It irritated her to suspect Meiglan of anything—and the fact that she could come up with no specific reasons for her suspiciousness irked her all the more. The girl looked so utterly guileless, innocent as a raindrop in the sun. It almost made Sionell feel unclean to mistrust her.
And perhaps that was exactly how she was meant to feel.
Still, after seeing Meiglan turn white as ice in response to Miyon’s barbed superlatives at dinner that night, Sionell had had enough.
“I’ve never seen a servant treated like this!” she fumed as she and Tallain got ready for bed. “He says he brought her along to see something of the world—but she’s really here to provide an outlet for his temper!”
“Which he doesn’t dare inflict on the rest of us,” Tallain replied. “It sounds as if she’s made a friend in you, though.”
“I don’t think she knows what it is to have a friend.” She unbound her hair and angrily began brushing it.
Tallain smiled. Taking the brush from her fingers, he smoothed the thick, dark red waves of her hair, his touch caressing and proud. “I understand your irritation, Sionell. But don’t scrape your head bald over it. Meiglan probably doesn’t see him here as much as she does at Castle Pine, so he has less opportunity to devil her. That alone must be Goddess blessing to the poor girl.” She closed her eyes, sighing with the pleasure of his hands. “I keep waiting for her to smile a little. This morning we went out picking flowers—nobody can resist Chayla and Rohannon at play. But she was all stiff and withdrawn. It’s pathetic, Tallain. She’s little more than a child herself.”
“Mmm. When one looks at her face, yes. Perhaps.”
Sionell met his gaze in the dressing table mirror. “Which means?”
“There’s a woman’s body on that child. Not a man here hasn’t noticed it.”
Her brows arched. “Yourself included?”
“Of course,” he replied blithely. “But I prefer women who are women.”
“Prettily said, my lord.”
“It also has the merit of being the truth—not a thing I’ve heard much of these last six days.”
She turned to face him. “Have you discovered Miyon’s real reason for being here?”
“Nothing I can put my finger on.” He shrugged, tapping the back of the brush against his palm. “It’s as if he’s waiting until lack of agreement makes it necessary for him to visit Stronghold for direct talks with Rohan and Pol. But what he wants from them isn’t clear at all.”
“He knows you’re authorized to negotiate in their names,” she mused. “So we’re correct, and this business of yearly fees isn’t his real aim at all. I wonder what he wants.”
“What he’s always wanted: Tiglath itself. We toured the warehouses the other day and his eyes were positively glowing with greed.”
“Has he some scheme in mind to take the city from us?”
“To do that, he’d have to get rid of Rohan. He has no right to the Desert and everyone knows it. He hasn’t the armies to concoct a military victory that would win our land by right of war. Not even Miyon is fool enough to try it.”
“On his own, no. But you’re forgetting his probable allies. Roelstra’s grandsons.”
Tallain nodded, admiration in his face that he never spoke of aloud—which was an even greater compliment than if he had congratulated her on her wits. He expected her to be clever; telling her she was would be insulting.
“You’re right. I had forgotten. But that still doesn’t tell me why he wants to be at Stronghold.”
“Betrayal from within?” she mused. “He’s got an armed escort. Some of them are probably Merida. It may be hundreds of years since they started their filthy trade, but I doubt their talents for assassination have wilted.”
Tallain shook his head. “Any challenge has to be public. And for that they need Pol alive. That was Rohan’s reasoning in the matter of the pretender nine years ago. He wanted Masul denounced in public so Pol’s right would be in no doubt.” He shrugged again and resumed brushing her hair. “It didn’t quite work out that way, of course. But depend on it, no son of Ianthe’s could be stupid. It wouldn’t be enough simply to kill Pol and seize Princemarch.”
“They’d have his death and his princedom. What else could they want?”
“Revenge. There’s not a vicious bone in your body, my love. You don’t think that way. But consider the sons of a princess, grandsons of a High Prince, condemned to obscurity all their lives.”
Sionell nodded slowly. “It’s just what motivated Masul.”
“But his birth was in doubt. Ruval and Marron know precisely who their mother was.”
“Lucky them,” she said sourly. “Well, at least we don’t have to fear glass knives in our princes’ throats. Whatever happens will happen out in the open. Rohan’s already thought of all this, of course.”
Tallain smiled. “He’d be shocked if we ever doubted it. I’m going to stall Miyon here until Rohan wants him at Stronghold. Which should make for an interesting spring, given Miyon’s behavior and your fondness for Meiglan.” He laughed suddenly. “Do you remember what Rohan said about him once? That rumor had it Miyon made a detailed study of human beings and learned to imitate them rather well. Not perfectly, of course, but he manages to get most of it right.”
She gave him her sweetest smile. “My mother once carved up a dragon to find out how he worked. Perhaps I ought to do the same for Miyon.”
It had been hard to arrange, but Ruval and Marron had their own chamber at Tiglath. Small, cramped for one person and nearly impossible for two, lacking window or fireplace for light and stuffy beyond toleration, still it had the one essential feature that made it perfect. It locked.
Marron slid the bolt home and secured it. Ruval’s lips twisted at his brother’s long, relieved sigh.
“Too much of a strain?”
“Don’t pretend you’re not tired,” Marron replied irritably. “You may be used to the high dose of dranath necessary for this, but it’s not easy.”
“Still, rather amusing, you’ll admit.” Ruval stretched out on one narrow cot, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the rough-hewn ceiling. “I never realized before what scant notice highborns take of those who serve them. For instance, I rode escort with Miyon and Tallain the other day to the merchant quarter, and neither looked twice at me. Miyon’s aware of the shape I’ve taken, but he honestly didn’t see me.”
“I know what you mean.” The younger of the brothers leaned back against the wooden door, fists in the pockets of his trousers. “I used to get the same treatment at Swalekeep. Until I made Chiana notice me.” Peering at Ruval by the light of a candlebranch—outrageous expense that indicated the extent of Tallain’s wealth—he snorted suddenly. “You’re fading.”
“I’m relaxing,” Ruval corrected. “And anyway, we diarmadh’im can more or less see through this if we’re looking for it. You are. The others aren’t.” He laughed. “I may spend tomorrow around Riyan, if I can manage it.”
“Stay away from him!” Marron warned.