Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince

by Melanie Rawn

  Andrade knelt beside the new mother, fighting dizziness and renewed nausea at the stench of blood and sweat in the room. “Don’t tell me you delivered this child,” she said over her shoulder to Pandsala.

  “Ianthe helped. It was very quick, really.”

  “Small wonder,” the blonde woman hissed.

  Pandsala shot her a vicious glance of warning. “She’s had a baby before—and so have you. Fine sons, aren’t they, back at Castle Crag?”

  The woman turned her face away. Andrade, puzzled at the by-play, wondered if there was something she was missing. Her head hurt too much to chase down the idea right now. The new mother was doing nicely despite her inexpert assistants. Her infant girl was pink, healthy, and in possession of the correct number of limbs, fingers, and toes. Andrade had never been a mother herself, but there was a deep vein of maternal feeling in her that found its safest expression in admiration of babies in which she had no personal or political interest. She congratulated the new mother warmly, and moved to the woman beside her.

  “Why does the Goddess make so many daughters?” Pandsala asked suddenly.

  “There does seem to be an abundance of them at Castle Crag. Perhaps it’s the air.” Andrade eased the struggling woman into a more comfortable position, murmuring, “There, my dear, you’ll do better now. Only a little while longer, I promise.”

  One born, three to go, Andrade told herself. It strained credulity that four women were giving birth on the same night at the same time, but what explanation was there other than bizarre coincidence? What matter if these servant women birthed their children the same night as Roelstra’s mistress? Andrade rubbed the center of her forehead where the pain had settled, and tried to put her wits in proper order. Most Sunrunners on water lost their ability to think as well as their dinner. But not this Sunrunner, she vowed.

  “They say it takes longer to have a boy than a girl,” the princess went on. “Is that true?”

  “I’ve no idea. Come here, Pandsala, and wipe her down. She’ll take a while yet. I’ll send one of the women down to help you.”

  “Make it Ianthe,” Pandsala said quickly. “Those others give me the fidgets.”

  “As you like. Though why a princess should be attending three servant women in their labors—”

  The girl shrugged. “You saw upstairs how hopeless those others are. We have an obligation to our people, after all. Besides, somebody has to take care of them while we’re waiting for Father’s physician.”

  Urival’s vivid description of the knife-fight came to mind. Roelstra would be twice as dangerous now—wounded animals always were—but Andrade savored the mental picture of Rohan’s blade slicing the High Prince’s flesh. A pity it hadn’t been his heart that had been cut, but Andrade doubted that such a thing could be found in Roelstra.

  She turned at last to the blonde woman, examined her carefully, and nodded her satisfaction. “You’re doing excellently, my dear. Keep an eye on your friend, if you would. You can reassure her, since you’ve been through this before.”

  “Please the Goddess, make my baby a girl,” the woman whispered.

  Puzzled by the vehemence, Andrade replied, “Be easy, now. Boy or girl, you’ll soon have another fine child in your arms.”

  “My Lady—please don’t leave me alone with her!” The woman clutched at her arm.

  “She has more important concerns than you!” Pandsala snapped.

  “Everything will be all right,” Andrade soothed, then gratefully escaped the strange, tense room and went up on deck, hoping the night air would cool and clear her head. The crew, unnerved as men always were by women’s hurryings during childbirth, stood about in clumps and speculated about the mystery of babies. Andrade spared a tired smile as she thought of Rohan waiting for his child to be born. Chay would get him so drunk he wouldn’t remember his own name, let alone how to worry about Sioned.

  Chill river dampness began to seep into her bones, adding a new ache to those in her head and stomach. Roelstra would owe her for this, she promised herself, then staggered as a tiny wavelet rocked the barge out of the rhythm she had more or less grown used to. She clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified, and felt a strong arm supporting her.

  “Nothing to be ashamed of, my Lady,” said a gruff, kind voice. “It’s expected of you faradh’im.”

  A moment later her dignity became irrelevant. The sailor Gernius skillfully held her head over the rails as she lost her battle with the river. She struggled not to faint as well, and after he had wiped her mouth and given her a swallow from his pocket flask, the stars stopped spinning.

