Like her father, Pandsala did not believe in talking about power. She believed in using it. Pandsala waited at Lyell’s garish red-and-yellow striped tent, growing angrier by the moment as Kiele kept her cooling her heels in an antechamber. When at last admitted into her half sister’s presence, Pandsala was seething. That she was forced to conceal her fury only added to her hatred of this flaunting beauty who received her with the widest and most insincere of smiles. Of all her sisters and half sisters, Kiele was the one who should have been dead. Pandsala regretted not having killed her years ago.
“Pandsala! I hope you weren’t kept waiting too long. My squires told me only a moment ago that you were here—they do so hate to interrupt Lyell and me when we get a little time alone.” Kiele kissed the air beside Pandsala’s right cheek. “You’re so fortunate not to be married, you know—one always worries about not spending enough time with one’s husband and children.”
Pandsala bore the embrace stolidly, not missing Kiele’s barb about her husbandless, childless state. “I regret disturbing you,” she made herself say.
“Think nothing of it. It’s been so long since we had a good long talk together—why don’t I order a couple of horses and take you into the city? I’ll give you a tour of the residence, and we can have a snack. It’s an eccentric place, but I’ve managed to make it livable if not logical.”
Pandsala debated for a moment about letting Kiele stew in surmises about this visit, then decided she hadn’t patience for it. “I’m afraid I’ll have to defer the pleasure of seeing your home, Kiele. I have something rather distressing to discuss with you.”
“Oh?” Kiele gestured to chairs. “How may I help you, Pandsala?”
“Naydra came to me today with the most astonishing story.”
With a whisper of silk skirts, Kiele sank into a seat. “I haven’t had the chance to speak to her yet. How is 9 she?”
Pandsala gave her full credit for ability to contain her curiosity about this conversation with a sibling she cordially loathed. The feeling was mutual and they both knew it, and Pandsala began to feel a certain relish for the game.
“Oh, fine. But her tale was quite amazing. It seems—“ She hesitated just the right amount of time, then went on in a low voice, “Kiele, there’s some man in Waes saying he’s the true father of this pretender.”
Kiele’s eyes went wide, but she cheated Pandsala of most of her real reaction to this news. “Incredible! What can this mean?” she breathed.
“It means everyone is looking for him. Naydra was approached for money to keep him quiet—that as our father’s daughter, she’d naturally wish Rohan out of Princemarch. How could he think any of us would want that? Father gave us nothing—and Rohan has given us everything.”
“Oh, yes, he most certainly has,” Kiele said earnestly, and again Pandsala was forced to admire her for keeping a completely straight face.
“I came to you, as another loyal servant of the High Prince, to ask if you’d set your people looking for this man. They know Waes much better than mine do. If he is the real father of this pretender, then his truth must be heard. And if he’s not—“ She shrugged. “If he’s not, he’ll have to be taught a lesson for lying about such serious matters of state. Will you help, Kiele?”
“With all my heart, Pandsala. It’s shocking, isn’t it, this whole tale of Father’s possibly having a son. And now this man with his story—“ Suddenly Kiele dimpled. “Oh, what if it’s true? What if Palila really did get herself pregnant by a groom or a cook or some such, in hopes of giving Father a son?”
Pandsala gave her a genuine laugh. “I wouldn’t have put anything past that bitch, would you? Goddess, do you remember how much we all hated her? To tell the truth, my dear, I’m rather astounded to find you giving house room to her daughter.” She laughed again as the shot struck home.
“That little—“ Kiele bit her lips shut too late. Pandsala nodded slowly, smiling. “Chiana is my guest here, and has been a great help to me in planning the Rialla, “ she went on in a desperate attempt to recoup.
“I lived with her for six long years at Goddess Keep,” Pandsala pointed out. “Frankly, my dear sister, it would almost be worth it to find out that this pretender really is who he says he is, if it would humiliate Chiana!”
Kiele sat back in her chair, hands and arms limp at her sides, her mouth open. Pandsala laughed softly.
“Can’t you imagine it? Disgraced, deprived of status, revealed as the daughter of a servant. It’s what lanthe and
I planned for her at her birth—and she’s the reason I was banished to Goddess Keep in the first place. I have to admit I’d dearly love the sight of a daughter of her insufferable mother earning her keep as a scullery drudge!”
“It presents an interesting picture,” Kiele acknowledged with a sudden smirk. “Actually, I invited her here in hopes she’ll find someone to marry her and take her off all our hands. I know Naydra has had enough of her, and I’m growing more than a little weary of her airs and graces, myself.”
“In a way, it’s a pity this pretender’s claim isn’t true.” She watched that one sink in, and waited for the questions. They were not long in coming.
“It was the oddest night, wasn’t it? Of course, you were there,” Kiele said casually. “But you know, I can’t help but wonder, what with all the confusion—what really happened, Pandsala? Only you and lanthe ever really knew.”
“And Lady Andrade,” Pandsala added smoothly. “You’re right about the circumstances. Sheer chaos. But I was there, Kiele. And I know. That’s why I can’t allow the issue to be obscured. Will you do me the favor of having your people look for this man in the city and at the encampment and the Fair? They ought be able to find a stranger of a certain description, even with all the other strangers around. He may adopt the colors of some lord or prince, but I doubt it, as anyone legitimately in service would know all his fellows. He’d be in danger of challenge.”
