by Melanie Rawn
Chay shook his head. “You don’t see it. I owe you an apology for all the years I thought you a nice, over-learned little boy. I’ve watched you since Zehava died. You’re as ruthless as Andrade and much more dangerous than your father ever was. His armies were in the field. Yours are invisible. Those ideas of yours are your soldiers, and your schemes are your armies going to battle. Nobody expects it. You play the fool of a prince, but there’s something about you that you’ll never be able to hide, not after killing that dragon. It’s power—and it’s very personal. That makes you worth a lot to any woman, especially one who has a taste for power herself.”
Rohan stared. He had never heard Chay talk this way before and had no notion of how to react.
“You don’t think Roelstra gives those girls anything useful to occupy their time, do you?” Chay went on. “Zehava always kept Tobin busy—he gave her enough work so that she knew her own strengths. She was her own woman before she became mine. Sioned’s the same kind. She has the look about her. She knows who she is and she has worth in her own eyes. But those princesses—you’re their chance to become somebody other than just another of seventeen daughters. They’ve been stewing in that castle their whole lives, looking for the day when they’ll marry some man who’ll let them play with his power. And once they find you’ve played them all for fools—”
Rohan’s fingers clenched around handfuls of moist grass. “You’re right, Chay. I’m stupid about women.”
“You’ve only known Tobin and your mother, Maeta, a few others. None of them has a vicious bone in her body. Rohan, anything spoils when it’s not allowed to live. A few more years and I would’ve started being afraid for you. But you’ve felt your own power now. The princesses see it. They want it.”
“I should have listened to Sioned,” he murmured. “She tried to tell me the same thing.”
“I thought you never even spoke to the poor girl!”
“Remember how I used to arrange meetings between you and Tobin? Walvis used the tricks I taught him.”
“Corrupting innocent youth. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Me? Who taught me in the first place?”
“I know a few more, and I’ll have my people use them to keep watch on her.”
“Just as you’ve set watch over me,” Rohan guessed.
Chay grinned in the darkness and got to his feet. “I don’t have to.” He gestured to the rise above the river. Rohan peered into the trees and after a moment made out the shape of a tall man. “Her fellow Sunrunners take turns,” Chay informed him dryly.
Rohan stood, speechless with fury. Then, very slowly, drawing out each syllable, “Why that sly, conniving, secretive, cunning little—”
Chay laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “All of which makes her just like you!”
Rohan managed a very sour smile and started up the bank, his eyes on the shadow next to a tree. As branches shifted and moonlight seeped down in new patterns, he saw the outlines of a frame much broader than his own, and made a guess. “Meath!” he called out, and the shadow moved abruptly. Rohan snorted. “I’ve seen you, so you might as well come explain this.”
The faradhi stepped out of his hiding place and bowed formally before straightening to his full height. “Your pardon, my lord. The Lady Andrade—”
“I quite understand,” Rohan interrupted. He knew very well the Sunrunner was about to tell him a convenient lie on Sioned’s orders, and did not wish to hear it. “I appreciate your concern, but I have a favor to ask of you, Meath—something my aunt apparently hasn’t thought about.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“You know the rumors about Sioned. Roelstra’s daughters aren’t likely to take those rumors of her presence very kindly.”
“I heard them with her and Princess Tobin at the Fair, my lord,” Meath remarked calmly.
“Just so.” Rohan knew he had no need to speak further, and smiled to himself. Sioned would now be guarded not only by his people and Chay’s, but by her own kind—and without her knowledge. It was a neat trick to play on her for guarding him, and one that would solve the problem of her protection. “My thanks, Meath. And now I think we’d all best retire so we’ll be fresh for the races tomorrow. I hope you’re placing a bet on Lord Chaynal’s horses—”
Suddenly Meath gave him a powerful shove and he staggered down to hands and knees in the grass. Chay swore sharply and as Rohan glanced up he saw Meath running headlong for the river.
“What the hell—?” Chay exclaimed, helping Rohan to his feet. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” He brushed off his clothes. “But what was all that about?”
