Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (43 page)

To be sure, he gloated over the eventual union of Kierst with Isel into a single princedom. But he did so in private, not wishing to stir up trouble that Saumer of Isel was perfectly capable of causing until their grandson came of age. At Rohan’s strong suggestion, a marriage had taken place between Saumer’s only son and Volog’s eldest girl. Volog’s heir had later wed Saumer’s favorite daughter. The latter union had produced a son who became sole heir to both princedoms when Saumer’s heir died without issue. The child would be brought up at both courts until his twelfth winter, at which time Volog intended Saumer to agree to the boy’s fostering at Stronghold. He did not require Saumer’s approval, but he was smart enough to know that they ought to be in accord over the education of their mutual heir. Volog enjoyed his triumph in private, and in public was the soul of friendship to Saumer. Each man conveniently forgot about the hundreds of years their forebears had spent encouraging land-thievery and cattle-stealing along their mutual border.

Volog had another daughter, his youngest child and his favorite. Alasen was a charming girl, twenty-two winters old, with gold-lit brown hair and green eyes the color of the sea off the Kierstian coast. Delicate arching brows and a sweet, serious mouth completed her beauty; her intelligence was evident in her face and her conversation. She was Volog’s pride and joy.

But she was not looking her best when he presented her with gruff pride to Sioned on the first morning of the
Rialla.
Her cheeks were pallid, her eyes dark-circled, and there was a pinched expression about her mouth. Sioned knew that none of it was due to trepidation at meeting the High Princess. She knew the signs of a protracted recovery from crossing water when she saw them.

“The journey from Kierst was not one you enjoyed, I think,” she observed wryly. “Volog, it seems our grandmother’s influence hasn’t entirely missed your line after all.”

“I’m not
faradhi
-gifted, your grace,” Alasen said quickly, and with such firmness that Sioned’s brows shot up. “Others besides Sunrunners are ill in ships.”

Volog shrugged. “Whether she’s gifted or not remains to be seen, Sioned. I thought you might like to meet her just the same.”

Sioned correctly interpreted this to mean she was to find out whether or not Alasen was indeed
faradhi.
It hovered on her lips to ask why Volog had not taken her to Andrade long ere this, but the glance of loving indulgence he gave his daughter explained all. Alasen denied the possibility; her father could not bring himself to submit her to Andrade’s testing against her will. Sioned was his next best solution.

“I’m delighted to meet her,” she said, smiling. “If you’re feeling up to it and you’ve nothing else to do, would you care to accompany me to the Fair today? My husband has strictly forbidden me to buy my son presents to spoil him, and naturally I have no intention of obeying.”

Volog rumbled with laughter. “The rights of a mother su percede the commands of a husband, and rightly so! Goddess knows, her mother and I have spoiled Alasen shamelessly.”

“Rohan’s father once told him that daughters are to be indulged, for it’s a husband’s problem to discipline a woman.” Sioned laughed softly, but did not miss the tightening of Alasen’s lips at the mention of husbands. “I can’t say that Prince Zehava ever took his own advice, for he indulged both daughter and wife until the day he died. Rohan never believed him, anyway!” She turned to the girl. “I’d be glad of your company today, Alasen.”

The banter had relaxed her, and she gave Sioned an enchanting smile. “I’d love to join you, your grace.”

“Then I’ll leave her in your care,” Volog said, and departed.

Sioned took the girl’s arm. “If you feel you can’t use my name just yet, then please call me ‘cousin.’ Between the two of us it’s actually true, not like most of the others I have to address by that term.” She wrinkled her nose and Alasen grinned.

“I know exactly what you mean. Every time I have to use it with Prince Cabar, I’m reminded how grateful I am that it
isn’t
true.”

“Our dear cousin of Gilad is a bit on his dignity, isn’t he?”

“He’s pompous, arrogant, and unbearable,” Alasen summed up tartly, then blushed. “My father’s right—I’ve been so spoiled I forget to speak with proper respect.”

“Speaking it and feeling it are different things. We’re family, Alasen. Say whatever you like.” Sioned winked at her. “Goddess knows
I
do!”

