Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (50 page)

Pandsala’s breath hissed as Lyell gave Masul the title, but she neither spoke nor moved. Rohan hoped she would continue to hold her tongue, and regarded Lyell with one brow slightly arched.

“I ask your pardon for my boldness,” the Lord of Waes went on, “but—”

“But you required our complete attention,” Rohan said dryly. “Proceed.”

Lyell’s pale cheekbones acquired a ruddy stain and he licked his lips nervously. But no one was looking at him. He faded next to Masul’s vivid presence.

The pretender stepped forward. Cabar and Velden moved their chairs apart so he could stand at the table between them. “I can tell my own tale, my lords,” he said.

“Your own lies,” whispered Pandsala, but only Rohan and Pol heard her.

“I was born here at Waes twenty-one years ago on the sail barge belonging to High Prince Roelstra—a fact I have known all my life, verifiable in city birth records which will be presented for your inspection. On that same night other children were born in the same place, and their names also are listed.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt; Roelstra’s gesture. Kiele had taught him well, Rohan thought.

“The Princess-Regent can testify to the confusion of that night, brought about by her own efforts and those of her sister, Princess Ianthe.” He smiled mockingly in Pandsala’s direction. “Should Lady Palila produce a male child, the boy would take precedence over them—a thing most undesirable in their eyes. So they brought along other pregnant women, induced labor in them when Palila began her own, and hoped that at least one of the women would bear a girl who could be substituted for the male heir if such was born. This was the plan outlined by Princess Ianthe to her sister. But Princess Pandsala then went to Lady Palila, told her of the plot, and promised that if a
girl
was born to her that Pandsala would exchange this eighteenth worthless daughter for a boy-child who—they hoped—would be born to one of the other women.

“A risky plan, you will agree. There was chaos that night—babies being born, people milling about, the two princesses running back and forth from Pallia’s suite to the lower hold. Yet some things were seen and heard by all.

“First, Lady Palila was heard to shout in triumph that she had borne a son to Roelstra. Second, when the happy father arrived, there were two children present. One was Chiana. The other—” Masul again fixed his jeering gaze on Pandsala. “The other was a boy. Roelstra’s true son. Me.”

“Liar!” Pandsala snapped. “Both children were girls! The infant boy hadn’t been born yet!”

Rohan stifled a sigh. It would have been better for Pandsala never to have admitted that she had seen a male child at all. But he supposed she was past her limits now. He couldn’t much blame her.

“Look at me, sister! Haven’t I our father’s eyes, his height, his bearing? Doesn’t the color of my beard suggest the color of Palila’s hair?” He addressed the others once more. “The woman who called herself my mother was blonde and dark-eyed. Her husband was of the same coloring. Both of them were of less than medium stature. How could two small, fair, dark-eyed people produce a tall, dark, green-eyed son?”

It was Davvi—loyal, earnest, one of the architects of Rohan’s power and Pol’s inheritance—who rose in their defense.

“I have two sons taller than I, and my late wife was small enough to fit beneath my chin. Posture and gestures may be learned. As for green eyes—many people have them. Prince Pol’s eyes are quite green in certain lights. Does this mean that he, too, may be Roelstra’s son?”

Davvi, who believed the lie Sioned had started and Rohan had let stand because every good barbarian prince desired a son to rule after him. Rohan sat with an impassive face, dying a little inside.

“I respectfully ask our cousin of Syr what evidence there is to the contrary?” Velden of Grib got to his feel beside Masul, hands planted aggressively on the table before him. “Can the Princess-Regent say for certain which child was which? Who else was there that night to witness the birth of Palila’s child?”

Pandsala spoke in a voice that would have iced the Long Sand in midsummer. “My sister Ianthe was the only attendant at the birth. And she is dead.”

Velden spread his hands, dark eyes wide with pretended bewilderment. “I ask you, my lords. Is it possible that this man is Roelstra’s son? There are no living witnesses to the contrary. But there is the evidence of our own eyes.”

Miyon rose to his feet on the opposite side of the table. “Look at him, cousins,” he said in silken tones. “Some of you knew the late High Prince very well. Is there a resemblance?”

The older princes stayed silent. Pandsala did not.