Meath soon came striding back, carrying a limp figure over his shoulder. “Your pardon, my lord,” he said again to Rohan, and dumped his burden on the ground. “I hope you’re not injured.”
“Not at all. Who’s this?”
Meath casually conjured a small flame above the man’s form, and Rohan gave a muffled exclamation. Chay bent down and touched the man’s face, turning it from side to side as if unable to believe what he saw. But the dark hair and ritual chin scar of the Merida royal house were unmistakable, even in the dim light.
“You don’t appear all that surprised, my lord,” the faradhi observed.
Rohan glanced up, startled by the man’s perceptiveness, and only then saw the dark stain on Meath’s left arm. “I wasn’t aware Lady Andrade allowed her Sunrunners to walk around the holes in their clothing,” he said mildly, though his whole body had clenched with fury. It was one thing for his own people to be wounded in his defense; it was quite another for a Sunrunner’s blood to be spilled.
“Nothing but a scratch, my lord.” Meath produced a wicked throwing knife, its glass blade twinkling in the conjured flame. “There’s enough of me so no harm was done,” he added.
Rohan cleared his throat. “Come to my tent and my squire will look after you, then, if it’s not serious. I’d rather Andrade didn’t hear about this.” He turned to Clay. “And not a word to Tobin or anyone else, please. Meath is right—I’m not especially surprised, except for the fact that it’s a son of the Merida Blood responsible.”
“What are you talking about?” Chay demanded.
“Come with me, and I’ll show you. And leave that here,” he said, nodding to the Merida. “It’d be too much bother to keep him captive, and I want him alive to tell his brethren he failed.”
The three men made their way by a roundabout route to Rohan’s tent, where Walvis wakened instantly from a light doze. His eyes went wide as Meath shrugged out of his shirt to reveal the knife wound, and he scrutinized Rohan intently to make sure there were no similiar holes in his lord’s hide. While the boy cleaned and bandaged the wound as all Stronghold squires learned to do from Princess Milar, Rohan dug into his saddlebags for the other knife and presented it silently to Chay.
“When?” the older man asked.
“On the way here. Both knives missed me. I think the other one went into the river, but this one stuck in the mud near the bank. Merida,” he added unnecessarily.
“I can see that!” Chay growled. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Rohan shrugged.
“Sometimes you are the most damnably stupid—”
“Well, what would you have me do? I didn’t want Andrade and Tobin fussing over me—or you either!”
“What about the Merida?”
“I’d rather see what their game is than try to stop it at this point.”
Chay drew breath for an explosion of temper, but Meath, his wound now invisible beneath a bandage, spoke first. “You’re well-guarded, my lord, as you now know. I think your decision to do nothing about them is wise.”
Walvis had turned a look of pure reproach on Rohan. “Why didn’t you say something, my lord?”
“Never mind, Walvis,” Chaynal said. “You and I both know he does as he pleases, with no thought to anyone else. Well then, Rohan, with so many eyes watching you, I suppose you’
re safe enough. Is it any use asking if you’ve any idea about what caused this?”
“A few.”
“But you’re not telling.” Chay sighed with exasperation.
Rohan smiled. “Meath, if you can part with your souvenir, I’d like to keep it for a while.”
The faradhi handed it over, and Rohan fingered the hilt. “They’re advertising their presence, all right,” he mused. “This is a knife fit for a prince—look at the jewels in it. Even if it wasn’t made of glass. . . .”
Meath hesitated, then said, “A good thing it is, my lord. It’s only a rumor, and nobody I know has ever tested it out—but it’s said that Sunrunners pierced with steel can’t control their powers.”
Chay frowned. “I can understand why it’s only a rumor. There are quite a few people who’d be interested—if it’s true.”
Meath shrugged, wincing slightly as his injured shoulder protested. Rohan gestured to the doorway. “Go back to your tent and get some rest. And thank you for my life, Meath.”
“They weren’t serious about trying to take it away from you, my lord, not tonight or the other time. If they had been, you’d be dead.” He bowed and left them.
“He’s right, you know,” Chay said thoughtfully. “Three Merida knives are three warnings. But of what?”
