The Star Scroll Part 31

"Yes. But not yet. Not until he's been disproved in his claim. That ties my hands, Ostvel." His fists clenched as if tightening around Masul's throat. "Sweet G.o.ddess," he whispered, "how dearly I'd love to kill him now. now." Then he looked up. "Riyan must be watched very carefully. If Masul suspects anything, his life will be worthless. Have you friends among the Sunrunners Andrade brought with her?"

Ostvel nodded. "I'll make it a personal favor, nothing that Andrade need concern herself with."

"Good. It will turn out as we need it to, my friend. We haven't come this far and done so much to see it all ruined now."

Ostvel bowed slightly. "I never believed any differently, my prince," he said softly.

After he had gone, taking the saddlebags with him, Rohan murmured, "I wish I could believe with you, my friend."

Chapter Nineteen.

Princess Alasen was a past mistress of the art of escaping any es cort her father chose to set over her. Simplicity itself in and around the castle of New Raetia on Kierst, freedom was even easier to arrange in the crush of people on their way to the races. Among them, Alasen became only a young girl in a plain dress, anonymous unless one noted her father's silver-flask emblem st.i.tched on the tiny leather purse at her belt.

A canopy of green silk had been raised above the royal enclosure, and the stands were filling rapidly. Much of the crowd veered off to find good seats, but Alasen continued on to the paddocks, where young men soon to be knighted were to demonstrate their horsemanship before the racing began.

She found a place at the rails and propped her elbows on the painted wood to watch. Her father's squire, Sorin of Radzyn Keep, led fourteen highborn youths on magnificent horses into the gra.s.sy meadow, pausing to acknowledge the cheers of friends and relatives a.s.sembled to watch. They began a formal ride around the enclosed area, changing gaits and directions with invisible signals to their mounts, cutting diagonals and riding intricate patterns in perfect formation. Sorin rode one of his father's horses, an elegant dapple-gray mare with a black mane and tail; Alasen wondered about the chances of convincing her father to purchase the animal for her and decided they were fairly good. Volog was in excellent humor despite the scandal of Masul's appearance, and his private talks with the High Prince had been much to his liking. He was pleased, too, that she had formed a friendship with Cousin Sioned. It might be possible for her to coax him into buying the mare, even without its being a wedding present.

Alasen was under no illusions as to why her father had brought her to Waes this year. Young men had been presented for her inspection at New Raetia for two years now-rather late for a princess, but then she was Volog's last and favorite child, whom he wanted to keep with him as long as possible. But she would be twenty-three this autumn, and it was time she married. If she was disinclined to accept any of the young men who came to Kierst, then Volog was determined that she look the rest of them over at the Rialla. Rialla. But he expected her to choose a husband, and she knew it. But he expected her to choose a husband, and she knew it.

Sorin rode into the center of the paddock by himself, showing off more fanciful maneuvers-curvettes and flying leaps designed to flaunt a rider's skill and impress potential customers with the horse's quality. Lord Chaynal stood a little way down the railing from Alasen, critical eyes noting every nuance of his son's performance. Many of the other horses being ridden today were his as well, the rest belonging to Lord Kolya of Kadar Water-Chaynal's only serious rival in horse-breeding. The two holdings had enjoyed generations of friendly compet.i.tion, scorning and degrading each other's horses with cheerful predictability at each Rialla. Rialla.

Alasen applauded her approval of Sorin's skills and waved as he rode past the railing to collect well-deserved accolades. He grinned and winked at her. He certainly was the best-looking of all the young men-long and lanky, with his father's chiseled features. He was the best rider, too. Alasen's pride in him was that of an elder sister, and it was a relief to them both that the warmth of their friendship was untouched by Fire. Their parents had once or twice discussed the possibility of a match, but nothing had ever come of it. She and Sorin laughed heartily at the very notion. He would make a wonderful husband for some woman, but not her. For all his twenty winters and many knightly accomplishments, Sorin was like a great playful colt who still b.u.mped his knees and nose. Alasen was a little surprised to see him so self-possessed and grown-up today.

She wondered suddenly what his brother Andry was like, the twin who had rejected the usual n.o.bleman's training in order to become a Sunrunner. The seriousness of his goals was probably reflected in his personality, she mused-all the playfulness and humor she liked so much in Sorin schooled out of Andry during his years at G.o.ddess Keep.

