Despite the day’s events, conversation was not of dragons or Sunrunning. Rohan plied Tallain with questions about an agreement signed only days ago with Miyon of Cunaxa regarding the border between princedoms. The gist of the matter was, could Tallain live with the terms?
“Kabil of Tuath and I had a long talk this spring. With Sunrunners at our holdings able to contact Riyan at any time, we both feel fairly secure. And glad to give our people something better to do than patrol.”
“Trust my son to need more iron than even Sioned was able to trick Miyon out of,” Rohan sighed. “And trust Miyon that the only way to get it was a reduction of troops along the border.”
“That’s not quite fair,” Walvis observed. “Sorin learned so much from building Feruche that more iron had to come to Dragon’s Rest—plus it’s so much bigger.”
“And whose fault is that? Again, my son.” The High Prince shrugged. “Ah, well. Reduction of patrols reduces the chance of any little ‘accidents’ like last winter.”
Sionell sipped hot taze, remembering how close they had come to war with Cunaxa. An encounter along the border had led to a disagreement about who had encroached on whose land, ending with several dead on each side before both backed off. A courier had galloped into Tiglath that night; Tallain rode out at once with an escort. His quiet diplomacy—aided by a map drawn by Goddess Keep’s Sunrunners in 705 that strictly defined boundaries—had convinced the Cunaxans that the matter wasn’t worth further bloodshed.
“Yes,” Tallain was saying in response to Rohan’s comment. “But if they’d been led by a Merida, I wouldn’t have let them away so lightly.”
Sionell turned to him with interest. “How did you know it wasn’t?”
“Northerners can smell a Merida at ten measures, my lady,” he answered with a tight little smile. “Ask your mother. She’s from our part of the Desert.” His brown eyes, startling contrast to the sungold hair swept back from his brow, lingered on her. She realized abruptly that he liked looking at her. She fought a blush as his attention returned to the High Prince. “Miyon’s impudent lately, though, which must mean he has a new ally. I suspect Meadowlord.”
“Chiana and her Parchment Prince,” Walvis said sourly. “They’ve a natural affinity with Miyon. I can’t believe Chiana’s insolence in Naming her son after her grandfather—and her daughter for her whore of a mother.”
Hollis blinked large, innocent eyes. “I’m surprised she didn’t Name him Roelstra.”
Rohan grinned and rapped his knuckles on the table. “Now, now, children. We can’t encourage such disrespect for other princes—next, you’ll be insulting us! Tallain, will incidents increase or decrease along the border?”
The thin smile crossed Tallain’s face again. “I couldn’t say, my lord—but for one factor. There’s an advantage to dealing with Prince Miyon. His merchants and crafters. They’ve got him by the throat, as ever. And they constantly try to sneak their shipments into Tiglath. Sometimes I let them.”
“Reaping a substantial profit thereby?” Sionell asked, amused.
“Of course, my lady. I let enough through to keep them trying. The rest I confiscate. You’d be astonished what they’re willing to pay to get their goods back and legally shipped. My father built two schools and a new infirmary on the proceeds. I’m planning to refurbish the market square next year.”
“Oh, I do enjoy the law,” Rohan sighed. “Especially the ones my athr’im ignore to our mutual advantage. But I never heard any of this, Tallain.”
“I never mentioned it, my lord.” The young man was unable to keep a twinkle from his dark eyes.
“It’s not civilized of me, of course,” Rohan went on. “And I really shouldn’t condone this sort of thing, even unofficially.”
Walvis was grinning openly. “But so much fun,” he urged. “And such a comfort to the rest of us to know you’re not perfect after all.”
The High Prince pretended horror. “Sweet Goddess, don’t tell anyone!”
Sionell laughed. Rohan really was so much nicer than Pol. “Your secret is safe with us!”
“My eternal gratitude, my lady,” he responded with an elegant bow. “To return to the matter of the Cunaxans—Sorin feels they may start to use the trade route over the Veresch again, now that Feruche is there for protection. I hope you’ll forgive me, Tallain, if I make the passage fees low enough to encourage them.”
Sionell answered, “He can hardly object, can he?”
Tallain gave her a long look, then grinned. “Hardly,” he said in dry tones.
“You’ll still make a profit,” Rohan added. “But if Miyon feels too bottled up, he’ll get nervous and start thinking about war again.”
“I don’t think he’s fond of you, Rohan,” Walvis said blandly.
Hollis was frowning. “He asked a lot of questions about Pol this year. And he was usually close by wherever Pol was. He might simply have been taking his measure, of course. ...” She trailed off doubtfully.
“Did you get that impression?” Sionell asked. “His half-sister sat next to me at the races, being subtle.” She snorted. “She practically asked which boot Pol puts on first. As if I’d know anything, not having seen him for so long.”
“Audrite and I got the same treatment,” Hollis said, nodding. “And she knows him much better, his having been a squire at Graypearl.”
“None of you ladies said anything to the point,” said Tallain. Reverting in Arlis’ absence to the squire’s role he had held at Stronghold for many years, he rose to refill everyone’s cups.
“No, but—thank you, Tallain—but why would Miyon’s sister ask such questions?” Hollis dipped a spoonful of honey into her taze. “Not political, personal. Private things.”
“She’s only a few years older than Pol,” Walvis offered. “Maybe his grace of Cunaxa sees a match?”
Sionell stared. “With a bow-legged, thick-ankled, witless shatter-skull?”
“I agree, Ell. Pol has better taste,” Rohan said. “But maybe you’ve got something, Walvis. Which of Miyon’s allies have daughters, sisters, or cousins around Pol’s age? Pretty ones, I mean. An interesting idea.” Rising, he stretched and yawned. “That’s all for this evening’s meeting of the informal High Prince’s Council,” he smiled. “Hollis, with your permission I’ll join you in tucking Chayla and Rohannon into bed—again.”
“You’re welcome to try.” She grimaced. “Thank the Goddess dragons don’t fly over Whitecliff more often. It took both their nurses plus Pol’s poor steward to catch my twin terrors today.”
Sionell went upstairs to her room, escorted partway by Tallain. She had finished unplaiting her hair and was brushing it out for the night when her father came in, looking very thoughtful. After asking permission to be seated—even in a room he himself inhabited, the good manners learned as Rohan’s squire stayed with him—he settled in a chair and meditatively stroked his beard.
“What is it, Papa?” she asked at last.
“I don’t quite know how to begin,” he said with a bemused smile. His blue eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her tease tangles with the brush. He had given her those eyes, but she more closely resembled her mother and had Feylin’s dark red hair. “You’ve spent more time at Radzyn and Stronghold than at home these last couple of years. I suppose I haven’t really noticed that you’ve grown up.”
“Surprise,” she smiled.
“Rather! I like the way you’ve turned out—though I miss my pudgy little pest,” he added, his smile becoming a grin.