Hollis woke in unfamiliar surroundings. Instead of the white walls and bare necessities of the Sunrunner tents there was soothing soft blue silk, screened skylights left open to the sun, and elegant luxury. For a very long time she simply lay atop the cool sheets, too tired to do more than move her head and take in her surroundings. Eventually guilt stirred; she had no right to be here in the Desert enclave, as if she belonged with Maarken’s family. She could not believe she had ever aspired to become one of them as his wife. Certainly that could never happen now. Even if he forgave her, she knew she would soon die. A wide-shouldered shadow appeared in the doorway. hesitated, stepped onto the deep carpet. Hollis recognized Meath and turned her face away.
Standing beside the bed, Meath chuckled quietly. “Well, you do look pretty awful,” he told her. “But all you want is a few good meals and a bath. I’ll see to the former at once—and you’ll eat every bite, too! But though I’d purely love to assist with the latter, I think Maarken would run me through.”
Unwilling to acknowledge it, she felt something akin to her old wry humor tug at the corners of her mouth. Goddess, how long had it been since she’d laughed?
“Oh, come on, Hollis.” Meath knelt beside the bed and picked up one of her hands. “I didn’t ride all this way from Goddess Keep to be met with the back of your head. Look at me. I can’t do anything for you if you won’t even look at me.”
She wished he would go back to teasing her, or simply go away. His sympathy and kindness were impossible to hear without pain.
Meath signed. “I know my face isn’t exactly to your taste, but it’s still fairly presentable. It’s even been called handsome on occasion—though I suspect the ladies who said so were a little drunk.”
“Or it was very dark, and by your own design,” she heard herself say.
“That’s better! Now, can you sit up? Good.” He propped pillows behind her back and she sank into them wearily, a smile flitting around her mouth. “I thought I saw some wine around here—“
“No!” She caught herself at the edge of panic and forced her body to relax. “I’m sorry. I would like something to drink, please.”
Meath smoothed her hair back, his voice soft with compassion. “So he put it in the wine, did he?”
“And the taze, and anything else—oh, Meath—“
“Shh. We’ll talk about that in a little while.” He went to a table and poured out two goblets of a fine pale Sy-rene vintage. “One thing I’ll say for life in the Desert— Prince Davvi supplies his sister with the best damned wines ever bottled. Now, this is a blend of mossberries and grapes from around Sioned’s old home of River Run.
You’ll have to visit it someday. It’s a lovely place if you don’t mind all that water!”
She smiled again, more easily this time, and sipped the wine. Meath talked about River Run and Syrene wines and the High Princess’ knowledge of them, and gradually Hollis relaxed. He saw it in her face and interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence.
“I suppose you’d like to know what’s been going on.”
She nodded. “I don’t remember anything after— after-“
“Understandable. Urival spun sleep around you good and tight.” Meath leaned back in a carved chair that looked too fragile to hold his brawny frame. “Well, let’s see. First off, Firon now belongs to Lleyn’s grandson Laric. He’ll do a fine job with it, too. Smart boy. Sorin’s going to rebuild Feruche for Sioned, and young Riyan’s got Skybowl now that his father’s going to be Pol’s regent at Castle Crag.”
Hollis stared. “All that, just this morning?”
“Rohan doesn’t waste much time. You knew that Gemma Chose Tilal instead of Kostas, right? Well, there’s a whisper or two that Kostas has already been Chosen himself—by Danladi. Maybe he’ll be bright enough to accept her. She’s a nice little thing. Doesn’t have a word to say for herself, which is unusual for one of Roelstra’s daughters. But Davvi’s very fond of her and says she’s a sweet girl, so I guess she’ll be Princess of Syr one day. And speaking of Roelstra’s daughters, that little bitch Chiana was hanging all over Kalian today, all set to be wed to him and inherit when Clutha’s gone. That should be interesting!”
“Thank the Goddess she’s fairly stupid, for all her scheming,” Hollis mused. “And she’s finally got her life’s ambition, now that Kalian’s been fool enough to make her a real princess.”
“That about sums it up,” Meath agreed.
“It’s good news about Danladi.” She pushed herself higher on the pillows. “Being close to Gemma, the two of them should be able to smooth over any problems between the brothers.” She smiled wryly. “Politics!”
“And then some. Princess Gennadi has been named to take charge of Waes and of Lyell’s children. I don’t know much about her, but reputation has her a sly lady with an eye for a good-looking man.” He paused and grinned. “Maybe I should ask for a transfer!”