“He has no master of his own, then?”
“Not that I know of. He was wearing plain clothing when he spoke to Naydra. Will you do it, Kiele? I’d be in your debt.”
“I’ll be glad to help,” Kiele said fervently. “What does he look like?”
She gave every detail Naydra had been able to recall under Pandsala’s questioning, which had been a great deal fiercer than Rohan’s. Kiele then escorted her out, all sweetness and cooperation, and the two women parted on the best of terms. Pandsala walked back to her own tents, where twenty servants waited for her as ordered.
They had abandoned the colors of Princemarch and were dressed in plain tunics.
“Watch every servant leaving Lady Kiele’s tent. They will be looking for a tall, green-eyed man. Now, heed me carefully: this man is not to reach my sister. Secure him and bring him to me at once, safe and unharmed. Not a word to the High Prince’s people or anyone else. Most especially do not let Kiele’s people know who you are. There will be substantial reward for your success. Are there any questions? Good.”
* * *
Rohan couldn’t quite live up to his words about letting things happen as they would. He snatched a moment to confer with Tallain, instructing him to alert all the guards and servants to the description of a certain man Rohan wished to speak to. If they saw him, he was to be brought to the pavilion at once.
“But tell them not to be obvious about it,” he finished. “No fuss, and no searching tents or questioning everyone they meet.”
By late afternoon Rohan had abandoned the parchments that demanded his attention in favor of a meander outside by the river. He excused dereliction of duty by reasoning that he needed fresh air to clear his head. He had never been very good at lying to himself.
As casually as he had left his pavilion—and with the same excuse he’d given Tallain—Sioned appeared at his side. “Lovely afternoon for a walk, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Lovely,” he echoed.
“Everything’s arranged for our various parties,” she went on idly as they neared the riverbank. “Food enough for an army, and enough wine to float half Lleyn’s merchant fleet.”
“That’s good.”
“Pol tells me he’s giving me a present to wear to the Lastday banquet. But he won’t say what it is.”
“First I’ve heard of it.” He plucked a flower from a bush and began shredding the petals.
“Confess, Rohan—what you’d really like to do is go through every tent and house and cottage within a hundred measures.”
“If I admit to it, will you?” He smiled at her.
“There’s not really much chance of finding him, is there?”
“Not much.”
They continued along in companionable silence for a time, heading for the bridge that crossed the Faolain. People were returning from the Fair loaded down with packages and satchels, discussing purchases and current rumors. Rohan and Sioned went mostly unnoticed in the crowd, for both were plainly dressed and kept their hands with the telltale rings in their pockets. Some few recognized them, but at a slight shake of the head from either merely bowed slightly and went on their way.
“Plenty of people here this summer,” Rohan observed.
“More than enough to blend in with, wouldn’t you say?”
“Except if you happen to be a young prince with two zealous guardians. Look.” He pointed to where their son walked along the river, Maarken and Ostvel in close attendance.
“It seems none of us can stay put for the afternoon,” Sioned murmured with a wry smile.
“I can’t say I blame us.” He led her out of the crowd and toward Pol. “I wonder where Riyan is,” he asked suddenly. “Clutha’s here, but Riyan hasn’t come by to greet Ostval yet.”
“I expect he’s been too busy. He was in Waes this summer, you know, keeping an eye on Lyell for Clutha. But he wasn’t at the residence when we had dinner there. Chiana said he’d ridden to the Faolain crossing to meet Clutha’s party.” She waved to Pol as he hurried up the slope toward them. “She seemed rather put out, probably because she didn’t get anywhere with Riyan.”
“My love, the boy has taste! But I’d like to talk to him. Perhaps he’s heard something.”
“I’ll ask Clutha to send him by tonight.” She smiled as Pol approached and gave them a courtly bow and a mischievous smile.
“Have you been over at the Fair?” Pol asked. “I actually got to see it for a little while,” he added with a half-teasing, half-resentful glance over his shoulder at Maarken and Ostvel. “I had some business to settle.”
“My present?” Sioned hinted.
“Could be!”
“Whatever it is, I hope it fits,” she replied, rumpling his blond hair. She turned to Maarken then and added, “I assume you took a little time for yourself and spoke to at least a dozen goldsmiths about wedding necklets.”
The young man made a face at her, and Ostvel chided, “Now, Sioned. Don’t fuss the boy. Besides, it was only half a dozen. I counted.”
They were just about to start back to the Desert tents when someone in the crowd nearby shouted a warning. There was a scuffle on the bridge and people scattered from the steps, screaming. A tall, ill-dressed man lurched against the railing. Gouts of blood spurted from his neck.
“Sweet Goddess—someone’s killed him!” a man’s voice cried.
“There they are! Grab them, don’t let them get away!”
Rohan and Ostvel were already running for the steps. Pol would have done the same but for Sioned’s firm grip on his shoulder—and it took all her strength to hold him. Maarken stood between them and the bridge, scanning the crowd warily with sword drawn, ready to defend them if necessary.
But it was Rohan who needed a sword—a weapon he had not carried for the length of Pol’s life. A man wearing yellow and brown surged from the knot of frightened people and leaped for him, blade gleaming. Rohan’s boot-knives were in his hands instantly, and he fought with all the swift grace and skill of one born to wield a blade. Ostvel grappled with a second man in Merida colors who jumped him before he had the chance to draw his sword. They rolled down the slope and splashed into the river.
