Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince (16 page)

“To bait the hook,” she replied, nodding. “But I don’t suppose you do any fishing in the Desert!”

“Chay and I go sailing when I visit Radzyn. I’d offer you the same, but I’m told you
faradh’im
have a slight problem with water.”

She grimaced. “I’ve never been so sick in my life as when we crossed the Faolain. And now I’ll have to cross it twice more to get to Waes and back. Rohan, you had better be worth it!”

It was a challenge no man could let pass. His arm slid around her waist before he could consider the danger, and he drew her toward him. “I hope you’ll find reward enough, my lady,” he murmured. And, because a glimmer of caution remained, he pressed his lips to her temple rather than her mouth.

Touching her at all was a mistake. Her body was warm and slim and supple, seemingly lit from within by the same Fire that flashed along his own nerves. Her arms locked around him, her fingers tangling in his hair, and he felt her thigh trembling against his own, muscles leaping as his hand slid of its own will from her knee to her hip. Her fingers followed a similar path toward his groin and she turned her face to his, eyes and lips inviting more.

Rohan caught his breath and shuddered, and it nearly killed him to let her go. He got to his feet quickly, fists clenched. Sioned gave a little gasp of mingled surprise and dismay as he stared down at her.

“I’ve never touched a woman like that in my life,” he said roughly. “Sioned—it isn’t just being near you—hearing your name is enough!”

“Is it that way for you, too?” she breathed in wonder, then shook her head. “Rohan, how are we going to manage? It’s not even a day old between us. We don’t even know each other! I’ve never felt like this with any other man.”

In that instant he learned what jealousy was. He wanted to know the name of every man she had ever even looked at, whether they had touched her—and most especially where to find these men so he could kill them. What was the matter with him? She wasn’t his wife yet; he hadn’t even kissed her lips, let alone made love to her. But because he, too, could think as well as feel, he realized that if she was prey to the same jealousy that gripped him, he would have to be very careful during his charade with Roelstra’s daughters or there would be bruised princesses. He considered the brilliant green eyes and amended that; she would not be so gentle, would his Sioned.

“We knew from the first that this wouldn’t be easy,” he told her with a rueful smile. “I promise to keep my hands and my eyes to myself.”

“Ah, now there
you
are, making hasty promises,” she teased.

“Everyone will think you have some sort of disease if I never get within arm’s length of you!”

“I get hives when I eat marsh apples,” she said gravely, her dancing eyes belying the tone. “Shall I eat a few and turn lumpy and splotched? Would that make things easier?”

“Splotched if you must, Sioned, but
not
lumpy.” They laughed together and he exclaimed, “Do you know, I feel as if I’ve been married to you forever!”

“You don’t know me, either, Rohan,” she reminded him.

“Maybe you’ll find out I’m a—”

“Witch,” he finished for her. “I decided that when I saw you in the Fire. But I have a little magic of my own, you know. Come with me, I want to show you something.”

She walked with him deeper into the grotto toward the cliff walls. Giving him a sidelong glance, she said cautiously, “You must have something of the gift, you know. Your mother is Andrade’s sister.”

“What of it?” he asked in casual tones.

“Nothing.”

Rohan hid a frown. She knew as well as he did that Andrade wanted
faradhi
children from their marriage. Why couldn’t she trust him enough to tell him? He decided to talk more about his own plans—as much as he dared right now—and acknowledged that he didn’t yet entirely trust her, either.

“Roelstra will tempt me with treaties and agreements that I intend to make him sign before we get around to discussing his daughters. But I swear to you, Sioned, that after I’m through with the game, I’ll claim you in front of everyone.” He stopped walking and said, “Here—this is what I wanted to show you, before anyone else could.”

Trees parted around a silent pool for the long, pale waterfall that appeared from nowhere high above their heads. Flowering mosses and ferns softened the ragged rock, and moonlight turned the water to a ribbon of silver. This was the life of the castle, this precious water from the north. It ran underground, protected from the heat, then tumbled down to nourish this one hollow in the rock. Rohan glanced at Sioned’s eyes and suddenly knew what his ancestors must have felt when they had first discovered this gift of cool, sweet water in the Desert.

