Feylin cantered up to ride beside him. “I trust you’re through practicing for the races,” she said.
“How did you know I was going to ride this year?”
She looked startled. “Are you really?”
“Of course.” He smiled. “It’s something of a tradition in the family, after all, to win our Chosen lady’s wedding jewels in a race.”
He admired her self-control. A momentary tensing of her shoulders and a flicker of a frown were the only indications of her reaction.
“It’s about time you did something about that,” she replied easily. “Am I to assume you have someone in mind?” She didn’t wait for an answer, as if she had no desire to hear one. “I’ve always thought the Rialla an absurd way to find a spouse. All those young people thrown together in an artificial situation, expected to discover each other’s characters and make an intelligent Choice based on eight or ten days’ acquaintance.”
“The alternative is a grand tour of the princedoms, in equally artificial visits that put even more pressure on the people involved. At least at the Rialla there’s comfort in knowing there’s a score of you all in the same fix.”
“Mmm. Still, it’s a terrible risk to take with one’s future.”
“We can’t all be as lucky as you and Walvis, to find each other during a war—as honest a situation as one could encounter, don’t you think?”
“Now that you mention it, yes,” she replied forth-rightly. “You see what a person really is. The circumstances aren’t any more normal than that cattle show at the Rialla, but the people are a lot more honest.”
“Perhaps I ought to start a war. Just a little one, to improve my chances of finding a suitable wife.”
She regarded him sourly. “I pity the girls who succumb to that handsome face and silken tongue of yours.”
Pol laughed. “I can’t claim credit for either—I get them from my father.”
“He never saw fit to use them the way you do. How many dozens is it now?”
He bowed in his saddle. “I’ll send you a list so you can express your sympathies to them.”
Feylin gave up and laughed. “You’re a mannerless, arrogant, impudent pest!”
“So I’ve been told.” Pol winked at her. “But let’s talk about something more interesting—like dragons. We’ll make a cave count today, I suppose?”
“For all the good it will do,” She shook her head. “They’ll never return here, Pol. Sioned tried to get it across to her little dragon that it’s safe, but the creature didn’t seem to understand.”
“Mother told me Elisel howled even at a mental picture of Rivenrock.”
“Yet she was convinced to share Dragon’s Rest. It frustrates Sioned that she can’t make it clear that the caves are safe to use again.”
“I don’t understand that,” he said. “Elisel wasn’t even hatched when the Plague struck. How could she know?”
“How can we understand how their thoughts work? I’ve held a dragon’s brain in my two hands, and aside from the obvious similarities in shape and differences in size, I didn’t learn a damned thing. You and Sioned have communicated with them—but I’ve also seen Chay and Maarken hold long conversations with their horses that I could swear the beasts understand.”
His brows arched. “Touching dragon colors is slightly more sophisticated a process than having a chat with a horse!”
“Yet we comprehend both animals to about the same degree.”
Pol ruminated for a time, staring at the trail from between his horse’s ears. “Ostvel thinks the old legend about Castle Crag being carved out by dragons is true. Other caverns in the Faolain gorge there are perfect. But no dragons have ever used them. Why did they abandon those caves?”
“Summer isn’t warm enough there to bake the eggs properly.”
“But it must have been once. The evidence argues for it—and for a change in climate. When the dragons found their eggs didn’t hatch, they adapted to the change.” He gestured to the land around them. “Like the insects feasting off the flowers, and the birds feasting off the insects. They found a banquet in the Desert that hasn’t been seen in a hundred years. Dragons are smarter than insects or birds, and in a lot more need.”
“It’s an interesting theory,” Feylin granted, “except for one thing. When dragons presumably hatched in the caves around Castle Crag, they numbered in the thousands. How many caves are there above the Faolain? A hundred? The dragons wouldn’t have noticed the loss of a hundred females’ hatchlings. I’m sorry, Pol, but they simply abandoned Castle Crag the same way they did Rivenrock, for equally good reasons to the dragon mind.”
“And you’re the one who’s always saying dragons are smarter than anybody gives them credit for!”
“They are. But they’re not people. Sioned persuaded them to share the valley at Dragon’s Rest. All that means is they’re smart enough to comprehend an offer of free food—not a very exalted concept, you’ll admit.”
Pol scowled at her. “But the dragon I touched understood that I wouldn’t hurt her, that I’d take her vengeance on those who killed her. And she told me quite plainly that any attempt to heal her shattered wing was doomed to failure. The concepts of help, revenge, and healing are fairly advanced.”
“Did she really communicate those things, Pol? Or was it your own mind and emotions projecting human thought and feeling into the dragon?” She paused and ran her fingers back through her hair. “In any case, your argument about Castle Crag won’t work. Dragons have used the same caves for hundreds and hundreds of years. No stories, rumors, or even legends describe them looking for new ones. So we can’t count on a perceived need motivating them to return to Rivenrock.”
“They range out to find food,” he challenged. “When the Plague decimated herds in the Catha Hills, they expanded their territory into Syr and Gilad.”
“And they readily accepted the offer of sheep raised just for them at Dragon’s Rest, where they were accustomed only to stop for a drink,” she agreed. “But I give your own analogy back to you: the insects and the birds. It doesn’t take much mind power to find and take advantage of a food supply.”
“Oh, all right,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll concede. But I still say that dragon knew exactly what I was talking about and was a lot smarter than you’ll admit.”
“You were the one who touched her colors. Only you can say what you perceived.”
“Gracious of you to say it,” he grumbled. “Even if you’re obviously unconvinced.”
She laughed. “Give me facts, my prince! Good, solid statistics—”
“Or a dragon corpse you can take apart to figure out how he works!” Pol grinned back at her. “Come to think of it, it’s highly appropriate that you met your husband during a war—you’re a bloodthirsty woman, my lady!”
Riyan rode up then, saying, “Apologies, my prince. I don’t mean to interrupt, but—”
“But you have something to talk over in private,” Feylin supplied, smiling. She swung her mare neatly around and trotted away.
“What is it, Riyan?” Pol asked.
“I don’t think anyone ought to go mucking about in any of the caves, do you?” It was said in casual tones, but with one brow arched significantly.
“Ah!” Pol said. “Naturally not. It might be dangerous.”
“No one knows if the walls or ceilings might collapse.”
“Or what sort of animal might have established a den.”
Their gazes met in perfect understanding; none of these eminently sensible reasons had anything to do with why people must not explore the caves where shells shone with gold.
Pol said, “I was hoping for a chance to talk with you. I’ve been considering what’s to be done about Feruche.”
Riyan gave a soft sigh. “I can’t imagine anyone but Sorin as its athri, but I suppose someone has to run the place. Do you have anybody in mind?”
“Who else would I give it to, Riyan?” Pol smiled.