Kohan could feel Sioned watching him as he paced their chambers. He was unable to sit still, even less to lie in bed beside her. He could sense her deciding what tactic to adopt, and though part of him was resentful, most of him wanted her to hurry up about it. Fortunate men had wives who knew how to listen; he had one who knew what to say.
At last she broke her meditative silence. “That first winter we were married, your mother told me I was the best possible wife for you. With me, you felt so much that you forgot to think so much. She said you’d always been too aware of yourself. No, don’t give me that look, Rohan, you know what she meant.”
“Perhaps.”
“Don’t equivocate, either. There’s nothing wrong with looking into yourself—just so long as you come back out again.”
He stopped pacing. “Sioned ... what I’ve tried to be, what I’ve tried to do with my life ... those things demand self-knowledge.”
“I’m not arguing with that.”
“But you’re saying I’m getting in too deep?”
“It’s possible.”
“For your comfort?”
Sioned’s reply was serene. “You always come back to me, beloved.”
“Then it’s Pol again.”
“You’ve hardly spoken to each other since Remagev.”
“It seemed the more prudent course.”
“He needs you, Rohan. And, quite frankly, you need him.”
“To tell me again that I’m a coward? Thank you, no.”
“He said that?” Her composure wavered.
“He said many things before he stopped saying anything at all.” He began to pace again, caught himself at it, and settled into a chair. “Several of them were rather perceptive. That I internalize conflict, fight it out inside myself, rather than taking the battle to the enemy where Pol feels it belongs.”
“He’s right, you know,” she murmured. “You’ve always done that. I suppose that’s part of what your mother meant.”
He considered this for a time, then burst out, “The only real enemy I ever had was Roelstra. The others have been opponents. There’s a difference. Enemies require hatred. All I ever felt for everyone but Roelstra was—contempt. And annoyance that they take up my time.”
“What about the Vellant’im? They frighten me, Rohan. I can’t think of them as anything but enemies.”
He stared at the silk tapestries on the bedchamber walls— cool blues and greens depicting a forest waterfall and flowers that did not exist. Usually the gentle fantasy delighted him. Tonight it seemed morbidly symbolic of a world that did not exist. The world he’d tried to make.
“Is it me, Sioned? Is it some freak of my character that makes me think that if we can understand them, why they’re here, then we can find a way to defeat them that costs the fewest lives? I may be fighting this inside myself—but better my heart blood than my people’s.”
“That’s my heart you’re ravaging, beloved,” she said softly. “The heart that belongs to me. When you bleed, so do I.”
“Goddess knows I love you more than my life—I don’t mean to hurt you—“
“Come here to me, my love.” She held open her arms to him and he lay beside her on the bed, wrapped in her embrace. “I wouldn’t change you,” she whispered. “I loved you the instant I saw you and I’ve never stopped. But you’re more than my heart and my life, Rohan. You are my honor, my pride, and my lord. If you’d ever allow it, I’d bend my head and my knees to you in front of the whole world. Not because you’re High Prince and could command it of me— but because you’d never command it.” She smoothed his silvering hair. “Do you remember that first Rialla, when Roelstra’s barge arrived—and everyone was at the dock but you? They’d all bowed or knelt to him—and then you came running up, insolent and innocent all at once—“ She chuck- led softly. “Cami and I laughed ourselves silly. You never did bow to him. He didn’t dare command it—you’d already made him look a total fool. He should have known then that he’d never win. Not against you.”
He smiled at the memory, youthful satisfaction at his trick stirring even now. “You saw it all?”
“It was worth the rest of that awful Rialla, watching you outsmart him. If I hadn’t already been in love with you, it would have happened the moment you used those big eyes on him. And I told myself, ‘this man is going to be mine.’ “
“But he almost won, you know. I got caught up in trying out his tactics, his way of being a prince. Deliberately creating conflict, making others fight just to watch the show—“
“And you swore never again.”
“But Pol isn’t like me, Sioned. Perhaps Roelstra might win after all. Or Andrade.”
“Never. Pol is ours, Rohan. Not theirs. He’ll learn on his own, the way you did—slowly and infuriatingly!—but he will learn.”
He twisted slightly to look at her. “Even if we have to beat him over the head with it?”
“Even if.” She kissed his upturned brow. “Now that I think about it, parts of that Rialla weren’t so bad. Remember sitting under the bridge steps in the rain?”
“I remember the willow tree better.”
“I thought you might.”
Andry suffered Valeda to drape a magnificent white velvet cloak over his shoulders, but refused the jeweled clasp. “Absolutely not. I’m not a prince dressing for a banquet.”