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Hollis laughed aloud. “You’re a miserable lusty wretch, and if you’re not careful I’ll tell Eolie on you!”
“Oh, she knows all about me,” he replied breezily.
“But do you know all about her?” Hollis teased.
Meath looked startled. “What?”
She giggled. “Got you!”
“Maarken’s got you, “ he growled, “and welcome!”
Hollis hid a sudden wince by taking a long drink of her wine. After a moment she asked, “What about Kiele?”
“Dead.” He rose to get the bottle from the table, poured more wine for them both. “She burned with Ma-sul’s corpse this morning. And Lyell with her.”
“But he—“
“I know. Andry didn’t want it done that way, either. But Lyell insisted. He loved her, you see. Besides, what kind of life would he have had, with Waes taken from him and nowhere to go? Gennadi will take good care of the children, and Clutha was adamant that they not be punished for what their mother did. But it really was the only thing Lyell could do, when you think about it.”
Hollis bent her head. “She died badly,” she murmured.
“She died before the Fire even touched her.” Meath shook his head. “Damnedest thing I ever saw. Andry had just called up the flames and we were about to add to them and make it quick, when a knife appeared out of nowhere at Lyell’s feet. He used it to kill her and then himself. They never felt a thing. I learned later it was Ostvel who’d thrown him the knife.”
“Gentle Goddess.” She met his gaze. “You know why he did it, don’t you? So Andry wouldn’t be a murderer, or any of the rest of the Sunrunners.” A murderer like Hollis herself. She hid another wince.
Meath shrugged. “ Andry’s furious, of course.”
“I’ll explain it to him,” she said firmly.
He smiled. “Big sister.”
“Meath—please.”
“Look, Hollis—I know what happened to you. So does Maarken.”
She gave him a bleak smile. “And do you and he also know that I’m going to die? I have two choices, Meath. I can find a supply of dranath and be a slave to it the rest of my life, or I can free myself of it and die in the process.”
“That’s not true! You don’t understand—“
“I know all about the Sunrunner corrupted by Roel-stra. He died of taking too much—but it would have been the same if he’d stopped taking it altogether. I’m not going to be chained by a need for that drug, Meath. I’m going to ask Andry if I can return to Goddess Keep for the time I have left.”
He looked at her in disgust. “You are depressing the hell out of me. Who ever taught you how to be so damned gloomy? I told you, you don’t understand!”
They both looked up as someone else entered the tent. Tall, slim, dressed in a plain green gown, the High Princess flung her long firegold braid back over her shoulder in a gesture oddly reminiscent of Lady Andrade and gazed meditatively at Hollis. She wore a thin circlet across her brow, but it seemed an afterthought, or as if she had forgotten to remove it after some ceremony. The golden band certainly had nothing to do with her aura of regal authority; Hollis had trouble remembering that before her marriage this woman had been, like her, only an obscure Sunrunner.
But one descended from princes of Kierst and Syr, and chosen by Andrade to be Rohan’s wife, mother of the first Sunrunner High Prince.
Still, for all her beauty and bearing and importance, her sudden smile was warm and empathetic. She might wear the circlet of royalty as if born to it, but she was still only a very human woman. Hollis felt her own lips curve shyly in an answering smile.
“Here you are at last,” Meath said in relief. “What kept you? Sioned, talk some sense into this stubborn girl. I can’t get her to listen to me.”
“Going about it all wrong, as usual,” Sioned answered lightly. “Get out of here, Meath. Go ride herd on my son, if you think you can keep up with him. We sent him to the paddocks to exercise Chay’s horses while the final sales are going on.”
Meath rose and gave her an elaborate bow. “At once, your exalted royal highness.”
“Fool,” she replied fondly.
She settled into the chair he had vacated, and when he was gone said, “I know precisely what you’re enduring right now. You may think that I don’t, but I do. Roelstra drugged me with dranath, you know, years ago. And I’m still here.”
“Forgive me, your grace, but I doubt very much you were addicted, as I am.”
“No,” Sioned admitted. “But I nearly became so then, and later, during the Plague, when dranath was the only cure. And yet I’m still here,” she repeated.
Hollis said nothing.
“You needn’t die, my dear,” Sioned told her gently. And reached into a pocket of her gown to produce a little velvet pouch. “We searched Sejast’s things this morning and found this.”
“No! I don’t want it!” Hollis shrank into the pillows as if to get as far away from the dranath as she could. “Don’t you understand? What if I agreed, and kept using it, and married Maarken—not only would I be living a life I’d hate, chained to the drug, but what if someone found out and attempted to control Maarken by threatening to keep the drug from me? I can’t do that, your grace, I won’t!”
