Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll

by Melanie Rawn

  The man had been tall, dark-haired, and green-eyed—as Masul was reported to be. After the barge had burned that night, he had settled for a time in Waes, then worked on various ships. Rumors this spring had brought him back, where he had been waiting for the Rialla to see what his information could get him.

  “I went to Pandsala soon after he left, my lord—I was so insulted that he would think I would betray you and Princess Sioned, who have been so good to me—”

  “Could you find him again?” Rohan asked. “Tell him you’ve reconsidered?”

  Naydra shook her head. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said miserably. “After I recovered from the shock of his impertinence, I sent him on his way with no doubts about my loyalties. Then I went to tell Pandsala about his lies, in case he came to her next.”

  Sioned sighed quietly. “Well, where would he go next? Not to you, Pandsala, certainly. Kiele is a possibility I don’t want to think about. He wouldn’t live past his first few words.”

  Naydra turned pale. “My lady—you don’t think she would—”

  “I’m almost positive of it.” She turned to her husband. “If I were he, I’d go to Chiana next. She doesn’t have much money, but she’s got the most to lose.”

  What Chiana lost was her temper. She was summoned to the pavilion and told the essence of what had happened, and turned furiously on Naydra. “You stupid fool! Why didn’t you keep him with you and send for the rest of us?”

  “That’s enough,” Pandsala snapped.

  “Not by half, Princess-Regent!” Chiana spat, fiery-eyed. “You and Ianthe and your stupid schemes—if not for you, none of this would ever have happened!”

  “My lady,” Rohan said with deceptive mildness, “your opinion is not necessary right now. Your intelligence, however, is. Calm yourself and think.”

  “Oh, yes, you can order me to be calm and cool—it’s not your identity at stake here, is it, High Prince?”

  Pandsala took a threatening step toward her half-sister. “Be silent!”

  “Don’t you dare presume to give me orders, you treacherous bitch!”

  Rohan muttered a curse under his breath. “Stop it, both of you. Chiana, return to Kiele’s tents—yes, I know it’s the last place in the world you want to be, but it’s the only place you can be of use to yourself.”

  She gulped in a deep breath, shooting a poisonous glance at Pandsala, and nodded. “Yes. Please excuse me.” She bowed to him and withdrew.

  Pandsala said in a wooden voice, “I beg pardon for her manners, my lord.”

  Sioned smiled faintly. “Pandsala, the girl has no manners.”

  Closing her eyes, the regent murmured, “Yet she’s right. If not for Ianthe, and Palila’s stupidity in heeding my revision of her plan, none of this would be happening.”

  “You were young and desperate,” Naydra said softly. “Like the rest of us.”

  Sioned nodded. “I don’t condone what you tried to do. But I understand it.”

  Pandsala met Sioned’s gaze, and suddenly it was as if they were alone. “Even though it was all in pursuit of Rohan?”

  “He was only a symbol for you both. Freedom, in the form of one man. But I think you’ve learned what Ianthe never did—that we make our own jails.”

  Pandsala hesitated, then murmured, “I’ve never said this before to anyone, but—he chose wisely in choosing you.” Her cheeks colored and she glanced nervously at Rohan, abruptly recalling his presence. “Forgive me, my lord. With your permission, Naydra and I will leave you now.”

  When the pair had gone, Rohan heaved a sigh and flung himself into a chair. “Come here to me, Sioned.”

  “How can you sit there and—”

  “There’s not much I can do about any of this right now, is there? Come over here.” When he had pulled her down into his lap, he sighed again. “The day becomes more and more interesting. But remind me when I choose a mistress to pick a lap-sized one. Those long legs of yours—”

  “I regret my oversufficiencies, my prince. And I still want to know—”

  “Sioned, if I order a search of every tent and all of Waes, I’ll alert our enemies to the fact that I consider this man to be of vital importance—thereby killing him more effectively than if I’d run him through with my own sword. So I intend to wait and see what happens, which is all I can do for now—other than reacquaint myself with my wife after a whole summer’s absence.”

  A few moments later the voice of Rohan’s squire came from the other side of the partition. “Your Royal Highnesses?”

  “Damn,” Rohan muttered, and Sioned rose from his lap. “Yes Tallain, come in, he called.