“This morning that’s exactly what you are,” she commented tartly. “Only you’re also the feast. They expect to be served up with a powerful protector. You have to look the part.”
“And be eaten alive? Thank you, no. I’ll meet them as what I am. Lord of Goddess Keep is quite enough.”
“As you wish.” Shrugging, she slipped the ruby clasp into her pocket.
“Enough!” he snapped.
“I suppose you won’t take this, either,” Torien said with a rueful smile, twirling a slim wooden cane in his fingers.
“My leg is fine. / am fine. Will you two stop? You’re not my mother.”
“More’s the pity,” the steward commented. “Her, you’d obey.”
Andry wished briefly that pride allowed him the support of the cane on his way downstairs. His muscles were stiff after enforced bedrest, and his left leg was still wrapped tightly. Getting into the saddle was torture. But once mounted and riding with Torien through the main gates, anticipation warmed him.
Andry schooled his expression to impassivity, determined not to show astonishment at the size of the still growing township of tents and lean-to shelters covering the fallow fields. From across Ossetia and Gilad and Grib and even as far away as Meadowlord and Syr the people had come to him—to him, not Rohan or Pol—for protection. They were camped nearly to the walls of the keep and merged with the village down the road, braving winter rain and cold to stay here, near him. He wished Andrade could have seen it; he knew Sioned would.
The really remarkable thing was that they kept coming, and asked for nothing, not even food. In leaving their homes they had taken everything they owned, from clothes and cookpots and bedding to their animals—goats, sheep, cattle, plow-elk. Small herds pastured to the south swelled daily. Valeria’s latest estimate was that over three thousand people had arrived, and a foray on morning sunlight had shown her a thousand more on their way. Coming to him, to the protection he could give them. They had heard of his defense of Goddess Keep. They trusted in his power. They left their tents now to cheer him, call out blessings on him, welcome him as if he was indeed their rightful prince.
Andry’s horse skittered to one side as a gray striped cat slunk past. He calmed the stallion and rode on, picking his way among the tents, looking for one in particular. Torien had spoken yesterday with a merchant from Waes, a dealer in foodstuffs who had become the refugees’ leader on the long journey. Andry sought the craft mark in Waesian colors described by his steward, and finally spied a red apple and yellow wheat sheaf. Painted on crates and on wooden signs outside shops or warehouses, a merchaat’s stencil was as prized a possession as a crafter’s hallmark die or a prince’s official seal. Most of the Waesian tents had similar mark- ings, painted on scraps of cloth; a few merchants had actually taken the trouble to save their shop signs as well and tacked them onto rickety poles outside their new homes.
Andry was relieved that someone who understood food supplies had turned up to lead; though these people had asked for nothing from him, it was still his responsibility to see that they were decently sheltered, clothed, and fed. But the obligations of an athri, bred into him through generations, could not take precedence over his more essential duties as Lord of Goddess Keep. It was just as well he could delegate the problem to someone else. It would be unseemly and a waste of his time to worry over whether some peasant had enough to eat. Or, worse, to mediate between two farmers claiming the same cow from the herd grazing his pastures, or similar foolishness.
The merchant came from the tent to meet Andry. Black-haired, sturdily made, straight-eyed, and about his own age, she bowed and gestured at a small boy, obviously her son, to hold Andry’s horse.
“Please, my Lord, accept what small hospitality I can offer you.”
“Thank you, Master Jayachin.” Dismounting, he nodded at Torien, who undid the thongs securing his saddlebags. “Perhaps I can add a few comforts to your exile.”
“You are most gracious, my Lord.” Bowing again, she held aside the tent flap and he entered, trying not to limp. “Please sit down.”
He settled on the single cross-legged stool. A quick glance confirmed that Jayachin possessed tidy habits of person and of mind. The dirt floor had been packed down to lessen the dust; blankets enough for three beds were neatly rolled in a corner; and, most telling and most admirable in a merchant, thick account books bound in red leather rested on the upended apple crate that was the only other furniture. Her home, her possessions, her warehouses, her inventory, everything she owned might be forfeit to the war, but once it was all over she could resume her business if she still had the precious records. Andry liked that. It spoke of foresight and stubbornness.
Jayachin saw the direction of his gaze. “I packed my books the moment I heard the order to leave. This won’t last forever, my Lord. If I’m to regain my family’s fortune, the High Prince will want accurate account of what was lost.”
“Lost at his command,” Andry murmured. He knew why Waes had been abandoned. “You’re a wise woman, Master Jayachin. But young to hold that title.”
