Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince (10 page)

“I’ll do better than that,” Rohan promised. “I’ll mingle his ashes with yours and let the winds take them the length and breadth of the Desert.”

The black eyes gleamed. “If you aren’t the most perverse son a man ever had! Yes, do that. I’d like that. Two old dragons.”

“Exactly,” Rohan replied with a smile, amazed and grateful that his father had not questioned his ability to kill the dragon.

“Let me sleep for a while, and then send your mother to me. She’ll need you, Rohan. Tobin has Chay, and you’ll have your duties. But Mila won’t have anyone.” He sank deeper into the pillows. “Poor Mila. My poor darling . . .” He paused for a moment, then repeated, “You’ll have your duties. It’s good that you’ll go through them alone. That’s a cruel thing, but necessary. You’ll have to stand alone, my son. Do it proudly. Not even your wife can share it all. Find someone who understands that.”

Rohan hesitated, then decided to tell him. “I’ve already found a wife.”

Zehava struggled for a moment to sit up, eyes blazing, then collapsed back into the pillows with a grunt. Rohan didn’t fuss over him, knowing it would only irritate him. “Who is she?” the old prince demanded. “What’s her name?”

“Sioned,” he murmured.

“Does your mother know?”

“No one knows except Andrade.”

Another short laugh escaped his lips. “Andrade, eh? Well. The family witch. Don’t let her trap you. She’s sly and does as she pleases for her own reasons.”

“I know. I’ve learned a few things from her over the years.” He grinned down at his father.

Zehava choked again on laughter, forcing himself to calm down as a spasm of pain hit him. “Oh, by the Storm Devil, I wish I could see the prince you’ll make! I never knew you before, Rohan. Promise me you’ll talk to your own sons more than I talked to you.”

He could think of no reply, so he merely nodded. Then he bent and pressed his lips to his father’s hand in token of homage and love. Before the stinging in his eyes could become tears, he said, “Rest now. I’ll send Mother to you in a little while.” Then he left the chamber.

At his own suite he dismissed his squire and stood before the open windows, looking down at his mother’s gardens below. He’d done what he’d promised himself he’d do: ease his father’s worries so he could die in peace. Zehava no longer feared for his son or his lands. It would be a long time before his son stopped fearing for himself.

Stronghold was hushed, and would remain so until Zehava was dead and his pyre extinguished. Rohan felt he was living in a silent shadow-world, alone and not quite real. The only reality was in fire—the dying blaze of his father’s life, the flames that would engulf Zehava’s remains, the light in the Flametower that would be quenched and then relit, and the face he had seen framed in burning red-gold hair. Himself a wraith wrapped in shadows, he could think of those fires but not be lit by them. Flames would make him prince, husband, and—he hoped—lover. But right now they had no power to illumine those future selves.

He listened to the quiet and watched the patterns of shadow play over the trees below. He should be thinking of the time when his own light would kindle and spread across the Desert with a very different blaze than his father’s. He should be thinking about his bride’s arrival, his mother’s anguish, his sister’s and nephews’ inheritances from Zehava. The hundred details of death and the million more of life ongoing should be occupying his mind. But Rohan inhabited the shadows of Stronghold, waiting for the fire.

Legend had it that long ago when the world was very young, the first Sunrunners had learned from the Goddess how to weave light. Fire, pleased to be the source of their weavings, struck bargains with her brothers Earth and Air so that
faradh’im
might work their magic unmolested. But their sister Water proved recalcitrant, being Fire’s natural enemy; though she could not interfere with Sunrunners gliding over her on light, she proved remarkably resourceful when they attempted to cross her in person. Placid Earth did not much care what happened above him, being constantly busy with his own concerns, but whimsical Air sometimes gave Water a little help, blowing up fearful gusts whenever a
faradhi
was foolish enough to sail on the open sea. Help or not, Water enjoyed herself every time a Sunrunner so much as rowed across a stream.

Thus the ten Sunrunners in Sioned’s bridal party looked in dismay at the wide expanse of the Faolain River and gulped. Camigwen reined in her horse, staring at the rushing river. “I am
not
looking forward to this,” she stated.

Ostvel laughed at her. “It’s only one little river.”

