by Melanie Rawn
Chapter Sixteen
Rohan stared down at the shirt he had just dropped onto the carpet. No, too much effort to pick it up again—and dangerous besides, considering the condition of his head. It was a good thing Sioned had not been in her tent, for he would not have been much use to her tonight. He made a mental note to abstain from anything stronger than water during his wedding feast. He would have enough to worry about without that happening to him as well.
Yawning and stretching were risky ventures, too, and after the attempts he stood very still until his head stopped spinning. His lips were numb; so was his nose. He wondered if his mother had taught Walvis any cures for a morning winehead. Come to think of it, where was his squire? The one night Rohan actually needed someone to help him to bed, and the boy had vanished. He sighed, pitying the poor prince forced to take off his own boots, and collapsed on the bed to consider trying it.
The dragon’s cry shuddered through him as if he had never heard the sound before in his life. What was a dragon doing over Waes at this time of year? The scream came again and he braced himself against it, the echo staying with him as he fell back against the pillows. In the profound silence he heard his gasping breaths and the rapid pounding of his heart that had little to do with the quantities of wine he’d consumed that night. The third piercing call was like a sword through his skull and he wrapped his arms around his head, his whole body flinching. A dragon, far from the usual flight paths, traveling at night when landmarks below were only dimly lit by the moons—
“You there! You can’t go in now, my lord is—”
“Get out of my way!”
He recognized Urival’s voice and struggled to sit up as the faradhi burst into the tent. “What—”
“Listen to me,” the Sunrunner said in rough tones. “Roelstra has Sioned.”
The effects of the wine vanished as if a searing wind off the Long Sand had swept through his body. He surged to his feet and pushed past Urival into the night, looking up involuntarily at the dragon shadows. Urival grabbed him from behind and spun him around.
“Think! As much as you may want to kill him, you can’t! Rohan, think!”
The dragonsire shrieked again above them, and Rohan stiffened as his flesh cringed again with the terrible cry. Urival was shaking him, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Take your hands off me,” he snarled.
“Listen! Andrade felt the renegade Sunrunner call to her on the moonlight. He died giving her the warning. But it may be a trap.”
Did Urival believe him unaware of the way Roelstra’s mind worked? “Damn you, I can think! Now let me go!”
The older man looked narrowly into his eyes, then relaxed his grip. “Good. I’m coming with you.”
“Just don’t get in my way.”
He didn’t run. His heart was pounding too fast, and he couldn’t seem to breathe properly around the knot of rage in his chest. But he could not give in to it. Urival was right. He could not afford to kill the High Prince. But if Roelstra had put so much as a finger on Sioned—he rejected the image. He must not consider it. He must think.
Urival’s status as a high-ranking Sunrunner got them past guards who would not have recognized Prince Rohan in the half-naked young man accompanying him. A flash of jeweled rings and they were bowed to without challenge until they were within Roelstra’s silent camp.
“Lift your torch, man, and look at him,” Urival growled to the sentry. “Don’t you recognize his royal highness?”
“Your grace! But what business have you here at this hour? I wasn’t told to expect visitors.”
“Private business between princes,” Urival snapped. “Let us pass.”
Rohan’s strides lengthened, the rhythm of walking having steadied his body somewhat. He squared his shoulders, felt his face settling into hard, grim lines. As he neared Roelstra’s tent he heard Walvis’ furious young voice, strained as if someone had him by the throat.
“Don’t you dare touch my lady!”
A lamp had been lit within, and two figures threw shadows onto the silk. One was Roelstra. He towered over the boy, who was tied to a chair. Rohan heard Urival’s haughty command to the guards who’d come to protect their prince’s leisure, heard the renewed thudding of his own heart. At last he heard Sioned’s voice, thick and slurred.
“Let the boy go.”
Roelstra laughed.
Think, Rohan told himself. It may mean their lives. Think, damn you!
“What was in the wine?” Sioned asked.
“Something I’ve found to be very effective in taming your kind. But it won’t spoil our pleasure, my dear.”
“Leave her alone!” Walvis exclaimed.
