Sunrunner's Fire Part 7

Ruval felt unwilling sympathy. He hadn't considered until arriving in Swalekeep how difficult it must be to adapt to life inside stone. "Come sit down, brother."

Marron perched on the far rim of the trough. "You know my position in Swalekeep. It's taken me two years to get into the chamberlain's confidence, even using bits of power here and there. Chiana's a b.i.t.c.h up one side and down the other-our grandfather's daughter, no doubt about that! She wants all done to perfection, then finds fault and makes you do it again."

"I'm looking forward to meeting her."

Dark eyes widened. "You can't!"

"No?" Ruval laughed. "Go on."

Marron looked as if he might argue, then subsided with a glower. "Mireva was right about Chiana's ambition. She wants Rinhoel to have Princemarch as well as Meadowlord, even though all the sisters renounced it for themselves and their heirs-"

"All the sisters except Mother. Dead-at Sioned's order." A fragrance, a silken rustle, a throaty laugh, a sharp scowl when he played too rough-the meager memories darted through his mind, always escaping too quickly.

"I saw Sioned at last year's Rialla. Rialla. Toured Dragon's Rest, too, but we'll talk of that another time. She's fifty next year, and looks thirty-five. Rohan's the same." Marron hesitated. "He's not even a Sunrunner, Ruval-yet I could almost see the Toured Dragon's Rest, too, but we'll talk of that another time. She's fifty next year, and looks thirty-five. Rohan's the same." Marron hesitated. "He's not even a Sunrunner, Ruval-yet I could almost see the aleva aleva around him. Sioned's is almost painful to look at. And as for Pol-!" around him. Sioned's is almost painful to look at. And as for Pol-!"

Ruval frowned. The aleva aleva was literally a "circle of fire" that the truly sensitive, especially among was literally a "circle of fire" that the truly sensitive, especially among diarmadh'im, diarmadh'im, could glimpse around the highly powerful. That Sioned possessed such an aura was taken for granted; that Pol's would also be visible was expected, too. But Rohan, whose Sunrunner blood was so thin- could glimpse around the highly powerful. That Sioned possessed such an aura was taken for granted; that Pol's would also be visible was expected, too. But Rohan, whose Sunrunner blood was so thin- Still, it was the Dragon's Son and not the Dragon Prince who concerned him now. "Tell me about Pol."

"I didn't catch more than a few glimpses of him. I had to spell Chiana to get her to take me at all. And she's not easy to work on, believe me. They're building Dragon's Rest out of stone and steel-she's made just the same, only of ambition and hate."

"My, how poetic."

Marron looked as though he wanted to take a swing at him. "If you want to try getting through all that, go right ahead."

"Pol," Ruval said.

"No Sunrunner's rings, but he's been well-trained, wager on it. Tall, blond, good-looking-the women were all after him. He's got an eye for the prettier ones."

"Hmm." Ruval smiled. "That's interesting news for a little project of Mireva's. But never mind that now." He glanced at the inn's back door, where a boy had just thrown sc.r.a.ps to the cats. "You must have more to tell, and Mireva wants to talk at length. And in private."

"There's a musical evening tonight-Chiana likes to present herself as cultured and sophisticated," he added sourly. "Another thing about Pol, he's got an absolute pa.s.sion for music. I'll meet you in the garden near the Pearlfisher Inn after dusk."

"I'll find it. But why not here? The wine's good."

"The wine is terrible. You've a lot to learn about the finer things available to a prince," Marron jeered. Before Ruval could put him in his place with a sharp answer, he strode off.

Mireva hissed with annoyance when Ruval entered their small chamber at the Green Feather. She intended the precious rathiv rathiv to be part of her performance for Chiana, and he had lumped it together as if it was a horse blanket. to be part of her performance for Chiana, and he had lumped it together as if it was a horse blanket.

"Wait," he grinned, correctly interpreting her angry look. Unfolding the rug, he revealed a torso-sized gleam of silver and gla.s.s that took her breath away. "I thought you might like this."

"By the Nameless One-!" she breathed, taking the mirror from him. Kneeling with it set before her on the wooden planks, she ran reverent fingers over decorative wires that swirled and twisted in a pattern as old as her people. "What is this this doing out of the Veresch?" doing out of the Veresch?"

"The shopkeeper didn't know what he had, of course. I actually paid money for it-though not for the rathiv rathiv-the price was that low." Ruval crouched beside her. "Do you have any idea what to do with it?"