“To make me nervous, I suppose, so I’ll make mistakes. I wonder whose tents they sleep in?”
“High Prince Roelstra’s,” Walvis muttered as he put away his medical supplies.
“No proof,” Rohan told him.
“Only evidence,” Chay added, toying with the glass knife in his hand. “And speculation about what they’d gain with your death.”
“A five-year-old child on the Desert throne. Oh, with a very capable fighting commander and a princess to rule during his minority, but a child just the same.” Rohan sat down and stared at his boots. “I never realized that before, Chay—about Maarken and Jahni, I mean, being in danger because they’re my heirs. Thank the Goddess they’re safe at Stronghold.”
“It hadn’t occurred to me, either,” Chay said slowly. “But your own son will be a Merida target from the moment he’s born.”
“I know.”
“Does Sioned?”
Rohan had no answer for him. Chay gave Walvis the knife and silently took his leave. The squire fingered the blade for a time, his young face dark with worry. At last he said, “My lord, they wouldn’t really try to kill you, would they?”
“Do I need to answer that, Walvis? But stop looking so grim. There are plenty of people watching me. And I’ll be in a crowd all day tomorrow at the races. Nothing can happen to me there.”
“In a crowd of princesses? It’s then that I’ll fear the most for you, my lord!”
Rohan laughed. “Oh, I’ll have a very effective guardian against the princesses. My sister.” Who would also take good care of Sioned, he told himself. He wondered suddenly if part of Andrade’s motive in providing him with a Sunrunner wife was to weave a network of their protection around him—but to defend him against the Merida, or Roelstra, or both?
Chapter Thirteen
Trees had been planted generations ago between the princes’ camp and the racetrack, as much to provide the horses with peace and quiet as to protect the tents from the dust and smell. Paddock and pasture had been laid out long ago, too, and the track pounded by innumerable hooves, Rialla after Rialla. The racing oval was a full measure around and wide enough to allow twenty horses between its multicolored rails. Each third was presided over by a judge who watched for violations from a little wooden tower—although anything that happened out of their line of sight went unpunished.
The stands faced south. Seats reserved for the nobility were protected this year by a leaf-green silk canopy that had cost Prince Clutha half a year’s revenues; it would have cost more, but Prince Lleyn had given him a discount on the material, for he disliked getting sunburned while he watched the races. The common folk milled around the perimeter of the track, sampling food and drink from the booths set up there—race day being the only one of the Rialla when merchants were allowed to bring their wares across the river. But highborn or commoner, everyone bet on the races; only the sums wagered were different.
Rohan had always liked race days. This year’s added attraction was that he would not have to bite his tongue and pretend ignorance. As the son of his father he was expected to know horseflesh, and it was a relief to be able to show off his knowledge as he walked the paddock for a time, sizing up Chay’s competition before joining his brother-by-marriage.
Chay finished inspecting Akkal and swung up into his saddle. “I look like a damned rainbow,” he complained, plucking at one red silk sleeve. White elk-hide trousers and boots completed his own colors, and he wore a blue sash around his waist in honor of his prince.
“Tobin thinks you look wonderful, so shut up about it. Watch out for Lord Reze’s big gray over there. He’s the one horse in the field with legs on him.”
“Going to bet on him?” Chay grinned as he patted Akkal’s neck.
“He doesn’t look that fast!” Rohan turned his head as the trumpet sounded for the first race. “There’s the call. The track’s fast, but I thought I saw a rough section in the second third.”
“Thanks. Go hold Tobin’s hand and remind her that I’ve never fallen off a horse in my life.”
“Blesandin sent you over backward two years ago.”
“That beast had the very devil in him, and I was drunk at the time.”
Rohan laughed and watched Chay guide Akkal into line, knowing he had some time before the start of the race to inspect his own horses. Chaynal raced his stock for business purposes, but Rohan had decided to participate purely for the fun of it. He called his grooms around him and began giving out final riding assignments, then saw Ostvel hovering around the edge of the group, looking wistful.
Rohan gestured him over. “You have an easy face to read,” he observed with a smile.
