Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince (42 page)

“All right—I’ll tell you—” She shifted away from the princess’ chill fingers. “Roelstra wanted the Sunrunner girl.”

“I know that,” Ianthe said impatiently. “It wasn’t as difficult to get her away from the others as Father thought it might be.”

“You
helped
him?”

“Of course. I don’t like you, Palila. I never have. But I like this Sioned even less, and the idea of her as my father’s mistress and Sunrunner is, quite frankly, more than I’m willing to put up with. Yes, he came to me and asked my help.” She shrugged. “He trusts me, you know. As much as he trusts anyone. But you ruined it by having Crigo warn the girl, didn’t you?”

“No—yes—I don’t know! I wanted him to and he agreed, but I don’t know what he did or what happened after he—he—” She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, but the dead face followed her no matter where she fled in her own mind.

Ianthe’s voice brought her back. “So instead of a new mistress and a new
faradhi,
Father will have only a scar or two to show for his night’s work. I see. And that bitch of a girl is unsullied. Damn! I ought to be very angry with you, Palila.” She paused to let that sink in, then asked, “Is one dose of
dranath
enough to addict?”

“A large enough dose might even kill—oh, Goddess,” Palila moaned, clenching her teeth. “How did you know its name?”

“I know more than you ever gave me credit for. I hope the dose was huge—I hope she dies of it! But just think, Palila. I’m not going to have my revenge on you by betraying you to Father about this. Isn’t that kind of me? In a few hours you’ll present him with his first son.” She grinned. “No matter that it won’t be his own!”

Palila found strength enough to strike out at the princess’ smug face. Ianthe laughed and caught her clawing fingers, stroked them almost gently.

“Keep wondering how I knew,” she suggested. “It’ll give you something to take your mind off the pain.”

“Ianthe—don’t betray me! I’ll do anything—name it—don’t ruin me!”

“Oh, you’ll do anything I ask, believe me. That was the whole idea. I’m going down to see Pandsala now. Three other women are in the same state you’re in, thanks to us. Think of it, Palila. Can you be sure I’ll substitute your girl for a boy? Or will I take your son and put another useless daughter in his place?”

Palila howled with rage and terror and the renewed agonies of childbirth. Ianthe laughed at her and left the cabin, pausing in the narrow hallway to savor the sound. She imagined Sioned screaming in similar pain and fear as her body succumbed to a furious demand for
dranath.
If the dose Roelstra had given her did not kill her, perhaps withdrawal would. Or, what might be even better, she would survive addicted. Not that she’d allow herself to live for very long, enslaved to the drug. No, she was too proud to endure the shame. In any case, the Sunrunner would not be marrying Rohan. And neither would Pandsala.

Ianthe climbed down the staircases to a room below the water-line. Cramped, windowless, and stuffy, the only light came from a candle set into a tarnished holder on the wall, and by its weak glow Ianthe surveyed the occupants thoughtfully. Three of the sweating faces were drawn into lines of agony, their labor coming too soon. The fourth woman was Pandsala, tense with waiting, fidgeting with anxiety. She rose from her chair as Ianthe entered the room.

“I thought I told you to keep them tied up,” Ianthe said, gesturing to the three women who lay on straw mattresses on the floor.

“How could they escape now?” Pandsala retorted. “We’ve been ruthless about this, Ianthe. There’s no need to be cruel as well.”

The younger princess shrugged. “I’m told the blonde has already borne three boys. Watch her carefully.”

The fair-haired woman propped herself on one elbow, hate gleaming dully in her brown eyes. “You’ll have to kill us. Did you think I didn’t know that?”

“Perhaps we’ll only have your tongues yanked out.” Ianthe smiled. “Can you write? I thought not. I don’t need to tell you not to learn, now, do I?” She turned to her sister. “Palila’s women will do what they can for her. But one of us must be there when Andrade arrives.”

“Who sent for her? She can’t witness the birth!”

“Of course not. But I sent for her because she’ll be an impeccable witness to what we wish everyone to believe happened. I’ll provide distraction enough, don’t worry. Did you remember to bring the blankets?”

“Over there.” Pandsala nodded to three large squares of folded velvet, gold thread winking on violet. “They’re identical to the one made for Palila’s brat. You do think of everything, Ianthe.”