“I was an only child, my Lord, and not inclined to account books. When I married, my husband took the title and duties with my permission. But he was a thief. I divorced him. For the sake of my son, I learned my father’s trade. But then I discovered I enjoyed it, as I had not in my girlhood.”
“We all learn as we grow older. You’re fortunate to like what you do. And I hope you’ll use your skills to the benefit of your fellows here. You’ll report to my chief steward, of course. But I expect you to keep order here.”
She nodded once. “To that end, my Lord, I have a proposal.”
Andry stifled a sigh. Entanglement in these people’s concerns was the last thing he wanted. But at least he must listen.
“When someone moves from one princedom to another, for marriage or new opportunity or purchase of land or crafthold, former oaths are canceled and new ones swom. Those who’ve come here will return to their homes and holdings. But until then, I think they ought to have an immediate loyalty. To you.”
His brows crept up his forehead. “Only the farmers and herders who live in the vicinity are sworn to Goddess Keep. Your people all have other homes.”
“That’s exactly the point, my Lord. They’re not ‘mine’ and they don’t have homes. They have nothing but the soil their shelters are built on—and that belongs to you. If they swear to you, then they’ll have a place again in the order of things. When people know their place, they keep to it.”
“And by swearing to me, they also swear to you as my ... athri.”
“If you choose to think of it that way, my Lord—yes.”
That straight, calm gaze met his without the slightest hint of ambition. He nearly grinned. He knew desire for power even when discreetly hidden. He liked that about her, too. As long as she understood her place.
“Very well. Arrange it. Tomorrow will do.”
“Perfectly, my Lord.” Once more she bent her head to him.
“And for you, too—my lady?” He allowed amusement to tinge his voice as he gave her the new title. “I believe we understand each other.”
The corners of her mouth tucked into a demure little smile. “I’m certain of it, my Lord.” She hesitated. “Only— there is one more thing.”
“Yes?” he asked blandly, suspecting a trap.
“The Medr’im who accompanied you here.” This least helpless of women gave a helpless little shrug. “Lord Gerwen sees to the High Prince’s Writ, as is his duty...”
They did understand each other perfectly. “I believe it’s time I released him to defend his own lands—don’t you?”
“My Lord is wise.”
“Incidentally, later today something will happen that I would like you and your people to see,” he said.
“Will you send a page for me, my Lord?”
In formal courtesy, as if you were a real athri? Not likely. He smiled. “You’ll know when to come to the walls. Good day, Master Jayachin.”
Outside, Andry swung up into his saddle after thanking the boy who’d held his horse. A servant stood nearby with wrapped cloth bundles from Torien’s saddlebags. “What did I give her, anyway?” Andry whispered as Torien mounted.
“Tokens of your appreciation—taze, spices, a silver hairbrush—“
“Good. Jayachin’s the type of woman who likes the status shown by small luxuries. When we get back, have the goldsmith design her a badge of office.”
They guided their horses through the maze of tents. “She accepted, then.”
“Torien, she suggested it all herself.” He grinned. “In the humblest and least offensive terms, of course, concealing the fact that she’s power-hungry with a yearning to call herself athri.” He nodded at the folk who’d come to see the Lord of Goddess Keep in person; word had spread through the whole of the encampment by now, and the crowd was even larger. “How’s our Vellanti prisoner holding up?”
“Valeda kept her word about keeping him breathing, anyway. It’s too bad his jaw was broken and his cheek crushed—he might have told us something.”
Andry nodded, idly fingering the little ceramic dragon token inside his tunic pocket. It would have been nice to learn exactly what this meant to the Vellanti, but it wasn’t entirely necessary. “He’s not a high-ranking warrior, obvi-
STRON’GHOLD 445 ously. I doubt he knows much that’s really important. All he really needs to know is how to die.”
The sudden bright glaze over the blue eyes warned Torien instantly that someone had touched Andry on sunlight. He grabbed the Lord’s reins so his horse would not bolt and waved people back with an impatient hand.
“He speaks with the Goddess,” someone breathed, and between one heartbeat and the next the crowd around them doubled. Torien eyed them nervously, but they kept their distance and a reverent silence. Farmers, herders, merchants, crafters, laborers—none of them had ever seen a Sunrunner at work before. Sunrunner magic.
At last Andry blinked and met Torien’s gaze. “My mother,” he said—and gave a start as a man nearby called out, “He has spoken with the Goddess!”
“Tell us her words, my Lord!”
“Will she protect us? Has she given you a sign?”
