Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll

by Melanie Rawn

  “Can you blame him?” Tobin snapped before climbing through the rails.

  Rohan was already on the track, waiting for Sorin to canter his blown and trembling stallion back to calm. He grasped his sister by the shoulders when she would have hurried to her son. “No! You’ll get trampled. Tobin, stay here.”

  “I’ll pull that lying bastard off his horse and feed him to the dragons!” she hissed. “Let me go!”

  He bore with her struggles for a moment, then rapped out, “Stop it! Do you want everyone to see you?”

  It was not something that would have mattered to Sioned, but Tobin, born and bred to princely station, had been trained to present a certain face to the outside world. She shook her brother off and smoothed back her hair. “No need to rattle my bones loose,” she said acidly.

  Rightly interpreting this as a sign of recovery, Rohan nodded. Sorin was riding closer now, and Sioned feared for a moment that Tobin would explode anew. She could tell the difference between marks left by slashing branches and the torn and bloodied shoulder caused by the lash of a whip. But though rage burned even hotter in her long-lidded eyes, she said nothing.

  Sioned felt someone pluck at her sleeve, and looked around. Alasen stood at her side, ashen-faced. “Is Sorin all right?” the girl whispered, and Sioned recalled that the two had grown up together at Volog’s court.

  “He’ll be fine, with only a scar to show for his trouble.”

  Sorin rode up then, Joscenel having settled down. He gave Alasen a tight smile. “I’m not hurt, Allie. Just get me the hell out of here before I kill that pig. I don’t trust myself nearer to him than a measure.”

  “You or your father,” Rohan said mildly, though his eyes flashed. “But I see no need to insult pigs, Sorin. They’re certainly much better bred than Masul. Let’s get your horse to the paddock and cared for, shall we?”

  Tobin turned on him with a look of furious betrayal, still wanting nothing more than to confront Masul with what he had done. But she obeyed Sioned’s warning look and took Joscenel’s bridle in one shaking hand. “Let’s get out of here,” she muttered, leading them to where Ostvel had waylaid the livid Chaynal.

  Rohan was looking at Alasen. “With those green eyes, there’s only one person you could be. Princess, would you be so kind as to stay here and watch certain people for me?”

  She understood instantly. “Of course, your grace. It’ll be a real pleasure.”

  Sorin gave a short laugh over his shoulder. “Go flirt with Masul. He’ll be so dazzled he won’t see that what you really want is to scratch his eyes out.”

  “If I decided to soil my hands by touching him, I’d aim a good deal lower down,” she retorted, and set off toward the group clustered around the victor.

  Rohan blinked in startlement, then grinned, and then scowled as Chay finally eluded Ostvel and stormed up. “Not here,” he ordered sharply before Chay could do more than open his mouth. “This horse needs attention.”

  Chay turned scarlet and for a moment Sioned thought he would defy Rohan. But then he swallowed hard, nodding.

  “Just as you say, my prince.” He ran his fingers gently over the stallion’s singed belly and legs, then met his son’s gaze. “You’ll have to explain this. I trust you can.”

  “Not here,” Rohan repeated, and they started for the paddocks.

  They were joined along the way by Pol, Maarken, and Andry. Sioned searched the brothers’ faces, but saw only anger. Unable to convince herself that it had been one of them she had sensed on the sunlight, she drew Maarken to her with a glance.

  “Did you watch the race?” she whispered. “By faradhi means?” When he looked surprised and shook his head, she called Andry over and received the same answer.

  “Did you?” Maarken demanded. “What did you see?”

  “I want to talk to Sorin first.”

  She appropriated him from his father once they had reached the paddock. Rohan distracted Chay by asking what treatment they would give the injured horse, and they led Joscenel away. Sorin submitted to his mother’s inspection of his back and shoulder, wincing as she cleaned the scrapes with fresh water brought by a groom. As Tobin worked, Sioned glanced at Ostvel. He nodded and led the unwilling Pol off to help Riyan get ready for the next race.

  “Sorin,” she said at last, “tell me exactly what happened from your point of view.”

