“As long as the work gets done, what does that matter?”
“It matters a great deal. A jealous prince—Cabar is a prime example—is a dangerous one. He can make trouble. I took the decision about this Sunrunner out of his hands. He’ll see that as a threat to his power. Wouldn’t you?”
“If I was the suspicious type, certainly.” Pol paused for a moment. “The new school will make it easier for Cabar to swallow.”
“But not for the others. At the Rialla this summer I intend to order each prince to contribute at least two physicians for the teaching staff. The benefits won’t become clear for some time, just as with the scriptorium. But this time I intend to have someone else’s name associated with it—yours, if you’re not careful!”
“Mother’s!” Pol laughed. “She was the one who thought of putting it in Gilad to soothe Cabar.”
“Not a bad idea, but she’d never agree. Besides, it wouldn’t do us much good. Everybody knows at least half of my best ideas were hers to begin with. And that when I use ‘we,’ I mean the two of us.” Rohan hoped Pol would consider the advantages of having a wife who shared his work as well as his bed. From what Rohan had seen of Meiglan, she was hardly the type. Yet it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Pol didn’t want or need that kind of woman.
When Pol spoke, it was of filial and not marital relationships. “When I was little I used to get into all sorts of trouble just to get you and Mother away from your work—”
“You think I need reminding?” Rohan chuckled. “After you left for Graypearl we’d get a whole season’s work done in a single day—and then sit staring at each other, cursing the quiet.”
Pol smiled. “I guess I did demand a lot of attention. And you always gave it to me. But when you and Mother disappeared into your study, I wanted to be there, too. Have you talk to me the way you talked to each other, about important things. Oh, I was far too young to understand any of it, but—do you know what I mean?”
“My father kept me wrapped in silk until I was eighteen years old. I do understand, Pol. When you grow up around powerful people, it’s only natural to want to be in on it. It’s not until you’re older that you realize the responsibilities.”
“Andry would say it’s the gift of the Goddess. He seems to find that justification enough for all the changes he’s made.”
Rohan shrugged. “I don’t presume to know the Goddess’ mind on this.”
“Ask Andry. He seems to have her ear these days.”
“Belief is becoming less personal and more public, isn’t it? Ostentatious, as Barig said this morning. If Andry has his way, the gentle and very comfortable relationship we have with the Lady is going to change. I find that sad, Pol.”
“These long speeches of Andry’s worry me. It’s as if he’s emphasizing his own importance by emphasizing the name of the Goddess. Connecting himself to her.”
“Giving a perception of greater power than he in fact possesses?” Rohan shrugged. “Perhaps strength is justification enough for use of power. After all, if you’ve got it, why not use it?” He was pleased to see Pol grimace.
“If that’s so, may the Goddess have mercy on us all.”
“I agree.” Rohan stretched the tension from his shoulders and sighed. “By now power is expected of me. I don’t think I’ll be disappointing anyone this time. Not even you,” he added.
Pol cleared his throat. “I know I’ve said some harsh things in the past. I understand why you wait, Father, I just haven’t learned your patience yet.”
“Mine was a hard school. Your mother and I have tried to make yours a little easier without sacrificing the most important lessons. And this is one. Few people really understand the limits I impose on myself.”
“My own limits are what I’m trying to define,” Pol said seriously. “I wanted to talk about—well, I don’t think you’re going to approve, but—”
He broke off as they heard Arlis’ adamant voice from the other side of the door. “I’m sorry, my lord, but it’s impossible. His grace is—”
“I don’t give a damn if he’s making love to his wife!” Barig roared. The door was flung open. Arlis tried to block the furious Giladan, saying, “Forgive me, your graces, but—”
“Do you know what’s happened?” Barig waved a parchment from which a ribbon and a broken seal hung. “Do you?”
“Not until you enlighten us, my lord,” Rohan replied. “Please calm yourself and tell us what news Prince Cabar has sent.” The pink ribbon was Gilad’s, and the characteristic grayish tinge to the parchment.
“She’s dead! The miserable woman is dead!”
Pol caught his breath. “The Sunrunner?”
“Who else?” Barig rattled the parchment at him. “Because of you, she was allowed the sunlight, a daily walk at noon, and for all I know used her arts to contact other Sunrunners. Then she pretended to be ill one noonday, delayed her walk until later—and when she went out at dusk, she—”
“Oh, Goddess, no,” Rohan whispered. “Shadow-lost. Deliberately.”
“Yes, deliberately! It took her two days to die. His grace’s Sunrunner tried to keep her alive, but it was hopeless. And I know who’s to blame! He’ll never admit he ordered her to do it, but he’s as guilty of murder as she was!”
“Lord Barig!” Rohan made his voice a whiplash under which stronger men than this had flinched. “We have no desire to hear unsubstantiated accusations.” He rose and held out his hand for the letter. Barig surrendered it with poor grace. Scanning it quickly, Rohan felt the muscles of his neck and shoulders twist with repressed fury. “We share Prince Cabar’s shock. But we are disgusted by his suspicions. You may so inform him when you reply to this.” He let the parchment drop to the carpet as if it was too foul to touch. “Arlis, be so good as to find Lord Andry and bring him to us.”
“At once, your grace.” After a warning glare at the Giladan, the squire bowed himself out.
Barig had recovered some of his aplomb and his words were tinged with as much sarcasm as he dared use to the High Prince. “This changes nothing. The guilt is still there, and the right of Master Thacri’s family to restitution.”
“Don’t you understand what this woman did to herself?” Pol exclaimed. “That she used the very craft that was her life to end her life?”
“An unfortunate end, your grace. But self-chosen.”
“Yet you just accused someone of ordering her to it,” Pol snapped. “Make up your mind, Barig. Give your supposed culprit a name, if you dare!”
“I am not required by his grace my cousin to be insulted by—”
“By the next High Prince,” Rohan pointed out. “We suggest you choose your words and your attitude most carefully, my lord. It would be unfortunate if Prince Cabar were held responsible for them.”
Barig knew when he was outmanned. He made a jerky bow in Pol’s direction, a lower one in Rohan’s. “Your grace’s permission to withdraw?”
“Granted.” Rohan waited just long enough for the door to close, then sank numbly into his chair.
Pol picked up the letter. “Andry’s going to spit fire.” After a moment’s pause, he added without looking at Rohan, “You don’t think there’s anything in Barig’s accusation, do you?”
“Of course not.” He shook his head. “Pol—I saw a Sunrunner die that way once. His name was Kessel. Merciful Goddess, to die that way, shadow-lost, mindless—ah, why couldn’t she have been patient just a little longer?”
“Perhaps she thought she was doing the right thing. Perhaps she only wanted to escape. Whichever, Barig had a point. It doesn’t really change anything.”
“No.” He paused. “It might be better if I told Andry myself.”
“I’ll stay, if you don’t mind. Father, what’s to be done if Cabar makes a public accusation?”
“He won’t.” Rohan straightened his shoulders. “His grace of Gilad has certain . . . vulnerabilities . . . known to me.” He gave Pol a tired, bitter smile. “Knowledge of secrets is also power, my son.”