by Melanie Rawn
Before she could answer he swung down off his horse and she remembered at the last instant to let him lift her from her saddle. His fingers closed around her waist and she blushed, hoping her sunburn would hide the rush of color. If it was this way with layers of clothes between them, how would it be when skin touched skin? Sioned stared at the toes of her boots as she walked, struggling for control, and as they moved away from the others she risked a glance at him. Her eyes were on a level with his lips. She wondered what his smile was like and let her gaze travel down to where a pulse beat rapidly in his throat. Realizing he was as tense as she, Sioned relaxed a little.
“Your business looks to have been dangerous,” she said in an astonishingly composed voice. “It’s not your own blood, I trust?”
“No. A dragon’s. He drew only a little of mine.” He spoke almost absently, his gaze fixed on the hills.
Sioned resolved to keep her mouth shut unless he asked her a direct question. Many more strides were paced off across the white-gold sand before he stopped, faced her, and spoke in a rush. “You know why you’re here, and so do I. Andrade expects us to marry.”
“Andrade expects many things,” Sioned answered.
“Further,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “she expects it to happen soon. But it can’t. Not yet.” He looked into her eyes. His were very blue, with circles of black around the outside of the irises. “Please believe me when I tell you that I will marry you and no other woman. I knew it from the moment Andrade conjured your face in the Fire. But there are things I must do before we can marry. Some of them may hurt you, and for that I’m sorry—but my father is dead, I’m ruling prince, and what a prince must do a man often regrets.”
Sioned was deprived of the powers of speech by this extraordinary recital. She simply stared at him.
“I must show everyone what manner of prince I intend to be,” he went on. “I’ll explain it all to you once there’s time, and I’m hoping you’re the kind of woman who can understand such things. If not, you’ll have to learn,” he said bluntly. “But I wouldn’t do them if they weren’t necessary for our life together. I want to live in peace, not at the point of a sword. Do you understand?”
She was still incapable of speaking, but for a different reason now. “It’ll start for us when we arrive at Stronghold. I’ve killed the dragon that killed my father, you see.” A thin flush mounted his cheeks. “None of them thought I could.”
“Whyever not?” The words popped out of her mouth before she could think, but she found them entirely natural. Who would believe this man incapable of doing whatever he chose to do?
The blue eyes narrowed with suspicion, but then a smile stole across his face and transformed it. She nearly caught her breath. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re not flattering me, I can tell that. You must always speak the truth to me, Sioned.”
The sound of her name on his lips was her undoing, but she had no intention of allowing him to know it. Instead she hung onto her pride, made an effort, and smiled back. “I will, if you promise me the same.” So much depended on his answer and his ability to keep that promise.
“I will, my lady. My word on it.” He touched her arm and quickly let go, startled. Touched by Fire, she thought, seeing it at last in his eyes.
“Tell me how I am to behave,” she said. “We should go back to the others and we won’t have the chance to talk until later, if at all.”
“You know castle life, I see,” he observed. “We won’t have time for ourselves unless we arrange it—and I will arrange it. But I can’t give any definite sign that I intend to marry you, and you’ll find no bridal welcome at Stronghold. I’m sorry. If it was only the two of us, I’d give you—” He broke off and color again stained his cheeks. “But we’re not private people and we never can be. Are you sure you want that kind of life?”
She hesitated, then shrugged and decided to tell the truth as she had promised. “When I was sixteen years old, I saw your face in the Fire. Lady Andrade told me then that I could change the vision if I wished. I never wanted to change it—and I never will.”
He seemed caught between a dozen conflicting emotions, as speechless now as she had been earlier. She smiled at him.
“Silly, isn’t it?” she said with another little shrug.
He swallowed, cleared his throat, and managed, “No sillier than what happened to me when Andrade showed me your face in the flames.”
To cover the emotion, she asked again, “How should I behave? Shall I pout, bear it bravely, or act as if I haven’t a thought in my head about anything at all, let alone marrying you?”
