“No luck,” Riyan said. “But Ruala says there’s one guard missing.”
“If they can change their forms, my lord,” she said to Pol, “then he could be anyone, anywhere.”
“I took the liberty of ordering the gates shut so no one can leave without written permission from your father or mother.” Riyan shrugged. “It’d be nearly impossible to duplicate their seals, but. . . .”
“Who knows what these people are capable of?” Rialt finished.
“Actually, Ruala has a pretty good idea,” Riyan said. “It seems we ought to listen more closely to the legends of the Veresch. She never quite believed before, but she’s been witnessing the truth of them all spring.”
Pol gestured up the stairs. “I need all the information I can get, my lady—legend, rumor, and especially fact. If you’re not too tired, perhaps you can educate me.”
“I’m not tired, my lord.”
Rialt was frowning as he regarded Pol. “But you are.”
“I can’t afford to be.”
They climbed the stairs and went down the hall toward the library that had been schoolroom to generations of princes, Pol included. As they passed a junction of corridors, Ruala suddenly gasped.
“What is it?” Pol caught her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Can’t you feel it?” She was trembling and clutched at his shoulder for support, her gaze seeking Riyan. “Can’t you sense it through your rings?”
He lifted his hands, staring white-faced. “Sweet Goddess—it’s faint, but it’s there. Ruala, where’s it coming from?”
She took a few steps forward. Rialt helped her; Riyan was beginning to shake with increasing pain. Then Pol felt it, too, a jarring dislocation of his thoughts and senses, a dizziness, a dry ache in his head of colors and sounds and textures that weren’t really there. It felt oddly familiar, but he couldn’t think clearly enough to identify it. Ruala lifted her face to him, shock superimposed on shock as he caught his breath.
“You, too?” she whispered.
Rialt stared from one to the other of them, mystified. “What is this? And whatever it is, where’s it coming from?”
Ruala squinted down the hall that glowed with morning sun, hurting Pol’s eyes. “There,” she said, pointing. “There—”
Mireva met Ruval in the stables. He drew her quickly and silently into the small tack room where he usually slept and shut the door. She sank wearily onto a bench, rubbing her face with her hands.
“What in all Hells do we do now?” he rasped. “Chiana and her so-called army are lost to us! That fool Marron ruined everything—”
“Be silent! Let me think!” She had been doing little else during the long night and morning.
But a strong dose of dranath had restored her somewhat, though her weariness was still profound. Panic had a way of draining the spirit as well as the body. She forced herself to rally and speared Ruval with her gaze,
“Riyan will test all Miyon’s suite for signs of sorcery,” she said, taking worst things first. “You’ll have to relinquish that form and use another.”
“Don’t I know it! I stole some other clothes.” He gestured to a bundle on the floor. “You’ll have to help me work the change. Damn it, Mireva—”
“Settle down. We can overcome Marron’s stupidity, but not if you persist in acting like a witless fool instead of a prince.”
“Just give me another face for a day or so, and I’ll show you a prince,” he retorted.
A few moments later it was done. Ruval’s dark hair was now gray-streaked, his blue eyes brown, his smooth chin showed a deep cleft. Mireva worked a few lines into his face to support the impression of a man twice his true age, then leaned back against the wall and sighed tiredly. “There. Commit this to memory. And for fear of the Nameless One, don’t get it confused with the other!”
Ruval stripped off his shirt. The tunic of service to Cunaxa had been burned that morning. “How did your little tryst with Pol go last night?”
“Total success, but for the shock of its conclusion. Andry caught him in a weaving,” she said. “I thought Pol would embrace ‘Meiglan’ with vows of love, which would have been useful. But his attitude was quite unexpected.” She grinned suddenly. “He believes her to be a lying, cheating little whore. And that’s even better, because now he doesn’t trust his own judgment and perceptions. The blow to his pride in his cleverness was a devastating one.”
“Naturally ‘Meiglan’ wept and pleaded.”
“Naturally. I really did have a wonderful time—until Andry interrupted.”
“Well, we won’t have to worry much about him.” Ruval finished dressing in the plain shirt and vest worn by most servants at Stronghold.
“What have you heard?”
“You mean I know something you don’t?” He laughed again. “It seems he’s been banished for all time to Goddess Keep. At least, that’s the rumor. I doubt even Rohan would attempt to cage him there physically, but the effect will be the same. One of Miyon’s people saw him tear out of the Summer Room in a rage guaranteed to freeze the balls of anyone who saw him. And the rumors have been flying ever since.”
“Ah!” She rocked back and forth, chuckling. “Delicious!”
“Some say he’s got until tonight to clear out, some that he’s been given five or six days.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll never help Pol defend against your challenge now. Perhaps this business with Chiana wasn’t such a disaster after all.”
Ruval chortled. “Oh, it’s not because of what he did with the ros’salath.”
“Then why—?”
“You won’t believe it! Rohan’s punishing him for the murder! Have you ever heard anything more insane? I overheard one of the stewards say with the most pompous pride that his grace obeys the law, no matter what. Even though Marron was a threat and a murderer himself, Rohan’s laws must be followed and Andry must be punished!”
Mireva choked on laughter. “A truly honorable idiot—let’s hope his son is the same!”
“Pol will be that much easier to defeat.” Ruval grinned down at her. “For, as we both know, I have no honor at all.” He paused, his fingers cupping her chin. “So you had a wonderful night with him, did you?”
“Very,” she purred.
“I’ve never seen you wearing Meiglan’s face. It might be interesting.”
“When you hold Princemarch, I’ll wear whatever face most pleases you.”
“When I hold Princemarch, I’ll have Meiglan herself or any other woman who pleases me.”
She jerked her head away. “Do you think you won’t need me anymore once you’re at Castle Crag?” she snapped. “I made you and I can destroy you.”
“But you won’t.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I’m the only one you have left, Mireva. I’m your only hope now that both my brothers are gone. And that, my lady, is the power I possess over you. I suggest you remember it and behave accordingly.”
He left her seething with impotent rage. Mireva calmed herself with an effort. After a time she returned to the keep, where she mounted the steps to Meiglan’s chambers and locked herself in with the still unconscious girl. She spared a vicious glance for the youthful golden beauty so helpless in the bed, then rummaged in a coffer for a certain bracelet. Marron had stolen it and its mate from Chiana’s colossal collection before he’d quit Swalekeep. She fetched a shallow basin of water and lowered herself onto the Cunaxan carpet. The bracelet tinkled down into the water and she cradled the bowl in her lap, fingers spread. There was enough dranath in her still to facilitate the spell. Her pride was soothed by the swift sureness of her gifts.
Chiana was pacing before a banner of pale Meadowlord green. The mirror was set nearby in obedience to strong compulsion. It reflected the princess and Morlen of Rezeld. Both were frightened. Mireva could imagine their conversation, necessarily low-voiced with so many guards nearby wearing Princemarch’s violet. Ostvel would arrive soon, Mireva was sure, to begin asking questions that, thank the Nameless One, none of them could answer in ways damaging to Mireva. But there was a risk that the Sunrunner with diarmadhi blood would be there as well. She had encountered him several days ago while shielding the army with the mirror; the touch had been unmistakable. The mirror must be destroyed before he could comprehend its uses.