The Star Scroll Part 5

"How did you know?"

"If she were not, you would've told your parents you had someone specific in mind-perhaps even brought her to Radzyn, or asked that she be invited here for the summer. But because you have not done any of those things, you're apprehensive about their approval-which points to her rings."

He kicked at the white gravel around the fountain. "Then you know why I'm telling you this, and not them."

"You think you need my help." She faced him, put a hand on his arm. Her emerald caught possessively at the light, glinting its owners.h.i.+p of the sun. "You've done everything a young lord is supposed to, Maarken. Lleyn taught you your role as knight and athri, athri, and you've been to other princedoms and holdings to see right and wrong ways of governing. But Andrade taught you how to be a and you've been to other princedoms and holdings to see right and wrong ways of governing. But Andrade taught you how to be a faradhi, faradhi, and that makes you different. I think you believe your choice of a Sunrunner as your wife will set you firmly on one side and not the other." and that makes you different. I think you believe your choice of a Sunrunner as your wife will set you firmly on one side and not the other."

Maarken bit his lip. "She and I decided that we'd both have to be fully trained before we could marry. Well, I'm wearing my sixth ring, and I'm still worrying like a dragon at a stag's bone."

They sat on the edge of the fountain, and Sioned kept her hand on his arm in comforting encouragement. He extended long legs, boot heels digging into the gravel, and stared at his knees.

"I thought I wanted to wait because at the Rialla Rialla they could meet her without prejudice, see what she's like for themselves. But you're right, Sioned. I don't know which is going to be more powerful in my life, being Lord of Radzyn or being a Sunrunner. I don't know how much they'll influence each other or how to reconcile them. I always thought I'd serve my lands and my prince and myself better if I was both-but choosing a Sunrunner makes it seem like I'm more one thing than the other. And that brings Andrade into things where she doesn't belong. Sioned, I they could meet her without prejudice, see what she's like for themselves. But you're right, Sioned. I don't know which is going to be more powerful in my life, being Lord of Radzyn or being a Sunrunner. I don't know how much they'll influence each other or how to reconcile them. I always thought I'd serve my lands and my prince and myself better if I was both-but choosing a Sunrunner makes it seem like I'm more one thing than the other. And that brings Andrade into things where she doesn't belong. Sioned, I can't can't let her in, not to the part of me that will be Lord of Radzyn." let her in, not to the part of me that will be Lord of Radzyn."

"Maarken." She waited until he met her gaze, then touched her own cheek where a small crescent scar curved near her eye. "I was burned by my own Fire because I put the needs of my prince and my princedom above all else, including my faradhi faradhi oaths. I believed more strongly in my own wisdom and my choices-destiny, if you will-than I did in being guided by Andrade. Don't ask me what happened or how, because I can't tell you that. But I used what I am to get what I believed was right." The authority of a princess had gained her the loyal lies of her people about Pol's true parentage, but Sunrunner's Fire had destroyed Feruche and Ianthe's corpse after Sioned had taken Rohan's son. It was only through the grace of a friend that she had not actually murdered Pol's mother with Fire, a thing utterly forbidden Sunrunners. But it would not have been the first time she had killed using her gifts. The oaths. I believed more strongly in my own wisdom and my choices-destiny, if you will-than I did in being guided by Andrade. Don't ask me what happened or how, because I can't tell you that. But I used what I am to get what I believed was right." The authority of a princess had gained her the loyal lies of her people about Pol's true parentage, but Sunrunner's Fire had destroyed Feruche and Ianthe's corpse after Sioned had taken Rohan's son. It was only through the grace of a friend that she had not actually murdered Pol's mother with Fire, a thing utterly forbidden Sunrunners. But it would not have been the first time she had killed using her gifts. The faradhi faradhi in her writhed in shame, but the princess knew quite coldly that such things were necessary. in her writhed in shame, but the princess knew quite coldly that such things were necessary.

She held Maarken's gray eyes with her own. "It's a difficult choice to make, and a lonely one. But it teaches you something very important. Fear."

"How to fear Andrade?"

