by Melanie Rawn
At last Sioned directed him toward a tree. Thin, supple branches rose over their heads and then swept down to the ground, forming a small, private darkness within. It was here that they sheltered from even friendly eyes, screened from the night by silver-green leaves, with the tree arching over them and rustling softly in the quiet night breeze.
“My head hurts,” Sioned murmured.
Rohan cradled her against him. “Forgive me, love, for not taking better care of you.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I should’ve known.” She shifted in his arms. “Roelstra—said things to me, before.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You would have been angry. And probably said something you shouldn’t and ruined your plans.”
“To hell with my plans!”
“See? You’re angry now.” She rubbed her cheek to his bare shoulder. “Aren’t you cold?”
“No.”
“I keep wondering how he drugged my wine. And what with. I saw you dancing with Ianthe, and when she left I followed her. Do you think she meant me to, so her father could get me alone?”
“You don’t have to talk about it, beloved,” he said as he felt her tremble.
“I have to understand what happened,” she said stubbornly, and massaged her temples with her fingertips, stretching her neck to ease the tension in her muscles. “Goddess, what a headache! He had two winecups and gave me one of them. I can be so stupid.”
“How could you have known?”
“Well . . . I did something even more stupid by going to his tent. I wasn’t really sure what was going on, I think. He gave me more wine.” She paused. “I wish you’d killed him.”
“So do I.”
“Good thing you didn’t, though. I had to hide the ropes from you—I knew they’d only make you angrier.” She laughed softly. “Oh, beloved, did you see his face when you called me your wife?”
“Shh. Just rest now. You’re safe, and no one can find us here. I’ve got you and I’m never going to let you go again.”
“It was horrible, being tied up like that. I couldn’t conjure so much as a flicker of Fire. Not at first, anyway. I tried later—and the flame flared up and scared me half to death. And then he caught Walvis, and I didn’t dare try anything. I wonder what was in the wine,” she repeated fretfully.
“Hush. Don’t think about it.” He smoothed her tumbled hair.
“Mmm. . . .” She nestled to him, her hands running lightly over his chest. “You’re so warm, Rohan. All gold and silk and beautiful muscles . . . did you know how beautiful you are, my love?”
“You’re drunk,” he said, blushing.
“A little,” she admitted. “But the headache’s going away, at least. I’m beginning to feel quite wonderful, as a matter of fact.” She laughed again. “I’ve never had a man fight a rival for me, you know.”
“Rival, hell,” he murmured as her lips caressed the hollow of his throat.
“Sure of yourself, aren’t you, my prince?”
“Sioned—” It was impossible to think when her mouth drifted soft kisses over his shoulder. The ache of his bruises and the sting of the graze on his hip had gone the way of her headache, it seemed, and for the same reason.
“Oh, yes, I feel much better now,” she murmured, her arms sliding around him, her fingers dancing over his back. “And you feel wonderful. . . .”
“Sioned,” he said again, and felt tremors invade his bones. A new ache had centered in the pit of his stomach, and as he held her he wondered how he could ever have mistaken another body for hers, another fire for this blaze that ignited in his blood now. “I—there’s something I should tell you—”
“Unless it’s that you love me, I’m not interested.” Her hands moved down to slide the knives from his belt, and she giggled softly. “I heard about the clause in Tobin’s marriage contract. Do I have to make you agree to the same?”
“If you don’t stop that—”
“Oh, Rohan! You really don’t want me to stop.”
“No,” he conceded, smiling as she pushed him down onto the soft moss.
“We’ll have to plant a tree like this at Stronghold so we can always remember the first time we ever made love.”
“Do you think I could ever forget? Besides which,” he added somewhat breathlessly, “is that what we’re going to do?”
“Foolish prince.”
He drew away from her, wanting to see her face: shadowed and mysterious, lips parted on a knowing smile, eyes nearly incandescent, and so beautiful that his heart caught painfully in his chest. “Sioned,” he said thickly, “it is the first time for me.”
“You’re a sweet liar, my love,” she said, and lay back on the moss, holding out her arms to him. “Mine, too, I think. Nothing else counts.”