“Father!” Pol cried, struggling against Sioned’s grasp.
The battle was over quickly. Very few were a match for Rohan in a knife-fight; this man was not one of them. He was forced up the steps of the bridge, bleeding from a dozen gashes. At last he turned, wild-eyed, and flung himself over the rails into the swift-flowing river. He surfaced once, arms flailing. Hurtled downriver by the vicious current, caught in an undertow, he screamed and vanished.
Ostvel had meantime managed to prevent his attacker from drowning him and was instead encouraging the man to breathe water by holding his head under in the sandy shallows. Rohan helped Ostvel drag the man out of the river. They shook him, slapped his face, and after a time he choked and vomited.
Sioned allowed Pol to escape her grasp, and Maarken followed him down to the banks. The crowd huddled nearby, murmuring and amazed. No one but Sioned remembered the dying man on the steps.
She went to him, and saw at once that nothing could help him. His throat had been sliced clean through, the whiteness of bone visible through a gaping slash that had ceased to gush blood with the ending of his heartbeat. His sleeve had caught on a nail and he hung limply, his open green eyes seeming to stare right through her.
As she descended the steps a woman pushed through the crowd, dragging a reluctant captive with her. Sioned tensed, for the woman wore no identifying colors or badge of service.
“Commander Pellira, your highness, of the regent’s guard,” the woman said, bowing. “I regret we weren’t fast enough to catch the others.”
“Who’s this?” Sioned asked softly.
“I’m not a murderer!” The captive had stopped trying to get away. “I was only coming back from the Fair when she grabbed me!”
“Tell her grace the truth!” Pandsala’s guard snapped. “He was following the dead man over there. I know, because / was following him.”
“Take him to our pavilion and watch him,” Sioned told her, suddenly very tired. “We’ll question him later.”
She stood beside Pol and Maarken as Ostvel worked on the second assassin. Rohan propped him up as he shuddered and gulped in air, his gratitude at being alive warring with sheer terror.
Rohan stood up, blood streaking his jaw from a knife-graze, and met Sioned’s gaze. She shook her head, and he sighed quietly.
“This one will live,” he told her.
“Merida colors,” Ostvel grated, his voice sounding bruised.
“No,” Pol said. “Father, look at your hands, and Ost- vel’s.” He gestured to Rohan’s fingers, stained brown and yellow from the man’s tunic. “He’s not Merida. The colors were dyed into them only recently—and not very well. See how it’s run all over your hands? And why would they so obviously wear their own colors, anyway? That’s not the Merida style.”
“You’ve sharp eyes,” Ostvel acknowledged. “But if not Merida, then who?”
“Why don’t we ask him?” Rohan prodded the man in the leg with the toe of his boot. “Have him brought to our camp and dried off. And I think you’re due for a change of clothes, Ostvel, before you catch your death of a chill. Have the dead man brought along as well,” he added.
“Dead?” Pol glanced over to the bridge.
“Yes. Very.” Sioned felt an irrational desire to hold her son to her heart, protect him from all that was ugly and foul in this world. She contented herself with brushing her fingertips against his shoulder. “Will you help me up the slope, Pol?”
He put his arm around her waist and she was comforted by his closeness, his warmth, the living strength of him next to her. Untested, untried, unblooded—but he had grown nearly as tall as she over the summer, and would soon be a man. One did not try to protect men from life. Especially not princes.
She heard Maarken order that the drowned man’s corpse be recovered if possible from downriver. She heard Ostvel’s cough, the assassin’s whining protests, the murmurs of the slowly dispersing crowd. But she did not hear her husband’s voice, and when she had gained the top of the riverbank she turned to look for him.
He was standing motionless by the bridge as several men heaved the corpse upright and carried it from the steps. Rohan glanced up and Sioned caught his eyes that mirrored there own weary, helpless anger.
He joined her and Pol, who at last broke the uneasy silence among them. “I’ve never seen you use your knives before, Father.”
Rohan barely looked at him as they started for their tents. “Good at it, aren’t I?” he asked in a bitter tone that Sioned understood and Pol did not. The boy’s cheeks flushed and his lips tightened. Rohan shrugged. “Any idiot can use a knife, Pol. It’s very direct and—heroic. But the results are usually not worth the trouble.”
* * *
Maarken had never had much use for liquor as a cure for jangled nerves, and vaguely disapproved of people who turned to a bottle in times of stress. But that evening he learned the value of a winecup’s companionship. He sat alone in the growing darkness and welcomed the spurious strength of the Syrene vintage through his veins. After viewing the murdered man, Maarken felt in need of a restorative.
It was not that the corpse had been messy, he told himself as he refilled his cup. The knife had sliced through the man’s throat with incredible skill, and death had been swift. Maarken had been younger than Pol when he’d seen far worse in war—whole battlefields of men and women hacked into pieces barely recognizable as human. He had seen far more unpleasant deaths.
He rose, pacing the private tent he merited as the almost official Lord of Whitecliff, aware that his knees were not what they should be. He drank more wine. Somehow the murder had shaken him even more than the tragedy of Maeta’s death at Castle Crag. All spring and summer he had known about the problems facing his uncle, but the sight of that green-eyed corpse had made the dangers immediate. His private concerns were trifling compared to the threat posed by the pretender.
