the river’s mouth in a joint venture that could prove profitable. From there, Sioned would travel northward and visit the rich lands bordering Syr and Meadowlord, whence most of the Desert’s substance in foodstuffs came, and wait there for Rohan before they journeyed together to Waes.
She looked forward to the progress. Although she wished Rohan could be with her, she was eager to confirm her standing with those she now thought of as her vassals as well as her husband’s. She sat up late at night to review everything about each lord and holding, choosing gifts for wives and children, discussing possibilities with Ostvel. But toward midnight on the day before she was due to leave, the moonlight called her outside to the gardens.
She stood before Princess Milar’s fountain, watching the water turn to a shower of silver light. There was no breeze; drops fell in a perfect rippling circle out to the blue and white tiles that had been brought all the way from Kierst. Sioned sat on the edge of the pool and dipped her fingers into the water, her rings glittering.
What had she brought to Stronghold? she wondered. Milar had made the rough keep into a miracle of comfort and beauty. Her touch was everywhere. What would Sioned leave behind?
She knew her own worth both in private and in politics; six years as wife and princess had challenged her and not found her lacking. Except for a child. But if a wife was expected to give her husband sons, even more were they expected of a princess.
Tobin had sons. One of them would continue Zehava’s line if Sioned could not. lanthe had sons, she reminded herself bitterly—three of them, where her own father had produced none. It seemed Sioned had something in common with Roelstra after all. But Rohan would never be like him, would never seek sons in other women’s bodies. She shook her head, knowing that she should have consulted the Mothertree back at Goddess Keep before she had left. But if she had, and had been shown herself with empty arms, she would never have come to the Desert. The girl she had been would not have known that a princess was worth more than her production of male heirs.
But whatever else she was to Rohan, she knew she would not be the mother of his children. She splayed her fingers in the water and counted off her rings—this for calling Fire, that for conjuring with moonlight, another declaring her to be a Master Sunrunner. She would give them all for a son—all except the great emerald on her left hand. The stone was a symbol of hope and renewal, the springtime jewel of fertility. Her lips, curved thinly. How the gem mocked her.
And how its green fire suddenly blazed, catching her with a lash of color. The fountain of water drops became a fountain of fiery sparks falling in a perfect circle just beyond her fingertips. And within that green-gold-silver light she saw herself, and a child in her arms.
The newborn boy cuddled naked against her naked breasts, Rohan’s golden hair a silken cap framing his small face in light. The Fire put greenish shadows into his blue eyes as he reached a tiny fist for her unbound hair. Sioned saw herself hold the baby closer, guide him to her breast to suckle. She caught her breath in wonder A child, a son—but then she saw her own face lift, and recoiled from the sight of the fierce, angry green eyes. There were welts across her brow and one bared shoulder, burned into her skin by her own Fire.
The vision faded, and the fountain was only water again. The spray struck her face with a sudden wind through the garden. She shivered, drew her hands from the water and dried them absently on her skirt. Closing her eyes, she fewove the water circle and its vision in her mind. A son, held jealously to her breast; Sunrunner’s Fire scarring her face and her body. A sudden trembling shook her, but whether of joy or fear she did not want to know.