Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince (41 page)

He discovered that Roelstra’s heavier movements had advantages, and was surprised when the High Prince continued a surge forward even after Rohan’s own knife had torn into his shoulder. The hot slice of pain along his ribs was another surprise, and as he rolled down and away he heard Sioned gasp as if she had felt it, too. Roelstra’s boot lashed out. Rohan’s knife went flying into the shadows and he bit back a groan at the pain in his hand and wrist. As the High Prince stepped back, laughing down at him, Rohan came up onto one knee.

“Quickly, through the heart?” Roelstra asked solicitously. “Or slowly, across your throat, so I can watch your life bleed away?”

Rohan slid the second knife from his left boot. No one had taught him this trick, but he had learned it was effective. Roelstra hissed in annoyance and charged him, just as Rohan had hoped. Still balanced on one knee, he swayed to one side and thrust the blade up and around to catch Roelstra’s knife hand. A stumble, a clumsy turn, a gasp of shock that he had been wounded—and Roelstra was suddenly faced with an adversary now on his feet and poised for combat, smiling at him.

“I have my own plans for you,” Rohan said, “so I’ll do myself the favor of ignoring this incident—officially. I wouldn’t want to spoil the
Rialla
with a funeral for its finish.”

Roelstra switched the knife from right hand to left. “I’ve been planning yours for a long time now, princeling. Whether it comes now, by my hand, or later with a Merida knife, matters not at all.”

They circled each other again until Rohan feinted to the left and made a quick move to the right, sneaking in past Roelstra’s guard to slice crosswise across the first wound. His other hand caught and twisted Roelstra’s left hand.

“Drop it,” Rohan said quietly. “Drop it or I’ll break your wrist.” He tightened his grip for emphasis and held his knife-point to the man’s throat.

Roelstra’s eyes flashed, his free hand moving toward Rohan’s arm. The tip of his blade pricked Rohan’s skin. “You wouldn’t dare kill me,” he grated.

“If you’re so sure of that, then cut me.”

The High Prince’s knife glittered to the carpet.

Rohan let him go and plucked up the dagger. “If you bind that well and wear long sleeves, no one will ask awkward questions,” he advised, hiding his regret that Roelstra had not given him the excuse to kill him. He glanced at the entryway of the tent, where Urival stood guard with a satisfied smile on his face. “Untie the boy,” he told the
faradhi,
and himself went to Sioned. “Can you stand up?” he asked gently, and she lifted her hands, hidden until now in the folds of her skirt. He sucked in an angry breath as he saw the ropes, and slit them with his knife. There were others around her ankles; he cut those, too. Then he put both knives into his belt and cupped her pale cheek in his palm for a moment. “It’s all right, Sioned.”

She nodded. “I know.”

He helped her to her feet, an arm around her waist. Together they faced Roelstra, who was holding his bleeding arm.

“I’ll keep your blade as a souvenir,” Rohan said. “I suggest you save mine, as well, when you find it. A reminder that I could have killed you.” He smiled.

“Should I be grateful that you did not?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Walvis, are you all right?”

“Yes, my lord.” The squire came to his side, straight-backed and proud. Rohan felt new fury as he saw the bruises swelling the boy’s wrists and darkening his throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect my lady better.”

“I know you did all you could.”

“Get out of my tent,” Roelstra ordered.

“Shut up,” Rohan told him. “And listen to me very carefully, High Prince. Officially, this never happened. I am a prince first and a man second—a concept you could never comprehend, so don’t bother to try. But I swear to you that though the prince may ignore this, the man will never forget it.”

Roelstra laughed, not very convincingly. “The princeling doesn’t know
how
to be a man!”

Rohan continued as if he had not been interrupted. “If, during the next three years covered by our treaties, you renege on a single item or a single man of yours sets foot uninvited on my lands, I’ll know about it—and I’ll leave you to guess what action I’ll take. If you so much as think an incorrect thought in my direction, I’ll know about that, too. As for the Merida—I’ll deal with them myself. But if a single arrow or sword or morsel of bread in their possession is supplied by you, I’ll not only know about it, but I’ll make sure every other prince knows about it as well. Your own proposal will come back to haunt you, Roelstra. And
then
try to keep your throne for the son you’ll never have.”