Maarken knew how precarious Rohan’s position was. The real difficulty was not even this man’s claim. What it came down to was faradhi power. Pol’s personality would go far toward convincing all that he did not have the makings of a tyrant, would not use his Sunrunner gifts in combination with the powers of the High Prince to crush all opposition. But if he was the son of his royal father, he was also the child of his faradhi mother. No matter how winning his ways, many feared the two powers combined in one man.
Maarken sat down again and closed his eyes. A picture of the corpse was burned onto his lids: tall, dark-haired, with green eyes wide open to the last of the sunlight. They could hardly display the dead body as evidence against the claimant; there were plenty of green-eyed men in the world. Who was to say that this one had fathered the pretender?
“Damn,” he muttered, clenching his fist around his winecup. There had to be something they could do, some way of convincing people—
“Why all alone in the night, my lord?”
The feminine voice startled him so violently that wine sloshed out of his cup.
A slim shadow moved toward him in the gloom. “You shouldn’t be solitary and sad, my lord. Share your trouble with me.”
Without thinking he called Fire to the wick of a candle. “Chiana?” he asked incredulously. “What are you doing here?”
“You faradh’im! Always startling a person!” She laughed lightly and came closer. Her fingers rested on the back of his chair beside his shoulder, and somehow the gesture was more intimate than if she had touched him. “I came to ease your loneliness, my lord.”
“Thank you for the thought, my lady,” he said, remembering his manners at last. “I mean no offense, but I would prefer to be alone. I’m no fit company for a lady tonight.”
She laughed again, low in her throat this time. “I’d wager you’re always excellent company for a woman— especially at night.”
Cool, soft fingers brushed his nape. It had been a long time since he had received caresses from a beautiful woman, but this was the wrong woman. He got to his feet, cursing the wine that had made him light-headed. Chiana gazed up at him, candlelight making her face all soft lips and shining, excited eyes framed by artfully tumbled hair.
“Forgive me, my lady, but—“
“You’re too modest,” Chiana said playfully. “But I can tell, my lord.” Her gaze roamed over his face, down his chest and arms. “Yes, I can definitely tell. ...”
Even with the chair between them he felt as if she had her hands on him. The wine had not so befuddled him that he gave in to her. Neither had it dulled his powers of reasoning. He knew why she was here, and it was not because of his charms. She was terrified of the pretender and groping toward any man who, by marrying her, would provide her with a noble title to replace the one she feared she was about to lose. But one did not tell a lady she was a scheming little bitch. “I thank you for the compliment, Lady Chiana. It’s as unexpected as it is flattering, coming from a lovely woman. But—“
“Maarken! Maarken, they’re here!”
He sent up brief and heartfelt thanks to the Goddess for providing him with a cousin who occasionally forgot his manners. Chiana backed off as Pol came running into the tent. The boy’s jaw dropped halfway to his knees at the sight of her, but he made a quick recovery.
“Lady Andrade is here, and Father says to hurry,” he said after making a slight bow to Chiana. “I’m sorry to interrupt—“
Chiana’s voice was cool and distant. “I should return to my sister’s tent. I have enjoyed our conversation, Lord Maarken. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to continue it another time.” She bent her knees to Pol. “Your Royal Highness.”
“My lady,” he said as she swept past him. Then he whistled soundlessly. “Maarken, I really am sorry—“
Maarken pinched the candle out. “Being alone with a pretty lady is desirable only when you like the lady.”
“If you tell me it’s something I’ll understand when I’m older, I’ll kick you,” Pol replied, grinning. “Come on, Lady Andrade is asking to see you.”
Though Maarken didn’t care much about seeing Lady Andrade, it was difficult to keep his strides from lengthening as he accompanied Pol to the blue pavilion, and even more difficult to keep his expression under control as he entered and his eyes found Hollis. But Pol again forgot his manners.
“He wasn’t with Aunt Tobin and Uncle Chay,” the boy reported. “He was in his own tent with Lady Chiana.”
Maarken turned red. Grateful as he had been to his cousin earlier, now he could cheerfully have strangled the brat. Rohan’s lips twitched with barely suppressed mirth, and Sioned coughed to hide her laughter. Andrade looked him down and up, with a brief stop below his belt. But Hollis reacted not at all. She stood to one side with An- dry and a tall, black-haired youth Maarken didn’t know. Her dark blue eyes were circled beneath with bruises of weariness. She looked thinner, and the supple energy that usually shone from her seemed tarnished somehow.
“Well,” Andrade said, breaking the awkward silence. “Your own tent now, eh? Chay must have given you Whitecliff, and about time, too.”
“He has, my Lady.” Maarken bowed to her.
“Isn’t somebody going to ask me to sit down?” she complained. “And I could do with something to drink.”
Maarken and Andry performed squire’s duties as Pol and the black-haired boy brought extra chairs. Hollis sank into hers with a long sigh, and the boy hovered behind her with an almost proprietary air.
“Pleasant trip?” Maarken whispered to his brother as they poured out cups of wine.
Andry grimaced. “Hell on horseback. Remind me not to tell you about it.”
They finished distributing the wine as their parents entered. Andrade waited while they greeted Andry, then directed them to chairs as if this were her pavilion, not Rohan’s. But they were all long accustomed to her ways.
