The Star Scroll Read online

  “You’ll have your own one day. I had to wait until after I’d been knighted before Father would let me go to Goddess Keep and Lady Andrade.”

  “What’s she like?” Pol asked. “I remember her from when I was little, but not very clearly. And the only thing Meath and Eolie ever say when I ask is that I’ll find out sooner than I want to.”

  Meath grinned and shrugged. “It’s only the truth, isn’t it, Maarken?”

  The pair were old friends from Maarken’s days as a squire at Lleyn’s court, and they shared a chuckle. The young lord told his cousin, “You’ll have the chance to see for yourself in Waes. It’ll be a real family reunion this year, in fact. Andrade’s bringing Andry with her, and Sorin’s to be knighted by Prince Volog.”

  Andry and Sorin were Maarken’s brothers, twenty-year-old twins whose lives had taken divergent paths. Andry had faradhi gifts, just as Maarken did, but had seen no reason why he should go through the usual pattern of squire’s training and knighting when all he had ever wanted to be was a Sunrunner. When Sorin was fostered to Volog on Kierst, Andry went to Sioned’s brother, Prince Davvi of Syr. But after only a few years he had successfully pleaded his case to his parents. His progress in earning his rings had confirmed his choice.

  Maarken glanced over Pol’s head at Meath. “When do you ride for Goddess Keep?”

  “Tomorrow morning, after I’ve paid my respects to your parents.”

  “You’ll need an escort, if I’m not mistaken.” He gestured to the saddlebags slung across Meath’s horse. When the older man’s shoulders stiffened, Maarken went on, “Don’t worry, I won’t ask. But even in your misery last night you didn’t let go of them when the rest of the baggage was taken off the ship. That means they’re important, and you’ll need an escort to protect them—and you.”

  Meath smiled uneasily. “I didn’t know I’d been so obvious. I don’t want more than a couple of guards, Maarken. More might arouse suspicion.”

  Pol eyed his friend. “Then they must be very important. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Goddess Keep? You told Maarken on the sunlight, didn’t you? How am I ever going to be a prince and make the right decisions if nobody ever tells me what’s going on?” Then he shrugged. “You don’t have to say it. I’ll learn what I need to know when I need to know it.”

  “Enjoy ignorance, Pol,” Maarken said. “When you’re older, you’ll know more than you want to, sometimes—and they’ll usually be the wrong things, anyway.”

  The road curved through pastureland where tall spring grass waited for horses to crop it. Ahead of them rose the magnificent towers of Radzyn Keep, seat of Maarken’s paternal forebears for hundreds of years. To the left was the sea below ragged cliffs; on the right, far beyond the grasslands, Pol glimpsed the beginning of the Long Sand, shimmering golden in the sunshine.

  Again Maarken understood his glance. “It’s always out there, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Waiting. We work so hard to make this little green ribbon along the coast, but the sand would take it back in a single winter if we ever got careless.” Changing his tone, he asked, “How is the old prince these days?”

  “Hale and hearty for his age, and asks to be remembered to you. As if anyone could ever forget him!”

  “He does tend to make an impression—especially on your backside when he’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t.”

  Pol started. “How did you—?”

  Maarken grinned. “Oh, you’re not alone, believe me. But it’s a relief to know he applies the same remedy to princes as well as lowly lords. How long was it before you could sit down?”

  “A whole day,” Pol admitted sourly.

  “He must like you, then. It was two days before I recovered.” Maarken stood in his stirrups and peered at the bulk of Radzyn Keep, then smiled in delight. “There’s Mother and Father with the new foals! They were going to come meet you today, but the Master of Horse insisted the inspection had to be this morning, and he’s a real tyrant. Come on, let’s go watch.”

  A wild ride and several jumped fences later, they drew rein. Princess Tobin, neat and trim in riding leathers, gave a glad cry and jumped down from her horse. Pol dismounted and went to be hugged and kissed. He was then held at arm’s length while his aunt’s black eyes regarded him in astonishment.

