Mohan and Sioned made the trip from Stronghold to Radzyn in a little over one day, and nearly killed their horses doing it. With them rode two guards and Rohan’s senior squire, Daniv. Isriam had been left behind at Stronghold.
Sioned’s nephew Daniv was Kostas’ son and heir. A tall, well-built boy of sixteen, his long-lidded eyes were the deep turquoise of a summer dawn, almost a perfect match to the color of his father’s banner, and their effect was even more striking in combination with his dark hair and tanned skin. He had strong, rugged good looks that no one ever mentioned were reminiscent of his grandsire Roelstra in his youth.
As the last dunes fell away behind them in the afternoon sun, Daniv said what they were all thinking: it was impossible to believe there was anything amiss here. Blooded horses, the pride and profit of Chay’s family for generations, cropped what was left of the summer grass. Geldings meandered placidly among the well-grown colts and fillies racing around their mothers, while dozens of mares heavy with foal plodded the sun-baked paths back to the stables. The paddocks and barns were scrupulously cared for, as were the buildings of the small port beyond the keep. Ships at anchor bobbed on the waves, sails furled in winter harborage after the last voyage of the season laden with silks from Dorval or foodstuffs and other goods from far princedoms.
The castle itself was an awesome sight. Eight towers stood dignified sentry between pastures and sea cliffs, lit from the west with a rosy-gold light that gentled the rough-hewn stone. In appearance and activity Radzyn was as it had always been: strong, prosperous, secure in its wealth and power. It was impossible to believe that its mistress might be dying.
The red-and-white pennant flew from the main tower, soon to be joined by Rohan’s crowned golden dragon. Chay’s was an honor shared only by Ostvel in all the princedoms: the right to display a symbol just as princes did on their banners. Castle Crag enjoyed the distinction as the former seat of Princemarch and at Rohan’s pleasure, but it had been his first pleasure to give Radzyn a silver sword on a red field, bound in Desert blue. It signified that the Lord of Radzyn Keep was also Battle Commander of the Desert. The pennant rippled on a cooling ocean breeze, as if the sword upon it thrust against any and all enemies, reminding those who saw it that while Rohan believed in the rule of law, there was yet a powerful sword at his command.
The gates opened for them, and it suddenly became obvious that things at Radzyn were very wrong. At any other time the High Prince and High Princess rode in, the courtyard would have been packed with people come from their duties to cheer an enthusiastic greeting. Cool wine would be offered and friendly banter exchanged between highborns and servants; Stronghold guards would be greeted with laughing insults by those of Radzyn while children of all stations clamored for attention; mothers would show off new babies and grooms the best foals—and Chay and Tobin would arrive at last into the chaos, good-naturedly berating their people for making such a fuss over such unimportant guests.
This time it was different. The courtyard was nearly empty. Grooms took charge of the winded horses quietly, eyes lowered as they murmured greetings. There was no bustle of welcome, no crowd glad to see them, no laughter and no joy. And only Maarken came to meet them, his handsome face strained and afraid.
“Thank the Goddess you’re here,” he said, kissing Sioned and grasping Rohan’s arm tightly. “It’s been a nightmare.”
“Is she any better?” Rohan took the steps two at a time; only his weariness after the long, hard ride prevented him from making it three.
“The same. She woke up for a few moments last night, but...”
Nothing more was said. They hurried through the high-ceilinged foyer and turned for the stairs leading to the family’s tower. Daniv could barely keep up with them.
Sioned paused to send him to the suite kept for her and Rohan, finishing the order just as Hollis called out from above.
“Maarken!”
They raced up the remaining stairs and arrived at the door to Chay and Tobin’s suite. Hollis stood there, her dark-gold hair streaming around her as if she hadn’t had time or thought to tend it in two days. She had no greeting beyond a glance for Rohan and Sioned as she clasped her husband’s hands.
“She’s awake now, she recognizes us, I know she does! But she can’t move her right arm or leg, and she’s so weak she can barely move the left.” Hollis turned to Sioned. “The physician from Radzyn port feels as helpless as I do. Please tell me you’ll be able to do something for her.”
Sioned had begun to get an idea of what was wrong with Tobin, but would say nothing until she saw her. She accompanied Rohan into the anteroom after a soothing word for Hollis. The bedchamber doorway was abruptly filled with Chay’s tall form. He looked a hundred years old. There was an emotional battle raging across his face more rending than any he had ever fought in the field—terror for his wife, relief that she was awake, helpless agony at her illness, gratitude that Rohan and Sioned had come so swiftly. Rohan put an arm around him and for an instant he sagged against his brother-by-marriage’s slight frame. Then he led them into the large, airy room.