Other young men were taking their turns now, and Alasen's eye was caught by a splendid Radzyn sorrel ridden by a youth wearing Meadowlord's light green. The squire made his mare dance delicately across the paddock at an impossible angle, and the onlookers gasped with pleasure as the horse changed directions with the airy grace of a feather in a wayward summer breeze. The young man was of middling height with the dark coloring of Fironese mountain folk, and not half so handsome as Sorin. But as he rode past her, one sight of his eyes reversed her opinion of his looks. Fringed by long, thick black lashes, his eyes were a deep velvety brown with bronze glints, shaped wide and long beneath straight, heavy brows. These astonishing eyes changed his face from merely pleasant to nearly beautiful. He reined in the mare directly in front of her, shifted not a breath in his saddle-and the horse suddenly reared back, gathered herself, then came down on forelegs with rear hooves lashing out. It was a warhorse's move, precise and deadly, and the crowd burst into applause.

"Oh, well done!" Alasen cried along with the cheering audience.

"Do you think so?" a man's deep voice said at her shoulder.

"Oh, yes," she answered without turning, enthralled by the young man's ride. "Just perfect! Do you know who he is, sir? He wears Meadowlord's colors, but then every squire is still in his fostering lord's colors."

"His own are blue and brown, for Skybowl. His name is Riyan, and he's my son."

Alasen looked up then into a pleasant, smiling face. There was a family resemblance about the brow and nose, and she realized that with maturity the son would become nearly as distinguished as the father. But their eyes were very different; the ones gazing down at her now were gray, shaded by dark lashes and a shock of tousled brown hair showing threads of silver. "You must be Lord Ostvel," she said, returning his smile.

"The same. I thank you for the compliment on my son's behalf. A father's pride is one thing, but to hear a young lady's praise confirm it. . . ." He gave a self-mocking shrug. "And you must be Princess Alasen of Kierst."

"How could you know that? I purposely wore my oldest and plainest dress today, and I'm trying to blend in with the rest of the crowd!" She laughed up at him.

"I doubt you could ever succeed in that, my lady. As for knowing who you are-I met your mother once and you've the look of her. But the green eyes confirm it. They're precisely the same color as Prince Davvi's, and the same shape as Princess Sioned's."

"Really? I know I look like my mother, mostly, but do you think I resemble the High Princess even a little?"

"You sound as if you'd like to. But I'd say that looking like yourself is quite enough. You've certainly impressed that young man over there." He nodded to where Lord Chaynal stood with a youth whose blue eyes were indeed studying her most intently. "Obviously he finds it more rewarding to look at you than to watch his brother ride."

"His brother?" Alasen repeated blankly.

"Sorin. Your young admirer is Andry of Radzyn, and lately of G.o.ddess Keep."

She forgot the dignity of her twenty-two winters and stared. So that was Sorin's twin! "They're not very much alike, are they, my lord?"

"It used to be almost impossible to tell them apart. But they've grown up quite differently in the last years." His voice was suddenly expressionless and she glanced up at him, startled. He noted the look and smiled once more. "But I'm keeping you from watching the rest of the show. They're about to ride toward each other at a full gallop-Sorin's idea, the madman. I just hope Riyan doesn't disgrace himself by falling off."

"I doubt he's done that since the first time you put him on a pony," she chuckled.

The line of riders formed again, then broke in two at the middle. They cantered to opposite ends of the meadow, wheeled in place, and at a signal from Sorin thundered toward each other with a speed that promised to annihilate them all. Yet somehow each found a s.p.a.ce to gallop through, and in the next instant they had all lined up again to enjoy the crowd's applause.

"Excellent," Lord Ostvel murmured. "But don't tell my son I said so," he added.

"But he deserves to be told, my lord. Next to Sorin, he's the best rider here."

Laughter rumbled up from deep in his chest. "No more syrup for my paternal pride, my lady! Tell me, what do you think of the mare he's riding?"

"As a warhorse, perfection. As a casual mount-" She shook her head. "That mare would fret herself to skin and bones if she wasn't given anything more than a good gallop every other day."

"I agree. She's too high-strung. I need to gift Riyan with a proper knight's mount, though. Which horse would you favor?"

She hesitated, then had to answer honestly. "Sorin's gray, without a doubt."