“Nothing,” he agreed as he held her to his heart, and knew it was true.
Chapter Seventeen
Palila could not wake herself from the nightmare. She was awash in white silk that billowed around her swollen body like a vast ocean of snow. Above her wailed a chorus of birds, bright creatures with frightened eyes and chill hands that made her flesh shrivel at their touch. Through it all was the pain, lancing through her until she screamed with it, writhing through the white silk sea to find dry land, sunlit land where she could be free of everything and rest.
But there was no rest, and no respite from the agony, and as it spasmed through her again she remembered. Palila shrieked, seeing again Crigo’s open, lifeless eyes gaping at her from his moonlight-pale face.
“You idiots, let me by!” came a new voice, crisp and decisive. “Don’t stand there like cattle! Make everything ready for her! Get out and don’t come back until you’ve found Lady Andrade!”
“No!” Palila cried, struggling to sit up. But Ianthe bent over her, dark eyes wide and avid, relishing every twist of pain.
“Be still. Yes, it’s me. Stop behaving as if you’d never had a baby before. Lie back and relax or you’ll make it worse for yourself.”
Palila cringed away from the hands that stroked her hair. She could not be in labor, it was impossible. Where were her comfortable, familiar rooms at Castle Crag, her personal physician, her minstrel to play soothing tunes? She could not be having this baby now. She was not due until well into autumn. But as another cramp tore through her body, arching her up from the white silk sheets, she remembered again Crigo’s pale, dead stare and the horrible cry of the dragon.
Ianthe’s hands, cool and surprisingly capable, supported her during the spasm. The princess wiped Palila’s face, gave her a sip of water, all the while with that sleek, pleased smile on her lips. As the pain faded, Palila glared feebly up at her in sick loathing.
“Why don’t you want Andrade here?” Ianthe murmured sweetly. “What happened tonight, Palila, that we found Crigo dead in here and you unconscious on the floor? Father’s physician is busy sewing up a wound he says he got in a fall. Nobody believes him, of course. Why is Crigo dead and Father wounded, Palila?”
The mistress shuddered away from the ministering hands. “Clever Ianthe,” she whispered. “Can’t you guess?”
“If you don’t admit the truth now, then certainly you’ll tell Andrade when she arrives. Oh, don’t worry, Crigo’s body has been hidden. But unless you tell me how and why he died, I’ll have the corpse thrown into her tent.” She placed one hand on Palila’s belly, still smiling. “The others are gone. You can talk. I can lie to Andrade very nicely. I don’t think you’re going to have breath soon to do anything but scream.”
“All right—I’ll tell you—” She shifted away from the princess’ chill fingers. “Roelstra wanted the Sunrunner girl.”
“I know that,” Ianthe said impatiently. “It wasn’t as difficult to get her away from the others as Father thought it might be.”
“You helped him?”
“Of course. I don’t like you, Palila. I never have. But I like this Sioned even less, and the idea of her as my father’s mistres
s and Sunrunner is, quite frankly, more than I’m willing to put up with. Yes, he came to me and asked my help.” She shrugged. “He trusts me, you know. As much as he trusts anyone. But you ruined it by having Crigo warn the girl, didn’t you?”
“No—yes—I don’t know! I wanted him to and he agreed, but I don’t know what he did or what happened after he—he—” She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, but the dead face followed her no matter where she fled in her own mind.
Ianthe’s voice brought her back. “So instead of a new mistress and a new faradhi, Father will have only a scar or two to show for his night’s work. I see. And that bitch of a girl is unsullied. Damn! I ought to be very angry with you, Palila.” She paused to let that sink in, then asked, “Is one dose of dranath enough to addict?”
“A large enough dose might even kill—oh, Goddess,” Palila moaned, clenching her teeth. “How did you know its name?”
“I know more than you ever gave me credit for. I hope the dose was huge—I hope she dies of it! But just think, Palila. I’m not going to have my revenge on you by betraying you to Father about this. Isn’t that kind of me? In a few hours you’ll present him with his first son.” She grinned. “No matter that it won’t be his own!”
