Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince (40 page)

Andrade’s rings glinted as she lifted a hand to brush what she thought was a stray insect from her forehead. Her fingers encountered nothing but a loose wisp of hair. She walked faster toward her tent, shaking her head to clear it of wine, and chided herself for succumbing to the excellent Syrene vintage Rohan had provided with dinner. The sensation of something winged touching her forehead came again, and again she wiped irritably at her brow. Then she stumbled against Urival as a deep, flesh-shrinking cry split the night sky.

Dragons. She looked up and saw their spread wings black against the stars, across the moons. “Dragoncry before dawn,” she whispered, staring up at the fierce shapes led by the single sire who again bellowed out his mastery of the sky.

“Don’t tell me you believe that legend,” Urival said, but his voice was not quite as casual as his words.

“Dragoncry before dawn,” Andrade repeated in hushed tones. “Death before dawn. Can’t you feel it?” She shivered, rubbed her face with her hands. But the colors of her rings lanced into her eyes, shattered colors deliberately broken, paling shards of glass lacerating her senses. She cried out and clutched at Urival’s arm. He called her name, but she had no will or voice to reply. Her face turned to the moons, cold white light shadowed by dragonwings, merciless and beautiful. She felt a Sunrunner’s touch, heard a voice both weary and ecstatic, grasped for the fading colors. She knew who this man was, remembered the elegant pattern from years ago—but he eluded her, escaping on the thin unraveling moonlight even as she struggled to hold the weaving together. He was gone—but not before he had told her what she had to know.

“Sioned!” she screamed. “Goddess, no!”

Urival caught her up in his arms and ran headlong for her tent. Safely within the blue silk walls, the moonlight lost its hold on her. Urival placed her on the cot and crouched beside her, chafing her hands. “Tell me,” he rasped.

“Find Sioned! Tell Rohan—Roelstra has her, he’ll—”

“How do you know?”

Above them in the night the dragonsire shrieked again, and Andrade shied away from the imagined feel of his wings against her face.

“Dragoncry before dawn—Urival, he’s dead, the Sunrunner is dead—died telling me—don’t let Sioned die, too!”

R
ohan stared down at the shirt he had just dropped onto the carpet. No, too much effort to pick it up again—and dangerous besides, considering the condition of his head. It was a good thing Sioned had not been in her tent, for he would not have been much use to her tonight. He made a mental note to abstain from anything stronger than water during his wedding feast. He would have enough to worry about without
that
happening to him as well.

Yawning and stretching were risky ventures, too, and after the attempts he stood very still until his head stopped spinning. His lips were numb; so was his nose. He wondered if his mother had taught Walvis any cures for a morning winehead. Come to think of it, where was his squire? The one night Rohan actually needed someone to help him to bed, and the boy had vanished. He sighed, pitying the poor prince forced to take off his own boots, and collapsed on the bed to consider trying it.

The dragon’s cry shuddered through him as if he had never heard the sound before in his life. What was a dragon doing over Waes at this time of year? The scream came again and he braced himself against it, the echo staying with him as he fell back against the pillows. In the profound silence he heard his gasping breaths and the rapid pounding of his heart that had little to do with the quantities of wine he’d consumed that night. The third piercing call was like a sword through his skull and he wrapped his arms around his head, his whole body flinching. A dragon, far from the usual flight paths, traveling at night when landmarks below were only dimly lit by the moons—

“You there! You can’t go in now, my lord is—”

“Get out of my way!”

He recognized Urival’s voice and struggled to sit up as the
faradhi
burst into the tent. “What—”

“Listen to me,” the Sunrunner said in rough tones. “Roelstra has Sioned.”

The effects of the wine vanished as if a searing wind off the Long Sand had swept through his body. He surged to his feet and pushed past Urival into the night, looking up involuntarily at the dragon shadows. Urival grabbed him from behind and spun him around.

“Think! As much as you may want to kill him, you can’t! Rohan,
think
!”

The dragonsire shrieked again above them, and Rohan stiffened as his flesh cringed again with the terrible cry. Urival was shaking him, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Take your hands off me,” he snarled.