Lord Ostvel gave a long sigh. "I was afraid we'd agree on that, too. Chay's going to demand half a year's income for that horse-and he won't knock the price down for the sake of friendship, either!"

The crowd was breaking up now, heading to the stands to watch the first race, and Alasen was jostled against the rails. Ostvel took her arm to steady her. "I'm all right," she a.s.sured him. "But I think I'll wait here until the crowd thins a little."

"No need. I'll escort you, if you'll permit. Would you like to go congratulate Sorin?"

"Yes, please!"

Together they made their way to where Lord Chaynal stood with his sons and Riyan. Ostvel ruffled his own son's dark hair as if he was still ten years old instead of two days away from formal knighthood; Riyan bore with it, grinning, and gold sparkled with the bronze in his eyes. Alasen was introduced and noted that Riyan was not another such as Sorin-though just as accomplished at the arts of being a knight, he also possessed social skills enough not to blush in the presence of a pretty girl. He gave her a bow and a smile, and again she saw his father in him.

Sorin then claimed her attention with a demand to be told how wonderful he was. Alasen laughed at him. "You stayed in your saddle, which is more than I expected!"

He turned an aggrieved face to his father. "Allow me to thank you, my lord, for never giving us any sisters! Andry, this is the girl I told you about, who's made my life misery for nearly eight years. Princess Alasen of Kierst, my brother, Lord Andry."

Alasen was in for a surprise. She received a very elegant bow, a very direct stare, and a very composed p.r.o.nouncement of her name and t.i.tle in a voice that made her her complexion change color, not his. complexion change color, not his.

"So you're Volog's youngest," said Lord Chaynal. "Happy man, to have such a treasure in his castle. I even hold you excused from never having taught this hopeless whelp of mine any manners during his time at New Raetia."

She met his grin with sparkling eyes and her lips tucked into a rueful line. "Indeed, my lord, I am sorry. We tried everything, but to no avail." His eyes were gray like Lord Ostvel's, but like sunlight on moonstones where the other man's were silver in shadow.

"She means," Sorin said, "that she used to throw books at me in the schoolroom. Don't try to deny it, Allie, you know you did. I still have the scars."

"And the addled wits, if her aim was good enough," Andry teased.

Lord Chaynal moaned. "Mannerless, impudent, fractious-Ostvel, what did I ever do to deserve such offspring?"

"Something dreadful, I'm sure. We ought to get out of the sun, Chay. Desert folk don't mind it, but I'm sure Princess Alasen would prefer to be in the shade."

"Is the heat in the Desert as terrible as they say?" she asked.

Lord Chaynal smiled, and once more she could see a son's maturity in a father's face. "It would burn forty freckles onto your charming nose before you could draw a breath."

"Stop flirting or I'll tell Mother on you," Sorin threatened, grinning.

"Indeed?" The Lord of Radzyn drew himself up to his full height-only a fingerspan or so greater than his sons', but he also outweighed each by a silkweight of solid muscle and out-shouldered them by the breadth of a hand. "I compliment pretty girls just as I please, boy, and the day I stop-"

"Is the day Maarken inherits," Andry interjected slyly, "because you'll have been dead at least three days!"

His lordship gave a martyred sigh. "Alasen, my dear, if you ever have sons, have them only one at a time. They're bad enough singly-as Ostvel and Rohan can attest. Twinned, they're more than any rational person should be called on to endure. If you'll excuse me, I should be seeing to my entries in the first races. And if you've a mind to a wager, I recommend my black mare in the fifth." He bowed, smiled, and strode off.

Alasen was a little amazed by the playful bantering between fathers and sons, so different from the relationship between Volog and her brothers Latham and Volnaya. The scrupulous respect and politeness they showed each other were quite the opposite of the affectionate abuse she had just heard. But she liked their easy manners and knew instinctively that their teasing came in direct proportion to their love for each other.

She was also surprised at herself for joining in. But she had probably picked up the ability from an indulgent father and Sorin's constant teasing. She would miss them when she married. The reminder of the reason she was at Waes took some of the brightness from the day. She deliberately turned her thoughts elsewhere as she started back to the stands.

Sorin, Riyan, and Lord Ostvel took the lead, leaving Alasen and Andry a pace or two behind. They walked in a silence she found embarra.s.sing after the preceding chatter. At last he spoke.