“Sorin has duty tonight with Volog and can’t come,” Chay said as he sat down. “Goddess! Do you know how depressing this is? All my sons can look me straight in the eye! It’s not fair. They started out so short!”
“Perhaps you’re only shrinking due to rampant decrepitude,” Andrade commented. “I hope the rot doesn’t extend to your brains, any of you. What are you going to do, now that Masul’s real father is dead?”
Rohan leaned back in his chair. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
“My eyes and ears may be old, boy, but they still function. What are your plans?”
“I’d rather hear about yours. Your Sunrunner Kleve was keeping an eye on Kiele for you, wasn’t he? What did he find out?”
It wasn’t often that anyone managed to startle the Lady of Goddess Keep. Maarken glanced at Hollis, prepared to share an amused glance at Andrade’s astonishment. But Hollis was staring into her untasted wine, and the black-haired boy was hovering even closer.
“How did you know about Kleve?” Andrade demanded.
As gently as possible, he said, “We received word today—and proof—that he’s dead. They cut the rings from his fingers by taking the fingers themselves, Andrade. He probably died for something he knew. Do you have any idea what it was?”
Andrade’s face was immobile. After a few moments she whispered, “No. I—I knew he was dead. Riyan told me. But he didn’t say how it happened.” Rallying, she took a long swallow of wine. “Kleve is dead, and his information with him. Masul’s real father is dead, and his testimony with him. You haven’t managed this very well, Rohan.”
Pol had been standing between his parents’ chairs, listening wide-eyed. But at this point he stiffened and took a step forward, frowning at the implied insult to his father. Maarken could have told him to save his indignation; Andrade spoke that way to everybody.
She noticed, as she noticed everything. “Meath tells me you can call Fire,” she said abruptly to the boy. “I can, my Lady.”
“What else can you do without ever having been taught?”
“I don’t know,” Pol replied boldly. “I’ve never tried.” She gave a bark of laughter. “You’re the son of your father, all right.”
“And of my mother,” Pol added. Maarken hid a slight smile. If Pol was awed by their formidable kinswoman, he was determined not to show it.
“Mmm, yes. And of your mother,” she said. “Tobin, take your husband and sons to your own tent. I have no time for family news right now. Pol, you may go with them. Hollis, Sejast, go tell Urival to hurry up. I’m tired and I want to rest in my own bed sometime before midnight.”
Andrade watched them obey her orders, not missing the look Pol gave his parents as if asking whether or not he had to do as Andrade told him. She approved the boy’s spirit, but it also made her feel very old. It would take all her energy and authority to make a good, obedient Sunrunner of him. If anyone could.
“I want to know your plans,” she said to Rohan again when the others had gone. “And don’t tell me you’re going to trust to the truth. This isn’t a game played by nice rules.”
“What would you suggest?” Sioned asked coldly. “Buying cooperation would certainly be effective—it would convince everyone that we doubt our own position!”
“Truth may be an excellent defense,” Andrade snapped. “But what we need right now is a plan of attack.”
“I thought you’d have everything all plotted out for us,” Sioned retorted. “And all we’d have to do is speak our lines. You’re the one who hasn’t managed this very well, Andrade.”
She was silent for a moment, searching the face of her most beloved student. “When will you believe that I never wanted mindless obedience from any of you? If you had been an idiot, I would not have chosen you for Rohan.”
“I’ll believe it when you prove it. You’ve just done the opposite again by calling it your choice, not ours.”
It was an old debate between them and one that suddenly wearied her. “I put you both in the way of choosing. But I don’t give orders to anyone but my Sunrunners. And you’ll note that I no longer give you any orders at all. I’ve learned that it does no good.”
“And do you tell everyone that I’m no longer a Sun-runner?”
“Stop this,” Rohan said quietly. “Andrade, you asked my plans and answered your own question. The only weapon we have is the truth. I can’t bargain or cajole or command my way out of this. Masul must be repudiated or Pol’s claim to Princemarch will never be secure. The only thing I can trust is the truth.”
“And not me,” Andrade whispered, feeling very old again, telling herself it was only fatigue. “My truth is suspect.” She wrapped her fingers around the winecup, staring at the bracelets on either wrist, linked to her rings by thin chains. “It galls me. Nothing to do with Roelstra ever happens in ways I can control.” She gave in to im- pulse and flung the goblet to the floor. “Goddess! Why could he not have died forever and left us all in peace?”
An instant later, humiliated by her outburst, she shrugged irritably. “Your pardon. I’ll see you get a new rug to replace the one I just ruined.”
Sioned spoke, her voice soft, almost apologetic. “My Lady—though I no longer wear any ring but my husband’s, the ones you gave me are still on my hands. Tell us what you think we ought to do.”
More moved than she would admit, Andrade shook her head. “I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She pushed herself to her feet and muttered, “Hasn’t Urival raised that damned tent yet?”
Urival had, and was now ordering it furnished with carpets, tables, chairs, beds, and other amenities from the baggage wains. Segev assisted him and the other Sun-runners after finding a chair for Hollis to rest in. He had had no opportunity today to give her more dranath and she was showing the effects of withdrawal. Segev hurried about his tasks and at last escaped with the excuse of finding some wine. He paused in a shadow in the growing enclave of Andrade’s white tents and pulled the stopper from the bottle. Not trusting his abilities at sleight-of-hand to get the herb into only one cup, he sprinkled the dranath into the bottle itself. One drink of it would cause nothing more than a headache for someone not previously dosed.
