Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (41 page)

“But you don’t entirely trust him?” she suggested gently.

“Awful thing to admit about a son, isn’t it? If it was Tilal, I wouldn’t hesitate an instant. You and Rohan made a fine man of him, Sioned.”

“We had excellent material to work with, thanks to you and Wisla.”

Davvi shrugged. “Do you ever—I mean, Pol’s still very young—”

“I think the difference is that Pol’s being trained to the responsibilities of two princedoms, not just one. Kostas probably sees taking Ossetia as the fulfillment of ambition, not a responsibility.”

“And Pol will be a
faradhi,
” Davvi said softly.

Sioned was so startled she frankly stared at her brother. “Are you telling me that part of Kostas’ ambition is to have Sunrunner children with Gemma?”

“I suspect it. It’s not unknown in the Ossetian line, you know. That’s another reason I don’t want him to have both princedoms. But discounting that, he doesn’t much like Pol’s potentials. Don’t look at me that way—you know very well there are others who feel as he does. Pol will be High Prince and a Sunrunner. That’s a combination that makes a lot of people nervous.”

She flung the stones into the river and sprang to her feet. “Father of Storms! Will it stop only when all princes are also
faradh’im?
”

“I don’t know,” he told her frankly. “Again, if it was Tilal, I wouldn’t be worried. He spent a long time with you. He’s not envious or resentful or fearful of what you are—and what Pol will become.” Davvi sighed deeply and shook his head. “Sioned, at times I wonder what our parents would have said about our lives.”

Sioned put a hand on his shoulder. “You have more memories of them than I do. What do you think they would have said?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I think perhaps I never would have married Wisla, and if I had not, then you never would have been sent to Goddess Keep.”

“And I never would have married Rohan, and you never would have become Prince of Syr. Don’t be silly, Davvi.”

“You were so little,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at her. “I didn’t know what to do with you, how to raise you. And Wisla—”

“She wanted to be lady in her new home. And I wasn’t exactly an easy child to deal with,” she added wryly. “There’s nothing to forgive, my dear. Things happen as they happen. We make the choices and do the best with what comes of them. Not very original, I know, but true just the same.”

At last he smiled a little. “Yes, but we can also nudge things a bit.”

Sioned returned the smile. “Then nudge Gemma in the direction of Chale’s tents for the duration. He probably wants her there anyway, as his heiress.”

“You would have been wasted as anything other than High Princess.”

“So I keep telling my husband.”

“I’ll remind him the next time I see him.” They started back toward the encampment. After a moment he took her elbow and they stopped beside a willow tree. “What can you tell me about this pretender?”

“Not much,” she admitted, running her fingers along slender green leaves. “He’ll show up here and try to establish his claim, of course. The trouble is that there was so much confusion the night Chiana was born.”

“I’ll bet she’s tearing her curls about now.”

“If that’s all she does, we’ll be lucky. We had dinner at the Waes residence the night we arrived and she was all over Chay, trying to seduce him into supporting her—as if
he
might believe in this man’s claim!” She giggled suddenly. “I thought Tobin was going to burst!”

“From jealousy?” Davvi asked, his tone incredulous.

“From trying not to laugh in the girl’s face! Still, you can understand Chiana’s position. If this pretender is convincing, all her pretensions go sailing out to sea. She’s frantic. And her behavior is going to cause doubts where none existed before.” She shrugged in annoyance. “If she had any wits, she’d act as if it was all beneath her notice. But no, she must solicit support everywhere, using her smile and her body.”

“It’s a good thing Pol’s so young,” Davvi said, grinning.

“Yes, but she’ll start in on Rohan, naturally. There’s no logic to the way she thinks, Davvi! Why would Rohan believe this man?”

“Perhaps she has ambitions of her own.”

“Mmm. Like Ianthe, the
Rialla
of 698.
She
tried to seduce Rohan, you know.”

“No, I didn’t. I can’t see her succeeding.”

Sioned pushed away a memory fifteen years old: Rohan at Feruche, injured, drugged with
dranath.
Pol was the result of that night.