“Did I say anything about continuing to use it? When Roelstra tricked me into taking dranath, I thought I was going to die, too. On the way back to Stronghold there were times—“ She broke off and shook her head. “I’m not saying this will be easy for you, Hollis. But by taking less every day, as little as you can stand, eventually you can be free of it. It’s happened to me twice. It’s living hell while it lasts, I won’t lie to you. But Roelstra and the Plague nearly addicted me—and I’m still here. “
She wasn’t aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks until she tasted salt on her lips. “Your grace—“
“You can do this, or you can indeed go back to Goddess Keep and die there,” Sioned murmured. “Yes, I’ve been outside listening for quite some time. If you decide the latter, I don’t think anyone would blame you. They all know what I went through. But all of us will be with you, Hollis. We’ll take as long as you need to travel back to the Desert, and you won’t have to go to Radzyn or Whitecliff or even Stronghold, if you wish it, until you’re free.”
“Does Maarken know?” she whispered.
Sioned nodded. “I spoke with him earlier. He loves you very much, you know. And he has a great deal of love to give. Will you risk it, Hollis? Risk letting him love you enough?”
Hollis closed her eyes and leaned her head back.
“I hope you will,” Sioned went on. “You see, I have a wager going with him, and more than anything else, I hate to lose.”
Hollis knuckled her eyes free of tears and opened them—and saw Maarken standing beside Sioned’s chair. He was exhausted. Bruises darkened his cheekbones and jaw, and one temple was swollen. He held himself stiffly, bandages bulky around his ribs and showing white at the open neck of his shirt, one sleeve rolled up to accommodate the splint applied to his arm. Those hurts and the healing swordcuts on his face were nothing compared to the open wound in his eyes.
“She really does hate losing, you know,” he said in a thick unsteady voice.
“She won’t get any practice at it now,” Hollis told him.
Sioned smiled. “I think I just became superfluous. I’ll see to it you’re not disturbed, my dears.” She leaned up to kiss Maarken’s cheek. “Be happy.”
Hollis held out her arms to him. He sank onto the bed beside her, folding her wordlessly to his heart. It was a long time before she felt a slow, dull ache begin in her bones, a lethargy that brought a paradoxical restlessness. Fear sliced through her. So it starts, she thought, and her gaze went to the table where Sioned had placed the little pouch of dranath. She closed her eyes to it and held tighter to Maarken’s strength.
* * *
“Your grace, I would speak with your daughter.”
Volog’s brows shot up, and Andry wished he was ten winters older, with all that time as Lord of Goddess Keep behind him. “She’s resting,” Volog said. “Perhaps later.”
/ can’t wait for later! he wanted to shout. He kept his mouth closed. Any such display would only emphasize his youth. So he waited, a thing at which he had never excelled.
“My Lord,” Volog said at last. Andry heard vague unease with the new title. “The past days have been very difficult for her. As you must know. The revelation of her gifts-“
“Is precisely what I wish to speak to her about, your grace. Forgive me, but I really must insist.”
“The decision must be her own,” the prince warned. “If she wants to go to Goddess Keep, perhaps it’s the best way of finding peace with herself and her powers. But if she chooses otherwise. ...”
“I will respect whatever choice she makes, your grace.” But surely she could make no choice but him.
“You understand it’s a father’s concern for his favorite child.”
“My concern for her equals your own,” Andry said incautiously.
The prince lifted one ironic brow that made Andry even more uncomfortable, but made no reply. He gestured to a squire and within a few moments Alasen came into the main section of the tent. Not a hair was out of place, not a crease marred her clothing. She was dressed for riding in a silk shirt of Kierstian scarlet, a black velvet vest, black trousers and boots. Obviously, she had not been resting.
“My lady,” Andry said formally, “will you do me the favor of walking with me for a time?”
“Down to the river, perhaps?” she responded, perfectly controlled although her cheeks were very pale. But that might have been the effect of the vivid scarlet and deep black velvet. “Yes, I think it’s time we talked, my Lord.” She turned gracefully to her father. “May I?”
“Of course.” Volog picked up an embroidered and fringed shawl, draped it over his daughter’s shoulders, and kissed her cheek. “It’ll be dark sooner than you think, and it’s already chilly. Don’t stay out too long.”
Once beyond Volog’s tents, Alasen spoke first. “I was at the paddocks earlier, watching the sales. Your father’s horses brought excellent prices.”