"You have no attendant with you today, my lady?"

"I like to escape sometimes," she confessed. "My father has a tendency to watch over me as if I'm made of Fironese crystal."

"Anyone looking at you might say that you are, are," he mumbled.

Alasen gave him a startled glance. He was looking anywhere but at her. She had heard compliments from her cradle, yet Andry's words sounded more like a grudging admission of an inescapable and somewhat uncomfortable fact than a bid for her favor. All at once he looked exactly like Sorin did in the presence of other pretty girls, his cheeks red and his steps a bit too long. She smiled indulgently. Boys were amusing creatures, but she was old enough to know that she preferred grown men. Still, Andry was rather sweet, and though the set of his features was different from Sorin's, he was just as good-looking. With the exquisite Princess Tobin and the dashing Lord Chaynal for parents, none of the brothers could possibly have turned out ill-favored. And Alasen approved wholeheartedly of handsome young men.

It seemed to Sioned and Tobin, sitting in the royal stands, that there were more young people at the Rialla Rialla than ever before, most of them looking for suitable spouses, as Alasen was supposed to be doing. The High Prince's liberal rules about who could attend had swelled the ranks of each prince's retinue with highborn youths and maidens, their servants, and guards for their material wealth. For their persons, no guards were necessary; Rohan held each prince personally responsible for the safety of the young people in his charge, and no one wanted to cause a war over any outrages perpetrated on or by those whose innocent purpose here was to get married. than ever before, most of them looking for suitable spouses, as Alasen was supposed to be doing. The High Prince's liberal rules about who could attend had swelled the ranks of each prince's retinue with highborn youths and maidens, their servants, and guards for their material wealth. For their persons, no guards were necessary; Rohan held each prince personally responsible for the safety of the young people in his charge, and no one wanted to cause a war over any outrages perpetrated on or by those whose innocent purpose here was to get married.

Sons and daughters not heir to their parents' lands usually had little other than their charms to recommend them. Rohan and Sioned, wanting to even up the matrimonial stakes a little, had once considered providing all with enough gold to make a decent start in life. Tobin had ruthlessly quashed this notion by saying that if they really wanted to advertise the dragon gold, why not just take everyone on a tour of the caves? Ways were found of dowering the worthier and poorer young men and women just the same, princ.i.p.ally through the races. Formerly, only the winning riders had come away with prizes, but now those who came in second and third received small purses of silver. It was said that some of the young men lost on purpose to win useful cash instead of the gems that came with victory-gems they could not afford to have set and which did not fetch their true value at the Rialla. Rialla.

Heirs and athr'im athr'im had no need of anything but their positions to attract young women to them. There were many unmarried men present this year-Miyon of Cunaxa being the greatest prize as a prince already ruling. Sioned thanked the G.o.ddess that Pol was still too young for the flirtatious follies going on all around her in the stands, and she and Tobin amused themselves between races by commenting on pairings that seemed to change every other moment. had no need of anything but their positions to attract young women to them. There were many unmarried men present this year-Miyon of Cunaxa being the greatest prize as a prince already ruling. Sioned thanked the G.o.ddess that Pol was still too young for the flirtatious follies going on all around her in the stands, and she and Tobin amused themselves between races by commenting on pairings that seemed to change every other moment.

Halian of Meadowlord and Kostas of Syr were much in demand and obviously enjoying themselves hugely. Patwin of Catha Heights, widower of Roelstra's daughter Rabia, was another excellent catch, judging by the cl.u.s.ter of females around him; in addition to his wealth and caressing brown eyes he possessed a gorgeous hilltop castle legendary for its gardens. Young Kolya of Kadar Water, Allun of Lower Pynne, and Yarin of Snowcoves were all besieged.

"I'll bet the next winter's snowfall that Clutha's granddaughter Isaura marries Sabriam of Einar," Sioned whispered to Tobin, nodding to the pair who were trying to hide their clasped hands beneath the cover of the girl's skirt.

"Every grain of sand in the Desert says that Allun finally gives in to Sabriam's sister," Tobin replied. "Look at Kiera over there, using those big eyes on the poor boy! It'd make for an interesting alliance, I must say."

"Mmm. I'm more interested in who goes after Tilal. Where'd he vanish to, anyway? And just look at Chale, glowering over there-he's scaring off anyone who even comes within speaking distance of Gemma! How's the girl ever going to provide the next Prince of Ossetia if he doesn't let her talk to anybody?"

