Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (79 page)

“And if the sorcerers formed the Merida,” Rohan said, “they’d make them use glass because they didn’t trust them not to turn those knives on their masters. Meath, I’ll even bet that the sorcerers forbade iron weapons in their presence. They knew why, but nobody else did. For someone ungifted, glass or steel wouldn’t matter. Both kill.”

Sioned laced her fingers together. “So here’s another reason we must keep this quiet. If anyone knew how vulnerable we are to iron and to sorcerers pretending to be
faradh’im
—”

“We’d all be dead before next summer,” Meath finished for her.

Rohan leaned back in his chair. He felt a million years old. “Very well. Try this. Pandsala and Sejast died because they weren’t strong enough for the power of Sioned’s conjuring. This adds to her already substantial reputation as a
faradhi,
a nice bonus. Everyone around the two of them and Hollis was a Sunrunner and in no condition to see, let alone remember, exactly what went on. Sejast’s body is gone—hmm, that’s a problem. How about this: Urival, as chief steward of Goddess Keep, dealt with the corpse in private. That’s only the truth, after all. We can tell Naydra the knife was poisoned. Urival has it right now, and he’ll have to get rid of it. What have I forgotten?”

“Nothing that I can think of,” Meath said. “You’ve a gift of your own, your grace.”

Rohan smiled faintly. “I thought you cured of that ‘my grace’ nonsense.”

“Certainly—your royal highness.” Meath grinned at him.

Sioned rubbed the nape of her neck. “I think we can expect Chiana to be utterly loathsome tomorrow. Goddess give me the patience not to slap her.”

“Are the rumors true, that Halian’s going to marry her?” Meath asked.

“I wish him much joy of her,” Rohan said. “And I pity Clutha more than I can say.”

“The one I feel sorry for is Alasen,” Pol said. He got up and stood behind his mother’s chair to massage her shoulders. “Better?”

“Thank you, hatchling.” She smiled and leaned back into his careful, soothing hands. “Why Alasen?”

“Didn’t you feel it? She was caught up in it, too. And it terrified her.”

“Alasen?” Meath asked. “Volog’s youngest girl?”

“Sunrunner,” Rohan confirmed. “But once she learns to use her gifts—”

“I don’t know that she wants to,” Sioned mused. “She doesn’t much like the idea of being
faradhi,
Rohan. We had a talk about it—Goddess, only six days ago? Is it really the last day of summer?”

“By dawn, the first of autumn.” Meath pushed himself to his feet. “I’ve got to get some sleep. I’d suggest that all of you do the same, if I thought suggesting would do any good. And even I hesitate to give a direct order to the High Princess.”

“She doesn’t obey
me,
” Rohan said. “Why should she listen to you?”

“Stubborn as ever.” Meath went to kiss Sioned’s cheek. “I can hardly wait to get back to Graypearl, where I
do
have the authority to order Pol around.” He gripped the boy’s shoulder. “Eolie and I have a lot of work to do with you. And none of it has any bearing on being a squire.”

“You mean you’re going to teach me
faradhi
things?” He stared at Rohan. “But I thought Andry would be the one to—”

“Eventually,” Sioned interposed. “But they’ll teach you certain things you need to know.”

“Good,” Pol stated. “I’m not all that comfortable with the idea of going to Goddesss Keep not knowing any more than the usual new people there. I’m not usual; I’m a prince.” He smiled as Rohan’s brows shot up. “I don’t mean it like that. I just mean that my position makes me unique. And I don’t think Andry is going to relish having the ruler of Princemarch underfoot.”

So Pol senses it, too.
The unspoken words darted between Rohan and Sioned.

Meath stretched, bones cracking, and yawned. “I find you rather pesky, myself,” he said amiably. “May I commandeer a bed in one of your tents, my lord prince?”

“Anything not already occupied by one of my female retainers,” Rohan replied equably, and Meath grinned before bowing a good night.