"No. Your own powers. Maarken, you're a strong man and you know your strength could kill. You've learned to be careful in practice combat for fear of hurting others. Being a Sunrunner is like that-even more so for one who is also a great lord. What you do will set the standard for Pol and Andry and Riyan. There'll be more in the future. But you're the first."

"What about you? You're Sunrunner and princess both."

"I'm a half-breed of sorts. I wasn't born royal, no matter what my family's connections with Syr and Kierst. I was a faradhi faradhi before I was a princess, and that's always influenced my choices. I sometime react one way as a Sunrunner and quite another as a ruler, and the two aren't always compatible to my aims." before I was a princess, and that's always influenced my choices. I sometime react one way as a Sunrunner and quite another as a ruler, and the two aren't always compatible to my aims."

"I think I understand," he said slowly. "I know the kind of power I have as a warrior-and one day I'll be Pol's field commander with an army behind me. I also know my influence as my father's son, and how careful I'll have to be with that power." He held out his hands so the rings caught the sunlight. "These are another kind of power. And it might conflict with the other. But you made your choice, Sioned. The only ring you wear is Rohan's."

"The others are still there, like scars," she murmured. Then, more calmly, she went on, "I'm willing to bet your Chosen appeals to everything you are, Maarken. She matches you in gifts, but she'll also make a fine Lady of Radzyn. Doesn't that show you've already woven the two kinds of power together, whether you realize it or not? What you did at the Faolain years ago proved it."

She saw the memory in his eyes. At barely twelve winters old, he had recognized the military necessity of destroying bridges across the Faolain River, and used his Sunrunner gifts to do it. Fire-bearing arrows would have been risky, for Roelstra's troops might have swarmed onto the bridges to put them out and might have died. But Maarken's Fire had frightened them into doing nothing. No one had died. Rohan had told Sioned about it, marveling at the boy's mature decision that had combined duty to his prince and faradhi faradhi ethics: it was for this act that Rohan had given Maarken his first ring. ethics: it was for this act that Rohan had given Maarken his first ring.

"I'm glad you're to be the first," Sioned told him. "Rohan knows the ways of princes, and I know those of Sunrunners. But you're both. Pol could have no finer example than you." Pausing for a moment, she waited until he again looked at her, and smiled. "Because of that, you don't really need any help when it comes to this lady. You have it, of course. But you won't need it."

"Maybe not-but I'll be glad to know you're there, just the same."

"You mustn't tell me her name yet, you know," she continued in a lighter tone. "I want to see if I can pick her out from among Andrade's suite. And I'll wager you whatever jewels she fancies for your wedding necklet that I can can pick her out!" pick her out!"

Maarken smiled at last. "Sioned! You don't need to provide a dowry!"

"Who said anything about her dowry? Haven't I the right to see my nephew in something magnificent at his marriage? If I lose, then you can have that tapestry you've always liked. I always thought it would be most properly displayed in a bedchamber."

He blushed, then gave up and laughed with her. "All right, done! I win either way-and don't think I don't know you planned it like that!"

"There's something about a Rialla Rialla that makes me want to wager. Did I ever tell you that I bet one of Roelstra's daughters she'd never catch Rohan? This emerald against all the silver she had on-and she was clanking like a wind chime." that makes me want to wager. Did I ever tell you that I bet one of Roelstra's daughters she'd never catch Rohan? This emerald against all the silver she had on-and she was clanking like a wind chime."

"I know you-you only bet when you're sure of winning. You'd never have risked that ring otherwise."

"How very perceptive of you, my lord." A smug grin on her face, she rose and brushed the dark, sun-warmed hair from his forehead. "It's getting too hot out here. Can you imagine what summers are like at Remagev? Walvis and Feylin will be here in a few days with the children to escape the heat."

"Remagev always reminds me of a dragon sleeping in the sand. Do you think I could ride out to see it and come back with them? I hear Walvis has worked miracles with the old place the last few years."

"You'd hardly recognize it. I-" she broke off as the air around them s.h.i.+mmered with color, patterns of light she could touch with her thoughts. She gripped Maarken's arm with both hands, seeing that he was as caught as she by the woven rays of sunlight that thickened urgently as a faradhi faradhi voice spun down the threads with a brief, frightening message, crying out for help. voice spun down the threads with a brief, frightening message, crying out for help.