Tobin lay in bed, propped up by pillows..Her long hair, tenderly cared for, flowed in a single braid all the way to her hip. It shone black and silver like night sky plaited with moonlight. She might have just wakened from an afternoon nap, but for the tragic alteration in her face.
Sioned allowed none of her feelings to disturb her expression at the sight of the slurred features. She was sure now what had happened. The left side of Tobin’s face was the same as always, but the right half dragged down at eyelid, mouth, and cheek. It was as if someone had copied her delicate face in soft clay, then passed a hand over one side to blur the fineness. Sioned touched Rohan’s arm, a warning to hide his shock, and went forward to the bed.
Tobin’s eyes were open, the left fully and the right only halfway. Chay caught his breath as her left hand raised slightly, thin and bony. Sioned lifted the hand to her cheek.
The tears gathering at the corner of the drooping right lid nearly shattered her composure. Black eyes fixed on her for a moment, then flickered to where Chay and Rohan stood. Sioned glanced around. A husband’s mute agony, a brother’s stricken silence; and behind them Maarken and Hollis close together, equally quiet. It was as if Tobin’s enforced silence held them, too, in thrall.
Sioned broke it with deliberate harshness. “What can you be thinking of, all of you? Maarken, Hollis, I forgive Chay for not realizing, but you two should have known!” She stripped off her riding gloves and threw them onto the bedside table. “Well? What are you waiting for? Maarken, come here at once and put a chair next to the window. Rohan, take the blanket. Chay, carry her. Don’t stand there like hothouse plants! Get moving!”
If she ordered them like servants, they were even more surprised at the content of those orders—and hurried to do as bidden. But Tobin understood, and as Chay lifted her in strong arms, more tears slipped out, the desolation gone from her eyes.
Placed gently in the chair with a blanket across her knees, Tobin gave a long sigh as afternoon sun flowed over her face and body. Sioned knelt beside her, taking her left hand again. “Now,” she murmured, gazing up into the beautiful eyes.
Colors merged, woven into the sunlight. Sioned—oh, thank you! I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t tell Chay to put me in the sun—
You’re going to get well. I give you my word. She smiled and the corner of Tobin’s mouth lifted in half of her usual warm, brilliant smile. Tell me what happened, if you remember.
I was out by the paddocks looking over the new foals. Suddenly I fell—I couldn’t break my fall. Nothing would work! I tried to cry out, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even reach the sunlight—Sioned, I lay there forever, trapped inside my body—
You’re a Sunrunner. You’re not trapped anymore.
I was so frightened—it was like being smothered and bound and I was so helpless—they finally found me and carried me up here. At first I couldn’t feel anything, but feeling has come back to my left side. I think I could move my hand and my leg if I tried hard enough—
Not yet. Give it time. You only just woke up.
Tobin’s colors—rich amber and sapphire and amethyst— trembled with the trembling of her body. Then she gave a deep sigh and relaxed. / can’t seem to get my arm to do much, she told Sioned, sounding almost like her old self. But I suppose that will come back in time, she added, more confident now that she was no longer a prisoner in her own mind. / can’t talk, though, and it hurts to try. And my right side is gone. I can’t feel it and I can’t move anything.
I’m betting that feeling will come back—and you know I never make a wager I can’t win. It’ll take a while, but you’ll be all right, Tobin. I know what this is. You’re going to recover. I promise.
“Sioned?” Rohan’s voice: hushed, not daring to hope. Chay’s face was as pale as Tobin’s. Both men appeared stunned, uncomprehending. But Maarken and Hollis understood.
“Forgive me, Mother,” Maarken whispered. “I didn’t think.”
“She needed the sunlight,” Hollis said. “Just sunlight...”
Sioned!
What is it, Tobin? Are you in pain?
Tell Chay—tell him I love him. It’s all I could think about while I was helpless—
Sioned unlaced the sunlight, pressed Tobin’s hand, and looked anywhere but at Chay. “She wants you to know— how much she loves you.”
“Tobin—“ He knelt and buried his face in her lap. Her left hand fell gently on his gray hair.
A little while later they gathered in the antechamber, all eyes on Sioned. She sipped wine to ease her dry throat, and held Chay’s haggard gaze with her own as she spoke, willing him to believe her.
