Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (14 page)

“And must our ways now merge with those of our enemies, because
you
decide they must?” she snapped.

“Not merge. But why shouldn’t we do what our ancestors probably did?”

“Because they had good reason for leaving that knowledge behind and forbidding us the starlight.” She leaned back in her chair, looking very old. “Talk with Rohan sometime about using methods you despise to gain something you know is right. Why do you think his sword has hung idle in the Great Hall of Stronghold since he defeated Roelstra?”

“Yet he did battle, and he won! And because of it, he’s had the chance to make this a world of laws instead of blood brought by the sword.”

“Would you make us into users of dark stars rather than the clean light of sun and moons?”

“By your own admission, Sioned used starlight—and even though she wears no
faradhi
rings now, there can be no doubting her heart.”

Urival pushed himself to his feet. Andry was too clever by half and had learned logical argument all too well. “Leave us now. You’ve made your case. And I don’t need to tell you not to speak of this.”

“No, my lord. You needn’t tell me.” The words were spoken without rancor, but the blue eyes were shaded with defiance. He bowed to them both, and left.

Andrade was silent for a time, then said, “If I don’t live long enough to instill some caution in that boy, we’re lost.” She tilted her face up to Urival’s. “Do you think I’ll last?” she asked almost playfully, but her eyes were bleak.

“You’ll drink to the sight of my ashes floating away on the breeze,” he told her. “But not if you don’t get some rest.”

“I won’t argue. Put the scrolls away somewhere safe.”

“I will. And then come back to make sure you’re sleeping.” He smiled. “Stubborn old witch.”

“Foolish old bastard.”

After the scrolls had been put in a place only Urival knew about, he returned to her chambers. She was seated on her bed, long silver-gilt braids undone and forming a pale, rippling cloak around her. She had changed into a nightrobe, but seemed too listless to finish the job by sliding between the sheets. Urival had seen her like this more and more often in the last two years, and fear for her health was a stab of anguish in his breast. He drew back the covers and helped her into bed, feeling how light and frail she had become. Extinguishing the candles, he moved silently to the door.

“No. Stay.”

From any other woman it would have been a command to offend even the most loving heart. From her, it was as close to a plea as her pride would ever allow. Urival was frightened.

“As you wish, my Lady.” He stripped down to his long under-tunic and lay down atop the covers, dragging the quilt up from the foot of the bed to drape around him. He did not touch her, only waited, the hearthlight playing soft shadows across the room.

“If it were Maarken instead of Andry, I wouldn’t be worried,” she said at last. “He was born with a sense of honor as strong as Chay’s or Rohan’s. But Andry is cursed with the wrong kind of cleverness. Why do all my relations have to be so intelligent?” She sighed. “There’s something different about him from his father or his uncle or his brothers. Perhaps he gets it from Zehava.”

“Or maybe even from you.”

“Yes, I’ve always been terribly clever, haven’t I?” She gave a harsh laugh. “Andry’s going to be even more dangerous than I. And I beg the Goddess I’m not doing wrong in making him Lord of this place once I’m dead.”

“He’s young. He’ll learn.”

“And he’ll have you to guide him.”

“Always assuming I outlive you,” he bantered as lightly as he could manage, not wanting to think about a world that did not have her in it. “Besides, there’s Rohan, his parents—and don’t underestimate Maarken’s influence or Sorin’s. Andry adores his brothers.”

She shifted beneath the blankets and her fingers closed around his. “Not the first time we’ve shared a bed,” she remarked. “Do you remember?”

“Of course. I always knew it was you who made a man of me that night.”

“I do good work,” she replied, real laughter in her voice now. “Had to fight Kassia for you, too. It was to be one or the other of us. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me.”

“
I
would never have forgiven you if it had been her.”

“But how did you know? None of my others ever did.”

He did not tell her that because it had been him, she had not woven the Goddess’ illusions as carefully as she should have. Forty-five years later, she still did not realize that she had wanted him to know. “Gift of the Goddess,” he replied, meaning it.

“And all the nights since. That must be how you recognized me. Repetition of the experience. Did Sioned ever know it was you?”

“She may have guessed. I don’t know. I must say, I’ve been tempted to collect my full share of gratitude from Rohan, though. I do good work, too.”

“Conceited old lecher.” She moved closer and he put his arm around her. “They’ve been good for each other. Will Maarken and Hollis be the same, do you think?”

“As good as you and I have been through the years.” He pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “And neither of us is so old that come morning, when we’re rested, there won’t be a way to prove it.”

“Shameless.”

“You were the one who taught me,” he answered, smiling. “Go to sleep.”

S
ioned was not in the habit of deceiving her husband on any matter, nor had she ever avoided his presence for any reason. How deceive or avoid one’s second self? But she found it necessary to do both during the days after her rescue of Meath and the shocking encounter with the dragon.

Worry about Pol and Tobin, who had reacted badly to the drain on their energies, took up the afternoon and evening. By the time she was certain that both would sleep it off with no real damage done, Sioned was so exhausted she fell into bed, oblivious until the next noon. The arrival of the Lord and Lady of Remagev with their children occupied the rest of that day; their welcome and settling in gave Sioned further opportunity to deceive Rohan about her troubled thoughts and to avoid being alone with him.

He waited her out, but every time she looked at him the concern in his eyes was deeper. By the third morning he had had enough of waiting, and rather than go downstairs to share breakfast with everyone in the Great Hall, he ordered the meal sent to them in their study. It was understood that they were not to be disturbed—and Sioned knew there would be no fortuitous interruptions, for the command would remain in force until Rohan was satisfied in his own mind about what had occurred on the sunlight.

