She reviewed the princesses’ descriptions of the faradhi girl, stripping them of jealousy and adding to them Roelstra’s own words about Crigo’s uselessness. This time his need for a new woman had coincided with his need for a new Sunrunner—and this Sioned was his choice for both.
Palila used the energy of panic to lever herself up from her couch. Her back ached as she went to the wardrobe and searched the lower shelves for a small packet always kept with her lesser jewels. Dranath was an herb that increased its potency over time, and this packet was very old indeed—one of the first given her by the old mountain witch. She grunted as she got to her feet with the drug clutched in her hand, returning to the couch out of breath after even this small exertion. Crigo would be brought to her here, and have a strong dose tonight; the barge could be in the worst storm off Goddess Keep and he would think himself on dry land. He would need all the false strength dranath could give him, for tonight he would do for her what he had not done in more than five winters. He would deliberately seek another faradhi’s colors on the moonlight.
Andrade sat in a comfortable chair, a plate of food on her lap and a wry smile on her lips. The atmosphere of Rohan’s outdoor dinner party was romantic enough even for her fool of a nephew. Torches cast golden light over faces made rosy by wine, a breeze off the river stirred the huge buckets of flowers around the perimeter of the dancing area, and musicians played lilting tunes she recalled from her girlhood. Immune to the ambience, she watched the couples around her succumb to it—several young highborns and their Chosen ladies whom she herself would unite on the morrow, and various married couples who should have been long past such nonsense. Camigwen and Ostvel had eyes for no one but each other; Chay and Tobin were behaving as if they’d just fallen in love, standing over by Rohan’s tent feeding each other wine-soaked berries and giggling like children. Andrade sighed. She would be hard-pressed to find some intelligent conversation tonight. Thank the Goddess she had never lost either heart or head to a man. Still, as she watched a young lord glide by with his intended wife on his arm, she wondered briefly what she might be missing.
Urival approached, slightly unsteady as he balanced a bowl of fruit and wine in one hand and a goblet in the other. He sank down at her feet, smiled happily up at her, and announced, “Wonderful evening!”
“Anything becomes bearable after enough wine. How many is that for you?” She nodded at his winecup.
“My lady,” he said with mock regret, “I’ve lost count.” Then he grinned. “Rohan’s being a bit obvious, isn’t he?”
“Aren’t they all? Still, it’s good to see them happy. May the Goddess keep her blessing on them.” Her gaze sought Roelstra automatically. He was seated beneath a tree with several of his daughters.
“Don’t worry,” Urival soothed. “He hasn’t done a thing tonight except smile and eat. He doesn’t even notice what a fool Rohan’s making of himself.”
“He’s not being foolish. Sioned won’t let him.” Andrade chuckled. “Watch now—he’s gone over to her again. She’ll frown just a little, back off, and—there, she’s away!”
“It’s a good thing one of them is still sober. Were we ever that young, do you think?”
“Longer ago than I care to remember, my friend.”
Urival laughed. “Have some more wine, and you might remember more than is good for your dignity.”
Rohan, deprived of the object of his desires, went to his sister and appropriated her goblet right out of her hand. “I’m thirsty,” he explained.
“Rohan! Give that back! And stop being such an idiot with Sioned. You’re supposed to be a witless prince who hasn’t yet made up his mind—not a truly witless one who can’t hide the fact that he’s in love, or drunk, or both!”
He grinned at her, holding the goblet high out of her reach. “Neither Ianthe nor Pandsala is here yet, and they’re the only serious pretenders to my royal hand and arm and all the rest of me. Besides, I haven’t said more than ten words to Sioned all evening.” He paused. “I may dance with her, though.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“I suppose you’re right,” he sighed. “If I touched her, it wouldn’t end with just a dance.”
Chay, who had been listening with an indulgent smile,