To her brother she said, “Of course not. But she and Chiana are the same type—they keep on trying, even when the man in question pushes them away with both hands. Come, let’s go back so you can order our dinner and get some rest. Be sure to send a note to Chale offering to lend him his heiress. Gemma will be guarded in his camp as closely as Pol will be in ours—and probably like it just about as much.”

 

When Sioned returned to her pavilion she found preparations being made for an impromptu party. Ostvel looked over her battered riding clothes and pulled her into the private section of the tent, where he had laid out a gown suitable for the High Princess. “Have you forgotten that you’re giving a little welcome-to-the-
Rialla
party?” he asked. “Get dressed and comb your hair.”

“Oh, do I
have
to? Tomorrow’s soon enough to talk to these people.”

“What you might learn today is more important. Change your dress and be quick about it—they’ll be here any time.”

“You think these things up to torment me,” she complained, and resigned herself to the deep blue silk he had chosen. Sioned served as her own maid—a thing that had shocked Rohan’s mother when Sioned had first become his wife. But there were very practical reasons for it: her clothes were kept simple enough so she could dress herself quickly if need be, and she insured that the only people who entered their quarters were herself, Rohan, and his squire. Privacy was desirable for the High Prince and High Princess; for Rohan and Sioned personally, it was essential.

She emerged from the tent holding a scrap of loosely woven silk whose purpose defeated her. “Ostvel, this is lovely, but what do I do with it?”

“That’s the latest thing—or will be, once all the women see you wearing it.” He draped the cloth over her head, arranged it across her shoulders, and finally folded it back to leave her face visible. “It’s called ‘lace’ and you’re not only going to set a new fashion, you’re going to establish a new industry.”

“How clever of me,” she said wryly. She fingered the delicate weaving of blue silk cobwebs that formed a pattern of interlocking flowers. “Whose industry?”

“Yours, by spring. I found a weaver this morning who makes piles of this stuff, and bought about a quarter of it. On my advice, he’ll hike his prices up for the Fair. In gratitude for your patronage, he’s decided to move from Grib to Princemarch and teach others how to do this.” Ostvel gave her a smug grin.

“Why, you conniving man!” she exclaimed in admiration. “Since we have exclusive rights to the silk trade, we’ll make a fortune.”

He bowed. “My fee for this brilliance will be modest—say, fifty percent of the profits.”

“Fifty!”

At that moment her guests began to arrive, eager to sample the wines, breads, meats, and cheeses set out on long tables in the open air. Tobin and Chay showed up a little late, the princess wearing a similar veil of dark red silk lace that framed her delicate features like woven rays of sunset. The envious glances of the other ladies present confirmed Ostvel’s cunning; they would soon be clamoring for the beautiful stuff.

It was a casual party, but not entirely congenial. Too many tensions and rumors chased each other from group to group. Everyone was there, naturally. Lleyn, leaning on the dragon-headed cane Rohan had sent him, held a small court of elders beside a tree, Clutha and Chale joining him; the old princes left it to the younger folk to circulate and chatter, content to observe and comment with the asperity that was the privilege of their years and experience.

Miyon of Cunaxa complimented Sioned on her veil with as much charm as if a Desert army was not right across his border, then excused himself to talk with Cabar and Velden—rather unsubtle of him, Sioned thought, but exactly the configurations of allies she had envisioned. Davvi spent his time entertaining their cousin Volog of Kierst, who had Saumer of Isel in tow. The latter was looking mellow; perhaps he would be in a mood to support Rohan and reject the pretender’s claim. Sioned blessed her brother’s tact and turned her attentions to the
athr’im.

There were more of them here than in previous years, many in search of wives. Patwin of Catha Heights, still a widower after the death of Roelstra’s daughter Rabia; young Sabriam of Einar; Allun of Lower Pyrme; Tilal of River Run—there were hands and fortunes enough among them to keep the young highborn ladies busy. And that wasn’t even counting the heirs to princedoms, like Kostas, who were also in need of brides.

