To the Sunrunners standing on the battlements of Goddess Keep, the ocean was as vast a wilderness as the Desert, and more threatening. They could at least retain their wits if forced to traverse the Long Sand; setting sail across Water meant incapacitating sickness which, though it wouldn’t kill them, would surely make them wish they were dead. A faradhi on water was as helpless as a dragon without wings. Andry sometimes wondered how Lady Merisel had convinced her people to leave Dorval for the continent.
And why had they come here, of all places? he asked himself as Valeda chanted the day’s end. Goddess Keep had several advantages—rich farmland that made it self-sufficient, comforting isolation, a defensible approach on one side and forbidding cliffs on the other, no mountains to block the sunlight, and a far southwesterly location that gave it a maximum-length day even in whiter. But rain and thick fog walled up the castle every year, rendering the light of sun and moons inaccessible. Was this the best Merisel could find? Or had there been some unknown but compelling reason to build here?
He chided himself for letting his attention stray from the ritual. He’d already missed half of it; Torien’s deep voice, representing Earth, alternated now with his wife Jolan’s ringing words as she personified Fire. The two aspects of the Goddess were thus invoked—male and female, Earth and Fire. Deniker then took over the male’s part, speaking for that aspect of the Storm God that was Air. Ulwis assumed the voice of Water, sweetly melodic as a mountain stream as she recited the counterpoint to her husband’s words. Andry let the chant wash over him. Not the best poetry, but adequate to the purpose. It got the idea across.
All four voices invoked protection over the times between sunset and moonrise, moonset and sunrise, when there was no light for a faradhi to use. Andry found the cadences more powerful in the old language, with its terse nouns and spare verbs. But the majority offaradh’im knew little of it, so perforce the rituals were in modern speech. He often wondered why Merisel had forbidden the use of the continent’s original language. And how had she managed to all but obliterate it, except for remote places in the northern princedoms, in a mere few hundred years? It was the language of sorcery, and that might have been the reason for her adamant eradication. Andry suspected, though, that she had decided to emphasize the establishment of a new order of things by establishing another tongue. But on this, as on many other things, her histories were frustratingly silent.
Only magical terms and personal names were still as they had been. Logical enough; the terms were evocative of power in and of themselves, and a Naming was a very solemn ceremony—also magic. Many places retained their old names in sometimes corrupted forms. Veresch trans-. lated into “silent wolf”—appropriate to those mountains. Dorval, home of the Sunrunners before their arrival on the continent, meant “loyal sword”; Catha was a particularly potent word combining Water and breath, or Air. But it was anybody’s guess what Ossetia or Zaldivar or Ussh had originally been. Even some personal names were puzzling. Jolan, the scholar among his devr’im, often spent whole nights working on a single term. Intellectual puzzles appealed to her.
Andry translated the last lines back and forth from one language to the other, enjoying the unison of four differing voices.
Protect us from the dark time of night (Vis-tiel wis’im se’eltan la bellia) Until the Sun brings light and life. (Josclen dev edeva.)
He and his devr’im had no reason to feel helpless without sun or moons. But common Sunrunners were not taught to use the stars. Gathered down below in the courtyard, they found great meaning in this daily ritual conducted by their superiors.
He and Jolan had spent a whole winter and spring working out the specifics of the Elements. No one had ever codified belief before. This amazed Andry—for there was much satisfaction to be had from organized, definitive tenets. Surely Merisel had known that. But she had allowed no formalization of the attributes of the Goddess and the Father of Storms, and no rituals other than the ancient ones of Naming, Choosing, and Burning. Faith was a casual thing, casually observed. Andry suspected she had overreacted to the complex ceremonies of the diarmadh’im; this “Nameless One” he had heard sorcerers swear by had evidently demanded elaborate rites. Andry did not propose the same. What he was doing he likened to what Rohan had done at his first Rialla as ruling prince. Just as Rohan had used ancient maps and treaties to clarify borders and set every princedom’s boundaries so everyone would know literally where he stood, Andry found clues in the histories and the Star Scroll to set the boundaries of belief.
The four voices rose ie unison for the final verse, praising the Goddess and the Storm God. Air and Water were obviously Elements of the latter, each capable of bringing both life and destruction—but not to each other. Fire, the most sacred, could scorch Earth to ashes. This was the source of tension and thus of power, for it was the Goddess’ strength that kept her two aspects under control. Sunrunners were first and foremost servants of the Goddess, drawing their power from her.
All persons were made of all four Elements: the Air of breath, the Water of blood, the Earth of bones and flesh, and the Fire that was the life of the mind and heart. Their tensions were reflected in everyone. It was a tidy system, and appealed to Andry’s sense of order.