“Scream all you like, child. There’s no help nearby, only my men—and they are deaf with loyalty to me.”
Rohan glanced over his shoulder. Urival stood with the watchfire between him and the four guards, the threat obvious. Deaf Roelstra’s people might be, but they were not blind to the faradhi’s nine sparkling rings.
“What do you want from me, Roelstra?” Sioned asked. “My body, my abilities as a Sunrunner, or both?”
“If you touch her, you’ll die for it,” the squire said. “It’s forbidden to harm a faradhi—and she’s under my lord’s protection as well!”
Rohan abruptly realized that the two were trading Roelstra’s attention back and forth to gain time. Despite whatever had been given Sioned, despite the squire’s helplessness, each retained the wits to toss cues to each other as if they’d practiced all their lives. Rohan gave thanks to the Goddess for people who could think, and followed their example. He had to know where Sioned was within the tent. The angle of the two visible shadows meant that the lamp was in the center of the tent, on a table perhaps; she must be on the other side of the light, away from Roelstra. Good, he told himself; that would give him room to maneuver.
“Andrade won’t much like this, you know,” Sioned murmured. “You took one faradhi to your own use. I don’t think she’ll appreciate it a second time.”
“My lady,” Walvis said, “there won’t be enough of him left for Lady Andrade to deal with, once my lord is finished with him!”
“Enough!” Roelstra commanded. Rohan saw him turn, his back to the entry. Sliding the flaps apart, he stepped noiselessly inside.
Sioned was huddled on the huge bed, her knees drawn up to her chin. The lamp on a central table shone cruelly on her haggard face, and there was something strained and odd about her eyes, as if she could barely focus. But she saw him, and her long lashes closed as she bent her head wearily to her knees.
“You have her rather inconveniently placed for a rape, High Prince,” Rohan said softly.
Roelstra whirled around. “How dare you enter my camp? You insolent young fool—”
“Don’t bother to call your guards,” Rohan advised. “Consider the witnesses. Would their loyalty survive such things as Lady Andrade is capable of?”
“Finding refuge in auntie’s skirts,” the High Prince sneered.
Rohan smiled. “Free the boy. Now.”
Roelstra shrugged. Rohan took another step, angling toward the squire bound to the chair. But Roelstra, moving with surprising swiftness, grasped the boy’s hair and jerked his head back, a knife held to his throat.
“Witnesses?” he inquired silkily. “Who said there would be any?”
“You really must think your stories through, Roelstra,” Rohan said, glad that his voice was cool. “Now, if you were really being intelligent, you would already have hit on the idea of accusing me or the lady or the squire of an assassination attempt. That way you could kill us all with your own knife, shame Andrade and my family, and enhance your own reputation at the same time.” He took another slow step into the tent.
“How clever of you to guess my thoughts, princeling. Which of you would like to be first? This talkative child, perhaps?”
“You have a problem,” Rohan told him, moving another small pace forward. “You don’t think with your br
ain, but with what’s between your legs. What motive could any of us have for killing you? My squire, cast as assassin? The ropes will leave marks on him. There’d be questions about that, you know. As for the lady—why should a Sunrunner wish you harm? They are expressly forbidden to kill. And why would I want to murder you? I’ve been looking over your daughters—and a man doesn’t do away with his prospective father-by-marriage, you know. Who would believe I’m smart enough to realize that with you dead and one of your daughters as my wife, I’d control Princemarch? No, Roelstra,” he said, smiling. “I’d kill you after the wedding, not before.” He was in the middle of the carpet now, next to the table, within decent range—if only he could get to his own knife before Roelstra slit Walvis’ throat. The boy’s head was wrenched painfully back on his neck, but he gazed at Rohan with absolute faith. It hurt.
“My daughters will have to live without your infantile charms,” Roelstra answered. Releasing Walvis, he took a step away from the chair. “I think it’ll be you first, little prince. I grow weary of the sound of your voice.”
“You’re not thinking again,” Rohan said, shaking his head as if at a muddle-headed student. “I thought the idea was to marry me to one of your charming girls, wait until we had a son, and then kill me. What profit to murder me now?”
