by Melanie Rawn
She touched Rohan’s arm, and he turned to look at her. “Make them pay for it,” she advised.
“With enough to support Stronghold every year from now on,” he agreed.
Andrade nodded her approval. “You give them what they already have, and they pay for the privilege. Very economical, Rohan.”
He sat down and took a long swallow of wine. “Being a prince is thirsty work,” he commented.
As the moons rose, wine flowed in torrents and conversation in the Hall never let up for an instant. Andrade relaxed happily into the tumult, appreciating the quality of the entertainment Rohan had given her. It had been years since she’d been in the midst of doings like these, and if he was capable of a show like this at Stronghold, his performance at the Rialla would be something prodigious. She could hardly wait.
The night was not yet finished with surprises, however. Andrade kept an eye on Sioned, noting that the girl ate and drank almost nothing. Rigidly controlled, she sat with her hands folded in her lap, her lips compressed, her whole demeanor ice in contrast to the fire of her hair. As the dishes were cleared away and steaming pitchers of taze were placed along the tables, Andrade saw that Sioned no longer stared at her hands, but down the long aisle between tables to the main doors. Curious, Andrade glanced that way. Moonlight made hazy rectangles of the tall windows on either side of the entry, cool silvery light competing with the warmer glow of the torches. But Sioned was not watching the light. Her attention was on someone down at the bottom of the Hall. She rose slowly to her feet and glided along the outer aisle next to the window wall behind the diners’ backs. Andrade anticipated her course and stiffened as she saw the object of Sioned’s stare.
The wine steward Andrade had warned Milar about stood in one of the patches of moonlight beside the doors. His pale eyes were glazed over, his face blank, his body frozen in place. She recognized the look of someone being used by a Sunrunner as distant eyes and ears.
Sioned stood now before the second window, her slender body limned in quicksilver shadows. Andrade got to her feet, but knew it was too late to stop the faradhi. Coldly, politically, she knew there was no better time for Sioned to demonstrate her usefulness as Rohan’s princess.
Silence flowed in a slow wave up the Hall as people noticed Sioned. She lifted both hands; the emerald spat fire from her finger and her other rings took on a strange glow. As light gathered between her hands, Andrade shared a gasp with the rest of the Hall. But only she and the other faradh’im knew that this was a skill Sioned should not have had. In the unlit space before the open doors a form coalesced, called up by the Fire Sioned had woven into the moonlight. The image wavered, steadied, became recognizable. Andrade’s fists clenched as she recognized Roelstra. Someone screamed.
“Who are you?” Sioned raged at the wine steward, speaking not to him but to the unknown faradhi who controlled him. “What else have you seen for your master, the High Prince? Tell me what you plot against my lord, or I’ll follow you all the way back to Castle Crag and wrap you in your own shadows?”
The High Prince’s specter moved. His lips formed words unheard, his hands coming up to grip invisible shoulders. The steward’s head lolled back and forth in time to Roelstra’s movements as he shook the distant faradhi.
“Tell me!”
The steward’s face was a mask of terror now. “I swear on my soul—”
“You have none! Were you planning to kill him? Tell me!”
“No! No, I swear to you—”
“Hear me, Roelstra! Tell him my words, traitor! Tell him I’ll see him and his dead if he harms my lord!”
Andrade grabbed Rohan’s arm to prevent him from running to Sioned. He swung on her in a black rage. “No!” she hissed. “Let her be!”
Sioned’s eyes were wild as she proved herself worthy of her rings—and more—by tangling the other faradhi in light, threatening him with limitless shadows. But it had gone on too long; Andrade sensed the strain of the conjure and the moonweave drag at her own perceptions, and knew Sioned had not the strength to continue much longer. With the skills possessed only by a Lady or Lord of Goddess Keep, Andrade quickly gathered strands of light; sorting, separating. It was as if she unraveled a fine silk veil made of a thousand colors, each painted in silver and Fire, then rewove them into the unique pattern that was Sioned. Yet the girl fought her off, her strength still formidable as she struggled to keep the link between herself and the faradhi at Castle Crag. It took almost everything Andrade could call up to bend Sioned to her will.