  He was seated on an overturned bucket as his mother dressed his wounds. He regarded Sioned thoughtfully, blue eyes narrowing beneath the untidy shock of brown hair. After a moment he nodded. “My point of view means you had one as well. I should’ve guessed. It was a clean ride until we got out of the wood on the way back. All at once flames shot up in front of me. Joscenel was startled and slammed into Masul’s horse. That’s when he got me with his whip.”

  “Andry,” Tobin said through gritted teeth, “make a bandage from what’s left of Sorin’s shirt.”

  Red and white silk ripped as Sorin went on, “Masul went around the Fire, but I had to jump right over it. The bastard maneuvered me right into it. That’s how Joscenel was burned. Then I just kept riding—and lost, damn it to all hells!”

  “It could have been your life you lost,” Maarken said. Then, with an effort at easing the grimness, he added, “Or your looks, if he’d laid your face open with that whip.”

  “Fire,” Andry murmured, holding the makeshift bandage to his twin’s shoulder while Tobin tied it. “Sunrunner’s Fire?”

  Sioned nodded. “That’s why I asked if you or Maarken had been watching. I felt someone else. If it wasn’t either of you—”

  Tobin looked up, her voice dangerously soft. “Do you mean faradhi, one of our own, is responsible for this?”

  Andry held Sioned’s gaze as he answered his mother. “We aren’t the only ones who can call Fire. It you don’t need me, Mother, then I’d better go tell Andrade about this.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Maarken said. “Sorin, not a word to anyone.”

  He nodded unhappily. “But you’d better explain this to me, Andry.”

  “I’m just glad you’re still here to explain it to,” his twin replied, and left with Maarken.

  “And just what is it that needs explaining—and to me, I might add?” Tobin demanded.

  “Whatever it is,” Sorin said as he got to his feet, “we can’t talk about it now. Look.” He nodded to the new arrivals in the paddocks: Lyell, Kiele, and Masul, the latter leading his exhausted stallion. “If Father safely occupied?”

  “Yes. And I’m leaving,” Tobin said. “Sioned, deal with them. I don’t trust myself.” She turned on her heel and stalked off, a deliberate snub to those now approaching.

  “Follow my lead,” Sioned whispered, and Sorin frowned. “I mean it. You already know they’re dangerous. Let me handle this.”

  Kiele got to them first, polite concern the thinnest of masks over her triumphant excitement. “Your grace—my lord, what a relief to find you unhurt! How is your horse?”

  “Recovering,” Sioned observed, “as that one obviously needs to do. Lord Lyell, should you not be seeing to the comfort of your horse?”

  “How did you know he’s mine?” Lyell asked, then tacked on a hasty, “—your grace.”

  “Your colors edge his saddle blanket—and this young man can hardly possess the funds to purchase such an animal.” Nor does he know how to treat his prize, her eyes added as she gestured to the stallion’s hanging head, the blood at ribs and mouth.

  “An excellent race, my lord,” Masul told Sorin with a condescending smile.

  Sorin nodded curtly. “Interesting, certainly.”

  Masul turned to Lyell. “You ought to take the High Princess’ suggestion and see to the horse. I’m sure you’ll want to go with him, sweet sister.”

  Kiele’s smile was strained around the edges, her eyes hinting at harsh words for Masul later on for commanding them like common servants. But she turned the moment to advantage by saying, “Of course. We’ll meet you back at the roy
al enclosure for the final contests, your grace.”

  A corner of Sioned’s mouth lifted in a mocking smile as Kiele gave Masul the title he did not merit, but she said nothing as Kiele and Lyell led the horse away. Masul was direct about his attack, as she had expected; if nothing else, his lack of subtlety marked him as someone else’s son, not Roelstra’s.

  “I thought you might like to know, Lord Sorin,” he said, “that I have no intention of filing a complaint for what happened on the course.”

  Sioned had been expecting something of the sort. Sorin had not. Thick dark brows slanted down. “A complaint? Against me?”

  Masul shrugged. “Your reputation as a horseman suggested you could control your mount. I’ll have bruises for days after being slammed into like that, and it’s a wonder we both weren’t thrown. Had it occurred on the track where the judges could have seen it, I would’ve had no choice but to lodge a formal protest. But since no one else saw. . . .”