For example, Sunrunner physicians now knew exactly where to direct their energies to effect a cure. A broken bone required no Water-rich potions, nor cauterizing Fire, nor inhalations of herbs on Air, but rather splints made of Earth-born wood. Likewise a poisoning of the blood’s crimson Water could be helped only by certain plants that grew in rivers and lakes. It was entirely fitting and logical that dranath, the herb of the mind, should require baking in hot ovens or drying in the sun’s Fire to reach its full effectiveness. These remedies had been known before, but now physicians knew the why of them.
Andry was not responsible for the medicinal aspect of belief. For that he credited a young man who had come to Goddess Keep two years ago after training in Gilad. Evarin had been only nineteen, the most brilliant student ever known at the school for physicians. But he was also faradhi gifted, and knew it, and had left Gilad before receiving his certificate.
“I won’t waste a weary year as a drudge for some idiot who couldn’t soothe a skinned knee, and then pay over part of my earnings for three more years to support the school. Especially when I’ve known what I really am since the first time I set foot in a fishing boat! And besides that, my Lord, you need me.”
Evarin offended many with what they saw as arrogance. Andry knew it was the supreme confidence of someone born to a specific work; after all, he was called arrogant, too. Valeda had had Evarin’s man-making night, reporting with amusement that the boy’s pride had suffered a serious hurt remedied just before dawn. This secretly increased Andry’s liking for him—his own first night had not been a resounding success. He’d made up for it since. So had Evarin, if rumors were to be believed. He now wore eight rings, and it was for him and at his suggestion that the eighth was reserved hereafter for Master Physicians. Andry alone kept that ring without having to qualify for it; his devr’im, who wore nine, had mostly chosen to give it up. Deniker, Oclel, and Nialdan had no talent for healing; Man and Rusina couldn’t be bothered. Ulwis attended Evarin’s classes every so often, halfheartedly. Torien, as chief steward and senior devri, felt it incumbent upon himself to earn the Master Physician’s ring. But Valeda showed a true gift for advanced medicine, and the eighth ring was back on her left thumb before Evarin had been at Goddess Keep a year.
Utterly self-confident, convinced that only Sunrunners should treat the sick and injured, Evarin might have become Andry’s rival within and without Goddess Keep. A physician’s power was formidable and Evarin was prodigiously gifted. But Andry was not only Lord here and grandson of a prince, but had possession of that which earned Evarin’s instant respect: the Star Scroll. In it were encoded the spells and potions of the diarmadh’im, lost for hundreds of years— even to them. The sorcerer Mireva had sent one of her own to steal it if possible, and had failed. It was never read except in a closed, windowless, hearthless room, so that no conjuring by light could gain a glimpse of it. Urival had given Sioned a translated copy, which infuriated Andry even at this late date. But she was afraid of using power—like her husband and like the man she called her son.
Knowledge of Pol’s true birth was a power Andry had not yet decided how to use. He had come to believe that the Goddess would not have allowed him to know if there was no purpose for the information. He had not yet found one. He would not reveal it for childish spite; there was no point in that except his own satisfaction.
He had almost revealed it once, during an ugly confrontation at the Rialla of 731. Three years earlier, Andry had gone secretly into the Veresch to kill any diarmadh’im he could find. Gloves had hidden faradhi rings; he and Valeda and Nialdan had been careful to draw no attention to themselves, posing as simple travelers. The mountain folk knew only that certain people who had lived among them vanished without trace, the doors of their homes marked with a sunburst pattern burned into the wood. The mark of the Goddess, it came to be called. No one ever connected them with the executions.
But somehow Pol found out. He had waited through the first days of the Rialla, treating Andry with a cool, distant respect. Then, on the morning of the races, while Andry stood at a paddock fence admiring his father’s horses, there came a flash of colors so blindingly intense that if not for the wooden rail at his chest, he would have collapsed.
Surprised, cousin? said a coldly furious voice in his mind. / ought to do to you what I did to Ruval three years ago. How would you like a Star Scroll spell used on you, cousin? How about the same one you used to kill citizens of my princedom?
He saw nothing but the angry swirl of Pol’s colors imprisoning his senses. He tasted acid emerald edged in black, felt the slice of diamond brightness, smelled stinging topaz-gold smoke. Pol’s power staggered him.
Oh, yes, I know all about it. I know how you came into my lands in defiance of the edict against you and murdered my people. “In the Name of the Goddess,” you’d say, wouldn’t you? Justified because they were sorcerers, and therefore evil. Why didn’t you go after Riyan? Or Ruala? Why don’t you kill Princess Naydra—she’s the last living daughter of High
Princess Lallante. Or is it only the obscure and nameless you have the courage to kill?
They merited killing, he managed, and Pol’s grip on him increased until he felt his head would split like a ripe apple in a clenched fist.
That was for me to decide. Not you. I am the law in Princemarch. Not you.
He had almost revealed it then. Almost flung the damning words at Pol: I know about you, I know whose son you really are. But he had not.
/ won’t warn you again, cousin. If any more die, if any more of those ludicrous sun patterns are found, I will come after you.
