Dragon Prince 03 - Sunrunner's Fire (38 page)

“Summer isn’t warm enough there to bake the eggs properly.”

“But it must have been once. The evidence argues for it—and for a change in climate. When the dragons found their eggs didn’t hatch, they adapted to the change.” He gestured to the land around them. “Like the insects feasting off the flowers, and the birds feasting off the insects. They found a banquet in the Desert that hasn’t been seen in a hundred years. Dragons are smarter than insects or birds, and in a lot more need.”

“It’s an interesting theory,” Feylin granted, “except for one thing. When dragons presumably hatched in the caves around Castle Crag, they numbered in the thousands. How many caves are there above the Faolain? A hundred? The dragons wouldn’t have noticed the loss of a hundred females’ hatchlings. I’m sorry, Pol, but they simply abandoned Castle Crag the same way they did Rivenrock, for equally good reasons to the dragon mind.”

“And you’re the one who’s always saying dragons are smarter than anybody gives them credit for!”

“They are. But they’re not people. Sioned persuaded them to share the valley at Dragon’s Rest. All that means is they’re smart enough to comprehend an offer of free food—not a very exalted concept, you’ll admit.”

Pol scowled at her. “But the dragon I touched understood that I wouldn’t hurt her, that I’d take her vengeance on those who killed her. And she told me quite plainly that any attempt to heal her shattered wing was doomed to failure. The concepts of help, revenge, and healing are fairly advanced.”

“Did she really communicate those things, Pol? Or was it your own mind and emotions projecting human thought and feeling into the dragon?” She paused and ran her fingers back through her hair. “In any case, your argument about Castle Crag won’t work. Dragons have used the same caves for hundreds and hundreds of years. No stories, rumors, or even legends describe them looking for new ones. So we can’t count on a perceived need motivating them to return to Rivenrock.”

“They range out to find food,” he challenged. “When the Plague decimated herds in the Catha Hills, they expanded their territory into Syr and Gilad.”

“And they readily accepted the offer of sheep raised just for them at Dragon’s Rest, where they were accustomed only to stop for a drink,” she agreed. “But I give your own analogy back to you: the insects and the birds. It doesn’t take much mind power to find and take advantage of a food supply.”

“Oh, all right,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll concede. But I still say that dragon knew exactly what I was talking about and was a lot smarter than you’ll admit.”

“You were the one who touched her colors. Only you can say what you perceived.”

“Gracious of you to say it,” he grumbled. “Even if you’re obviously unconvinced.”

She laughed. “Give me facts, my prince! Good, solid statistics—”

“Or a dragon corpse you can take apart to figure out how he works!” Pol grinned back at her. “Come to think of it, it’s highly appropriate that you met your husband during a war—you’re a bloodthirsty woman, my lady!”

Riyan rode up then, saying, “Apologies, my prince. I don’t mean to interrupt, but—”

“But you have something to talk over in private,” Feylin supplied, smiling. She swung her mare neatly around and trotted away.

“What is it, Riyan?” Pol asked.

“I don’t think anyone ought to go mucking about in any of the caves, do you?” It was said in casual tones, but with one brow arched significantly.

“Ah!” Pol said. “Naturally not. It might be dangerous.”

“No one knows if the walls or ceilings might collapse.”

“Or what sort of animal might have established a den.”

Their gazes met in perfect understanding; none of these eminently sensible reasons had anything to do with why people must not explore the caves where shells shone with gold.

Pol said, “I was hoping for a chance to talk with you. I’ve been considering what’s to be done about Feruche.”

Riyan gave a soft sigh. “I can’t imagine anyone but Sorin as its
athri,
but I suppose someone has to run the place. Do you have anybody in mind?”

“Who else would I give it to, Riyan?” Pol smiled.

“Me?” The young Lord of Skybowl gaped at him. “Why?”

“Because it’s with in easy distance of Skybowl, you’re demonstrably capable of it, and I don’t want anyone else to have it.”

“But it should be saved for one of your family! Maarken’s bound to have other children—”

Pol shook his head. “No. And don’t let on that I told you. Hollis found out at the Mother Tree that Chayla and Rohannon are all the children she’ll ever have.”

