Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (5 page)

And Pandsala herself? She smiled slightly and shrugged. Neither as beautiful nor as clever as Ianthe, she was nevertheless far from stupid and had learned many things in her years as regent. She wondered if her dead sister, in whatever hell she surely inhabited now, could see Pandsala’s current position and influence. Pandsala hoped so. The knowledge would torment Ianthe more than anything else that could be devised for her punishment.

Pandsala’s dark eyes squeezed shut, her fingers curving into claws at the thought of Ianthe, for all that her ruin at her sister’s hands was over twenty years past and she had long since tasted her revenge. Their father’s last mistress, Palila, had been pregnant and due to deliver sometime after the
Rialla
of 698. But just in case she was early, three other child-heavy women had been brought along—for Ianthe planned that if Palila delivered the precious male heir, then a girl born to one of the others would be substituted. At least, that had been the plot outlined to Pandsala.

Rising from her desk, she went to the windows and stared across the narrow canyon gouged out of the mountains by the Faolain River. She could hear the rush of water far below, but no sound of the keep’s daily life reached her in this aerie. Gradually she calmed down enough to recall the past without succumbing to blind fury, and even with something resembling dispassion.

Most people would have said she deserved what she had received that night long ago. She had promised Palila that if yet another girl was born, she would find a way to substitute a boy birthed by one of the servant women, who would be drugged into early labor. Roelstra would have his long-desired heir, Palila would be the all-powerful mother of that heir, and Pandsala would have first place in the pursuit of young Prince Rohan. Both plots had been insane gambles based solely on the sexes of unborn children. So insane, in fact, that Ianthe had had no trouble denouncing Pandsala to their father the night of Chiana’s birth. Clever, ruthless Ianthe—Pandsala could still see her smile as Roelstra condemned his newborn daughter and Pandsala to the exile of Goddess Keep. Ianthe had been rewarded with the important border castle of Feruche.

But the real irony was not Pandsala’s discovery of her
faradhi
talents under Andrade’s tutelage, nor even her present position of power. The laughable part was that only moments after Ianthe had betrayed her, a boy had indeed been born to one of the servant women. Had the timing been just a little better, Pandsala would have been the victor, not Ianthe.

Her gaze went to her hands and the five rings of her earned Sunrunner rank. Another ring set with topaz and amethyst symbolized her regency. The golden stone of the Desert shone brighter and more compelling in the sunlight than did Princemarch’s dark purple gem. And that was how it should be, she told herself.

Her lack of filial devotion to her dead father’s aims troubled her as little as her lack of sisterly affection. Years ago she had accepted a charge from the man who might have been her husband, on behalf of the boy who might have been her son. Her life had found focus when Rohan made her Pol’s regent. For them she governed sternly and well; for them she had made this land a model of law and prosperity; for them she had learned how to be a prince. For them, anything.

She returned to her desk and sealed the letter to Chiana, watching her rings gleam. She alone of all Roelstra’s daughters had inherited the gift; it ran not through his line but that of her mother, Princess Lallante, his only wife. Had Ianthe been similarly gifted—Pandsala shuddered, even at this late date. Ianthe with Sunrunner powers would have been well-nigh invincible.

But Ianthe was dead, and Pandsala was here, alive, and second among women only to the High Princess herself. She remembered then that she had a report to write to Sioned, and forgot Chiana, her other half sisters, and the past.

Lady Kiele of Waes was also at her desk that evening, and also considering the gift Pandsala possessed and she did not. Kiele did the best with what she had—but how much more she could have done had she the ability to weave the sunlight and see what others might not wish seen.

Smoothing the folds of a gown made of green-gold tissue, she consoled herself with what she
did
possess. But in a short while she would preside over a dinner for Prince Clutha, in Waes to discuss arrangements for this year’s
Rialla,
arrangements that would nearly bankrupt her and Lyell. Again. Clutha had never forgiven Lyell for siding with Roelstra during the war with the Desert, and all these years of being watched and suspected had not been amusing. Clutha had hit on the idea that making Waes pay the entire expense of the triennial gathering would keep its lord and lady too short of funds to work mischief elsewhere. Treading the extremely narrow path their overlord had decreed kept Kiele in a near-constant state of nerves. Lyell, however, never seemed to mind. He hadn’t enough wits to mind; he was too busy being grateful that he still possessed his life, let alone his city.

Kiele’s fingers trailed along the gold headpiece on her desk. It was not quite a coronet, for not even she would dare that in the presence of her prince. Her pretty mouth twisted as she calculated yet again the chances of wearing the real thing one day. None, unless a great many people died. Though elderly, Clutha was in the best of health, as was his son Halian. The blood connection between them and Waes was in the female line and so remote that Kiele had no hope of its ever becoming applicable to the inheritance of Meadowlord.

The best she could do was set up one of her half sisters as Halian’s wife. She had been well on the way to it some years ago when her choice, Cipris, had died of a slow, mysterious fever. Halian had been sincerely attached to Cipris, but that had not prevented him from taking a mistress to console himself. He had sired several children on the woman—all girls, for which grace Kiele thanked the Goddess. Had there been a son, he might have become the next heir to Meadowlord, with no blood ties to Kiele at all.