  “Chay!” she called to her husband. “Come over here and see what Lleyn sent us in place of the hatchling we gave him three years ago!”

  Pol found that he was no longer at eye-level with his aunt. He hadn’t realized he’d grown so much taller. She was grayer around the temples and white threads wove through her black braids now, but otherwise was just as he remembered: beautiful as a starry night. Pol looked up as Chay came over to them, and was startled again to find he didn’t have to tilt his head as far back to look into those piercing gray eyes.

  “Don’t be silly, Tobin,” Chay admonished, giving Pol a quick hug. “It has to be Pol—either that or Rohan all over again at that age. My own gray hairs tell me that time hasn’t gone backward, so it must be Pol. You don’t look any the worse for the crossing,” he added, ruffling the boy’s hair.

  “Not now, I don’t. But you should’ve seen me last night. And I have a feeling I did something awful all over the deck!”

  “Never you mind,” Tobin soothed. “It’s just proof that you’ve the faradhi gift.” She turned and smiled at Meath. “Welcome to Radzyn. And thank you for taking care of Pol on the way.”

  “I can’t make any claims to having done so, my lady,” The Sunrunner said as he swung off his horse. “Goddess greeting to you both, my lord,” he went on, bowing to Chay. “I bring you fond words from Prince Lleyn and all his family.”

  “Glad to have you here at Radzyn,” Chay replied. “And it’s good to know the old boy’s well. If you’re not too tired, why don’t the three of you come look at our new crop of foals?” He slung a companionable arm across Pol’s shoulders. “I’m disgustingly proud of them—like all my brood,” he added with a smile for his eldest son.

  As they walked to the paddock fence Meath remarked, “The Desert breeds sons and Sunrunners as fine as its horses, my lord. I’ve reason to know.”

  Tobin nodded proudly. “I think you’ll find that this year, they’re all something very special. Pol, do you see those six little beauties over there? Three grays, a sorrel, and a pair almost golden?”

  Pol caught his breath at the sight of them. Long legs carried them in playful leaps that were more graceful than awkward despite mere days of life. The golden duo in particular caught Pol’s eye, so alike in color and size, and the darkness of mane and tail, that they could have been dragons hatched from the same shell. “They’re wonderful!” he exclaimed.

  “They ought to be.” Chay folded his arms on the top fence rail and gazed dreamily at the foals. “Bloodlines from here to the start of the world and back again, by my best mares and your father’s old warhorse Pashta. If there’s royalty among horses, you’re looking at it. Pashta’s last are even finer than his first.”

  “His last?” Pol glanced up at his uncle.

  Chay nodded. “He died over the winter, very easily and full of his years—and his self-importance, too! Almost as if he knew how these six would turn out. By next Rialla they’ll be ready for you.”

  “Me?” Pol was unable to believe his luck.

  “Who else?” Chay squeezed his shoulder. “It’s Radzyn’s duty to keep its princes decently mounted, you know. All six are yours.”

  The boy stared in awe at the foals, imagining them full-grown. He could see old Pashta’s siring in their depth of chest and the cant of their ears—his father’s beloved Pashta, ridden in a Rialla race to win his mother’s wedding emeralds. “Thank you, my lord,” Pol breathed. “Are they really to be mine?”

  “Of course.”

  “But I don’t need six horses just for myself. Would it—would you be angry if I gave the others as presents?”

  “Who’d you have in mind?” Chay asked curiously.<
br />
  “My father would like one of Pashta’s colts, wouldn’t he? And Mother would look wonderful riding one of the golden ones—she and Father could have those two, like a matched set.” He paused. “Would it be all right, my lord?”

  “Perfectly all right. And no more of this ‘my lord’ business, unless you want me to start calling you ‘your grace!’ Well, now that that’s settled, would you like to see the mare you’ll be riding to Waes for me? I need steady hands and an understanding rider for her. And if you’ll do me the favor, you can exercise her out in the Desert this summer. Will you?”

  Pol’s eyes shone. “Will I!”