"See this?" She pointed to an intricate knot woven in silver wire at the top of the frame. "Recognize it?"

"I'm not blind," he replied impatiently. "Can you get it to work?"

"Yes. Oh, yes! yes!" She laughed and threw her arms around him. "My clever High Prince!" His hands ran eagerly over her back and hips, but she pushed him away. "Later. Leave me alone with it for now. Come back when it's time to meet Marron. I need to set the spell within it."

"And you won't let me watch." His handsome face with its cruel, curling mouth went dark. "After all these years, you still don't trust me."

"If you knew what I do about this mirror, you wouldn't trust your own mother."

"Considering who my mother was, you're quite naturally right." Rising, he cast one last hungry glance at the mirror and left her.

Mireva rocked back and forth, hugging her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The mirror rested in mute impotence on the floor, its strange dusky gold surface like a stormy sky at sunset. The silver frame was old and tarnished, the wires broken in some places and missing in others. But she knew it for what it was-and gave thanks that Ruval had seen and identified the crowning knotwork.

Her old, gnarled fingers caressed the flat face as a maiden might her lover's cheek. The small hand mirror she'd planned to give Chiana had been a risk. This was a certainty.

It took her some time to find the right words-she initially misjudged the age of the mirror, and had to restructure her accent and phrasing to awaken it. But when it finally brightened in the gloom of her chamber, it was with a sure and steady glow.

Marron opened all his windows to the evening rain. The heat had finally broken with a sweep of icy air that from its feel had come all the way from Firon's early snows. The trees outside bent in the wind and he nodded in satisfaction. It was plenty cold enough to justify the heavy hooded cloak he wore to disguise his distinctive hair.

Descending the stairs, he heard the faint echoes of strings and drums from the hall where Chiana was perpetuating her "great lady" image. Several times a season she invited influential merchants and their wives to spend the evening in her presence. She did not go so far as to give them dinner; she broke bread with no one under the rank of athr'im. athr'im. But a summons to the castle was a social distinction no one refused, no matter how deeply Chiana was loathed. But a summons to the castle was a social distinction no one refused, no matter how deeply Chiana was loathed.

On his way out he encountered the chamberlain in a back corridor. A doddering holdover from Clutha's time, the old man drank himself stuporous most nights and whined about the good old days to anyone who would listen. Marron found himself caught by a wizened claw, unable to escape without being rude. The role of humble servant did not sit easily on a man descended from High Princes and diarmadh'im, diarmadh'im, but Marron had little choice. At last he claimed a pressing appointment with a young lady who did not like to be kept waiting, and slipped away while the chamberlain mumbled about ancient loves of his own. but Marron had little choice. At last he claimed a pressing appointment with a young lady who did not like to be kept waiting, and slipped away while the chamberlain mumbled about ancient loves of his own.

Swalekeep was patchworked by little public parks, islands of trees and bushes and flowering plants connected by meandering streets. Chiana had appropriated the largest of them for one of her oddest self-indulgences: an animal garden. In it roamed several deer and elk, and an eagle with its flight feathers regularly plucked to keep it earthbound. In large cages were a wolf pair that had produced nothing but dead pups in the five years of their captivity, and a female mountain cat, her claws torn out. Chiana had offered a substantial reward for anyone who could bring her a mate for the cat; it was said she would have paid half Meadowlord's yearly income for a dragon, but no one had taken her up on that, either.

Marron paused outside this sad little place, watching the wolves pace endlessly behind steel mesh. A strong kinship welled up in him for his fellow captive exiles. But he could afford no weakening sentiment right now. He was about to meet Mireva for the first time in two long winters.

Chafing his cold hands beneath the cloak, he hurried to the enclosure opposite the Pearlfisher and entered, snicking the gate shut behind him. The hand on his arm startled him into a curse.

"Your senses have have dulled," she murmured. "But they're lost in a good cause." dulled," she murmured. "But they're lost in a good cause."

Ruval's cause, he wanted to say, but held his tongue. Time enough to deal with his brother and leave Mireva with only one of Ianthe's sons to work with.

"I've missed you," she said abruptly. "I didn't think I would." The words surprised him, but he was still wary. "Where's Ruval?"

"Standing watch. Come and sit with me."

It was fully dark now. The rain had eased to a fine mist that veiled her graying hair as she pushed back her hood. He could see every line on her face in the lamplight across the narrow street; she had aged with the tension of waiting. He knew how that felt.