“Roelstra!” Sioned moved on the bed, making the wooden frame creak, attracting the High Prince’s attention. “Let them go and I’ll do as you like!”
Rohan blessed her for the distraction. As Roelstra’s eyes flickered involuntarily to her, Rohan pulled the knife from his right boot. Its blade winked in the lamplight, as sinister as the sudden smile on Roelstra’s face.
“Good,” he approved, circling around behind Walvis’ chair, gaze riveted on the young prince now. “That makes it more interesting. You’re not as smart as you like to believe, princeling. Drawing your knife is treason against the person of the High Prince. I’m perfectly justified in carrying out the death sentence myself.”
“Try,” Rohan said pleasantly. “Your Merida allies failed—but then, you never really wanted them to succeed, did you? Oh, yes, it could only have been you behind them, I’ve known that all along. You wanted to frighten me into grabbing at a marriage bond with you as protection against them—and what could be more understandable than my eventual death at Merida hands?”
He moved warily away from Roelstra as he spoke, one part of his mind analyzing the man. The High Prince had height, weight, and reach on him, but to Rohan’s advantage were youth, strength, and quickness, as well as a genuine affinity for this kind of combat. Though he was good with a sword, he had discovered early on that the cunning necessary to a knife-fight came naturally to him. He smiled as Roelstra lunged for him and he sidestepped neatly.
“Then again, if I refused your delightful girls, was I to find a glass knife in my guts on the way back to Stronghold? The Merida would rule the Desert—but only until you could arrive with your armies according to that mutual defense treaty.” Again he rocked lightly out of the way of Roelstra’s blade. “Is there no end to your absurdity? My vassals would never stand for your army on their soil. And it is theirs now, you know—hadn’t you heard?” Another taunting avoidance of the gleaming knife. “A man will do battle at his prince’s side, but he’ll destroy anyone who marches across land lawfully his.”
“Can you fight, or only talk?” Roelstra demanded, punctuating the words with a powerful thrust. Rohan had been waiting for the impatience as his father and Maeta had taught him to do. Now he grinned tightly and answered Roelstra’s question with his knife.
He discovered that Roelstra’s heavier movements had advantages, and was surprised when the High Prince continued a surge forward even after Rohan’s own knife had torn into his shoulder. The hot slice of pain along his ribs was another surprise, and as he rolled down and away he heard Sioned gasp as if she had felt it, too. Roelstra’s boot lashed out. Rohan’s knife went flying into the shadows and he bit back a groan at the pain in his hand and wrist. As the High Prince stepped back, laughing down at him, Rohan came up onto one knee.
“Quickly, through the heart?” Roelstra asked solicitously. “Or slowly, across your throat, so I can watch your life bleed away?”
Rohan slid the second knife from his left boot. No one had taught him this trick, but he had learned it was effective. Roelstra hissed in annoyance and charged him, just as Rohan had hoped. Still balanced on one knee, he swayed to one side and thrust the blade up and around to catch Roelstra’s knife hand. A stumble, a clumsy turn, a gasp of shock that he had been wounded—and Roelstra was suddenly faced with an adversary now on his feet and poised for combat, smiling at him.
“I have my own plans for you,” Rohan said, “so I’ll do myself the favor of ignoring this incident—officially. I wouldn’t want to spoil the Rialla with a funeral for its finish.”
Roelstra switched the knife from right hand to left. “I’ve been planning yours for a long time now, princeling. Whether it comes now, by my hand, or later with a Merida knife, matters not at all.”
They circled each other again until Rohan feinted to the left and made a quick move to the right, sneaking in past Roelstra’s guard to slice crosswise across the first wound. His other hand caught and twisted Roelstra’s left hand.
“Drop it,” Rohan said quietly. “Drop it or I’ll break your wrist.” He tightened his grip for emphasis and held his knife-point to the man’s throat.
Roelstra’s eyes flashed, his free hand moving toward Rohan’s arm. The tip of his blade pricked Rohan’s skin. “You wouldn’t dare kill me,” he grated.
