by Melanie Rawn
Pashta picked up speed, not shying in the slightest from the glittering blade that shattered on the stones ahead of him. Rohan, thighs aching with the force of his grip on his horse, let the stallion have his head. Distance between himself and the Merida was what he wanted now, before the next knife could reach its target. This desire coincided precisely with his horse’s passion to conquer the four stallions ahead. They were nearing the track now, and they overtook one horse on the gallop through the opening in the rails. Rohan remembered his groom’s warnings and took the reins in a tighter grip. Pashta responded to minute signals of hands and knees, and cleared the first jump with smooth precision—unlike the horse directly ahead, whose rider had been sloppy. Losing rhythm, the dappled stallion faltered and the rider’s whip could not compel him to speed. Rohan passed him between jumps and flinched as he saw the blood-flecked lather on the animal’s flanks.
Again he dared a look behind him. The Merida was catching up fast. Rohan turned to face the next obstacle, guided Pashta over it. But as the stallion’s hooves plowed into the dirt, Rohan felt dizzy, disoriented. He shook his head, his throat and nostrils clogged with dust, thinking that what he needed was air. But he could not help another glance back over his shoulder.
He saw nothing—but the Merida’s thin lips parted in a high-pitched scream, body straining backward as if to escape some hideous vision, dark eyes stark with terror as his mount crashed into the rails.
Between a hedge jump and a stone wall Rohan passed a tiring horse whose rider wore Syrene turquoise. Sure enough, the stallion’s head whipped around to try for a bite out of Rohan’s thigh. Pashta’s ears flattened and it took all Rohan’s skill to keep the two horses from turning to battle it out. Pashta submitted to Rohan’s orders, stuck his neck out, and ran.
There was only one horse ahead now, clearing the fifth obstacle easily, and as Rohan measured the distance he said into Pashta’s ear, “It’s all right if we don’t catch this one, you know. I can well afford a few emeralds on my own.”
But the stallion had been bred from Chay’s finest studs and mares and he saw only one horse and one jump between himself and victory. Rohan let the reins go slack on the sweating neck after the last fence was cleared. There was only space and the bright hues of the railings and the yellow flag sweeping down like a dragon’s wing—and the other horse half a length behind him.
Sioned unwound her fingers and chafed them against her thighs. The conjuring had been both more and less difficult than she’d feared. Urival had taught her well, but sustaining the fearsome Fire-image of a dragon for only those few essential seconds—and for only one man’s eyes—had drained her of energy. She felt only fierce joy as the enemy toppled from his horse—yet an instant later she cried out with the rest of the crowd as the dun stallion went down.
“No, I didn’t mean—” she whispered, stricken by what she had done. “Oh no, please!” But though the stallion struggled to his feet from the dirt, the rider, flung halfway across the track, did not move.
She heard Tobin cry out and forced herself to return to the others. The three princesses were hurrying down the steps. Sioned waited until she could breathe without gasping, then followed, careful to keep her distance.
They were waiting for Rohan in the paddock by the time she joined them. He rode up slowly, dismounted, and ignored everyone as he walked the lathered stallion, crooning to him and rubbing his neck and flanks tenderly. A groom came up and flung his arms first around the prince and then around the horse before leading the latter away for a much-needed rest. Rohan wobbled a bit on his feet, winced, and gratefully accepted a large winecup from another groom.
Worry competed with pride as Sioned saw the slashed shirt and the bloody scrapes on his back, face, and arms, much worse than she had thought. She wanted to go to him, scold him for his foolhardiness, and then hug the breath out of him before resuming her verbal abuse. Forbidden these things, she watched enviously as his sister did them all.
“Your clothes are shreds, you’re scratched raw, and I’m positive you’re limping, you idiot,” Tobin said sharply. “Take off those rags and go wash this minute. There’s no telling how many of those cuts will fester if you don’t.”
“Yes, Tobin,” he replied with teasing meekness. “Just don’t hug me again, please!” He seemed to notice the other women for the first time. “Don’t look so appalled,” he said, smiling slightly. “It was only a race.”
