set before her, a spire with a spun-sugar flag flying from a candy pole. “I don’t know,” she said to Lleyn in all honesty. “But I intend to try.”
Roelstra endured the feasting, sustained by his hate, and spent the dinner counting up those he intended to destroy. It was an interesting list, worthy of a High Prince. Andrade was at the top, followed by that Sunrunner witch in her white-and-silver dress and emeralds who sat next to Rohan looking like a living flame. The princeling was next, and for good measure his sister and her insufferable lord as well. He would obliterate the entire family—leaf, branch, and root. Ianthe would help him do it, for she had learned life’s most important lesson: how to hate. He would teach her its real power; how it could be fostered in others; how to create suspicion and division through skillful use of half-truths and insinuations, the manner in which he had presided over the princedoms for years. She would be an apt pupil, for of all his daughters she was the most like him. But because of this, he would never fully trust her.
As soon as he could decently do so, he left Clutha’s absurd silken grotto. No one would expect him to stay. There had been lifted brows at his appearance here tonight, for all knew of the “tragedy” on board his ship. On the walk back to his tent he consoled himself with the memory of Palila’s screams as he set fire first to the hangings of the bed and then to her lovely hair. It had burned like fine dry grass across a prairie. Roelstra found it a great pity smoke had so quickly filled the room, forcing him to leave; he would have enjoyed watching her flesh crisp.
After dismissing his servants, he gave orders that the single male visitor who would come to his tent that night be admitted without challenge. Then he reclined in a silken chair, his head resting against a cushion. When he closed his eyes he could see Sioned. Last night she had been within his grasp. No woman had ever refused him before, and she would live to regret it—live a very long time in the most exquisite torments he could devise, after he had possessed her in all the ways imagination could suggest.
Roelstra could wait for his vengeance, however. This was the essential aspect of hate that Ianthe had yet to learn. Rohan would be expecting a move against his lands, and with every season that passed, every year without a blow struck back, the princeling’s nerves would tighten another notch. Clever as he was, not even Rohan would be able to guess the direction from which Roelstra’s vengeance would come.
The candles had burned low behind their colored crystal screens by the time he heard quiet footsteps outside. He lifted his head and assumed the pose of a prince granting favors, determined that the man he had summoned would not consider himself in a position to bargain. But the expected visitor did not enter his tent. Rohan did.
They stared at each other for some time in silence, taking measure not as princes but as sworn enemies. Roelstra noted that the youth had taken off his fine clothes and jewels, and was clad in a simple dark outfit and scuffed black boots. He did not want to remember the strength of Rohan’s grip, the lithe muscular body. Bred to the harsh Desert, this man took wealth for granted but would never be softened by luxury. The High Prince realized that he no longer thought of Rohan as a boy. A man had been created during the days of the Rialla—mature, confident, and powerful.
“Tell me about the dranath,” Rohan said at last.
“Still feeling it, is she?” Roelstra shrugged. “She’ll survive.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s grown only in the Veresch. There’s nothing to counteract it, if that’s what you’re after. She’ll suffer until it’s cleaned out of her blood.” Roelstra smiled. “There’s more over in the desk—second drawer at the back. I didn’t give her quite enough to addict on a first dose, but she may relish another taste.”
“What does it do?”
“Haven’t you been listening? It addicts, worse than wine to a man or woman with that weakness. Because once it has strong hold, stopping the dose kills.”
“You used it on the other faradhi to control him.”
“Of course.”
Never relinquishing Roelstra’s gaze, Rohan moved to the desk, opened it, and felt around for the small packet. He slipped it into