“But—your own younger sons, or your daughters—”

“What’s the matter? Don’t you want Feruche?”

Riyan bit his lip. “Alasen and I had this conversation years ago. She thought that as my father’s eldest son, I ought to have Castle Crag after him. But I’m Desert-born, Pol—and I don’t want to live anywhere else.”

“Feruche is only a day and a half from Skybowl, and nobody’s asking you to give up your primary holding. And it’s not as if being the vassal of two princedoms is going to be a conflict, when the two are father and son! What’s the real reason? I know very well you’re not afraid of the work.”

“It’s—what I already said,” Riyan replied softly. “I can’t imagine anyone but Sorin there.”

“And I can’t imagine anyone he’d want to have it more than you. Or anyone who’d make of it what he intended it to be. If you won’t accept it for yourself or for me, then accept it for him.”

Riyan hesitated. “May I have time to think it over, my prince?”

“Take as long as you like—as long as your answer is yes. With the new trade agreements we’re sure to reach with Prince Miyon, I need somebody there I can trust to carry out a few plans.”

The older man laughed. “Goddess! You’re Rohan’s son to your fingertips, aren’t you? He makes plans stretching years ahead before he’s even told the people those plans include! My father says that Rohan’s the only man he ever knew who reminisces about the future! Very well, I’ll hold Feruche for you—but with the understanding that if you need it at any time for a second son or a daughter’s dowry, it will revert to Princemarch.”

“And
you’re
the only man I know who’d take a magnificent keep with one hand and give it back with the other!” Pol shook his head in comical amazement. “I’ll accept your conditions for now. But I have a suspicion that sooner or later you’ll have sons and daughters of your own to dower, my friend.”

“The sooner the better, according to my father. The ‘What, not married
yet
?’ looks come fast and thick at your age, but wait till you get to be mine!”

“Oh, I don’t intend to wait that long,” Pol said.

Sudden raucous yells heralded the beginning of a surprise ambush. Chayla and Rohannon rode up at speed to besiege Pol and pelt him with blossoms. He cowered in his saddle and shouted for help, which brought the Stronghold guard thundering up in earnest. The adults heroically hid grins as the disgruntled soldiers solemnly accepted the children’s apologies. Then Andry created a gentle whirlwind that sent the flowers spinning around the delighted twins.

“What’s the good of knowing how if you can’t do it for fun sometimes?” he countered when Maarken said something about wasting his energies to entertain a couple of monsters.

“I see now why one has to be at least fourteen to begin training,” Hollis laughed. “Can you imagine the chaos otherwise?”

By the time they reached the gold silk pavilion Rialt had brought earlier, everyone was starving. The canopy was set up just below the spire that stood sentinel over the entrance to Rivenrock. It was here that Pol’s grandfather, Prince Zehava, had taken mortal wounds battling a dragon; Rohan had killed the same dragon somewhere in the canyon. Here, too, the Hatching Hunts had been held before Rohan outlawed the triennial butchery. Pol could not conceive of doing any injury at all to a dragon, let alone going out to fight one as proof of prowess. And the thought of ambushing the hatchlings as they emerged into the sun, wings still damp and eyes dazzled, sickened him.

But he understood why Rohan had killed the dragon that had killed Zehava—the last one slain until the three that Princess Ianthe’s son had slaughtered. Rohan had promised Zehava that dragon’s death, but it also announced his own strength. Pol thanked the Goddess that circumstances made it unnecessary for him to provide a similar demonstration of his abilities with a sword. Indeed, his father’s whole life had been dedicated to making sure Pol did not have to live by the sword at all.

He lazed back on the thick carpet spread under the pavilion, full plate and wine cup in easy reach. Outings like this with just his family were much less formal—bread, fruit, and cheese to make a meal on while seated in the shade of a dune or a rock outcropping. But he had acquired a taste for elegant frivolity at Dragon’s Rest, where guests expected more than a loaf, a water skin, and the hard ground. Besides, his present companion deserved elegance.

Lady Meiglan sat on a cushion to his right, slim and dainty in a riding outfit of creamy beige accented with orange embroidery. She had gained enough confidence around him—and away from her father—to answer harmless questions. But he had still not decided if her shyness was genuine or deliberate.