“They always do.”
“The other day I was admiring a very fine mare. I was hoping my father would buy her for me, but Lord Ostvel had already purchased her. For Riyan, no doubt.”
“No doubt.”
They walked in silence past the white tents of Goddess Keep and the blue tents of the Desert, and then it was Andry’s turn to make polite conversation.
“I’ve been in meetings all day with more people than I could count. But nobody I really wanted to see. I couldn’t get away to come talk to you. Everything’s been happening so fast. There wasn’t any time before this for me to receive the princes formally as the new Lord of Goddess Keep.”
“It’s a very great honor to have been chosen by Lady Andrade.”
“I know. It scares me some,” he confessed. But more than anything else he was angry. The hostility in some eyes had confirmed his suspicions: if certain people did not like the idea of a Sunrunner as High Prince, they liked a prince’s grandson as Lord of Goddess Keep even less. He would have to make them understand that he would not be ruled from Stronghold. Andrade had been too partisan. He could not be. His honor forbade it. His position as Lord of Goddess Keep came from his gift of faradhi powers, not his kinship with Pol.
“I know you’ll do well, Andry,” Alasen was saying.
With you beside me, I will, he thought hungrily. But he couldn’t say that aloud. Not yet. “I finally got the chance to talk to my brother today as well.” He smiled suddenly. “I thought he was going to hit me when I told him he had to ask my formal permission to marry Hollis. Until he realized I was joking, that is. You should have seen his face!”
She smiled sidelong at him, a hint of laughter in her green eyes. “Shame, my Lord! Your own brother! I’m surprised he didn’t break something for you.”
“But he would’ve been disappointed if I hadn’t teased him!” Andry chuckled. “Besides, he was being so se- nous. It was fun to watch him turn red, with his mouth moving and no words coming out!”
“I still say it wasn’t very nice. After all he’s been through—“
Andry saw her sudden distress and said hastily, “That’s why he needed to laugh. My father says it’s the sovereign remedy.” He rubbed his shoulder ruefully. “Maarken got in a good one anyway, once he figured it out and I let my guard down!”
Alasen chuckled. “If you expect sympathy from me, forget it.”
They fell silent as they descended the gentle slope to the river, the crunch of their boots in the gravelly bank rhythmic counterpoint to late-afternoon birdsong. They took the direction opposite from the place where Masul and Kiele and Lyell had burned that morning, heading downriver past the bridge. A breeze off the nearby sea brought the tang of salt and the threat of early autumn rain from the clouds hovering offshore.
At last Andry could wait no longer. “Alasen—“
“Please. Don’t.” She leaned her palms against a huge gray boulder. He stared at the scarlet and blue and white flowers woven across the black shawl, saw her shoulders shift nervously. “I have to tell you this my own way, Andry,” she said.
“All I want to hear is that you love me and you’ll come with me and—“
“You want me to become a Sunrunner, like you.”
“You are like me. I’ve held your colors in my hands, Alasen, felt how strong your gifts are, how powerful you could become with training. Come with me, and I’ll teach you everything.”
Alasen said nothing. Andry went forward, silent sand beneath his boots now, and his hand hovered for a moment near the hair coiled at her nape. But he did not touch her. Not yet.
“Only say you love me,” he murmured.
“You already know. We’ve seen into each other, Andry. Something like that couldn’t stay hidden.”
“I need to hear it.”
“You’re very young,” she said indulgently.
Pride stung, he took a step back. “Old enough to be Andrade’s choice for Lord of Goddess Keep!”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” She would not turn and look at him. “I meant that I must be very young, too— because I want to hear the same words.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, felt her slenderness and her strength. “I love you, Alasen.”
“Those words are so easy for you,” she whispered, her head bending. “What I have to say isn’t.”
Andry turned her to face him, bewildered until he saw her eyes. “You’re not going to come with me. You’re afraid of me.”
“Please try to understand! I always suspected what I was. I think I always knew. There were reasons I didn’t want it known, because of Pol, what he’ll be when he’s grown—I don’t want to be wanted just because my children have a chance of being faradh ‘im. I have a right to a happy marriage and a life with a man who loves me, don’t I?”
“That’s what I’m offering you. And Sunrunner children as well.”
“I know. And it’s impossible.”
He broke away from her. “But why? You love me—“
“Yes. I love you,” she replied hopelessly. “Ah, Goddess, I don’t want to hurt you, Andry.”