“I think sleep is a very good idea,” Sioned murmured after Meath was gone. “We’ve princes to face tomorrow and a very long ride back home to rest up for.”

“Father, will we be going north to Castle Crag?”

“No.” He elaborated on the harsh monosyllable with, “We couldn’t be sure of getting back to the Desert before the rains begin. And you have to take ship for Graypearl. Lleyn’s letting me borrow you for a little while longer, but has need of his squire—however clumsy and unlearned.”

“Father!” Pol, who knew he was being teased and who also knew why, smiled. “I never get the chance to get arrogant about being a prince. Nobody lets me!”

“And a very good thing, too.” Sioned rose, planted a kiss on her son’s brow and said, “Back to bed. Rohan, leave orders with the guards not to disturb us, please? Urival and Meath were necessary, but—”

“Of course. Sleep well, Pol.”

The boy paused at the partition. “Father . . . I know we won, but why doesn’t it feel like winning?”

“I know what you mean,” he said quietly, not attempting a glib answer that Pol wouldn’t have believed anyway. “It didn’t feel like it when I killed Roelstra, either. I don’t know that it ever does, not when people have to die in order for us to win.”

Pol nodded. “I understand. Try to sleep, Father.”

“You, too.”

Sioned was in bed when he finished instructing the guards and went into their quarters. Rohan stripped and lay beside her, flat on his back, staring at the blue ceiling.

“And what
have
we won?” he asked softly. “Pol’s right to Princemarch. Freedom from Pandsala—though not from her crimes. Tilal as Prince of Ossetia one day. Lleyn’s grandson in Firon. Look at what we’ve won, Sioned. And look at what all this winning cost.”

She put her arms around him, shifting so his head could rest on her shoulder. She said nothing, and he was grateful.

“I love you,” he told her. “You and Pol are the only victories that ever mattered to me.”

Rohan had decided to summon all the highborns, not just the princes. The thirteen chairs and the huge table were taken outside into the weak morning sun. Each prince sat in his usual place, with wife, heir, and vassals, if present, standing behind him. The Sunrunners were grouped at a table nearby, where Andry sat to witness and seal any documents signed that day.

Lady Eneida of Firon had given over her seat at the princes’ table to Chadric on his son’s behalf, and looked relieved that somehow in all the chaos the problems of her people had not been forgotten. A private discussion with her before the general conclave had been most satisfactory; Laric would be welcomed with open arms by a thankful populace when he arrived in Firon sometime before winter began. And after the formal acceptance and acclamation of Laric’s new position, a foregone conclusion, there would be one more vote against Masul. Cold comfort, indeed.

Chiana was, as Sioned had predicted, intolerable. She had taken possession of Halian’s arm and was wearing her most elaborate gown and a brilliant smile, behaving as if she was already Princess of Meadowlord. Her sister Kiele looked on her with dull loathing; Maarken, still slightly groggy with the effects of battle wounds and the draught given him to ease the pain of his wrist, pushed her rudely aside when she attempted to embrace him in thanks for her deliverance. Rohan regretted the necessity for her presence, and again pitied poor old Clutha his declining years in her company.

Rohan took his time about the business of the extraordinary meeting. First there were several treaties to be signed—not many, as few had been willing to agree to proposals without knowing who would be ruling Princemarch. But now Rohan found them eager to accept the continuance of prior treaties for another three years. They could do little else when the High Prince made the suggestion—in polite tones but with ice in his blue eyes.

With the treaties out of the way, Rohan turned to Laric’s confirmation as Prince of Firon. Lady Eneida detailed the twists and turns of ancestry that made him eligible, and affirmed that she and the Fironese people were more than willing to have him. To Prince Chadric she gave a diamond ring, gem of Firon, in trust and token for his son. Laric’s acclamation was unanimous; again, it could scarcely have been anything else, not when the High Prince speared possible dissenters with his frigid gaze.

