Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince

by Melanie Rawn

  “Makes me the perfect mate for dragon’s spawn like you, doesn’t it?”

  Sioned stood at her windows, watching the sand and sky. She had never seen so many colors as there were here in the Desert. She had not expected this bounty when she married Rohan, had not dreamed that her faradhi senses would find shades of light here that she had never seen anywhere else.

  Her childhood home of River Run had been painted in blue and green, lush with flowers and the brilliant plumage of birds. Goddess Keep’s sunsets were the amazement of all who saw them. She had traveled through sunny farmland and shadowed forest, absorbing the colors of abundant life. But after six years of watching the seasons change, she was still caught by the colors unique to this harsh land: Each sunrise over the Long Sand brought subtle variations on blue and red and yellow; clouds sometimes streaked the dawn sky like wind-blown wheat sheaves tinted a thousand different colors. The blazing noon sun showed her frail silvers and palest golds across the sands, ruddy darknesses stealing along the rocks, and white so pure it hurt her eyes. Evening, especially in spring and autumn, created a rosy glow and strange greenish shadows that faded to purple along the dunes and wrapped Stronghold in mysterious warmth as night fell. And the stars—she had always thought them mere pinpricks of shining in the sky, but in the Desert she felt their colors, scarlets and blues and fiery oranges that sparked her senses. Most of all she loved the colors she sensed in the stars.

  Most would say the Desert was lifeless. Except for small, isolated places, there were no trees, no grass, no flowers; no creatures singing to each other in the wastes; no rivers glinting with fish; no crops, no fruit ripening amid broad leaves. It was unlike any place Sioned had ever lived, yet she knew there was life here. She could touch it with her faradhi senses. The life of the Desert was in its millions of colors.

  She turned as someone entered the antechamber, and smiled to see the vivid colors worn by her nephew Tilal. She went to him and set a cloth cap on his dark curls. “There—that finishes your outfit. Come look in the mirror.”

  He did, eyes widening. “Oh! You put in River Run’s colors with my lord’s!”

  “One day your knight’s tunic will be in the same combination—Rohan’s blue and silver, your own black and green. If it’s all right with your father, that is.”

  “Mama will be thrilled,” Tilal answered with a mischievous grin.

  Sioned tried unsuccessfully to restrain a smile. To cover the lack of respect due her sister-by-marriage, she returned to the windows and gazed down into the courtyard. The horses were saddled and ready. Soldiers filled their waterskins at the well, and Ostvel strode among them checking off things on his list. The sight of him reminded Sioned of something else, and she beckoned the boy over.

  “Did Ostvel give you the purse your mother sent? You’ll find plenty of things to spend your money on, but remember to save some for the Rialla.”

  “I only took half, but I hope it’s enough to buy new strings for Ostvel’s lute.”

  Sioned’s brows arched in surprise. Ostvel had not touched the lute in a long time—and not because the strings were old, she told herself sorrowfully. It was impossible to persuade him to make music when Camigwen was no longer here to listen.

  “I made him promise to teach Riyan,” Tilal finished smugly.

  “That was very clever of you! I wish I’d thought of it myself.” She took a few coins from a bowl atop a large chest and tossed them one by one at the boy, who laughed as he caught them. “Use these to buy the strings, and spend your own money on yourself.”

  “Thank you, my lady! Now I know I can afford the other things I want!”

  “Such as?”

  “They’re a secret.”

  “Even from me?” she coaxed.

  He hesitated. “Well . . . yes. Is that all right?”

  “Of course. But do find something you want, Tilal. Riyan has quite enough toys.” She laughed as the squire’s green eyes went wide with amazement that she had guessed correctly. It had not been so difficult; the self-centered child who had arrived at Stronghold had undergone a great many changes, all of them for the better. “Your mother sent that money so you could have a few luxuries for yourself,” she reminded him. “And there’s nothing wrong with buying yourself a present now and then.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Sioned,” he said as he pocketed the coins. Walvis bellowed his name from the courtyard below and he leaned out the window to yell down, “I’m coming!” Then he went back to the mirror to inspect himself once more.