“Then—“
“No. I can’t.” Her hands twisted together, slender and ringless. “I am afraid. What I’ve seen and felt of power terrifies me. I can’t live with it. I won’t.” , “But it’s not like that. What happened here—“
“No!” she repeated, pressing back against the stone like a hunted doe. “I won’t go with you.” She hesitated, then went on softly, “Andry, if you were only your father’s son, with an inheritance like Sorin’s or Riyan’s, it would be different. But you’re Lord of Goddess Keep. It’s what you were meant to be—anyone who doesn’t see that is a fool. Don’t offer to give that up for me, I can see it in your eyes. I’d never ask that of you. It wouldn’t be loving you to make you deny what you are. Just as I’d never be happy or at peace trying to be something that frightens me.” Alasen touched his cheek briefly, regretfully. “I’ve thought about nothing else today. I try to see myself wearing the rings, doing what you can do—and I can’t. You understand power. I’m afraid of it.”
“What are you afraid of?” he whispered, and her face went ashen in the twilight at the deadly quiet of his voice. “That I can do such things?” A tiny gout of Fire flickered on the stone beside them, wafted over the river. It flared as he reacted to the fear in her eyes.
“Andry, please—this is hard enough for me. Don’t make it ugly.”
“So we’re to be civilized about it, are we?” He nearly lost control of the hovering flame, furious emotion shaking in his chest and half-strangling him. She loved him. But she was not going to come with him.
“Stop it! Andry, why can’t you understand? I don’t want to be a Sunrunner! It frightens me!”
“This is what frightens you!”
Fire roared up from the river, Fire swirling in a whirlwind of Air and thick with brilliant diamonds of Water and dark clots of Earth caught in the influx of power. The column of flames leaped up to the dusky turquoise sky, glared into the depths of the Faolain. Narrow as a swordpoint at its base, it swelled river-wide and high as the trees.
“This is what you’re afraid of!” he called out above the rush of wind and flames. The wind whipped at her shawl and her hair, stung crimson into her white face. “How can you say you love me when you hate what I am? This is what I am, Alasen—this is what power is about!”
He saw the horror in her eyes. Had he been anyone else, she would have loved him. Well, then, let her see exactly what he was, he thought bitterly, raging at a life that in giving him everything he wanted had taken her from him. He pulled her inside the maelstrom of spinning colors, forced her to create wild beauty with him. He lifted both arms and the fiery vortex burned higher, brighter, fed by their intertwined gifts. Windborne sparks plummeted into the water, shone and hissed before vanishing. Trees bent and shivered on either side of the river; birds startled to frantic shrieks fled their perches, some of them flying into the flames and their deaths. Water roiled, heaved, a shining red-gold wave crashing against the opposite bank.
Alasen stumbled away, clutching her shawl to her breast. Andry reached out with all his mind’s force, showed her a fantastic spectrum of color, hues no eye had ever seen or named, made her feel the awesome strength of Sunrunner arts. But things that were glorious and beautiful to him horrified her. She screamed in terror as wind lashed at her body and power at her mind.
“Andry, please!” she sobbed. “It hurts! Let me go!”
The whirlwind guttered out. “Alasen—forgive me, I’m sorry! I didn’t know it would hurt you! I only wanted— Alasen, please!”
But she was stumbling headlong up the slope, and vanished into the shadows of the wood as he called her name one last time, without hope.
* * *
There was little light to see by as she ran; the sun huddled behind the western hill, the trees ragged black silhouettes knifing into a sickly yellow-gray sky. And then there was no light at all while she stumbled through the wooded slope. She nearly sobbed aloud when she saw the watchfires, hurried toward them before realizing what her face must reveal to anyone with eyes to look. The flickering watchfires blurred and she wiped her eyes repeatedly, mortified as guards stared. At last she recognized her own scarlet tents, and the large one that was her father’s. She burst into the pavilion, swaying.
Strong arms caught her and she slumped gratefully, hiding her face in a soft velvet tunic. But as her heart calmed from its frenetic racing and her mind gradually blotted out the flames, she realized it had been a mistake to come here before she had regained control of herself. She should never have let her father see her in this condition. He would blame Andry with the implacable anger of a parent protecting his dearest child. A new terror flayed her raw nerves as she thought of what might be said or done, what enmity might be created because of her.
She made an effort, pulled away from him. But it was not a Kierstian scarlet tunic that was damp with her tears. The velvet was dark blue with a black yoke, and covered shoulders broader and more muscular than her father’s. Horrified, she found herself looking up into the deep gray eyes of Lord Ostvel.