All at once the steward’s face turned, and even over the distance between them Andrade saw someone else looking out of his eyes. Hopeless, desperate, the man cried out in a voice not his own: “My Lady—forgive me!”
She cringed back from that terrible plea and tried to find the pattern of colors that would identify the Sunrunner. But the steward’s body arched in a spine-cracking spasm and he slid to the floor even as Roelstra’s ghostly fingers let go of the unseen traitor. Skeins of light tightened around Andrade, then shattered into fragmented colors behind her eyes. She moaned, pressing her aching skull between her hands. A mist of whirling hues concealed Roelstra’s image. Then all was gone.
“Why did you stop me?” Sioned’s voice rang out in furious accusation. Then she swayed, the emerald’s fire dying at last as she sank to the floor in a graceless heap.
As Rohan ran to gather her in his arms, Andrade heard someone calling her own name in frantic tones. “Andrade! Andri, look at me, please!”
Eyes aching, she turned to her sister, aware that despite Milar’s lack of training she had felt the backlash of Sioned’s power. She clung to her twin’s arm. “Mila—get me out of here. I mustn’t show weakness!”
“Urival!” Milar cried out.
Somehow she stayed upright and in control of herself as she left the Hall at Urival’s side. Once beyond the doors, however, she sagged against him. Without ceremony he lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs to her chambers. She was marginally aware of being propped in bed amid soft pillows.
After a long time she opened her eyes. Urival sat beside her, waiting, and when she frowned at him, he said, “How much have I taught her? Enough, obviously. I knew you’d be wondering.”
“How much does she know?” Andrade winced as she sat up.
“Not everything. Yet. I assume you’re not speaking of her faradhi skills.”
She grunted and sank down again. “You taught her too much.” When he only shrugged in reply, she accused. “You always favored her—helped her, taught her, looked after her—”
“And you have not?”
“I should never have sent you to her. You should not have been the one to make her a woman.”
“Perhaps the same thing could be said of your coming to me the night I became a man. She knows you’re using her, just as I knew you’d use me. I was willing to play along, but I don’t think Sioned will be as biddable. You heard her tonight.”
“She’ll lose sight of her rings, become Rohan’s princess first and a Sunrunner second. That’s not what I wanted, Urival!”
“We always knew there was a risk. But to be fair, I don’t think either of us ever suspected her strength.”
“You taught her too much,” she grumbled again. “You care too much about her.”
“And you care too much about power!” Urival rose and went to pour wine. More calmly, he went on, “She’s recovering, as is Tobin. I’ve got Camigwen with her and Sioned, and Ostvel soothing Chay and Rohan. Milar ordered the steward’s corpse decently taken care of.”
She sat up again, finding it more agreeable this time as she sipped from the winecup he handed her. “How long have you known it was me that night?”
“The Goddess’ spell can reveal as well as conceal,” he answered with a small shrug. “What do you plan to do about Sioned?”
“Give her a seventh ring, of course. A pity the coffer isn’t here, but I’m sure my sister will part with something of her own to
mark the occasion.”
“Sioned already received her seventh ring tonight—and somewhat in advance of demonstrating her skills,” he reminded her.
“Damn Rohan.” She finished the wine.
“It’s not just the ring that’s wrapped around her finger. It’s his vassals. I was watching their faces.”
“What you mean is they’re frightened of her power lest it be turned against them. Damn them all!” She threw the empty cup across the room. It clattered against the dressing table before rolling on the floor.
“Lie back and be still,” Urival ordered. “If you were fully recovered, it would have hit the wall.”
“What has Roelstra done?” she demanded of him. “The usual spies didn’t content him—he took one of our own, a Sunrunner—”
“But against that Sunrunner’s will, Andrade. That was a cry from the heart.”