Ianthe’s delicate fingers plucked at his sleeve. “You took a very great risk, cousin,” she said. “The horse behind you was not so lucky.”
Rohan’s expression tightened, and Sioned glanced away.
“We heard on the way here that the rider is dead of a broken neck,” Pandsala said. “The horse will survive, although he’ll never race again. As for what actually happened—no one seems to know, or to have ever seen anything like it. They’re investigating now.”
Sioned looked anywhere but at Rohan. She had killed a man for him. Moreover, she had done it using her faradhi gifts—a thing absolutely forbidden, the worst thing a Sunrunner could do. She could hear herself confessing to Andrade that she had not meant to cause a death, she hadn’t—but as she looked at Rohan again, she learned a bitter truth: he was her price.
“He was a Merida,” the prince said.
“What?” Tobin’s cheeks went white.
“He tried to unseat me during the race. Oh, stop it, Tobin, I’m fine,” he added irritably, shrugging off her concern. “Pity he’s dead. I wanted to talk with him.”
Sioned saw a warning glance pass between brother and sister, and rallied to provide the necessary distraction. In as sharp a tone as she could muster, she said, “It’s a risk that might have been very expensive for your highness.”
“No word of congratulation on my victory, Lady Sioned?”
She could have strangled him for the look in his eyes. Tobin came to her rescue by saying, “Go dunk yourself in the river. I swear I was able to smell you all the way from the stands.”
He smiled down at her. “Sister dear, you’re so soothing to my conceit.”
“Well, you’re not soothing my nose! Chay!” she called out as her lord came toward them. “Take Rohan to the river and throw him in.”
“No time,” Chay responded, and paused to lift Rohan off his feet in a hug that made the prince’s face screw up with the pain of his cuts and bruises. Setting him down, Chay went on, “Wonderful ride, you daredevil! I’ve got to get ready for the last race, but tell me all about it over dinner tonight!” He leaned down to kiss his wife and strode off.
“Perhaps we should return to the stands and watch Lord Chaynal’s race,” Sioned suggested coolly.
“You still haven’t congratulated me,” Rohan said with his sweetest smile and a wicked gleam in his eyes. “But perhaps you bet against me and lost?”
“Oh, I have a wager going, my lord,” she replied with equal sweetness and a glance at Ianthe. “But on another race entirely.”
Chay won his race by a handy third of a measure, leaving Lord Reze’s horse breathing dust as promised. After this the highborns left for their tents to rest before making ready for the evening’s banquet. The commoners returned to the Fair, the servants to their duties within their masters’ camps. Sioned knew she could have attended the feasting if she’d wished, for Tobin had firmly established her as a friend, but she also knew she was incapable of spending another instant in the princesses’ vicinity—especially if they were in Rohan’s company. So she went down to the river, sat beneath a tree, and tried not to think about him—and what she had done for him today.
Full of himself he’d been, flushed with triumph, attention, and a safe escape from mortal danger. Flirting with that insufferable pair, using those eyes and that smile to an effect he was only too happy to exploit. Speaking to Sioned only in hopes of igniting her temper. Damn him, anyway.
A cheer went up from the direction of High Prince Roelstra’s tents and she made a sour face. The awardi
ng of prizes had begun. Tobin would have her rubies, Cami her sultry carnelians. Sioned hoped Rohan choked on his emeralds.
“Congratulations, my lord prince,” she muttered, and lay back flat in the damp grass to watch the clouds drifting over the rising moons. She knew what her trouble was—one of her troubles, anyway. She was jealous. Sickeningly, foolishly jealous of the jewels and silks and beauty of the two princesses, jealous that they could flirt with him and she could not, jealous of his compliments and attention. “But you’re mine, you conniving blue-eyed son of a dragon,” she whispered. “And by the Goddess, I’m going to prove it to you.”