“My lady,” he said awkwardly, his face crimson in the bright lamplight. “Forgive me. Your father summoned me here, then was called away. He asked me to wait for his return. I didn’t mean—but you were so—I only thought to help—forgive me,” he finished.
He was stammering like a schoolboy, and she realized he was as embarrassed as she. Strangely enough, his discomfiture brought back a measure of her poise. “Thank you, my lord. I’m very glad you were here.”
He looked down at his hands that still held her arms in a gentle grip, and swiftly released her. “I—your father said you were talking with Lord Andry,” he said irrelevantly, taking a step back from her.
As he met her gaze again, the small grace of composure deserted her. He knew, or at least suspected. But he would never say anything. She saw that in his eyes . . . and something else. Through her stunned surprise she wondered why she had never seen it before—not in him, or in herself.
Alasen watched her hands touch his shoulders. She felt the warmth of him, the strength beneath the soft velvet. If Andry was Fire, quick and brilliant and dangerous, this man was Earth—enduring, patient, safe. Here was power that did not frighten her, eyes that demanded nothing. Only waited, aware now that she knew a thing only just admitted to himself.
With him there would never be the wild swirl of colors through her mind and heart. There would never be the shattering joy of first youth’s passion. She would never know what it meant to be a Sunrunner and fly down ribbons of woven light. There would never be the glory of powers fully realized, gifts nurtured to fruition. Part of what she was would never find fulfillment.
But with him, there would be warmth, quiet strength, enduring tenderness, and peace.
Very gently, she slid her hands into his, a silent offering. His long figures closed around hers almost convulsively. Ostvel bent his head.
It was a long time before he spoke, and the words came slowly. “My lady . . . Alasen ... my life scattered on the wind with my Camigwen’s ashes eighteen years ago. I became ... my son’s father, my prince’s friend, Sky-bowl’s lord. But I had no life. I did not know how . . . how empty I was, until you.”
She moved closer, still holding his hands, seeking his warm strength, resting her weary head against the hard muscles of his chest. She could hear his heart like the beating of silken wings. She waited until the rhythm slowed, then stepped back and smiled serenely up into his wondering eyes.
“Come,” she murmured. “We should tell my father.” * * *
Tobin, in the way of all ruthlessly practical people no matter what the circumstances, ordered dinner served in Rohan’s tent—and ordered her family and friends to attend or else. The Lastday banquet would have been held that evening, the feast that was more spectacular with each successive Rialla. But not this year. Kiele’s elaborate plans were forgotten, her servants and the splendid plates and crystal remained at the residence in Waes, and Princess Gennadi had the food distributed among the poor.
Only Chiana saw any reason for celebration. Cheated of her triumphant entry to the feasting on Halian’s arm— and her chance to show off the grand banquet she had worked on with an eye to costing her sister a full quarter of Waes’ yearly revenues—she settled for giving her own elegant dinner for those highborns who did not dare refuse her invitation.
Tobin surveyed her own arrangements, knowing full well that no one would appreciate them and that this food, too, might just as well have been given to the poor. Loaves of fresh bread, bowls of fruit, meat on silver trays, piles of vegetables—she expected almost all of it to stay right where it was on a long table to one side of the pavilion’s main chamber. Watching her brother methodically peel, seed, section, and put a marsh apple aside untasted, she sighed with irritation. But she said nothing. He wouldn’t have listened to her, anyway.
She had more success with her nephew and one of her sons. Though at first Pol seemed disinclined to eat, he succumbed to the demands of a healthy young appetite; Sorin had never willingly missed a meal in his life. Maar-ken, busy trying to tempt Hollis with food, was hopeless. So was Sioned, though she rallied enough to give Rohan a look of mock horror when he offered her a slice of the marsh apple; the fruit gave her hives. One never worried about Meath; he had been born hungry and ate enough for two. As for Chay—like Rohan and Urival he ignored the food in favor of vintage Syrene wine.
Tobin frowned her disapproval as Rohan gestured to Tallain and yet another bottle was opened. But she realized that the liquor was unlikely to make any of them drunk. They did not drink for any of the usual reasons: to forget, to celebrate, to dull the pain. They drank to get up the courage to talk.
It was the lack of any but the most desultory conversation that concerned Tobin most. There were things that needed saying, discussing, explaining. But not even she dared introduce any dangerous topics tonight. Not yet; not until everyone stopped looking so damned grim.
She was not insensible to the undercurrents of feeling; she shared their abiding grief for Andrade, their shock over the manner of the other deaths, and most especially the lingering weariness of the Sunrunners. But without talk there could be no understanding, and thus no dealing with the horrible events of this Rialla.
