Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (44 page)

The bearded falconer gulped. “Her Graciousness is all perception and genius. We will allow future customers to—to—” He choked slightly and one of his fellows poked him in the ribs. “The bargaining will continue until prices are what the regent specified,” he finished, every word obviously tasting of vinegar.

“Splendid!” Sioned beamed. “So the five hawks—the two I mentioned and three to be chosen by yourselves—are all you owe my son. By the way, the birds are to be tagged for myself, the High Prince, my son, Princess Tobin, and Princess Alasen of Kierst—with whom you have just had the honor of speaking.”

Alasen’s eyes rounded in astonishment at the gift. Sioned took her arm and with a last smiling glance at the falconers led the girl back down the slope. They were barely out of earshot when Sioned could no longer contain her laughter.

“I haven’t had that much fun all year! Can you believe what they were asking for those hawks? Pandsala will be furious.”

“My lady—I really can’t accept—”

“Why ever not? You earned it. And in case you hadn’t noticed, those five hawks didn’t cost me a thing. You said you loved to watch birds in flight, Alasen, and I can’t think of anything lovelier than that golden-faced hawk with her wings spread to the sun. Not another word on the subject.”

Alasen hesitated, then smiled. “From me, no—and thank you! But you’ll hear plenty of words from people who think they’re terribly clever in striking a bargain!”

They returned to the Fair, heading for the food stalls. Delectable scents competed with each other in a riot of temptation, and Sioned gave in gleefully. From meats, cheeses, cakes, vegetables, pies, fruits both fresh and preserved, and hundreds of bottles of wine, she chose an elegant luncheon.

“We’ll take this down to the river so we can eat in peace,” she said, handing Alasen a crock of fresh berries soaked in honey and herbs. She juggled the rest of the food while trying to avoid a tribe of young pages out for a day’s fun. “Then I have to come back and find something else for Pol, and—oh!” She caught her balance and turned to the person who had jostled her, a handsome woman of middle years with a curiously intense gaze.

“Your pardon, noble lady,” the woman murmured.

“No damage done,” Sioned replied cheerfully. “It’s quite a crush here, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But I see you have no bread for your meal. I can recommend the baker from Waes, just down this aisle.”

“Thank you for your suggestion, but—”

“His goods are not to be missed,” the woman interrupted.

Sioned was about to smile another polite refusal. But something urgent, almost desperate, about the woman’s eyes stopped her. “Indeed?” she asked cautiously, wondering how far the woman would go in her insistence.

Far enough to whet Sioned’s curiosity. The woman plucked at the High Princess’ sleeve and whispered, “Please, your grace.”

“Show me.”

She and Alasen followed the woman down the row of stalls to one with a bright red-and-yellow awning—Waes’ colors, displayed by that city’s merchants as all at the
Rialla
Fair showed their lord’s colors by law. Rounds of unleavened bread were piled in baskets, sorted according to size and flavoring. All bore the baker’s mark on top, an impression much like that made by a seal into wax. This baker had chosen a stylized ocean wave as his hallmark, which also appeared in white paint on the wooden stall.

The angular old man behind the counter turned from completing a sale, and his gaze narrowed at the sight of Sioned’s escort. “Ah. Ulricca. Found me another customer, have you?”

“Only the best for this lady,” Ulricca said.

“I have eyes,” the old man grumbled, and pushed aside a yellow curtain at the back of the booth. “Mind that nobody steals while I’m gone,” he admonished, and disappeared.

“The best?” Sioned murmured to Ulricca, who pretended not to have heard. Alasen looked a question at her, and Sioned gave a little shrug.

A moment later the old man was back. In his hands was a large round of bread wrapped in a clean though somewhat floury cloth. Sioned had coins ready, but the old man shook his head. “No money necessary. I know whom I serve.”

“Even a highborn pays for her meals. I’m sure I shall value your best.” She pressed two gold coins into his hand—a hundred times the cost of a loaf of bread.

“I trust so, noble lady.” He bowed and went to help another customer.

“Sioned—where did that woman go?” Alasen glanced around, frowning. “I didn’t see her leave. Who was she?”