Sioned welcomed them all, saw them provided with fine wines from Gilad and Ossetia and Syr, and thanked the Goddess for Stronghold’s isolation. She knew she would long since have gone mad if forced to have this constant parade of people around her, watching, judging, waiting for a slip, jealous of a smile that might indicate preference. Tobin and Chay, however, were in their element. Charm and good humor positively oozed from them both. Tobin was engaged in putting young Milosh of Fessenden, Pimantal’s youngest and favorite son, at his ease; the boy was barely twenty and obviously dazzled by her. Sioned silently saluted her sister-by-marriage’s political acumen. They needed Fessenden. Chay had drawn Velden, Miyon, and Cabar around him and was talking swords and horses—conversation nicely calculated to appeal to three proud young men eager to impress this great lord with their knowledge. Young people flirted, older people drank and talked, and by sundown most of the wine was gone and Ostvel ordered another few casks broached.

Yet as Sioned discussed Pol’s training with Princess Audrite, she noted that three faces were missing. Audrite was quick to catch her frown, and asked its cause.

“We’re lacking a few celebrants,” Sioned commented.

Audrite’s thick dark lashes lowered slightly as she scanned the crowd. “Ah, yes. Our friends from Waes and the Lady—excuse me, the
Princess
—Chiana.” Audrite’s mouth twisted as if the name soured her tongue, and Sioned chuckled. “They’ll have the excuse of last-minute preparations, of course, but it’s rather rude of them not to put in an appearance.”

“In a way, I’m glad they’re not here. The young ladies ought to be glad, too. Chiana isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Why, cousin!” Audrite pretended to be shocked, and both women laughed. “Seriously, it’s not Chiana anyone should be concerned with. I heard some disturbing things about Kiele today. She’s put it about that Lyell has had this pretender researched, and the information is all to the young man’s advantage.”

Sioned frowned. “So that’s why there was more than the usual chill between her and Chiana the other night. Like frozen sugar.”

“You can count on our support, of course. This man is an im poster, certainly—but even if he were for real, neither my husband nor his father relish the idea of another Roelstra. Besides, Rohan won Princemarch by all the rules of war, and was confirmed by the princes.”

“Except Miyon, whose advisers kept him at Castle Pine.” Sioned glanced at the tall, dark figure, frowning lightly.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about him. He’s inexperienced. He’s bound to make some sort of mistake.”

“I agree—but we can’t count on the errors of others to promote our cause.” She sighed. “I know that you and Chadric and Lleyn will do your best for us—and I thank you for it.” She excused herself and stood a little apart from her guests, waiting until the servants had placed ten tall poles around the area and secured unlit torches atop them. Sioned concentrated for a moment, gestured, and the torches sprang to life. There was a slight murmur of surprise and all gazes turned to her, just as she had intended. She smiled sweetly. It never hurt to remind them that their High Princess was also a Sunrunner.

Ostvel brought her a fresh cup of wine. “Exhibitionist,” he accused.

“You’re getting stuffy in your old age. What’s the use of being
faradhi
if I can’t have a little fun every so often? Did you see Miyon’s face when that torch lit right over his head?”

Ostvel stepped back and bowed to someone who was approaching Sioned from her left. “Princess Naydra,” he said, bowing slightly, and after murmuring a polite excuse left them alone.

“Good evening, your grace,” Naydra said. “I’ve been admiring your veil. It’s very beautiful.”

“Thank you. I must compliment you in return on your pearls. I’ve never seen that exact shade of pink before. They’re exquisite.”

“My lord is very generous to me.” Her dark eyes found and caressed her husband, Lord Narat of Port Adni, a bulky and cheerful man currently engaged in lively conversation with Prince Saumer.

Sioned beckoned a servant over and asked him to fetch Naydra another cup of wine. As the two women exchanged the meaningless pleasantries required of princesses, Sioned regarded her companion thoughtfully. Naydra was the eldest of Roelstra’s daughters, the only one besides Pandsala of his legitimate offspring now living, and thus the only other one with the right to be styled “princess.” She did not much resemble her two more notorious sisters. Her eyes were the same shape and color as Ianthe’s, and she had much of Pandsala’s dignity, but there the similarities ended. Naydra was quiet, subdued, and utterly without fire or ambition.

“I wanted to tell your grace that I’m more grateful every day for your goodness to me.”

Sioned smiled uncertainly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I regret that I’m unable to give my lord an heir, but beyond that I have nothing to wish for. I have a life that pleases me, and it’s thanks to you and the High Prince that I am happy.” She looked down at her hands. “Your generosity in dowering me—”