“I know,” the young man said mournfully. “My lord, I didn’t want to ask but—”
“See that dappled mare? Her name’s Eliziel and she’s a handful on her best days, so be careful. You’ll be riding my colors in the fourth race.”
Ostvel’s eyes shone and for a moment he looked as if he’d drop to one knee in gratitude. Sense got the better of emotion, much to Rohan’s relief. “Thank you, my lord! She’s a beauty! I’ll win the race for you, I promise!”
“You’d better,” Rohan threatened playfully. He gave out the other assignments and went to the royal stands. Being a ruling prince could be fun when one could make other people’s pleasure, as he just done with Ostvel. He looked for Andrade’s blonde head, then climbed up to where she was seated with Camigwen.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said as he took a place beside his aunt. “Where’s Tobin?”
“With Sioned and the High Prince’s charming children,” Andrade replied.
“Oh.” He didn’t want to be reminded that the princesses existed, and he especially didn’t want to worry about what poison would ooze from their remarks to Sioned. “Tell me, Aunt, is Tobin intending to have a good time with them?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her, my lord,” Camigwen said, her eyes dancing. “She’s an education.”
“I agree—but the lessons were rather painful until I grew taller than she.”
“Do you still have the scar where she bit you?” Andrade asked, amused.
“To the end of my days. But don’t reveal my secret, Camigwen—my squire thinks I took it in battle and spreads word of how brave I am.”
“Now that I know your sister, I think your squire is right!” she laughed.
Andrade pointed to the track. “There’s Chay. He’d better win this race—I bet Lleyn a hundredweight of wine against half a measure of his best silk.”
“Start planning your new wardrobe,” Rohan told her.
Jervis, city lord of Waes, had delegated starter’s honors to his eldest son, Lyell
. The boy was a gangly sixteen, but stood tall and proud on the platform as he held up the bright yellow flag. The horses lined up and even amid the riot of colored silks it was easy to pick out Chay’s red-and-white, especially when the flag swept down and Akkal surged to the lead.
The first race was a distance trial of three measures that tested heart, lung, and leg. Its matching race would be the last one of the day; the same horses and riders would go the same distance, providing prospective buyers with an excellent idea of the merits of the different studs. Akkal was passed at the measure-mark by Lord Reze’s gray, and the crowd gasped. Chay was always a popular favorite, both for his personal charm and his habit of winning, and the spectators held their breath as Akkal narrowed the gap. The two horses matched each other stride for stride over two-thirds of a measure. Suddenly an arm wearing white striped with russet and Ossetia’s dark green lifted once, twice, and a whip landed with ruthless force across the gray’s hindquarters. Chay’s hands never left the reins, but Akkal’s strides lengthened until it seemed he was flying. When the yellow flag swept down at last, a roar went up all around the track—for nearly everyone had bet on Chay, and won.
“Well,” Andrade said, pleased. “My silk was in doubt for a time, there.”
“If you ladies will excuse me, I’ll go take a look at that gray and see if he’s going to be in any shape for his revenge this afternoon.”
He met Chay on the path back to the paddock, where Akkal would be walked and rested for the final race. Radzyn’s lord had dismounted and was indulging himself in a few creative descriptions of his opponent.
“Did you see what that whoreson did?” He asked Rohan furiously. “Flicked Akkal with his whip, right in the middle of the third where no one would see him! I’ve never even put a spur to Akkal, and he had the nerve—!” He stroked the stallion’s sleek neck protectively.
“I didn’t see it,” Rohan confessed. “But I had a look at the gray just now. You’ll be able to take him in the last race, Chay. No trouble.”
“Take him?” Chay’s eyes flashed. “He’ll choke on our dust!” A groom came up and Chay handed him Akkal’s reins, giving precise instructions for the horse’s care that obviously insulted the boy. As they walked along the row of paddocks, the trumpet sounded for the second race and Chay smiled lightly at the sight of one of his favorite mares prancing eagerly to the track. “Reze has a mare entered in this one, too,” he said. “I hope he can get used to losing. But isn’t that Ostvel over there with Eliziel?”