Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince (30 page)

“I have other things to attend to, or I would stay all night,” he lied, smiling. He started for the door, then turned. “Why Pandsala?”

“Why not?”

“You championed Ianthe before.”

“I’ve changed my mind after seeing Rohan.”

“You may be right, my dear. Sleep well.”

B
y the next day Rohan was already monumentally weary of playing naive prince for Roelstra’s benefit. He chafed against the role, and the fact that it was self-imposed did not improve his temper. The plan that had seemed so clever at the beginning of summer was more of a strain than he had ever imagined it would be—and not all of it was due to the unexpected addition of Sioned to his plans. The scheme had been hatched by a prince-in-waiting, a boy who had spent his life effacing himself (never very difficult in his father’s overpowering presence), listening, learning everything he could from everyone who crossed his path. Fooling the High Prince had seemed only a briefly necessary extension of those years of deception.

But between the hatching and this time of flight, he had known power. Killing the dragon that had killed his father had shown him his skill and wits in a deadly fight. Meeting Sioned had shown him another kind of power—the Fire that bound them together and was capable of burning his soul. Presiding over his father’s pyre, over his vassals, over the banquet in the Great Hall, had given him a heady taste of being master of the Desert. And he admitted to himself that the journey from Stronghold had brought a freedom he had never known before. Out from under the eyes of his parents, commanding the entire company, all the decisions his—no, it was not easy to play the idiot’s role when he knew himself worthy of the position he could not yet claim.

He pretended to be guided by the advice of his vassals, and it was a good thing their suggestions were wise ones; he was prevented from having to overrule them, which would ruin the impression he struggled so hard to create. The other princes were firmly convinced he could be led like a lamb. But the tension was fraying his nerves.

Roelstra hinted constantly about his daughters, which added to Rohan’s discomfort. Lenala and Naydra had been present when Rohan had arrived for the morning session at Roelstra’s tent, and served him wine while eyeing him in the most embarrassing fashion. The other princes winked and nudged each other. At the midmorning break, Ianthe and Gevina had shown up to bring refreshments; more grins and elbow-poking had made Rohan blush to his earlobes. At least, he told himself ruefully, it added to his guise of fool.

He had the daughters sorted out by now. If he had looked over the women at Stronghold and found them lacking, then these princesses fell even farther short of the perfection he associated with Sioned. Gevina had a tendency to giggle; Rusalka behaved as if Rohan was of an entirely different species from herself and invariably looked surprised, as if she had doubted that he ate, drink, and scratched his nose like other men. He thanked the Goddess for Sioned, whose laughter was honest and who met him on human terms as well as man to woman.

Naydra was very lovely if one appreciated the type. But Rohan’s tastes had been formed by his mother’s golden beauty and his sister’s vivid dark looks, so Naydra seemed to him simply brownish. She also had a certain covetousness in her eyes and tended to look at his lap as if to measure him. He was equally thankful for Sioned’s frank sensuality; Naydra’s furtiveness was disgusting.

Lenala stared at him outright, and he supposed it might have been flattering to have his looks so openly admired if there had been the faintest spark of wit in her eyes. Grateful for Sioned’s intelligence, he pitied the man who married this empty-headed princess.

As for the other two—they were undeniably beautiful. Richly colored, graceful, they behaved like women and not girls. Pandsala affected a slightly distant manner which Rohan assumed she thought would intrigue him. Ianthe, on the other hand, issued an open invitation with her eyes every time she looked at him. Rohan was honest enough to admit that if not for Sioned, Pandsala would indeed have been tempting and Ianthe well-nigh irresistible. He was finding that to be a young, wealthy, good-looking prince could be very enjoyable indeed.

It ceased to be pleasant when Roelstra got him alone after the day’s session was over. “My girls can’t keep their eyes to themselves,” the High Prince chuckled. “I’ve kept them at Castle Crag too long, without many young men to look at. I shall hate to part with them, you know.”

Did he think Rohan would take the whole lot off his hands? Rohan made his expression bashful and mumbled something about their being very nice girls.