The white pavilion was fully furnished by the time he returned. Lady Andrade reclined in a soft upholstered chair, attended by the High Prince and High Princess. Hollis sat nearby. Segev poured wine for them and for Urival, bowing low to each as a good one-ringed Sun-runner should in the presence of the High Prince and such exalted faradh ‘im.
“And that’s the tale of our evening,” Prince Rohan was saying. “Naydra has identified the corpse as the man who came to her earlier today. Pandsala had a little scheme of her own going, by the way—no one of her blood was ever able to resist playing with events.”
The High Princess nodded thanks as Segev poured her wine. “It seems she had a little chat with Kiele, who set her people to scouring Waes for this man—while Pand- sala’s own servants followed them like dragons after a doe.”
“Well? What of it?” Andrade asked.
“They traced Kiele’s people to the Fair, where it seems everybody who wanted to find this man found him indeed.” Sioned gave a little shrug. “Rohan believes in letting things happen. Well, they happened, all right.”
Segev marveled that they spoke so freely in front of him—but then, he was supposedly one of them, a Sun-runner, a member of Andrade’s personal suite. He grinned to himself and took up a position in the shadows behind Hollis’ chair.
“We let Kiele’s man go,” Rohan added. “There’s nothing to accuse Kiele of, after all. She was only acting on Pandsala’s orders. It doesn’t matter that we know damned well she would’ve had him killed if she’d gotten her hands on him.”
“Granted,” Andrade muttered. “What of this Merida who isn’t a Merida?”
“We thought you might like to interview him with us,” Rohan said almost casually. He gestured to Segev, who stepped forward and bowed. “Tell my squire outside to fetch this man, please.”
“At once, your grace.”
The man was being held in the High Prince’s encampment, damp clothes nearly dry as he huddled by the fire with his arms tied behind him, dark head hanging. Ro-han’s squire, Tallain, nodded to the guards, who nudged the captive to his feet. His head jerked up and Segev nearly gasped. One of Mireva’s people, here! He sorted through what he had heard since arriving tonight and gulped down his panic. She must be told at once. This man must not live long enough to blurt out anything that might identify Mireva or her aims—or, worse, Segev himself. He moved more deeply into the shadows beyond the watchfire and bit his lip. The man had not seen him, and with a little luck Segev should be able to escape without being recognized.
“Clean him up,” Tallain was saying. “The High Prince and Lady Andrade are waiting.”
Segev paused until he was sure the pounding of his heart would not sound in his voice, then said “Would you make my excuses to Lady Andrade, please? I—I guess I’m more tired from the journey than I thought.”
Tallain glanced over with a brief smile. “I’ve heard travel with Lady Andrade can do that. I’ll tell her you’ve gone off to bed.”
“My thanks,” Segev replied, bowing, and made his escape.
Away from the tents, he took several deep breaths of chill night air to calm himself. Realization of who had sent the assassins to kill the pretender’s father had startled him badly but, more than that, kept his heart racing as he walked down to the river. He had grown used to living around faradh ‘im, and was even accustomed to Lady Andrade by now. But something about the High Princess made him nervous, and he would much rather not be in company with her again.
He shook off the feeling as he reached the river and spent a few moments admiring its silent, star-strewn flow. There had been no water to cross on the road to Waes, so he had been spared the inconvenience of miming the appropriate sickness. Mireva had taught him how to simulate the usual faradhi reaction to water, and he was grateful he had not had to resort to the rather unsavory trick. Mireva had taught him much, but Andrade and his growing ambition were teaching him more. The tension of fooling both women at the same time exhilarated him. He was the first descendant of the ancient blood to learn the old ways and those of the faradh’im; he knew he could use both with equal skill. The Rialla presented endless fascinating opportunities, once this dangerous man had been dealt with.
Well away from the encampment, he found a bend in the river and went as far out as he could, boots crunching in the fine gravel. He stared up at the expanse of starry sky above the river, finding comfort in its brilliance. He adapted Sunrunner methods to the weaving of thin, delicate filaments of silver light as no faradhi but Princess Sioned had ever done. There were no colors on this weaving, only the shining pallor of the stars. He had never dared contact Mireva this way while at Goddess Keep— which, considering his unauthorized alteration of her plans, was for the best. As he followed the glittering path of plaited light north to the Veresch, he buried his secrets beneath layers of obedience—and temporarily forgot where he put the shovel.
She stood alone in the middle of the stone circle. She might have been there for moments or days in that same position, waiting as she had said she would wait every night of the Rialla. Segev wrapped his rope of starlight around the rock cairn and saw it begin to glow silver.
Very impressive. Andrade has taught you well.
Was there the faintest hint of suspicion in her voice? Segev cursed himself for showing off his abilities.
You sent me to learn, my lady. And I have much to tell you. Rapidly he gave her news of the present danger, ending with a plea to be rescued from possible discovery. It would please her, his total dependence on her to save him.
He could almost hear the breath hissing between her teeth. By all Hells! How could they be so stupid? My orders are to be obeyed, not anticipated! They were to watch, not kill! But now this fool will die. He was prepared by me before he left. As were you, Segev. Learn well from this.
He blanched. Prepared? The warning slid through his veins like an icy mountain stream beneath its winter covering of frozen snow. Yes, my lady, he replied humbly. There is more—do you wish to hear it now?