But did she want a man who could make her do what she had done today? She argued with herself for a long time, one part of her reasoning that she had probably saved Rohan’s life by setting up the conjuring of a dragon to terrify the Merida. Yet that conjure had killed. Against all her intentions she had broken the most binding of faradhi vows. It was the culmination of what Urival had warned against—using her powers for Rohan alone, not caring a damn for anyone but him. Her feelings had betrayed her into murder. Could there be any justification for that? Was it possible to merge faradhi and princess into someone new? How could they ask her to serve so many loyalties? Her training at Goddess Keep, her love for Rohan, her duty to the Desert—what about her duty to herself, to Sioned? She was not even sure she had a choice.
She could marry Rohan and forswear her gifts, become only a princess and reject all temptation to use them to his benefit. But part of his reason for wanting her and Andrade’s in proposing her was the power she possessed. She was expected to be both faradhi and princess. If she stopped being the former, then what example would her children have in the wise use of gifts they would almost certainly inherit? They would have princely powers from Rohan—but they would be faradh’im as well. A Sunrunner’s loyalty was to Goddess Keep, not to any single princedom. She was being asked to split herself—and her children—between Andrade and Rohan, and the choice was tearing her apart.
No. That was a lie. She put her hands over her face and turned onto her stomach, unable to bear the touch of soft, cool moonlight on her cheeks. She had made her choice today. She had used her powers to kill.
It was not the first such death, either. She remembered the wine steward at Stronghold, how he had been caught between her and Roelstra’s faradhi, how he had died. She had made her choice then and not even realized it.
But, knowing what she now knew, she could refuse to marry Rohan. She could stay Sunrunner only and not become a princess, remove all temptation. She could see him wed to another woman.
Never.
She lay there a long time, breathing deeply of the moist, pungent scent of crushed grass beneath her cheek. The night chill made her shiver. She had no choice, and she knew it. She had set the trap herself with her own feelings, her pride, her needs. She would marry Rohan, be Sunrunner and princess. If they expected it of her, it was no less than she expected of herself.
Sioned sat up, raked her fingers back through her untidy hair, and stared moodily out at the river for a time. Then, rising, she went down to the sandy shore and searched by moonlight for a few smooth river stones. She rolled them between her hands, a grim smile crossing her face. She had faced up to the truth. Rohan was her price, and she had been well and truly bought. There was a strange peace to the knowledge. But now it was time he paid up, too.
Pocketing the stones, she thought of her purchases at the Fair and a slow excitement began to build inside her. She nurtured the feelings carefully, conjuring details in her thoughts: smooth golden skin, sunsilk hair, lean body pressing close, flesh warm and lips opening. . . . She would have victory tonight to match his, and the princesses could rage at leisure. The thought of their fury made her laugh aloud. Rohan was hers; she had paid for him.
Her senses abruptly warned her that she was not alone. She turned as a deep, resonant voice said, “Your laughter is as lovely as your name, Lady Sioned. And your face is lovelier still.”
“Your royal highness!” she managed, and bent her knees to the High Prince, her mind whirling.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he continued. “I’ve just returned from seeing Lady Palila to the barge. She sleeps better there than in the tent.”
“Has the banqueting ended, then, your grace?”
“Only just. It began early, and I’m thankful it didn’t end late. There’s much work to be done tomorrow. But I found myself wakeful, and decided to walk along the river. Beautiful, isn’t it? Especially in the moonlight.”
He was neither speaking of nor looking at the river; he referred to Sioned herself, and they both knew it. She felt his masculinity deep in her bones, her already sensitized body responding to Roelstra’s undeniable attractions. “Very beautiful, your grace,” she stammered, mortified by her awkwardness.
“Would you do me the honor of sharing the moonlight with me, Lady Sioned?”
One did not refuse a request from the High Prince, especially not when one planned to be the wife of his chief rival. She could use this time to glean information for Rohan—and, if she was clever and lucky, perhaps learn something about Roelstra’s Sunrunner as well. She smiled, recovered some of her poise, and nodded agreement.
“Did you enjoy the racing today?” he asked as they began their leisurely stroll. “I saw you in the crowd, seated with my daughters and Princess Tobin.”