  “You look very grand,” Sioned teased. “And in a few more years you’ll be spending all your money to impress the ladies.” She adjusted the fall of his light cloak. “You won’t let my lord ride too far or fast in this heat, will you? And make sure he eats a good dinner, whether in the halls or up in his own rooms. You know how he is.”

  “Yes,” Rohan said from the doorway. “We all know how he is. Tilal will make sure I come back pampered and fat, without so much as a broken fingernail. Woman, you worry too much.” He tugged the cap playfully down around Tilal’s ears. “Let that be a lesson to you. Choose a wife who’s convinced you’re older than ten winters and can take care of yourself.”

  The boy resettled his cap and grinned up at Rohan. “I’ve never seen you lesson her on the matter, my lord!”

  Rohan snorted. “Run downstairs and tell Ostvel I’ll be along soon.”

  Tilal bowed formally to them both and left the room, remembering to close both inner and outer doors behind him. Alone with her husband, Sioned suddenly found she had nothing to say, could not even look into his eyes. Her gaze traced the silver embroidery on his gold silk outer robe, thinking he would glisten in the sunlight from the top of his blond head to the toes of his polished boots. Beneath the sleeveless knee-length robe he wore blue trousers and a white shirt, with a topaz set in silver resting below the hollow of his throat.

  “I know you want to come with me,” he said quietly. “But if the rumors are true and the Merida are readying another attack against Tiglath, I want you safe in the south.”

  She nodded. The progress had been her idea, after all. Visiting each keep would spare them the bother of a vassals’ meeting at Stronghold before the Rialla. Sioned would go to the southern holdings while Rohan toured the north. The tactic was satisfactory on many counts. Each athri would be honored by the presence of one of his rulers, which would emphasize his personal relationship with them and underline Sioned’s status as a working princess—as well as prevent the vassals from coming together to indulge in their usual squabbles. Besides all that, Rohan and Sioned would be able to see for themselves the state of each holding, and not be dependent on other sources of information regarding crops and herds. The convocation of vassals would be held after their return from Waes this year, when Rohan would present them with the terms he had won from the other princes on their behalf.

  “I’ll miss you,” he said, stroking her braid with one finger.

  “You’ll have a care to yourself won’t you?” she asked wistfully.

  “Walvis and Tilal will see it to. I’m sure you gave each of them a list a measure long.” He took her face between his hands. “Smile for me, beloved. When you don’t smile, the whole world is dark.”

  She rubbed her cheek to his palm and closed her eyes.

  “Sometimes I wish I was a Sunrunner, too, or had inherited at least a little of what Tobin did. Then I could talk to you when we’re apart.” He embraced her, rocking gently back and forth. “You take care as well, my lady.”

  “Ostvel says if you give him one more lecture on the subject he’ll tear his hair out.”

  “I haven’t been that bad, have I?”

  “Worse.” She drew away and smiled. “Remember to give Eltanin’s little boy the present I sent along. Walvis has it, and gifts for the others as well.”

  “Hadaan will be furious that I didn’t bring you along to Remagev so he can flirt with you.”

  “Your kinsman is a sweet old d
evil who flirts better with his one eye than most men do with both! Give him this for me.” She kissed Rohan’s lips soundly.

  When she drew back he said, “I’ll tell him about it. Most of it.”

  “Well, don’t tell him about this one.”

  When she finally let him up for air, Rohan reflected dazedly that it would be nothing less than kindness to omit a description; Hadaan was an old man. Rohan was a young one and wasn’t sure he’d survive.

  He kept and arm around her waist as they walked through to the hall. “Come downstairs with me?”

  “Certainly not. There’ll be a stormcloud of dust and I’ll be coughing for days. I’m going to be a properly forlorn wife and stand on the battlements waving my scarf.”

  Rohan made a face at her. “And people call me a fool!” He paused at the top of the stairs. “One of Andrade’s itinerant faradhi is supposed to be at Tiglath soon. If there’s any news, send to me there.”