There was a cruel, deliberate wrench at his senses, and then his mind was his own again. He discovered that his fingers had clawed so deeply into the wood that splinters were embedded in his palms and under his nails. When sight returned to his aching eyes, he turned his head, seeking Pol. Standing far away across the paddocks and the track was the tall figure, blond hair glowing in the sunlight. Pol was looking straight at him and even at a distance Andry saw rage in every line of him.
He should have told Pol then, should have shattered that insufferable insolence. But he had not. It was not yet time. It would have served no purpose but to vent his own anger, soothe his own pride.
It suited him that Pol ruled Princemarch and would be the next High Prince. Better him than Rinhoel of Meadowlord or Daniv of Syr, who were also grandsons of Roelstra. But the right moment had not yet come to reveal what he knew. Whether he would tell only Pol in private or proclaim it to all the princedoms, he did not know. But someday...
The ceremony ended with the day itself. Andry leaned one shoulder against the crenellated wall as the faradh’im left the battlements. Torien approached, murmuring something about meeting to plan the harvest, but Andry shook his head and smiled.
“No, not tonight, my friend. Jolan wouldn’t thank me for depriving her of your company this evening, if her eyes are any indication.” He laughed as Torien looked flustered, and slapped his friend’s back. Deniker and Ulwis came to Andry soon after to ask if he would join them for a little music later on. He politely declined this offer as well. Not that he would spend the night alone. He would share it with Brenlis.
Of the five women who had given him children, Brenlis was the only one who held more than a small piece of his heart. The daughter she had borne him of her first night was three this year, and bid fair to becoming the enchantress her mother was. From the moment Brenlis had come to Goddess Keep, everything about her had captivated him. Her beauty was unusual and compelling—golden-brown Jiair framed eyes that changed from gray to turquoise depending on her mood, and her face was as delicately perfect as her body. But more fascinating was her strangeness. He had never met anyone quite like her. Even the memory of Alasen faded when he was with Brenlis.
She was the daughter of a Syrene farmer, born within sight of the sea. She had been fostered for a short time at Stronghold, where Sioned had detected her gifts. Andry still remembered the morning Brenlis had arrived, appearing before him like a conjured vision, sunlight making her long braids twin rivers of shadowed gold. She had given the stunned Andry a letter from Sioned—the two of them never communicated through faradhi means anymore—and waited for his verdict.
I ask that you take her in and teach her Sunrunner ways, my Lord, Sioned had written in a formal style that betokened their estrangement, going on to detail the signs that meant possession of great gifts. But then she had added a personal note; he could hear her voice in the words, wistful with memory. When I look at her, I see myself as I was when even younger than she—called “fey” and looked on askance by my brother’s wife, who did not wish so strange a girl in her household. But in Brenlis there is something else, something deeper. I have taught her only how to call Fire—I am not qualified to nurture such gifts as she possesses. They are not easily explained, but within a few days of meeting her you will see.
He had seen the instant those blue eyes met his own. She had been only fifteen. A year later Merisel was born. But if Andry had expected his feelings for Brenlis to settle into the same comfortable friendship he had with Valeda and Rusina and Ulwis, who had also borne his children, he was mistaken. The girl bewitched him. He had not felt this even with Alasen in his youth.
Andry sometimes feared he made himself foolish with this passion for a girl half his age. But none questioned or gossiped—not only due to respect for him, though he commanded vast reverence, but because the gifts Brenlis evidenced were so awesome. Her talents as a conventional Sunrunner were negligible—she had earned but two rings in the four years of her training, where most wore a fourth and often a fifth. She could call Fire and Air, and go Sunrunning with difficulty, and that was all.
But she needed no flame to see what would be. She warned of oncoming storms before the most careful Sunrunner observations could discern them. She saw Milosh of Fessenden’s wife die days in advance of that lady’s fatal accident. She knew when Sionell of Tiglath would be brought to bed of a child, and that it would be a son Named Meig. She knew things, as if the Goddess and Father of Storms, having decided an event, shared knowledge of it with her.
During her first year here, people had come to her with all manner of questions about their futures. The farmers who served Goddess Keep had consulted her about the best days for planting and harvest. To such questions she could reply only with a helpless shrug.
“I don’t see simple things,” she had told Andry. “I see what happens to princes and lords, or storms and winds that affect many people. I suppose it’s like dreams sent by the Goddess—only my dreams come when I’m awake. Nothing I’ve ever seen is more than a few days into the future. My Lord, please teli them that if I could see in response to their needs, that if I could look far into the future, I’d do it. But I can’t.”
Andry had forbidden people to bother her with questions she could not answer. Some grumbled that what use was such seeing, but the rest knew that Brenlis’ gift was something out of the ordinary, understanding that the small doings of everyday life were not the stuff of which the Goddess’ visions were made. Was there not a circle of mighty trees in the forest for such questions—who would one marry, how many children, what would old age be like? Visions were reserved for great matters and great warnings.