She smiled as the blonde woman groaned and clutched her belly. “Oh, yes. Everything—and more.”

Andrade recovered from the shock of the Sunrunner’s death because she had to. She was sitting in a chair when Urival returned, and listened to his report impassively. She ordered someone to go out looking for Antoun, the Sunrunner assigned to watch over Sioned tonight, and summoned Camigwen to her tent, all with absolute calm. While they waited for the girl to arrive, Andrade questioned Urival thoroughly on everything Roelstra had said, and then considered it in silence.

Camigwen came in with Ostvel, and Andrade spared a raised brow for their rumpled clothes, obviously donned in some haste, before giving them a brief description of the night’s events.

“I don’t know if you remember Crigo. He was older than you by several years. He was a good man, a decent man. Exactly what Roelstra did to him is unclear right now, but with tomorrow morning’s sunlight I want you to see that all
faradh’im
are warned. I believe we can keep this quiet and among ourselves, but every one of us must be made aware of this.”

Camigwen exchanged worried glances with her Chosen. “How much of a danger is this drug? Do we know the name?”

“Roelstra didn’t mention it,” Urival replied.

“He’ll tell me,” Andrade said grimly.

“No doubt,” her steward commented. “He said something about being able to control
faradh’im
with it. I don’t think Sioned was in full possession of her powers, though,” he added musingly.

“And that makes me wonder how Crigo was able to do what he obviously had done for Roelstra for years.”

“But how vulnerable are
faradh’im
to this drug?” Ostvel asked.

Andrade shrugged. “Once I’ve gotten the information from Roelstra and Sioned tells us how this drug feels, we should be fairly safe.” She glanced up as her name was called from outside, expecting that someone had returned with information about her missing Sunrunner. But instead a man wearing the violet of service to the High Prince came into the tent, breathing hard. He dropped to one knee after a scathing look from Urival.

“My Lady, you must come at once.”

Andrade drew herself upright in her chair, ready to blister the man’s ears with her views of rude interruptions. “Let Roelstra’s own physician stitch him up!” she began, but the man shook his head.

“Not the High Prince, my Lady. I was sent by the Lady Palila’s women to fetch you immediately.”

“Palila? Whatever for?” She stared, then traded a swift glance with Urival. “Oh, Goddess! She’s in labor, isn’t she?”

“Yes, my Lady, evidently so. I’m told it’s early. Her women are frantic, for the High Prince’s physician is unavailable.”

Considering what Urival had told her of Roelstra’s wounds, Andrade could believe it. She got to her feet. “Very well. I’ll come.” To the protests of the others she replied, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be perfectly safe, and Palila will need help. Urival, stay here and question Antoun when he’s brought back—in one piece, I devoutly hope. Cami, you and Ostvel meet with the other Sunrunners and tell them what was said here tonight. They’ll help you tomorrow morning. And no arguments!” She turned to Roelstra’s man. “You, whatever your name is—”

“Gernius, my Lady.”

“Well, Gernius, you will have the honor of carrying my bag of medicines and conducting me to the High Prince’s barge. Let’s get started.”

The instant she set foot on the ship her stomach rebelled. Gritting her teeth against nausea and the fiery throb behind her eyes, she clung to her dignity and followed a maidservant into Palila’s luxurious cabin. She saw at once that the mistress was in a bad way. Snapping out orders to the useless women around her, she was disgusted to find that they, like their lady, were pathetically glad to have someone take charge. She conducted a swift, thorough examination and gave orders that would ease Palila’s suffering somewhat. Andrade had seen enough birthings to know that this one would take some time yet, but she did not mention this to Palila—who screamed loud enough to waken the Storm God for the winter.

“Oh, stop it,” she advised, not unkindly, as she sat on the bed beside the thrashing figure. “Don’t fight so hard. You’re using up all your strength in yelling.” Palila’s nails dug into Andrade’s arms and she philosophically added this new pain to the grotesque hammering in her skull. “Quiet down now. You’re doing just fine.”

“My Lady?” The murmur at Andrade’s shoulder made her turn, and she found Princess Ianthe, of all people. “Three more await you below,” the girl said.