“If you’re so sure of that, then cut me.”
The High Prince’s knife glittered to the carpet.
Rohan let him go and plucked up the dagger. “If you bind that well and wear long sleeves, no one will ask awkward questions,” he advised, hiding his regret that Roelstra had not given him the excuse to kill him. He glanced at the entryway of the tent, where Urival stood guard with a satisfied smile on his face. “Untie the boy,” he told the faradhi, and himself went to Sioned. “Can you stand up?” he asked gently, and she lifted her hands, hidden until now in the folds of her skirt. He sucked in an angry breath as he saw the ropes, and slit them with his knife. There were others around her ankles; he cut those, too. Then he put both knives into his belt and cupped her pale cheek in his palm for a moment. “It’s all right, Sioned.”
She nodded. “I know.”
He helped her to her feet, an arm around her waist. Together they faced Roelstra, who was holding his bleeding arm.
“I’ll keep your blade as a souvenir,” Rohan said. “I suggest you save mine, as well, when you find it. A reminder that I could have killed you.” He smiled.
“Should I be grateful that you did not?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Walvis, are you all right?”
“Yes, my lord.” The squire came to his side, straight-backed and proud. Rohan felt new fury as he saw the bruises swelling the boy’s wrists and darkening his throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect my lady better.”
“I know you did all you could.”
“Get out of my tent,” Roelstra ordered.
“Shut up,” Rohan told him. “And listen to me very carefully, High Prince. Officially, this never happened. I am a prince first and a man second—a concept you could never comprehend, so don’t bother to try. But I swear to you that though the prince may ignore this, the man will never forget it.”
Roelstra laughed, not very convincingly. “The princeling doesn’t know how to be a man!”
Rohan continued as if he had not been interrupted. “If, during the next three years covered by our treaties, you renege on a single item or a single man of yours sets foot uninvited on my lands, I’ll know about it—and I’ll leave you to guess what action I’ll take. If you so much as think an incorrect thought in my direction, I’ll know about that, too. As for the Merida—I’ll deal with them myself. But if a single arrow or sword or morsel o
f bread in their possession is supplied by you, I’ll not only know about it, but I’ll make sure every other prince knows about it as well. Your own proposal will come back to haunt you, Roelstra. And then try to keep your throne for the son you’ll never have.”
“Large words for a little prince.”
“Believe them. There’s just one other thing.” He held Sioned closer. “If you touch my wife again, I will kill you.”
He waited just long enough to see shock and fury break like a storm over the High Prince’s face, then drew Sioned gently outside into the clean night air.
Urival and Walvis followed. Guards, kept at bay until now by the high-ranking Sunrunner, rushed into Roelstra’s tent, and moments later there were shouts for water, bandages, and the High Prince’s personal physician. Sioned stumbled as Roelstra bellowed an order to be left alone, his voice making her flinch. Rohan moved as if to carry her, but she shook her head silently. They left Roelstra’s camp behind, and no one said anything until they reached the first of the blue Desert tents.
At last Walvis could stand it no longer and burst out, “I’m sorry, my lord! I watched and followed, but they took me by surprise, as they did my lady—”
“You’re not to blame for any of this,” Rohan said. “And you did very well to keep him distracted for so long. Walvis, I’m proud of you for not crying out. It wouldn’t have done any good and it might’ve gotten you killed. I can’t afford to lose you.” Aware that Sioned’s steps were faltering, he went on, “Urival, please tell Andrade that we’re all right. Sioned will stay with me. Walvis, if anyone asks for me, tell them anything you like. Just don’t let them know I’m not inside my tent.”
“Yes, my lord,” the pair said together.
“Rohan,” Sioned whispered. “I want out of here. Now.”
He took her down to the river, frightened as she leaned on him and gasped for breath. He wanted to stop, but she insisted they keep going across the soft gravel, far enough downriver so no one could find them. Rohan knew they were being watched; he felt eyes on his back, but knew they were faradhi eyes and that faradhi ways would deal with anyone else who attempted to follow.