But when she spoke, it was not about the miracle before them. “Does my being
faradhi
make you uneasy?” she asked softly.

“No,” he answered honestly. “Why should it?”

“It will give your people pause, you know. A Sunrunner witch married to their prince, mistress of all this wealth, helping you rule the Desert.”

“You’ll win them as quickly as you’ve won me,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him, then turned to the water. Lifting her hands, moonlight sparkling off her rings, she wove the silver moonrays into a conjuring over the pool. He saw his own face and hers, and a single burning red-gold strand that formed the circlets that were their crowns. After a moment the conjure faded and Sioned met his gaze once more.

“I had to do that to prove something to myself. I lost control of a Fire-conjure on the way here, and I’ve been afraid to try again. But I’m not afraid anymore, Rohan. It’s too soon for me to trust you. My brain keeps saying that, and I have to listen. But in every way that counts, I
do
trust you.” She shrugged slightly. “I probably shouldn’t have said that, and I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but—”

Her kiss on his mouth was as swift and startling as heat lightning across the Desert sky. But before he could reach for her, she was gone.

N
ews of Prince Zehava’s death reached Castle Crag on the morning sunlight. Crigo’s contact with the wine steward at Stronghold incapacitated the already overwrought Sunrunner, who took to his bed after downing a large cup of wine laced with
dranath.
Roelstra celebrated the news with a good long laugh and a lavish breakfast, then closeted himself with his ministers for the rest of the day. It was left to Palila to arrange the evening’s ritual and make sure all the daughters dressed in mourning gray to honor their royal “cousin.” A piece of nonsense as far as Palila was concerned, and doubly irritating because gray was not her color. But grief must be shown, and she comforted herself with the knowledge that at least the slate-colored gown hid her pregnancy.

Roelstra led the procession into the oratory of Castle Crag as soon as the first evening stars appeared. The chamber was a wide half-circle of Fironese crystal jutting out from the cliff like a giant soap bubble. During the day, sunlight streamed in to bathe everything in gold, dazzling from the ornaments and plate. Chairs of white wood cushioned in white silk were arrayed on a thick, snowy wool carpet that swallowed up all sound in its depths. Onto this background the faceted windows poured rainbow sparks that slurred down the walls and decorated the floor with brilliant color. But at night only the cold, pale moons shone, and the oratory was a place of silvered shadows where colorless faces showed eyes and mouths sunk into dark hollows, eerily emphasized by the white candles carried by each mourner.

They filed in according to strict rules of precedence and took their seats. Palila sat with bowed head and folded hands in the front row, the daughters all around her. Ambassadors, ministers, officials, and the minor nobility of Princemarch sat behind her—an assembly of men and women who thoroughly loathed her, she thought with a tiny smile. Nearly all of them had come to her at one time or another, hoping to influence Roelstra through her. She took what they offered and promised nothing—for they could scarcely run to the High Prince with complaints when their bribes to his mistress failed. Roelstra laughed whenever Palila showed him some new jewel or gown presented in hopes of a word whispered when his head was on her pillows. He encouraged her to keep the bribes that satisfied her acquisitive instincts without his having to spend a thing, for the splendor of the gift was an indication of how badly the giver wished his favor. He was never influenced by presents to his mistress, but he pretended sometimes that he was, to keep the expensive trinkets coming.

They hated Palila for another reason. She was a noblewoman who had besmirched the dignity of her class, even though the position of mistress to the High Prince held a certain honor. She had betrayed them by not working actively in their behalf, instead seeking to increase Roelstra’s power at their expense. Worse, she had not produced a son. And, even more damning, she kept Roelstra from seeking out another woman who might give him a male heir. They all had candidates for Roelstra’s next mistress, but Palila had not lost her hold on him. The thought of her as his legal wife horrified them.