  Sioned knew how close Masul was to losing several teeth from the temper Sorin had inherited from both volatile parents. She said, “I’m sure Lord Sorin is similarly inclined to generosity, though I would say he’ll bear the scar on his shoulder long after your bruises have healed. But I’m pleased to see you young men in agreement. We wouldn’t want any difficulties to arise over the race, would we? Such things have a tendency to flare like Sunrunner’s Fire.”

  Masul could not hide his reaction. Green eyes—nearly the color of Roelstra’s, she noted now that she was staring directly into them—narrowed and a muscle in his cheek twitched. His voice came from a clenched throat. “I have no experience with faradhi matters. No offense meant to yourself, High Princess, but I have no wish to learn about them, either.”

  “I am neither offended nor surprised. Fire of any kind is dangerous, don’t you agree? One so often burns one’s fingers.” She gave him a small, chill smile. “You have my permission to withdraw.”

  Masul froze for a heartbeat, then inclined his head an insulting fraction and strode off. Sorin spat into the dirt where he’d stood.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Sioned murmured. “But he took the hint, which is what I wanted.”

  “What hint?” Sorin exclaimed. “That slimy son of a—he had the balls to accuse me of riding into him on purpose!”

  “And did not mention the real source of the incident,” Sioned pointed out. “Sorin, I only want to tell this once. Tonight, after the prizes are given, we’ll all meet in Andrade’s pavilion and talk this out. But for now, say nothing. And smile—there are some pretty girls coming to comfort you.”

  “The only thing that could comfort me is redoing Masul’s face with my fists,” he muttered. “His features please me very little.”

  “Yours seem to be in favor,” she told him. “Relax until tonight, Sorin—and if you don’t end this afternoon with at least five of those girls in love with you, then you’re not your father’s son.” She winked at him.

  He gave a short laugh in spite of himself, and turned his attention to the young ladies—reluctantly at first, then with more enthusiasm as he realized that being a good-looking young lord with a romantically wounded shoulder could be a most entertaining experience.

  Chapter Twenty

  Andrade’s white pavilion filled slowly at irregular intervals that midnight. Sunrunners on casual guard wore thin leather gloves against the autumn crispness in the air, neatly hiding the fact that not all of them were in fact Sunrunners; cloaks in various shades of blue, brown, and black concealed any telltale badges of service to Rohan, Chay, or Pandsala. A careful investigation of a few other tents might have given a good idea of who met with the Lady of Goddess Keep in secret that night. But two things counted against the presence of any prying eyes: the extreme lateness and the lavish banquet that had ended only a short time earlier. No one cared about anything more important than getting to bed and avoiding the headaches sure to attend upon the morning. Ostvel had given strict instructions that the High Prince’s guests were never to sit more than an eyeblink with empty wine-cups.

  Rohan arrived first with Pol and Pandsala. All three were still fuming at the manner in which Masul had collected the jewels he’d won in the race—Princemarch’s own amethysts, the reason he’d chosen that race to enter, of course. His bow to Rohan had been barely respectful, his grin openly mocking. Though relegated to a lower table with Kiele and Lyell, he had practically held court both before and after the meal. So great was Pandsala’s fury that she had eaten nothing. Rohan had hidden his anger better, and Pol had followed his father’s example rather than his regent’s. Sioned had been the only one to disturb Masul’s triumph, for reasons none of them understood, he was seen to jerk back in startlement when, with on coming dusk, she had risen from her chair to gesture the candles and torches alight. Her smile in his direction had been perfectly poisonous.

  Chairs were arranged in Andrade’s pavilion around a small brazier where glowing coals kept out the chill midnight air. Urival sat next to Andrade on one side of the circle, Pol between his father and Pandsala opposite. No one spoke. Tobin and Chay arrived with all three of their sons a short time later; Ostvel and Riyan joined the group soon after that. At last Sioned came in with Alasen of Kierst. The girl’s hands were folded tightly together and she did not raise her eyes as she was introduced formally around the circle. Andrade looked a question at Sioned and touched her own rings. Sioned nodded confirmation. The Lady of Goddess Keep turned a speculative eye on the young princess, who took the seat beside Sioned and next to Andry.