Palila found strength enough to strike out at the princess’ smug face. Ianthe laughed and caught her clawing fingers, stroked them almost gently.
“Keep wondering how I knew,” she suggested. “It’ll give you something to take your mind off the pain.”
“Ianthe—don’t betray me! I’ll do anything—name it—don’t ruin me!”
“Oh, you’ll do anything I ask, believe me. That was the whole idea. I’m going down to see Pandsala now. Three other women are in the same state you’re in, thanks to us. Think of it, Palila. Can you be sure I’ll substitute your girl for a boy? Or will I take your son and put another useless daughter in his place?”
Palila howled with rage and terror and the renewed agonies of childbirth. Ianthe laughed at her and left the cabin, pausing in the narrow hallway to savor the sound. She imagined Sioned screaming in similar pain and fear as her body succumbed to a furious demand for dranath. If the dose Roelstra had given her did not kill her, perhaps withdrawal would. Or, what might be even better, she would survive addicted. Not that she’d allow herself to live for very long, enslaved to the drug. No, she was too proud to endure the shame. In any case, the Sunrunner would not be marrying Rohan. And neither would Pandsala.
Ianthe climbed down the staircases to a room below the water-line. Cramped, windowless, and stuffy, the only light came from a candle set into a tarnished holder on the wall, and by its weak glow Ianthe surveyed the occupants thoughtfully. Three of the sweating faces were drawn into lines of agony, their labor coming too soon. The fourth woman was Pandsala, tense with waiting, fidgeting with anxiety. She rose from her chair as Ianthe entered the room.
“I thought I told you to keep them tied up,” Ianthe said, gesturing to the three women who lay on straw mattresses on the floor.
“How could they escape now?” Pandsala retorted. “We’ve been ruthless about this, Ianthe. There’s no need to be cruel as well.”
The younger princess shrugged. “I’m told the blonde has already borne three boys. Watch her carefully.”
The fair-haired woman propped herself on one elbow, hate gleaming dully in her brown eyes. “You’ll have to kill us. Did you think I didn’t know that?”
“Perhaps we’ll only have your tongues yanked out.” Ianthe smiled. “Can you write? I thought not. I don’t need to tell you not to learn, now, do I?” She turned to her sister. “Palila’s women will do what they can for her. But one of us must be there when Andrade arrives.”
“Who sent for her? She can’t witness the birth!”
“Of course not. But I sent for her because she’ll be an impeccable witness to what we wish everyone to believe happened. I’ll provide distraction enough, don’t worry. Did you remember to bring the blankets?”
“Over there.” Pandsala nodded to three large squares of folded velvet, gold thread winking on violet. “They’re identical to the one made for Palila’s brat. You do think of everything, Ianthe.”
She smiled as the blonde woman groaned and clutched her belly. “Oh, yes. Everything—and more.”
Andrade recovered from the shock of the Sunrunner’s death because she had to. She was sitting in a chair when Urival returned, and listened to his report impassively. She ordered someone to go out looking for Antoun, the Sunrunner assigned to watch over Sioned tonight, and summoned Camigwen to her tent, all with absolute calm. While they waited for the girl to arrive, Andrade questioned Urival thoroughly on everything Roelstra had said, and then considered it in silence.
Camigwen came in with Ostvel, and Andrade spared a raised brow for their rumpled clothes, obviously donned in some haste, before giving them a brief description of the night’s events.
“I don’t know if you remember Crigo. He was older than you by several years. He was a good man, a decent man. Exactly what Roelstra did to him is unclear right now, but with tomorrow morning’s sunlight I want you to see that all faradh’im are warned. I believe we can keep this quiet and among ourselves, but every one of us must be made aware of this.”
Camigwen exchanged worried glances with her Chosen. “How much of a danger is this drug? Do we know the name?”
“Roelstra didn’t mention it,” Urival replied.
“He’ll tell me,” Andrade said grimly.
“No doubt,” her steward commented. “He said something about being able to control faradh’im with it. I don’t think Sioned was in full possession of her powers, though,” he added musingly.
“And that makes me wonder how Crigo was able to do what he obviously had done for Roelstra for years.”