“What I think happened is this. A part of her brain was affected by a seizure that impaired the right side of her body. If it had been her left, she wouldn’t be able to use sunlight.”
“Why? And where did you learn this?” Maarken asked.
“You didn’t do as much medicine at Goddess Keep as most of us,” Hollis said slowly. “I remember reading about such things. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have recognized it earlier. I’m sorry, Chay.”
He shook his head. “No need, daughter. Tell me what it is.”
Hollis glanced at Sioned, who nodded for her to continue. “Some think a poison in the blood affects only the brain. Others think the brain just wears out. It may run in families— and then again, it may not. There’s evidence that very fat people have seizures like this more often than thin people do. Obviously that doesn’t apply to Tobin, and I don’t have any idea why this happened to her. But unless it kills within the first day, or unless more occur after the first, the victims often recover most of their strength.”
“And Tobin’s the strongest woman I know,” Sioned finished. Sipping again from her goblet, she went on, “It happened to a Sunrunner at Goddess Keep when I was a girl. He was extremely gifted, but after this seizure, he was helpless. He couldn’t even feel colors, let alone use light. It was horrible. A friend of mine told me he begged her to help him die.” She paused thoughtfully. “It was the left side of his body that was affected.”
“But how does that—“ Rohan began.
She interrupted him. “Andrade was of the opinion that it was neither poison nor fatigue, but a kind of lightning flash across the brain. She’d seen it before in another Sunrunner— the right side was useless, but she could still function as a Sunrunner. Eventually she recovered completely. So you mustn’t worry, Chay. Tobin’s going to be all right.”
“What about the man you knew?” Maarken asked.
She answered reluctantly, “He died. But it wasn’t the seizure that killed him. He got back the use of his hand and arm, and was learning to speak more clearly and even walk a little. But the gifts were gone. One day he simply turned his face to the wall.”
Chay raked his fingers back through thick hair. “So you’re saying that as long as Tobin can still use sunlight, there’s a chance she might—“
“ ‘Might’? ‘Chance’?” Rohan snorted and grinned. Sioned hoped only she could tell how hard he was trying to hide his own fear. “Have you lost what pitiful wits you ever had? Chay, that she-dragon you were fool enough to marry is much too ornery to die so tamely. Do you think anything could get the best of her? I never heard such nonsense in my life. Now, go get some rest. Hollis, find him a nice, quiet bed somewhere. If you have to, weave him to sleep.” Chay opened his mouth to protest and Rohan lifted a warning finger. “Don’t force me to make it an order—because I will and you know it.”
A tiny smile touched the older man’s face. “Tyrant.”
“Damned right I am. Maarken, see to your father’s comfort. Or do I have to order you, too?”
Between them, Hollis and Maarken coaxed Chay from the room. His audience gone, Rohan wilted back in his chair. “Our grandfather died of this, Sioned. Did you tell Chay the truth?”
“Yes. It won’t be easy, and it may take her until winter’s end just to be able to speak again. But if there are no more seizures, she’ll recover. That’s the truth as far as I understand this sickness, Rohan. Feylin is the better physician— perhaps we’d better call her to Radzyn—“
He shook his head. “If Tobin doesn’t improve, perhaps then. But I know my sister.” He drained his winecup and got to his feet. “I’ll go sit with her for a while.”
“Oh, no you won’t,” she told him. “Betheyn is there, and she’ll send for us if we’re needed. But we won’t be. Tobin must rest—and so must you.”
“That sounds like an order, High Princess,” he said as she rose and prodded him down the hall to their own chambers. “Have I ever told you how much I loathe managing females?”
“Repeatedly, but you should have thought of that before you were fool enough to marry me. Sleep off the journey and that wine, and maybe by this evening you’ll be fit to talk to again. Imagine, ordering Chay around like that! You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I am,” he murmured as he slid onto the embroidered quilt. “But not for the reason you think.” He caught her hand between his own. “I feel guilty because I’m so glad it’s not you lying there helpless.”
Sioned gazed down into blue eyes dimmed with weariness and emotion. Twenty years ago, even ten, he and she could have ridden from Stronghold, stayed up half the night drinking, making love, or both, and been fresh as ever the next day. We are growing old, my love, she thought. Tobin’s illness is a hard reminder of that, isn’t it? But I would rather grow old with you than be young again with anyone else.
