A rhetorical question, I assume. Ah, dear old friend, I feel your sadness tonight. It grieves me.
Don’t worry. I have a very large flask of your brother’s best wine waiting for me in my rooms. I intend to get good and drunk tonight in Andrade’s memory.
To blot out the memories, Sioned corrected gently. I wish I could be there with you.
No, you don’t. You have quite enough to occupy you, High Princess. Well, on with the festivities.
And he was too suddenly gone. Sioned ached for him, watching his face in the Fire as he announced that Andry had indeed completed a Sunrunning to Stronghold. The fifth ring went onto his right thumb, a circle of the special reddish-gold used only by faradh’im.
It was a ring Andry had never before worn. Up until that moment, he had only been reconfirming skills already betokened by the four rings he had earned before this night. But now he was a full Sunrunner, with all the rings, the honors, and the responsibilities this implied.
And there would be more to come, too quickly.
The scene in the brazier continued, showing Andry as he proved his skills at weaving moonlight, attested to shortly thereafter by Urival. Sioned did not know to whom Andry spoke; she suspected it would be someone approximately as far away from Goddess Keep as she herself was at Stronghold. The faradhi at Balarat in Firon, perhaps, or Meath at Graypearl. The idea was for Andry to prove his strength; from the expressions of respect on Sunrunner faces as confirmation came from Urival, he had succeeded admirably.
And here came the next departure from tradition. Instead of the silver ring, the sixth, given for the right little finger, Andry had directed Urival to present him with that plus another silver for his left middle finger. This reflected the change Andry had made in the order of things: now, the sixth would be for an apprentice, and the seventh for full abilities as a Moonrunner. Formerly, the seventh had been for the ability to conjure without Fire. Andry had not yet learned that skill from Urival. Rather than show himself lacking, he had altered the rules.
Sioned tensed as she stared into the flames. She knew what was to come next. The eighth had always been for the teachers, those skilled and subtle enough to instruct others in the faradhi arts. Andry conformed to ritual by calling forward a student of one ring and showing the boy, only a little younger than he, how to call Air. But rather than silver for the left thumb, Urival placed there another gold and pronounced Andry a Master—a distinction formerly reserved for the ninth ring.
Andry had other plans for that ninth ring.
As for the fifth, the Sunrunner’s ring, Andry as a Master was now required to make the circuit of faradh’im. Sioned’s apprehensions betrayed her. As she watched, the Fire flickered and she felt Hollis’ hand on her arm to steady her. But the flames died out, leaving them all in the silvery darkness of moonlight.
“Sioned?” Rohan asked in a low voice, concerned.
“It’s nothing.” She reached for the cup of wine.
Hollis put her fingers over it, frowning. “You must rest. Please, Sioned. I know what dranath can do.”
“I’m not tired. Not exactly, anyway.” She smiled at her nephew’s wife. “I’m all right, I promise.”
“Hollis is right,” Rohan said briskly. “We’ve seen enough. And you’ve certainly had enough.”
“We have to see what he’ll do,” Sioned replied stubbornly. “I’ll take a few moments to rest, but I’ve got to renew the conjure.”
Maarken, leaning around Ostvel and Hollis, plucked up the wine. “I’ll do it.”
“No!” Hollis exclaimed.
“Don’t be a fool!” Chay rasped.
“I want to know,” Maarken said simply, and drained the cup to the dregs.
Sioned tightened her lips over a furious protest. She met Rohan’s gaze. He said, “ ‘I want to know.’ That’s probably the most dangerous sentence in any language. More than one of us here tonight has succumbed to it.” She shifted uneasily. “Including you,” she pointed out. “Of course.” And you, my Sunrunner witch of a High Princess, his eyes said.
Turning to Maarken, she asked, “Well? What’s it like for you?”
“Just as Hollis described it. Dizziness, and spreading warmth. . . ..” He looked startled, then smiled slightly. “And the most amazing need to be alone with my wife—and not just because we’re so short a time married.”
Hollis blushed in the dimness. “That will pass,” she told him.
“Goddess, I hope not!” But his laugh was strained. “This is the damnedest feeling! Like I could use my thoughts to change the tides!”
“Don’t try it,” Sioned warned. “Maarken, be careful.”
“I’m not saying I want to. I just feel as if I could.” He rubbed one hand over his face; the other was immobilized in layers of bandages, wrist broken in his battle against the pretender. “So this is what it’s like to be a sorcerer.”
“Partly, I suppose. But you haven’t the gift for it.” She glanced at Riyan, who did. “Don’t you go getting any ideas.”
“Not if the moons fell out of the sky.” The young man eyed the empty wine cup warily, his right hand worrying at the rings on his left. Then he shook himself and looked across the carpet at Ostvel. “Father . . . I’m glad I got to see Mother tonight. I didn’t know she was so beautiful.”
Ostvel stared down at his hands. “Her face and her spirit.”
Chay’s eyes were fixed on his eldest son and heir, dark brows shading his gray eyes nearly black. When the young man’s gaze lost focus and he turned pale, Chay demanded, “Maarken—what is it? Tell me!”
Rohan gripped Maarken’s elbow. “What are you watching?”
He gave a start at the touch, gulping in a great lungful of air. “I—I think somebody’s watching us!”
Riyan held both hands out before him. They were trembling. His eyes—Camigwen’s eyes, dark velvet brown with bronze glints—were glazed with pain. “My rings,” he whispered, staring at Maarken. “Just like when you were fighting Masul and sorcery was used—”
Ostvel jumped to his feet and hauled his son up. They stumbled toward the silent fountain, where Ostvel plunged Riyan’s hands into the shallow pool of brackish water. Maarken was gasping for breath, supported by Rohan and Hollis. Sioned wove moonlight with desperate speed, but could sense nothing and no one along it.
Then she looked straight up at the stars.
Beautiful, aren’t they? a voice said in her mind, rich with mocking laughter. And you know how to use them, High Princess. Why not use them now to find me? You’ve already made an excellent start by drinking that wine. You’re beginning to understand power—the kind your son will have once he’s grown. Oh, yes, we know all about him, your Sunrunner child who also has the Old Blood flowing through his veins. Someday I’ll figure out whether he got it from you or his princely father.
Wh-who are you? Sioned didn’t dare think. She drew into herself, knowing that to accept the invitation and weave starlight was to court disaster.
Who? You’ll have to wait some years before you find that out. Or perhaps you meant “what.” That’s something you know very well, Sunrunner.
What do you want?
I’ll let you puzzle that one out too for some little while. We’re not quite ready yet, you see. Masul was an interesting beginning, but only a feint. The real battle is before you, High Princess. Do you think you’re up to it? Do you honestly think you can prevail against the ones you call sorcerers?
And the last thing she heard was gleeful laughter on a breath of starlit wind.
Morning sunlight spilled across the floor as Ostvel gratefully accepted a winecup from Alasen, who settled uneasily on a chair near him. “Can you tell me about it now?”
“As much as I know.” He took a long swallow and closed his eyes. “Which isn’t much.”