The sky darkened as the first stars appeared. Andry had no fear of being powerless under a night sky all dazzled with distant light; he had learned from the Star Scroll how to use that brilliance, so different from sun and moons. The diarmadh’im might consider the stars to be a Fire different from that of the Goddess, coming instead under the power of their Nameless One. Andry knew that Fire was Fire, but just the same there was something different about the stars. More subtle than other light, they burned not with the white-hot intensity of noon sun or the cool silvery glow of the moons, but with a fierce, icy brightness. All his dreams of war and terror and destruction had come when stars alone ruled the night.
He had not had such a dream in several years. Someone less wise would have believed that the danger was no longer imminent, and having done everything possible to prepare against disaster, could now relax the vigil. Andry did not fool himself. War was coming as surely as the sun would rise tomorrow. And it would come in autumn, when hatchling dragons darkened the sky.
He had seen them in the last dream. While funeral ships were sent out to sea, there to burn with their sails like great flaming dragon wings, the dragons themselves flew over Radzyn, shrieking. The invaders, gold beads glinting in their long beards, fell on their faces in the sand. All groveled but one—a tall, dark, regal man, a prince among these savages, who grabbed up a bow and shot a defiant arrow at the hatchlings. One was wounded, and screamed as she fell from the sky. Andry woke thinking, Rohan will be furious that someone killed one of his dragons.
No dreams had come to him since, but the ones he’d already had were burned into his brain. Each expanded on the first—Radzyn and its port town sacked, ruined, ablaze. Next had come sight of the looting, then the loading of dead warriors and living captives onto ships to be burned at sea, and finally the hatchling dragons. Autumn, unmistakably autumn, in a Dragon Year of mating when the young tried out the strength of new wings.
“My Lord? The evening is soft, but you look like thunder.”
Andry turned and the heavy dread left him at beholding Brenlis. She was dressed in white silk, her hair lighter than usual after a long summer of sun, her skin glowing like moonlight on thick cream. Her lashes and brows and the rich wine-colored curve of her lips defined her face; otherwise she was all pale shadows as she drifted toward him across the stones. Sometimes, when the dusk touched her the way it did now or a single candle lit her face, and she
34 Meianie Sawn tilted her head in a certain manner, he could almost believe she was Alasen. But it was not the poignant pain of recognizing another in her that stopped his breath; it was her beauty, hers alone, as if Alasen had been a mere foreshadowing of this woman.
He smiled and held out his hands. “No thunder. Although in that gown you make my blood roar so I can hardly hear. Do you think it’s quite fair of you, my lady, to grow more lovely every instant?”
She shrugged, embarrassed. She didn’t like compliments, no matter how sincere. He gave them anyway. He couldn’t help himself. She was so exquisite—and so elusive. Words about her beauty made her seem more ... here. If only she would blush, giggle, arch a brow, tease, or any of the other things women did when complimented —but then, if she did those things, she would not be Brenlis.
And despite the elusive quality of her mind and heart, she always came to him. Sometimes he wondered if this was because she wished to, or because she understood that his position would never allow him to be the one to come to her. Was it her own desire or her care of his pride that brought her?
Such thoughts left him as he turned her face to the stars with a gentle finger under her chin, intending to kiss her. But there was that in her eyes he knew meant seeing. “What is it, dear heart?”
“I—I’m not sure,” she said, frowning. “It was very quick. I saw myself standing on the cliffs at my parents’ farm.”
It was a six-day journey to her home in coastal Syr. That was a long time in comparison to her other visions. But this concerned him less than the other aspect of her sight. No simple, everyday occurrences, but major events —or things that would become so in time. He had tried to puzzle out why she had seen the birth of Sionell’s son; there had been no visions when the children of other athr’im were born. He could only wonder what role the boy would play when he was grown. The death of Milosh’s wife had shown its significance quickly: grief-stricken, he stayed at his estates long enough to see her ashes blow away on the wind, then rode off into the hills. Pirro of Fessenden pleaded with Andry through his court Sunrunner to find his brother before he did himself some injury in his mad flight. Andry obliged— and worked devri spells at a great distance when it was seen that Milosh was in the hands of a sorcerer with a grudge against Pirro. Milosh had escaped with his life and a loathing of diarmadh’im that rivaled Chiana’s—she who had also been used by a sorcerer. Andry had been able to rid the continent of one more enemy—and not in Princemarch, where Pol could make self-righteous objections. The death of Milosh’s wife had been the catalyst.
Now, however, he could not fathom why Brenlis should have seen herself on the shores near her home. “Perhaps it was only a wish, a memory,” he suggested.
“That’s possible,” she said, and seemed relieved.
But he couldn’t make himself believe it. “Brenlis, if you want to go home and see your family...”
She smiled and shook her head. “I miss them sometimes, especially my little brother. But my home is here, at Goddess Keep.”
