Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (71 page)

She drank off the wine, set her goblet down, placed her palms together. “I can almost feel them in my hands, Ruval. I must have them, I must. So much has been lost. It’s incredible that Merisel wrote it all down. She was our most powerful and implacable enemy. And yet she seems to have known almost everything! Who told her? How did she gain such knowledge?”

He stretched his arms wide and eased his chair to the floor. Rising, he poured himself a share of the wine. Watching him, she felt her tension dissolve and something else uncurl in her body to take its place. He had experienced his final growth to manhood this spring and summer. His shoulders were broader with muscle, the lines of body and face hard and clean with the predatory beauty of a hunting cat. Even lazing back as he had been, or standing casually with a goblet in his hand, there was a feeling of contained power about him. For now it was purely physical; over the next years she would tutor him fully in other powers. Mireva’s gaze roamed over him, and a slow smile stretched her lips.

Ruval recognized the look, and laughed. “We really ought to celebrate Andrade’s death,” he suggested. Taking a long gulp of wine, he set down the cup. “After all, they
won’t
be doing much of anything for the rest of the day. No need to bore ourselves with watching them.”

“And have you a means of celebration in mind?” she asked archly.

He only laughed again.

But a little while later, when they lay in a tangle of half-discarded clothes on her bed, she drew back and took his face between her hands. Fiercely blue eyes, hot with passion, glared at her for the interruption.

“Hear me,” she said, breathing hard. “Tonight we must watch most carefully, and every night until Segev is back with the scrolls.”

“Don’t you trust my dear littlest brother?” he mocked.

“If I didn’t, he’d be dead.”

Ruval grinned down at her, turned his head to sink his teeth into her hand. “And the same goes for me, doesn’t it? But apart from that craven idiot Marron, I’m all you have, Mireva. Treat me sweetly, my lady, and I’ll give you a princedom.”

“Treat
me
sweetly, my lord, and I’ll give you everything from the Sunrise Water to the Far Islands.” She tightened her grip on his face, dug her fingers into his hair. “Remember that.”

“How could I forget?” He grasped her wrists and spread her arms wide on the bed. “Will you do this with Pol one day?” he asked, eyes burning even hotter now.

For answer, she called on the
dranath
that had been in the wine, using it and ancient sorcery to transform herself into the beautiful, willowy girl. She flung thick black hair over her shoulder, stretching widely, grinning in delight at the young, supple body she now wore.

Ruval laughed. “Fit for princes, indeed! May his Goddess pity him!”

 

It was a long walk to the cliffs where the ritual would be held. Rohan worried that the distance might be too much for Chale and Clutha, and especially for Lleyn. But Chale had Gemma and Tilal to support him; Clutha had Halian. Lleyn leaned on nothing but his dragon-headed cane, though Chadric and Audrite hovered close enough to irritate him into several sharp glances.

Andry had seen to the building of a suitable stone pyre. He and Urival had chosen a site where the rocky cliffs rose to their highest point, the sea immediately below. Stones had been piled up into a flat resting place, covered by a length of white silk velvet never unbolted since its weaving. A litter had also been constructed quickly from a single mighty tree felled that morning; every wood-carver at the Fair had been called on to smooth the struts and poles, a goldsmith had gilded the four handles, and a jeweler had set moonstones into them.

Rohan held two of those handles now, feeling the cool overlay of gold and the smoothly rounded gems in his palms. Chay had taken the other end of the litter, at Andrade’s feet. Rohan watched the bowed dark head above the collar of gray mourning clothes, seeing suddenly how much silver had threaded through Chay’s hair. Sioned and Pol walked to one side of them as they carried Andrade, Tobin and two of her sons on the other. It was Andry who led the procession, the bracelets gleaming around his wrists. Urival followed behind with the Sunrunners. Highborns, their families and retainers, and finally the common folk trailed behind Rohan—whose back Tallain had insisted on guarding.

They set Andrade on the stones, bowed to her, and joined their wives and children. The ritual belonged to Andry tonight; he alone would preside. Not even Urival, who had known her and loved her so long, could participate as anything more than just another
faradhi.