“But how vulnerable are faradh’im to this drug?” Ostvel asked.
Andrade shrugged. “Once I’ve gotten the information from Roelstra and Sioned tells us how this drug feels, we should be fairly safe.” She glanced up as her name was called from outside, expecting that someone had returned with information about her missing Sunrunner. But instead a man wearing the violet of service to the High Prince came into the tent, breathing hard. He dropped to one knee after a scathing look from Urival.
“My Lady, you must come at once.”
Andrade drew herself upright in her chair, ready to blister the man’s ears with her views of rude interruptions. “Let Roelstra’s own physician stitch him up!” she began, but the man shook his head.
“Not the High Prince, my Lady. I was sent by the Lady Palila’s women to fetch you immediately.”
“Palila? Whatever for?” She stared, then traded a swift glance with Urival. “Oh, Goddess! She’s in labor, isn’t she?”
“Yes, my Lady, evidently so. I’m told it’s early. Her women are frantic, for the High Prince’s physician is unavailable.”
Considering what Urival had told her of Roelstra’s wounds, Andrade could believe it. She got to her feet. “Very well. I’ll come.” To the protests of the others she replied, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be perfectly safe, and Palila will need help. Urival, stay here and question Antoun when he’s brought back—in one piece, I devoutly hope. Cami, you and Ostvel meet with the other Sunrunners and tell them what was said here tonight. They’ll help you tomorrow morning. And no arguments!” She turned to Roelstra’s man. “You, whatever your name is—”
“Gernius, my Lady.”
“Well, Gernius, you will have the honor of carrying my bag of medicines and conducting me to the High Prince’s barge. Let’s get started.”
The instant she set foot on the ship her stomach rebelled. Gritting her teeth against nausea and the fiery throb behind her eyes, she clung to her dignity and followed a maidservant into Palila’s luxurious cabin. She saw at once that the mistress was in a bad way. Snapping out orders to the useless women around her, she was disgusted to find that they, like their lady, were pathetically glad to have so
meone take charge. She conducted a swift, thorough examination and gave orders that would ease Palila’s suffering somewhat. Andrade had seen enough birthings to know that this one would take some time yet, but she did not mention this to Palila—who screamed loud enough to waken the Storm God for the winter.
“Oh, stop it,” she advised, not unkindly, as she sat on the bed beside the thrashing figure. “Don’t fight so hard. You’re using up all your strength in yelling.” Palila’s nails dug into Andrade’s arms and she philosophically added this new pain to the grotesque hammering in her skull. “Quiet down now. You’re doing just fine.”
“My Lady?” The murmur at Andrade’s shoulder made her turn, and she found Princess Ianthe, of all people. “Three more await you below,” the girl said.
“Three more?” Andrade repeated blankly.
“Giving birth.”
“Sweet Goddess!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I am,” Ianthe said, her lips quivering as she tried to suppress a smirk. “Besides, they’re only servants.”
“They’re women like you and me!”
Palila moaned, “Don’t leave me!” The terror in her eyes went beyond that of an essentially cowardly woman in labor. Her gaze was fixed on the princess, and Andrade surmised that hatred ran even deeper at Castle Crag than she’d previously thought.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she told Palila. “Ianthe, stay with her.”
“No!” Palila shrieked.
But Ianthe settled into a chair next to the bed and stroked Palila’s hand soothingly—having to hang onto it hard to create the pretty picture of solicitude, Andrade noted sourly. She shrugged off her uneasiness and left the cabin.
Down a steep, dark staircase she went, swearing under her breath as the barge’s gentle rocking made her stumble and threatened to deprive her of her dinner. She hung onto the rope rail, breathed with stern regularity, and refused to be sick. Following the sound of pain-weary groans, she arrived at a stifling little room where Princess Pandsala—of all people—had charge of the three women. One had brought her labors to a successful conclusion and held a newborn jealously to her breast. One was too deep in her pain to notice anything. But the third, a pale-haired woman with burning dark eyes, glared in silent loathing at the princess and held her swollen belly as if to keep the child safely within her.