He waited for her to add, With you. He was a fool to expect it, but couldn’t help hoping. “Come inside. It’s getting chilly.”
He read to her while she sewed a new dress for their daughter, Merisel, thinking with amusement how astounded the others would be to see them. Just like an old married couple. Sometimes she asked for stories of his childhood or Desert legends, but most of all she loved to have him read to her. She was as mind-hungry as he had been in his youth, but with a tragic difference: she could not read. It had not been thought necessary for the child of a farmer, so she had never been taught. In her four years here she had tried again and again to learn, but without success. She confused letters, her mind making them into so many meaningless ink squiggles on a page. It was Jolan’s opinion that the Goddess had given her one gift in exchange for another. Brenlis could write her name, and that was all.
Andry read to her that night from a book recently sent from the scriptorium on Kierst. The story dated back hundreds of years before Sunrunners and diarmadh’im had battled for the continent, a thrilling and unlikely tale of a quest for a lost crown called aselej. It took until midnight to finish it, and he was dry-voiced and hoarse by the time he was done, but he had enjoyed the story and Brenlis had begged him to keep reading. He supposed that tales of the past must soothe a mind that so often saw the future.
Perhaps that was why she came to him: for refuge, quiet companionship. She never spoke of her own people or her home, or shared any of her thoughts or feelings unless he specifically asked. He had learned not to ask, schooling himself to patience. Th& night she spoke freely was the night he would know he had won her.
Whatever her elusiveness, it did not extend to rejection of physical pleasure. She had had no lover but him, ever since her first night when he had worn the Goddess’ illusion—and she had seen right through it. But tonight, even as she cried out in his arms, shuddering and clasping him ever closer, he knew he had not reached her heart. He never had. But someday, he promised himself, nestling her in his arms to sleep, someday...
When he woke just before dawn, he was alone. Brenlis rarely stayed with him until morning. He buried his face for a moment in her pillow, scenting her in the silk, and wondered yet again if he ought to marry her. He was often near to asking, but supposed he was afraid she would refuse him—or, worse, accept for the wrong reasons.
It was Valeda who brought his breakfast, instead of the boy who usually waited on him. She obviously had something to discuss in private. In a single glance she took in the evidence of Brenlis’ presence the night before: rumpled sheets, the impression left in the second pillow, stray hairpins on the carpet. Valeda tended to take a rather proprietary interest in his bed life, though she was never so foolish as to display jealousy. She knew better, having observed Othanel, long-dead mother of his son Andrev, who had been tediously possessive.
“How are the children this morning?” he asked. Valeda looked after his three daughters and two sons as devotedly as if all of them, not just Chayly, were hers. To the two eldest in particular—Andrev, Othanel’s son, and Tobren, whom Rusina had never wanted—Valeda was the only mother they had ever known. Ulwis and Brenlis were more like fond aunts to Joscev and Merisel than mothers.
“They’re all quite well, my Lord.”
“Are they used to Tobren’s being gone yet?” He had sent his eldest girl, aged twelve, to foster with his brother Maarken—a calculated move on Andry’s part, and they all knew it.
“Tobren?” Valeda looked blank for a moment, then nodded. “Oh—they miss her very much, my Lord.”
“You’re formal today. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just a little nervous, perhaps. Today we test Evarin’s idea, after all.” She paused. “Brenlis rode out at dawn. Alone.”
“She did? Why?” He sat straighter, frowning.
“Word came on first light that her brother is ill. Torien gave permission. She was frantic, poor thing.”
“Why didn’t she take one of the physicians with her?”
“The Sunranner who sent the message is a Master Physician. Thelyn—you remember him, the itinerant faradhl who ndes Syr and Gilad.”
So Brenlis had been correct in her seeing; within days she would in truth be standing on the grassy bluffs of her home. Very well. I wish she’d taken an escort, though.”
Valeda’s lips quirked in an almost-smile. “Young she may be, and with only two rings—but none could mistake those nngs and none would dare even think wickedness toward a Sunrunner. Your doing, my Lord.”
“Not entirely.”
“Don’t worry about her. They know she’s coming, and will probably send someone to meet her. Besides, consider the country she’ll be traveling in.”
Not all diarmadh’im had fled to the Veresch all those years ago after defeat at Lady Merisel’s hands. While most had sought refuge in Princemarch, some had blended into the populations of the other lands. Only last winter Thelyn had found a tiny community living in the Catha Hills, and a year earlier a pair had been discovered in Gilad. Their homes now stood empty, marked on the doors with the sunburst that had become the Goddess’ sign.
“I suppose you’re right, and I shouldn’t be concerned for her safety,” Andry said. “They have a healthy respect for Sunrunners in the south. Besides, she saw this last night—or at least herself at her parents’ home.”
“Did she? An odd talent, this sight. I don’t think I’d choose to have it.”