Rohan pressed her palm to his cheek, his eyes closed.
“Don’t let me forget to tell you how much I love you,” he said. “Ten times a day, at least.”
“Only ten?” She bent to kiss his brow. “Rest now, beloved. I won’t be gone long,”
“Where d’you think you’re—“ He fought in vain against the sleep she wove around him. “Not fair,” he mumbled, eyelids drooping.
“No, but necessary,” she murmured, and kissed him again, and he slept.
Had Andry’s twin brother Sorin lived to rule Feruche for more than the few brief years the Goddess had allotted him, Betheyn would have been his lady. It had been their intention to wed at the Rialla of 728. Instead, he had been murdered that spring. :
They had met while Faolain Riverport was abuilding in the mid-720s. He had been invited there to give the benefit of his advice, for in the reconstruction of Feruche much had been learned about the use of iron that the Riverport architect wanted to know. Together Sorin and Master Wentyn spent long, happy days drawing plans and constantly revising them to improve the strength and the aesthetics of the new town.
But Sorin was never so busy that he hadn’t found time to appreciate Wentyn’s pretty daughter. There had been no instant understanding between them, no ricsina, the knife that pierces the heart, as so many others in his family had found. Rather it was a slow, quiet, comfortable thing, made clear to him only on his return to Feruche, when he found himself missing her more than mere friendship could explain.
After Sorin’s death by sorcery, Andry—his only confidant in the matter—told their mother about the girl. A special trip to Riverport had been arranged before the Rialla that year. Tobin and Chay understood on first meeting Betheyn what Sorin had valued so much. When her father died the next autumn, they invited her to come live with them at Radzyn. There she had continued for the next eight years, returning their love and regard, treated by them and the rest of the family as the daughter she would have been had Sorin lived.
When Sioned went back into Tobin’s chamber, Betheyn was seated beside the bed, reading. The young woman glanced up at hearing someone come in and rose, leaving her book on the chair.
“She sleeps easily now, my lady,” Betheyn murmured. “It’s not that blank unconsciousness anymore, thank the Goddess.”
“You’ve been sitting with her a long time, my dear. Why don’t you go get some rest? No, I didn’t have myself in mind to stay with her—I think while she sleeps Tobren can watch.”
“It’s no hardship, my lady.” Betheyn gestured to the book. “I’m occupied, and I’d rather be here.”
Sioned smiled. Tobin had always wanted a daughter; Maarken had brought her Hollis, and now she had Betheyn as well. It occurred to her that, fond as she had become of Meiglan, she would never think of the girl in those terms. It was an unworthy thought, and Meiglan didn’t deserve it, but there it was.
She went to a table near the windows and looked over the little collection of medicines brought up with Tobin’s book of simples. Sioned leafed through a few pages, seeing marginal notes in Tobin’s untidy scrawl, Milar’s precise script, even the thick strokes of Andrade’s pen. That last brought an unexpected stinging to her eyes. Ridiculous; anytime she chose she could call up memory of Andrade’s vibrant colors, a signature more evocative than a few lines of ink on parchment. But she did not often choose. Her emotions were too complex for easy remembrance of the woman who had taught her, brought her to the Desert to marry a prince, disapproved of her, chided her, loved her, and finally died trying to keep Pol safe.
Sioned wondered suddenly who would one day read her own book of simples—not a tame and commonplace volume like this one, but the translated copy of the Star Scroll secreted in her office. There were copious notes in those margins in her own hand, Urival’s, and Morwenna’s. Perhaps Jihan or Rislyn would study them one day. They were diarmadhi, both of them, though Rislyn was a Sunrunner as well. But sometimes Sioned thought that she would be doing them both a favor by destroying the scroll before they even learned of its existence.
She gave a start at Betheyn’s soft touch on her arm. “My lady, what troubles you? It isn’t just Princess Tobin.”
“Ah, I’ve been obvious. I should know better—but I suppose it’s because I’m tired.” She made herself smile to allay Betheyn’s doubts, so obvious on her gentle face. “Don’t worry, Beth. Too long a ride and too much worry to find sleep just yet.”
The quiet eyes held steady. “I believe it’s more.”
The words were spoken before she knew what she would say. “It’s ... it’s that we’re growing older. Time sneaks up on us. And one day it will steal the people I love.” Events had stolen so many: Andrade, Milar, Maarken’s twin Jahni, Maeta, Camigwen, Sorin. Urival’s had been a soft passing, as had those of her brother Davvi and old Prince Lleyn. But the rest—Plague, sorcery, murder had been their lot. She felt old with the years they had not lived, that they had been cheated of, that she had survived without them.