The two women were dressed casually, and as they joined the queue at the bridge there was nothing to distinguish them from anyone else going to the Fair that day. All rank and privilege were set aside, a relief from the ceremony of other occasions. The vendors addressed everyone from serving maids to princesses with exalted titles; the prettier the lady, the more outrageous the form of address. Men, be they lords or grooms, were always “Your Excellency” at the Fair. Plain garments and a leveling of rank were the rule.

Nevertheless, Sioned’s red-gold hair was well-known, even though the huge emerald on her finger was hidden by thin leather gloves. Attempts to defer to her were discouraged with a smile and a shake of her head, which only led to more deference. She politely refused a place at the head of the queue waiting to cross the bridge; a path opened up for her anyway. On the other side of the river, merchants forsook the rest of their customers to wait on her. She pointedly moved away when it happened, and after a time word spread that the High Princess was in the crowd but did not wish to be recognized. Things settled down, and she was able to do some serious shopping.

“Is it always like this for you?” Alasen asked.

“For the first little while, yes. Long gone are the days when I could walk here unnoticed. This is your first
Rialla,
I take it?”

“Yes—and it’s wonderful! I’ve visited Port Adni, of course, and the markets there. But it’s nothing like this!” She gestured to the happy chaos of merchants’ stalls, customers, squires and pages running errands, apprentices carrying fresh wares to replace those already sold. The Fair was bright with colored awnings and noisy with a milling crowd in a holiday mood—and, at the far end of the huge field, smelly with pens full of sheep, goats, calves, and young elk. Their bleating was nearly as loud as the chatter of the bargaining going on. The two princesses went to inspect them.

“Look at that little calf with the white splash on his face,” Sioned told Alasen. “He’s going to be an absolute monster when he’s grown, and sire many generations just like him.”

“How do you know about such things?”

“I grew up on a working farm, not in a palace,” Sioned replied, smiling. “That little fellow is descended from stock I tended as a child. His bloodlines are quite as grand as any of Lord Chaynal’s stallions.” The calf, as if sensing himself the object of discussion, ambled over and snuffled at Sioned’s outstretched hand. “Davvi’s going to make a fine profit from you, my lad.”

“Why should a prince concern himself with livestock?” Alasen wondered.

“A prince should involve himself in everything that happens within his borders. Actually, Princess Pandsala thought this up. It’s her idea that the stock of all princedoms can be improved by mixing bloodlines. At a price, of course,” she added, chuckling. “Cattle-breeding may not be as glamorous as Chay’s horses, but it’s a great deal more practical.”

“My father says there are hawks for sale this year, too. Were they the regent’s idea? May we go look at them?”

“I was headed there next. And they’re
my
idea,” she continued as they started up a hill to the woods. “We could never afford good hawks when I was a girl. The best are bred in Princemarch and kept only for the very rich. They’re still expensive, but most people should be able to afford them.”

The caged hawks were in the cool shade of the trees. A few wore hoods despite the distance from the noise and bustle of the Fair. Sioned surveyed the results of her little scheme with satisfaction. The falconers were doing a brisk business, evidenced by little tags on many of the cages that indicated the birds had been sold. The tags were color-coded to individual princes and
athr’im.
She was pleased to note that people had done their buying early.

Alasen gazed in awe at a preening amber-faced hawk. One long wing stretched the limit of the cage to show bronze and green and gold pinions. “Isn’t she beautiful?” the girl whispered.

“I always wanted to fly,” Sioned murmured. “Especially watching the dragons over River Run when I was little.”

“It must be the most wonderfully free feeling in the world,” Alasen said dreamily. “To know that all you need is the sky and the sun.”

“It’s something like being a
faradhi,
” Sioned remarked, and received the reaction she had expected. Alasen’s shoulders stiffened and she turned away from the hawk. Sioned pretended not to notice. “I’m about to spoil my son by purchasing one of these birds. Help me pick out the best.”

“But he owns them all, doesn’t he?”

“He owns the right to breed them, which we sell at a nice sum to these good falconers, who reap the profits of their labors.”