“What difference does that make? He’s a traitor, whoever he is.” She gazed up at Urival for a long moment. “Perhaps it’s just as well you taught Sioned so much. She may need it.”
Part Two
The Rialla
Chapter Ten
Rohan had decided to travel in much less state than his father had always done. He felt uncomfortable with the ceremony Zehava had delighted in, and ceremony translated into people who arranged it. Thus the column of attendants and baggage wains stretched a mere half-measure behind him on the road to Waes, and camp was blessedly quick to set up in the evenings. Not that this sped their progress much, but at least he could see the end of the column when he looked back over his shoulder.
The dry scrub of the Vere Hills gave way to the summer green of lowlands watered by the Faolain River, and they crossed into Meadowlord. The pace slowed as eyes bred to stark sand feasted on trees and grass and grain. The people were different here than in the Desert, too—plump and rosy-faced, lacking sun-wrinkles and browned skin. No riders hurried ahead of Rohan with announcements that his royal highness would soon grace their humble earth by riding over it, or with commands to clear sheep and cattle out of the way. Rohan enjoyed the delays that gave him a chance to talk with the herdsmen and villagers, who more often than not were unaware that the unprepossessing young man they greeted owned the passing line of horses and wains. He was offered bowls of fresh milk and tree-ripened peaches, shown smiling babies and given glimpses of blushing maidens whose admiring glances did a great deal for his self-esteem.
The group had sorted itself into three sections that first day out: Rohan in the lead with his family and their personal retainers, then the Sunrunners, and lastly the baggage carts with servants and guards to protect them. Not that they needed protection in peaceful Meadowlord. If a soldier drew his or her bow, it was to take down a choice bit of game for the night’s cookpots.
Rohan found the simple pleasure of a long ride in open country a blissful relief from the tensions left behind him at Stronghold and those waiting ahead of him at Waes. No one approached with any problem more serious than where to make camp for the night, and usually one of his family rode at his side. Tobin in particular was excellent company—when she could be parted from her lord. There were always flowers in her hair, picked by Chay every morning, and he saved a sprig of whatever he found to wear in his swordbelt. With their children at Stronghold in the care of an adoring grandmother, the Lord and Lady of Radzyn behaved like young lovers again. Rohan smiled indulgently and imagined himself and Sioned in similar circumstances.
She rode with the others of Goddess Keep and he saw very little of her. Rohan had accomplished his purpose in making sure his vassals knew who she was, but he had not counted on her graphic demonstration of her advantages as a wife. To have singled her out during the journey would have been foolish, even though he knew none of his people would gossip at the Rialla about his probable choice of a bride. He watched her from a distance, aching with worry, for her eyes were lackluster and she rode round-shouldered, seeming not to notice the beauty of the country at all.
The vassals picked to accompany him also rode with him sometimes. He had been pleased with the results of his maneuver and could not have chosen better himself. Farid of Skybowl was a dryhumored man of middle years who had been selected because he had an uncanny ability to wring profit out of a holding that consisted of rock, water, and nothing else. High in the Vere Hills, Skybowl sat on the slopes of an ancient lake that resembled a round cupful of sky. The keep had been built handspan by slow handspan out of gray stone brought up the sides of the crater, where terraced fields yielded enough to feed a small herd of sheep and not much more. But somehow Lord Farid endured and even profited from his herd and his small quarry, and rarely asked anything of his prince other than wine or a little food to tide him through an unusually long winter.
Rohan had visited Skybowl as a child, and the sight of so much water in one place had astonished him. Wonder had given way to terror when his father had picked him up and tossed him into the shallows. Zehava had jumped in a few moments later to make sure his heir did not drown while he learned perforce to swim. Lord Farid, however, had taken Zehava to task for scaring Rohan, and in the days that followed had taken the boy out to demonstrate the finer points of the art of staying afloat. Rohan had overcome his fear of water and even regretted leaving Skybowl—and had never forgotten Farid’s defense of him.