“I am Roelstra’s unchallenged daughter, and I say this man lies!”

“But does he look like Roelstra?” Miyon pressed. “Enough like to be his son?”

“Tall, dark-haired, green-eyed—I could find a hundred fitting the description! It proves nothing!”

“But
this
man’s birth is recorded in the registers of Waes for that particular night.”

“Are you telling me I would not know my own flesh and blood?” Pandsala exclaimed, rising half out of her chair. “Are you daring to call me a liar?”

“Never, my lady!” he protested, eyes wide. “But . . . perhaps your position does not encourage you to look on what may be the truth with clear eyes.”

Madness, Rohan told himself. None of this had anything to do with Masul’s claim, but with Pol’s.

Cabar of Gilad took up Masul’s cause. “My lords, consider. If this man is indeed Roelstra’s son, then we must think very carefully whether or not we shall deprive him of his birthright as a prince.
As one of us.
”

It was not that Miyon and his faction wished Masul to take up residence at Castle Crag, but that they wanted to prevent Pol from ever doing so.

“It is true that High Prince Rohan defeated Roelstra in war, and claimed all of Princemarch on his son’s behalf,” Cabar went on. “But if this man’s words are indeed true, then he
is
one of us. A prince.”

“Look at him,” Miyon said. “Weigh the evidence of your own eyes against the lack of specific information about that night.”

Rohan slanted a look at Pol from the corner of his eye. The boy sat very still, his wary, fascinated gaze on Masul. Rohan wondered what Pol was thinking. He tried to ignore the questions rampaging through his own mind—was the man really Pol’s kinsman, his uncle? Did it matter? If what they wanted was for Princemarch to continue in Roelstra’s line, then Pol would fit the requirement perfectly. But Pol ruling both Princemarch and the Desert was exactly what they did not want.

“The coincidences are too many,” Miyon said. “I have spoken with Lady Kiele—another of Roelstra’s daughters—and she has concluded after interviewing this man that he is indeed her brother.”

Turn Chiana loose on him,
whispered Sioned’s voice in his mind. Rohan looked down at his ring, the huge topaz gleaming in the circle of emeralds like a dragon’s eye—watching, waiting. Dragons knew how to attack with exquisite cunning. Rohan was the son of one dragon, father of another.

Clutha and Saumer were questioning Masul about his life at Dasan Manor, his training in arms, his views on everything from the silk trade to the new port a-building at the mouth of the Faolain. Masul pleaded ignorance of many princely matters, but that would flatter the others into thinking he could be influenced. The answers he did give were forthright and cleverly thought out: guileless honesty disguising deliberate cunning, and designed to present him as a worthy prince. But, more importantly, an unthreatening one.

Rohan felt as if the ground was crumbling beneath him like sand over a sinkhole. If only the past could be conjured up to exhibit the truth as clearly as Masul’s form and features visibly exhibited a lie. . . .

Conjuring.

Powerful Sunrunners could glimpse bits of their personal futures. Sioned had known that Rohan waited for her from the time she was sixteen winters old. Years later she had seen and shown him herself holding an infant with Rohan’s blond hair; they had known that although she was barren, she would somehow give Rohan a son.
Faradh’im
could sometimes conjure up visions of the future. But could they do the same with the past?

Andrade had been there that night. So had Pandsala. Their verbal testimony was worthless because of who they were to Rohan: his aunt, his regent. But if either or both could provide a clear vision of what had happened that night—

Rohan got to his feet and glanced at the water clock. All conversation ceased; he drew attention away from Masul effortlessly. The young man recognized and resented it.
He
was supposed to be the focal point and it visibly galled him to be so easily upstaged by this slight, quiet man who was twice his age.

“My lords, my ladies,” Rohan said, “it grows late and I’m sure we are all in need of time and privacy in which to consider this matter. There is evidence still to be presented. Lord Lyell, be so good as to hold yourself in readiness for such time as we may call upon you again.” He pretended to consult his notes. “Cousins, this afternoon we will take up matters of trade between Cunaxa, Fessenden, Isel, and Ossetia. Until then, we are adjourned. I thank the heirs and representatives present for their attendance and attention—and I trust the experience has been edifying.”