Andry came forward, lean and pale and moving with the strict grace of one whose control is too rigid to permit natural gestures. He paused while everyone assembled, and Rohan followed his gaze where he could among the crowd. Princes,
athr’im,
their wives and children and retainers; the Sunrunners to one side; great numbers of merchants and servants from the Fair across the river; all of them encircled by soldiers wearing the emblems and colors of the thirteen princedoms on their tunics, but carrying no weapons. Rohan wondered how many of them would soon be wearing colors and weapons in earnest.

Andry seemed to be looking for someone in particular, and a small muscle tightened in his cheek when that person went un-found. Rohan knew his nephew’s face well enough to read it, even in its new aspect of Lord of Goddess Keep.

Water from a flask was scattered down the length of Andrade’s white cloak as more people stood watching than had ever seen a Lady or Lord of Goddess Keep honored before. They kept a respectful distance from Andrade’s family and the
faradh’im.
The ritual itself was long familiar to them all—but the one they held vigil for tonight had been the personification of the Goddess’ power. There were many who looked askance at the young man who would replace her, and even more who considered him easy prey. Rohan felt a faint, grim smile move his lips as Andry, a slim gray shadow in the gathering gloom of dusk, let a fistful of Earth trail from his fingers down the white cloak. If anyone thought him weak, they were in for a surprise. They ought to know that a man born of Chay’s family, Andrade’s, and Zehava’s was made of both power and strength.

It seemed Andry wished to go on record for those qualities, as well. He circled Andrade’s pyre so everyone could get a good look at him. Then, facing west to the sea across her body, he held up both arms. His sleeves fell back to show bracelets that caught the last rays of the sun in silver and gold. His four rings tipped in tiny rubies shone as he suddenly stripped both bracelets from his arms and replaced them on Andrade’s crossed wrists.

Rohan felt Sioned give a start of surprise beside him. He took her fingers and she met his gaze, bewildered. Rohan admitted to himself that if Andry had not explained it earlier, he would not have comprehended, either. The youth was putting everyone on notice that whatever Andrade had been, he would not be the same. When she had become Lady, she had used the bracelets of the man who had been Lord before her—a calculated act of humility, for she, too, had been very young when named Lady. But the gold and silver bracelets that had circled her wrists for most of her seventy winters would melt and vanish with the flames that consumed her empty flesh. Rohan did not know whether this was the action of an arrogant child or a man who knew precisely what he was doing. But he knew that sooner or later they would all find out.

Urival had been scandalized by Andry’s plan, though he dared not object. Now he stood with bent head and slumped shoulders. He looked so old, Rohan thought, aching with pity. He held tighter to Sioned’s hand, not wanting to think about a time when he might stand thus and watch his own beloved consigned to the Fire.

Andry gestured, and a soft breeze stirred the motionless Air, wafted across Andrade’s body, fluttered the hem of her cloak and touched loose wisps of her silver-gilt hair. Tobin and Sioned had offered to help Urival make her ready, but he had jealously clung to the one service he
was
allowed to perform: washing her body, dressing it in a white gown, braiding her long hair.

The other Sunrunners moved to circle the pyre. Urival was the last to come forward, holding out a small silver flask of sweet oil to Andry. But the young man shook his head, returning the flask to the old man’s suddenly shaking hands. Rohan nodded slowly in approval. Urival should have some part in honoring Andrade. It was only right.

He could smell herbs and spices heavy on the motionless air as thick oil was tenderly smoothed on Andrade’s hands and brow and lips, and the four corners of the cloak were anointed. Urival stepped back, tears shining on his cheeks as Andry called Fire.

Sunrunners cloaked and hooded in gray bent their heads. The flames caught, rose, lit Andrade’s strong, severe profile for a long moment. Rohan felt Sioned tremble—and then she was walking forward to join those of her kind in watching over the woman who had taken her in, taught her the nature of her gifts, summoned her to the Desert to become the wife of a prince. Tobin hesitated, then went to Sioned’s side. Maarken was right behind her, and last of all Pol left Rohan to stand between his mother and his cousin. Rohan felt Chay and Sorin draw a little closer to him. Of all Andrade’s family, they were the only ones ungifted with Sunrunner’s Fire.