Goddess, how morbidly her thoughts turned today—and without cause. Tobin was going to get better.
Betheyn replied, “I don’t think it’s time that steals. It’s life that takes what we’re unwilling to give. But life is all we have, and time to live it in.”
Half my age and twice as wise, Sioned thought. “You’re right, of course. How bitter it would be to treat either life or time as an enemy.” She smiled again and started for the door. “I’ll be back later. Be sure you get some sleep, Beth.”
“Yes, my lady. Gentle dreams.”
But Sioned did not return to the room where Rohan slept. She climbed the stairs to the curtain wall between towers and watched the sunset. Fire on Water—the stuff of conjurings and visions. Perhaps Andry had something after all in his idea of looking into the future. Sioned had herself glimpsed things long before they happened. Was it possible for a faradhi so gifted—and not all were—to court visions of the future? With dranath to augment power, and some mental and emotional discipline, it might become a reliable talent.
Yet if Sunrunners could foretell the future, would their lives be safe? Who would not scheme to gain control of such a person? And who among the faradh’im was strong and honorable and wise enough to use a gift like that?
But there was a more important question against which her tired mind had no defenses. She thought back over the events of her life—glorious successes and terrible losses— and wondered, // / knew the future, would I have the courage to live it?
Her sense of humor did not rescue her, but mockery did. She had lived a life about which bards made songs—some of them even partly true. What right had she to feel sorry for herself? The only thing wrong with me is selfishness. I’m growing old and one day the future’s going to happen without me.
“I thought you might be up here,” said a quiet voice behind her.
She did not turn, merely reached back one hand. It was grasped in hard, callused fiwgers. “Hollis isn’t as good at sleep-weaving as she should be,” she said.
“She is, though. But I pretended and she went away.” Chay stood beside her, holding her hand. “Beth says you’re upset and wouldn’t talk to her about it.”
“Just moody. And tired. There’s nothing to worry about, Chay. Tobin’s going to get well.”
He nodded. They watched the sea for a long time in silence, until he said, “Looks like something a Sunrunner would conjure, doesn’t it? The wind’s stiff tonight—whitecaps from here to the Small Islands, like little flames.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Flames, or ripples of blood,” he mused, then shook himself. “Goddess, what an idea. Maybe I need sleep more than I thought.”
“Come inside, then,” she told him, tugging at his hand. “And don’t think you’ll be able to pretend with me.”
A sudden smile took thirty years from his face. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Pol arrived two days later, greeted by his parents’ astonishment and the joyous news that his aunt was able to speak a few words and move a little. He came laden with wildflow-ers gathered along the road and once he saw Tobin awake, aware, and recovering, happily dumped them all in her lap.
You impossible boy! came her laughing voice on sunlight, and he nearly lost his balance at the shock. That damned seizure didn’t kill me, but now I may sneeze myself to death!
Pol gaped. Her colors danced playfully around him and her black eyes sparkled with mirth.
Oh, stop looking so grim, you foolish child, and give me a kiss. She fumbled for a moss rose with her good hand and admired its sheen in the sunlight spilling across the bed. Beautiful. Thank you, Pol. I hope you brought some for your mother—she’s the one who thought of this, so I can speak to you. I can’t tell you what it was like, being trapped inside my own skull. Her gaze sobered and he knelt beside the bed, weak-kneed. But I’m better. See? I can move my other hand and even bend my leg a little.
The sheets shifted at her knees and her right hand crawled across the lace. He caught her fingers and smiled. You’re amazing.
I always have been.
Her smile broke his heart. One side of her face was still perfect, the corner of her mouth curving and her brow lifting just as always, but the other dragged down, unresponsive.
“Would you care to explain why you’re here?” Rohan asked suddenly.
He was grateful for the distraction, not wishing Tobin to see his anguish, and rose to face his father. “I had a look in at Stronghold a few days ago and found Morwenna, who naturally had to tell me where you were going and why. So here I am.”
“She didn’t say anything before we left.”
“Stop treating him as if he was still fifteen,” Chay said. “He’s here, and welcome.”
“Well, of course,” Sioned agreed. “But I think yours is too volatile a presence at the moment, Pol—not to mention a filthy one! Go wash and change clothes. You stink of horse and sweat.”