"It is time to prove your brother's legitimacy," Mireva began without preamble.

Marron had known this was coming. b.a.s.t.a.r.dy was not a stigma as such-illegitimate offspring shared inheritances with trueborn-but Roelstra had sired such an embarra.s.sing number of b.a.s.t.a.r.d daughters that the custom of fathering children outside marriage had gone out of fashion. In practice these days, legitimate heirs had the edge. Rohan's father had in many ways begun the trend by being scandalously faithful to his adored wife. It was a foolish practice, for most women bore only three or four children. Those who conceived five times and lived to tell of it were uncommon; no one had ever heard of any who had borne more than six. Prolific bloodlines were sought after, and those who produced twins, like Princess Tobin, were most desirable of all. It was only sensible to get as many heirs as possible-possession of a single son was dangerous, as Prince Chale of Ossetia had learned years ago when his had died.

"Chiana's son is legitimate, a prince," Mireva went on. "But she was quite spectacularly born a b.a.s.t.a.r.d." A smile gleamed around her lips for a moment. "Imagine it-being utterly frantic to prove prove herself a b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Ianthe, on the other hand, was the daughter of Roelstra's wife. If we can provide evidence from Lord Chelan's own mouth that he and Ianthe were wed-" herself a b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Ianthe, on the other hand, was the daughter of Roelstra's wife. If we can provide evidence from Lord Chelan's own mouth that he and Ianthe were wed-"

"I made inquiries when you asked last winter," he interrupted. "He lived at a manor on the Syrene border."

Her eyes lit with silvery sparks. " 'Lived'?"

"And died, and burned there this summer. A wasting sickness, it's said."

"d.a.m.n him! d.a.m.n him for dying!"

Before she could get what she wanted and then kill him herself, Marron thought. But he said nothing.

Mireva inhaled deeply, struggling for calm. "It's my own fault for not taking care of this sooner."

"If you had, attention would have fallen on him-and he would have been around our necks."

"That's true." She sighed.

"Ruval will just have to do without," he said, a trifle more acidly than intended. She fixed an icy gaze on him. "I know, I should've told you on starlight. But you've both been traveling so much-Cunaxa and all over Princemarch-it was impossible to find you."

"And you've never been very good at that sort of thing," she snapped. "Are you sufficiently good at palace politics to get me in to see Chiana? Tonight?"

"Tonight-" He swallowed hard. "What do you plan to do to her?"

"What do you think?" she countered.

"You don't understand about Chiana. She's-hard." He explained how he'd been able to nudge her in directions she already favored-such as removing Halian's sister Gennadi as regent of Waes and reinstating Lord Geir. Though the young man hated Halian's father for the execution of his parents, he was alive to the advantages of working with Chiana. This had become one more thread of power in his aunt's grasping little hands. "But she has to think things are all her own idea. Even a hint that you're trying to influence her, and-"

"Give me credit for being subtle, boy."

"Well, she's she's not," he said frankly. "She covets Castle Crag the way some covet wine. She's the only one of Roelstra's daughters not born there, and she's never set foot in the place. Pandsala forbade it and Ostvel won't let her within a hundred measures. But she wants it and would die to possess it even for a day. It's the symbol of royalty to her." not," he said frankly. "She covets Castle Crag the way some covet wine. She's the only one of Roelstra's daughters not born there, and she's never set foot in the place. Pandsala forbade it and Ostvel won't let her within a hundred measures. But she wants it and would die to possess it even for a day. It's the symbol of royalty to her."

Mireva nodded slowly. "After six winters at G.o.ddess Keep, and fifteen more living with whichever half-sister would tolerate her for a while, and finally having her birth publicly doubted-I can understand her. That's helpful, Marron. But she can't be allowed to interfere with our right to Princemarch."

"We need her. We'll have to give her something."

"Miyon alone is not enough," she mused. "He sits atop the Desert, but I need Chiana's armies to take Princemarch."

"You mean you've allied with that Cunaxan snake?" he gasped.

"Remind me one day to tell you about it." She grinned at him, then sobered. "So Castle Crag is the key to opening Chiana. Thank you for that, Marron." Rising, she smoothed her skirts. "I'll meet you outside the gates later. I'm anxious to meet this Princess of Meadowlord."

"I'm not sure I can arrange it-"

Her gaze and her fingers grasped at him. "If you wish to live long enough to battle your brother for Princemarch and the Desert, I suggest you find a way. I only need Ruval, you know."