"Who's that with them? The blonde girl who looks as if she'd been washed once too often and hung out limp on a line?"

"I think it's Danladi-yet another of Roelstra's daughters. You know, the one he had with Lady Aladra."

"Oh, Sioned, quick! Chiana's cornered Miyon! And there's Halian near them, looking like a storm over the Veresch! Now, that's that's interesting!" interesting!"

The next race began, and they concentrated on cheering a Radzyn stallion to victory. Most of Chay's horses were being ridden by younger sons with hopes of winning prizes. Chay was generous, but only youths he trusted personally were allowed to ride his entries. The approval of the powerful Lord of Radzyn was enough to keep many young ladies avidly watching to see who he honored with a ride on one of his horses.

Tobin applauded immodestly. "We won again! Marvelous! Who's up, Sioned? I can't see that far."

Rohan slid into the seat beside his wife and announced, "Our own Tilal. I'm going to have wonderful fun pouring a river of garnets into his hands. Have you ladies decided yet who'll wear the wedding necklet he'll have made of them?"

"Who's applauding loudest?" Sioned countered.

Many cheered him as he rode past on his victory lap, but Sioned's eye was caught by something that puzzled her deeply. Kostas, despite a smile and a wave for his younger brother, did not take his gaze from Gemma very long. She had her nose buried in a book, ignoring everyone and everything. Pale, delicate Danladi's blue eyes were narrowed with worry. Sioned sat back with a frown.

One of Lord Kolya's entries was the victor in the next race. The young man danced with pride and excitement as he went down to congratulate his rider, and actually flung his arms around the mare's neck. The royal trio laughed, then paid close attention as the next race was called-for Maarken was riding.

"I do so want him to win," Tobin said with a casualness that fooled no one. "I can't afford to part with any of my own jewels when he finally needs a necklet for his bride."

Rohan snorted and exchanged a half-hidden grin with Sioned. A short time later Maarken had ridden to an easy win. Tobin forgot herself and leaped up, cheering raucously for her son. This time Rohan and Sioned burst out laughing, and her sternest reprimands could not shut them up.

A vendor selling fruit ices came up the aisle, and Rohan tossed him coins enough for three cups. Tobin appropriated the apple ice right out of her brother's hands.

"I wanted that one!" he complained. "I paid for them, I should have first choice."

"Hush up and behave yourself," Tobin admonished, handing him the mossberry ice he had given her. "Anyone would think you're still twelve years old."

"You're a selfish and unnatural sister," he grumbled. "Look, there's Sorin!" When her head turned, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the cup from her and replaced it with the mossberry ice.

"Rohan!" She elbowed him in the ribs.

Sioned laughed. "In another moment you two will revert to childhood and start playing at dragons. High Prince and the Lady of Radzyn, indeed! Now, tell me the name of that beauty Sorin's riding. He looks like one of Pashta's get."

"He is. That's Joscenel, twin to Andry's Maycenel. We gave them both a good horse when they became squires. Rohan, give that ice back! back!"

He held the apple cup out of her reach. "A good horse? That one looks like solid muscle covered in sunlight. I give him three lengths and a tail."

"Pashta never sired a finer pair," Tobin said. "No bet, little brother." She licked at the dripping ice in her hand, making a face at him. "This is better than the apple, anyway."

"It is?" He tried to switch cups again, and they giggled like children.

Sioned, safe with her snow-cherry ice, lost her grin when another horse came into view. "Rohan . . . look who's riding the Kadar horse."

He glanced around. All mirth faded and the light left his eyes.

"Well?" Tobin prompted. "I'm a victim of old age and my eyes aren't any good at that distance. Who is it?"

"Masul," Rohan replied colorlessly.

It seemed that everyone saw him at the same time. Quiet descended like a cloud over the animated conversation in the stands. One last nervous giggle sounded from somewhere, and then all was still. Masul bestrode a magnificent bay stallion, the characteristic white blaze and feathery white tufts at each hoof marking the horse as one of Kadar Water's breeding. The young man was not wearing Lord Kolya's colors, however-and Lord Kolya was in shock at the sight of the pretender riding one of his horses. Masul was dressed in a silk shirt the deep violet color of Princemarch.