  “There, now, my Lady,” Gernius said. “You’ll do better now. I’ve sailed with faradh’im before, and it’s always for the best to give in to it at once.”

  Andrade nodded curtly, thanking him for his care of her with a complete lack of graciousness that only made him smile. She expected her head to crack open like a dragon shell any instant as she made her way back to the hallway outside Palila’s cabin. The door was blocked by women who were supposed to be inside assisting with the birth. Anger sent new strength rushing through her—and also set a whole new chorus of nerves screaming in her skull. “Why aren’t you in there?” she demanded.

  “She ordered us out, my Lady! All but the princess.”

  “Damn you, Ianthe!” Andrade swore under her breath. One princess attending servant women, the other helping the mistress they all loathed. She would understand this if it took all night. “Let me pass. Somebody send for the High Prince. Two of you, get down below and—”

  A thin wail from within the cabin interrupted her, the unmistakable cry of a newborn. The women gasped and surged forward, jostling Andrade away from the door.

  “It’s locked!” one of them called.

  “Ianthe! Open this door!” bellowed Andrade, and winced at the volume of her own voice. But she knew the princess would literally have her hands full, and ground her teeth with impatience. The servants shifted nervously, and one of them suggested calling a few sailors to break the door down. Andrade was about to order that very thing when the door was flung wide.

  Ianthe stood there, holding a violet-wrapped bundle in her arms and wearing a sweet smile. Andrade spared her a searching glance, then went past her to the bed.

  “You’re all right?” she asked Palila.

  “Hmm?” Dreamy eyes smiled at her. “Oh, yes. Yes! I have a son!” She began to laugh. “A son, Andrade! A son!”

  “Goddess blessing,” she responded automatically, although her thoughts whirled as she tried to project the implications of this birth down a dozen different paths. She called Palila’s women, who came forward to make her comfortable and dress her to receive the High Prince. Roelstra triumphant, Andrade thought sourly as she watched. So he had a son at last. Damn him.

  She turned, looking around for Ianthe. But the princess had disappeared—and with her, the child.

  Ianthe gazed down at the murmuring bundle in her arms and laughed softly with excitement. Its sex made no difference to her. Boy or girl, she had won. Now it was merely a choice among advantages; she had thought them all through.

  She paused in the hallway, listening, and laughed again as the ship’s bell pealed a shrill announcement of the birth. It was the agreed-upon signal and Pandsala would be up here soon. Without a boy-child to hand, she would have to bring up a girl. A pity Roelstra had not yet arrived—but Andrade would do even better as a witness. She heard the fretful crying of another infant, quickly hushed, and caught her breath. Her own game was about to begin, the one for which she had devised the rules.

  “Ianthe?” Andrade said behind her, and she hid her jubilation at the perfect timing. “What are you doing? The baby will catch a chill.”

  “Oh, no, it’s a very thick blanket.” She turned, smiling. “I thought all that chattering in there would scare the poor little darling. Such a beautiful child—I long for one of my own.”

  Andrade’s expression clearly indicated her doubts t
hat Ianthe was the motherly type. “Let’s take a look at him,” she said, pushing the blanket away from the baby’s face. “A fine child. Look at all that hair!”

  They had been speaking in normal tones, but the ringing bell and the chatter from within Palila’s cabin obliterated their voices at a few paces. Thus Pandsala came with total innocence into the hall from the stairwell, calling out, “Ianthe, I brought another baby back up with me, but—” She stopped cold and gasped, “Lady Andrade!”

  Ianthe knew her own face was the perfect picture of astonishment; she had practiced the expression in a mirror until she had it without a tremor of betraying amusement. “Pandsala! Why is that baby away from its mother?”

  Pandsala turned sickly white. She staggered slightly against the wall, arms tightening convulsively around the violet-wrapped bundle. Ianthe paused a moment to enjoy the shock in her sister’s eyes, then turned to Andrade.