Torien met Andry’s gaze, sharing his thought. To correct the mistake would be a bigger mistake. Not that these people would believe any explanation. They wanted to believe that he communed with the Goddess.
Andry raised one hand for silence. “She—watches over you all,” he said.
Torien hid amusement and admiration. Andry had only spoken the truth—Princess Tobin would certainly keep an eye on things at Goddess Keep—omitting definition of which “she” he referred to.
There were more cheers, more blessings called down upon Andry, but with a different tone. Before, there had been respect. Now there was awe.
They were nearly at the gates before Torien said, “Brilliant, Andry.”
“What else could I do?” Then he chuckled. “Can you imagine the look on my mother’s face if I told her that in speaking to her, I spoke to the Goddess?”
Rohan had been awakened by Myrdal shortly after dawn. The ancient autocrat thumped her cane on the carpet and told him to gather his wits.
“Wind has blown the skies clear and the Sunrunners are already busy. Get up, boy. It’s time you gave some orders around here.”
“You mean you’re abdicating at last?” he asked as he gulped from the cup of hot taze she gave him.
“Impudent hatchling.”
He hadn’t slept well after Sioned left their bed last night. He suspected that after soothing him the best way she knew how, she had stayed up waiting for a few threads of usable—if forbidden—starshine. If Myrdal was right and the skies were clear, by midday she would be exhausted.
His squires Daniv and Isriam followed close on Myrdal’s heels, working with smooth efficiency to get him shaved and garbed and ready for what promised to be a difficult day. The orders Myrdal referred to would span the continent politically and militarily; on his decisions alliances and battles might turn. And the lives—Goddess, the lives he held in his hands.
Isriam was pale with anxiety; today would bring the first word of his family in Einar. Daniv hid his feelings a little better, though he had more to worry about. His father Kostas was marching through Syr. Rohan took both boys with him to the Summer Room, where Feylin was already waiting to take notes. She greeted him around a mouthful of hairpins, testimony to a hasty awakening.
“They’re already out there, even Tobin,” she said, securing the tag ends of her dark red braids at her nape. “Though how they’ll all keep from running into each other, I’ll never know.”
“Nor I. But Tobin shouldn’t be with them.”
Feylin shrugged. “You try and stop her. Besides, she insists she’s the only one Andry will speak to.”
“Andry,” he said musingly as he sat down.
“Don’t start,” she warned gently. “Save your worry for when it’s needed.”
The first Sunrunner to come to them was Relnaya, assigned to scan the northern Desert. He looked directly at Feylin, and as he met her eyes tears welled in his and dripped down his weather-beaten face.
“My lady—my dear lady, the young lord is dead. Jahnavi is dead.”
Rohan shut his eyes. In darkness he heard Feylin whisper, “Does—does his father know?”
“Not yet. Lady Rabisa and the children are safe at Tiglath— but the young lord—ah, my lady, I would I’d lost myself on shadows rather than bring you such words.”
Rohan glanced up as Feylin’s chair scraped stone. She was dry-eyed and straight-backed, and white as ash. “I must find my husband.” She stumbled once on her way to the door. She took Relnaya’s arm, the Sunrunner weeping openly now, and helped him from the room.
Rohan stared at his hands. It was a very long time before he heard his squires shift uneasily nearby. He looked up— but behind them was another boy, blue-eyed and dark-haired, face alight with anticipation of a game of dragons. And there were other boys, too—Jahni, for whom Feylin had Named her son; Sorin; Maarken; Tallain and Arlis and Riyan and even Andry. And Pol.
Isriam glanced at Daniv and then said, “We could hear the other reports for you, my lord, and then tell you later what they said.”
“If you want to be alone, my lord,” Daniv added.
“No. I’ve heard the worst.” He begged the Goddess that it was the worst.
The boys—young men, really, at sixteen—exchanged glances again. This time Daniv spoke first. “I never thought— that is, at Radzyn and Remagev, it was so different from what I thought.”
“War?” Rohan asked, and the young prince nodded. “In what way?”
“That it would be exciting. It was, at first. Fighting a battle, even as a squire—“ Daniv hesitated, searching for words. Rohan recognized that he was indeed nearly a man, that he struggled to define himself. “But I always thought we’d win.”
“We haven’t lost yet, you know.” He loathed himself for the trite lie. This certainly felt like losing.
“We won’t lose,” Isriam said firmly. “We both know that, my lord. But I think what Daniv’s saying is that war isn’t what stories make it out to be.”