Ah, so that’s why the flowers—to hide the stench! came Tobin’s shimmering thought, and Pol grinned down at her.
Not fifteen, he remarked. Five. He gave her an elaborate bow, kissed his mother, and left the room.
Immediately outside in the hallway he encountered Daniv, Dannar, and a blonde, blue-eyed girl he didn’t know. The first two were comparing stories of the journey to Radzyn. The latter tagged along listening with downcast gaze. They stopped on seeing him and performed the usual respects. He replied with a grimace, having as little use for ceremony as the rest of his family—except when it suited him.
“Goddess, such elegance!” he teased. “And I assume you’re beggaring my parents, Daniv, by eating everything in sight at Stronghold.”
“I do my best, my lord,” the young man said, grinning.
“I don’t doubt it. Dannar—this could get confusing, two similar names—go save my dignity and run a bath for me before my mother throws me in a trough.”
“I’ll go with you,” Daniv offered. “You can tell me all about that beauty you rode in on. I’ve been hinting to my father for years to buy me a Dragon’s Rest gold for my knighting.”
The two boys went off talking horses, leaving Pol with the little girl. She glanced up at him with frank curiosity and he suddenly realized who she must be. The eyes were unmistakable. “It seems I’m not the only one with pretty blonde daughters,” he told her. “We haven’t met, Tobren. I’m your cousin, Pol.”
“I know, your grace,” she said in a soft, low voice.
“Oh, you don’t have to call him that, Tobren,” Betheyn said behind him. He turned and smiled a greeting. “It’s nice to see you again,” she went on. “How was the journey?”
“My mother’s ordered me into the nearest bathtub immediately. Beth, you’ve gotten uglier again.”
“Many thanks, your grace,” she replied, then winked at Tobren. “You only have to call him that if he’s being horrid or you want to make fun of him.” Tobren looked slightly shocked. Beth said to Pol, “She is pretty, isn’t she? And so tall! Just twelve, three whole years younger than her cousin Chayla, but the same height.” She ruffled the child’s hair fondly.
“How do you like Radzyn and Whitecliff so far, Tobren?”
“Very much, my lord.” She hesitated. “Is that what I’m to call you?”
“I’d be pleased if you’d call me by my name.”
“I don’t think that would be right, my lord,” she said seriously.
“As you like,” he said with a smile, but wondered what Andry had told her about him that she was so wary.
Betheyn caught his gaze. “Jeni must have been disappointed that she couldn’t come along with your parents and hear about Goddess Keep from Tobren. I hear she’s trying to convince her parents to send her there.”
It was news to Pol that his mother’s current fosterling,
Camigwen of Castle Crag, wanted to be a Sunrunner. “She has the gifts?”
“Their court Sunrunner thinks so. But Jeni’s mother wants her to spend some time at Stronghold first,”
Pol could well imagine. Alasen and Ostvel would be reluctant to send their daughter to Andry for training; the complexity of reasons was not something they could detail to the girl. How did one go about explaining that the Lord of Goddess Keep had been in love with her mother, and had once threatened her father’s life because of it?
Tobren proved herself the child of her father by saying, “If she’s gifted, it’s her duty to be trained as a Sunrunner. Not to use the powers to the fullest is an offense against the Goddess.”
“I agree,” Pol said. “And I’m sure my mother will begin Jeni’s education this winter.”
Tobren caught her breath. “But that’s wrong!” she cried. “My father teaches faradh’iml If you’re not trained by him at Goddess Keep, you’re not a real Sunrunner at all!”
Betheyn met Pol’s eyes with a meaningful look. So this was what she’d wanted him to know about Tobren, he thought, and gave the girl an easy smile and a conspiratorial wink. “So I’ve always suspected. When my mother was teaching me how to conjure with Fire, she often told me I was hopeless!”
Tobren was still frowning. Pol wondered again what sort of tales Andry had told her about him; seldom did the family charm and his father’s smile fail.
“My lord!” Dannar called from up the next flight of stairs. “Your bath’s going cold!”
Radzyn boasted only a few real bathrooms, and these were for its regular noble residents and the suite kept for the High Prince. Most of the castlefolk—including Pol that night—bathed in portable tubs and had to be careful not to slosh too much water on the floor. He had been scolded more than once in boyhood for his playfulness in the bath. Being Desert-born, he delighted in water—as long as it wasn’t something he had to cross. Rohan had never gotten over his wary nervousness of rain, but years at Dragon’s Rest had accustomed Pol to downpours and even thunderstorms.