  Tallain, only surviving son of Lord Eltanin of Tiglath, was wheat-blond and dark-eyed, a well-built young man of nineteen winters only a year or so away from being knighted. Rohan had been fortunate all his life in his choice of squires, and Tallain was no exception. Walvis, younger son of a minor landholder, had become an accomplished battle commander, a trusted athri, and a good friend; Tilal, Sioned ’s nephew, was now an important lord in his own right and remained close to them. Tallain would one day rule over the walled city in the north, important bastion against the Merida and the Cunaxans across the border, and he was being trained with this in mind.

  He bowed, brushed his ever-unruly shock of hair from his eyes, and said, “I’m sorry, my lord, my lady. But someone left this outside the pavilion. All I saw of him was a plain dark tunic—no emblem, no colors I recognized.”

  Rohan accepted the pouch of rough brown wool and undid the drawstrings. “Ah,” he said softly as he extracted a fine glass knife. “Merida.”

  Tallain stiffened, but it was Sioned who spoke. “The death usually meant for the Desert?”

  “I presume so. Another warning—more and more interesting,” he repeated. “Thank you, Tallain. And don’t worry. This really isn’t meant for any of us.”

  “I’ll double the guard anyway, my lord.”

  “No, you will not.”

  Tallain bowed and looked unhappy. “As you wish, my lord.” When the young man was gone, Rohan stroked the sharp blade of the knife with one finger. “I’ve seen too many of these, plenty of them directed at me.”

  “What do you think they mean by it?”

  “They want me to know they’re here. They want me to worry about Pol—but not about this father of a son our baker friend warned us of.” He looked up at her. “Sioned, if I truly were the hero you accused me of being last night, I’d scour the encampments and give no one any peace until I found the man—and he’d be found alive. Heroes are supposed to act on impulse, do things they haven’t really thought through. And for heroes, such things always work. That’s what makes them heroes.” He paused, turning the knife over in his hands. “When I was young, I had all the impulsive power of youth and unimportance behind me. Oh, I had a princedom and that made me someone to reckon with, but I wasn’t High Prince. I didn’t have to be concerned with everything and everyone. Now, I have to be. The power of being High Prince limits me.”

  Sioned nodded slowly. “Back then, the only limit was what you could do. Now it’s what you shouldn’t.”

  “Exactly. And there’s no other person in this world who’d understand what I mean. What would I become if I ran roughshod through everyone’s lives simply because I’m the High Prince and have the power to do so? If I were still only Rohan, who ruled the Desert, then I could try pretty much whatever I liked—because there’d be someone more powerful than I to stop me if he could. But there’s no one like that now.” He finished with a self-mocking shrug. “And it’s not in the description of a hero to be shy about using power.”

  “My description of a hero is very different,” she said quietly. “I’m looking at him.”

  “You, my dearest love, are prejudiced.”

  “Of course,” she agreed readily. “But take a look at those around you sometime, who look to you for guidance. Take a look at your son, who worships you. Rohan, if being a hero is having the cou
rage to resist using power arbitrarily, then you are a hero, beloved.”

  He shrugged again. “What you call courage looks like cowardice from here. And it doesn’t get us any closer to locating Masul’s father.”

  “Is that what we’re really talking about?” she asked softly.

  He gave her a tiny smile that vanished almost before it touched his lips. “I suppose not. What we’re talking about is finding and executing Masul before he can say a single word. Before we have to use this father of his to destroy him.”

  He looked down at the knife—a Merida knife, from which the ancient league of assassins had taken their name: “gentle glass.” Suddenly he threw it viciously through the air. An instant later the shining blade hung quivering from a wooden support on the other side of the tent.

  “To all hells with debates about power! Sioned, even if I have to break my own laws, I’m going to root out every one of those murderous vermin and execute them—with my own hands, if necessary. Pol is not going to spend his life looking over his shoulder for a Merida blade!”

  Sioned stared at the knife for long moments. It took great effort to pry her gaze from it and look at her husband. “Then make it profitable for Miyon to expel them from his lands.”

  “What would you suggest?” he asked bitterly.

  “Give him something in exchange for the Merida—and, incidentally, for his support against Masul.”

  “Such as?”

  Calmly, she drew the Merida knife from the wood, held it so the light glinted off its glass blade.

  “Set Chiana on him,” she said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  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 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 Ianthe 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 Ianthe 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 o
ut, 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.”