Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (29 page)

The Third Room was reserved for receiving the most important guests, being the largest and best furnished. Differences in the houses that made up the residence made short staircases necessary here and there, and the steps leading down into the chamber were perfect for making an entrance. Kiele always enjoyed the chance those five steps gave her to pause, observe, and collect all eyes. But tonight she didn’t bother with her usual entrance to the room where Chiana and Lyell were seated over steaming cups of taze.

Lyell rose; Chiana did not. Kiele hid her irritation that her sister had not given her the usual mark of respect. She smiled sweetly and poured herself something to drink, then sank into a chair near Chiana’s.

“What a precipitous arrival, my dear! But a very welcome one. Was the journey troublesome?”

The two women exchanged polite nothings for some moments, and Kiele’s good humor returned as she imagined Chiana’s reaction to Masul. To have both under her eyes would provide excellent private entertainment during the long summer ahead.

Chiana was definitely and obviously the daughter of Roelstra and Palila. She had the best features of both, which created a beauty that at nearly twenty-one more than fulfilled the promise of her girlhood. Rich, heavy auburn hair curled enticingly around hazel eyes with startlingly long lashes; she did not have her parents’ height but her figure was in perfect proportion and shown to advantage by the tight bodice and waist of her dress. Kiele noted that Lyell was having trouble keeping his gaze from the full curves defined by that bodice. She made a mental note to seduce him tonight. She was not quite ready to have him stray from her bed—certainly not into Chiana’s.

As was natural, talk turned to their siblings. “Naydra is plump and pleased with herself,” Chiana said scornfully, “even though she hasn’t been able to provide Narat with a son. I haven’t heard from the others in quite some time. Do you have news of them?”

Kiele ran down the list automatically. “Pandsala sits at Castle Crag, as ever, being wise and bountiful. Moria sits in the dower house Prince Rohan gave her, watching the pine cones fall for all I know—or care. How she can stand the Veresch the whole year is beyond my comprehension. Moswen is visiting Prince Clutha—I think she hopes to snare Halian.”

Chiana giggled. “That tall, thin drip of water with the mistress and daughters? What would she want him for?”

“His inheritance, of course,” Lyell said. “I never met any of Roelstra’s daughters who weren’t ambitious.” He said it fondly, with a proud glance at his wife.

“Practical, my love,” she corrected. “And interested in survival.” Her glance was equally loving, but inwardly she cursed him for his unwonted perception. If, however, he understood and was pleased by her ambition, then it would be that much easier to direct him in the matter of Masul. “Where was I? Ah, yes. Rabia’s death has left Patwin inconsolable, it’s said. But he’ll probably find some charming girl this year and marry again. Danladi is at the Syrene court with Princess Gemma. And that’s the roster, Chiana, except for you and me.” She smiled her most winning smile. “I’m so glad you’ve come to help me with the
Rialla
this year. Clutha is so demanding—each has to be grander than the last, and I’ve run out of ideas!”

“I’m so glad I can be of help to you, Kiele. It’ll be such fun! But tell me, what have you heard about this person who claims to be our brother?”

Unprepared for the question, Kiele hoped her sudden confusion would be taken as inability to express her outrage at so presumptuous a claim. Lyell filled the breach, and for one of the few times in her marriage Kiele thanked the Goddess for the existence of her husband.

“It’s annoying, of course,” he said. “But none of our concern.”

“They say he’ll appear at the
Rialla
to claim Princemarch. Could he do that, Lyell?”

He patted her arm. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

But Chiana would, and Kiele knew it. She smiled.

 

Prince Clutha had spent his youth and middle age worrying about whether or not his beloved Meadowlord would be the battleground for the Desert and Princemarch. Mountains separated the two princedoms all along their mutual border, but Clutha’s broad, gently rolling lands lay smack in the middle between the two; his sire and grandsire had both seen warring armies rage across the wheat fields, leaving burned crops and destroyed villages in their wake. Clutha had never much cared which came out on top, so long as the struggle did not take place on his territory. He had worked assiduously for years to keep first Roelstra and Zehava and then Roelstra and Rohan from coming to blows. But for the fourteen years of Rohan’s rule as High Prince and the union of the two lands, his worries on that score had vanished.