“I’ve no idea.” Sioned looked around for Ulricca and found not a trace of her. Shrugging, she took Alasen down to the riverbank and chose a seat beneath a trellis covered in flowering vines. She set out their meal with deliberate casualness and last of all unwrapped the bread. It was cool, and had been a long time from the oven; the cloth was not to protect Sioned’s hands but to hide something about the bread that might arouse suspicion. It was Alasen who spotted the mark on the bottom of the loaf: not the baker’s ocean wave but the rough outline of a dragon in flight, drawn in the dough with a knife.

“Is it a message?” Alasen asked, wide-eyed.

Sioned shook her head. “Identification.” She pierced the edge of the round with her thumbnail. “I’ll open this as if we’re going to put our cheese inside. And if you move just a little to your right, those people eating over there won’t be able to see a thing. Thank you. Aha!” She extracted a folded piece of parchment about the size of her palm, its surface sticky with oil. As she brushed it off, a golden circle fell out and she caught her breath.

“A ring?” Alasen breathed, then gave a start. “A
faradhi
ring!”

Sioned put the note and the ring into her pocket. “Yes,” she answered. “Open the wine and let’s eat.”

When they had finished lunch they gathered up the leavings and walked down to the river, distributing crumbs to the birds. It was only then that Sioned took out the note. “This had better be worth the gold,” she muttered. Alasen was nearly dancing with impatience as Sioned scanned the terse message and replaced it in her pocket. “There’s only one way to separate a Sunrunner from his rings—which this note confirms.”

“What does it say?”

“Forgive me, Alasen. I can’t tell you. But I can let you know that you’re right about its being a
faradhi
ring. It’s the color of the gold—slightly reddish, as you saw.”

“And the Sunrunner who wore it is dead.”

“Yes. Otherwise it would still be on his finger.” She looked down at her own hands. “I’m the only one who ever had her rings stolen from her and lived . . . never to wear them again.”

“But the note—”

“I can’t talk about it, Alasen.”

“You think I’m too young and sheltered, don’t you?”

“I was younger than you when I became Rohan’s princess, so it’d be pretty rotten of me to hold your years against you. But there are certain things you
should
be sheltered from, because honest innocence is the best defense against awkward questions. Right now you know that a Sunrunner is dead and that I received a message. If you don’t know any more, you’ll be safe. Not even princesses with Sunrunner gifts should know everything.”

“
You
do,” Alasen muttered.

“Oh, my dear! If only!” She paused a moment. “You didn’t jump just now when I named you
faradhi.
”

Alasen broke cheese into bits she tossed in the water for the fish.

“Have you ever heard the story of Siona, the grandmother your father and I share? She was a Sunrunner at Goddess Keep who met Prince Sinar at a
Rialla.
They fell in love. It was a terrible scandal, because at the time princes and lords did not marry
faradh’im
—not formally trained ones, at any rate. It was feared that the gifts would emerge in the next generation of rulers, trained by
faradhi
parents without the supervision of Goddess Keep.”

“Times seem to have changed,” Alasen said with a furtive glance at Sioned.

“Andrade changed them to suit herself. It wasn’t until me that the gifts showed up in the Kierstian line—and now you. It’s not so terrible a thing, you know, being a Sunrunner and a princess.”

“But it makes me valuable, doesn’t it?” Alasen burst out. She flung the rest of the cheese into the water. Silver-green fish converged and the water roiled as they fought over the food.

“Ah,” Sioned murmured, understanding. “If not for me and my rule-breaking marriage to Rohan, then you could have admitted your talents, been trained, and lived only as a Sunrunner if you chose. But because of me, you’re an important young lady when it comes to marriage.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alasen said quickly. “You’re right, I know I have the
faradhi
talents. I’ve always known it. I didn’t think it was possible to be a princess and a Sunrunner both. And I’m a Princess of Kierst—I have duties. Even if I had been trained at Goddess Keep, my position demands that I marry a prince or a lord. So you see that it’s better this way. I don’t really have any choice.”

“But there’s a part of you. . . .” Sioned prompted.

“Yes—a part of me that says if I don’t learn those things, then I’ll live my life knowing I’m only half of what I could have been. But I don’t want to become like those calves or sheep, valuable for my
faradhi
bloodlines instead of for myself. It’s bad enough being a princess with the kind of dowry my father will give me. But at least I’ve been trained for that kind of life.” She glanced up at Sioned. “I don’t think there’s any training for being a Sunrunner princess
except
life.”