  They spent the rest of the morning looking over various mares and geldings that would be taken to Waes for sale, including the horse that would be Pol’s for the summer. A pretty bay mare, she inspected Pol with large dark eyes for several moments before nudging him with her dainty nose in token of friendship. He was enchanted, as the horse had obviously intended him to be, and only his growing weariness kept him from trying her paces there and then.

  After a casual midday meal in private at the keep, Tobin sent Pol off for a rest. Not even healthy young boys could weather a water crossing with aplomb when they were faradhi-born. Maarken disappeared soon after on his own pursuits, but Meath lingered behind.

  “My lord, I have a favor to ask for reasons I cannot reveal to you. It has to do with Lady Andrade.”

  Chay shrugged. “Reason enough—and favor granted.”

  “Thank you, my lord. Will you lend me two guards for the journey to Goddess Keep?”

  Tobin cocked her head to one side. “Maarken mentioned something about that. You need more than the protection of your rings? What are you carrying, Meath—information in your head or on your person?”

  He shifted uncomfortably and apologized, “I’m sorry, my lady, but I can’t tell you.”

  “Sunrunners!” Chay complained in a teasing voice. “And Sunrunner secrets! Certainly you may have your guards, Meath. I’ll order it this evening.”

  “Many thanks, my lord. And now I have something I must tell you that is also a secret, and must be discussed in private.”

  The princess’ eyebrows shot up, but she rose smoothly and suggested, “Perhaps a turn in the back gardens, by the cliff path?”

  Meath said nothing until they were strolling the gravel pathway between plantings of herbs, the surf pounding far below. No one else was in this section of the gardens, and they would be able to see any intruders long before they were within earshot. He told them about the incident in the tavern, Pol’s conclusions about it, and especially Lleyn’s conversation with him, Chadric, and Audrite afterward. Chay’s fists clenched and Tobin’s black eyes narrowed dangerously, but neither said a word until Meath had finished.

  “Does Sioned know?” Tobin asked.

  “I told her yesterday on the sunlight, my lady. She wasn’t pleased,” he added with gentle understatement.

  “I can imagine,” Chay muttered. “Well, Pol will be watched by even more eyes than usual, though none of us will breathe easy until he’s safe back at Graypearl. But the Rialla worries me. Do you think Rohan might be persuaded to change his mind and not take the boy?”

  “Sioned didn’t tell me otherwise, so they must feel they can protect him,” Meath answered.

  “And Rohan’s had this progress planned since last year. Damn!” Tobin kicked at a rock, her fists jammed into the pockets of her trousers. “I thought we’d rid ourselves of those damned Merida years ago!”

  “I don’t like to leave Pol,” Meath said slowly. “Not even to the care of his own parents. He’s that important to me, and not just as the future High Prince and the son of my old friend. I love that boy more than if he was my own son. But I must go to Goddess Keep at once.”

  “What you carry is that important?” Chay asked, then held up a hand. “Forgive me—I won’t question you any further about it, whatever it is. My best horses and two of my best people will be waiting for you tomorrow at dawn. They know the fastest and safest route.” He smiled slightly. “And they’ll look after you when you cross the rivers.”

  Meath winced. “Please, my lord—don’t remind me!”

  The faradhi left them. Chay and Tobin continued walking along the cliff path, mulling over the news. At last they sat down on a stone bench, their backs to the sea. Their castle rose before them: coveted, never breached, holding a young boy safe as he slept.

  “There’s not a hint of her in him,” Chay said suddenly. “His hair’s a little darker than Rohan’s, and his jaw’s going to be longer, but otherwise it’s as if he had no mother at all.”

  “More to the point, it’s as if Sioned very well could be his mother.”

  “When are they going to tell him?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not something anybody ever talks about. He must be told one day, I suppose—but when he’s older and can understand.”

  “You mean when circumstances force it. You know as well as I that left to herself, Sioned would never let him know she’s not his real mother.”

  “She is his real mother! In all but birthing him, Pol is Sioned’s son, not Ianthe’s!”

  Chay pressed her hand in his own. “I don’t need convincing. But what would it do to him if he found out from somebody other than her or Rohan? Every year the chance grows.”

