If he had hoped for some faradhi task, he did not show his disappointment. He advanced to the mirror, admiring the workmanship. Somehow a piece of silver had been bent near to breaking, a section of vine that twisted down the left-hand side.
“Not too serious, your grace,” he reported. “I’ll have to remove this bit here to reshape it, then reattach the vine.”
“But it can be repaired?”
“Of course.” At least it would give him something to do. “I’ll need my tools. With your grace’s permission, I’ll go fetch them and—”
Suddenly he could not speak, not even to cry out. It was as if something had trapped him inside his own skull and deprived him of all will and volition. He could see the princess in the mirror, her diamonds striking light like glass shards into his eyes. He could not even blink.
A word left his mouth, resonant and complex, a sound he could not have remembered or duplicated. Chiana froze instantly. And Vamanis suddenly knew what was being done to him. With him.
“Is everything prepared?” he heard his own voice ask.
“Everything,” the princess answered.
“Everything in secrecy?”
“Everything,” she repeated.
“Excellent. You have done well, Chiana, and soon you will have your heart’s desire.” Vamanis stared at the princess in the mirror.
“Soon,” she said, eyes alight with eagerness.
“Remember none of this, as you remember nothing of our conversations. But you will remember to take the mirror with you.”
“I will remember about the mirror.”
A spasm took hold of his throat like a strangling fist. His eyes were abruptly blind, his senses opaque. Part of his mind screamed for help.
And a voice answered.
Heard of this technique, have you, Sunrunner? Using another’s eyes and ears to observe is a faradhi trick not taught to many. But I have actually used your voice. Impressive, don’t you think?
Oh, Goddess—the mirror—
Of course. A fortuitous little piece of damage to the frame, wasn’t it? The voice, rich and gloating, laughed inside his mind. You Sunrunners know certain things but by no means all. I see your face as clearly as you do, for I am indeed using your eyes. But you’re looking flushed, Sunrunner. Feeling feverish and ill, aren’t you? I think you are becoming very sick, and will remain so. And in your sickness you will not remember this as anything other than a fever dream.
Monster! he screamed.
I? You faradh’im are the monsters, perverting ancient knowledge, turning it soft and bloodless! Although I’ll admit that this Lord Andry you don’t entirely approve of has some interesting notions about power. You may rest easy, Sunrunner. He won’t live long enough to carry them through. Return to your chamber now—you’re feeling very, very ill, aren’t you? You need to be alone and in the dark. The light hurts your eyes. You must stay out of the sunlight.
Vamanis staggered against the mirror, toppling it and most of the princess’ brushes and jars of makeup and scent. Heat raged through his whole body, a fever that set his very bones ablaze. Chiana’s angry cry split his head open and he collapsed onto the fallen mirror.
“Get up! What’s wrong with you?” The princess kicked him to one side and he groaned. “Clumsy idiot! You could have broken my mirror!”
He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that the mirror could not remain whole. He reached for it, light reflecting off his rings like knives into his eyes as he fisted his hand.
Chiana’s foot descended on his wrist. His eyes teared with frustration and failure, his fingers uncurling helplessly as the fever drowned him in darkness.
Chiana paced impatiently as her squire righted the mirror and assessed the damage. Only that one silver vine had needed mending before—she couldn’t quite recall how it had been bent, but that hardly mattered; now the complex knotwork at the top had come loose. That lout of a Sunrunner would have much to answer for when he recovered from his sudden and mysterious illness. She had had him removed to his own chamber.
“Well?” she snapped.
“Intact, your grace, but for this bit here. I think it can be repaired by tomorrow evening, your grace.”
“I won’t be deprived of my favorite mirror for even half that long. Fix it tonight. I don’t care who you have to wake up to get the work done!”
“Yes, your grace. At once.” The squire departed, the mirror borne carefully in his arms.
Chiana paced some more, fretting. She wanted that mirror with her when she left tomorrow morning. No need to live like a complete barbarian in the field—and when she occupied Dragon’s Rest, it would be satisfying to put something of her own in Prince Pol’s private suite.
“Chiana? What’s the trouble here?”
She spun around as her husband entered the chamber. “A slight accident. Nothing to be alarmed about. But Vamanis damaged my beautiful mirror!”
“I’m sure it can be mended.” Halian gestured and the squire bowed himself out. “The master of horse tells me you’ve ordered that Kadari mare saddled early tomorrow. Would you like some company?”
“How sweet of you, darling,” she purred. “But you know how fond I’ve grown of a solitary ride now and then. It clears my head of all the wretched politics.”
Duties he had no talent for, and that would have been utterly neglected if not for her. After years of wishing his aged father dead and burned, Halian had played at being prince for a little while and then gladly shoved the burdens onto her. That she had been more than willing to shoulder them did not counter her disgust at his laziness. There was much to be said for a prince’s early death; it allowed a son to rule while still young and vigorous, before he had grown too accustomed to constant leisure and lack of power.
During his years of waiting for Clutha to die, Halian had become fond of horses, drink, his illegitimate daughters by a long-dead mistress, and some discreet wenching now and then. Had it been anything other than discreet, Chiana would have dealt with the women as her mother Lady Palila had done with her father’s other mistresses. It was his total indifference to the wonderful son she had given him that really rankled, but she had learned to shrug it off. Though his dedication to his pleasures left her free to rule as she pleased, any respect she had ever had for him was gone. She had craved power all her life; Halian had lost the desire many years ago. Power was too much work.
“As you like, my love.” He gave her an idle caress. “What was Vamanis doing in here?”
She had almost forgotten the Sunrunner’s news. “The High Prince wants Barig at Stronghold. One can guess why.” Even Halian would be able to figure that one out. “Lord Andry will have gone there after his stay at Feruche. Do you think they’ll decide about this stupid Sunrunner there, or put it off until the Rialla?”
“Whichever, it really doesn’t concern us.”
She had not quite given up exasperation at his obtuseness. Would he never understand that everything that occurred in all the princedoms concerned them? But she had something else on her mind now, a possibility that had not previously occurred to her. Barig’s cousin Prince Cabar disliked and distrusted the Desert and the Sunrunners; if Barig could be brought to support her in exchange for her support against Andry, then he might very well threaten Rohan with the Giladan armies in support of her claim to Princemarch. And with Gilad would come Grib. Cunaxa was already assured.
Could she convince Barig to her cause in a single evening?
Perhaps. Perhaps. At least she could hint at remarkable doings and suggest that he be ready to advise his prince in her favor. He was not a stupid man; he would comprehend that she intended to move.
She gave Halian a bright smile. “Of course it has nothing to do with us, dearest. Nothing at all.”