It had not taken Meath long to find out that pleasure rides through the hills on Dorval were no proper training for the long journey to G.o.ddess Keep. Each time he began to think that perhaps the misery of a sea voyage would have been preferable to the mutiny of every muscle in his body, he forced himself to think of yesterday's crossing of the Pyrme River in a tiny, leaky raft. He had been given scant time for recovery; when Lord Chaynal told his people to be somewhere quickly, they obeyed. Meath reminded himself that at least there had been a bridge over the Faolain River and fresh horses at one of Prince Davvi's holdings, but he was too exhausted to appreciate the fine animal under him. They were out of Syr now, riding the open pastureland between the Pyrme and Kadar Rivers, and as the afternoon wore on Meath began to wonder with a hint of desperation if his escort would ever call a rest stop. A broad-shouldered man of about thirty winters and a slightly older woman, they seemed tireless. Meath had to admit they'd made excellent time, though he suspected that by tomorrow they would have to strap him to his saddle to keep him in it.

Revia rode ahead of him, her companion Jal just behind him. Their swords and bows were augmented by his Sunrunner status that completed their armament. His rings had commandeered the raft ahead of several other pa.s.sengers, and at manors and villages along the way a glimpse of them had brought swift service. Lady Andrade was known, respected, and generally feared throughout the princedoms, and a.s.sisting one of her faradh'im faradh'im was good politics as well as good manners. was good politics as well as good manners.

When the first two riders appeared over the low northern hills, Meath felt only vague curiosity. The addition of a third, fourth, and fifth did not concern him. But when they chose an intercepting path and he saw the glint of unsheathed steel, he tensed in every aching muscle. The sluggishness of his body's responses warned him he would be slow until battle warmed him, for nothing other than battle was indicated by those drawn swords.

The bow came off Revia's shoulder. She looped her reins around the saddle horn, guiding her mount with knees and heels while she drew her first arrow. The five riders increased their pace and Meath tried to guess when they would be within range of that long, deadly bow. Hitting moving targets from a moving horse would be difficult for even the best archer. But Lord Chaynal had promised him the best-and Meath gasped aloud as Revia's second arrow was nocked and drawn before the first had even found its target. The red-and-white fletching sprang up like an exotic flower against the green gra.s.s just ahead of the galloping horses; a warning only. If they did not turn aside, the next shot would be in earnest.

Jal came up beside him, bow at the ready, saying, "Go on, my lord, ride ahead to those trees. We'll take them down if necessary, then join you."

When the lead horse neatly sidestepped the first arrow and the riders kept coming, Revia let fly. Jal kept perfect time with her, shooting as she withdrew another arrow, taking another one himself as she shot.

Meath's primary urge was to stay and fight alongside his escort. But the scrolls he carried were too important. He was about to follow Jal's suggestion when another ten riders crested the hill, sun s.h.i.+ning on naked swords.

"Quickly, my lord! The trees!" Jal shouted.

"Or Lord Chaynal will have us scrubbing the middens for life," Revia added calmly, never losing rhythm with her bow.

Rather than obey, Meath reined in so hard that his horse reared back on its haunches. He tied his reins as Revia and Jal had done, freeing his hands. But he did not take up his sword. Instead he lifted both palms so his rings caught the sunlight. He did not do it to warn the attackers that they violated the law by approaching a Sunrunner with swords drawn, for they were clearly intent on a.s.sault, laws or no. He instead gathered in skeins of sunlight and sent an urgent message flas.h.i.+ng toward G.o.ddess Keep.

The Radzyn soldiers placed their horses ahead of his, protecting him. Meath was dimly aware that one man had fallen and two more had wounds, and the fourth man's horse shrieked with the pain of an arrow in its neck. But distance had softened the impact of the arrows, and the others kept riding.