The nobles, ministers, and ambassadors would also have candidates to put forth as possible brides for young Prince Rohan. No one knew much about him except that he was quiet and studious, and at the last
Rialla
had effaced himself to such effect that few even remembered what he looked like. Palila could sense them judging the daughters and wondering which of them would catch his fancy at the
Rialla.

The daughters were wondering the same thing. Palila was sure that Ianthe at least knew the direction of her father’s thoughts, for the girl showed signs of hurrying to catch up. Neither was Pandsala a fool; she had insinuated herself into mealtime conversations these last days, making remarks designed to show her loyalty and intelligence. Gevina and Rusalka, the eldest of the illegitimate girls, could hardly have missed noting that their wardrobes and jewel cases had improved in content recently. Let them fret, Palila thought complacently. Let jealousy spread like wildfire among them—and let the nobles place their bets on the most likely bride for the princeling. She alone knew what Roelstra had in mind, and would share that knowledge with no one.

After a period of silence to show respect for the dead, Roelstra stood before the assembly’s flickering candles. He had a fine voice meant for ceremonies and for murmuring in bed, and he knew how to use the resonance of his tones to excellent advantage. He gave a little speech of regret that the great and noble Prince Zehava had been taken so untimely from the world, and entreated the Goddess to allow Zehava’s spirit to find her loving embrace. That he meant not a word of it was not lost on anyone present. Everyone attended not to make sure the proper forms were observed but to enjoy Roelstra’s irony and contemplate the delicious prospects before them. Hardly a mind in the oratory was not making some plot toward Rohan’s disadvantage.

When Roelstra fell silent, Palila glanced up at him. His dark hair was crowned by silvery light, his eyes nearly colorless, the candle in his hand giving off a thin yellowish glow that picked out the strong bones of his face and the sardonic line of his mouth. His gaze met hers and she smiled slightly. How fortunate it was that they understood each other, she told herself. Her position would be a precarious one until she gave him a son, but because she comprehended her lord, she could follow his thoughts and, sometimes, outguess him.

One by one in ascending order of importance, the gathering rose and filed out. They left their candles on shelves to either side of the arching doorway. Palila had the honor of immediately preceding the High Prince and placing her candle next to the place where his would be. It was a privilege no one but his legal wife should have had, but she enjoyed many similar privileges at Castle Crag and guarded them jealously. One day they would be hers by right.

She was tired, and the ornate silver pins holding her veil in place were giving her a headache. Yet when everyone went down to the copious supper laid out in the main hall, Palila did not join them. Neither did she seek her bed. She returned to the oratory and picked her way carefully through the moonlit chamber to the outer curve of crystal. Crigo would be here soon, to ride the moonlight to Stronghold. He often performed such small services for her without Roelstra’s knowledge, for it was Palila from whom Roelstra got the supply of
dranath.

The muted whisper of the opening door made her turn, the Sunrunner’s name hovering on her lips. But it was not Crigo who entered. It was Pandsala.

Palila covered her startlement and hoped Crigo had the sense to listen outside before opening the door. She smiled sweetly at the princess and asked, “Why, whatever are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same thing of you.” A little smile played about Pandsala’s mouth, visible even in the dimness. It made Palila nervous. The princess walked forward with stately grace along the white carpet, almost as if she came here in her wedding procession. “It certainly isn’t grief for the old prince that brought us back. Actually, I don’t know why you came and I don’t care, except for the fact that we’re alone. A rare circumstance, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But why do you want to talk to me alone, Pandsala?” Her mind seethed and she raked the girl’s gown with her gaze. Knife? Vial of poison? Who would suspect a princess of murder? The son Palila was sure she carried was a threat to all the daughters. Perhaps Pandsala had been delegated to remove the threat. There were enough strangers at Castle Crag to blame it on, enough people who hated her to make the list of suspects practically endless.

“Won’t you sit down?” Palila invited, reasoning that a seated enemy would be easier to outrun than a standing one.

“Stop playing lady of the castle, Palila,” the other woman snapped. “I am the princess here, not you—no matter what state my father keeps you in. I don’t like you any more than you like me, but we can be of use to each other.”