Pol had always known that Miyon’s trade treaties were secondary to some other plan; that he was supposed to think Meiglan
was
that other plan had occurred to him rather more slowly than was comfortable for his conceit. He gave the Cunaxan prince full marks for choosing his diversion well. Pol’s wits had not worked with the usual speed because she was indeed enchantingly lovely.

So he had decided to become enchanted.

His amusement at this conscious resolve tugged the corners of his mouth up. This game would be almost as good as one played thirty years ago: the only point in which his father could top him was the number of females he’d played off against each other.

Rialt and Edrel had been scandalized by Pol’s opening gambit two mornings ago as they’d helped him dress for the day. Critical attention paid to clothes, from a man who usually put on whatever was given him without knowing or caring what it was, had astonished them almost as much as his words.

“Did you notice her eyes? Like a pool kept secret in the forest, in autumn when leaves drift down to darken the water. But when she smiles, the sun shines. What do you think, Edrel—the agate, for seduction?” He’d held up a plump stone set in a silver earring.

Rialt’s scowl had answered for the pair. “Amber would be more appropriate—for protection against danger! My prince, please recall who this girl is!”

Pol only laughed. “Definitely the agate.”

Rialt gestured Edrel from the room. “You can’t seriously be—”

“—attracted to a pretty girl? Come now, Rialt. You know me better than that.” He sprawled in a chair and grinned. “I’m only attracted to the really
beautiful
ones.”

“If you desire her, fine. Goddess knows, she’s lovely. But you don’t have to make such a show of it! And you certainly don’t have to treat her to a display of the family charm!”

“Why not? She’s a princess—of a somewhat irregular sort, true. But one doesn’t go about seducing even bastard princesses, Rialt. I’m ashamed of you for even suggesting it.”

“But there are a hundred reasons why you shouldn’t notice her at all, let alone make much of her! First, she
is
illegitimate. Second, she’s too young. Third, she’s Cunaxan. Fourth—”

“I beg you,
don’t
give me the entire list! Besides, I could think think up a reason in favor for every one you think up against.” The expression of shock on his chamberlain’s face was delightful; Pol wondered why his father had never told him this could be so much fun. “First, bastardy doesn’t really matter much. Second, she can’t be much younger than Sionell was when she married Tallain. Third, what better way to make peace than to make love? And fourth—she has but a single fault.”

Rialt’s fiery blue eyes widened still more. Pol laughed.

“Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“I can’t wait,” he spat.

“It’s only a little one,” he said, playing it out to the end. “Rather easily remedied.” He paused. “Her fault is that she’s not my wife. Yet.”

“Pol!”

At last he took pity on his friend. “I really have you fooled, don’t I?”

Rialt sank bonelessly into a chair.

“A moment to treasure!” Pol allowed himself to gloat a moment, then sobered. “No one must know about this, not even my parents. Just you and I, or it won’t work. I’ve a pretty good idea of what Miyon is up to with this girl. And I’ll need your help, the way my father needed Walvis thirty years ago. Have you heard that story?”

It took a couple of tries before Rialt could form coherent words. In the end, he said only one. “Roelstra?”

“Exactly. Miyon’s not overly burdened with wits, but he’s capable of copying someone else’s plan. One of Roelstra’s innumerable daughters was supposed to marry Father, give him a son or two, and then become his grieving widow—and regent while the little vipers grew. It was a clever idea and might even have worked if Father really had been the fool he pretended to be for Roelstra’s benefit.”

“And if not for your mother. But—Lady Meiglan can’t possibly be a party to this!”

Pol shrugged. “She looks as innocent as a new morning, but who can say? I don’t want to hurt her unnecessarily if she really doesn’t know anything about her father’s plot. Still, I have to play along—only the game is going to be mine, not his grace of Cunaxa’s. That’s why you have to help me. Make sure people know how worried you are about my interest in her. I’ll have enough trouble being obvious without being
too
obvious—it wouldn’t do for anyone who knows me well to guess what I’m up to.” He grimaced. “I warn you, I’ll start sounding and behaving like a madman.”

“Why change your style now!” Rialt laughed. “Just make sure you don’t get overwhelmed by your own game. And if the girl really is the innocent she appears, this isn’t fair to her.”