The vote was then taken that confirmed Pol’s possession of Princemarch. A mere formality, of course, but one that Urival had been oddly adamant about the night before. It was his view that all princes should agree that he and he alone was the rightful ruler there. Not that anyone had dared say a word when Pol took the seat Pandsala had occupied during the last four
Riall’im.

Ostvel was then presented to the assembly as Regent of Princemarch. A parchment was presented for his signature—Rohan’s, Sioned’s, and Pol’s already being appended—that gave him Castle Crag outright. He was also given a new seal, the wreath of Princemarch circling a depiction of the keep itself. There was not a whisper of reaction as he signed and affixed his seal, gave over the ring betokening his lordship over Skybowl, and accepted the one Pandsala had worn. He stood behind Pol’s chair, silent and solemn.

Rohan then called Riyan forward and gave him Skybowl, but in a different manner than his father had held it. A document similar to that making Castle Crag Ostvel’s created Riyan Lord of Skybowl; no longer was either holding the property of the Desert or Princemarch. Riyan hesitated, looking at his father, asking silently if he should sign this instrument that would make him an
athri
in his own right and found their hitherto obscure family in the lands of two princedoms. Ostvel nodded once in assent. There had been a brief discussion with him, too, before the larger meeting, with Rohan and Sioned stating flatly that this was the way things had to be. Ostvel would hold Castle Crag and Riyan would have Skybowl, both keeps theirs by law. The elevation of a pair of landless nobod ies—even though one of them was a Sunrunner—shocked more than a few people. But as Riyan signed the document and his father’s ring was placed on his finger, no one breathed a syllable of protest.

It was Sioned’s turn then, presenting a plan of her own that Rohan refused to have anything to do with. He listened stony-faced as she called Sorin forward and named him Lord of Feruche Castle.

Tobin straightened abruptly at her husband’s side, startled. Chay took her hand and squeezed it hard, warning her to silence.

Sioned informed the assembly, “We are grateful to his grace of Cunaxa for offering to supply some of the materials needed to rebuild this important keep so that trade among northern princedoms may be protected in future as it was in the past.” Miyon looked a little sour at this—all he dared show of his fury that Sioned had called him on their wager. Their bet had been on the battle’s outcome, not the manner of its fighting. She sent a brief glance in his direction and went on, “Our beloved nephew will work assiduously, we are certain, for the safety of trade caravans as he supervises the building of his new castle. We confidently expect that by the time of the next
Rialla,
Feruche will be well on its way to completion.”

Sorin bowed deeply, his eyes alight with excitement at this unexpected honor. Sioned gave him a fond smile along with a beautiful topaz ring in token of his new status. The look she gave her husband was one of veiled defiance; his objection was not to giving Sorin a castle, but that that castle was Feruche. To the end of his life he would have nothing more to do with the place.

He nodded to Prince Clutha then, who rose and cleared his throat noisily before ordering Kiele and Lyell brought forward to face him. “I’ve never held with this idea of the High Prince’s, that
athr’im
should own their keeps. All mine hold their lands for
me.
Waes is mine to do with as I please. And it is my pleasure to reward this pair for their treachery, conspiracy, and lies by taking Waes from them.”

Lyell turned sickly green; Kiele, white.

Clutha planted his gnarled fists on the table before him. “Years ago you were spared just punishment for your unlawful actions against Goddess Keep during the conflict with Roelstra. Penning in Lady Andrade and her Sunrunners with the excuse of ‘protecting’ them—bah! I didn’t condemn you then because she and Rohan dissuaded me. But this time—this time no one has even tried to talk of mercy. I reclaim Waes. You are rejected, homeless, and landless. And I thank the Goddess that your father, the noble and loyal Lord Jervis, is dead and cannot learn of the shame you have brought on his house.”

The old man paused for breath, fixing Kiele with a furious gaze. “You are truly your father’s daughter. It seems I shall be accepting another such as my daughter-by-marriage. But I’ll not have a second in my princedom, especially not in a place where I cannot watch her at all times.”