“Cousin, you might assist me with a small matter having to do with them. I can never decide which is the prettiest. I’d value your opinion of my girls—your mother was one of the great beauties of her day, and your sister is the most exquisite woman I’ve ever seen.”

Rohan fended off making this impossible judgment with another mumble and a question about the output of Cunaxan wool, information that might allow them both to wring another concession out of tight-fisted Prince Durriken. Rohan had become an expert at the art of blushing evasion, as if the very thought of Roelstra’s daughters flustered him so completely that he had to take refuge in practical matters. And all the while he coaxed the High Prince into signing more and more documents.

He had managed several of them that day: a renewal of the agreement that Feruche belonged to Roelstra but all lands below it were Rohan’s; a pact of mutual assistance should the Merida attack and interrupt trade; and, foolish enough to Roelstra but important to Rohan, an agreement that Princemarch would conduct a census of dragons when they flew north to summer in the Veresch Mountains next year.

“I heard about your first dragon,” Roelstra said. “Valorous work! And to burn him along with your father, their ashes scattered by
faradh’im
on the morning winds—I know Zehava would have approved.”

“I don’t mind confessing that I was scared half out of my wits when I saw that dragon coming at me,” Rohan replied.

“Only a fool isn’t frightened when there’s danger. But only brave men do what must be done despite their fear.”

Rohan heartily agreed. He anticipated a nasty test of his courage when Pandsala or Ianthe maneuvered to be alone with him. But it was nice to be wanted, if only for his money and power. The thought teased his mind that perhaps he might give into their maneuverings—just once—and see what sort of experience he could acquire. But he banished the notion instantly. One did not do such things to princesses, and especially not when one was in love with another woman who was a Sunrunner into the bargain. Being an honorable man was a bother.

Prince Clutha gave an outdoor dinner for his fellow princes and a select group of
athr’im
that second night, and Rohan was profoundly grateful that all the talk was of the next day’s races, not of politics, trade, and defense.
Almost
all the talk.

“—and the river of fire-gold hair down her back? Incredible!” Lord Ajit of the five wives smacked his lips and grinned at Lord Bethoc beside him, directly across the table from Rohan. “You’re a young man, Bethoc, and wifeless—but I tell you from experience that redheads are fire inside and out!”

“She’s a Sunrunner,” Bethoc sniffed, thereby ending any doubts Rohan might have entertained about which lady they were discussing. The Lord of Catha Heights selected a ripe plum from the fruit tray, squeezed it to pulp the innards, and slit the skin with his knife. “The
faradhi
bitch assigned to my keep—fah!” He sucked at the plum and discarded the emptied skin on the grass. “I asked her to conjure me a little Fire on a cold night, and she told me I could strike steel to flint as well as any man and had an army of servants to do it for me if I was getting feeble!”

Ajit grinned wider, his dark eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “So you tried to seduce her, eh? A mistake, my friend. Try it again and you’ll have Andrade looming over you like a she-dragon.”

“I note that doesn’t keep you from lusting after this fire-haired girl.”

“Lust is one thing, prudence quite another. Not even Roelstra dares anger Andrade. There are times when I believe she truly
is
a witch.”

“You just noticed?” Bethoc asked sarcastically. “They all are, including this girl.”

“Good women are so boring. My third wife was a positive miracle of dullness. The most exciting thing she ever did was die in her sleep.”

Rohan wondered if they thought him so dull-witted that he was unable to hear his aunt’s name spoken right in front of him. So Sioned was admired, was she? He felt at once smug and jealous, and suspected he’d be feeling only the former if she was his acknowledged lady.

Prince Lleyn of Dorval, who sat to his right, caught his attention and asked, “I don’t suppose I can convince you to persuade Lord Chaynal not to ride tomorrow? The very least you could do is limit him to entering only half the races. He takes away all the sport, for he invariably wins.”

Rohan laughed. He liked the old man, whose son Chadric had been a squire at Stronghold when Rohan was little. “You’ll take away all
his
sport if you forbid him to race. He likes to terrify my sister, then laugh at her when she blisters his ears for not being more careful of his precious carcass.”