“It was very exciting. Lord Chaynal rode well, didn’t he? I’m told he always does.” She paused as he lifted a branch out of her way. “Was the princess pleased with her rubies?”
“Naturally. It’s the nature of a beautiful woman to covet those things that enhance her beauty. That’s why I’m surprised to find you dressed plainly—although charmingly—and without jewels. You ought to be covered in silks and emeralds, my lady.” He smiled.
Just you wait, she wanted to tell him. “Perhaps I’m not pretty enough to be covetous, or perhaps Lady Andrade breeds it out of us faradh’im.”
“I’m sure some generous man is waiting to indulge you as you deserve.”
She had a moment of panic that he might have seen through the game she and Rohan were playing. But as she slanted a glance at him through her lashes, she saw that he had another man in mind—and the realization nearly made her stumble on the smooth sand.
“But—but I’m a very unimportant person, your highness. I would bring a man very little.”
“Your lovely self would be more than enough, even if you were not a Sunrunner. You set too low a value on yourself, my dear.”
“And what value would you set on me, Prince Roelstra?” she asked boldly.
“I believe you know the answer to that, my lady.”
This was a dangerous man. The price of discovering this frightening piece of information was rising rapidly. “It’s very late,” she began nervously.
“Not any later than it was a few moments ago, before certain things were said.” He touched her shoulder.
His eyes were a paler green than hers, and avid as they traced the lines of her face and body. Sioned was astounded. His mistress was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. He could have any female he wanted, just for the asking. She was out of her depth and utterly confused.
“But I see I’m upsetting you,” Roelstra said, and took his hand from her shoulder. Her flesh felt cold after the heat of his fingers. “As many times as I’ve observed you in the last days, you haven’t looked at me at all. I’m a stranger to you, I know. But I hope you’ll allow me to change that.” His voice was low, caressing, seductive, and her reaction to it scared her. “I am a patient man, Sioned, and a powerful one. When you’ve decided that the little prince isn’t man enough, I’ll be waiting.”
“What are you offering me?” she whispered, knowing full well what he meant.
“Whatever you would have of me. In return I would expect certain things—nothing you would not gladly give.”
“Such as?”
“I find you bea
utiful and desirable, Sioned. I believe you know what it means when a woman captures the eye of the High Prince. I would honor you above all others, and we would give to each other as pleased us both.”
“And you would take what you wanted—especially my honor.” She knew now what he was truly after, and was terrified.
“My daughter Ianthe described you as proud, but I believe I could change your mind.” He moved closer to her, fingertips on her shoulders, sliding up to her neck and jaw.
A trembling invaded her body, born of both fear and desire, and she wondered wildly if Rohan felt the same thing around Ianthe. To accept would mean death—yet there was a fascination in this man’s touch. Was it there in his daughter’s? She backed away and shook her head. “I am no man’s whore, not even when the man is you.”
He laughed. “If you wanted to intrigue me, you couldn’t have chosen a better way to do it. But if you mean to reject me—I suggest you reconsider, Sioned.” He look down at her, still smiling, and without warning took the step that separated them. Before she could move or protest, he had taken her shoulders once more and bent to capture her mouth. Just as suddenly he released her, bowed as deeply as if she had been born royal, and strode up the slope to his tents.
Sioned was frozen, shivering, terror and lust at war within her. The High Prince wanted her—and as a woman, she could not be immune to the compliment of this powerful, alluring man’s desire. But she was also a Sunrunner, like the one already corrupted into betraying their kind. Roelstra wanted her faradhi skills for himself.
And didn’t Rohan want the same thing?
She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking convulsively. Rohan loved her. She repeated that to herself over and over again. It did no good. He would use her gifts just as Roelstra would, only Rohan had the blessing of Lady Andrade who had arranged it all. She took the river stones out of her pocket and gripped them until she thought her bones would crack around them. Who was she to judge which prince would be more worthy of using her? She laughed bitterly. She had no choice. And how she hated them all for it.