A bearded young man approached them, bowed low, and swept out a hand to indicate his wares. His full sleeves made the gesture reminiscent of flight, an impression accented by the sharp curve of his nose and two small, bright eyes.

“A hawk for Your Magnificences? None finer than mine! A personal grant from the high and mighty Prince Pol himself, given with his own royal hands. Modesty aside, my hawks are born of matings much like the one that produced the young prince himself—fabled lady mother and powerful princely sire that he has, and my hawks the same. Allow me to show you birds that the High Princess herself complimented me on only this morning, excellent judge that she is of all things in this world including hawks, and told me the famous emerald on her hand would be a fitting price for any one of these beauties.”

Sioned stuck the gloved hand wearing the famous emerald into her pocket. “That’s as may be. But how much are you willing to sell one for?”

He named a price that made her blink. Pandsala had set strict limits on the amount to be charged; even taking into account the bartering that would bring the price down, the final sum would be considerably above that limit. The idea was to make the birds available, not to make stupendous profit.

To Sioned’s surprise, it was Alasen who began to bargain the price down. Her expertise was an education to Sioned, who had never been much good at such things. When she saw something she wanted, she could never bring herself to haggle and possibly work herself into a position where pride would compel her to walk away. Most merchants saw this in her face with the first halfhearted exchange. But Alasen was a true artist who obviously loved the game, and soon had the falconer clutching at his tousled hair and clawing at his beard in pretended agony. Sioned kept silent and enjoyed the show.

At last Alasen turned to Sioned. “You’d best go look at the other hawks. I’ll join you shortly, I think—this man’s skull is as thick and hard as an unhatched dragon shell.”

Willing to play her part, Sioned strolled among the other cages. She asked about prices and found equally outrageous starting sums. She counted colored tags, made a rapid mental calculation, and returned to Alasen, who had bargained the price down to where it should have started.

After catching the falconer’s gaze with her own, Sioned slowly and deliberately drew off her gloves. With the emergence of the emerald, the man’s eyes popped. He looked at hair, eyes, and emerald again to confirm her identity, then gave a howl of dismay that brought the other falconers running. For a moment Sioned thought he would prostrate himself and throw dirt over his head in penance. To his fellows, he shouted, “Her Most Noble and Exalted and Gracious Royal Highness, the High Princess!”

Sioned looked them all over, hands on hips. “Goddess greeting to you,” she said sweetly. “I’m very happy to see things proceeding so well, and at so handsome a profit.” She smiled, and guilt appeared on every face. Alasen hid a grin behind her hand.

“If memory serves,” Sioned went on in a tone that indicated her memory was faultless, “a specific price was set for these hawks. Now, I have no objections to a modest markup. That’s economics. But my son will be grieved to find that his generosity to you has not been matched by your generosity to your customers. A simple calculation of the probable sale prices of these birds tells me that each of you has made additional profits amounting to the price of one hawk each. There are five of you. Therefore,” she concluded with another smile, “you owe my son five hawks.” A meaningful pause. “Thus far.”

“But—Your Excellent Royal Highness—”

Sioned ignored him. “My cousin fancies the amber-faced one over there. I rather like the one wearing the green hood, myself. That’s two. I’ll trust your judgment to choose the best you have and tag them as belonging to my son. Do we understand each other? Marvelous! I think I need not add that I have counted the number of unsold birds, and at a similar rate of unauthorized profit you’ll end up owing my son eight more hawks—if you continue your current practices, that is.”

“But—the scandal if our prices suddenly drop!” one man protested.

“Our first customers will be furious! I beg Your Worshipfulness to reconsider—”

Alasen spoke up. “They’re right, cousin. As I see it, there are two solutions. Our good friends here can refund the difference when buyers come to collect their hawks—” She paused as they moaned, “—or they can stick to their prices and make their next customers believe themselves prodigiously clever bargainers.”

“There is merit in what you say,” Sioned replied thoughtfully, sternly repressing a grin at the girl’s cunning. “It would indeed be embarrassing for these honest merchants to admit they overcharged their first customers, after all. What do you say, my friends?”