By the time he had washed and rinsed and stood draped in a thick robe, the priceless Cunaxan carpet was sopped.
He helped Dannar hang it over the window ledge to dry, then suffered himself to be prettied up to the squire’s exacting standards. The dark violet tunic sewn with silver thread was paired with a snowy silk shirt above white trousers and short black boots. On his fingers were the moonstone that had been Lady Andrade’s—his only Sunrunner ring—and the amethyst-and-topaz of Princemarch. The latter combination was repeated in the silver earring that swung close to his jaw.
“My, my,” Rohan drawled when Pol entered the small family dining room. “What a gorgeous vision has graced us this evening. Tell me, my son, how long does it take to polish you up? You arrived a mere mortal like the rest of us.”
Hollis arched a brow. “You don’t give him much in that quarter, my lord High Prince.”
Maarken grinned over his wine cup. “It always irks her that she can never make me jealous. But how can I be, when she only flirts with men who are disgustingly in love with their wives?”
Pol took his cue—behave as if this were any dinner—and laughed. “We’re all gorgeous this evening. Especially you, Mother.”
“Borrowed from Hollis,” she confessed, smoothing pale green skirts decorated with black lace. “It’s nice to know I still have a waistline.”
“Which my cooks are attempting to ruin, by the look of the table,” Chay said. “Let’s sit down. I’m starving. You boys take your places, too—my people will serve tonight.”
It was a rare treat for squires to be included with the grown-ups at table; they usually carved and carried all through a meal, and ate afterward. Daniv handed Tobren gallantly into her chair, doubtless dreaming of a time when he would preside over his own table as Prince of Syr at the splendid castle of High Kirat. The rest took their places at the square table, an arrangement more intimate than sitting all in a row at the high table downstairs. Instead of leaning across one’s neighbor to conduct a conversation, all one had to do was talk across the napery, plates, and flowers. Still, there were advantages to a formal meal at a long table; one could sit at a distance from people one disliked or wished to avoid.
Chay put Betheyn beside him, then looked at the empty place to his right. Pol saw his throat work convulsively.
Then he said, “Tobren, you come sit over here by me, sweetheart.”
It was Tobin’s place and her namesake knew it. She blushed, hesitating, and Dannar quickly rose and escorted her to the indicated seat. Chay leaned back in his chair, beamed at them all, and announced, “How I do love being surrounded by pretty girls!”
With Tobren present, there could be no talk of politics regarding Goddess Keep. Rohan held forth with great enthusiasm on the subject of water clocks and the fascinating glass lenses his crafters were making until Sioned stuffed a wedge of bread in his mouth to shut him up. Maarken steered the conversation to the ever-popular subject of horses. It wasn’t until taze and sweets were handed around and the servants were gone that Hollis brought up dragons.
“Abisel seemed rather fretful when she flew by a few days ago,” she reported. “Friendly, but preoccupied. Is Azhdeen well? Did you get any odd feelings from him, Pol?”
“I offended him. He showed me something he wanted me to see, and I didn’t believe him.” Pol started to reach for a pastry, remembered his self-imposed prohibition against desserts, and refilled his cup from the pitcher of taze instead. “He conjured up something that looked like a dream, though it was very real to him. Father, do you think dragons dream?”
“Why don’t you ask Azhdeen the next time you talk to him? What about it, Sioned?”
“How should I know? It’s not something that’s ever been an issue. They can imagine things—we’d never have received permission to build Dragon’s Rest if Elisel wasn’t able to imagine sheep penned up for her supper. But— dreams?” She shrugged. “I’ll ask her the next time I talk to her.”
Tobren heard all this with her blue eyes starting from her head. Chay noticed first, and smiled. “I know—sounds perfectly insane, doesn’t it? Talking to dragons! But they can.”
“Grandsir—howl”
“If I knew, I’d do it myself. Maarken? You want to explain it?”
“It’s a little like Sunrunning, Tobren.”
“My father taught me before I left Goddess Keep,” she said with shy pride. “Does that mean I can talk to dragons, too?”
“Did he, now?” Pol asked, in a tone betraying nothing more than interest, but she suddenly stiffened in her chair.
Rohan smiled at the girl. “I’ve always wanted to be able to. When I was little I used to imagine flying over the hills and valleys just like a dragon, only my wings were made of sun- or moonlight.”