No longer concerned about his princedom’s safety from without, he had turned his mind to its interior security. Of all his
athr’im,
none had so much potential for both power and mischief as Lyell of Waes. Not that the man was particularly clever, or capable on his own of doing more than running his city with competence; it was Kiele, Roelstra’s daughter, who worried Clutha. Lyell was tied to the Desert through his sister’s marriage to Lord Eltanin of Tiglath. She and their elder son had died of Plague, but the younger, Tallain, survived as the heir. Clutha had countenanced Lyell’s wedding to Roelstra’s daughter because it would neatly balance the Desert commitment. He had not counted on the young lord’s abandoning the Desert to throw in wholeheartedly with Roelstra in his war against Rohan. Ever since then, Clutha had kept a close eye on the rulers of Waes.

Thus it was that he had left his squire behind after his visit that spring. The youth was not a welcome guest in the residence, but neither Kiele nor Lyell could refuse when their prince offered them his services. Clutha went home to Swalekeep well contented, for this squire was more than just a squire.

Riyan was the only son of Lord Ostvel of Skybowl—and a Sunrunner. At the age of twelve he had gone to Swalekeep for training as a knight, staying for two years before journeying to Goddess Keep to learn the
faradhi
arts. Last summer, at nineteen, Riyan had come back to Meadowlord to prepare for his knighting this year at the
Rialla;
though he had been in effect Lord Urival’s squire at Goddess Keep, only a knight could make a knight, and Urival was not. So Clutha would be the one to give him the accolade and a new sword, at which point he would return to Lady Andrade for further education as a Sunrunner.

It was a different plan from the one that had earned Lord Maarken his knighthood and his rings. Training young lords who were also
faradh’im
was a new proposition, and Andrade was frankly experimenting with the best manner of accomplishing it. Soon it would be decided how Prince Pol would be trained. Would he continue at Graypearl with Lleyn and Chadric, or curtail his pursuit of knighthood as Riyan had done in favor of earlier
faradhi
education than Maarken had had? It was yet to be decided.

Riyan knew very well that he was an experiment, and did not mind in the least. He enjoyed both aspects of his training equally and anticipated being the Sunrunner Lord of Skybowl without the slightest qualm. The difficulties that worried Maarken were things Riyan shrugged off. He understood the older lord’s problem, but did not share it. In the first place, the power he would have as
athri
of Skybowl was much less than Maarken’s as Lord of Radzyn. True, he would have jurisdiction over the gold caves, but others would see to the politics of the Desert and Princemarch. He also felt easier about his
faradhi
status than Maarken. Ostvel never expressed reservations about it the way Lord Chaynal sometimes did. Riyan didn’t blame Chay; people who had never lived among Sunrunners often looked on them somewhat askance. But his own father had spent his childhood and youth at Goddess Keep; Ostvel understood
faradh’im.

Riyan’s orientation was service to his prince, not rule on his own. Maarken would have to preside over Radzyn’s vast independent holdings, help Pol govern, decide great questions of state, lead armies if necessary. None of that was in Riyan’s future. His mother, Camigwen, had been chatelaine of Stronghold, but she had also been Sioned’s dearest friend, sister rather than servant. Ostvel held Skybowl for Rohan, not for himself. Rohan had attempted to give him the same arrangement that he had with the most powerful of his vassals: outright ownership of the land. But Ostvel had refused. Skybowl belonged to Rohan. Ostvel oversaw it and served his prince well and faithfully. When it came his turn, Riyan would do the same—both as
athri
and Sunrunner.

These weighty matters were not on his mind, however, as he lounged in his chamber at the Waes residence that night. He was thinking quite prosaically about the chances of getting to know a certain merchant’s daughter a little better. The girl and her father had been his escort around Waes his first few days here as he got to know the port city. Jayachin was possessed of blue-black hair, eyes so blue they were nearly purple, and a skin like moonlight. Riyan had a deep and profound appreciation of the opposite sex, especially its members who laughed at his jokes and resisted his advances up to a point. Her father had made certain he had gotten nowhere near that point yet, but Riyan was aware that the merchant was not insensible to the honor of having his daughter courted by the heir of Skybowl, friend to Prince Pol himself.

