no attack, but the signs of it rise with the sand on the horizon. Walvis plans and prepares, and we wait for your orders.
Sioned nodded, pleased. Goddess blessing, Sunrunner. Continue preparing for war, as is being done in the south where Roelstra’s armies are camped across the Faolain. There will be no help. You must do all on your own. Tell Walvis he is not to attempt an attack on Feruche. He must defend Tiglath. The prince will soon be freed, I promise. Now open yourself to me, Kleve, and I will show you Princess Tobin’s colors. Send to her from now on. She is not faradhi-trained, and will not be able to reply to you, but give her any information you would give to me.
My lady—what of you? What will you do?
I don’t matter. Watch now, and feel, so you’ll be able to find her on the sunlight.
She concentrated on relaying the bright and lovely pattern that was Tobin to the faraway Sunrunner. When she was sure he could recognize and contact the princess, she unraveled their connecting ribbons of light before he could ask further questions.
“I trust you’re finished, and can come in out of this glare,” Ostvel, said.
She glanced at him, surprised by his presence. “Yes. Walvis will know soon that help cannot come from the south. He’ll have to lead the defense of Tiglath himself.” She looked around the courtyard, a chaos of people and noise and brightness that suddenly dizzied her. “Ostvel—take me inside before I fall over,” she breathed.
He was careful to make it appear as if his hand at her elbow was only a courtesy offered a princess, for it would not do for her to seem weak. The steps were endless, but at last she was in her chambers, sinking into a soft chair by the windows. Ostvel brought her water and a wet cloth as she unwound the heavy scarf from her head and let her hair fall free.
“Seventeen winters old,” she whispered. “Walvis is too young to lead an army, Ostvel. Goddess help me, what am I doing to him.”
“Nothing he wouldn’t be insulted if you hadn’t asked him to do. Here, let me get your boots.”
“I have women to serve me,” she protested.
“But none you’d want to see you in this condition,” he said unanswerably. He mopped her face and neck with the damp cloth, then helped her with the hot dragonhide boots. “Now, you’re going to rest until sunset.”
“If I do, will you send Maeta up to me then?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “What do you want the guards commander for?”
“I’m responsible for Stronghold’s defenses,” she said, ready with the diversionary answer.
“No,” he corrected. “I am. But I’ll send her up at sunset, and not an instant before.”
When he was gone she did not go into the next chamber to rest, unwilling even to look at the bed she shared with Rohan. Instead she stretched out in a lounge chair that had been a gift from Princess Milar, closed her eyes, and systematically relaxed her body from toes to fingertips. But she did not really rest. She planned her attack on Feruche.
When Maeta arrived, Sioned was ready. The commander had inherited her position from her mother, the redoubtable Myrdal, who still held considerable sway over the troops even in her retirement. Myrdal might or might not have been Prince Zehava’s half-sister; the respect accorded her and her daughter was due not so much to their possible kinship with their rulers, but to their own reputations as warriors. Sioned offered Maeta a comfortable seat and refreshment, wondering how much the woman knew of what was happening.
Everything, it seemed. Her first words were, “With the Merida on one front and the High Prince on the other, we’ll have much to do in freeing Rohan.”
Relieved that she would not have to make long explanations, Sioned told her, “I see Ostvel and the men have been talking. Good. Maeta, I need the strongest, fastest horse in the stables, a waterskin and food, and absolute secrecy. And I need them all tonight.”
Maeta bit into a marsh apple, chewed, swallowed, and replied, “There’s a gate near the grotto you can use. It lets out into the cliffs, with room enough for a single rider to pass safely and quietly.”
Sioned blinked. “Rohan never told me about—”
“That’s because he doesn’t know. One day my mother and I will have to show you all Zehava’s improvements. Milar wasn’t the only one to leave her mark on Stronghold.”