“Listen! Andrade felt the renegade Sunrunner call to her on the moonlight. He died giving her the warning. But it may be a trap.”

Did Urival believe him unaware of the way Roelstra’s mind worked? “Damn you, I can think! Now let me go!”

The older man looked narrowly into his eyes, then relaxed his grip. “Good. I’m coming with you.”

“Just don’t get in my way.”

He didn’t run. His heart was pounding too fast, and he couldn’t seem to breathe properly around the knot of rage in his chest. But he could not give in to it. Urival was right. He could not afford to kill the High Prince. But if Roelstra had put so much as a finger on Sioned—he rejected the image. He must not consider it. He must think.

Urival’s status as a high-ranking Sunrunner got them past guards who would not have recognized Prince Rohan in the half-naked young man accompanying him. A flash of jeweled rings and they were bowed to without challenge until they were within Roelstra’s silent camp.

“Lift your torch, man, and look at him,” Urival growled to the sentry. “Don’t you recognize his royal highness?”

“Your grace! But what business have you here at this hour? I wasn’t told to expect visitors.”

“Private business between princes,” Urival snapped. “Let us pass.”

Rohan’s strides lengthened, the rhythm of walking having steadied his body somewhat. He squared his shoulders, felt his face settling into hard, grim lines. As he neared Roelstra’s tent he heard Walvis’ furious young voice, strained as if someone had him by the throat.

“Don’t you dare touch my lady!”

A lamp had been lit within, and two figures threw shadows onto the silk. One was Roelstra. He towered over the boy, who was tied to a chair. Rohan heard Urival’s haughty command to the guards who’d come to protect their prince’s leisure, heard the renewed thudding of his own heart. At last he heard Sioned’s voice, thick and slurred.

“Let the boy go.”

Roelstra laughed.

Think,
Rohan told himself.
It may mean their lives. Think, damn you
!

“What was in the wine?” Sioned asked.

“Something I’ve found to be very effective in taming your kind. But it won’t spoil our pleasure, my dear.”

“Leave her alone!” Walvis exclaimed.

“Scream all you like, child. There’s no help nearby, only my men—and they are deaf with loyalty to me.”

Rohan glanced over his shoulder. Urival stood with the watchfire between him and the four guards, the threat obvious. Deaf Roelstra’s people might be, but they were not blind to the
faradhi
’s nine sparkling rings.

“What do you want from me, Roelstra?” Sioned asked. “My body, my abilities as a Sunrunner, or both?”

“If you touch her, you’ll die for it,” the squire said. “It’s forbidden to harm a
faradhi
—and she’s under my lord’s protection as well!”

Rohan abruptly realized that the two were trading Roelstra’s attention back and forth to gain time. Despite whatever had been given Sioned, despite the squire’s helplessness, each retained the wits to toss cues to each other as if they’d practiced all their lives. Rohan gave thanks to the Goddess for people who could think, and followed their example. He had to know where Sioned was within the tent. The angle of the two visible shadows meant that the lamp was in the center of the tent, on a table perhaps; she must be on the other side of the light, away from Roelstra. Good, he told himself; that would give him room to maneuver.

“Andrade won’t much like this, you know,” Sioned murmured. “You took one
faradhi
to your own use. I don’t think she’ll appreciate it a second time.”

“My lady,” Walvis said, “there won’t be enough of him left for Lady Andrade to deal with, once my lord is finished with him!”

“Enough!” Roelstra commanded. Rohan saw him turn, his back to the entry. Sliding the flaps apart, he stepped noiselessly inside.

Sioned was huddled on the huge bed, her knees drawn up to her chin. The lamp on a central table shone cruelly on her haggard face, and there was something strained and odd about her eyes, as if she could barely focus. But she saw him, and her long lashes closed as she bent her head wearily to her knees.

“You have her rather inconveniently placed for a rape, High Prince,” Rohan said softly.

Roelstra whirled around. “How dare you enter my camp? You insolent young fool—”

“Don’t bother to call your guards,” Rohan advised. “Consider the witnesses. Would their loyalty survive such things as Lady Andrade is capable of?”

“Finding refuge in auntie’s skirts,” the High Prince sneered.

