Dragon Prince 03 - Sunrunner's Fire (7 page)

Gesturing her annoyance, Alasen said, “When Lady Andrade had control over the
faradh’im,
the princes could at least be assured of her discipline. But the break between Andry and the Desert is obvious, now that Pol is old enough but isn’t at Goddess Keep.”

“You’ve forgotten a fourth faction,” Riyan reminded her. “Sorcerers.”

She got to her feet, pacing, her hands wrapped around the steaming cup. “That’s the worst of all! After hundreds of years they appear out of nowhere, then vanish again. Who can say where they are, what they think, what they’re planning? How will they next challenge Pol and Andry? Because it will be both of them, Riyan. They’ll have to stand together as
faradh’im
against the threat. And I’m so afraid their pride won’t allow it.”

“Surely it won’t get as bad as all that,” he said, trying to soothe her. “After all, these sorcerers may not emerge again at all.”

Alasen’s lips curled bitterly. “No? You felt their power, Riyan, just as I did, at Lady Andrade’s death and at the combat. Do you think something like that will be content to stay in hiding another few hundred years? If Pol and Andry can’t oppose them together, these sorcerers might win.”

“Yes, I felt their power,” he said quietly. “Moreso than almost anyone. I’m of their blood, Alasen.”

“And no more like them than your father is,” she emphasized.

“Ah, but do we really know what they want?” Ostvel mused.

Alasen leaned against the arm of a chair. “
Faradh’im
defeated them. They’ll want their revenge. But why now? What is it about now that makes them think they can succeed?”

“They failed with Masul,” Riyan pointed out.

“They weren’t half trying,” she scoffed. “I think he was a means of getting Andrade out of the way.”

“Well, if it ever comes down to finding out who is and who isn’t of the Old Blood, then quite frankly I trust Pol’s protection more than Andry’s.”

“Riyan!” Alasen stared at him. “You’re shadow-fearing, Sunrunner,” she said more calmly.

“Am I? What about it, Father? What’s the easiest way to unite various factions? Give them a mutual enemy—or someone they
perceive
as an enemy.”

“Alasen’s right,” Ostvel snapped. “You’re starting at shadows.”

“Andry would never even
think
anything like that!” she added. “Riyan, you’ve known him all your life!”

He had heard things recently to make him wonder if he had ever known Andry at all. He forced an apologetic smile and hid what was in his heart. “Sorry. I’m no politician, and all this playing one side against another confuses me.”

Ostvel’s brows arched in eloquent doubt at this avowal of incomprehension, but he said nothing. While Alasen made a calming little ritual of refilling their cups, Riyan deliberately turned the conversation to Sorin’s plans for Feruche.

But alone in his own chambers that night, he looked pensively at his rings. One way to tell
faradhi
from
diarmadhi
was miserable sickness when crossing water. Riyan, like purebred Sunrunners, had that problem—and knew that he also had the Old Blood in his veins, part of his mother’s legacy. His protection was her other heritage as a Sunrunner that gave him the reaction. But what about trained
faradh’im
whose power came solely from their sorcerer blood? Pandsala had been one of them. Crossing water had never troubled her.

The only sure method of discerning one from the other was response to sorcery, when
faradhi
rings became fiery circles of pain around the fingers of anyone with
diarmadhi
blood. He wondered if Andry knew about that—and, if so, whether he would ever use that knowledge in ways that would make Pol’s protection necessary. Riyan thanked the Goddess that Pol was not of the Old Blood. At least Andry would never be able to threaten him on that score.

T
he sound of the dragon horn announcing visitors startled Rohan from concentration on his correspondence. A quick mental review of expected guests made him frown. No one was due here until winter. Sioned’s nephew Tilal and his wife Gemma were coming from Ossetia with their children to spend the last half of the season and the New Year Holiday; Maarken and Hollis had promised to bring their year-old twins from Whitecliff. But Rohan had counted on a peaceful autumn in which to catch up on work, and now there were visitors. Sioned was not even in residence, having ridden up to Feruche to see how construction progressed. She had not asked him to accompany her. They both knew he would never set foot near that place again as long as he lived.

A knock sounded at the library door and Rohan called permission to enter. Arlis hovered there, wide-eyed and breathless. “My lord! I ran all the way up from the guardhouse—”

“To tell me who’s here,” Rohan supplied, giving the squire a chance to catch up on his breathing. Arlis nodded, sun-lightened brown hair rumpled by one careless hand. “Someone important, from that blast on the horn. Who?”