"And he needs me, me," he stated, trying to hide his fright.

She only laughed.

Marron kept his steps firm and even as he left the enclosed garden. But he was shaking by the time he got back to his chamber at the castle. Even in privacy he dared not weaken, however-it was as if he could feel two pairs of eyes, one piercing gray-green and the other fiercely blue, watching him, could hear laughter aimed at him.

A large cup of wine and a memory calmed him. The dranath dranath was less responsible for his renewed confidence than the recollection that Mireva had not caught him in his almost-lie. It was true enough that Ruval's father was dead, but not of a wasting sickness-unless one included slow poison in that category. Marron might not know the complete range of was less responsible for his renewed confidence than the recollection that Mireva had not caught him in his almost-lie. It was true enough that Ruval's father was dead, but not of a wasting sickness-unless one included slow poison in that category. Marron might not know the complete range of diarmadhi diarmadhi spells, but he knew very well how to create death in a bottle of wine. spells, but he knew very well how to create death in a bottle of wine.

"It's late. I'm tired."

"I thought her prattle might amuse your grace," Marron said diffidently. Chiana shrugged. "There are many such women in the Veresch where I grew up. Harmless, of course, or I would never have brought this one to your grace's attention. But sometimes one is entertained by their tricks."

The scowling princess tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. It had not been an entirely successful evening, Marron had heard. Strings repeatedly snapped in the chill night air, putting an early end to the music, and Chiana had been forced to converse with her lowborn guests.

He waited for her decision, playing humble and anxious servitor. At last she shrugged again and nodded. "Oh, very well, Mirris. Send her to me. Wait-is she clean?"

"I took the liberty, your grace. . . ." He trailed off delicately.

"Fetch her, then. If she amuses me, have her fed and paid afterward."

"Very good, your grace."

He stepped out of the chamber, soothing his eyes with the cool length of white-and-gold corridor. A relief after the hundreds of different greens in the private reception room, colors Chiana surrounded herself with in the belief that any and all shades of green suited her auburn looks. Diarmadh'im Diarmadh'im were as sensitive to color as any Sunrunner; the juxtaposition of hues no forest or meadow would ever know was as acutely painful as a score of lutes playing different tunes, all off-key. were as sensitive to color as any Sunrunner; the juxtaposition of hues no forest or meadow would ever know was as acutely painful as a score of lutes playing different tunes, all off-key.

Mireva waited at a back door. She had dressed her part as mountain witch in a many-patched rag of a gown, an old black shawl, and thin wool gloves missing three fingers and a thumb. Stooped, bedraggled, with quivering hands and aimless gestures, if he had not known her, he would not have known her. He hid a grin on recalling Chiana's fastidious query about her cleanliness, and ordered her to follow him.

"And no begging for money, mind," he snapped as they paused outside Chiana's suite. "Amuse her grace and you may see a few coins. Displease her, and you'll be lucky to leave with your tongue still between your teeth."

The gray-green gaze twisted up at him, sardonically acknowledging his enjoyment of the role played for the benefit of the young servant who carried the rathiv rathiv-wrapped mirror.

Marron scratched at the door, opened it, and announced, "The . . . person, your grace."

Chiana, magnificent in a yellow-green gown that clashed with the pillows of her chair, waved a languid hand. "A witch, eh?" she said as Mireva approached and bowed several times. "The only witch whom I know know to be a witch is the High Princess Sioned." to be a witch is the High Princess Sioned."

"I've heard it said that Lady Andrade was, too, Your Splendor."

"And who would know it better than I?" Chiana laughed mirthlessly. "Very well. Mirris, bring a chair."

Mireva shook her head and bowed again. "No need, Your Radiance. The floor is good enough for me, especially in such a presence."

The rug was spread across polished stone, the mirror set on it almost as an afterthought. As the servant bowed and left, Chiana began to look interested.

"If Your Graciousness would be so kind as to show me her pretty hands, perhaps I can read something of her future."

"Perhaps?" But Chiana stuck out both slim, white, beringed hands. Her lip curled as Mireva touched her fingertips. "Well?"

"If I might look into those lovely eyes?"

Marron bit back a grin, wondering if Mireva intended to inspect Chiana's teeth. Hazel eyes stared unblinking into gray-green. Mireva made a few noises low in her throat, then settled back on her heels, nodding sagely.

"Speak!" Chiana ordered.

"I am overwhelmed by the brilliance of your future. To be sure, I must look into a flame lit by Your Grandeur's own hand."