Rohan smiled. “Free the boy. Now.”

Roelstra shrugged. Rohan took another step, angling toward the squire bound to the chair. But Roelstra, moving with surprising swiftness, grasped the boy’s hair and jerked his head back, a knife held to his throat.

“Witnesses?” he inquired silkily. “Who said there would be any?”

“You really must think your stories through, Roelstra,” Rohan said, glad that his voice was cool. “Now, if you were really being intelligent, you would already have hit on the idea of accusing me or the lady or the squire of an assassination attempt. That way you could kill us all with your own knife, shame Andrade and my family, and enhance your own reputation at the same time.” He took another slow step into the tent.

“How clever of you to guess my thoughts, princeling. Which of you would like to be first? This talkative child, perhaps?”

“You have a problem,” Rohan told him, moving another small pace forward. “You don’t think with your brain, but with what’s between your legs. What motive could any of us have for killing you? My squire, cast as assassin? The ropes will leave marks on him. There’d be questions about that, you know. As for the lady—why should a Sunrunner wish you harm? They are expressly forbidden to kill. And why would
I
want to murder you? I’ve been looking over your daughters—and a man doesn’t do away with his prospective father-by-marriage, you know. Who would believe I’m smart enough to realize that with you dead and one of your daughters as my wife, I’d control Princemarch? No, Roelstra,” he said, smiling. “I’d kill you
after
the wedding, not before.” He was in the middle of the carpet now, next to the table, within decent range—if only he could get to his own knife before Roelstra slit Walvis’ throat. The boy’s head was wrenched painfully back on his neck, but he gazed at Rohan with absolute faith. It hurt.

“My daughters will have to live without your infantile charms,” Roelstra answered. Releasing Walvis, he took a step away from the chair. “I think it’ll be you first, little prince. I grow weary of the sound of your voice.”

“You’re not thinking again,” Rohan said, shaking his head as if at a muddle-headed student. “I thought the idea was to marry me to one of your charming girls, wait until we had a son, and
then
kill me. What profit to murder me now?”

“Roelstra!” Sioned moved on the bed, making the wooden frame creak, attracting the High Prince’s attention. “Let them go and I’ll do as you like!”

Rohan blessed her for the distraction. As Roelstra’s eyes flickered involuntarily to her, Rohan pulled the knife from his right boot. Its blade winked in the lamplight, as sinister as the sudden smile on Roelstra’s face.

“Good,” he approved, circling around behind Walvis’ chair, gaze riveted on the young prince now. “That makes it more interesting. You’re not as smart as you like to believe, princeling. Drawing your knife is treason against the person of the High Prince. I’m perfectly justified in carrying out the death sentence myself.”

“Try,” Rohan said pleasantly. “Your Merida allies failed—but then, you never really wanted them to succeed, did you? Oh, yes, it could only have been you behind them, I’ve known that all along. You wanted to frighten me into grabbing at a marriage bond with you as protection against them—and what could be more understandable than my eventual death at Merida hands?”

He moved warily away from Roelstra as he spoke, one part of his mind analyzing the man. The High Prince had height, weight, and reach on him, but to Rohan’s advantage were youth, strength, and quickness, as well as a genuine affinity for this kind of combat. Though he was good with a sword, he had discovered early on that the cunning necessary to a knife-fight came naturally to him. He smiled as Roelstra lunged for him and he sidestepped neatly.

“Then again, if I refused your delightful girls, was I to find a glass knife in my guts on the way back to Stronghold? The Merida would rule the Desert—but only until you could arrive with your armies according to that mutual defense treaty.” Again he rocked lightly out of the way of Roelstra’s blade. “Is there no end to your absurdity? My vassals would never stand for your army on their soil. And it
is
theirs now, you know—hadn’t you heard?” Another taunting avoidance of the gleaming knife. “A man will do battle at his prince’s side, but he’ll destroy anyone who marches across land lawfully his.”

“Can you fight, or only talk?” Roelstra demanded, punctuating the words with a powerful thrust. Rohan had been waiting for the impatience as his father and Maeta had taught him to do. Now he grinned tightly and answered Roelstra’s question with his knife.