by Melanie Rawn
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.”
Chiana lost her triumphant smile at that, looked daggers at Clutha. He ignored her, and Halian’s outraged stare.
“But I don’t believe in punishing innocent children for what their parents have done,” Clutha continued gruffly. “Until such time as young Geir proves his loyalty and fitness to govern, my daughter Gennadi will hold Waes for me. As for Lyela, she’ll be dowered well. No one will hold the children’s ancestry against them, or, by the Goddess, I’ll have their heads.” He glared around the table to reinforce his point. Then he addressed Lyell. “That is all you may expect from me. Some would say it’s too much.”
Rohan would not meet the old man’s gaze. He wanted nothing to do with this, either, with Kiele’s judicious and legal and necessary execution.
Andry rose from his seat at the small table. “You have indeed been most generous, your grace. May I assume that Lord Lyell and Lady Kiele are no longer under the protection accorded athr’im by their princes?”
Clutha set his jaw, shaking his head. “No. Do as you like.” Lyell’s eyes closed and his lips moved, presumably a plea to the Goddess for mercy. There was none in Andry’s eyes. Kiele sank to her knees as the Lord of Goddess Keep approached, her tear-swollen face lifted in stark terror.
“My Lord! I beg you—it was all a mistake!”
Andry gave her an ironic little nod. “Yes. And you’ll pay for it, my lady.”
Lyell swallowed hard, then pulled his wife to her feet, holding her up when she would have fallen. “I understand, my Lord,” he whispered. “May I be allowed to speak to his grace?”
Andry nodded again, and Lyell turned to Clutha. “I am sorry for what has happened, your grace. And I thank you for your compassion for my children. I know that Princess Gennadi will treat them gently.”
The princess, visibly moved, opened her mouth to make reassurances. Her father silenced her with a look before she could draw breath.
Kiele stumbled, got her feet under her, and glanced wildly around the assembly for anyone who might help her. “What about the rest of them?” she demanded. “What about Miyon, who believed in Masul as I did? Why aren’t they to be punished, too? Why not take their lands, High Prince?”
Andry answered her. “Your support of the pretender is not my concern. Your murder of a Sunrunner is.”
Scorn curled her lips. “Liar! This is all because of Masul and you know it!”
He shrugged. “Believe what you like. It won’t help you.” Kiele sucked in a breath, her hand lifting. Lyell grabbed it before she could strike Andry. She shook him off and whirled to face Rohan. But her eye was caught by Tallain, who stood behind Rohan’s chair, and she blurted, “You! You’re kin to my husband, you’re his dead sister’s son! Make them stop this!”
Tallain stiffened and took a step back.
“Sweet Goddess, you’re cousin to my children! Would you see their mother destroyed? In the name of your mother Antalya, don’t let them do this!” she shrieked.
Rohan didn’t glance over his shoulder but he could feel Tallain’s anguish, hear the tension in his voice as he replied, “I agree with his grace of Meadowlord. I’m glad my mother isn’t alive to witness this. You are no kin of mine, but I will do my best for your children.”
“How can that help me?” Kiele screamed. “Damn you, damn all of you—”
“Be silent!” Clutha roared.
Andry lifted one finger, and two faradh’im came forward—reluctantly, Rohan noted, no more convinced than Kiele that this was about to happen. One of them put a hand on her arm; she wrenched away from him, slapped his face.
“How dare you touch me!” she raged. “I’m a daughter of the High Prince! I’ll have your rings severed from your hands—”
It was most unwise of her to remind Andry what had happened to Kleve. He nodded curtly at the Sunrunner, who took Kiele’s elbows and held them behind her back. She thrashed and spat, screamed in her husband’s face as he tried to calm her.
“Take her to where Masul’s body awaits burning,” Andry said quietly.
Kiele turned to stone. “Burning?” she echoed, as if she had not heard correctly.
“My brother, Lord Maarken, has asked that the late pretender be accorded battle honors,” Andry explained—not to her, but to the others. “He is more generous than I.”
She looked up at Lyell. “Burned?” she asked incredulously. “He’s going to honor that lying bastard by Fire?”
Her husband gripped her shoulders, all his quiet fortitude gone in a gush of bitterness. “The lying bastard you swore to me was your brother! And it won’t be just him, Kiele. It’ll be us, too. Be grateful it’s not Geir and Lyela along with us!”
Andry lost some of his composure. “Lord Lyell, you had nothing to do with the Sunrunner Kleve’s death. You have been punished by your overlord. I do not seek—I have no reason—”
Lyell met him stare for stare. “She is my wife. I helped her, supported her in forwarding Masul’s claim. I’ve shared her life and her bed. I intend to share her death.”
He loves her—the idiot, Rohan thought. But he couldn’t fault Lyell for his unexpected courage.