“Proud banners, dragon horns, brave deeds, and glory,” he summarized. “They don’t write about the dirt and blood and death, do they? Even if they did, no one would believe it. No one but those who’ve been there.”
“The warriors tell stories, my lord,” Daniv said, frowning. “But they only talk about the bravery, as you said.”
“And leave out the worst of it. Wouldn’t you?”
Isriam caught his breath softly. “Remembering it, let alone talking about it, is like reliving it.”
“But why don’t they tell people?” Daniv protested.
“How long has it been since the last major war?” Rohan asked.
“Not counting the battle at Dragon’s Rest—“ Daniv began.
“—which wasn’t really a battle—“ Isriam added.
“—it was in 704. When you fought Roelstra.”
“When Roelstra began a war I had to fight,” Rohan corrected, privately wondering why he still needed to make that distinction. What did it matter, anyway? War was war, no matter who started it.
Isriam was struggling now, defining not himself but the past. “Back then, my father was just a little older than I am now. That’s a whole generation ago. All these people who grew up not really knowing what war is...”
Daniv picked up the thread. “Just like Isriam and me, thinking it’s all riding a fine horse and wearing a sword and glory! Nobody talks about the way it really is, so nobody tries to stop it!”
The other squire nodded vigorously, then made a frustrated gesture with one hand. “But we didn’t start this, my lord—they did. It’s not our fault—it’s not that we want to fight. But we have to.”
“Like you did, with Roelstra,” Daniv added, understanding at last.
Rohan regarded the pair of them, hope stirring even through his grief. “You will make your fathers proud,” he murmured. “You will rule your lands with such wisdom—I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own sons.”
Young men became boys again, embarrassed and gratified by praise from the High Prince. They glanced at each other again, and Daniv cleared his throat.
“Thank you, my lord. I should—I should see if any of the other faradh’im are waiting outside—“
Rohan nodded. Isriam slid into Feylin’s chair and readied pens and parchment. And, as Daniv brought Hollis in, the grim recitals began.
Sioned hadn’t been part of so vast and simultaneous a survey of the continent since Andrade’s death. Then, the
Sunrunners gathered around the Lady’s pyre had woven a shining net to reach from the Sunrise Water to Kierst-Isel, from Dorval to Snowcoves. They’d sustained each other, lent strength where necessary.
Now each faradhi was alone.
They chose the sunniest part of the inner courtyard for more reasons than its access to light; Sioned knew that people must see them at work. The nine faradh’im—herself, Meath, Morwenna, Tobin, Tobren, Pol, Maarken, Hollis, and Relnaya—formed a loose circle. They were gently guarded by Pol’s squire Dannar, his sister Jeni, Sethric of Grib, and Betheyn, who stood at Tobin’s side to support her in case she lost control of her muscles during the work. In truth, there was little to see—just Sunrunners, ranging in age from Meath and Tobin who had each seen more than sixty winters to Tobren’s barely twelve, standing relaxed and serene in the middle of the courtyard. But everyone who passed by paused a moment to watch, marvel, and return to assigned tasks feeling unaccountably comforted.
Sioned lost awareness of those around her as she spun sunlight. She didn’t hear Relnaya’s low moan as he staggered and fled. She didn’t see Hollis’ quiet departure from the circle a little while later, nor the fire in Tobin’s black eyes as she clutched at Beth. Sioned was far away, soaring over the towering snowcaps of the Great Veresch, then south to the Catha Hills, and finally to Goddess Keep.
She sought Donato first. Court Sunrunner at Castle Crag for many years, he had been one of those who had accompanied her to the Desert in 698. Donato, Ostvel, Meath, Hildreth, and Antoun were the only ones left of the friends on that journey. They all still served Sioned in various ways, as if that time had become an unbreakable bond among them.
Donato reported all serene at Castle Crag—but for his resentment that Ostvel had bid him stay. The crippling stiffness in his joints didn’t affect him in the saddle, but walking could be torture. Winter at Castle Crag was bad enough, but the wet lowlands of Meadowlord would be the torments of all Hells.
It’s not as if Ostvel doesn’t walk with a creak in his knees some mornings! he complained to Sioned. But I shouldn’t keep you with my whinings. Let Ostvel know that we’re all safe, and getting troops and supplies ready to send down the Faolain whenever he needs them.
And can collect them safely, Sioned added. /’// be back this afternoon if the sun holds, and let you and Alasen know what’s happening.
There’s something else you can do, if you. would. It’d save us a lot of time and trouble if I knew young Andrev’s colors.
I’m not sure Tobren can be persuaded to tell me, but I’ll try.
