to be filled with a distracting horror that his own capture was only a small piece of a more elaborate plan, that everyone else was either prisoner or dead. Caged and restless, he paced the bare stone floor night after night, conjuring in his head not only the destruction of Feruche but of Castle Crag and all Princemarch. Himself at the head of the Desert armies, he laid waste to the land, exacting his vengeance. And the High Prince he executed with his own sword while the other princes and lords looked on and trembled at this demonstration of Rohan’s power.
Pretty thoughts, he told himself bitterly. A life lived by the sword, dealing out death. Land scorched and dead, thousands killed, more thousands homeless. So much for his ideals. All the splendid childish conceits of his youth sifted away like windblown sand, and he watched them disappear without any emotion but shame.
Not at their passing, or at letting them go. Shame that he had ever deluded himself in the first place. Life was not civilized. People were not disposed to follow the rule of law. They were all barbarians, and Rohan knew himself for the worst of the lot. He was a prince with the power of Desert courage and dragon wealth at his command. He had fooled himself that he was better than the others, him with his noble aims and high ambitions. At least the others had always known themselves for what they were. At least they were honest about life, looked it in the face, and did their killing without illusions.
Roelstra had the truth of it. Pit everyone against each other and collect the spoils. Rule through divisiveness and cunning. Work for dissension, not cooperation. Prey on and play on the baser emotions—greed, jealousy, cowardice—and laugh at the foolish princeling who wanted to inspire minds to honor and hearts to peace.
And of the woman who had believed with Rohan, whose steady intelligence and faith in him had reinforced his belief in himself, he dared not think at all. In betraying her he had betrayed all, for Roelstra’s daughter had the truth of him. He was the same as the High Prince, the same as every man who wished to see himself reborn. He craved a son. That first time with Ianthe, that might be excused. But the second, when he had known who she was and what she wanted of him—there could be no pardon for that.
Oh, yes, he was just like all the rest, all the self-centered barbarian princes who killed first and gloated later. But even as his mind supplied satisfying scenes of the High Prince dead beneath his sword, Rohan never conjured up Ianthe. He knew very well why. He would not kill her. Could not.
The clattering of hooves and swords in the courtyard took him to the window. Shouts echoed up the castle walls to his aerie. The massive gates, stone hinged by ancient bronze, swung outward with a sickening groan. He could not see who or what caused the commotion, only the knot of guards moving into the main yard.
“The rings!” someone shouted. “They’re helpless without them!” The knot untied itself with the struggle, and then one of the soldiers gave a crow of triumph. “I’ve got ’em! Faradhi rings!”
“Oh, sweet Goddess, no,” Rohan whispered.
Ianthe strode down the steps in a swirl of pale gown and streaming dark hair. “You idiots!” she spat. “Believing in that old tale! Give those rings to me at once! And keep an eye on her!”
The guard lost his swagger and approached his lady, bowing humbly as he placed the rings in her hand. Torchlight caught the sparkle of gold and silver and a great emerald before Ianthe gripped the rings tightly in her fist. She gestured and the guards fell back to reveal a straight, slender woman in riding clothes, her red-gold hair tumbled around her face.
“So you’ve come to claim your princeling,” Ianthe said sweetly. “How devoted. How loving. I’d expected half an army—but you were all that could be spared, I daresay. Your Desert armies are busy elsewhere, aren’t they?”
She half turned, lifting her face to Rohan’s window. He ducked back into the shadows, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing his stricken face. “Do you hear me, Rohan? With the Merida attacking in the north and my father in the south, this is all they can spare to come for you! And you their prince!”