Meath raced down the weave of sunlight to the western coast. A chill gray fog stopped him. He cursed the spring weather that shrouded the keep in unpenetrable mist. Instantly he returned and cast the skeins in the other direction, east and north toward Stronghold. Sioned's emerald and sapphire and onyx and amber were long familiar to him; he wove light around the pattern of her colors and touched them. Briefly he communicated his location, the danger, and that what he carried must not fall into the wrong hands.

Without waiting for any answer, he pulled away from her and kicked his horse forward until he was beside Revia. Then he lifted his hands again. He could call down Fire if he had to, but Fire might kill-or blaze through the gra.s.ses if his control was not fine enough. He had no desire to leave behind a conflagration as token of a Sunrunner's pa.s.sage.

So he summoned Air. The dust of the fields rose up behind the first group of enemy riders, gathered loose gra.s.s and tiny pebbles, swirled into a whirlwind the size of a small dragon. Through its thickness he saw horses rearing in terror and men trying to regain control.

Jal gave a startled curse. Revia kept shooting arrows, but with a grin on her face now that her targets were nearer and she need not worry about the second wave. One man went down screaming, an arrow through his cheek. But another, infuriated, dug his heels into his stallion and hurtled forward, ignoring the shaft Jal placed in his thigh. He raised and let fly a knife.

Meath grunted with the impact in his shoulder. He lost control of his whirlwind, the shock of the wound devastating. But that should not have been, he told himself fuzzily; it was only a throwing knife stuck in his shoulder, not through his lung or heart. He fumbled for the haft, drew the steel knife from his flesh with agonizing effort. It seemed to him that he toppled very slowly, his bones water. Countless colors shattered all around him; the hues of trees, flowers, meadow, and sky becoming as stained Fironese crystal, losing depth, paintings on gla.s.s that splintered with a terrible sound and crashed into jagged shards. He fell onto them, soft blades of spring gra.s.s now blades of colored crystal. And then all the colors were gone.

Sioned gasped with the force of Meath's weaving, and again when he abruptly vanished. "Maarken! Help me find him! Quickly!"

He followed her down the paths of plaited sunlight, seeking the familiar pattern that was Meath. But he had not Sioned's skills, and so found only the colors, not sight of Meath himself; Sioned saw; Meath conjuring Air, Meath felled by the slick, glittering knife. She saw her friend go down and a sound left her throat that was half sob, half snarl.

The enemy riders regrouped as the whirlwind spluttered to nothingness. They thundered down on the two Radzyn guards and the Sunrunner lying p.r.o.ne in the gra.s.s. Sioned knew they would be slaughtered. She did not make the choice consciously; she did what was necessary. With the ruthlessness of need she grasped every mind with faradhi faradhi potential she could find nearby. Twirling all the colors together, light bright threads of silk in the hands of a master weaver, she spun the sunlight as she had once spun the glow of the stars, and directed its brilliance to the road immediately in front of the a.s.sa.s.sins. potential she could find nearby. Twirling all the colors together, light bright threads of silk in the hands of a master weaver, she spun the sunlight as she had once spun the glow of the stars, and directed its brilliance to the road immediately in front of the a.s.sa.s.sins.

Sunrunner's Fire sprang up, a thick wall of roaring flames. They rode directly into it, too late to stop their horses' momentum. Sioned could not hear the screams or the thuds as they fell. But she could see her Fire licking at their clothes as they rolled about in the dirt, trying to douse the flames.

The woman wearing Radzyn's colors leaped down from her saddle, lugging Meath's long, brawny frame up as best she could. Her companion was soon helping her, casting fearful glances over his shoulder at the Fire. Meath was thrown over his saddle and within moments the trio were heading for the sheltering trees. When they were out of sight, Sioned let the Fire die away. It left a scar across the field, blackened dirt like a line drawn daring the enemy to cross.

They did not. Dust rose nearly as high as Meath's whirlwind as they scrambled for what horses they could catch and rode away at speed, leaving their wounded behind to fend for themselves.

Sioned waited until they were gone, then turned her energies to untangling the taut weave of colors. Elsewhere at Stronghold, Tobin shuddered in the sunlight coming through her bedchamber window and Chay shook her by the shoulders, calling her name frantically until sense returned to her eyes. In the sunlit outer courtyard near the guardhouse, old Myrdal hung onto Pol's slight form, feeling the boy tremble in a storm of power. She had seen the High Princess conjure Fire and the like, but now something else was happening to Pol. At length he gave a convulsive tremor, awareness back in his face, and even smiled at her a little before fainting in her arms.