After withdrawing from Castle Crag, she glided across Meadowlord and Syr at a great height. She and Meath and Morwenna had staked out the upper reaches of the sun for themselves, leaving the lower sky to those who needed more specific referents along the way. There was no chance that Sioned might mistake a river or a grassy plain; she had been doing this alone and unassisted since her sixteenth year— somewhat in advance of Andrade’s permission to do so, and well before she wore the ring that proclaimed her adept at it. “Mind-hungry,” Urival had always called her, and suddenly she wished for his steady wisdom.
It was a long search for Kostas and his army between High Kirat and the Catha River. Finally she found them— and nearly gasped. He was marching on Catha Heights. Rain, mud, and cold evidently meant nothing to him. Traitorous Lord Patwin was dead, but his brother and two of his daughters were still within the keep. So was a large contingent of Vellant’im. What in the name of the Storm God did Kostas think he was doing?
Worse, he had no Sunrunner with him. His court faradhi was at High Kirat. Sioned knew it was deliberate. Whatever disadvantages he might face through lack of communication, he obviously felt them worth it. Without a Sunrunner, there could be no orders from the High Prince. Kostas had always been more independent in his rule of Syr than his father Dawi had been. The irony was that Tilal was just as autonomous in Ossetia—and didn’t have to prove it.
Sioned hesitated, wondering if she could help—and if Kostas would want her to. There were about twenty measures between his army and Catha Heights; she surveyed the land and guessed he would choose to do battle where the road passed through a relatively flat meadow half a measure from the keep. But there was a better place close by, off the main road. It would have to be approached uphill by the enemy, and into tomorrow’s morning sun. Sioned didn’t know much about military tactics, but she understood rising ground and light.
It took her only a moment. Cold Sunrunner’s Fire flared a beacon atop one of the tall pines ringing the meadow. She let it blaze for a while, despite the effort it took at this distance, until she felt sure that Kostas must have seen it and at least sent scouts to investigate. Having done what she could, she drew back across the Faolain, gathered her energies, and then made the long journey to Goddess Keep. On this first clear day in so long, her source there would know to be waiting for her.
“... camped tidy as you please around the old Sunrunner keep.” Meath grinned. “I think Ludhil’s even enjoying himself. And judging by the gold strung from the white ship banner, he’s doing rather well.”
“Banner?” Hollis asked. “How did he manage that?”
“I think it used to be Iliena’s underskirt. There’s a flower up in the hills that gives the right shade of blue. But the white ship is flying—and plenty of those little golden beads threaded on silk below it.”
Rohan said, “Meath, be sure to contact Riyan at Skybowl, so he can let Chadric know. Is there anything else?”
“Nothing, my lord.”
“So,” Rohan mused. “Grand Veresch and River Ussh are quiet and unthreatened. Kadar Water, Athmyr, and Medawari are shut up tight. And our cherished princely cousin Velden is sitting on his royal ass at Summer River.”
Meath snorted. “Does he think the Vellant’im won’t notice him?”
“I’ve never heard Velden accused of thinking much at all,” Hollis observed. She glanced at Rohan, who nodded. “Meath, I’ll come with you while you talk to Riyan. Then we can join Maarken and Tobin and Morwenna, and I’ll fill you in on everywhere else—since you were too polite to ask.”
“Not polite—confused,” Meath corrected, smiling. “I’ll never understand how you juggle all this, Rohan.”
“Believe me, at times I wish I had twelve hands and at least one more brain.” He watched them leave, knowing Hollis was right: it was better to say nothing about Jahnavi to the other Sunrunners until their reports were made. Sioned and Pol had yet to arrive in the Summer Room; sheer cowardice to wish Hollis had waited so she could tell them, too.
As he waited for wife or son to appear, he reviewed the information thus far received. Maarken reported that Rohannon prospered at New Raetia, left in complete charge by Arlis, who spent his time pacing the docks at Port Adni in a fury of impatience for some good sailing weather. Fine as today had been, there was another storm roaring down from the northern Dark Water, the kind that funneled through the channel between island and continent and lashed Brochwell Bay to a frenzy. The last one had cost Arlis two ships, their sails and masts shredded by the wind, their crews drowned.
Maarken had also looked in on Zaldivar, and found that Princess Demalia, Arlis’ wife, had been safely delivered of their second son. A quick journey back to New Raetia had informed Rohannon, who would get word to the prince. At least there was some good news, Rohan told himself.