“At times I don’t think Brenlis likes it, either.”
“Her absence won’t affect the problem in Grib, will it?”
A slow smile spread over his face. “Not at all. I don’t have to promise that the future will be foreseen—I only have to hint that it might.”
“You enjoy tweaking the High Prince’s nose, don’t you?”
“Not his, and not the nose. Pol’s pride. And don’t tell me again that it may get me in trouble one day.”
“I wouldn’t presume,” Valeda said. “You always know what you’re doing—and how far to take it.”
“Your faith warms me,” he drawled. Then more briskly, “Well, shall we go over the working Evarin proposes?”
A broad grin lit her face, uncharacteristic in its almost malicious glee. “I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s already been done,” Valeda said in Rusina’s voice.
Andry sat straight up in bed, gaping.
She called out, “You can come in now,” and the bedchamber door opened to admit Evarin—looking indecently pleased with himself—Oclel, and a second Valeda. The real one. Andry was thunderstruck. The dark blonde hair, blue-gray eyes, and sturdy build of the woman seated nearby changed. Dark curls clustered around a high, polished forehead, and the figure fined down to dainty elegance.
Rusina laughed as he greeted the change with a gasp, then rose and went to her husband. “Perhaps I shouldjry it out on you some night, now that I’m good enough to fool even Andry!”
Oclel made a face at her. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Andry closed his jaw and felt his lips thin angrily at the trick played on him—her vengeance at last for fathering Tobren on her during her first night. She’d even forgotten that the girl was at Whitecliff—which Valeda never would have done. That ought to have told him something was wrong. Rusina cared nothing for the daughter he’d given her. It had been her own damned fault, he reminded himself sharply; if she hadn’t been silent about her feelings for Oclel, if she hadn’t hesitated so long to Choose him publicly, Andry would never have given her a child.
The others were laughing, too: Evarin at his own cleverness, Oclel at his wife’s impudence, Valeda at Andry. He realized that he would have to join in or look even more of a fool. Forcing a rather weak chuckle, he shook his head.
“I ought to toss the lot of you on the next ship to Kierst! How dare you!”
“Don’t blame me,” Oclel said. “It was Evarin’s idea.”
“And you gladly volunteered, didn’t you?” he asked Rusina, who grinned again and nodded. “Congratulations. I never suspected a thing. I want a complete explanation after j’ve_»
“Soothed your pride?” Valeda offered, smiling. “Poor Andry! It really was rotten to do it this way, but Evarin insisted on a graphic demonstration of success.”
“Nonsense,” Andry growled. “You did it to humiliate me. Now, get out before I change my mind and ask Prince Tilal to lend me his oldest, smallest, leakiest ship and send you all on a long ocean voyage. Out!”
All but Valeda left him. “I’ll help you bathe. The best cure I know for injured pride is a nice, hot soak.”
He followed her into the bathroom. “You’re a miserable, disrespectful, incorrigible group and ! don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Yes, my Lord,” she agreed, and twisted the faucets. The silver spigot gushed forth steaming water from the closed cistern on the roof, heated by the sun in summer and by fire the rest of the year. The tub drain connected to the pipes of the middens, flushing them out every time someone took a bath. Modern plumbing was Andry’s contribution to comfort at Goddess Keep—grossly expensive, but worth it.
Valeda tested his bath water and gestured for him to get in. She scooped up a cake of herb-scented soap, a soft brush, and a razor, obviously intending to give him a thorough bath and shave.
“I’m quite capable of washing myself,” he said.
“Don’t sulk. And it’s always wise to be nice to the lady with the razor.”
He grinned and submitted to her ministrations. She rubbed soap down his back and he leaned into her strong, massaging hands. “I consider myseif warned. But I refuse to be placated by pampering. You’re all going to Kierst as soon as I can find a boat.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“And don’t think you can get around me by being sweet to me.”
“Of course not, my Lord. Although I’d be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t purring like a hunting cat in the sun.”
He chuckled unwillingly. After a few moments’ silence, he said, “Rusina really enjoyed fooling me.”
Valeda shrugged. “She’s always held a grudge.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“Not your fault she got pregnant?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes. But the mistake was made just the same.”
He was quiet for a moment, then burst out, “How in all Hells did she and Evarin do this, anyway? I thought it was only in the planning stages.”
“If I tell you, will you promise not to shout at them?”
“Well...”
“Promise, Andry.”
He sighed. “Just keep rubbing my back.”
She walked her thumbs down either side of his spine. “They used dranath.”
“They what?”
“Oh, come now. We’ve all experimented with it. If it makes you feel better about Rusina, consider the headache she’ll have for the rest of the day.”
Andry jerked away and turned to grab her wrist. “She used it without my permission. How dare any of you—“
Valeda responded by dumping a pitcher of cool water over his head to rinse him off. “Stop being so damned self-righteous!” she snapped. “As if you had a lock and key on power!”