Maarken, the strong central thread of her weaving, was the last to be released from it. Sioned separated herself from him and together they moved back along the strands of light to Stronghold. She spared no glimpse for the rich Syrene meadows below them, nor the proud rise of the Vere, intent on seeking the safety of the garden.

But all at once there were other colors-a blinding, amazing whirl of rainbow hues as startled by them as they were by it. Sioned s.h.i.+ed away and the other did the same. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring at Maarken-and could not rid herself of an impression of wings.

The young man was drenched in sweat, shaking. He hung onto Sioned's hands so hard that the emerald ring bit into her flesh. His own knuckles were white. She could not recall when they had linked fingers as well as gifts.

"Sioned," Maarken whispered, his voice not quite steady. "Wh what was was that?" that?"

She met his gaze and said carefully, "I think . . . I think we b.u.mped into a dragon."

Chapter Five.

The woman had been beautiful in her youth. Yet even with the marks of sixty winters on her face and her black hair gone iron-gray, there was about her an eagerness that the years normally stole when youth was irretrievably gone. Ambition shone in her gray-green eyes, and malicious amus.e.m.e.nt for its certain culmination. This absolute faith in her eventual success gave her the look of a woman half her age. Her body was still lean-fleshed and supple, though the quick grace of her youth had been replaced by a deliberate elegance. She was stately now, impressive with consciousness of her worth, the kind of woman who should have been ruling a princedom rather than a tiny settlement in a remote mountain valley. But in her eyes was sureness that she would not be here forever-and would indeed rule one day, and not just a single princedom but all of them.

Dusk in the Veresch brought a chill. The woman waited, facing the cairn that marked the eastern arch of a circle of stones. The rocks were tipped by the last fiery rays of the setting sun, and soon the first stars would appear directly above them. It had pleased her to a.s.semble everyone while there was still sunlight; the swift descent of darkness and the sudden appearance of the stars was powerful, primal drama, especially here. Let the faradh'im faradh'im have their suns.h.i.+ne, their trees, their three pale moons. She and her kind had known for uncounted generations the potency of stones and stars, and a different kind of fire. have their suns.h.i.+ne, their trees, their three pale moons. She and her kind had known for uncounted generations the potency of stones and stars, and a different kind of fire.

A full circle of ninety and nine ringed the glen outside the flat granite markers, hands clasped and breathing nearly stilled in the silence. In times past it had been difficult to gather so many, but rumors this spring were as plentiful as newborn lambs, and had brought people to her. Waiting for the last sunlight to vanish, she mused on the magic of this multiple of three, a special number since the beginning of the world. Three moons in the sky, three winters between dragon matings, three great divisions of land in Mountain, Desert, and River Meadow. The princes met once every three years. The ancients had honored three deities: The G.o.ddess, the Father of Storms, and the Nameless One who dwelled in the fastness of these mountains. The faradh'im faradh'im had long ago denied the power she would call on tonight-the more fools they. For there were three kinds of light as well: sun, moons, and stars. With ninety-and-nine here, she became the one hundredth, representative of the Nameless One who ruled all. had long ago denied the power she would call on tonight-the more fools they. For there were three kinds of light as well: sun, moons, and stars. With ninety-and-nine here, she became the one hundredth, representative of the Nameless One who ruled all.

Three was also the number Princess Ianthe's sons, each poised a third of the way around the circle at the hip-high standing stones. She could sense their raw, half-trained powers, inherited from a grandmother who had been among the last purebred diarmadh'im. diarmadh'im. Lallante, a simpering coward who had rejected her true heritage, had nevertheless used it to ensnare High Prince Roelstra. The marriage had produced Ianthe, who had in turn produced three boys both ambitious and malleable. They were the cornerstones of the power she would call on tonight, and they were the reason she was certain of eventual triumph. Lallante, a simpering coward who had rejected her true heritage, had nevertheless used it to ensnare High Prince Roelstra. The marriage had produced Ianthe, who had in turn produced three boys both ambitious and malleable. They were the cornerstones of the power she would call on tonight, and they were the reason she was certain of eventual triumph.