  “I will.” Sioned smoothed back his hair and smiled. “Goddess watch over you and bring you home safe, love.”

  After kissing both her palms in homage, he hurried down to the courtyard. A short while later he was at the head of the seventeen riders wending their way through the tunnel into the Desert. Tilal was just behind him, Rohan’s standard proudly secured in his right stirrup. Walvis came next as knight-commander of the squadron. Emerging from the tunnel into glaring daylight, Rohan waited until he was sure he could see the keep, then turned in his saddle. He nearly burst out laughing, for there was the promised slender figure—waving a piece of silk the size of a battle flag. He called a halt and Walvis, understanding his wink, had the riders wheel smartly about to salute their princess.

  Rohan saw the smiles on even the craggiest warrior faces. His people loved Sioned nearly as much as he did. They were proud of her beauty and her status as a Sunrunner; they approved of her care of him and his obvious happiness with her; and they loved her for herself. She tended their wounds and sicknesses, helped their wives in childbed, and had established a school for their children. From her household monies she dowered their marriageable daughters and sons. That she was utterly useless when it came to the everyday running of the keep was a matter for affectionate laughter, a foible that endeared her to them. Rohan knew that if he was ever so far out of his senses that he attempted to take a mistress, his own retainers would make sure he returned to his right mind in a hurry.

  But sooner or later his vassals would start hinting about his childless state. He was fertile; it was Sioned’s inability to carry a child that was the problem. The athr’im honored and respected her; half the letters from Stronghold bore her signature alone, and by now her authority was firmly established. She had studied Desert laws and customs thoroughly; her decisions were wise and fair when she sat in justice alone during Rohan’s absences from Stronghold. But the vassals would want the assurance that only a male heir could give. Rohan shrugged in sudden annoyance that verged on anger. It was as if they considered a woman to be worth no more than the sons she produced, no matter what else she accomplished and how much she gave.

  But at least he would not have to deal with any of that for some days yet. His first destination was Remagev Keep, the last of a series of castles that had once reached across the Long Sand all the way to the sea. Through the years the fortresses had been abandoned one by one as the land became impossible to live on, even for the hardiest sheep and goats. Remagev was the only one not in ruins, and from it Rohan’s great-grandsire had begun his reconquest of the Desert and driven the Merida north. His distant cousin Lord Hadaan now held the keep. Childless, the last of his branch of the royal line, he had asked Rohan some time ago to find a worthy athri for Remagev—and part of the reason Ostvel had yielded his usual position to Walvis on this journey was that Rohan intended Hadaan to notice the young man.

  After Remagev they would visit Skybowl, then several small manor holdings nestled in the hills, and then Tiglath. Rumor had the Merida poised in the rocky plains for yet another attack. Rohan wondered sourly if they would ever learn. Sioned had discovered a spy this past winter at Stronghold, a wayfarer craving a few nights’ shelter, who had been caught trying to break into Rohan’s private study. She had been all for sending the man back to his people in a large number of small boxes. Gentle as his lady could be, she had a streak of ruthlessness when it came to protecting what was hers—especially Rohan himself. He had ordered that the spy be given a horse but no water, and set him free in the Desert with a few trenchant words of warning for his Merida masters.

  But they would never give up. Rohan knew that only too well, and it saddened him. War was such a waste of lives and substance and time. Yet he had no choice. The Merida had sworn to take Stronghold and butcher every member of Rohan’s family. So he must keep fighting, keep pushing them back, keep them penned up where they could work no serious mischief. He cursed the lack of alternatives, but it seemed he would have to live by the sword for some years yet so that his sons could live in peace.

  Sons. The forbidden subject again. He called Walvis forward, brows arching as the young man made him a formal bow from his saddle.

  “I’m practicing my manners.” Walvis explained. “Lord Hadaan is a real stickler for proper etiquette.”