The second vassal chosen was Eltanin, who ruled Tiglath, a walled northern city formerly held by the Merida. Eltanin was a young man and had inherited from his father only a few years earlier, and his eagerness to attend the Rialla was augmented by his hopes of finding a wife there. Rohan liked him, and in their conversations Eltanin shyly admitted that he could understand exactly how Rohan felt about being an inexperienced young man in an important position.
Rohan was not completely happy about the third choice, but he hoped to use Baisal of Faolain Lowland to advantage. The athri’s new keep was his sole concern, which in some ways made him the perfect advocate for the other lords. Stone for his castle was far down on everyone’s list of priorities, so he would fight tooth and claw for the other lords’ wants in the hope that Rohan would eventually get around to haggling for his Syrene stone. The young prince marveled at the odd logic of his vassals in sending Baisal, but it made sense of a sort. At least they hadn’t saddled him with Abidias of Tuath Castle.
The journey was a miracle of organization, especially as there were nearly a hundred people to oversee. Princess Milar’s chamberlain had stayed at Stronghold to help with remodeling chambers for Rohan’s use, and the loss of his nervous fluttering was a blessing. Rohan had expected Urival, as Andrade’s chief steward, to take official charge, but instead the duty had fallen to Ostvel and Camigwen. The young woman was a wellspring of capability and firmness, and her Chosen was a man of tact and good humor. Between them they provided meals that were both delicious and on time, efficient organization of the camp, and strict supervision of everything. Rohan mused about persuading Andrade to part with them. His mother’s chamberlain would drive him utterly mad if they dealt with each other on a daily basis, and Sioned had admitted a total lack of the talents Camigwen had long since mastered. Besides, she would like having her friends with her at Stronghold.
Accordingly, on the fourth afternoon of the journey Rohan instructed Walvis to bring Ostvel up from his usual place with the faradh’im. Respectful but not obsequious in manner, with an open, cheerful smile, Ostvel spoke to him not as underling to prince—which would have made Rohan uneasy—but as knight to lord. The difference was one Rohan appreciated more and more as time went by and his new power set him apart.
“I wanted to thank you for keeping this menagerie in line on the trip,” Rohan began.
“Thank you, my lord, but it’s not really so difficult. Not with my Camigwen ordering everyone around!”
“Please compliment your lady for me. Do you plan to marry soon?”
“Well, my lord, she comes of a very good family up in Firon—as you can tell by the color of her skin and th
ose eyes of hers—”
“Mmm, yes. Those eyes,” Rohan murmured, and Ostvel smiled at the compliment.
“I’ll confess, my lord, the minute I saw them—” He shrugged and gave a comical wince. “And we weren’t more than fifteen, either of us! Her people aren’t as highborn as some of Sioned’s, but certainly they’re more exalted than my family. I told her long ago that until I could offer her the chief steward of Goddess Keep for her husband, I wouldn’t offer her anything.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t matter to her. But pride makes us do odd things, doesn’t it?” he added with a rueful smile.
“Doesn’t it just,” Ostvel agreed, sighing. “But I expect I’ll give in soon. She’s persuasive, is my Cami—and I get persuaded nightly.”
Rohan blinked at this casual reference to their intimate life. Chay and Tobin had never made any secret that they expressed their love for each other frequently in bed, but they were married people, not just betrothed.
“I’m not faradhi-trained,” Ostvel went on. “But that makes me even luckier that she chose me, my lord. Sunrunners know what’s what when it comes to that sort of thing.”
“So I’ve been told,” Rohan murmured.
“Lust she could have had with a dozen other men, but for her, love comes only with me,” Ostvel said with shy pride. “And it’s no timid, frightened girl I find waiting for me, either.” He laughed. “That’s what makes her so damned persuasive!”
Rohan chuckled. “It doesn’t seem so terrible a problem, you know!”
“That’s the beauty of a woman, my lord. The predicaments they land you in are always the most exquisite ones.”
“Of all the predicaments waiting for me at the Rialla, the women will provide the most interesting ones—although I’d hardly call them ‘exquisite,’ ” Rohan admitted.