Masul did not bow on his way out, either. He left in company with Miyon, Cabar, and Velden, with Lyell, forgotten, trailing along behind them. Chadric took a few steps toward Rohan as if he wanted to say something, but then seemed to think better of it and helped his father leave the tent. Soon Rohan was alone with Pol, who was staring into the empty air. To give the boy time to marshal his thoughts and questions, Rohan made a slow circuit of the tent, halting before the water clock. He ran one finger over the carved dragon, watching water drip inexorably through the ruby.

“Father?”

“Yes, Pol.”

“Why aren’t you going to let them discuss the evidence this afternoon?”

“Think about whose trade we’ll be reviewing.”

There was a short pause. “Miyon’s, so he has to come and pay attention and you can keep an eye on him. But the others haven’t really declared for either side, have they?”

“No. And by listening to how they conduct themselves with Miyon over trade, I may get an idea of where they might jump on this other matter.”

“Oh!” Another moment, and Pol said excitedly, “And if he’s nasty over his wools and metals, they might get irritated and lean toward us!”

“Maybe.” Rohan turned and asked, “How do you read all this?”

“Miyon looks pretty easy to twitch,” Pol said shrewdly. “I think he thinks he’s very clever. But he’s also stubborn and proud.”

“A dangerous mixture. Why should I—what did you call it? Twitch him?”

“To get Chale and Pimantal and Saumer mad at him.”

“And would it be wise of me to do it openly?” Rohan shook his head. “Roelstra did that, you know. He created dissension deliberately, so he could solve problems he himself made by exercising his power to get what he wanted to begin with. That’s not how I work, Pol. If Miyon antagonizes them on his own, fine. I must be more subtle, and let him know what real cleverness is.” He smiled. “He’s eager to try his strength against me, and my army along his border this spring and summer hasn’t made him love me.”

“But what about Kiele? She’s the one who made all this possible for Masul.”

“An interesting woman,” he admitted. “Presumably, she didn’t balk at murdering a Sunrunner. By the way, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Masul had done that himself. He seems to have all the right killing instincts. Look at how well he played off Pandsala.” Rohan sighed deeply. “Pol, there’s a vast difference between wanting power and wanting what power can accomplish.
Faradh’im
inherit power and are trained in its uses. But sometimes a prince or
athri
comes along who doesn’t understand it at all. He wants the fact of it, but cares nothing for its substance. Roelstra was like that. He enjoyed power for its own sake. Am I making any sense?”

“I think I understand,” the boy said slowly. “He opposed you because you had power and Mother. It wasn’t that he wanted to do the same kinds of things you did with your power. He just couldn’t stand that you had it.” Pol hesitated, then said, “From what I’ve heard today, Princess Ianthe was like that, too, wasn’t she?”

Rohan kept his expression calm. “Yes. She was like that, too.” He stretched and said, “Come on, we should get something to eat. I have a long afternoon ahead of me. I assume you’ll return to the paddocks to exercise Chay’s horse?”

“How did you know that’s where I was?”

Rohan was glad of the chance to laugh. “Your mother—or was it Tobin?—made sure you were washed and combed before you got here, and you even cleaned your boots. But you forgot to remove that hoof-pick from your back pocket.”

Pol made a face. “It was Aunt Tobin. I thought you were going to say something magic, like Mother usually does when she figures out what I don’t want her to know.”

“Start practicing the art of observation. It can be very useful—and not just when you want to astonish your son.”

 

Another father and son spoke alone together in another tent, but this time it was the son who astonished the father.

“Why didn’t you come to me with this earlier?” Ostvel demanded of Riyan. “Has Clutha kept you under lock and key?”

“Just about,” the young man replied. “I’m sorry, Father, but this is the first chance I’ve had to get away. I’m only here now because Sioned made a direct request to Clutha this morning. Halian demands my constant attendance, for all that I’m supposed to be Clutha’s squire.”

“Couldn’t you have—”

“No,” Riyan stated flatly. “I couldn’t disobey Halian or do anything out of the ordinary. And I didn’t dare tell anyone but Lady Andrade what I saw. If Kiele and this Masul murdered Kleve—”