Yet there were people missing who should have been present. She beckoned Tallain over and asked him if he knew where Andry and Ostvel were. The youth shook his head and shrugged.
“I’m sorry, my lady. I left word at their tents, but. . . .”
Tobin gnawed her lower lip for a moment. “I see. Send someone to find them, please.” She went over to Riyan, who was sitting beside Meath near the tapestry partition. They made as if to stand and she waved them back down. “Don’t be silly,” she admonished with a slight smile. “Riyan, what’s happened to your father?”
“I haven’t seen him since he went to see Prince Volog, my lady.” He leaned forward and caught Sorin’s attention. “Why did your lord want to talk with my father?”
“Oh, that.” Sorin swallowed and shrugged. “He wanted to thank him again for helping Allie the other day. She was pretty shaken, you know. Ostvel got her calmed down, more or less.”
“As you know so much, can you tell me where your brother is?” Tobin asked.
“That I cannot, Mother,” he replied easily. “But quite frankly, Riyan, if I were your father I’d stay out of his way for a while. Did anybody else see Andry’s face when Ostvel threw that knife to Lyell?”
“It was mercy,” Meath said slowly. “But I’m not sure it fit in with Andry’s notion of justice.”
Tobin frowned. She agreed with the Sunrunner, but did not care to admit that she hadn’t understood the reaction of her own son. It was a bad business, this not seeing one’s sons while they were fostered. One remembered them as little boys, and the shock of meeting them again as young men was unsettling. It would be far too easy to wound their new adult pride by attempting to treat them as the children they had not been for years.
And now who was it, she asked herself wryly, who wanted to avoid something that needed talking about?
“Sorin,” she said all at once, “get me a cup of wine.” He rose to do her bidding, and she reflected that manners in the young were an excellent thing. She sat down near Meath and Riyan, saying quickly, “Tell me truthfully— what happened to Maarken while he fought?”
Meath blinked; Riyan, to whom the question had been directed, put down his fork and shook his head. “My lady, like the other Sunrunners I only caught glimpses.”
“I think you saw more than that,” Tobin murmured. He flushed. “Forgive me, but—“
“I know,” he whispered. “But it’ll take some getting used to.”
Meath was looking baffled; neither enlightened him. Tobin said, “What did you see?”
Riyan looked down at his rings. “They burned. Perhaps that happened to Pandsala, too.” He drew in a deep breath. “It wasn’t so much actual things I saw as feelings, my lady. It was like—like fear had taken on shapes, half-misted, felt but not quite seen.” His luminous eyes lost focus as he remembered. “Air alive with shadows. Things escaping from cages, all of them black and terri- ble. Threats and dangers, some from childhood nightmares, others from—from all Hells. Feelings sneaking up on you from behind, ready to tear your mind out and devour it. Shadows you couldn’t quite see, but you knew they hid something hideous come to kill you and everything you loved—“
Pol had come over to them, drawn by the muted power of Riyan’s voice in the abrupt silence as all turned to listen. His eyes were wide and dark, pupils swollen.
“I saw it, too,” he breathed into the enthralled hush. “It was just like that. You reached to drive it away and it disappeared and something else just as deadly took its place. But you couldn’t really see it or touch it—“
The look in his eyes frightened Tobin. “Pol. It’s all right now. All over.”
He gazed at her for a moment as if he didn’t recognize her. Then the muscles of his face drew into taut lines much older than his years. “Is it? Sejast was only a little older than me. Maybe he didn’t know all that much. What if there are more like him, older and more experienced, waiting for the right chance?”
Urival was at his side, one hand on his shoulder. “Then we shall deal with them. I wasn’t going to propose this yet, but I think perhaps I must. I’ll return to Goddess Keep and stay with Andry while he finds his footing there as Lord. But I’m growing old. I’ve taught many hundreds of Sunrunners in my life—and the last one I will teach is you.”
Pol stared up at him, brief incomprehension whisked away by complete understanding—and gratitude.
Urival nodded. “When Meath says you’re ready, send for me. I’ll come to you wherever you are and teach you what you’ll need to know. Andrade wished it.”
They don’t want him taught by Andry. The realization horrified Tobin. The tall old Sunrunner turned his beautiful, implacable eyes on her, not without understanding and even compassion. But she had no time to lash out in her son’s defense. Ostvel had come in, and Alasen with him. The pair stopped just at the tapestry partition, the tense quiet startling them both. Alasen’s fingers sought Ostvel’s.