“Large words for a little prince.”

“Believe them. There’s just one other thing.” He held Sioned closer. “If you touch my wife again, I
will
kill you.”

He waited just long enough to see shock and fury break like a storm over the High Prince’s face, then drew Sioned gently outside into the clean night air.

Urival and Walvis followed. Guards, kept at bay until now by the high-ranking Sunrunner, rushed into Roelstra’s tent, and moments later there were shouts for water, bandages, and the High Prince’s personal physician. Sioned stumbled as Roelstra bellowed an order to be left alone, his voice making her flinch. Rohan moved as if to carry her, but she shook her head silently. They left Roelstra’s camp behind, and no one said anything until they reached the first of the blue Desert tents.

At last Walvis could stand it no longer and burst out, “I’m sorry, my lord! I watched and followed, but they took me by surprise, as they did my lady—”

“You’re not to blame for any of this,” Rohan said. “And you did very well to keep him distracted for so long. Walvis, I’m proud of you for not crying out. It wouldn’t have done any good and it might’ve gotten you killed. I can’t afford to lose you.” Aware that Sioned’s steps were faltering, he went on, “Urival, please tell Andrade that we’re all right. Sioned will stay with me. Walvis, if anyone asks for me, tell them anything you like. Just don’t let them know I’m not inside my tent.”

“Yes, my lord,” the pair said together.

“Rohan,” Sioned whispered. “I want out of here.
Now.
”

He took her down to the river, frightened as she leaned on him and gasped for breath. He wanted to stop, but she insisted they keep going across the soft gravel, far enough downriver so no one could find them. Rohan knew they were being watched; he felt eyes on his back, but knew they were
faradhi
eyes and that
faradhi
ways would deal with anyone else who attempted to follow.

At last Sioned directed him toward a tree. Thin, supple branches rose over their heads and then swept down to the ground, forming a small, private darkness within. It was here that they sheltered from even friendly eyes, screened from the night by silver-green leaves, with the tree arching over them and rustling softly in the quiet night breeze.

“My head hurts,” Sioned murmured.

Rohan cradled her against him. “Forgive me, love, for not taking better care of you.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I should’ve known.” She shifted in his arms. “Roelstra—said things to me, before.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would have been angry. And probably said something you shouldn’t and ruined your plans.”

“To hell with my plans!”

“See? You’re angry now.” She rubbed her cheek to his bare shoulder. “Aren’t you cold?”

“No.”

“I keep wondering how he drugged my wine. And what with. I saw you dancing with Ianthe, and when she left I followed her. Do you think she meant me to, so her father could get me alone?”

“You don’t have to talk about it, beloved,” he said as he felt her tremble.

“I have to understand what happened,” she said stubbornly, and massaged her temples with her fingertips, stretching her neck to ease the tension in her muscles. “Goddess, what a headache! He had two winecups and gave me one of them. I can be so stupid.”

“How could you have known?”

“Well . . . I did something even more stupid by going to his tent. I wasn’t really sure what was going on, I think. He gave me more wine.” She paused. “I wish you’d killed him.”

“So do I.”

“Good thing you didn’t, though. I had to hide the ropes from you—I knew they’d only make you angrier.” She laughed softly. “Oh, beloved, did you see his face when you called me your wife?”

“Shh. Just rest now. You’re safe, and no one can find us here. I’ve got you and I’m never going to let you go again.”

“It was horrible, being tied up like that. I couldn’t conjure so much as a flicker of Fire. Not at first, anyway. I tried later—and the flame flared up and scared me half to death. And then he caught Walvis, and I didn’t dare try anything. I wonder what was in the wine,” she repeated fretfully.

“Hush. Don’t think about it.” He smoothed her tumbled hair.

“Mmm. . . .” She nestled to him, her hands running lightly over his chest. “You’re so warm, Rohan. All gold and silk and beautiful muscles . . . did you know how beautiful you are, my love?”

“You’re drunk,” he said, blushing.

“A little,” she admitted. “But the headache’s going away, at least. I’m beginning to feel quite wonderful, as a matter of fact.” She laughed again. “I’ve never had a man fight a rival for me, you know.”

