Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (65 page)

Rohan bent his head. “Thank you, my lord.”

“With my grandson as Prince of Firon, you will have a sixth and deciding vote in Pol’s favor. I understand this much. I will not ask you why this was not proposed earlier, when it could have saved us all a great deal of trouble.”

Again Rohan nodded, almost a bow.

“But have you thought this through? You know I have no ambitions outside my own island. Chadric will take my place when I am gone, and after him his eldest son, Ludhil. For Laric there will be his mother’s manor of Sandeia, or governorship of the ports, or whatever he likes and suits his talents. We do not meddle in the concerns of the continent, Rohan. We have no need to. It is one reason we thrive.”

“I understand, my lord. But it is not possible for my son to inherit Firon or any portion of it.”

He had just undergone a stormy passage with Sioned, Tobin, and Chay on precisely that subject. Understandably, they had all argued. And for the first time in their experience of him, he had shouted that it was his decision and his will and they would abide by the dictates of the High Prince or else. Stunned, hurt, and furious, Tobin had swept out of the pavilion in a rage. Chay had followed after a single eloquent glare. Speechless with betrayal, Sioned had refused to look at him at all. She remained only because Rohan had ordered her to be present during his talk with Lleyn and Chadric. He hated himself for not telling them the truth, but he simply could not bring himself to do so.

As for Firon, he had no choice. What Pandsala had done by murdering Prince Ajit had made taking the princedom impossible. He could not bring the dead back to life, but he could refuse to profit by the crime. Small comfort, when there were so many other crimes from which he had unknowingly gained so much.

“Pol cannot take Firon,” he repeated.

“Why?” Lleyn asked. “Do you believe an excess of power would be dangerous? Or do you believe that Andrade will not produce sufficient evidence tonight?”

Sioned was the one who answered. Her low, quiet tones startled Rohan. “It is the perception others would have of an excess of power, my lord. You’ve had the care of my son, you and my lord Chadric. You know him. Do you think he would ever abuse any power he was given?”

“Of course not!” Chadric exclaimed. “Honor is as much a part of him as the blood in his veins. But that wasn’t our doing, my lady.”

“We will share the credit, if you please,” she replied softly, and looked up with a faint smile. “But as well as we know and trust him, others would not. Or at least, they would choose not to. He will have the Desert and Princemarch. That is enough.”

Lleyn still watched Rohan. “I’ve never known you to act out of imagined fears or threats.”

“Yet we all have our secret terrors,” Rohan responded. “Volog fears for his grandson that the eventual union of Kierst and Isel will be an uneasy one. Davvi fears that Tilal’s marriage to Gemma, bringing him Ossetia’s throne, will set him against his brother Kostas when the latter inherits Syr. You fear involvement on the continent. We are all afraid, my lord. Only some of us have the option of removing some of our fears.

“You could say that I am frightened for my son, and you would be correct. Enough burdens will be placed on him—the Desert, Princemarch, the title of High Prince, his Sunrunner gifts. Is it cowardice or prudence on my part to remove a probable cause for dissension, and threats not only to his power but to his life?”

“And you hope to do this by using my grandson.”

“Yes,” Rohan said quite frankly.

Lleyn tilted his head up and stared at Chadric, whose amazement had become worry. “Could Laric do it?” the old man asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Come, don’t be modest about him! Could he rule Firon?”

Sioned leaned slightly forward in her chair. “My lords, would he be happy there? While I agree that it would be best for everyone else if Laric were to rule Firon, if it would not be best for Laric, then I am opposed to the plan.”

Rohan shot her a dark glance that she ignored.

“Your beauty is equaled by your heart, my dear,” Lleyn said. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve outlived myself, I think.”

“I’m sorry to trouble you with this,” Rohan said. “But I had to, my lord. Believe me.”