  “Yes,” the Lady said smoothly. “Why have you brought that baby up here?”

  Pandsala was still staring at Ianthe, horror congealing her face as she realized how she had been tricked. Her lips parted, moved, but no words came forth. Another peal of the bell signaled the arrival of the High Prince, and they all heard Roelstra’s joyous shout.

  “By the Goddess! Can you believe it? I have a son!”

  Ianthe looked at Andrade. “Who told him that?” she whispered.

  Light spat from the many rings as Andrade gripped her arm bruisingly. “Is it a girl? A daughter!”

  “A very sweet little girl,” Ianthe responded with just the right amount of bewilderment. “Father’s used to them by now.”

  Roelstra’s presence filled the narrow hallway. “Andrade! What brings you here? Surely you’re not here to congratulate me on my son!”

  “For lack of your own physician, I attended your lady. But I hardly think the corridor is the best place to greet your new child.” She commanded Pandsala and Ianthe into the cabin with a cold glance. Roelstra followed, sensing something not quite right. Andrade ordered the servants to take the baby from Pandsala’s frantic grasp and leave the room. Then she locked the door and faced the room’s occupants with a frigid smile.

  “Now,” she said, “I will know the truth of this.”

  “What are you talking about?” Roelstra demanded. “I want to see my son!” He looked from one princess to the other, then at the closed door. The second child had been taken out by a maid. His eyes slowly darkened. “I do not believe there were twins,” he added, his voice deadly.

  “You have no son,” Andrade told him, and Ianthe heard the grim satisfaction in her voice. “I’m wondering which of your daughters will explain this.”

  The High Prince swung around to spear Palila with his glance. “What do you know of this?” he shouted.

  “Nothing!” she gasped, huddling back into pillows that were no whiter than her cheeks.

  Roelstra turned on his daughters. “Whose child was just taken away?”

  “Father—please!” Pandsala cried out, and Ianthe judged it a nicely inopportune moment to present her father with his eighteenth daughter.

  “I’m sorry it’s another girl, Father, but she’s very pretty.”

  Roelstra ignored her. “Andrade, discover the truth of this. If I speak again, it will be to order them all executed.” He strode to the windows, ripped back the tapestry, and clasped his hands behind his back. He was shaking.

  Ianthe sat down, the baby in her lap. “I don’t understand, my Lady. You saw me with this child, and then Pandsala came with another. What’s going on?”

  “Shall we find out?” Andrade asked calmly enough, but Ianthe had a moment of raw terror as piercing blue eyes searched her face. She had faced that same look from Rohan a few nights ago. She forced herself to relax, for even if Andrade figured out the whole plot, nothing could be proven against her.

  “Those vipers!” Palila suddenly screamed. “They stole my son!”

  “First you know nothing, and now you know whose fault this is,” Andrade said. “How interesting. Pandsala, explain this little comedy.”

  “I—” She flung an anguished look at Ianthe. “It was her idea! She planned that we would exchange a girl for the boy—”

  “What?” Ianthe exclaimed, wide-eyed.

  “Be silent!” Andrade snapped. “Go on, Pandsala—from the beginning.”

  Ianthe listened as the story gushed from her sister’s mouth, delighted by Pandsala’s guilty incoherence. Andrade’s expression slowly changed from cool composure to shock. Palila lay back against her pillows looking as if she wished herself dead. Roelstra turned and stared at Pandsala as if she had grown talons and a tail. Ianthe sat, cuddling the baby.

  “If I understand you,” Andrade said heavily when Pandsala had sobbed to a halt, “things progressed as follows. Ianthe suggested substituting girl for boy, should Palila have a son. To this end you arranged for those poor women to be brought along, and induced labor in them when Palila began her own. I’ve no doubt we’ll find the appropriate herbs in your things, Pandsala, not Ianthe’s.

  “But then you struck a bargain with your father’s mistress. In exchange for her help in winning Prince Rohan for you, you would substitute a boy for a girl, should Palila produce yet another daughter. Because the only woman who had given birth thus far had a daughter, you had no choice but to bring her up, just in case there was a son to be rid of. Palila would have been no use to you in such a case, so you reverted back to Ianthe’s original plan. Is this the essence?”