“Three more?” Andrade repeated blankly.

“Giving birth.”

“Sweet Goddess!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I am,” Ianthe said, her lips quivering as she tried to suppress a smirk. “Besides, they’re only servants.”

“They’re
women
like you and me!”

Palila moaned, “Don’t leave me!” The terror in her eyes went beyond that of an essentially cowardly woman in labor. Her gaze was fixed on the princess, and Andrade surmised that hatred ran even deeper at Castle Crag than she’d previously thought.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she told Palila. “Ianthe, stay with her.”

“No!” Palila shrieked.

But Ianthe settled into a chair next to the bed and stroked Palila’s hand soothingly—having to hang onto it hard to create the pretty picture of solicitude, Andrade noted sourly. She shrugged off her uneasiness and left the cabin.

Down a steep, dark staircase she went, swearing under her breath as the barge’s gentle rocking made her stumble and threatened to deprive her of her dinner. She hung onto the rope rail, breathed with stern regularity, and refused to be sick. Following the sound of pain-weary groans, she arrived at a stifling little room where Princess Pandsala—of all people—had charge of the three women. One had brought her labors to a successful conclusion and held a newborn jealously to her breast. One was too deep in her pain to notice anything. But the third, a pale-haired woman with burning dark eyes, glared in silent loathing at the princess and held her swollen belly as if to keep the child safely within her.

Andrade knelt beside the new mother, fighting dizziness and renewed nausea at the stench of blood and sweat in the room. “Don’t tell me
you
delivered this child,” she said over her shoulder to Pandsala.

“Ianthe helped. It was very quick, really.”

“Small wonder,” the blonde woman hissed.

Pandsala shot her a vicious glance of warning. “She’s had a baby before—and so have you. Fine sons, aren’t they, back at Castle Crag?”

The woman turned her face away. Andrade, puzzled at the by-play, wondered if there was something she was missing. Her head hurt too much to chase down the idea right now. The new mother was doing nicely despite her inexpert assistants. Her infant girl was pink, healthy, and in possession of the correct number of limbs, fingers, and toes. Andrade had never been a mother herself, but there was a deep vein of maternal feeling in her that found its safest expression in admiration of babies in which she had no personal or political interest. She congratulated the new mother warmly, and moved to the woman beside her.

“Why does the Goddess make so many daughters?” Pandsala asked suddenly.

“There does seem to be an abundance of them at Castle Crag. Perhaps it’s the air.” Andrade eased the struggling woman into a more comfortable position, murmuring, “There, my dear, you’ll do better now. Only a little while longer, I promise.”

One born, three to go, Andrade told herself. It strained credulity that four women were giving birth on the same night at the same time, but what explanation was there other than bizarre coincidence? What matter if these servant women birthed their children the same night as Roelstra’s mistress? Andrade rubbed the center of her forehead where the pain had settled, and tried to put her wits in proper order. Most Sunrunners on water lost their ability to think as well as their dinner. But not
this
Sunrunner, she vowed.

“They say it takes longer to have a boy than a girl,” the princess went on. “Is that true?”

“I’ve no idea. Come here, Pandsala, and wipe her down. She’ll take a while yet. I’ll send one of the women down to help you.”

“Make it Ianthe,” Pandsala said quickly. “Those others give me the fidgets.”

“As you like. Though why a princess should be attending three servant women in their labors—”

The girl shrugged. “You saw upstairs how hopeless those others are. We have an obligation to our people, after all. Besides, somebody has to take care of them while we’re waiting for Father’s physician.”

Urival’s vivid description of the knife-fight came to mind. Roelstra would be twice as dangerous now—wounded animals always were—but Andrade savored the mental picture of Rohan’s blade slicing the High Prince’s flesh. A pity it hadn’t been his heart that had been cut, but Andrade doubted that such a thing could be found in Roelstra.

She turned at last to the blonde woman, examined her carefully, and nodded her satisfaction. “You’re doing excellently, my dear. Keep an eye on your friend, if you would. You can reassure her, since you’ve been through this before.”

“Please the Goddess, make my baby a girl,” the woman whispered.

Puzzled by the vehemence, Andrade replied, “Be easy, now. Boy or girl, you’ll soon have another fine child in your arms.”