“Even so,” Sioned reminded her gently, “you want to fly.”

Alasen nodded curtly. “I can’t help it—but I don’t have to give in to it, either.” She dusted her hands clean and shrugged. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t be bothering you with my problems, especially after that note.”

“What I faced was the opposite, you know. I knew how to be a Sunrunner, but I’d no idea what would be demanded of a princess. Come, we ought to be getting back to the encampment.”

Sioned left Alasen at Volog’s tents and went to her own pavilion, where Rohan was taking a midday break from his princely pursuits. She kissed him a greeting and told him first about the hawks, which had him chortling.

“You’re right, Pandsala will be livid! We’ll have to warn her. Alasen sounds a very clever girl.”

“It’s a pity she’s too old for Pol.”

“I thought you had your heart set on Sionell—and Goddess knows she has hers set on him.”

“Every prince should have a choice,” she told him sweetly. “Just as you did.”

“Mmm—as long as the choice coincides with what
you
want, you mean.” He tugged playfully at one of her braids. “My morning wasn’t half so entertaining. Everybody bartered back and forth, Lleyn sat there silent and amused, and no one mentioned the real business of the
Rialla
at all.”

“Firon and Masul, but mostly Masul,” she supplied. “Not even a hint?”

“None. But Lyell has asked to address the princes tomorrow. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”

“Then think about this instead.” She produced the ring and the folded parchment, and told him how she had acquired them. “A little oblique toward the end, don’t you agree?”

He read the note aloud. “ ‘This ring belonged to Kleve, who is dead. His other rings are gone, as are the fingers they circled. His body was being readied for the pauper’s fire when he was identified and given decent burning. His murderer is unknown. But take warning: Word in the city is that the father of a son is in danger usually meant for the Desert.’ ” Rohan chewed his lip for a moment, then said, “Kleve was a good man. A good friend to us. Was he here for Andrade’s purposes, do you think?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to attract attention to the baker, so I didn’t go back to his stall. But I could find him again if you like.”

“And place him in danger? No. He or this woman evidently consider this note all we need to know.” He clenched his fist around the gold circle. “Goddess—poor Kleve. It’s barbaric. They cut off his
fingers
—left him to die and be burned in a common pyre—”

Sioned placed both her hands around his. “Kleve was here in Waes. Kiele’s city. The woman who’s championing Masul. Whatever he found out cost him his life. There’s no other way to read it.”

Rohan moved away from her, still grasping the ring. “It’s not me they’re after—‘usually meant for the Desert.’ That implies the Merida, of course. But ‘the father of a son’?” He swung around suddenly. “Whose son are we concerned with here? Roelstra’s! But he’s already dead—so the threat—”

“Wait, you’ve lost me,” Sioned protested.

“—must be to Masul’s real father! Don’t you see it? Who could provide the most damaging evidence? A man who looked and spoke and moved like Masul, and who isn’t anywhere near dead!”

Sioned’s brows quirked up, then down. “You’re reaching,” she said flatly. “There are dozens of fathers here who have sons—”

“And only one we’re really concerned with,” he reminded her. “But how do we go about finding him?”

“Well, who would
he
want to find?”

“Presumably the people who’ll pay him the most money—either to talk or not to talk. He hasn’t come to us, so I think we can assume he’s looking for the latter. Who would he go to? Kiele? Miyon? Masul himself?”

“If Kiele ordered someone to murder Kleve—and I think she did—then she wouldn’t hesitate to kill this man, too. Permanent silence.” Sioned began to pace. “Who would he talk to? How familiar is he with the politics of this?”

“I don’t—”

He was interrupted by the entrance of a guard. “Your pardon, Highnesses,” the woman said. “The Princesses Pandsala and Naydra request a moment of your time.”

“Yes, of course,” Rohan said distractedly. Then he stared at Sioned. “Do you think—”

The sisters came in, and Pandsala’s first words confirmed their suspicions. “My lord, my lady, I’m sorry to disturb you, but a man came to Naydra this morning—”