leathers that clung to the long muscles of his thighs, and his open-throated shirt revealed an expanse of strong chest, sun-browned from long days outside. He stood before her, boots planted firmly on the sandy beach, scowling.
“You’re giving me that look again,” she observed.
“You were far away from me again,” he countered.
“I’m always right here, love.”
“Your body, yes.” He dropped down beside her and rested his elbows on his drawn-up knees, staring out at the Sunrise Water. “I can’t say I understand where the rest of you goes.” He shrugged. “Just so you always come back, Tobin. I keep thinking about what happened the night of Zehava’s ritual. I almost lost you.”
Tobin looked down at her hands. On the middle finger of the left was the first Sunrunner’s ring, sent by Andrade two years ago, set with a small chunk of rough amber. Talisman against danger, she reminded herself, and sighed. She felt the need of protection now.
She and Chaynal had gone out riding early, trying the paces of two newly broken mares along the beach below Radzyn Keep. The sea was laced with white foam as it reached greedily onto the sand. A measure to the north along the bay was their port district where ships of all sizes folded their sails to become a winter-bare forest of masts as cargoes were off-loaded. It was good to see ships in the harbor again; their presence meant trade was at last resuming its usual pattern after the desperate years of the Plague and its after-math. Radzyn was the only safe anchorage along the Desert coast, and Chay’s forebears had grown rich on trade long before they had started breeding the finest horses on the continent.
Tobin had brought an impromptu breakfast along, and after tethering the horses to a driftwood log had spread out a feast of flaky pastries stuffed with fruit and meat. But the morning had been interrupted in a fashion she had grown more or less accustomed to over the years, for a gentle whisper had touched her mind, and with it the feel of Sioned’s colors. Once again she had been caught up in this strange and wondrous thing Sioned had taught her how to do. As many times as they had communicated this way, she was always enchanted by the sweet clarity of her sister-by-marriage’s light. Though at times there were darker accents when Sioned was troubled or unhappy, the colors were always fresh and shone with the beauty of her spirit. Tobin treasured her touch.
Her gaze returned to Chay and another smile crossed her features. He was made of ruby and emerald and sapphire, all the deep strong hues that were the perfect foil for her own amber and amethyst and diamond. It had impressed Sioned that Tobin thought exclusively in gem colors, for the faradh’im of old had symbolized their patterns of light with precious stones and considered them representative of certain powers and qualities of spirit. It had pleased Tobin that Andrade’s gift of a first Sunrunner’s ring had been set with amber. And the thought of protection against danger returned her thoughts to where they had begun.
“Rohan’s going dragon-hunting up around Skybowl, perhaps even as far north as Feruche,” she said.
Chay stared at her. “You’re joking! I’ve told that idiot he shouldn’t ride within fifty measures of Feruche!”
“When have any of us ever been able to tell him anything?” she asked rhetorically. Digging her fingers into the warm sand, she felt the gritty coolness beneath, the pressure that trapped her hands. “Sioned doesn’t seem worried about it.”
“But there’s something else, isn’t there? And it’s not hard to guess what.” Chay shook his head. “She’s bound to have heard the rumors. There are several vassals who want Rohan to put her aside for another wife, or at least take a mistress who’ll give him an heir.”
“And she’s just fool enough to listen. Chay, she’d never give him up—and he’d never let her go.”
“Sweet wife, everybody knows that. But you know who the heir presumptive is, don’t you? And that means I can’t say a word. If I defend Sioned, they’ll think I want Maarken to be the next prince. And I’m damned if I’ll encourage the idea of a new wife or a mistress!”
“There has to be something we can do. I’m not sure Maarken would want the burden of a princedom. He’s been so fragile since Jahni died.” She could still see him wandering around Radzyn, searching for his brother, or waking