now, before they miss us.”
“I swear to you, this is absolutely the last time I sneak anywhere with you because I have to. Not having to will be fun. But no more of this!” Rohan sat up and reached out lazily to part the curtain of branches. “It’s awfully bright upriver, for it being only dawn. Take a look.”
She moved closer, rested her chin on his shoulder, pressing herself to his muscular back. The light hurt her eyes a little and her head was beginning to throb again. But she kept silent, not wanting to spoil the peace of the morning. She squinted into the daylight and frowned. “Rohan, that’s the wrong direction for the rising sun.”
“Smell the wind,” he said tightly.
“Fire,” she breathed.
“Get dressed. Hurry.”
They ran upriver hand in hand, the rising sun at their backs, the smoke thickening as the breeze shifted. “Is it the bridge?” she asked.
“No.”
They emerged from the trees. Roelstra’s barge was an inferno rocking gently on the water, its violet sails crimson wings of flame.
Chapter Eighteen
Rumors chased each other with frantic speed from camp to camp all during the Lastday of the Rialla. Roelstra had murdered all his daughters. They had murdered him. Lady Andrade had started the fire on board the barge and killed them all. Roelstra had been deposed by persons unknown, possibly the Merida. Prince Rohan had died in the fire. He had died in Roelstra’s tent. He had called for his armies to march on Castle Crag. He would marry Princess Pandsala—no, Princess Ianthe—no, both, and take the other girls as concubines. Lady Andrade was on her way back to Goddess Keep with Princess Ianthe—Princess Pandsala—
The only thing anybody knew for certain was that the High Prince’s barge wallowed on the Faolain, gutted, smoldering, its dispirited crewmen at a tavern in Waes getting drunk. One more interesting item of known fact: Lord Chaynal had hiked up the price of his horses, which would be in great demand now that whatever was left of the Castle Crag party had to find another means of going home.
Prince Clutha of Meadowlord and Lord Jervis of Waes did themselves the courtesy of ignoring the rumors. They ordered the ceremonies to progress as usual, and by midmorning a hilltop overlooking the camps had been made ready. The highborns gathered, whispering the latest, and waited for the procession of brides. When Lady Andrade arrived, there was a collective sigh of pure relief.
Frankly curious stares greeted Roelstra’s daughters. They were lacking their father and one sibling, and were dressed as richly as brides themselves. Pandsala’s absence fueled speculation that she was the Chosen of Prince Rohan; Ianthe’s sullen face seemed to confirm this. But when the wedding procession came up the flower-strewn hillside, the missing princess was not among the brides.
One of the first to step forth and be married was young Lord Eltanin of Tiglath, who still looked stunned at his success in winning Jervis’ middle daughter. She was a small, delicate girl with golden-brown hair and the musical name Antalya, meaning “spring cup” in the old language, and with wildflowers plaited in her hair and in bracelets around her arms, she was the embodiment of youthful beauty. As she was presented by her father to her new husband, she looked up at Eltanin with radiant eyes. Rohan, as the young man’s overlord, presented him to his bride with an elegant flourish. Andrade called Goddess blessing down on the pair, and Tobin was sure her brother would start dancing with delight. An alliance between his vassal and the powerful athri of Waes would strengthen his ties with Meadowlord; Clutha’s lands were a buffer between the Desert and Princemarch, and Jervis was Clutha’s man. Yet Tobin also detected a more personal joy in her brother’s smile. It was only natural that a young man who had won his own lady would wish all those around him equal happiness. Tobin had heard from Camigwen that Sioned had not returned to their tent the previous night, and wondered whimsically what kept Rohan from calling out his delight to the whole world.
Younger sons had found brides, heiresses had found husbands, and the parade of fathers and overlords leading young men and women to receive Andrade’s blessing went on and on. A sweet breeze from the east had blown away the lingering smoke from the dawn fire on the river, and the day shone with the last of late-summer brilliance. The hilltop was the perfect setting in which to begin a