Lleyn’s blue eyes, faded with age but merry as a boy’s, twinkled with pleasure. “I take leave to doubt that, Rohan. I don’t believe your sister has ever been frightened in her life, and I’m positive that even a scold from her would be purest music to any man’s ears.”

Rohan leaned over and tapped Chay’s shoulder. “Did you hear that? He thinks Tobin’s rages ought to be set to music!”

“War drums,” Chay agreed. “She smiles at
you
, Lleyn, because you dandled her on your knee when she was a child and gave her sweets to make her fat. And you still flirt with her until I ought to run you through! But being her husband isn’t all it’s rumored to be!”

“Then to escape her wrath, you’ll not race tomorrow?” Lleyn asked with a sly grin.

“Not a chance! My Akkal is more than ready, and he’ll win unless somebody has something hidden away with four good legs on it.”

“If I were thirty years younger—” Lleyn chuckled.

“But I thought you were!” Rohan said. “You’re certainly about to drink everyone right under the table.”

“When you’re old, the only pleasures left are food and drink—and winking at pretty girls like Tobin. But if I could ride anything capable of more than a trot, I’d give Chay a run for that prize money.”

“Hadn’t you heard?” Chay asked. “We’re racing for jewels this year, not money. Pity I learned that only after my wife spent half my fortune at the Fair yesterday. Still, the race will get me a big handful of rubies, and no stone suits my Tobin better.”

Rohan turned to the High Prince, who was seated two places down from him on the other side of the table. Roelstra had obviously been listening to the conversation, and smiled as Rohan said,

“That’s an interesting change of tradition—the crafters will have a lot of business to keep them happy.”

“That was the idea. They’ve been complaining that ladies don’t wear enough jewelry anymore and it’s hurting their trade. I’m counting on creating a demand again—and Princess Tobin will be the one to set the standard, as always,” he added with a slight bow to Chay. “But it wasn’t really my idea. Ianthe is responsible for it.”

“She’s a clever girl,” Rohan said. And meant it.

Wispy lavender clouds washed deep blue beneath like dragon wings vanished into blackness as the sun descended, and the dinner party came to an end. Rohan left with Chay after thanking their hosts, and the sweep of night air down by the river made him catch his breath. “Oh, but that feels good! Let’s go walk off some of this food or Akkal will refuse to carry you tomorrow.”

“Let’s try to sober up, too. I must’ve had enough tonight to float that damned barge of Roelstra’s.”

Chaynal slung a companionable arm across Rohan’s shoulders as they walked along the shore, where moonlight threw silver across the river.

“If only we had just a little of this water in the Desert,” Rohan mused.

“Then it wouldn’t be the Desert, would it?” Chay responded reasonably.

“Are you always so brilliant when you’re drunk?”

“Are you always so stupid about women?”

“What?”

Chay sank down onto the grass and stretched out long legs. Leaning back on his elbows, he squinted up at Rohan. “This Sioned of yours. I heard what that lecher Ajit said tonight. Your face froze up like Snowcoves in midwinter.”

“You’ve never been that far north in your life.”

“Don’t try to evade the issue,” Chay said severely. “Be more careful with your eyes, Rohan. I saw it because I know you so well, but if Roelstra catches on, your plan won’t work.”

“And what do you think you know about my plan?”

Chay snorted. “Sit down. I’m getting a neckache.” As Rohan crouched down nearby and began pulling grass up by its roots, he went on, “And don’t rip up the landscape, either. I watched you simper around the princesses, and I’ve also watched you watching while Roelstra agrees to sign. You’re dangling a marriage in front of him, aren’t you? I don’t know why it took me so long to see it,” he added in aggrieved tones. “You’re smarter than I would’ve guessed.”

“What a glowing compliment to your prince,” Rohan said irritably.

“If it’s taken
me
this long to figure it out, then I’d say it was an excellent compliment. Lord Narat asked me this afternoon if you were capable of ruling a princedom—not in so many words, of course, but that’s what he meant. And Lord Reze nearly said flat out that you’re a fool this morning in the
Athr’im
Council. You don’t need to worry about any of them, but if I were you I’d keep a careful eye on those princesses.”