brilliance of white snow beneath her, then flung her skeins westward to Fessenden. A hard winter for them, too, she saw; snow still heavy on the ground, fishing boats huddled in the harbors, the port city of Einar shivering in the chill sunlight. She would gather reports soon from the Sunrunner assigned to the court there, and find out what help Lord Kuteyn’s widow needed to replenish her winter-ravaged lands.
A quick glance over Kierst-Isel heartened her; garrisons along the borders were at ease this spring where they normally bristled for the usual skirmishes. Memory of Rohan’s proposal of legally set boundaries made her smile; perhaps Volog and Saumer had at long last decided who owned what. A leap across the wide bay between the island and the mainland, and she was over a Meadowlord soggy with spring runoff. As often as she wondered why the ancient faradh’im had built Goddess Keep on this fog-bound coast, she gave thanks that they had not chosen the marshy lowland with their muggy summers and never-ending supply of insects.
Farther, to Syr that lay between rivers, rich land and fertile, the soil dark with new turning and planting—and a nostalgic glance at her own childhood home of Catha Freehold that had never belonged to any but her own family who had never bent the knee to any prince. On her father’s death it had reverted to Syr, for she had given up all claim to it and it was too far from the Desert for Zehava to rule effectively. The plain stone tower rose proud and white in a hollow between low hills, within sighting distance—for a faradhi on the wing—of Sioned’s family’s River Run. She paused to survey the huge holding, and frowned as she discovered that it, too, was nearly empty.
One place left to go today; snowbound Firon and Cunaxa could wait for another time. She wanted to see the Desert, look in on Stronghold and the Long Sand, possibly glimpse the two who ruled there as wisely and well as she had always known they would. But as she glided once more over Syrene fields, she saw tents. Horses. Archers and sword-soldiers drilling in strict formation. And on a rise overlooking the whole were two huge pavilions: one turquoise, one violet. Syr and Princemarch, camped not a day’s march from the Desert border.
Andrade hurried to Faolain Lowland, Lord Baisal’s holding that seethed with activity under Chaynal’s red-and-white battle flag. Fury stung her. Why had no one told her of this? And why were Rohan’s own colors not flying? And who belonged to that black and green flag set up in the fields outside the manor, where troops organized for war?
Though powerfully motivated to find Sioned and demand an explanation, Andrade returned instead to Goddess Keep. She would have to inform the other princes through her faradh’im at their courts. Yet as she passed over Lake Kadar, she gasped aloud in shock. Along the main road there marched a considerable force of men-at-arms, with officers on horseback and red-and-yellow pennants proclaiming them soldiers of young Lord Lyell of Waes. They were headed directly for Goddess Keep.
By nightfall Andrade’s anger had steadied into a slow, fierce hate. She called everyone into the hall and waited in an awful silence for all of them to assume their seats at the long tables, Urival and the senior faradh’im to one side of her, the others in descending order of rank all around.
“Troops belonging to Lord Lyell of Waes, betrothed now to the High Prince’s daughter Kiele, have set up his banner in a camp outside our gates. We are told it is for our protection. We are told Lord Lyell is concerned for our safety in these troubled times, with High Prince Roelstra and Prince Jastri of Syr camped near the Desert border and the Merida besieging Tiglath. We are told Lord Lyell takes on himself the duty of defending us. We are told he does this because he knows faradh’im are forbidden to kill, even in their own defense.” She paused and smiled grimly. “We are told many things—most of which are lies.
“Many of you have ridden the sunlight today, seeking information. Sometimes you have sought other faradh’im in vain, for they have been locked away out of the light by lords and princes allied to Roelstra. They are as captive as we are—and as Prince Rohan is at Feruche Castle.”
Most had not known of this, and a startled murmuring went through the assembly. Andrade