  “When it amuses him—or when he’s got his second eye in! Father used to tell me Hadaan kept the eye he’d lost to a dragon in his pocket and sometimes changed it with the real one when he wanted to scare people. I used to stare at him until my head ached, trying to figure out which was the real one! But I’d like you to keep both your eyes open, Walvis, and take a good look at Remagev for me. I’m considering some changes there. It could turn into a real asset if we put some effort into it. Hadaan is more warrior than athri, and the last time we visited the place was a mess. I’d hate to have to abandon it.”

  “I’m no expert yet, though Ostvel’s been teaching me. But I’ll survey the place as best I can, my lord, and tell you what I think.”

  Rohan turned the conversation to other things, satisfied with his ploy. Walvis would come away from Remagev excited about plans for renovating it and remain unaware of who might be in charge of the work until Hadaan made his decision. If all was agreed, then Sioned could start looking for a bride for the boy—a redhead? came the whimsical thought. Rohan would elevate Walvis to athri of Remagev Keep, Hadaan could live out his remaining years untroubled by duties he had never liked anyway while giving Walvis the benefit of his experiences in the Desert—and Rohan would end up with a revitalized keep, a loyal vassal, and the satisfaction of having rewarded the landless youth for his many years of service. Yes, he reflected with a smile, sometimes being a prince was an excellent thing indeed.

  With Rohan gone, attention turned to preparations for Sioned’s departure for the south. She and Ostvel would head straight for Radzyn and spend several days there before following the line of holdings along the coast to the Faolain. Sioned’s brother, Lord Davvi, would cross the river and meet her for a private visit at Rohan’s suggestion for the twin purposes of family duty and political soundings. Prince Jastri, kin to the athr’im of River Run, had succeeded to his father Haldor’s princedom, and Rohan had a few ideas about expanding the small port at the river’s mouth in a joint venture that could prove profitable. From there, Sioned would travel northward and visit the rich lands bordering Syr and Meadowlord, whence most of the Desert’s substance in foodstuffs came, and wait there for Rohan before they journeyed together to Waes.

  She looked forward to the progress. Although she wished Rohan could be with her, she was eager to confirm her standing with those she now thought of as her vassals as well as her husband’s. She sat up late at night to review everything about each lord and holding, choosing gifts for wives and children, discussing possibilities with Ostvel. But toward midnight on the day before she was due to leave, the moonlight called her outside to the gardens.

  She stood before Princess Milar’s fountain, watching the water turn to a shower of sil
ver light. There was no breeze; drops fell in a perfect rippling circle out to the blue and white tiles that had been brought all the way from Kierst. Sioned sat on the edge of the pool and dipped her fingers into the water, her rings glittering. What had she brought to Stronghold? she wondered. Milar had made the rough keep into a miracle of comfort and beauty. Her touch was everywhere. What would Sioned leave behind?

  She knew her own worth both in private and in politics; six years as wife and princess had challenged her and not found her lacking. Except for a child. But if a wife was expected to give her husband sons, even more were they expected of a princess.

  Tobin had sons. One of them would continue Zehava’s line if Sioned could not. Ianthe had sons, she reminded herself bitterly—three of them, where her own father had produced none. It seemed Sioned had something in common with Roelstra after all. But Rohan would never be like him, would never seek sons in other women’s bodies. She shook her head, knowing that she should have consulted the Mothertree back at Goddess Keep before she had left. But if she had, and had been shown herself with empty arms, she would never have come to the Desert. The girl she had been would not have known that a princess was worth more than her production of male heirs.

  But whatever else she was to Rohan, she knew she would not be the mother of his children. She splayed her fingers in the water and counted off her rings—this for calling Fire, that for conjuring with moonlight, another declaring her to be a Master Sunrunner. She would give them all for a son—all except the great emerald on her left hand. The stone was a symbol of hope and renewal, the springtime jewel of fertility. Her lips curved thinly. How the gem mocked her.

  And how its green fire suddenly blazed, catching her with a lash of color. The fountain of water drops became a fountain of fiery sparks falling in a perfect circle just beyond her fingertips. And within that green-gold-silver light she saw herself, and a child in her arms.