Letting her go, he snatched up a towel and got out of the tub. “Don’t you understand how dangerous this is?”
“That’s never stopped you. And it’s from you that we all take our example, my Lord,” she said acidly. “In case it had escaped your notice.”
He scrubbed himself vigorously with the towel, glaring at her. “Tell me the rest.”
“Not while you’re yelling at me.”
“I promised to spare them, not you. By the Goddess, Valeda, you of all people should know better than to countenance this!”
“Who said I did?” She stalked out of the bathroom and into his bedchamber. Andry followed, the towel wrapped around his waist.
“Explain yourself,” he ordered.
Valeda whirled, blue-gray eyes flashing. Yet her voice was tightly controlled, her words clipped. “How would you react, my Lord, if you opened your chamber door one morning and looked into your own face?” four culprits sat in chairs before Andry’s huge desk. ;d now, uneasy at his silence, they did not look like brought up before their schoolmaster after some transgression, but instead like adults caught playing like children with something much too dangerous.
Andry let them wait. He sat straight-spined and unmoving in his chair, his hands with their ten gleaming rings flat on the polished wood before him. Four rings were set with tiny rabies or diamonds, tokens of his lineage in the colors of his father’s holding. The rest were plain gold or silver, con-aected by chains as fine as woven hairs to bracelets clasping IBS wrists. The left cuff was gold, set with a huge, irregular cabochon lump of darkest blue sapphire. There was a similarly sized moonstone, smooth and milky and glowing, in the silver encircling his right wrist. He had chosen the gems and bracelets himself some years ago when he felt himself to oe truly the Lord of Goddess Keep. The sapphire represented truth; the moonstone, wisdom; together with the virtue signified by rubies and the cunning of diamonds, they »ere the jewels he considered most symbolic of his aspirations. That rubies also meant success in war afforded him a enm private smile. Andrade had worn a different gem on each finger, taking unto herself all the traditional symbolism. Andry had not done the same—not because he was more modest than Andrade, or less ambitious, but because his ambitions were more keenly focused.
There were no windows in this room to spill the day’s sunlight onto the jewels, but by candlelight they danced and sparkled just the same. Andry had made this chamber his office primarily because no outside light ever shone in it. He wanted no prying eyes, either Sunrunner directed by Pol or Soned. or sorcerer directed by persons unknown. He elimi-aated the risk of flames lit here by hand, fire that might be used by someone else to watch him, by igniting candles only with his own Sunrunner’s Fire. Today, if any diarmadh’im attempted observation by unfamiliar means, Torien would sense it: he had the Old Blood in his veins, and in the presence of sorcery his faradhi rings would burn as if to sear the flesh from his bones.
So Andry felt perfectly safe in discussing this new and would not until his people had had the chance to appreciate the fine points of the morning’s trick.
He kept his gaze on them, waiting for the moment when none of them had the temerity to look at him. As expected, Rusina was the last to submit. The others—Oclel, Torien, even the usually irrepressible Evarin—had been staring at their folded hands for a long while now. But Rusina kept stealing small glances at him, smug amusement slowly becoming resentment. When her gaze finally lowered for good, Andry spoke.
“Now,” he said softly, “since you’ve all had the chance to consider your actions—would one of you care to tell me how in all Hells you did it?”
Evarin cleared his throat. “We didn’t mean—my Lord, it was just—“
“—too good to pass up,” Andry finished. “I understand. I even forgive you for startling me out of five years of my life. You’ll have to make your own peace with poor Valeda for showing up at her door like that this morning.” He grinned. “Start explaining or I really will find that ship.”
Evarin exhaled in relief and began. Andry listened, and remembered another experiment when another ruler of Goddess Keep had received a shock and another arrogant youth had done the shocking.
“—and so when I realized the working done for a first night could be adapted, I asked Rusina to help. She’s familiar with it and was willing to try the variation. A few days ago we succeeded in changing her enough to make her unrecognizable as Rusina. But we couldn’t get her to look like another specific person. That’s when we went to Torien and came up with the dranath idea.”
The chief steward nodded. “We know that it augments power. But there’s nothing in the Star Scroll about shape-changing. We’ve had to go about it on our own. This seemed the logical approach—especially considering that Mireva certainly and Princess lanthe’s sons probably were addicted to dranath.”
“One dose isn’t enough to cause any serious harm,” Rusina said. “I’ve taken it before, as part of the devri training.” She gave a resigned sigh. “But I can already feel the headache beginning.”
“Serves you right,” Andry said “Tell me what you had to do to look exactly like Valeda.” pursed her lips, frowning, then shrugged. “Making - at random, the way I did the other day—that was . I didn’t have a specific picture in my head of what I wanted to look like. And, of course, there was no dranath. “-:< morning it was difficult in another way. I had a model base the changes on, and I had the dranath, but—“ She flopped, frustrated. “I don’t really change, you see. I project an illusion. When I wear the guise of the Goddess on a an-making night, I conjure a haze to obscure my identity. Cbtoring, voice, size—I don’t assume some other shape, I jest hide my own. When I was making random changes, it was just four or five things—the color of my hair—“
Blonde,” Oclel interrupted in a casual drawl. “I rather liked it.”
