Chay went by with Jahnavi, complimenting the boy on his instinctive grab for his sword—a true warrior’s reaction on so abrupt a wakening. “By the Goddess’ grace, I hope you won’t need it,” he added.
Miyon was next. Rohan bet himself that the Cunaxan prince would echo Barig’s words, maybe with a “How dare he?” thrown in. But Miyon surprised him. He descended the steps unruffled and unconcerned, a much more telling reaction than if he had stormed into the foyer with loud complaints. Rohan shook his head. The man was too confident, and too arrogant to hide it.
It took Walvis and Feylin both to support Meiglan down the stairs. From his post in the alcove Rohan heard Feylin’s gentle encouragements before he actually caught sight of the girl. Her appearance shocked him. She could barely walk. Her bright curls looked crushed, her dark eyes dull and only awake enough to be frightened. She clung to Feylin as Walvis steadied her with an arm around her waist. After the last step she paused, swaying, eyelids fluttering as if she was about to faint. “Meiglan!”
Her father’s roar straightened her body like a whip across her back. Walvis looked murderous; Feylin, disgusted. Rohan was about to step forward and deflect Miyon’s wrath when Pol appeared out of nowhere and strode to the girl’s side. Deftly he took charge of her from Walvis. But she was too terrified to notice the identity of the man whose strong arm now supported her. Miyon had stopped halfway to her, his upraised hand falling to his side. But he did with words what he did not dare do physically, not with Pol there. “How dare you trouble the Lord and Lady of Remagev with your worthless person!”
Meiglan clutched at Pol’s shirt. “Father—I’m sorry—what have I done?”
“Goddess, what stupidity! Did you think this assembly was called for you?”
It was obvious that she did, that she believed a public humiliation in front of the whole castle would be his ultimate cruelty. The confusion in her drug-hazed eyes slowly gave way to pathetic relief and she sagged against Pol.
He directed a single, quelling look at Miyon, then said, “I’m pleased to see you up and about, my lady.”
Rohan expected her to collapse when she recognized Pol. Instead, though she turned even paler if that were possible, she managed to straighten up and compose herself a little. She trusted him. Rohan found that very interesting. And he decided that Miyon and his diarmadhi allies would pay not only for their crimes but for using this innocent child.
As the foyer cleared, he leaned against the wall, hands deep in his pockets, reviewing his next actions one last time. Much depended on his knowledge of the people involved—but he had picked up a taste for gambling from his wife. A tart mental reminder that Sioned never bet except on a sure thing only brought a wry smile to his lips. He couldn’t afford to be that cautious. Not now.
Arlis, who had known where he was all along, approached the alcove. “It took a bit longer than I had hoped, but Stronghold is emptied, my lord.”
“Good. I hope Barig didn’t insult you too much.”
Arlis grinned. “I confess he goaded me into a display of bad taste—I had to remind him I’m a prince of Kierst and Isel.”
“I excuse you—and I tremble for your dealings with Cabar once you’re ruling your island. Instruct five pairs of guards to go through all the rooms a last time. They’re to stay together, mind. Oh—and have Myrdal sent to me.”
“At once, my lord. I’ll make it fast. They’re getting restless outside.”
“Dear me. And it’s such a lovely night,” he mused, shaking his head.
Arlis gave a snort. “Six years with you have taught me that tone of voice means you’re up to absolutely no good.”
“I’ll have to remember that if we ever find ourselves on opposite sides of an issue at a Rialla. I should’ve realized it was a bad idea to foster a future ruling prince in my household.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I just wish I knew what you were up to this time.” The squire left through the main doors to command the search.
Rohan sat on the alcove bench, content still to wait—and to let the others grow as restless as they liked. Pol wanted him to act. Well, it had never been said of him that once he decided a thing, he hesitated in carrying it out. He hoped that one day Pol would understand that a High Prince acted only when he must—and then ruthlessly.
The ten guards came and went through the foyer without noticing him. Myrdal hobbled in a little while after, white hair flowing down her back, dragon-head cane tapping impatiently on the stones.
“Well?” she snapped. “Where are you, boy?”
Rohan emerged from the shadows. “Here. I apologize for disturbing your rest.”
The old woman eyed him shrewdly, missing nothing of his black clothes enlivened by touches of Desert blue and gold embroidery. “Dressed as High Prince, I see, while the rest of us are in bedgowns. Not very subtle, Rohan.”
“I’m not dealing with subtle people, Myrdal.”
“Granted. Well, then, what do you want of me?”
“Your knowledge. You know places within Stronghold where nobody else believes there could be places.”
“And you think the sorcerers are hiding in one of them? Hmm. You may be right. This is a very old castle.”
“You know it better than I do—and I’m the one who owns it.”
“I suppose it’s time I told you,” she admitted. “Your great-grandsire Prince Zagroy knew all the secrets, but he was a possessive sort and didn’t quite trust his son. So he entrusted the knowledge to my mother.”
“His illegitimate daughter,” Rohan said.
Myrdal grinned at him. “Possibly, possibly. In any case, my mother shared it with me, and I told most of it to Maeta. I thought she’d have a daughter or son of her own to pass the knowledge to. But it seems I’m the last.” She lowered her ancient bones gingerly onto the third step, sighing. “Some of the secrets you know. Can you tell me what they have in common?”
“They operate by hidden catches, they’re all built into stone and none into wood, and—” He stopped, staring down at her with his mouth open.
Myrdal nodded. “Never had to think much about it before, have you? The trigger is always marked with a star or a sunburst.”
“You’ve shown me five—no, six. Two with a star, four with a sunburst. For Sorcerers and Sunrunners?”
“Think of how many times this keep has changed hands,” she suggested.
“Damn it, I don’t have time for guessing games!”
“Impatience was always a failing of yours,” she chided. “You’ve controlled it remarkably well recently; now isn’t the moment to give in. To answer your question, yes, it has to do with who put the secret into the castle. Some are fatal. There’s one in the Flametower that lands one rather precipitously in the cellars.”
“That’s a structural impossibility,” he stated.
She only laughed.
“Oh, all right,” he said grudgingly. “Were the Sunrunners as lethally inclined?”
“In general, no. My mother had their only death trap walled up and its symbol effaced from the stones. Something to do with a knife-lined floor.”
He stared in spite of himself. “Here? In Stronghold?”
She shrugged. “You’ve kept the peace as High Prince. Times weren’t always so easy. When the diarmadh’im were here, they sought and learned the faradhi tricks—a favor the Sunrunners returned when they retook the castle. They went on like that for about thirty years, merrily setting traps for each other.”