Except for the Desert, things were not nearly as bad as he’d feared. Tobren, flushed with pride in Andrev and the importance of being the only one who could get news from Waes, said that Tilal, Ostvel, and their armies were occupying the city while sending out raiding parties even more successful than Ludhil’s on Dorval. They only awaited the High Prince’s orders to march for Swalekeep.
Morwenna had reported that Einar was armed and ready. It had been Tilal’s suggestion that Lord Sabriarn arrange his troops at strategic points along the coast to guard Princemarch’s underbelly. Isriam blew out a soft- sigh of relief that his family and city were safe. But Morwenna’s survey of Fessenden yielded oddities. Prince Pirro had done absolutely nothing—not even fortified his own keep. Obviously he trusted its distance from the coast to protect him. It irked Morwenna that he wasn’t even going through the motions.
“You’d think he’d at least make a show of calling up his troops, and then plead bad weather or something,” she grumbled. “Spineless fool!”
Rohan reminded her who Pirro’s son Edirne had married: strong-willed, high-strung Arnisaya of Gilad Seahold, whose brother Segelin and his family had been butchered the first day of the war. Rohan hid fury that help from Fessenden depended on the angry persuasions of one person. Still, he knew from personal experience what a stubborn, fiery-tempered female could accomplish. If Arnisaya was half as eloquent as Tobin, all might work out. It annoyed him further to think that if Segelin hadn’t been Seahold demolished, Arnisaya might have cared » hole Pirro for the laws that bound the princedoms io BMM| defense. But Morwenna clarified the point.
“I had a little chat with Pirro’s Sunrunner—foolish man. never could remember his name, only his colors, and they’re unimaginative enough. He says Pirro sees no reason to join the fighting because one princedom hasn’t attacked another. No treaty covers this kind of war.”
“Hmm. It seems I wrote that one rather badly.”
Morwenna’s dark eyes narrowed. “How could you have known?”
“I’m High Prince. I’m supposed to know everything.” The words held enough self-mockery to fool most people, but not Morwenna. He heard himself add with undisguised bitterness, “Just ask my son.”
Daniv and Isriam were in the room, or she would have said more. Shaking her head, she continued, “Firon is even more of a puzzle, my lord. There’s no sign of Yarin at Snowcoves. Or his Sunrunner.” She paused for effect. “But there’s a white-and-yellow flag flying over Balarat.”
Rohan sat up straight. “What’s Yarin doing there?”
“I’d be pleased to tell you, my lord—if I could find Arpali. She seems to have vanished as surely as Yarin’s Sunrunner at Snowcoves.”
And Rialt’s at Swalekeep. Rohan heard his two squires catch their breath as Pol made his report. When Rohan explained, Pol understood, too—and threw in a wrinkle Rohan hadn’t thought of.
“Andry’s going to be furious,” he said. “If his Sunrunners are being kept out of the light, it may just kick him into this without making conditions.”
“It’s possible,” Rohan conceded. “Did you see anything at Swalekeep?”
“Some activity by the waterfront—flatboats loaded with crates, that sort of thing. I suppose Chiana would say she’s getting ready to supply the south.”
“Tactfully omitting reference to exactly whom in the south.” Rohan nodded. “She can say what she pleases—especially if the supplies are ‘captured.’ “
Daniv shifted uncomfortably. “My lords—forgive me, but even though I don’t like her much myself, Princess Chiana is still my aunt. It is taken so much for granted that she’s betraying us?”
A look flickered between Rohan and Pol: Chiana was Pol’s aunt as well, and Daniv his cousin not through Kostas but Danladi, another of Roelstra’s daughters. The reminder gave Rohan an idea.
“Your family feeling does you credit, Daniv,” he said carefully. “But we’ve dealt with Chiana before. However, you’ve tweaked my memory, and I thank you.” Turning to Pol, he went on, “Princess Naydra is at Swalekeep, isn’t she?”
Blue-green eyes lit with comprehension not shared by the squires. “Indeed she is.” He changed the subject. “There’s good news from Dragon’s Rest. Hildreth says everyone is fine, except for poor Lisiel. She’s ten days overdue and if Edrel didn’t take Laric riding every day to get him out from underfoot, Lisiel would probably divorce him from sheer irritation.”
Rohan was glad of the chance to smile. “Let that be a lesson to you,” he directed at Isriam and Daniv. “Pregnant wives are like she-dragons. Walk very softly and maybe you won’t get your eyes clawed out.”
Daniv grinned. “You don’t need to tell me, my lord. Our Sunrunner at High Kirat threatened to set her husband on Fire if he didn’t stop treating her like Fironese crystal.”