“I’d rather die with her, my Lord,” he was saying to Andry, pleading a little now. “I was only concerned for my children. Now that I know they’ll be unharmed. . . .” He shrugged. “I’m as guilty as she, in my own way. I knew what she was doing and I didn’t stop her.”
“But you—” Andry was truly flustered now.
Lyell almost smiled. His pallid face acquired a dignity as he faced death that it had never had in life. “I�
�ll die one way or another. Let it be in the Fire, my Lord.”
Andry looked to Rohan for help. Rohan returned his gaze expressionlessly, thinking, I’m sorry, Andry. This decision is yours. This is Sunrunner’s business, not prince’s. And may you remember in years to come that there is a difference.
The young man nodded slowly, whether in understanding of Rohan’s silence or in assent to Lyell’s request. Rohan had no way of knowing. But Lyell took it as acquiescence, and bowed.
After a moment Andry regained his self-possession and said, “I call on all princes and lords here present to witness the just punishment for murder of a faradhi: death by Sunrunner’s Fire.”
Kiele screamed then and did not stop. Lyell gestured the Sunrunners away. He caught his wife in his arms, one hand over her mouth to clamp her jaws shut, and half carried her as he followed the Sunrunners toward the river.
Rohan saw something puzzling as the rest of the gathering moved to follow. Andry walked apart for a few paces, but all at once Alasen was at his side. She clung to his arm, speaking rapidly in a voice too low for Rohan to hear. Her green eyes blazed with intensity in her white face, but her attitude was more beseeching than commanding despite the fury of emotion in her eyes. Andry looked down at her in sudden anguish, the proud confidence of a Lord of Goddess Keep gone. All at once Rohan understood something that surprised him.
Sioned had seen it, too. She clutched Rohan’s fingers and he felt in her body the urge to go to them, to stop this from tearing them apart. He put his arm around her waist.
“No,” he whispered. “Let them be.”
“But—”
“No,” he repeated.
She pulled in a shaky breath and nodded unwillingly. Andry lifted a hand to brush Alasen’s long, loose hair from her cheek; she flinched back from him. In those two gestures was finality, Rohan thought sadly. He wondered if either of them realized it.
Masul’s body lay on the sand beside the Faolain. The wounds Maarken had given him and the gashes left by Rohan’s knives were concealed by a black cloak that reached from neck to boots. Sunrunners formed a half-circle around him as Andry pointed to the place near the corpse where Lyell and Kiele would stand and die. Alasen had gone to her father now, openly pleading with him. They were close enough for Rohan to hear Volog’s reply.
“No. It is the business of Goddess Keep, and none of ours. I understand your compassion and I love you for it, my dearest, but no one can interfere. Mercy is not shown to such as they—else where would the treachery end?”
Rohan saw the tears glistening in her eyes—so much like Sioned’s in color and shape, but without Sioned’s wisdom. Perhaps twenty years ago, Sioned would have begged as Alasen did now. But between that time and this had come long years of ruling and governing, making hard choices, fighting for the right to make those choices. He glanced at his wife and amended his analysis. Sioned would never have begged. There was a streak of cold practicality in her and she had always understood political reality. If she had not, she would never have been the right woman for him. If Alasen could not, then she was not the right woman for Andry.
The highborns grouped around the Sunrunners to witness the burnings. No ritual of Air, Earth, Water, and Fire would be followed here; no fragrant oil would disguise the stench of burning flesh. The flames called up by faradhi gifts would immolate one corpse and two living beings almost instantly. No one would wait in vigil while they burned, and no Sunrunner-called breeze would waft their ashes across the land. Few would have said they deserved even the honor of the Fire. But though Andry had protested, Maarken had insisted. And the new Lord of Goddess Keep had never gone against his eldest brother’s wishes in his life.
Having failed with her father, Alasen now approached Rohan and Pol. She bowed deeply and without raising her eyes whispered, “Your grace, please don’t let this happen.”
Rohan said nothing, wanting to hear what Pol would reply. The boy did not disappoint him. He frowned and asked, “Don’t you think they merit this, after what they’ve done?”
“They have to die, I know that. And I agree with it. But—” Her fingers twisted together. “Cousin, I beg you not to let their deaths be on Andry’s hands.”
“Ah!” Pol breathed, glancing briefly up at Rohan, who lifted a brow. “And what do you suggest, my lady?”
“Surely it wouldn’t be too much to ask that they be—that death come before the Fire, so they’re spared that. It would make no difference, would it? They’d still be dead. But mercifully. Without feeling the flames.”
“Mercifully for Andry’s sake, too?” he asked softly.
She nodded, still staring down at the sand. “For his sake more than theirs. Please, cousin.”