Riyan intended asking Jayachin tomorrow if she’d care to ride out with him for a day in the countryside. The weather for the past days had been brisk, with a strong wind off the bay savaging the new flowers in the garden to the despair of the groundskeepers. But tomorrow might be gentler. He rose from his bed and went over to the windows, parting the green silk curtains to take a look at the sky.

Recognizing the cloak-wrapped figure down below was easy; Kiele always wore a large gold ring set with diamonds on her right hand, and the thing grabbed even the faintest light. Riyan’s brows shot up as she slid into the shadow of a tree. Why hide? he thought. He shrugged, let the curtain drop, and went back to the bed.

Sprawling across the coverlet, he tried to think about Jayachin. But the sight of Kiele tonight combined with his observations since Clutha’s departure fit no pattern. Kiele’s volume of private letters, some to her half sister Moswen at Swalekeep, some to a woman in Einar, was of interest. She sometimes disappeared all day into the city, saying afterward that she had been shopping—but she never came home with any packages. Once or twice he had followed her out of idle curiosity and discovered that she was remarkably adept at slipping into back streets, where he lost her. And, most puzzling of all, she had invited Chiana here to Waes for the summer.

Everybody knew how much Kiele hated her youngest sibling. Chiana’s arrival tonight had been Riyan’s cue to vanish upstairs. He knew he ought to have stayed and watched Kiele with her, but Chiana set his teeth on edge. She was beautiful, no doubt about that, and he supposed she could be charming when and if it suited her. But seeing her fawn all over Lyell had been a trifle too stomach-curdling for Riyan’s taste that night.

Finally he admitted that Kiele’s nocturnal stroll in the gardens bewildered him enough to make him haul on his boots and go downstairs. He had more or less learned the eccentric plan of the residence, and only took the wrong corridor one time out of five on average. Tonight he was accurate, and slipped out into the night.

He went to the place where she had stood, then retraced the steps she must have taken. The groundskeepers were in the process of replacing the white gravel along all the pathways; Riyan was in luck, for the bare dirt had been raked that afternoon. He called up a finger of Fire to give him light enough to see by, and followed her steps. They led directly to the back gate. His brows arched again at that; so it was not an evening meander in the gardens she had been about, but a return from elsewhere in the city. The gate was not fully closed. He opened it, wincing as hinges squeaked softly, and stood in the alley for a few moments, wondering which way she had come and gone. Perhaps this was something Andrade should know about.

Riyan paused, turning his face up to the moons chased by the wind across the sky. He clenched both hands loosely, feeling the four rings that marked him as an apprentice Sunrunner. He could do it on his own, though his technique sometimes left a little to be desired. But these were moons above him now, not the strong and steady light of the sun. The principle was the same; he wondered if he dared it, then smiled.

He closed his eyes, the better to feel the delicate strands of moonlight in his thoughts. With his mind he wove them together, tested them, and was pleased by their easy suppleness and strength. This was simpler than he’d been led to believe.

He threaded his own colors of garnet and pearl and carnelian into the plaited moonlight. They took on a new luster, shimmering subtly as he cast the weaving across dark land and star-sparkled water. Following the shining pathway, he caught his breath at the beauty down below him and nearly forgot to stop at Goddess Keep.

Someone he did not know was on duty tonight in the beautiful chamber with three glass walls where at least one Sunrunner always sat, waiting for any messages that might come on the light. The windows here were kept open except in a downpour, when cloud cover prohibited
faradhi
communication anyway. Riyan practically danced through one window and brushed against the unknown Sunrunner’s colors.

Goddess blessing!
he greeted cheerfully.
Riyan of Skybowl, with word for Lady Andrade.

The person’s startlement was almost funny. After a hasty greeting in return there was an apology and a promise to go find the Lady. Riyan hovered in the room, waiting, imagining what must be going on. The duty Sunrunner would be shouting all over the keep; Andrade would demand to know what in the name of all hells was going on. It would take her some time to climb the stairs from her chambers to the room of glass—