Andry was grateful for the teasing that lightened the atmosphere and took some of the tension from Rusina’s face.
Oh?” she asked. “And what did you think of my hands?”
Oclel shuddered. “If I wanted to be clawed by a dragon, I’d go live in the Desert.” To Andry he said, “Fingernails like talons!”
“Was it difficult to sustain?”
“Yes. I didn’t have any specific image in mind. Just vague things, like the hair. But when I became Valeda, it was both easier and more difficult.” She paused, searching for words. “It’s a set pattern, you see. Like our own colors. We know tbem and they don’t change. I know what Valeda looks like and it was simply a matter of repatterning myself—making a conjured illusion much the same way as we conjure in Fire.” Rusina hesitated again. “It felt odd. It was—uncomfortable. She didn’t fit. I can’t think how to explain it. Beneath it, I was still me. But it was like—like I was trying to wear someone else’s skin.”
Evarin leaned forward and said, “I have an idea about feat. Subtle changes superimposed on our own bodies are ooe thing. Creating an illusion to fit around ourselves is quite another.”
“I see,” Andry said, although he didn’t, quite. “Will this be a problem?”
Not once we get used to it. I think.” He gave a rueful ille. “Rusina was Valeda for only a short while. She didn’t nave time to learn how to move comfortably inside the illusion.”
“Do you think you could get used to it?” Andry asked her.
“How’d you like to be wearing someone else’s clothes?” She thought for a moment, then added, “Underwater.”
Andry tried to imagine it, could not, and said so. Evarin shrugged.
“It’s only a curiosity, after all, my Lord,” the physician said. “It’s like that mirror you found in Princemarch years ago. No real use for it. But we all wanted to figure out how the sorcerers do it, and now we know.”
“No, it’s not like the mirror,” Torien said suddenly. “The mirror simply is. This could be mischief if the wrong people learn it.”
“Well, they won’t,” Evarin stated. “Besides, it takes dranath to accomplish it, and that’s strictly controlled.”
“But not by us,” Oclel reminded him. “Prince Pol owns its source. We take what we can in secret, but he harvests most of it against the day when there might be another Plague. How well does he guard it, Andry?”
“Very—if only to keep me from getting my hands on it.” Andry leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “My cousin is as possessive of his power as I am of mine. We are worthy adversaries.”
“I don’t see why you have to be,” Rusina said. “He has his area of influence, and you have yours.”
“You truly don’t understand?” Oclel stared at his wife in amazement. “Don’t you see that those areas overlap—to our detriment? He’s a Sunrunner, not just a prince.”
“He should have been truly one of us,” Torien mused. “But his parents had other ideas—prompted by his all-too-talented mother, who taught him everything she knows.”
“Don’t forget the lessons Urival gave him in his so-called ‘retirement,’ “ Oclel said. “And Morwenna. They went to Stronghold to train him in things Sioned didn’t know.”
“Which wasn’t much.” Andry gave an annoyed shrug. “What’s done is done, and cannot be undone. I won’t waste time or energy on it at this late date.”
“But can’t you make him see that he shouldn’t be at odds with you?” Rusina clung to her absurd objections. “If you worked together—“
Andry laughed harshly. “We’re both far too old to change now. He’d never submit to my rule, and I would betray the Goddess and everything we faradh’im are if I bowed to him.” Pol would find out soon enough how much he needed Andry. When the ships came and the battles began, he would call out for help. Andry knew he would give whatever help he could—considerable help, with his devr’im. But Po! would pay for that help. Dearly.
“It’s a pity things can’t be different,” Rusina said.
“It’s really no different from the days when Andrade contended against Roelstra. Perhaps it’s meant to be that way.” Andry got to his feet. “As it happens, I agree with Torien. There’s potential danger if the wrong people learn this. Write nothing down, and discuss it nowhere but in a room as secure as this one. I ne’edn’t add that only the devr’im and Evarin should know this exists at all. I want all of you to consider for a few days, and then we’ll meet here and talk in more depth. For now, however, we’ve heard enough to keep us busy.” He pointed a stern finger at them and added, “But if you ever, and I do mean ever, give me such a fright again, drowning will be too good for you.”
They wore properly guilty expressions—Rusina’s still tinged with smugness—as they filed out. Andry grinned, shook his head, and decided that the very thing to get the taste of words about Po! out of his mouth was a morning spent with his children. He whistled as he made his way to the nursery, and earned an exasperated scowl from Valeda when he disrupted routine, declared a holiday, and took the four of them—even little Merisel—outside to play dragons.