  “Hollis should be here,” Sioned commented, her gaze finding Maarken.

  The young man flushed. Meeting his parents’ puzzled gazes, he drew a deep breath and said, “I ought to have told you before this. I hope to make her an official part of the family in a few days.”

  Tobin sank back into her chair, stunned. Chay simply gaped. Sioned whispered a request to Andry to go find Hollis, then said, “I’m sorry, Maarken, but I didn’t know any other way to include her without its seeming strange to those who didn’t know.”

  “Sioned, my love,” Rohan murmured, “you are about as subtle as a dragon spotting an unguarded herd.”

  Maarken was still watching his parents. “I just couldn’t seem to find the right time to tell you. I know you haven’t had a chance to get to know her yet, but I’m hoping you’ll approve.”

  Tobin smiled at her eldest. “I was prepared to love whomever you chose, darling—and you’ve made it wonderfully easy. Although I’ll never forgive Sioned for knowing it first!”

  “It wasn’t me who told her,” he explained, beginning to smile. “We had a bet going that she’d guess.”

  Chay reached around Sorin to grasp Maarken’s arm. “If she’s as clever as she is beautiful, you’re a lucky man. A Sunrunner, too—how many rings is it?”

  “Six, like mine.”

  “Your grandfather Zehava always said he wanted good-looking descendants,” Rohan teased. “I think his ambition is safe into the next generation.”

  Andrade sat quietly, smiling, while the others added their congratulations. Finally she said, “I had nothing to do with it this time, Sioned. As a matter of fact, they managed it in spite of me. Someday you’ll have to get them to tell you how it came about.”

  “My Lady!” Maarken protested automatically, red to his earlobes.

  “If you don’t, I may tell them myself!” she threatened with a grin and a wink—startling those in the group who had experience only of her more caustic humor, or who had no experience of her at all.

  Andry returned to the tent alone and bewildered. “Maarken—I told her she was to come here, and why, and she said—”

  “Something self-effacing, I trust,” Andrade remarked, but her gaze had sharpened.

  Andry shook his head. “She said she couldn’t in conscience join us because—because it would be under false pretenses.”

  Maarken gasped as if someone had hit him in the gut. He shoved back his chair and strode f
rom the tent, leaving a shocked silence behind him.

  Rohan had to clear his throat twice before he could say with reasonable calm, “Andry, why would she say such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she’s just tired. She hasn’t been all that well most of the summer. And it would probably scare me, too, being summoned to a conference like this. After all, none of us is exactly nobody.”

  “Succinctly if inelegantly put,” Andrade said. “Alasen, I trust we do not intimidate you too much? Good. Andry, sit down. There’s nothing we can do that Maarken can’t do for himself, so we’d best get on with this. Sioned, I assume you’re the one with the explanations. You’d better begin them before curiosity kills us.”

  “Yes, my Lady.” Sioned looked around the circle once, then began. “Someone called Fire down onto the course today, threatening Sorin but not Masul. Afterward, Masul approached Sorin and they exchanged words—”

  “As they’re both alive and intact,” Andrade interrupted, “I may assume that the words were at least marginally polite.”

  “You may. But when I hinted at Sunrunner’s Fire, Masul reacted very oddly. He knows as well as Sorin and I what happened. Only I led him to believe it was one of us who had done it.”

  Sorin gave a muffled curse. “You wanted him to think the flames had been meant for him, not for me!”

  “I thought he might sweat a little. Anything that unbalances him works in our favor.”

  “Good thought,” Rohan said. “But the problem is that we know the Fire was meant for Sorin.”

  “It rose up right in front of me,” the young man confirmed. “It was easy for Masul to avoid it.”

  Chay leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped between them. “Do we have another renegade Sunrunner, then, like the one Roelstra corrupted?”

  “I doubt it very much,” Urival replied quietly. “For reasons I will explain shortly. Sioned, did he admit to having seen the Fire at all?”