She made no answer. He saw her begin to sway lightly back and forth before the cairn, arms outstretched, her face carved into terrible lines. A few sick thuds of his heart later, she spoke again.
It’s finished. Tell me now.
He did so, detailing his acceptance by Andrade for fa-radhi training, the abortive attempt to steal the scrolls, his success in addicting Hollis to dranath. Mireva’s eyes lit as she listened, and she laughed when he told her of the Sunrunner Kleve’s death.
Wonderful! Assist this pretender any way you can—for all that he was too foolish to recognize our offer of assistance in the spring. What about the scrolls ?
Here, with Urival. They don’t know I know. But I had access to the place they were kept, and the day we left, they were gone. Urival’s saddlebags never leave his sight. But I’ll secure the scrolls by Rialla’s end.
Excellent! Her gray-green eyes sparkled and for an instant she looked like the beautiful young girl who had taught him what it was to be a man. /’// be watching by starlight, Segev, and on the next moonless night when no faradh’im can weave.
He sped back to the banks of the Faolain, shaking with relief. He had survived a test much more formidable than any that Lady Andrade could devise. And he had also rid himself of a threat—though exactly how Mireva had disposed of the man did not bear thinking about. He reminded himself that she possessed powers beyond his experience and possibly beyond his imaginings. He gulped as he heard again the fatal word prepared.
But when he thought of the Star Scroll again, a smile teased his lips. When it was finally in his hands, he would not give it to Mireva. He had earned it; it would be his.
* * *
While waiting for the prisoner to be brought to them, Urival gave Andrade a long, level stare. He said nothing, merely looked at her until she grimaced a reply.
“What’s being so subtly debated here,” she told Sioned and Rohan, “is the subject of the scrolls Meath brought us from Dorval this spring. I have my little surprises, too. Hollis, you’ve worked on the damnable things. Tell their graces.”
“The scrolls are histories, mainly,” Hollis explained. “Andry has done most of the translating—it’s been difficult because of all the false trails and little cues we sometimes miss until something much later on doesn’t make any sense. And we’re nowhere near finished yet with them all. But they tell about the Sunrunners who abandoned a huge old keep on the island and came to the continent to oppose a group of sorcerers.”
“Sounds more like tales for children at bedtime,” Rohan said.
“Oh, but these people were real, your grace! Lady Merisel in particular—there’ve been times when Andry swears he can feel her presence at Goddess Keep.” She hesitated, then went on, “And those others, the ones the faradh ‘im came here to defeat—they were real, too. Some of what they could do was very similar to our faradhi techniques, but—“
“But without our ethics,” Andrade finished mockingly.
Hollis didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. “They seem to have taken control of a great many people and places on their way to complete power over the continent, and the ancient faradh ‘im left their isolation on Dorval to fight against them. The scrolls are quite impressive, your graces.”
Andrade grunted at the understatement. “I should have known talking about her pet project would liven her up,” she said to Urival. “Not two words to say for herself the whole trip, and now we can’t shut her up.”
The young woman smiled. “All I needed was a little rest, my Lady.”
“And a sight of Maarken, hmm?” Sioned chuckled. “Forgive me—but he’s not very subtle, is he? And no more of this ‘your graces,’ if you please. Hollis, if you’ve no other family and if you will permit, I’d be proud to stand with you as a sister faradhi when you marry him.”
Her blue eyes widened. “Your grace! I—“
Rohan winked at her. “Nothing much gets past the High Princess, either.”
“I have a bet with Maarken that I could identify his Chosen lady at first sight,” Sioned explained, smiling. “It wasn’t difficult!”
Hollis looked from one to the other of them, completely at a loss. At last she managed to murmur her thanks.
“That’s settled, then,” Andrade sighed, “even if nothing else is. Go to bed, Hollis. I want to talk with Rohan and Sioned. And this captive of yours ought to be showing up soon, yes?”
Hollis bowed and left them. Sioned nodded to herself. “She’s going to make Maarken very happy.”
“You’re learning my tricks,” Andrade accused with gruff fondness. “How did you know? Did he tell you?”
Before Sioned could do more than look smug, Tallain appeared in the doorway of the white tent. “My lord, he’s here. Not too willing about it, either, when he heard who he’d be seeing.”
“Afraid of the old witch, is he?” Andrade asked. “Well, bring him in.”
But the guards got him no farther than the threshold. The man’s dark hair and pallid face suddenly seemed to glow with the chill radiance of the stars behind him in the night. Horrified eyes fixed on Andrade, he groped out with stiffened, white-boned fingers, then slumped to the carpet.
Tallain fell back in shock. “My lord—what—“
Rohan knelt beside the prone figure, searching in vain for signs of life. The slack-jawed guards could have dealt with an escape attempt, threats of violence, shouts of defiance—but not with this. “M-my lord,” one of them whispered, “we did him no hurt, none!”
Rohan nodded slowly, fingers resting lightly on the man’s chest. “His heart has simply stopped,” he murmured.
Andrade stared at the corpse with a stony glare more frightening than anger. “So,” she said at last. “The sorcerers still live after all.”
Rohan’s head snapped around, a scowl darkening his face. “What do you mean?”
She paid him no heed. “Get this—“ she pointed to the dead man, “—out of my sight at once. Throw it into the sea for all I care. But it shall not know Fire. Nothing touched by such foulness could ever be cleansed.”
