Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince (50 page)

Her first words melted the spell of contentment. “You were shut away with those reports all afternoon. We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

“It’s nothing that can’t wait.”

She let him go and he faced her. “Tell me, Rohan.”

He lifted the bottle and glasses ruefully. “And here I thought we were going to—”

“Oh, we will,” she assured him, and bound the promise with a kiss. “But I haven’t seen you all day. Come talk to me, beloved.”

They sat together on the soft moss, her head resting on his shoulder, the wine set aside for later. In her arms he had found joy, and in her love, strength. But perhaps the gift he cherished most was the solace of her mind. Most princes merely had wives; he had found in Sioned a princess worthy of the royal circlet he had given her.

He told her about the dragons, and as he held her he felt her reactions in her body. She could keep her expression as cool and neutral as Andrade, but just as his aunt’s drumming fingers could give away her mood, Rohan had only to touch Sioned’s hand to sense her real feelings. She was tense now, lithe muscles tightening.

“We’ll have to cancel the vassals this year,” she said when he’d finished. “Then there won’t be anyone to demand a Hatching Hunt.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Feylin is right about the dragons not coming here to Rivenrock, so there wouldn’t be any sport for them anyway. But we have to summon the vassals. This is the first
Rialla
in six years. We all need to have a good long talk, and the ones who’ve inherited since the Plague must pledge to us in front of the others.”

“Are you going to tell them about the dragon gold? They’ve been wondering where the
dranath
money came from, you know. When Farid was here last year he said that his people know where the gold comes from—”

“And haven’t breathed a word about it for twenty years,” he reminded her.

“Of course not. But those who don’t actually work the caves think it’s a mine like any other, without any connection to dragons. Maybe we should tell the vassals that.”

“I’m not concerned with them as much as I am with Roelstra.” Mention of the High Prince brought even greater tension, and he stroked her back soothingly. “Watchers have been sent to Skybowl—merchants, travelers, and so forth. They come away none the wiser. Farid’s a crafty old liar, bless him. But Roelstra’s had three years to puzzle out where I got so much gold so quickly. And I don’t believe that
he
believes I wanted the dragons saved only because I’m a sentimental idiot.”

“He can believe what he likes! As long as no one ever finds proof, what does it matter? Your father had the right idea. Let people think your wealth comes from the spoils of war.”

“Ah, but where
does
it come from? The Merida didn’t have two coins to make their purses jingle when we drove them north. And we had to spend a lot to replace the animals that died of the Plague.”

“We’ve been careful,” she protested. “We’re not extravagant people. We can say that regular trade has filled our coffers again.”

“And that I’m a miser!” He chuckled. “No, love. Trade
isn’t
regular again yet, that’s the point. We haven’t had time enough to get rich on that. Trade will be the focus this year, more than ever before. With so many princes and
athr’im
dead and so many youngsters in their places, power has shifted. I’m afraid it’s gone in Roelstra’s direction, not mine. I have to counter that, and my best weapon is dragon gold.”

“Buy them?” She said as if the words had a sour taste. “How can they lean toward him when
you
were the one who gave them
dranath
!”

“I could say that they see the deaths, not the lives spared, and it would be true. I could say they suspect me of having hoarded the drug at the very beginning, and that, too, would be accurate from their point of view. But the real reason—”

“Is that Roelstra has influence with these young lordlings who understand only one kind of power. His kind. We’ll have to educate them.”

“We shall. But I don’t plan to buy them.”

“Well, you’ll have to think up a reason why you won’t be out there killing a mating sire, you know. The vassals expect it.”

“I know,” he sighed. “People have such absurd notions about proof of a prince’s virility, thanks to my father.”

Her shoulders flinched and he cursed himself. “They certainly can’t prove it by me,” she whispered.

“Sioned—my father was forty years old before I was born. There’s time.”

She pulled out of his arms and faced him. “I’ve never carried a child very long. I haven’t been pregnant since the Plague. I’m not going to give you any children, Rohan, and we both know it.”

“Stop that. We’re both young and strong—”

“You need an heir.”

He drew in a deep breath. “If it comes to it, and it won’t, then Maarken is my choice. But you shouldn’t fret about it, Sioned.”

“How can I not? Rohan, I’ve studied the law. There’s nothing that says your heir must be the son of your wife—only the acknowledged son of your body.”

“Sioned!” He grasped her shoulders roughly. “What are you talking about?”

“I won’t give up my place as your wife and your princess, but you need an heir.”

He stared at her. “So you’d send some girl to my bed and then watch her swell with my child? Could you do that, Sioned?”

“I have your heart and your mind.”

“And my body. Always. Only you. Tell me you could never do that, Sioned.”

“I could,” she insisted, though tears sprang to her eyes.

“And after the child is born, what then? Would you send its mother away? Or keep her here and watch her take precedence over you as the mother of my son? Have you thought about this at all, you little fool? You’d make me into another Roelstra!”