Andrade had hoped and planned what Rohan would be. Instead it was Pol who would be both
faradhi
and prince. There were soft gasps throughout the crowd as he joined the Sunrunners and gave them another reminder of what many would like to forget.

Rohan glanced around the cliffside. His eyes lit on Masul. Murderous, greedy, ruthless—everything Pol was not, Masul was. What if
faradhi
powers had been added to those vices? He acknowledged the reasons for the strictness of Andrade’s training, her arrogant demand that all Sunrunners bend to her will. Sioned had not; but neither had Pandsala. She had given Rohan a bitter lesson in what could result when
faradhi
and princely powers combined in a single ruthless will.

Sooner or later there would be other princes who possessed the gifts. Pol, Maarken, and Riyan would not be alone for long. Andrade had trusted that her formidable will would instill discipline in such people to guard against abuses of power. But Andrade was gone, and Andry would take her place. He was too young, Rohan thought, frowning. Much too young.

He looked sidelong at Chay. By the blazing light of the pyre, the proud, handsome face seemed carved in stone, generations of loyal
athr’im
and valiant warriors shining in his eyes. Rohan’s gaze then sought his sister in the circle of Sunrunners, the ends of her black braids peeking out from beneath her gray veil. She was a most remarkable woman: princess and politician, warrior in her own right, born of a long line of princes. Coming from people such as these, Andry could not help but be strong. Perhaps in a way much different from Andrade, as his refusal to wear her bracelets had foretold, but strong just the same.

The first waiting period had passed, and the common folk began to come forward to make their bows to Andry and to the High Prince. Most moved quickly, wanting to be gone from this place where at dawn the
faradh’im
would call Air to scatter Andrade’s ashes over the length and breadth of the continent. But some walked by slowly, staring at the great and the would-be great. Rohan received their salutes quietly, nodding to a few he noticed were frightened of him. And he felt Masul’s eyes like pinpricks, knowing the pretender was seeing himself in Rohan’s place as High Prince.

Most rituals began at midnight. For a Lady or Lord of Goddess Keep, things were different. At moonrise, the Sunrunners wove a delicate fabric flung out to all lands, touching all
faradh’im,
making them a part of this ritual as was not done for mere princes. This was the first many of the faraway Sunrunners would learn of the Lady’s death; sustaining them in their grief and extending the weave to find every
faradhi
everywhere took time and much strength. Had this happened at Goddess Keep, where all Lords and Ladies had died in the past, there would have been hundreds of Sunrunners and students to perform this duty. But here there were barely enough to make this outpouring of power safe. A few were swaying a little on their feet, held up by their fellows as the work continued. Sioned sent Tobin and Pol back to stand with the family, both of them looking pale and drained. Rohan nodded approval to his son but did not put an arm around him for support, as Chay did for Tobin. Pol’s eyes showed his gratitude before he turned to watch the Fire once more.

Rohan wanted desperately to touch his son, to break the silence decreed by the ritual, to speak to him of his pride and his promises for the future. Tomorrow, last day of summer and Lastday of the
Rialla,
would see Masul dead. Rohan did not yet know how he would manage it, but Masul would be executed. And if some still believed him Roelstra’s son—well, they could not put a corpse on a throne. Rohan no longer could afford to care about discrediting the pretender. His death would be enough.

The princes and
athr’im
began to move, preparing to leave the cliff. Rohan was startled; surely it could not be past midnight already? But the position of the moons told him it was. And as Lleyn came limping forward, the means of Masul’s death were determined by Masul himself.

He strode insolently past the Prince of Dorval, coming to a halt three steps from Rohan and Pol. His green eyes were wells of shadow as he turned his back on the pyre and broke the ritual silence that had reigned through the long night.

“There is only one way to resolve this, High Prince,” he announced in a clear, ringing voice that brought gasps of shock from everyone but the oblivious Sunrunners. “I claim the right of challenge—just as you did when you battled my father in single combat. I will prove my claim on my body.”