“It’s just like that,” Hollis said with a warning glance at Pol. None of them had been aware of Tobren’s ability; he wondered if any of them suspected Andry as strongly as he did of setting the least obvious spy imaginable in their midst. But what other motive could Andry have for teaching her? She was only twelve, absurdly young to know such things.
“I like Sunrunning,” Tobren said, encouraged by her elders’ interest, but still with a wary eye on Pol. “I can talk with Andrev and Valeda and Nialdan, and when I get homesick I can look at Goddess Keep—“ She stopped abruptly.
“It’s all right, heartling,” Maarken said. “When I was a squire at Graypearl I used to get homesick, too. Didn’t you, Pol?”
“All the time. And I didn’t know how to go Sunrunning. But you know, Tobren, nowdays I sometimes go take’a look at Graypearl, because I miss it. I expect you’ll miss Whitecliff and Radzyn one day, too.” His suspicions shamed him. What better way to soothe a little girl away from home for the first time than to teach her how to use light to talk with her friends whenever she needed to? Andry had plenty of faults, but he adored his children.
“Anyway,” Maarken went on, “communicating with a dragon is done the same way as with other famdh’im, only you don’t use words. You use pictures and feelings. The thing about dragons is that they always know the truth about you. It’s impossible to hide your feelings from them.”
“And they’re fascinated by what we feel,” Hollis added. “Almost the way we’re fascinated by tiny babies—what must they be thinking and seeing and feeling? It’s rather humbling,” she finished with a chuckle.
“I can tell you one thing about dragons—don’t ever get one mad at you.” Pol winced. “Azhdeen nearly ripped my brains to shreds, he was that angry with me for not believing him.”
“What had he seen?” Rohan asked.
“Dragons on water. I tried to point out to him that ships look very much like dragons—sails for wings, the prow for the head, and so on. He took exception to being corrected. Dragons sailing the sea were what he saw, and that was that.”
“I trust you were properly contrite in asking forgiveness.” Sioned winked.
He laughed. “Mother, I positively groveled. We’re friends again. But I’ll think twice before I ever disagree with him.”
“I should hope so,” Chay said, entering the conversation for the first time. “If I was a Sunrunner, I’d never contradict rny dragon.” His voice was light and teasing, and he smiled, but there was a darkness in his eyes that Pol found perplexing.
“But that’s another thing about them,” Sioned mused. “Elisel isn’t my dragon. I’m her human. I belong to her, not the other way around.”
Rohan pulled a mournful face. “And here I thought you’d promised to be only mine forever. I’m wounded. My heart is breaking.” He snatched a pastry off her plate and added, “And the seams of Hollis’ lovely dress are going to break as well if you don’t stop stuffing yourself.”
The servants came in to clear the table and the party dispersed—for bed, for a walk in the moonlight, for games of chess. Pol claimed fatigue after the journey and went upstairs, but was unable to sleep for quite some time.
When would he not distrust Andry’s every word and action? He resented what the mere thought of his cousin made him think and feel. He wasn’t a suspicious man, or a jealous or vindictive one. He had offered Andry trust and friendship many times.
A certain fundamental honesty compelled him to admit that “offering” was not the same as “giving.” Andry was as proud as he—and had been hurt more. Oh, he understood the man, even felt compassion for him. He had never forgotten what Sorin had whispered just before he died—to go gently with Andry. For Sprin’s sake, he had tried. But Andry made it damned difficult.
Was his dislike based only on personalities? Somewhere along the years the easy cousinly friendship had been lost. He regetted it, but would not accept the whole responsibility himself. He and Andry were simply too different to like each other.
Or perhaps too much the same. Born of the same princely family, raised in the Desert, Sunrunners, powerful in those arts and in politics—it might be that they understood each other too well.
Yet Andry’s power could never seriously threaten Pol’s. Lord of Goddess Keep he might be, but Rohan had seen to it that he knew his place. And Pol knew that his father’s power as High Prince wasn’t half what his own would be as Sunrunner and High Prince both.
And sorcerer, he reminded himself. There were things in the Star Scroll that Andry would never be able to do. He lacked the diarmadhi gift, similar to and subtly different from that of Sunrunners.
So we’ll go on playing the game until one of us makes a mistake and the other pounces. I suppose it ought to comfort me that I’m the Dragon’s son. Everybody knows what happens to anything a dragon considers prey.
But it saddened him that life had to be like that.