She sat opposite him at the large fruitwood table that served as their desk, reminded of times at Goddess Keep when she had been called on to explain some misdeed or other. Certainly there was a family resemblance between Rohan and Andrade, emphasized now by the stern set of his features.

Neat piles of letters, blank parchments, writing materials, and the other accoutrements of a voluminous correspondence had been shoved aside to make room for a meal neither of them touched. Near Rohan’s right elbow was the huge book of law and precedent, bound in slightly iridescent green-bronze dragonhide and resting on a carved wooden stand given them by Prince Davvi of Syr, Sioned’s brother. On her side of the table was a matching wooden box that held their various seals: one each for their personal letters, another pair for more formal documents, and the great dragon seal, wide as Sioned’s palm, that was pressed into pendants of blue wax hung from green ribbons on all decrees of the High Prince. Two walls were lined to the ceiling with books, volumes neatly arranged in subject order; a stepladder stood abandoned by the section on geology and metallurgy. The door cramped into a corner, more books above it, and a tapestry map took up most of the third wall. Heavy silk and wool stirred sluggishly in a warm breeze through open windows on the wall to her left.

Sioned loved this room. In it Urival had taught her probably more than he should have of
faradhi
secrets her first summer at Stronghold, before she had become Rohan’s princess. Here she had learned Desert law and the principles of justice her husband valued so dearly. And for the past twenty-one years she had worked with him in this chamber, governing their lands and planning the future they would give their son. But now she wished guiltily that she was anyplace rather than sitting across from Rohan, his cool blue eyes fixed on her so grimly that she wanted to squirm like a child caught breaking a rule. She held herself still, aware that at this moment he was not her husband but the High Prince. Neither was she his wife; she was his Sunrunner.

“A dragon,” was all he said.

She nodded, deciding to get it over with so she could have
her
Rohan back. She explained what had happened from the time Meath contacted her on the sunlight, and finished with, “We’ve always suspected dragons are highly intelligent. If I’m right, and they have thought-colors
faradh’im
can perceive, then it may be that they’re even more intelligent that we originally thought.”

“Why has this never happened before? With all the
faradh’im
weaving sunlight and all the dragons flying Goddess knows where over the years, why didn’t anybody ever ‘bump into’ one before now?”

“Perhaps they did, but didn’t understand it. Or perhaps I’m completely mistaken. But I swear by what I felt, my lord. I touched colors and I felt wings, and so did Maarken. Pol and Tobin were safely back here before it happened, so they can’t verify. But Maarken can.”

Rohan placed his hands flat on the table. Like her, he wore only a single ring, a topaz that had been his father’s. The gem had been reset some years ago into a circle of tiny emeralds, tribute to the color of his wife’s eyes. His hands were lean, powerful, the long fingers bearing faint battle scars; they were hands that could control the most mettlesome horse with ease, or caress her skin as lightly as the merest breath of wind, or wield sword and knife with killing strength. They were the hands of a knight and a prince, but also those of a poet. Sioned could not recall a time when she had not coveted the touch of those hands.

It was a long while before he spoke again, and with his words his fingers drew in to fists, bones standing out pale against sun-browned skin. “Could you do it again? Touch a dragon?”

Startled, she said the first thing that came into her mind. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Could you?”

She thought for a long moment, then shook her head. “How would I know what to look for? Nobody’s ever thought to memorize the colors of a dragon. And it’s the owner of those colors who discerns their shape and tone, communicates them to others.”

“I remember Andrade explaining it to me when I was little,” he mused. “People are like windows of stained glass, each one unique, colors to be touched and woven with the light the way sun shining through a window throws colors into the air. Sioned, if dragons have those colors, too, and could be taught to understand them, what if we could—I don’t know, speak with them somehow, or see through their eyes? They’ll return to the Desert soon to mate.”

“I don’t think it would be dangerous, my lord—just startling.” She smiled slightly. “You’ve always loved them so much. I’ll try to touch one of your dragons for you.”

He shrugged. “Others don’t see dragons as I do.”

Sioned thought a moment, beginning to frown. “You’d never use them wrongly, but others might. Dragons in battle—if there’s a way to do it, someone will. Goddess, why does everything have to come down to killing?”

A smile played around his lips as he held her gaze, the prince becoming her Rohan again. “My father wanted me to have a wife, the way other princes have wives. He didn’t know Andrade would bring me a princess.”

“If I am, then it’s you who taught me how, beloved. I’ll try to touch a dragon for you. But don’t expect too much.”

“I expect everything of you—and I’ve never been disappointed.” He glanced at the windows, judging the time. “Feylin wants to talk dragons this morning, too. Did you see that sheaf of parchments she came armed with? More facts and figures than anybody but she understands.”

“Have something to eat first,” Sioned suggested, gesturing to their untouched breakfast. “You know that when the two of you get to discussing dragons, you forget everything else—including your stomachs.”

“I thought you agreed with Tobin that I’m getting middle-aged and fat.”

She laughed and tossed a marsh apple at him. “Every man should have a middle age like yours, my lord, with a waist no wider than Maarken’s. Hush up and eat.”

Pol and Feylin were waiting for them in the upstairs reception chamber, her daughter Sionell with them. The Lady of Remagev smiled a greeting and said, “The others are out playing—including Walvis and Chay, who call it ‘inspecting the horses.’ ”

“I would’ve thought you’d be out there, too,” Rohan said to the children, ruffling Sionell’s mop of russet curls.