Rohan found himself looking into blue-green eyes that asked him what he should do—if there was anything he could do. But it was too late. Andry was lifting his hands and any instant the Fire would blaze up. Rohan said nothing, hoping that events would take the decision from them. For if Pol challenged Andry’s new power this soon, Andry would never forgive or forget. He explored the thought, saddened anew that he took it so much for granted that they would indeed challenge each other.
“My lady,” Pol was saying, “I—”
Ostvel moved beside them, his wrist snapping forward to release a shining silver knife. It sank into the damp sand at Lyell’s feet. He looked down, startled, then swiftly bent to pick it up. As the first flames billowed from Masul’s corpse and reached out to engulf him and Kiele, he thrust the blade into his wife’s heart. As she crumpled, he dragged the knife from her breast and plunged it into his own. They were dead before their clothing singed.
Andry swung around, glaring at Ostvel in blind fury. But Rohan, close enough to read his old friend’s eyes, understood another surprising thing. Just as Ostvel had been Ianthe’s death to spare her blood on Sioned’s hands, so he had been the deaths of Lyell and Kiele to spare Andry—and Alasen.
Chapter Thirty
Hollis woke in unfamiliar surroundings. Instead of the white walls and bare necessities of the Sunrunner tents there was soothing soft blue silk, screened skylights left open to the sun, and elegant luxury. For a very long time she simply lay atop the cool sheets, too tired to do more than move her head and take in her surroundings. Eventually guilt stirred; she had no right to be here in the Desert enclave, as if she belonged with Maarken’s family. She could not believe she had ever aspired to become one of them as his wife. Certainly that could never happen now. Even if he forgave her, she knew she would soon die.
A wide-shouldered shadow appeared in the doorway, hesitated, stepped onto the deep carpet. Hollis recognized Meath and turned her face away.
Standing beside the bed, Meath chuckled quietly. “Well, you do look pretty awful,” he told her. “But all you want is a few good meals and a bath. I’ll see to the former at once—and you’ll eat every bite, too! But though I’d purely love to assist with the latter, I think Maarken would run me through.”
Unwilling to acknowledge it, she felt something akin to her old wry humor tug at the corners of her mouth. Goddess, how long had it been since she’d laughed?
“Oh, come on, Hollis.” Meath knelt beside the bed and picked up one of her hands. “I didn’t ride all this way from Goddess Keep to be met with the back of your head. Look at me. I can’t do anything for you if you won’t even look at me.”
She wished he would go back to teasing her, or simply go away. His sympathy and kindness were impossible to hear without pain.
Meath signed. “I know my face isn’t exactly to your taste, but it’s still fairly presentable. It’s even been called handsome on occasion—though I suspect the ladies who said so were a little drunk.”
“Or it was very dark, and by your own design,” she heard herself say.
“That’s better! Now, can you sit up? Good.” He propped pillows behind her back and she sank into them wearily, a smile flitting around her mouth. “I thought I saw some wine around here—”
“No!” She caught herself at the edge of panic and forced her body to relax. “I’m sorry. I would like something to drink, please.”
Meath smoothed her hair back, his voice soft with compassion. “So he put it in the wine, did he?”
“And the taze, and anything else—oh, Meath—”
“Shh. We’ll talk about that in a little while.” He went to a table and poured out two goblets of a fine pale Syrene vintage. “One thing I’ll say for life in the Desert—Prince Davvi supplies his sister with the best damned wines ever bottled. Now, this is a blend of mossberries and grapes from around Sioned’s old home of River Run. You’ll have to visit it someday. It’s a lovely place if you don’t mind all that water!”
She smiled again, more easily this time, and sipped the wine. Meath talked about River Run and Syrene wines and the High Princess’ knowledge of them, and gradually Hollis relaxed. He saw it in her face and interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence.
“I suppose you’d like to know what’s been going on.”
She nodded. “I don’t remember anything after—after—”
“Understandable. Urival spun sleep around you good and tight.” Meath leaned back in a carved chair that looked too fragile to hold his brawny frame. “Well, let’s see. First off, Firon now belongs to Lleyn’s grandson Laric. He’ll do a fine job with it, too. Smart boy. Sorin’s going to rebuild Feruche for Sioned, and young Riyan’s got Skybowl now that his father’s going to be Pol’s regent at Castle Crag.”
Hollis stared. “All that, just this morning?”
“Rohan doesn’t waste much time. You knew that Gemma Chose Tilal instead of Kostas, right? Well, there’s a whisper or two that Kostas has already been Chosen himself—by Danladi. Maybe he’ll be bright enough to accept her. She’s a nice little thing. Doesn’t have a word to say for herself, which is unusual for one of Roelstra’s daughters. But Davvi’s very fond of her and says she’s a sweet girl, so I guess she’ll be Princess of Syr one day. And speaking of Roelstra’s daughters, that little bitch Chiana was hanging all over Halian today, all set to be wed to him and inherit when Clutha’s gone. That should be interesting!”