After the corpse had been removed, with Rohan’s caution that nothing be said of this to anyone, Sioned faced Andrade. “What do you mean, sorcerers?” she asked, repeating Rohan’s question.
“Just what I said.” She sighed heavily. “Sweet Goddess, to be able to kill at a distance, using starlight. ...” A shudder coursed through her and she drew her cloak tighter around her breast. “There’s a scroll Hollis didn’t mention, but it seems I must tell you about it now. We’ve called it the Star Scroll for the design on its first page. And it deals with sorceries. Probably with things just like this.”
“Has it been fully translated?” Rohan asked.
“Not yet. And I don’t know that I want it to be. Not if it contains knowledge like this. Oh, Andry is full of reasons why we should learn all that the Star Scroll can offer, and use their own weapons against them—including dranath—but what would that make of us?”
Despite the bitterness in her voice, Rohan almost smiled at her. “It seems you and I agree on one thing, at least.”
Sioned nodded thoughtfully. “Now I know why you asked Tobin to have me bring along this packet.” She produced, to her husband’s astonishment, a small piece of folded parchment and handed it to Andrade. “It’s very old, though. Rohan took it from Roelstra over twenty years ago. Will it still be good?”
“Nothing about dranath is good, except its use against Plague,” Urival muttered, absently rubbing the rings on his hands as if they pained him.
“It ought to be potent still,” Andrade mused. “It’s all we have access to, so it had better be. I didn’t want to ask Pandsala to bring me some from the Veresch. She’s not someone I’d trust with knowledge like this.”
“I think you’re wrong about her,” Sioned replied mildly. “But it doesn’t matter. What do you plan to do with it?”
“Conduct a few experiments of my own, the way An-dry did. Urival, stop looking at me like that. Who’s more qualified to investigate sorceries than an old witch like me?” She smiled humorlessly, turning the parchment square over in her hands. “You used a little of this to help you over some rough spots on the way home that year, didn’t you, Sioned?”
“Only a little. A pinch in a glass of wine, less as the days wore on. Roelstra gave me quite a bit that night. The same happened after the dose that cured the Plague.” Her shoulders shifted to shrug off the memory. “Be careful with it.”
“She will be,” Urival stated, his face grim.
“Do you think Roelstra knew about the old sorceries?” Rohan asked.
“If he had, he would have used them—not just the dranath to addict poor Crigo.” Urival shook his head. “I’ve talked myself hoarse with warnings that no one listens to.”
“Would you rather see Andry at his little demonstrations again?” Andrade snapped. “What frightens me about him is that he’s not as frightened of the Star Scroll as he ought to be.” Andrade eyed the royal couple. “I hope you’ve instilled a little respect in that hatchling of yours. Andry has been a handful, but Pol’s stubbornness might be the death of me.”
Sioned hesitated, then said, “Andrade—I don’t want Pol coddled or given special treatment, but promise me you won’t bully him too much. He’s not like any of the others, not even Maarken or Riyan. Who he is, what he’ll become one day—promise me you’ll keep those things in mind.”
“We can hardly escape them,” she responded in dry tones. “Leave me now. I won’t be drugging myself tonight, so stop scowling. All I want is some sleep.”
Rohan and Sioned were silent as they returned to their pavilion. He sank wearily into the chair at his desk.
“So that’s why Meath was attacked on his way to Goddess Keep. Today has been hellish all the way around. And the way she talked about Andry—“
“He’s not a little boy anymore.”
“No. But I can’t share her apprehensions about someone I used to play at dragons with. What an interesting family we have,” he added wryly.
Sioned began taking off her clothes, pausing only to throw a bedrobe at him. “Here. If you’re going to be up half the night, at least be comfortable.”
“What do you think about the Star Scroll?” he asked as he shrugged out of tunic and shirt before wrapping himself in the blue silk.
“I think the potentials for danger and knowledge are just about equal,” she mused. “The old sorcerers are still around. What happened tonight—“ She shivered. “Tradition generally confirms Sunrunners on the continent for at least three hundred years. That’s a long time to be in hiding.”
“But where? Why? What are they waiting for?” When she only shrugged, he said, “You’re awfully calm about this. Is it because you, too, know how to use the stars?”
She would not look at him, only stood smoothing the folds of her bedgown with fingers that trembled a little. “I’m scared to death,” she whispered. “What I did was instinctive. There was no other light to use. I had to know where you were. . . .” At last she met his gaze. “Rohan, what if I’m—“
“One of them?” He shook his head. “Don’t you remember what we were saying about power? It’s not power of itself that’s good or evil, Sioned. It’s the person wielding it. You’re wise enough to know that.”
“If you say so.” She shrugged again, and in a steadier tone went on, “To the Sunrunners, these people are a threat. To the other princes? I don’t know. But Pol is both Sunrunner and prince. That makes him dangerous to them in new ways, it seems. They went to a lot of trouble to kill the only witness who could challenge this Masul’s claim and make it seem as if Merida were responsible. So they’re still hiding.” She sighed and extinguished the bedside candle. “Make sure your feet are warm before you come to bed.”
“Prosaic advice. Are you so certain I’ll be awake that late into the night?”
She stretched out and drew the blanket over her shoulders, replying unanswerably, “I know you, my lord azhrei.”