That single gesture was eloquent of all. Volog had thought to reward him; he had been rewarded with the love and the hand of Volog’s daughter.
Riyan was the first to get to his feet. He went to his father and clasped his shoulder, sharing a wordless moment as they looked into each other’s eyes. Then he held out his other hand to Alasen. She placed her fingers within it; he raised her palm to his lips.
Sorin’s jaw had dropped open in amazement. Tobin thought that very odd and resolved to ask him about it later. But all her questions soon became unnecessary. For as the others, led by Rohan and Sioned, came forward to embrace the couple and express their joy—more than welcome on this sad, strange night—Andry came in.
The silence was even more sudden than before, and just as terrible. Sorin set down the winecup and started toward his twin. Hollis took an involuntary step back, clutching Maarken’s arm. Chay glanced around from making a remark to Sioned. She turned stricken eyes to Rohan; his expression changed and he drew breath to speak.
But Andry had already overheard too much. Tobin ached for his pain as he stared glassy-eyed at Alasen and Ostvel. The young woman’s green eyes filled with tears. Andry’s gaze went from her face to the pleading fingers she held out to him—and when he looked up again, at Ostvel this time, his eyes were incandescent with furious hurt.
“You should know better,” he said very softly, “than to interfere in the affairs of Sunrunners, my lord.”
Tobin understood then why Andrade and Urival did not want Pol taught by the new Lord of Goddess Keep. She raged silently at her kinswoman for showing Andry everything of how power was used and nothing of when not to use it. Andry lifted his hands, scant four rings glittering—and Fire gathered between his fingers to outblaze even that in his eyes.
Sickened, Riyan took a step toward Andry. “At least be honest about it,” he rasped. “You don’t give a damn about what he did for Lyell and Kiele.”
Andry didn’t seem to hear. Ostvel pushed Alasen toward Sioned and faced the young man, his eyes like winter.
The Lord of Goddess Keep held the sphere of Fire cupped between his hands, cold white-gold Fire like captured starshine, giving off light but no warmth. He looked briefly at Urival. “You should have read more in the scrolls,” he murmured.
“And you should never have read them at all. I’m the only one who can give you the ten rings, Andry. Stop this or you’ll never wear them. You may put them around your fingers, but they’ll stay hollow.”
The fury shone in his eyes, the Fire in his hands.
“Andry.” Rohan spoke into the terrible silence. “Please.”
The pale flames wavered as he heard the High Prince, his cherished uncle, say that word to him. He looked once more at Alasen’s tear-streaked face, then down at the Fire. It died softly. The lines of his face crumpled into anguish for just an instant before he straightened his shoulders, his expression one of desperate pride.
“I regret. . . .” He bit his lip and tried again, and his mother moaned softly for the pain she could never comfort. “My Lord Urival, there’s nothing to keep us here. Tomorrow morning we leave for Goddess Keep.” Alone, his eyes said as one last time he looked at Alasen. He swept his gaze around the other faces, then bowed slightly to Rohan. He left the tent swiftly, not quite running.
Sorin was gone into the night after him before anyone could tell him not to. Chay slumped into a chair and covered his face with his hands.
“Gentle Goddess,” he said in a muffled voice. “Why didn’t I see? He’s my son.” His hands dropped to his knees and he met Urival’s gaze. “Stay with him. Help him. He’s so young, Urival. He’s so young.”
Tobin shook off Hollis’ tender hand, stumbled into Pol’s private chamber alone, and wept.
* * *
It was nearly dawn before Sioned gathered enough courage to ask.
“Beloved . . . how did you know what to say?”
Rohan turned his long-empty winecup between his hands. “His pride had been demolished. I had to restore it.” He looked up with a bitter smile. “How many people have ever heard the High Prince plead?”
She nodded at his wisdom. “He might have killed Ost-vel.”
“I know. I understand it. I was about his age when I found you. If I’d lost you the way he lost Alasen—I might have been tempted to do the same thing.”
Shocked, she protested, “You would never have—“
“Wouldn’t I? Love is even more powerful than those faradhi gifts of yours, Sioned. Romantics would call us living proof of that.”
“So you understood his pride, and humbled your own.” She hesitated a moment. “Pol won’t.”
“No. But maybe he won’t have to.” Rohan set the cup aside and got to his feet, moving like an old man. “He’ll have Urival’s knowledge. And power much different than Andry’s.”
“You’re not talking about being High Prince.”
“Oh, no. Not that at all.”