princes after you’re dead?” Laughing, she went on, “Princes! Goddess, that’s funny! They’ll rip your lands apart from one end to the other! Anything Ianthe gave birth and suck to would turn out vile.”
“She and I have that in common,” Roelstra observed coldly. “I gave your little sister the name I should have given you—having betrayed first me, and now Andrade.”
“You’re right, I don’t expect you to trust me. But I can be useful, Father. And you were never stupid.”
They watched each other for some time—Roelstra calculating, Pandsala confident with the assurance of one who had nothing to lose.
“Very well,” he said abruptly. “Serve me. But trust in one thing. If you betray me again, your years with Andrade will seem a carnival of delight compared to what will happen to you.”
“How could I doubt it, Father?” She smiled again, stretched languidly. “May I share your breakfast? It was a longer trip than I thought from where I left Andrade and Urival and Chiana.”
He gave a start and saw her satisfaction at his reaction. But before he could ask his questions, a guard burst into the tent, barely remembered to salute, and gasped out, “Your pardon, your grace—there’s a rider here who demands audience at once!”
Roelstra half-rose to his feet, then sank back into his chair, slanting a look at his daughter. “Leave me. I’ll call for you again shortly.”
She arched her brows, but left the tent without comment. Roelstra gestured and the rider was brought in. When the man had given his news, he summoned Pandsala again and met her outside in the sunlight.
“I do intend to use you, my dear,” he told her. “And it seems I must trust you a little in order to do so. Show me now that you’re worth those rings you wear. Find Rohan.”
“I’m an apprentice, not a fully trained faradhi!”
He relished the apprehension in her eyes. “Then train yourself, and quickly. I want to know where Rohan is. Do it, Pandsala—or find out what happens when your father is angry.” He smiled, menace in his eyes.
She swallowed hard, then faced the sunlight and closed her eyes. He watched her tremble and wondered why of all his daughters by Lallante this was the one with the gift. Then again, had it been Ianthe—
Pandsala gasped and her eyes flew open. “I saw them! Rohan and the faradhi princess—and dragons, out in the Desert—I saw them!”
Roelstra nodded, pleased that she had passed the test. “Excellent.”
“But I don’t understand!” she cried. “Why did Ianthe let them go?”
“For reasons of her own.”
“You knew about this?”
“The courier who just arrived told me.” He took her back into the tent and poured wine for them both. “The night before she released him, the signal fires were lit. All across the Veresch to Castle Crag, where a boat waited to sail down the Faolain more swiftly than a rider could go.”
“But Lord Chaynal is upriver—”
“Precisely. Horses were waiting. And now I know what Lord Chaynal does not.” He smiled, thinking that only he and Ianthe shared another interesting piece of information, which would remain secret until the time was right. He, Ianthe—and Rohan.
Pandsala took a swallow of wine—and suddenly turned white, staring into the cup in horror. Roelstra choked laughing.
“Oh, that’s rich! What did you expect—dranath? Don’t be an idiot, Pandsala! When did I have the chance to drug the wine?” He took the cup from her and drank, mocking her.
She calmed down, but the fear was still in her eyes. He enjoyed it, knowing she would not eat or drink without first having to overcome terror of the drug. The constant uncertainty would keep her honest, though he would never really trust her.
“So we’ve each passed the first test,” he told her. I’ve restrained myself from binding you to me with dranath, and you’ve confirmed on the sunlight something I already knew.” He lifted his cup to her. “Shall we drink to mutual trust, my dear?”
The noon sun beat down on Rohan’s unprotected head and back. He knew they had to stop soon and find shelter from the worst of the day’s heat. The morning had passed in absolute silence as they rode past the empty garrison below Ferache and out into the Desert, keeping close to the hills where they could find a little shade. He led the way, shamed by his gratitude that he did not have to look at his wife.
Usually when he was confused or troubled, a ride through the stark beauty of his lands