Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (85 page)

Sioned gave in to temptation and wove a few threads of sunlight together. She followed the hawk, eyes closed and spirit soaring.
This
was what it meant to be
faradhi:
skimming as free and wild as if she, too, had wings, borne along on wind and sunlight and her own strength. After all the pain and trauma her gifts had brought her during the
Rialla,
this, the most beloved of her powers, was sheer delight. She flew with Alasen’s hawk above rich hillsides and meadows tucked between them, saw the bird circle above a valley and then dive too swiftly to follow even at sunlit speed.

“Come on!” Sioned cried, “I know where she is!”

It was a wild ride she led them, galloping through rolling foothills and jumping their horses across branches of a stream that within a measure became a summer-thin river. Thundering along its banks, Sioned called out a warning as the watercourse narrowed through a rocky, tree-lined defile that compelled them to ride slower and only two abreast. Pol splashed his horse through the shallows to catch up with her and Rohan. She could hear Meath cursing behind her, and Tobin laughing like a madwoman, and Chay yelling at them all to slow down. Sioned did no such thing, and when the path widened again, she coaxed her mare to prodigious speed through the forest.

All at once they burst out into the valley she’d glimpsed on sunlight. Sioned pulled her horse up short, gasping at the sight. A broad, lush flatland spread before them, fully ten measures long and half that across at its widest point. Trees heavy with fruit grew up the slopes, and lofty pines towered at the higher elevations where ragged gray stone thrust to the sky. The river wound its way on the eastern side, surrounded by meadow thick with blue and crimson flowers that together turned the land purple. In the distance, as the valley narrowed, was the sunlit shimmer of a small lake, tall grasses bending gracefully in the breeze, alternating gold and silver-green. Sioned caught her breath and flung an excited smile at Rohan, whose blue eyes had gone slightly glassy as he gazed at the beauty around him.

“Like the hollow of the Goddess’ hand,” Tobin breathed. “Sioned—are those
roses
climbing up that hill?”

“And wild grapevines, too,” Chay affirmed. He turned to one of the grooms who had managed to keep up with them. “Go back and get the others. We camp here tonight.” With a glance at Rohan’s transfixed face, he added wryly, “And maybe for the winter!”

Rohan didn’t hear him. He spoke his wife’s name in a voice vibrating with suppressed excitement. “Tell me what the soil’s like.”

She blinked. “Rohan, it’s been years since I—”

“Do it.”

She jumped down off her horse and threw the reins to Pol. Walking—wading—into the ocean of wildflowers, she pulled off her riding gloves, knelt, and dug her hands into the rich dark earth. She squeezed it in her fists, inhaled its fragrance, sifted it through her fingers. The daughter of a farming lord remembered her lessons of a lifetime ago; she tested the soil with knowledge that had no use in the beautiful, dead Desert. Rising, she gave her husband a brilliant smile.

“This will grow anything you care to plant in it. Not that anybody should even have to test it by touching it—look around us! I’ve never seen anything so perfect!”

He nodded slowly, light dawning in his eyes. He dismounted and walked forward alone, the sun finding bright reflection on his blond hair, and the others watched in bewildered silence. All but Sioned; she knew exactly what he was thinking, and could barely restrain herself from telling everyone else.

At last he returned, and surprised even Sioned by seizing her around the waist and swinging her up into the air, laughing in triumph.

“You’re right, you’re right, it
is
perfect!” he cried. “Sioned, it’s the most beautiful place in the world! And it’s ours!” He kissed her and set her down, then turned to the others. “Pol! Where do you think we should build your palace?”

“My—” The boy nearly fell out of his saddle. “Father!”

Tobin gaped at them. “Palace? What are you babbling about?”

“Oh, you know—walls, floors, painted ceilings and tapestries and carpets and—”

“And huge windows and stained glass and gardens and fountains and—and
everything!
” Pol finished exuberantly. “I can see it all right now!”

“So can I!” Tobin started herself with the words, and laughed. “You’re mad, every one of you! Where are you going to get the stone?”

“That’s the nice thing about being rich!” Rohan grinned at her.

“Father—we won’t have to spend a thing. Rezeld Manor!”