“You’d never be able to sustain that role for long,” he said with a sudden grin, then sobered. “But have you thought about it? Marrying me, I mean.”
Impulsively she dared the Fire by touching his cheek. The shock of it went through them both and she snatched her fingers away. Yet burned into her fingertips was the feel of his skin, the moistness of his sweat, the faint stubble of unshaven beard. “Answer enough?” she whispered.
“You feel it, too,” he whispered, shaken. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you—that it could happen for me the way it did for my sister and Chay. I have to marry, I’ve always known that, and I was hoping for a pretty enough woman with at least half a brain—but looking at you—” He drew in a breath and shook his head. “I can’t expect you to understand what I’m trying to say when I’m not sure I understand it myself.”
“Oh, I understand,” she said almost ruefully. “It’s a shock to find your emotions can tell your mind to go rot, isn’t it?”
He smiled again. “Exactly. But that’s how I have to behave, as if I haven’t made up my mind about you.” He touched her shoulder and they stared at each other in silence before he removed his hand. “That kind of thing can’t happen too often, especially not in public. I’ll never be able to play my part, otherwise.”
“Perhaps I should pretend to be unsure, as well. Would that fit your plan?”
“Yes,” he decided at once. “Perfectly. Act as if you’re uncertain about marriage to me as both a man and a prince. It’ll leave you some pride, at least,” he added with a grimace. “I’ll make it up to you, Sioned, once we’re married. But that can’t happen until after the Rialla at Waes. I’ll explain everything when we can talk alone. But we have to go back now.”
“I can feel them watching us,” she agreed. As they started back, she said, “I was frightened on the journey here. I’m not anymore.”
“I was scared, too, that Andrade’s Fire had lied. I’ve been in the shadows these last days—all my life, it seems now. But I thank the Goddess she’s sent me a Sunrunner.”
“I think we’d do better to thank Andrade,” Sioned replied mischievously.
“Stop looking at me like that or we’ll never be able to pull this off!”
She schooled her face into solemn lines. “Better?”
“Much. But I can still see things in your eyes. Are they in mine, too?”
Casting him a sidelong glance, she said, “If they weren’t, I’d do everything in my powers to put them there, Rohan.”
It was the first time she had ever spoken his name aloud, to anyone. He looked away and muttered, “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“No.”
“I’ll send word by my squire—he’s twelve, with black hair and freckles, and his name’s Walvis. You’ll like him.” He paused. “Sioned?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“The dragon today—that was nothing. You are everything.”
She did not dare reply. But as he lifted her into her saddle and the Fire sped through her again, she looked into his eyes and felt all apprehension vanish. She rode to Stronghold between Ostvel and Camigwen, dazed and happy and not minding at all that no welcome had been prepared for her, that her position was very nearly impossible, and that a difficult role had been assigned her with only the sketchiest of explanations from a man she didn’t even know, a dangerous man who could
do such things to her. As he rode home with his tokens of a dragon slain he did not look at her, not even after they were in the huge inner courtyard of the keep. There was no sign from him that he was aware of her existence. But she knew. She knew. They both did.
Chapter Six
It took all afternoon, a cool bath, and a visit from Lady Andrade to restore Sioned to sanity.
She effaced herself during the welcome given Rohan, standing apart with Camigwen and Ostvel. The latter had sent her escort to find the Sunrunners already at Stronghold and ask them what was going on. Sioned heard him give the order and was vaguely annoyed; Rohan would let everyone know what they ought to know. They ought to trust him, as she did.
His people not only trusted him, they obviously adored him. Their fondness he would have won as a child, and she suspected he had confirmed their respect today by killing the dragon. Of wariness or strict formality in his royal presence, there was no sign. Sioned was grateful for that. A court strangled by etiquette or silent through terror of the master’s wrath would have indicated very unpleasant things about its ruler.
“Do you have any idea who these people are?” Cami whispered at last.
“I think so,” Sioned answered. “The blonde lady who’s been crying must be Princess Milar.”
