He had heard things recently to make him wonder if he had ever known Andry at all. He forced an apologetic smile and hid what was in his heart. “Sorry. I’m no politician, and all this playing one side against another confuses me.”
Ostvel’s brows arched in eloquent doubt at this avowal of incomprehension, but he said nothing. While Alasen made a calming little ritual of refilling their cups, Riyan deliberately turned the conversation to Sorin’s plans for Feruche.
But alone in his own chambers that night, he looked pensively at his rings. One way to tell faradhi from diarmadhi was miserable sickness when crossing water. Riyan, like purebred Sunrunners, had that problem—and knew that he also had the Old Blood in his veins, part of his mother’s legacy. His protection was her other heritage as a Sunrunner that gave him the reaction. But what about trained faradh’im whose power came solely from their sorcerer blood? Pandsala had been one of them. Crossing water had never troubled her.
The only sure method of discerning one from the other was response to sorcery, when faradhi rings became fiery circles of pain around the fingers of anyone with diarmadhi blood. He wondered if Andry knew about that—and, if so, whether he would ever use that knowledge in ways that would make Pol’s protection necessary. Riyan thanked the Goddess that Pol was not of the Old Blood. At least Andry would never be able to threaten him on that score.
4
723: Stronghold
The sound of the dragon horn announcing visitors startled Rohan from concentration on his correspondence. A quick mental review of expected guests made him frown. No one was due here until winter. Sioned’s nephew Tilal and his wife Gemma were coming from Ossetia with their children to spend the last half of the season and the New Year Holiday; Maarken and Hollis had promised to bring their year-old twins from Whitecliff. But Rohan had counted on a peaceful autumn in which to catch up on work, and now there were visitors. Sioned was not even in residence, having ridden up to Feruche to see how construction progressed. She had not asked him to accompany her. They both knew he would never set foot near that place again as long as he lived.
A knock sounded at the library door and Rohan called permission to enter. Arlis hovered there, wide-eyed and breathless. “My lord! I ran all the way up from the guardhouse—”
“To tell me who’s here,” Rohan supplied, giving the squire a chance to catch up on his breathing. Arlis nodded, sun-lightened brown hair rumpled by one careless hand. “Someone important, from that blast on the horn, Who?”
“Lord Urival!”
Rohan could not help a start of surprise. No wonder the boy looked impressed. “Well, then, we’d better go greet him, hadn’t we?” He capped the inkwell and put away his pens, glancing once over the parchments littering the huge double desk. There was nothing on the tables that could not have been read by anyone. He trusted his servants down to the last scullery maid, and no one would have dreamed of entering the private office without explicit permission. But Sioned had insisted on extreme caution the last few years. Sunrunners were not the only ones who could weave light and look upon things that perhaps needed to be kept secret.
“Lord Urival isn’t alone, my lord,” Arlis told him, holding out a damp cloth so Rohan could clean his ink-stained fingers. “There’s another Sunrunner with him, a woman, and they have two packhorses loaded from ears to tails.”
“It seems he’s planning a long stay. How many rings has this other Sunrunner?” Rohan scrubbed at a stubborn mark, scowled, and tossed the cloth onto his empty chair.
“Eight.” The squire hesitated. “May I ask a question, my lord?”
“Asking questions is largely what you’re here for, Arlis. Both your grandsires would be very disappointed if you did not. And they’d be even more unhappy with me if I didn’t try to answer.” He smiled and flicked a lock of unruly hair away from the boy’s deep-set eyes.
“Lord Urival and this other faradhi are here with everything they own, it looks like. She’s too old to be of Lord Andry’s new training. Could they have come because Lord Andry threw them out?”
Rohan considered his wife’s kinsman, this princeling who was all earnest face and troubled green eyes and child-soft features. Arlis would one day rule a united Kierst and Isel, a fact he had known almost before he’d learned to walk. Right now he was trying to think like a prince—admirable, but depressing to Rohan, who wanted the boy to stay a boy for at least a few more years.
“Do you think that could be it, my lord?” Arlis said anxiously.
“He’s probably just come for a visit, and has brought someone with him for company.” Or so Rohan devoutly hoped.
Arlis looked relieved. Rohan sent him down to the kitchens to bring refreshment up to the Summer Room, where Rohan then repaired to receive his exalted guests. He had just seated himself in a comfortable chair when a servant scratched on the door, opened it. and announced Lord Urival and Lady Morwenna of Goddess Keep.
Rohan went forward to greet them, hiding his curiosity as best he could. “A most welcome surprise, my lord,” he said. “My lady, please sit down. Something cold to drink will be here shortly.”
“Amenities are so soothing, aren’t they?” Urival observed cynically as he sank wearily into a chair. “Essentially useless, but soothing.”
“Pay him no mind, your grace,” Morwenna said. “He’s saddle sore.”
Arlis hurried in with chilled wine. “I’ve ordered the Tapestry Suite readied, my lord,” he said to Rohan as he served. “Is that all right?”
“As long as. it has a bed and a bathtub,” Morwenna sighed, then grinned. “Actually, I’d settle for just the tub!”
“Three rooms and a beautiful bath, my lady,” Arlis told her shyly.
“Sounds perfect.” She inspected him as he gave her a goblet of wine. “You’d be Latham’s boy, wouldn’t you? Volog and Saumer’s grandson.”
“I have that honor, my lady.”
“Prince Arlis, I’m very pleased to meet you. My mother served as your grandfather Saumer’s court faradhi at Zaldivar for many years.”
“I hope she was happy there, my lady.”
“Very.”
Rohan noticed Urival’s restless frown, and gestured the squire out. “That will be all, Arlis. Make sure the Tapestry Suite is ready quickly, please.”
“Yes, my lord.” He bowed his way out and closed the door.
“A fine lad, your grace,” Morwenna said. “I recognize the Kierstian green eyes.”
“Sioned’s eyes,” Urival said. “Where is she, Rohan?”
“With Sorin at Feruche. What brings you to Stronghold?” he asked, too bluntly, he knew, but Urival had never been one for indirection.
The old man shrugged. “Tapestry Suite, eh? I don’t remember that one from my stay here in 698.”
“My mother’s old rooms,” Rohan explained. “Sioned chose the hangings at the last Rialla and we renamed it. I assume your business is with her.”
“It would be, if she were here. Since she’s not, I’ll burden you.” Urival’s smile was more of a grimace. “One of the privileges of your position, High Prince.”
Morwenna, several years Rohan’s junior and with the dark skin, black hair, and tip-tilted brown eyes that marked her as Fironese, gave a derisive snort. “What he means to say, your grace, is that neither of us could bear to stay at Goddess Keep anymore and have come to burden you with superfluous Sunrunners. I knew the High Princess slightly when she was a young girl earning rings faster than Andrade could keep up with. In herself she’s more Sunrunner than you’ll ever need.”
“She’d be pleased to hear you say that. But we’re informal here—if you don’t feel comfortable calling me by my name, then at least deliver me from being ‘my grace.’ ” He smiled, all the while fretting inwardly at Urival’s uncharacteristic slowness in divulging the reason for his presence at Stronghold.