Isriam’s eyes rounded. “She must have been joking!”
“You’ve never met Diantha.”
Rohan asked about Meiglan and the twins, wanting to delay talking about Jahnavi. Pol answered easily enough, but sensed something wrong. He seemed about to ask when Sioned stormed into the room, practically breathing fire.
“Do you know what he’s done? Do you?” she shouted at Rohan. “If he wasn’t the son of his parents, I’d order a march on Goddess Keep myself!”
Daniv and Isriam flinched. Rohan and Pol knew better than to coax her to calm down. Sioned’s rages were rarely as spectacular as Tobin’s, but this one had his sister beat seven ways to the Far Islands,
Gradually, after venting her fury in hissed curses and a broken glass vase, the story became clear. When she finished, green eyes still spitting sparks, Pol cleared his throat.
“So he’s setting up a Sunrunner princedom,” he said. “I assume you learned this through your friend at Goddess Keep?”
“No, Andry told me himself! Of course 1 secret! Rohan, how dare he do this?”
“Because he thinks he must. Because the oppofMity » there, and he’s too smart not to seize it.” He met Pol’s gne, and for the first time in a long while they were in perfect accord. “Because he sees the salvation of the continent in his own hands.”
Pacing, Sioned started in surprise as her boots crunched on shattered glass. She looked down and swore. Isriam came immediately with a parchment page to shovel up the shards, and Sioned strode away from the evidence of her fury.
“What did he tell Tobin?” she asked abruptly.
“Only that people had come seeking safety, and he was providing it.” Rohan paused. “She didn’t really look around Goddess Keep—just found Andry in his chambers and didn’t stay long, believe me. Not after he said that if she hadn’t come to relay my permission to use the ros’salath when, where, and as he liked, they had nothing to talk about.”
“He dared say such a thing to his own mother?”
“A bit more gently than that, I’m sure, but that was the substance.”
“Rohan ... there was something else.” She looked anywhere but at him. “On the gates of Goddess Keep.”
“Yes?”
“A Vellanti corpse. Nailed to the wood. With his beard gone and the Merida scar showing on his chin—and a sunburst pattern burned into the skin of his chest.”
“Oh, Goddess,” he whispered.
“There’s more. A—a parchment tacked over his head. ‘The fate of all who sin against the Goddess’ Sunrunners.’ “ Her fingers twisted around themselves. “Tobren’s mother is dead.”
“Poor little girl,” Pol murmured. Then, squaring his shoulders, “Did your friend tell you anything about it?”
“Andry was out riding with Rusina and Oclel—he’s dead, too. Andry escaped capture and caught the Vellanti who’d killed his friends. Nobody outside his inner circle is very clear on the details, except that Andry was wounded and is now better.”
“That’s too bad,” Pol muttered, and handed her a full cup of wine. “Did you get a look at what Kostas is up to?”
She gave a start. “What? Oh, I’m sorry. Daniv, I should have said something earlier. It’s just that Andry’s made me so furious—your father is well and safe, and slicing through the Catha Hills like a scythe.” She forced a smile and sipped from the wine, and Rohan knew there was much she had not said.
“Thank you, my lady.” The young man copied Isriam’s exhalation of relief. “Did you look in at High Kirat?”
“No, but I will this afternoon, to give your mother news. If there’s anything you’d like me to tell her for you—“
“Just that I’m well.”
Sioned’s smile was easier. “And doing your duty brilliantly —and you love her. Why don’t you and Isriam go get some air? I’m sure your ears must be sore from listening and your hands ready to fall off from all this scribbling.”
“Yes, do that,” Rohan said. “You’ve both served me well today. Thank you.”
The pair bowed and left, Isriam with the folded parchment of glass shards. Sioned ran one finger along the shelf where the vase had stood.
“I hate losing my temper that way. But the colossal gall of it! First waiting for Tilal to get close enough to witness his work at Goddess Keep, and now his own princedom! What have we done that he hates us so much, Rohan?”
“Not you, Mother,” Pol said. “Me.” He faced Rohan and asked softly, ‘Wow do you understand?”
“I have always understood.” Rohan leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “You both do what you must. But I ask you to consider what Andry is making of himself, and if you want to emulate him.”
“It’s not that simple!”
“Nothing ever is.” With a slight sigh, he finished, “You’d better go, too, or we’ll end up shouting at each other again. And, frankly, I don’t have the strength right now.”
Sioned put her cup down very suddenly. “What is it, Rohan? What’s wrong?”
Staring at his hands, he told them about Tuath, the Mer-ida, and Jahnavi.