“Where?”
Chay asked.

“It’s a holding we visited this summer—remember, Maarken? They owe us,” he added to his mother. “And they’ve got a quarry.”

Rohan nodded happily. “I’d almost forgotten!”

“Hold it right there,” Chay ordered. “I assume you’re going to explain that later, but what I want to know right now is what in all Hells you’re talking about.”

“I gave Castle Crag to Ostvel for a reason, you know. I want a new palace that embraces both the Desert and Princemarch. This valley isn’t too far from the pass leading to Stronghold. And this is where the
Rialla
will be held in the future, not in Waes.” He pulled Sioned to him and kissed her again. “So my Sunrunners won’t have the bother of crossing the Faolain anymore!”

A little while later Lleyn arrived with the rest of the party. His approval was instantaneous for the valley, a new palace, and a new site for the
Rialla.

“Clutha won’t mind, and Gennadi will be grateful not to have it hanging over her head every three years. Besides, I’ve always felt the High Prince ought to have an accessible residence. Castle Crag is an impossible place. “This. . . .” He gazed into the valley and nodded. “This is indeed perfect.” The old man grinned suddenly. “By the way, did you find Alasen’s hawk?”

“Oh, Goddess!” Sioned exclaimed. “I completely forgot!”

She wove sunlight while the servants and guards began organizing their camp for the night. But her efforts met with no success and she apologized to Alasen, who shook her head and smiled.

“She’ll show up again, once she’s fed full on whatever she caught.”

“I gave her to you, and I don’t intend to lose her through my own stupidity,” Sioned replied. “Let’s go find her. Pol, Rohan, Ostvel, come with us.”

Maarken joined them after seeing Hollis comfortably settled in the shade with Lleyn to keep her company. She shook her head when he asked a silent question with his eyes.

“I’m feeling quite well, love. And I haven’t had any wine since yesterday morning. I think it’s over, Maarken—or nearly so.”

He kissed both her hands and smiled.

Lleyn poked his leg with the end of his dragon-headed cane. “You’ve had her all to yourself for days now,” he scolded. “Allow an old man to flirt with your pretty wife out of your hearing. I promise I’ll make only the most scandalous suggestions, guaranteed to put a blush back in her cheeks.”

“Old lecher,” Maarken accused fondly.

They rode away from the trees, following the course of the river toward the lake. Rohan was full of plans that Pol amplified, the pair exchanging ideas as if they’d rehearsed this for years.

“And over there we’ll plant an orchard, and a grove of nut trees.”

“More grapevines up that hill—”

“If we hold the
Rialla
here, we’ll have to have a racing circle—but at the end of the valley so there won’t be so much dust.”

“Could we set up a horse farm with it?”

“Now, wait just a—” Maarken began, but neither heard him.

“Excellent! Nothing elaborate, just stables and a paddock—we’ll breed for color! What would you say to a pasture full of golden horses? We can coax Chay into giving us a few good mares and a stud—”

“
Giving
you?” Maarken said, more loudly.

“Selling, then,” Pol laughed. “You wouldn’t begrudge us a few horses, would you?”

“Dangerous question,” Sioned put in. “What about this palace?”

“A foundation of Rezeld stone, but a facade of that wonderful grayish marble from that quarry north of here—you remember we saw it this summer, Pol. It’ll shine silvery in the sun and rose-gold at dawn and dusk.”

“With a blue tile roof,” the boy affirmed. “Kierstian ceramic. Father! I have an idea! Why not have something from every princedom, the way it is in the Great Hall at home?”

“I like it,” Rohan announced. “We’ll have a whole palace to work with, after all.”

Alasen had been listening to all of this with wide eyes; Ostvel, with an indulgent grin. He touched her arm and said, “Tobin’s right, you know. They’re utterly mad.”

“Ha!” Sioned scoffed. “This from the man who redid Skybowl from cellar to tower, and before that changed Stronghold from one end to the other, and before
that
ruled Goddess Keep for all that Urival held the title of chief steward! I know exactly how you’re going to spend your first year of marriage, Alasen: wondering which room at Castle Crag you’re not going to recognize next!”