  “Diminishes,” Tobin replied stubbornly. “There’s never been the slightest whisper. If anyone knew, they would have spoken up before now.”

  “There’s knowledge and then there’s proof,” Chay reminded her. “It’s the latter I worry about.”

  “Find me proof,” she scoffed. “The few who were at Skybowl and Stronghold love us and him and will say what Sioned and I tell them to say. As for those at Feruche—bah!” She dismissed them with an arrogant shrug. “The word of a few servants against that of two princesses!”

  Chay knew that the surge of royal arrogance meant she felt threatened. “Let’s make a case,” he suggested despite the flash of warning in her eyes. “Let’s say there are women still alive who helped Ianthe that night, washed the baby, rocked the cradle—”

  “They’d never be believed.”

  “Then count how many hundreds knew Rohan was held at Feruche. And how many of them can count the appropriate number of days without using their fingers.”

  Tobin was unperturbed. “She delivered early. They’ll think she was pregnant before she captured Rohan.”

  “So who was the father?”

  “Who knows? And who cares? They believe the baby died in the fire with her, so it doesn’t matter whose child he was.”

  Chay shook his head. “There are three elder half brothers still alive who were brought in to see their mother’s latest son. They’re not servants, Tobin. They’re the sons of a princess and three highborn lords. And what if Sioned were asked to prove that she’d borne a child? There can’t be a mark on her that would indicate it.”

  She gave him a triumphant smile. “Yes, there is! Myrdal knows of herbs that bring a woman’s milk, even when she hasn’t given birth. Nursing changes a woman’s breasts.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” he conceded. “But it still doesn’t negate the fact that there must be someone who recognized you and Sioned and Ostvel at Feruche the night the castle burned.”

  “You’re shadow-fearing like a one-ring Sunrunner, Chay.”

  He eyed her beneath frowning brows. “You don’t think Pol should be told, do you? You’d keep it a secret. Don’t you understand that he must be told? And not find out through rumors that would hurt him and make him doubt who he is! And what might be worse, rumors like that could unsettle everything Rohan’s built so far! Look at this nonsense about Roelstra’s supposed son!”

  “Chay, it’s just that: nonsense. If he dares show up at the Rialla, he’ll be laughed out of Waes. And the same thing will happen if there are ever rumors about Pol,” she finished.

  “You’re as stubborn and blind as Sioned!”


  “Stubborn, certainly. But not blind. I understand what you’re saying. But I don’t see why Pol should ever be told. The whole foundation of his life is the royal heritage from his father and the faradhi gifts he believes he gets from Sioned. How do you tell a child that he’s the grandson of someone like Roelstra—or that his father killed his grandfather?”

  “You don’t tell a child such things, no. But once he’s grown, and has his knighthood and a few Sunrunner’s rings to his credit—”

  “No. There’s no need for it.”

  Chay knew his wife’s mind well enough to know there was no further arguing with her. He rose, drew her up beside him, and they started back to the keep.

  “At least you’ll agree,” he said, “there’s a need for his physical protection right now. I’m going to set a special watch over him. Maarken’s perfect for it. He’s good with sword and knife, he’s a man grown, and a faradhi as well. Pol won’t be suspicious or resentful if it’s his cousin guarding him.”

  Tobin smiled up at him. “The way you’ve guarded Rohan.”

  “It’s another duty that Radzyn never cedes to any other Desert lord.”

  The future Lord of Radzyn was at that moment some distance physically from his inheritance and even farther removed from it in his thoughts. Maarken had left the stables mounted on Isulkian, which in the old language meant “swift wind.”

  Chay had named him for the nomadic Desert tribes that appeared and vanished as they pleased—usually to steal one of his studs. The Isulk’im never kept the stallions they spirited away, sometimes in broad daylight, and returned them in excellent condition after their mares had been serviced. He would have gladly given them a prize stallion, just to save the wear on his nerves from wondering when his horses would disappear, but the Isulk’im scorned all such offers. Borrowing a stud from under Chay’s nose was much more fun.