Fourteen winters past, victory was a word for other people. There had been only survival for her, as there had been for all her people through hundreds of winters, ever since the return of Sunrunners to the continent from their island exile on Dorval had destroyed the diarmadh'im, diarmadh'im, their power and their language and their way of life. Driven to the remote mountains, they had been hunted down and slaughtered by ruthless Sunrunners led by three-that number again, she thought bitterly-whose names were even now forbidden lest their wind-borne spirits find these last hiding places. their power and their language and their way of life. Driven to the remote mountains, they had been hunted down and slaughtered by ruthless Sunrunners led by three-that number again, she thought bitterly-whose names were even now forbidden lest their wind-borne spirits find these last hiding places.

But now she had three of her own, she told herself, sensing Ianthe's strong sons all around her. They would do her work and her will, and she would triumph. Youth had begun anew for her the day they were brought to her in the shelter of the mountains.

The sunlight was gone and darkness brought the first star. The woman spread her hands wide so that the single pinp.r.i.c.k of light was centered between her splayed fingers. The stars.h.i.+ne stretched between her uplifted arms and she clenched her fists, half-closing her eyes as she wove the cool fire, centering the weave before she wrapped the fabric of light around and through the stones.

Her anchors, Ianthe's sons, began to tremble. Their s.h.i.+vering raced through the ring of hands and bodies around them, and the woman's strength increased as she drew in the energy of ninety-nine lives joined by starfire. This power she directed into the circle of stones. And an instant later the source of her kind's name was revealed: diarmadh'im, diarmadh'im, Stoneburners. Stoneburners.

She became as the unmoving rock of the cairn, watching a scene form in the cool glow of tiny white flames. Long, fine fingers were what she saw first, held out to a hearth. Ten rings studded with gems circled the fingers; thin chains of gold or silver led from each ring to bracelets on bony wrists. Sight of a sharp-featured, proud face came next. The hair had once been blonde. The eyes were still fiercely blue, narrowing slightly as fire found fresh wood and burned more brightly. But the thin hands moved closer still to the blaze, rubbing together for warmth. Lady Andrade of G.o.ddess Keep was feeling the cold.

A man only a little younger than she placed a heavy fur-lined cloak around her shoulders. The man was Lord Urival, Master of Sunrunners and Lady Andrade's steward. Beautiful eyes of a curious golden-brown were set into a craggy face of no beauty at all. He pulled a table over between their chairs and sat down, chafing his nine rings before pulling the folds of his brown woolen robes around him.

They exchanged a few words, inaudible from the stone circle, and then their heads turned as one. Into the vision came the tall, wide-shouldered, dark-haired Sunrunner who had narrowly escaped death only two days ago on the road to G.o.ddess Keep. His face was pinched with exhaustion and pain. He held one arm awkwardly to his side, instinctively protecting the bandages that bulked at his shoulder. He bowed, spoke, and placed his saddlebags on the low table.

The watching woman hissed in frustration. Her minions had failed to stop this man; by the Nameless One, it was hard to see the precious scrolls bulge within the leather bags. She fixed her gaze on them hungrily. When she turned her attention to the larger scene, the wounded Sunrunner was gone.

Lord Urival opened the saddlebags and extracted four long, round cases. A moment later he had the first of the scrolls spread out on the table before him, turned so Lady Andrade could see. The woman in the stone circle caught her breath as she saw the exquisite script. Much of the old language had been lost, and she was one of the few who knew more than a smattering of its words. But given enough time, the scrolls would be translated, and that must not happen.

Lady Andrade peered at the writing, shaking her head. She said something to Urival and he bowed, leaving the frame of vision. Soon he returned with a youth of no more than twenty winters who wore four rings, each set with a tiny ruby. He directed his attention to the scrolls, bending over them with a look of dawning fascination on his face. After a moment he straightened and rubbed his eyes with a comical grimace that brought a small answering smile from Andrade.