“We went a hundred measures out of our way to avoid the wider crossings,” he reminded her.

Sioned sighed. “A good thing, too, or I’d arrived at Stronghold not fit to speak with.”

When Ostvel laughed again, Cami chided, “Oh, stop it! You don’t know what it’s like to look at that river and know you’re going to be deathly ill!”

“Ah, but
you
don’t know what it’s like to set sail to Kierst-Isel, the sun overhead and the wind at your back, sails tight and deck swaying beneath your feet—”

“Ostvel,
please!
” Sioned begged.

He winked at her. “You’re definitely going to the right country,” he teased, then tossed his reins to Cami and swung down off his horse. “Here, hold onto these while I bargain with the riverman for a decent passage fee.”

Camigwen gave the water another nervous glance and muttered, “Why don’t they just build a bridge?”

“Too easy,” Sioned answered with another sigh. “Ostvel says he’ll send us across first and leave the baggage for last. Nice of him to give us some time to recover.”

“And there’s this monster to cross again on the way back,” Cami moaned. “I might stay with you in the Desert forever! Just look at that flimsy raft!”

“It doesn’t look so bad,” Sioned replied, trying to sound confident but not at all sure herself about the manner of their crossing. She dismounted, wanting nice, firm ground beneath her feet for as long as possible, and helped Meath organize the line of horses to be loaded. All the
faradh’im
were already green beneath their tans.

When Ostvel returned with the riverman, Cami demanded of the latter, “Why isn’t there a bridge?”

“Across this water, lady? How do you propose we span
that?
” He pointed proudly to the river. “She swells up in the spring like a pregnant doe to the very walls of my house. My grandsir, now, he lashed together a bridge one autumn, and it worked fine until the spring when the Lady River decided she didn’t like it and swept the bridge away—and my grandsir with it.”

“Oh,” Cami said, peering at the deceptively smooth surface of the water. “Well, she doesn’t look too angry now,” she added.

“See that little ripple halfway across?” He indicated a spot where sunlight glanced off a pulsing bulge in the water. “The current there runs faster than the best-blooded horses Lord Chaynal of Radzyn Keep ever bred. I took his lordship across some years ago and he told me that himself!”

Sioned ached to ask questions about Lord Chaynal, whom she knew to be the prince’s brother-by-marriage. But she held her tongue, for it would not be seemly for a future princess to be caught gossiping.

“Never fear, ladies,” the riverman finished cheerfully. “Eldskon is what my mother named me, the way all good folk have names that mean something in the old way of speaking, and it’s a good name in my trade for it means ‘soft passage.’ And that’s what I promise you,” he ended with a flourish.

“Goddess, I hope so,” Camigwen muttered.

The raft was big enough to hold twelve loosely hobbled horses tethered to its railing, stout tree trunks lashed together with wrist-thick ropes. But the instant Sioned set foot onto the flat wooden planks, her stomach fluttered and her eyes ached with the beginnings of the usual
faradhi
reaction to water. She swallowed hard. This was only the shallows, where the raft floated gently in calm water without any currents. Reminding herself that she had her dignity to maintain, she vowed to stay stone-faced and in possession of her breakfast.

It was problematic whether the horses or the Sunrunners regarded the river ahead with greater trepidation. The raft surged forward, guided by two huge cables anchored on the opposite shore. Ostvel kept his eyes on the horses, Eldskon on the heavy iron rings through which the cables were threaded. The raft used the river’s own speed for the crossing, the cables angled downriver to take full advantage of the currents. There was a similar crossing upstream angled for east-west travelers. Sioned had carefully examined the arrangements and while her rational mind told her the system was sound, her senses froze as the raft bumped into a current and she realized she was entrusting her life to a few planks, some rails, and a couple of woven cables. The notion was not reassuring to her stomach.

Camigwen was huddled on her knees, grasping the lower rails with both hands. Sioned was the only other
faradhi
still upright. The horses shifted nervously and whinnied to their fellows back on the western shore as the raft swayed and bumped as the main current caught it. Sioned managed to keep her feet, but as they hit the bulge of fast water in midriver she could no longer keep her breakfast. Clinging to the rails, she bent over and was inelegantly sick.