“A vile slander, unworthy of a High Princess,” Ostvel told her. “Aren’t you supposed to be finding a hawk?”

“A graceless change of subject, unworthy of a regent!” she shot back, laughing. “But you’re right. Let’s see if our wayward friend is airborne again.”

They stopped half a measure from the lake. As she wove light once more, Maarken asked his uncle, “Why hasn’t anybody lived in this valley before? It’s beautiful, according to Sioned it’ll grow anything, and it’s not badly situated, though a little far from the main roads. Why do you think—”

He broke off abruptly. Rohan was not listening. He had reined in, his body rigid, his face turning to the north where the small lake spread its shimmer before the embrace of the hills narrowed. Sioned drew back from the sunlight and stared at him. He was tense with expectation, eyes shining. Sioned exchanged a wry smile and a nod with Maarken.

“
That’s
why,” she said.

Dragons.

Upwards of thirty adolescents and hatchlings, watched over by five adult females and a sire, flew down from the high hills into the valley. They wheeled in dizzying patterns before landing to drink at the lake. The hatchlings were nicely grown, almost half the size of their elders, sleek with good summer feeding in the Veresch. Some plunged into the lake for a wash, earning annoyed snarls from the others as they stirred up sediment.

The horses sidled nervously. The dragons condescended to give the humans a single disinterested glance before proceeding to ignore them.

“I wish Feylin could see them,” Rohan murmured. “Look at those beauties!”

“Mother . . . how does he
do
that?” Pol whispered.

She shrugged. “He’s dragon-bred, too, you know.” Suddenly she straightened in her saddle. A reddish-brown female dragon sprang up from the lakeshore and soared lazily above them, calling out softly. Sioned calmed her restive horse and rode forward a few paces. The dragon spiraled down, wings spread wide to show their golden undersides and head extended to peer at Sioned. A raucous howl of greeting presaged a masterful display of flying skills, ending in a happy plunge into the middle of the lake that splashed water nearly to the shoreline.

“It’s Elisel!” Sioned waved. The dragon rolled over and over in the water before sculling to the shallows and standing erect. Another cry of joyous greeting sounded, and wings were shaken in a shower of sparkling drops.

“Elisel?” Rohan asked.

She glanced at him, embarrassed. “My dragon. I’ve been calling her that in my mind. It means ‘little wing.’ ”

He smiled. “And people accuse
me
of being foolish about dragons! At least I never put a name to one!” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “But then, I never had my own dragon, either.”

“You think I do?” she laughed.

“Well, just look at her—showing off for you, calling out as if she’d been looking for you! I’d say you do indeed have your very own dragon, Sioned.”

She stood in her stirrups and lifted one hand, her emerald aglow in the sun. The dragon spread her wings in answer. Sioned wove light, careful to keep from touching the dragon—but Elisel strode out of the water directly into Sioned’s sunlight. She caught her breath as the contact showed her a dazzling array of colors. They whirled and danced in a living rainbow that intensified in speed and light until she grew dizzy and her mind cried out.

The maelstrom of color softened, slowed. And through it she sensed apology, curiosity. Stunned, Sioned reorganized her thoughts and spoke to the dragon.

The dragon came closer, her head tilting in a strangely human gesture of inquiry. Sioned began to dismount. She felt Rohan’s cautioning hand and glanced at him with a reassuring smile. But the weaving tugged at her, and through it she sensed a petulance that astonished her.

Her frustration was almost palpable, even to herself; the dragon whined and shook water from her wings, shifting as if the emotion made her uncomfortable.

“Sioned—” Rohan came to stand beside her.

“That’s it,” she breathed. “A language of emotions.”

“You mean you’re communicating with her?”

“I’m not sure.” She hesitated, then put an arm around his waist, leaning against him, and let her love for him flow through the sunlight. Elisel looked uncannily surprised for a moment, her eyes widening. Then she shuffled a few steps closer and hummed low in her throat, eyes half-closing in an expression of pleasure, her head swinging from side to side on her graceful neck.

“I’ll be damned,” Sioned murmured. “I’m telling her I love you—and she understands me!”