But all at once Lord Urival whirled, his fingers rubbing spasmodically at his rings, and stared into the flames-straight at the woman in the starlit circle, it seemed. The youth turned as well, blue eyes wide with astonishment beneath a shock of light brown hair.

She broke off the conjure with desperate haste, unthreading the weave of stars between her hands. The fire along the circle fled back to the cairn, which flared bright and fierce for an instant. Then it darkened, an uneven stack of granite rocks in the night, nothing more.

Some of those in the circle swayed and moaned at the abrupt termination of the vision. The woman scowled, reminding herself that next time she would have to test them all for strength and not just the willingness brought by fear.

"Bring to me the young man named Masul, who lives at Dasan Manor in Princemarch. Bring him however you must, but make sure he is alive, well, and in possession of his wits. I don't want him damaged."

All but three of the ninety-nine bowed to her and melted away into the woods, many of them leaning on their fellows for support. The woman flexed her hands, rubbing her palms where they felt slightly burned. This had been a potent working; she would need time to recover.

"Why do you need him?" the eldest of Ianthe's sons asked resentfully. "You have me."

"Us," his next youngest brother corrected smoothly.

"It is not your time yet," she said firmly.

The youngest of them smiled slightly. "Yes, my Lady Mireva. Of course."

She looked them over, remembering the three dirty, barbaric little boys she had turned into young princes. Ruval, at nineteen the eldest, had reached his full height but had yet to acquire the muscle and firm flesh of manhood. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, he favored the late High Prince his grandfather in features, but the shape of his eyes was Ianthe's. Marron, a year younger, was still awkward and bony with late adolescence. Of the three, he looked the least like his mother, having inherited his father's heavy-lidded eyes and fiery red hair. The youngest, Segev, was barely sixteen and still a child in most ways. His eyes were gray-green like Mireva's own and shaped like Ianthe's, but his hair was as black as Roelstra's had been. He was the most intelligent-and, paradoxically, the most biddable. Mireva understood that, and valued it; he trusted her wisdom and would do exactly as she bade him, for there was a hunger in him that her promises and power fed most adequately.

"Why him?" she asked suddenly, echoing Ruval's earlier question. "Because none of you is old enough yet. You have much to learn about the powers your grandmother gave you. For now, this Masul is an amusing feint who will cause interesting trouble for Rohan."

"Especially once you get your hands on him," Marron remarked with a smile.

Mireva chose to ignore the mockery beneath the admiration. "More important right now are the scrolls. You saw them, of course, though no one else did. When our people ruled here, the faradh'im faradh'im stayed on their island and did nothing. Then, without warning, they were here, opposing us. They spent years watching us in secret, learning our ways for their own ends, using them against us. They drove us from power and chased us into these mountains. And then they erased all memory of us from the minds of the people, causing us to be forgotten along with our ways. But what they knew of us was written down. And now someone has found the scrolls and put them into Lady Andrade's hands." stayed on their island and did nothing. Then, without warning, they were here, opposing us. They spent years watching us in secret, learning our ways for their own ends, using them against us. They drove us from power and chased us into these mountains. And then they erased all memory of us from the minds of the people, causing us to be forgotten along with our ways. But what they knew of us was written down. And now someone has found the scrolls and put them into Lady Andrade's hands."

"It didn't seem as if she understood a word of them," Ruval commented.

"But she will. She's clever-and ruthless. She will want the faradh'im faradh'im to know the power to know the power we we once had." once had."

"So the scrolls must be destroyed," Marron surmised. "That's easy enough to do, even at this distance. A little starfire, nicely directed-"

"No! I must know what's in them! I must know how much has been lost!"

"They they must be stolen," Segev said. "As the knowledge was stolen from us. What if . . . ?"

Mireva narrowed her gaze at him in the starlight. "What if?" she prompted.

"Someone with the gifts could go to G.o.ddess Keep to be trained, gain their confidence, and steal the scrolls."

"Who did you have in mind?" Marron asked silkily.

"Not you," his youngest brother shot back. "You have all the subtlety of a rutting dragon."