A little while later she was vaguely aware of someone carrying her onto dry land. She was placed on a warm, sunny patch of grass and heard someone say in an amused voice that she would feel better soon. She wanted to tell him he was a damned liar, but hadn’t the strength. It was a mistake to open her eyes; the sunlight hit her like a sword to the skull. Croaking out a feeble curse, she fainted.

Shouts roused her. Sitting up blearily, she clutched at her head with both hands and gulped down nausea, wondering dully why her stomach thought there was anything left to rid itself of. The sunlight stabbed into her eyes again, but at least that was bearable. What was not was the confusion of her vision. The horses tied up nearby were very big, then very small, then fogged as if the winter mists of Goddess Keep had descended around them. The riverbank receded into the far distance, then snapped back so suddenly she put her hands to ward it off. Sioned was vastly tempted to lie back and be miserable for a few days, as it appeared she was actually going to live through this. She hoped the prince would appreciate it.

But someone was still shouting, and despite the confounding of her senses she forced herself to rise to her knees. She squinted, trying to bring the raft into focus. Halfway across the river, it seemed halfway across the world.

And the horses that should have been on it were gone.

“Sweet Goddess,” she breathed. Downstream she glimpsed the terrified animals trying hopelessly to fight the current. Her own cream-colored mare submerged and did not reappear. Sioned unwisely attempted to stand, failed, and furiously tried again. This time she gained her feet and dug her nails into her palms. Staggering to the riverbank, she fell; the icy shock of the water and cut of stones into her knees and hands combined to clear her head. She gulped down water, choked, and lifted her head to the river.

She saw at once what had happened. The cables on the opposite shore had broken, and upon their snapping the raft was at the river’s mercy. The lurch had sent the horses against the rails, their weight breaking the wood. The cables on this side were the only reason the raft had not hurtled downstream, for those on board hung on tight, trying to pull the raft to safety. Sioned cried out as she looked around to the moorings. The cables, straining against the four massive posts that anchored them, had began to fray.

Sioned pushed herself upright and stumbled over to where Mardeem lay face down on the grass. She rolled him over and slapped him, yelling his name, then hauled him by the ankles down to the river. She repeated this treatment on Meath and Antoun, and the snow-cold water did its work.

“Mardeem!” Sioned cried, and he winced at the sound of her voice. “Wake the others, quickly! Antoun, Meath, get up and come with me. Hurry!”

She tugged the two men to their feet and led them to the cables, where they wrapped their hands around the taut cords and began to pull. The work of three people against the surging river was hopeless, and Sioned knew it. Pain tore through her shoulder muscles and she grunted with effort, hearing Mardeem’s chanted curses just behind her. Part of her wanted to laugh hysterically, for he was as poetic in his oaths as he was in his songs.

Eldskon and Ostvel lashed the cables around the iron ring, for to pull would be to negate Sioned’s plan. More hands were helping now. She looked around and saw Camigwen bringing two horses. Ostvel yelled encouragement as the ropes were secured on saddles, and with the added power the raft began to move more surely to the bank. But as the distance narrowed, Sioned saw that the ring was pulling free of the splintering boards around it. Those on board grabbed hold of the cables to ease the strain.

At last the river let go of the raft and it was hauled into the shallows. Its shaken occupants leaped off as
faradh’im
collapsed like felled trees. Sioned had no memory of toppling over into the sand, nor of being carried once more to soft, warm grass. It was past midday before she knew anything at all, and her first sensations were decidedly pleasant. She lay wrapped in a blanket of shadows and sunlight, and there was a taste of fresh mossberries on her lips, sweet and spicy. She sighed luxuriously, turning her head to look at the smiling blue eyes she knew would be watching her, framed in sunsilk hair.

“Well,” said a voice nearby. “It’s nice of you to wake up so we can thank you, Sioned.”

Disappointment pierced her. This was not the voice she had thought to hear. Memory rushed back and she opened her eyes, propping herself on her elbows to peer up at Ostvel. In the next instant every muscle in her body seemed to twist, and she sank back onto the grass with her lower lip caught between her teeth. The prince would
not
appreciate giving welcome to a cripple.