“I do, I do.” Lleyn squared his frail shoulders and said more briskly, “If I might have the use of a Sunrunner to speak with Eolie tonight at Graypearl, then we can let the boy choose. But it will be
his
choice, Rohan, not mine or even his father’s. Modesty aside, I think he’d do very well. He’d be wasted on a manor or supervising the silk trade or the pearl beds. He’s young, to be sure, and rather studious—but I seem to recall another young and bookish princeling who hasn’t done too badly for himself.” The old man cocked a brow at Rohan, who felt a smile touch his lips for the first time that day. “And the young are flexible, Goddess knows. They learn quickly how to be princes. I assume there will be treaties providing him with military support, should he require it?”

“Of course. I’ve drawn up a proposal for your inspection.” He took the parchment from his desk and gave it to Chadric. “Should Cunaxa attempt anything, the Desert will invade from Tiglath. Volog will, I believe, provide naval support. And there is a stretch of the border between Firon and Princemarch that would serve for a garrison. If there’s anything else you think Laric will need, please don’t hesitate to add it.”

“Generous of our cousin of Kierst,” Lleyn remarked dryly. “But then, it’s all in the family, isn’t it? Tell me, Rohan, why not his younger boy?”

“Volnaya is only seventeen—not even knighted yet. Besides, Davvi’s sons will one day rule Syr and Ossetia. Volog’s grandson Arlis will unite Kierst and Isel when he inherits. Pol will have the Desert and Princemarch. They are all near kin to Pol. But Laric is not, Dorval is very far from Firon.”

“Ah, yes. The two will not merge as those others will. Although I wouldn’t count on Kostas and Tilal working closely together, without someone keeping a very tight rein on both. But have
you
considered that with my grandson in Firon, Pol will eventually have four kinsmen controlling five princedoms among them? With Princemarch and the Desert combined, that makes six out of eleven. That’s a rather threatening total—when you’re not one of the six.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Rohan admitted. “And about Tilal and Kostas, as you’ve said. But though I know this kin-network is likely to fall apart in a generation or two, by then we’ll all be dead and it’ll be someone else’s problem.”

“Someone else’s secret fear.” The old prince smiled grimly. “Well, then, find me a Sunrunner who knows Eolie’s colors, and we’ll inform my unsuspecting grandson that he can become a prince.” He eyed Sioned. “No, my dear, you may
not
volunteer to be that Sunrunner. Andrade has sufficient
faradh’im
in her suite to spare me one this afternoon.”

Chadric helped his father up, supporting him as far as the doorway. The frail body abruptly straightened. “I can walk,” Lleyn snapped. “Leave me be.”

“Of course, Father.”

When they were gone, Rohan turned to Sioned. She was staring at her hands again, unnaturally still. The fire-gold hair was in shadow, the brilliant eyes veiled by her lashes. It hurt to see her light dimmed, and to know that he had caused it.

“I know you don’t understand,” he began quietly.

“No. I don’t.” She lifted her face, her eyes dark. “What did Pandsala say to you today? I don’t believe your reasons for this any more than Lleyn does. What did she tell you, Rohan?”

He was tempted. Goddess, he wanted so much to let the truth flood out of him. Stubborn self-pity forbade it.

“You swore once never to lie to me,” she whispered.

“I never have.”

Her eyes flared with sudden challenge. But after a time she looked away again. “Damn you.”

Rohan sank into the chair Lleyn had used, feeling nearly as old as the man who had recently vacated it. And alone. Goddess, alone as he had not felt since his early youth, when he had dreamed and worked and slept and lived alone. Before Sioned.

He gazed at her proud head, bent now, and the ache in him was not so much for her pain as for his own, a selfish pain that was his punishment for what he had given Pandsala the power to do. But there was a cure for his pain, and for Sioned’s. Neither of them had to be alone. Weak and cowardly he was—but he could not live outside the solace of his wife’s mind and heart.

By the time he finished telling her, she had covered her face with her hands as if the words had brought pictures she could not bear to see. She said nothing for a long time. Then, at last, she whispered, “Her father watered a living green meadow with salt. She has done it with blood.”