“Oh, wonderful—what powers of observation!” Cami said impatiently. “Anyone with eyes could see she’s twin to Andrade— speaking of whom, she didn’t look very happy when she went by us just now.”
Sioned pretended she hadn’t heard the remark. “The black-haired woman must be Lord Chaynal’s wife.”
“Who else but a wife would scold a husband so?” Ostvel asked wryly, but beneath his light tone was a nervousness Camigwen shared and Sioned did not.
Princess Tobin was indeed giving her husband the rough side of her tongue. She had not been told about the hunt and was raging at him in full view of everyone. The servants unsuccessfully hid smiles and winks at some of the language that passed her lovely lips; her temper seemed to be a known commodity and when it was not directed at any of them they could enjoy it. Lord Chaynal endured his wife’s blistering comments about his probable lifespan and undoubted ancestry while he uncinched his saddle and checked his stallion’s hooves for stray stones. Then, having discharged his duties to his horse, he turned his full attention on his wife. Taking one long braid in each hand, he pulled her to him and shut her up with a kiss.
Two small boys came running into the courtyard, dodging horses, grooms, and castle servants. They clamored to be shown the spoils of the dragon hunt immediately. Their gray eyes proclaimed them to be Lord Chaynal’s sons, and Sioned smiled as he released his breathless wife and swept the twins up for a fond hug.
Rohan was the center of his mother’s and aunt’s attention, bearing patiently with the former’s anxious inquiries about his well-being and the latter’s glowering countenance. When the family began to move toward the stairs leading up to the main hall of the keep, Ostvel looked around in complete bewilderment. “Sioned—nobody’s even welcomed you!”
“There won’t be a welcome for me, not in the way you’re thinking,” she said, following the prince with her gaze.
Camigwen stared. “What? How dare he!”
“Please, Cami! His father is dead. We can’t expect—”
“I can and do expect!” she retorted.
“Cami—not now,” Sioned told her.
Lady Andrade separated from the others at the foot of the steps and approached Sioned, grim-faced. “You made decent time getting here.”
“We came as quickly as we could,” Sioned answered.
After a withering glance up and down her travel-stained clothing, Andrade said, “So I see. Go upstairs. Urival will see to your comfort, since no one else has any time for you. I’ll expect you ready to receive me before nightfall, Sioned.” And with that she stalked away.
“Why is she so angry?” Camigwen complained as they crossed the courtyard. “We haven’t done anything wrong!”
“If anyone’s in the wrong, it’s the prince,” Ostvel said. “What sort of welcome is this for his bride?”
“I don’t want to hear anything more about it!” Sioned exclaimed. “And don’t talk about me as if I’m his betrothed, because I’m not—and I don’t even know if I want to be!”
She regretted the shock and hurt in their faces. They cared only for her honor and happiness; they loved her. She hoped Rohan would give her leave to tell them why this charade was necessary—and she began her journey back to rationality with the thought that he had better provide her with an adequate explanation first.
Urival, Chief Steward of Goddess Keep, was in the banner-hung foyer, and called Sioned’s name as the three tried not to gape at the display of carpets, fine furniture, and carved wood around them. His smile was sympathetic as he came forward to greet them.
“You must have expected better greeting than this, but what with the old prince’s death before dawn this morning and this crazy dragon hunt of Rohan’s to kill the beast that killed his father. . . .” He shrugged. “You couldn’t have chosen a worse time to arrive, Sioned.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She knew it had been the best possible time. No one would notice her in the press of events and she would be able to get a feel for the place and personalities of Stronghold.
“I’ve arranged for rooms, baths, and fresh clothes. Mourning gray,” he reminded them. “I had to guess at the sizes.”
Camigwen sighed. “That means I’ll be tripping over my hem and Sioned’s ankles will be showing. If only we hadn’t lost all our baggage in the river!”