  Pandsala nodded, tears streaking her face. “Father—I’m so sorry—I only meant to give you the son you wanted—”

  “Roelstra!” Andrade called out sharply as he took a threatening step toward his daughter, arm raised to strike her. Ianthe saw the white bandage as his sleeve fell away, and wondered if that bitch Sioned had given him the wound while defending her nonexistent honor. Her lip curled, and she bent her head to the child.

  “We have yet to hear from you, Ianthe,” Andrade said.

  She looked up. “What can I say? I never heard so ridiculous a scheme in my life! How could anyone be sure those women would have babies of the right sex for whatever exchange Pandsala seems to have planned? Quite frankly, I’m confused. Am I supposed to have plotted to give Father a son, or deprive him of one?”

  “Go on,” Andrade invited icily.

  Ianthe shrugged. “What kind of monster would give over a royal prince—and her own brother!—to be raised by common servants? I’m not so base as that, Father, nor so stupid. Do you truly think me capable of so horrible a plot? And one which, moreover, is so incredibly impractical?”

  “No,” Roelstra said very softly, his green eyes glittering. “If it had been a boy, you would have arranged to have him killed. I know you, Ianthe.”

  “Father!” And for a moment she was terrified.

  “Stop it, both of you!” Andrade surveyed them in disgust.

  “You’re all vipers, every one of you. What do you plan to do about this, Roelstra?”

  “I’m more interested at the moment in what was planned for the women down below.” He kept on staring at Ianthe. “What would you do, my dear?”

  “Nothing, because I have nothing to do with it,” she replied promptly.

  “But if you did?” he pressed.

  “Father—do you seriously think I could have those women murdered?”

  “I thought you’d see the necessity. You’ve always been clever, Ianthe.” He turned to Pandsala then and asked, “Do you know the penalty for treason?” His gaze flickered to Palila, who gave a wordless cry.

  “Father—no!” Pandsala slipped to her knees, shuddering.

  “Treason,” he repeated softly.

  Andrade stepped between them. “Roelstra,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t do this.”

  “It’s none of your concern, faradhi.”

  “Don’t kill her. Give her to me.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You owe me. The Sunrunner y
ou corrupted died tonight.”

  “Crigo’s dead?” Roelstra looked shaken.

  “It was an accident,” Palila said feverishly, leaning forward, hands outstretched and quivering like delicate leaves. “He took too much, and I—”

  “Silence!” Roelstra shouted at her, and she cringed back again.

  “I’ll take Pandsala as payment,” Andrade said, and Ianthe chortled inside. “And the new child as well. The last thing you need is yet another daughter. Give them to me.”

  “Living death in Goddess Keep,” he mused, eyes shining with cruel humor, and Pandsala screamed. “Very well. They’re yours.”

  “Father—no!”

  “What about Palila?” Andrade asked.

  “You won’t deny she deserves death for killing your faradhi. I’m sure your precious Sioned has told you all about dranath by now, hasn’t she? Pity I didn’t kill her with it tonight.”

  The High Prince and the Lady of Goddess Keep confronted each other and Ianthe watched, bewildered. What had really happened tonight with Sioned?

  “Don’t interfere, Andrade. I warn you.” He paused, “Ianthe.”

  She stood, wary in spite of the victory she was almost sure she’d won.

  “Show her to me.”

  She came forward and held out the baby. He looked at it for a moment, then unwrapped the violet blanket to make sure the child was indeed female. “Chiana,” he said. “Name her that, Andrade, so she’ll always know.”

  Ianthe hid a flinch. The word meant “treason” in the old tongue. Andrade took the child from her and glanced down at the weeping Pandsala.

  “Get up. The first thing you’ll learn is that a Sunrunner kneels to no one. Not even a High Prince.”

  “Unless he is my Sunrunner, not yours,” Roelstra said, and Andrade shot him a vicious glance.