“You owe me. The Sunrunner you corrupted died tonight.”
“Crigo’s dead?” Roelstra looked shaken.
“It was an accident,” Palila said feverishly, leaning forward, hands outstretched and quivering like delicate leaves. “He took too much, and I—”
“Silence!” Roelstra shouted at her, and she cringed back again.
“I’ll take Pandsala as payment,” Andrade said, and Ianthe chortled inside. “And the new child as well. The last thing you need is yet another daughter. Give them to me.”
“Living death in Goddess Keep,” he mused, eyes shining with cruel humor, and Pandsala screamed. “Very well. They’re yours.”
“Father—no!”
“What about Palila?” Andrade asked.
“You won’t deny she deserves death for killing your faradhi. I’m sure your precious Sioned has told you all about dranath by now, hasn’t she? Pity I didn’t kill her with it tonight.”
The High Prince and the Lady of Goddess Keep confronted each other and Ianthe watched, bewildered. What had really happened tonight with Sioned?
“Don’t interfere, Andrade. I warn you.” He paused, “Ianthe.”
She stood, wary in spite of the victory she was almost sure she’d won.
“Show her to me.”
She came forward and held out the baby. He looked at it for a moment, then unwrapped the violet blanket to make sure the child was indeed female. “Chiana,” he said. “Name her that, Andrade, so she’ll always know.”
Ianthe hid a flinch. The word meant “treason” in the old tongue. Andrade took the child from her and glanced down at the weeping Pandsala.
“Get up. The first thing you’ll learn is that a Sunrunner kneels to no one. Not even a High Prince.”
“Unless he is my Sunrunner, not yours,” Roelstra said, and Andrade shot him a vicious glance.
Ianthe looked into Pandsala’s eyes, eyes that were glazed with hopeless terror, unable to believe what had happened. All at once she seemed to recognize Ianthe and surged to her feet, hands closing around her sister’s neck.
Roelstra dragged his daughters apart. Pandsala collapsed onto the carpet and Ianthe swallowed hard past the ache in her throat. The High Prince flung open the cabin door, shouting for guards to take Pandsala to Andrade’s tent—bound and gagged if necessary. Ianthe heard her scream once in the passageway, a howl of hate and despair, and she shivered.
Then there was silence. Palila was too frightened to do more than lie mute with terror in her bed. Andrade held the baby close, staring at Roelstra.
“Where is Crigo?” she asked.
“I’ll have him delivered to your tent, if you wish.”
“Do that,” she snapped.
Ianthe drew back from the fierceness of their emotions. This was an ancient loathing, far more powerful than any she had ever seen before. It had a bitter life all its own and writhed almost visibly in the space between them.
“I’ll destroy him,” Roelstra said suddenly. “His marriage will finish him.”
“You wished a similar marriage long ago with another Sunrunner.”
“So that’s what gave you the idea. Did you take my anger into account when you arranged it?”
“Your anger is your own problem. I arranged nothing. The Goddess—”
“Usually does what you tell her to. Make what excuses you like. If you believe his sons will follow after him, you’re mistaken.”
“This from the man who still believes he can have a son of his own?” She laughed maliciously. “Find yourself another mistress, Roelstra! Get another dozen women with child! There will be no son for you!”
“Get out!” he roared.
Andrade’s laughter seemed to echo in the cabin long after she had slammed the door behind her. Ianthe sank into a chair and closed her eyes. She had won. If Roelstra believed her—and even if he did not—she had won. He had not condemned her along with Pandsala.
“Roelstra—oh, no, my lord, please—for the sake of our children—”
Ianthe’s head snapped up. Palila cowered back into white pillows, her eyes huge as she stared transfixed at the candle Roelstra had taken from a table.
“I remember the fire, Palila,” he said almost tenderly, and she whimpered. “Did you hear the dragoncry tonight?”
Ianthe leaped to her feet. She had never heard that note in her father’s voice before—and she wanted out. Now. He sensed the movement and, without turning, commanded, “Stay.” Ianthe froze, barely breathing. Roelstra moved closer to Palila’s bed, holding the naked candle. Its flame licked hungrily at the air.
“Do you know where Feruche is, Ianthe?” he asked.
“Yes, Father.”
“It sits on the border between Princemarch and the Desert,” he went on. “I’ve been thinking about Feruche for some time now, and whom I could place there. It must be someone I can trust.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Do