“I
have
thought about it! Rohan, I can’t give you—”

“There’s nothing I want that you can’t give me. And one day we’ll give each other a son. Sioned, I wouldn’t want a child by any other woman. I couldn’t look at a son that didn’t have you in his face and his eyes.” He looked into those beautiful, doubting green eyes. “But can’t you see that it doesn’t matter to me? You’re enough. You’re more than I ever thought I’d have. Sioned, you are my
life.
”

And to prove it to her the only way he knew, he coaxed her down onto the moss and made love to her as the waterfall sang nearby. She wept a little, bittersweet tears tasting of her love for him and her despair that she was unable to bear a child. Afterward he rocked her against his chest, her hair a silken curtain over their bodies. When she lay quiet at last, he loosened his hold and raised himself on one elbow to look at her. Years of living in the Desert had burnished her fair skin to light gold and paled her hair a little, streaking it with blonde glints to make a finer setting for those eyes. Pride, surety of his love, and confidence in herself as a princess showed in every line of her face, as royal now as if she’d been born to it. Sioned had been a lovely girl, but maturity had transformed her into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He traced the elegant curve of her shoulder with one finger and smiled tenderly.

“Besides which, woman, what makes you think I’d even be capable with someone else? I have an exclusive taste for long-legged redheads with green eyes.”

“Fool,” she accused.

“I know,” he agreed, pleased that she was willing to smile again. “That first summer—do you remember? I tried and tried to find a girl to go to bed with—stop laughing at me!” he chided as she giggled. “You were awful to me and you know it. Would you put me through that kind of humiliation again?”

“I just might. You’ve grown entirely too arrogant, my lord dragon prince.”

“Sioned, don’t you dare tickle me! Sioned!”

They ended up laughing, and Rohan was relieved that her moodiness had vanished. He opened the wine bottle and they drank from the Fironese goblets, listening to the waterfall and watching the stars. Yet part of him continued to worry. A son’s legitimacy was secondary to his existence—and his fitness to rule. It was entirely possible that a prince’s legitimate son would turn out a fool and his illegitimate one suited to inherit the responsibilities of a princedom. But Rohan could not imagine touching any woman other than his wife, much less begetting a bastard son.

Maarken would be his heir, if the need arose. If Chay and Tobin decided that their firstborn would be happier with only Radzyn as his share, then there were the two younger boys, Sorin and Andry. In any case, a prince of Zehava’s blood would rule over the Desert when Rohan was gone.

It was not until much later, when he and Sioned had gone upstairs at last, that he realized he had tacitly admitted he might not have any sons at all.

P
rincess Ianthe ripped open her father’s seal and unfolded the parchment, scowling as she noted the date of the letter. She reminded herself of dear, dead Pallia’s warning about wrinkles and smoothed her face into more pleasant lines. But her irritation was not so easily banished; it had taken fully ten days for this letter to arrive from Castle Crag. Through winter snows, spring runoff, summer heat, autumn rain—not to mention rockslides, bandits, or plain bad luck—the couriers never moved fast enough to suit her. Andrade’s interdict on Castle Crag and Feruche was a vast inconvenience. But the messages that passed between father and daughter could not have been entrusted to a Sunrunner in any case, she reminded herself, not even one seduced by
dranath
as Crigo had been.

As usual, Roelstra wasted no time on family news. Neither he nor Ianthe cared about her sisters. Besides, she had her spies in his household just as he had watchers in hers who reported anything of interest. It was part of the cynical, amusing game they played in pretending to trust one another. His opening “Dearest Daughter” was in the same vein.

The princess’ lips curved in a sarcastic smile. The pointed reference to her many lovers was unnecessary. She had not been touched since the beginning of winter, and made very sure that her household knew she slept alone. There were visitors enough to Feruche that would attest to her chastity during this period, persons who could have no stake in the game she and her father would soon play in earnest.

She sighed ruefully. She had anticipated this reply and had not really expected her suggestions to find any favor with him. It would have been useful to have in writing gifts of land and castle for her sons, but Roelstra was correct in many ways: they would only grow up trying to outmaneuver each other. Ianthe intended they should work together as much as their ambitious natures would allow. She had no illusions about their acquisitive instincts. Ruval at four and Marron at barely three already fought over almost everything, and year-old Segev watched his brothers’ battles with great interest.

Their fathers were highborn men of excellent lineage and spectacular beauty. Ianthe sighed again at the thought of them: Chelan with his smoldering eyes and perfect body, Evais’ incredible imagination in bed, Athil’s erotic games. Poor Athil. He had not been content with clothes and jewels and fine horses as the others had been. He had wanted marriage to the favorite daughter of the High Prince. His sunlight fairness had reminded her of Rohan, and it had been surprisingly difficult to order his death, annoying as his demands had become. At least Chelan and Evais had had the sense to leave when told. It amused her to reflect that she would have jumped at the chance to marry any of them while she still lived at Castle Crag. Years of exercising absolute authority in her own keep had taught her that marriage was not for her.