“Lord Urival!”

Rohan could not help a start of surprise. No wonder the boy looked impressed. “Well, then, we’d better go greet him, hadn’t we?” He capped the inkwell and put away his pens, glancing once over the parchments littering the huge double desk. There was nothing on the tables that could not have been read by anyone. He trusted his servants down to the last scullery maid, and no one would have dreamed of entering the private office without explicit permission. But Sioned had insisted on extreme caution the last few years. Sunrunners were not the only ones who could weave light and look upon things that perhaps needed to be kept secret.

“Lord Urival isn’t alone, my lord,” Arlis told him, holding out a damp cloth so Rohan could clean his ink-stained fingers. “There’s another Sunrunner with him, a woman, and they have two pack-horses loaded from ears to tails.”

“It seems he’s planning a long stay. How many rings has this other Sunrunner?” Rohan scrubbed at a stubborn mark, scowled, and tossed the cloth onto his empty chair.

“Eight.” The squire hesitated. “May I ask a question, my lord?”

“Asking questions is largely what you’re here for, Arlis. Both your grandsires would be very disappointed if you did not. And they’d be even more unhappy with me if I didn’t try to answer.” He smiled and flicked a lock of unruly hair away from the boy’s deep-set eyes.

“Lord Urival and this other
faradhi
are here with everything they own, it looks like. She’s too old to be of Lord Andry’s new training. Could they have come because Lord Andry threw them out?”

Rohan considered his wife’s kinsman, this princeling who was all earnest face and troubled green eyes and child-soft features. Arlis would one day rule a united Kierst and Isel, a fact he had known almost before he’d learned to walk. Right now he was trying to think like a prince—admirable, but depressing to Rohan, who wanted the boy to stay a boy for at least a few more years.

“Do you think that could be it, my lord?” Arlis said anxiously.

“He’s probably just come for a visit, and has brought someone with him for company.” Or so Rohan devoutly hoped.

Arlis looked relieved. Rohan sent him down to the kitchens to bring refreshment up to the Summer Room, where Rohan then repaired to receive his exalted guests. He had just seated himself in a comfortable chair when a servant scratched on the door, opened it, and announced Lord Urival and Lady Morwenna of Goddess Keep.

Rohan went forward to greet them, hiding his curiosity as best he could. “A most welcome surprise, my lord,” he said. “My lady, please sit down. Something cold to drink will be here shortly.”

“Amenities are so soothing, aren’t they?” Urival observed cynically as he sank wearily into a chair. “Essentially useless, but soothing.”

“Pay him no mind, your grace,” Morwenna said. “He’s saddle sore.”

Arlis hurried in with chilled wine. “I’ve ordered the Tapestry Suite readied, my lord,” he said to Rohan as he served. “Is that all right?”

“As long as it has a bed and a bathtub,” Morwenna sighed, then grinned. “Actually, I’d settle for just the tub!”

“Three rooms and a beautiful bath, my lady,” Arlis told her shyly.

“Sounds perfect.” She inspected him as he gave her a goblet of wine. “You’d be Latham’s boy, wouldn’t you? Volog and Saumer’s grandson.”

“I have that honor, my lady.”

“Prince Arlis, I’m very pleased to meet you. My mother served as your grandfather Saumer’s court
faradhi
at Zaldivar for many years.”

“I hope she was happy there, my lady.”

“Very.”

Rohan noticed Urival’s restless frown, and gestured the squire out. “That will be all, Arlis. Make sure the Tapestry Suite is ready quickly, please.”

“Yes, my lord.” He bowed his way out and closed the door.

“A fine lad, your grace,” Morwenna said. “I recognize the Kierstian green eyes.”

“Sioned’s eyes,” Urival said. “Where is she, Rohan?”

“With Sorin at Feruche. What brings you to Stronghold?” he asked, too bluntly, he knew, but Urival had never been one for in-direction.

The old man shrugged. “Tapestry Suite, eh? I don’t remember that one from my stay here in 698.”

“My mother’s old rooms,” Rohan explained. “Sioned chose the hangings at the last
Rialla
and we renamed it. I assume your business is with her.”

“It would be, if she were here. Since she’s not, I’ll burden you.” Urival’s smile was more of a grimace. “One of the privileges of your position, High Prince.”