Halian had been quite happy in his illicit domestic life and reluctant to exchange it for legal marriage. But now his mistress was dead. Kiele smiled as she put her signature to a letter inviting her half sister Moswen to Waes for the summer. Moswen would make Halian an excellent wife—although Kiele wondered why she took the trouble to elevate one of the hateful Lady Palila’s daughters. Then she shrugged. She worked with what she had. Moswen was the right age, reasonably pretty, and grateful to Kiele for past favors. She was also hungry for the trappings of power. She saw the jewels, the lovely clothes, the deference, and it was these things she desired. Of the realities of power she saw and understood nothing. Kiele considered her the perfect choice, for she would be easy to instruct and influence. Once Clutha died and both Halian and Lyell were out from under the old man’s eye, Meadowlord would be Kiele’s to play with as she wished. Halian had proved himself the type of man who could be led by what was between his legs—just like Lyell. With Moswen leading Halian, and Kiele leading
her
. . . .

A shift of light in the mirror caught her attention, and the door behind her swung open to admit her husband. Lyell was an angular, pallid man whose blue eyes and nearly colorless blond hair were more faded than ever by the Waesian colors of red and yellow that made up his formal clothes. Kiele frowned slightly as he approached her, for she had ordered his squires to dress him in a shade of green to complement her own gown. They would have been a matched set, and Clutha would have been honored by their wearing his color. But Lyell was stubborn about his family dignity and wore his own colors on all formal occasions. In some ways his stubbornness had served Kiele well, for she might have made some tactical errors in the past if not for Lyell’s insistence on the rigidities of tradition. Faint gratitude stirred at the memory, and her frown became a smile by the time he crossed the chamber and stood behind her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking her bared shoulder.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said demurely. “I had thought to save this gown for the
Rialla,
but—”

“Wear it then, too. Not even High Princess Sioned can have anything so magnificent.”

Mention of Rohan’s Sunrunner wife, who with her fire-gold hair and forest-deep eyes wore green even better than Kiele did, decided her against making the dress part of her
Rialla
wardrobe. “Did you have something to tell me?”

“A letter arrived for you from somebody in Einar. You said you didn’t wish to be disturbed while dressing, so I opened it for you.” He produced a piece of folded parchment from his pocket.

A curse nearly left her lips when she recognized the handwriting and the remains of a dark blue wax seal. Forcing herself to stay calm and casual as she placed the letter aside, she said, “It’s from my childhood nurse, Afina, who married a merchant in Einar.” It was the truth, but she did not add that Afina had been the only servant at Castle Crag to care for her after her sister died of Plague. Afina had wanted to come to Waes, but had been persuaded that she could be much more useful in the vital port of Einar, the first link in Kiele’s chain of informants. Merchants heard everything, and usually passed it on to their wives.

“A boring letter, really—just family news. I don’t know why you bother with a former servant, Kiele.”

“She was very kind to me when I was a little girl.” To distract him from the subject, sure to touch soon on the unsuitability of the Lady of Waes corresponding with a mere merchant’s wife, she brought her arms closer together to deepen the valley between her breasts. Lyell’s fingers strayed downward from her shoulders, as she had intended.

“Let’s go down late for dinner,” he suggested.

“Lyell! It took me all afternoon to put this on!”

“It’ll take only a few moments to get it off you.”

“We don’t dare insult Clutha,” she scolded, winking at him. “On any other night—”

“But it would be perfect
now.
I’ve talked with your women. This is the right time to make another heir.”

Kiele vowed to dismiss whichever of her maids had been blabbing. She had learned long ago that men strayed when their women were child-heavy; her father had never been able to bear the sight of his mistresses during pregnancy. Kiele had fulfilled her duty by giving Lyell a son and a daughter. Conception tonight would mean she would be bulky and uncomfortable by the late summer, when she would need all her wit and charm—and when other women would be at their loveliest in pursuit of the richest and most powerful men. Lyell had been the key to the locked walls of Castle Crag for her; she did not love him and never had. But he was useful, and he was hers, and she did not intend for him to seek other beds. Once she ruled Meadowlord through Moswen and Halian, then Lyell could mount as many mistresses as he pleased. But not now.

She smiled at him. “Anticipation always enhances enjoyment, Lyell. Now, be a darling and find my green slippers, please? After all, you’re the one who kicked them under the bed the other night.”

He kissed her shoulder and obeyed. Kiele locked Afina’s letter in her jewel box and replaced the key in a pocket of her underskirt. Lyell returned from the bedchamber just in time to see her smoothing her green stockings. He knelt beside her to slide on the velvet slippers.

“If you don’t put your skirts down, I’ll forget Clutha even exists,” he said playfully.

She deliberately hiked the gown a little higher. “Does he?”

“Kiele!”

But she glided smoothly from her chair and out of his reach, laughing as she placed the golden headpiece on her piled dark braids.

Dinner in the banqueting hall was endless. Prince Clutha was full of plans for making this year’s
Rialla
more splendid than ever, and, Goddess knew, the cost of the last one had been such that Kiele had gone for half a year without a new gown. She was forced to listen in angry silence with a smile on her face as Lyell’s pride made him agree to schemes that would beggar him. Most entertainments were put on by the princes, with the burden falling on Rohan as usual, but the prizes for horse races and the spectacle of the last evening’s banquet were Lyell’s responsibility, with only nominal assistance from Clutha. Kiele promised herself that once Halian was Prince of Meadowlord with Moswen as his wife, this triennial penury would cease.

Clutha had brought his Sunrunner with him, a frail and withered old man with very dark eyes that saw too much as far as Kiele was concerned. She knew that whenever he accompanied Clutha to Waes, Lady Andrade received detailed reports. When dinner was over, the old
faradhi
wheezed his way into the dining room, Clutha’s squire at his side. The young man gave Kiele a slight, elegant bow, his fine dark eyes flickering with disapproval of her almost-crown. She favored him with a lifted brow, wondering if his place on the social scale of nobility was low enough to allow her a calculated insult in return.