“Now, that’s a story I want to hear,” Urival commented. “But for now I’d better tell you something about this place so you don’t get lost.” They started up the main staircase, a wonder of silky wooden banisters and thick blue carpeting. “To begin with, it’s huge. Five floors about the ground, one below for cold storage—or as cold as anything ever gets here—and the Flametower is so high it’s said that some days you can see to the Sunrise Water. The fires are burning there now for Prince Zehava’s passing.”
“We saw as we rode in,” Ostvel said. “When is his ritual?”
“Tomorrow night. I don’t know if you’ll be expected to attend.”
“Of course Sioned will attend!” Camigwen bristled.
“As one of the faradh’im, nothing more,” Sioned told her firmly.
“But you’re going to be—”
“No!” She glared at her friend for the first time in their lives, and Cami’s dark skin flushed with the shock. “I’m not sure, I tell you. It may be I’ll accept him, and it may be that I won’t.” And after only a brief talk with Rohan she was ready to behave this way to friends of a lifetime. What had he done to her? She began to realize that he was a dangerous man indeed.
She tried to smile, to make amends. “Come, we’re all tired, and I didn’t mean to be so sharp with you. Urival, tell us more about Stronghold, please?”
His eyes were an unusual shade of golden brown, huge and beautiful below thick brows in a thin, angular face. She had never been able to hide anything successfully from those eyes before, and the expression in them now made her nervous. But he chose to oblige her with a recital of the rooms and wonders of the keep. They reached the second floor, turned down several long hallways, and entered what Urival described as the north wing. Windows were open along the gallery from floor to ceiling, and a riot of scents from the garden below filled the sun-heated corridor.
“This is all Princess Milar’s doing,” Urival explained. “The gardens used to be nothing but bare rock and sand. She planned the gardens, laid out the walks, and put that little stream in. There’s even a fountain on the family’s side of the building.”
Sioned looked down at the neat flowerbeds and trees through which a stream and paths of silvery gravel wove like threads in a tapestry. Stone benches were set here and there, and little arched bridges painted blue and white spanned the thin trickle of
water. Water was the most precious of elements here in the Desert. It was real wealth to have enough for the pleasant folly of a stream and fountain. Folly? Where she had grown up, they worried about floods. It occurred to her that she was already beginning to think like one born to this land, and was troubled anew by Rohan’s influence over her.
“It’s beautiful,” Camigwen said. “Like a giant’s hand with a little garden in its hollow. But what do they do when they want to see the sky?”
“Oh, it’s not like Goddess Keep, where we’re fogbound so much of the winter,” Urival said. “If there was nothing but an open sky between you and the sea and barely a tall rock in all the Long Sand, you’d feel very secure in these cliffs.” He raked back his graying dark hair and smiled wryly. “Hurry along, children. Your baths are getting warm.”
“Warm?” Ostvel asked blankly.
“Only a fool would take a hot bath in an oven like this.” Sioned was left alone in a chamber off her main room that, though small, was entirely adequate to her needs. The bath was ready, but for a time she was more interested in the tiny room that contained the tub. Cheerful blue and green tiles lined the floor, repeating the colors of the bedchamber. A large iron tub painted white rested in a carved wooden frame. Sink, shelving, towel racks—even the privy—were as dainty and elegant as the roses in a ceramic vase from Kierst beside the tub. Evidently Princess Milar had strong ideas about private comforts as well as public ones.
If this was the sort of room given an unimportant guest like herself, what must the rest of the keep be like? Sioned undressed and sank into the cool water, deciding Urival must have commanded one of the grander rooms for her. Luxuriating in the bath that soaked her tired body clean, she was glad he’d taken the trouble. But was she truly to become lady of this strange place?
She washed her hair and watched the strands float on the water, remembering something she knew and Rohan did not. From her would come his crown, the Fire of Sioned herself becoming the golden circlet across his brow. Yet it was he who would make her royal when he made her his wife. She recalled the dirty, exhausted young man she had met that afternoon, his quiet voice and his ability to ignite her senses, his mysterious plan that she had agreed to without thinking twice. He intended to use her, she thought suddenly. What kind of man used people so easily?