Rohan winced, remembering. That autumn and winter of his war against Roelstra, it had rained for more days than anyone wanted to count. With the first break in the storms, he and Chay and Davvi had ridden out to survey the plain where Roelstra’s armies had camped. The troops were gone. In their place was a wide, shallow lake created by diverting a tributary of the Faolain. But before the water had been let in to drown the grasses and soak the soil to viscous mud, the entire meadow had been sown with salt.

Roelstra had had the power to order the befoulment of the Earth itself. Rohan had looked on it, the sharp fumes of rotting soil and salt thick in his nostrils, and nearly wept. He felt the same sick despair now.

“All that blood—” Sioned looked up, her eyes haunted. “It’s on us, too, Rohan. We’re trying to wash it clean, but it won’t come off. She’s just like Ianthe, just like her! Why didn’t we
see?
”

“It was my blindness. Not yours. I won’t let you blame yourself for my failure.”

She shook her head stubbornly. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “We were warned, both of us. And we didn’t listen. Oh, sweet Goddess—Rohan, what have we done? Roelstra’s daughter!”

“None of this will touch Pol. Sioned, listen to me. I won’t let it touch our son.”

“He’s not my son!”

He was up in an instant, taking her face between his hands, “Don’t! He
is
your son!”

Tears streaked her skin like scars, and against her white cheek the whiteness of the crescent-shaped mark was livid. “Make me believe it. Make me believe I did the right thing when he was born—”

“If you doubt it, then tell him the truth. Now. Today.”

Her eyes widened and he held his breath, fearing that the deliberate shock had been a mistake. But a moment later she shuddered and reached for him. He drew her up, folded her to his heart.

“I can’t do that to him,” she whispered. “Not so young.” Another quiver coursed through her. “What a liar I am! It’s myself I’m frightened for, Rohan. I don’t want to lose him.”

“You couldn’t. Not ever. Sioned, he’s your son. You’re his mother.”

After a time she nodded against his shoulder. “I have to believe that, don’t I?” She pulled back from him, knuckling her eyes. “You haven’t said what you’re going to do with Pandsala.”

“I can hardly reward nearly fifteen years of service with a public execution. Not without revealing everything.”

“Another of our secret fears,” Sioned added bitterly. “Let her live. She’ll never talk. Let her rot somewhere.”

“Who will we put in her place at Castle Crag?” He already had someone in mind, but wondered if her thoughts would harmonize with his.

“Ostvel,” she said at once. “There’s no one else we can trust as fully. Riyan can take over at Skybowl—he’s young but he knows his home inside out, and he also knows about the gold. It has to be Ostvel, Rohan.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, relieved that the loneliness had vanished for them both. Then all other emotion was superceded by a vast weariness. “Sioned—I can’t help thinking that if I’d done what I should have in the first place—”

“Kill Masul? Would it shock you to know that I agree with you?” She gave him an unpleasant smile. “But Inoat and Jos and Ajit and all the others would still be dead. Pandsala would have gone on murdering anyone she perceived as being in Pol’s way. And who knows—when Pol had children, she might have killed Tilal’s and Kostas’ and Laric’s sons, too, so all of it could be brought under Pol’s rule. It’s what Andrade’s always wanted, you know,” she added bitterly. “Rohan, if you’d killed Masul, the only thing that would have been different—not better—is that we’d be murderers, just like her.”

Rohan held her to him again. “We may wish we were barbarians. But we have the misfortune to want to be civilized. Goddess help us.”

“It’s a stupid ambition,” she answered. “In such times as these, the height of folly.”

“I agree. But we still have to play out the little comedy. I’ll have Tallain find Ostvel and we’ll break the news to him.”

“Gently. Very gently.” Tilting her face to his, she added, “Rohan—could you have kept silent to me about Pandsala forever? Could you?”

He shook his head. “No. I told myself that I could, that I must. But it seems I’m so made that I can’t live apart from you in any way. I need you too much.”

Sioned smoothed the slowly silvering blond hair from his forehead. “Beloved,” she whispered. “Beloved.”