“Rival, hell,” he murmured as her lips caressed the hollow of his throat.

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you, my prince?”

“Sioned—” It was impossible to think when her mouth drifted soft kisses over his shoulder. The ache of his bruises and the sting of the graze on his hip had gone the way of her headache, it seemed, and for the same reason.

“Oh, yes, I feel much better now,” she murmured, her arms sliding around him, her fingers dancing over his back. “And
you
feel wonderful. . . .”

“Sioned,” he said again, and felt tremors invade his bones. A new ache had centered in the pit of his stomach, and as he held her he wondered how he could ever have mistaken another body for hers, another fire for this blaze that ignited in his blood now. “I—there’s something I should tell you—”

“Unless it’s that you love me, I’m not interested.” Her hands moved down to slide the knives from his belt, and she giggled softly. “I heard about the clause in Tobin’s marriage contract. Do I have to make you agree to the same?”

“If you don’t stop that—”

“Oh, Rohan! You really don’t want me to stop.”

“No,” he conceded, smiling as she pushed him down onto the soft moss.

“We’ll have to plant a tree like this at Stronghold so we can always remember the first time we ever made love.”

“Do you think I could ever forget? Besides which,” he added somewhat breathlessly, “is that what we’re going to do?”

“Foolish prince.”

He drew away from her, wanting to see her face: shadowed and mysterious, lips parted on a knowing smile, eyes nearly incandescent, and so beautiful that his heart caught painfully in his chest. “Sioned,” he said thickly, “it
is
the first time for me.”

“You’re a sweet liar, my love,” she said, and lay back on the moss, holding out her arms to him. “Mine, too, I think. Nothing else counts.”

“Nothing,” he agreed as he held her to his heart, and knew it was true.

P
alila could not wake herself from the nightmare. She was awash in white silk that billowed around her swollen body like a vast ocean of snow. Above her wailed a chorus of birds, bright creatures with frightened eyes and chill hands that made her flesh shrivel at their touch. Through it all was the pain, lancing through her until she screamed with it, writhing through the white silk sea to find dry land, sunlit land where she could be free of everything and rest.

But there was no rest, and no respite from the agony, and as it spasmed through her again she remembered. Palila shrieked, seeing again Crigo’s open, lifeless eyes gaping at her from his moonlight-pale face.

“You idiots, let me by!” came a new voice, crisp and decisive. “Don’t stand there like cattle! Make everything ready for her! Get out and don’t come back until you’ve found Lady Andrade!”

“No!” Palila cried, struggling to sit up. But Ianthe bent over her, dark eyes wide and avid, relishing every twist of pain.

“Be still. Yes, it’s me. Stop behaving as if you’d never had a baby before. Lie back and relax or you’ll make it worse for yourself.”

Palila cringed away from the hands that stroked her hair. She could not be in labor, it was impossible. Where were her comfortable, familiar rooms at Castle Crag, her personal physician, her minstrel to play soothing tunes? She could not be having this baby now. She was not due until well into autumn. But as another cramp tore through her body, arching her up from the white silk sheets, she remembered again Crigo’s pale, dead stare and the horrible cry of the dragon.

Ianthe’s hands, cool and surprisingly capable, supported her during the spasm. The princess wiped Palila’s face, gave her a sip of water, all the while with that sleek, pleased smile on her lips. As the pain faded, Palila glared feebly up at her in sick loathing.

“Why don’t you want Andrade here?” Ianthe murmured sweetly. “What happened tonight, Palila, that we found Crigo dead in here and you unconscious on the floor? Father’s physician is busy sewing up a wound he says he got in a fall. Nobody believes him, of course. Why is Crigo dead and Father wounded, Palila?”

The mistress shuddered away from the ministering hands. “Clever Ianthe,” she whispered. “Can’t you guess?”

“If you don’t admit the truth now, then certainly you’ll tell Andrade when she arrives. Oh, don’t worry, Crigo’s body has been hidden. But unless you tell me how and why he died, I’ll have the corpse thrown into her tent.” She placed one hand on Palila’s belly, still smiling. “The others are gone. You can talk. I can lie to Andrade very nicely. I don’t think you’re going to have breath soon to do anything but scream.”