Morwenna, several years Rohan’s junior and with the dark skin, black hair, and tip-tilted brown eyes that marked her as Fironese, gave a derisive snort. “What he means to say, your grace, is that neither of us could bear to stay at Goddess Keep anymore and have come to burden you with superfluous Sunrunners. I knew the High Princess slightly when she was a young girl earning rings faster than Andrade could keep up with. In herself she’s more Sunrunner than you’ll ever need.”

“She’d be pleased to hear you say that. But we’re informal here—if you don’t feel comfortable calling me by my name, then at least deliver me from being ‘my grace.’ ” He smiled, all the while fretting inwardly at Urival’s uncharacteristic slowness in divulging the reason for his presence at Stronghold.

“Charm,” the old Sunrunner mused. “The whole family has it to one degree or another. Andry’s worse—he gets it from Chay as well as Tobin. Charmed all of us into accepting things we’d never have considered in a hundred generations. And by the time we realized where he was going with it. . . .”

“Oh, for the love of the Goddess and all her works,
tell
him!” Morwenna snapped.

Urival eyed her. “It’s the privilege of my seventy winters and nine rings to speak when and as I please.” He set down his untasted wine and sank back in his chair, looking every one of those seventy winters. His golden-brown eyes, remarkably beautiful in an otherwise unhandsome craggy face, were dark and lackluster. But not from mere tiredness, Rohan thought. There was an older and deeper weariness in him, one of the spirit.

“Andry was never what you’d call biddable,” Urival began. “Brilliant, intelligent, mind-hungry, yes. But as ungovernable as Sioned in his own way. A more dangerous way, it turns out. Had you heard he’s to be a father next spring?”

“Andry’s married? Who to?” Rohan didn’t bother to hide his astonishment. Tobin and Chay, as uninformed on the subject as he, were going to be furious.

“Did I say he’d Chosen a wife?”

Rohan looked at Morwenna, who nodded grimly. “That’s why we left. Not because he didn’t marry the girl, or even because he’d gotten her with child. But it was the
way
he did it and the future which it implied that shattered all for us.”

“For me,” Urival corrected. “You wanted to stay and try to talk him out of it. Perhaps that would have been the right way. I don’t know. But I couldn’t stay there any longer. Not when he’s using the first-ring night to sire a son on a girl no older than sixteen!”

Rohan’s wine cup nearly dropped out of his hand. He stared at the
faradh’im,
too stunned to speak.

“You know about that night, of course,” Urival went on. “The boy or girl calls Fire formally for the first time in front of the Lord or Lady of Goddess Keep. That night they’re virgins no longer.” He glanced briefly at Morwenna. “
She
has been one of the more enthusiastic initiators of boys into the delights of being men.”

Morwenna tossed her black braid from her shoulder. “And, of course, they had to drag
you
kicking and screaming to the same duty for more than a few girls!”

A smile flitted across his face. “That’s many, many years ago.”

“But I’ll bet you still remember!” Her manner was sharp, but her dark eyes danced.

“Memories to warm an old man’s long, cold nights,” he riposted easily. Then he turned to Rohan again. “The guise of the Goddess is used to hide identity from the virgin.”

Rohan nodded. “Sioned . . . spoke of it once or twice, a long time ago. She never knew.” He recalled his own disgraceful behavior of—could it really be twenty-five years ago?—when he’d found out that his Chosen lady would not come virgin to their marriage bed. He looked on the memory from a bemused distance now, amazed to think that it had meant so much to him at the time. Of course, at the time he had been barely twenty-one, unsure of himself both as a prince and as a man, and desperately in love.

“She never knew,” Urival echoed softly, holding Rohan’s gaze with his own.

And the High Prince suddenly realized that one of the sweetest memories to warm the old man’s nights was the initiation of Sioned. He felt blood heat his face, and told himself sternly that at his age he should be long past the curse of a fair complexion. Urival gave another fleeting half-smile.

“Of course she didn’t,” Morwenna said briskly. “None of them do. The point here is that Andry’s changed tradition. At least as far as the girls are concerned. We’ve always been very careful to time that night so no child comes of it. And the duty is parceled out among several men. But Andry’s reserved the right to himself and two others. When I questioned him about Othanel’s pregnancy, he flat out admitted he arranged it so she’d conceive!”