them shouted Rohan’s name, and the cry was taken up, turned into a chant, bellowed out loud enough to be heard by Roelstra all the way across the river. Rohan paused on his way to the tent, his people’s excitement and faith catching painfully at his heart. He lifted a hand to accept the tribute, then sought refuge in the cool, dim interior of the tent.
Maarken, acting as Chay’s squire, presented chairs and goblets of wine to his princely uncle and his father, then stood waiting for further orders. Both men sat, drank, and stared at each other for a time. Chay roused himself first.
“That will be all, Maarken,” he told his son. “Come back later to remove my things from here and—”
“No!” Rohan exclaimed. Then, more calmly as he saw their startlement. “No, I don’t fancy being alone in this great wind-tunnel you call a tent, Chay. Maarken, you and Tilal set up a bed for me in here, please.”
“I’m honored to serve you, my prince.” The boy bowed to him.
Again Rohan felt himself smile, and it felt more natural this time. “You’ve grown up, I see. Lleyn has taught you very well. But I think here in private we may be as we always were to each other.”
The stiffness went out of the young body and Maarken gave him a smile. “I could hardly believe it when I felt Sioned’s colors on the sun and she told me you were both safe! Did you hear the soldiers shouting for you? They say your dragons protect you—and their strength and cunning come with you.”
“Is that what they say?”
The edge in his voice darkened Chay’s quicksilver eyes. “You can go now, son. I’ll call when you’re needed.”
“Yes, my lord.” Maarken bowed, formal again, and left them.
“Very grown up,” Rohan observed. “You must be proud.”
“I am,” Chay said simply. “Tell me what Sioned didn’t tell Maarken.”
Rohan shrugged. “I don’t know that she left anything out.”
Chay leaned back with a snort of derision. “This is me, Rohan. I’ve known you practically from a hatchling, my lord dragon prince. What happened at Feruche?”
“What you really mean is why did Ianthe let us go.” He took a long swallow of wine. “Swear to me that this goes no further. On your sword and the lives of your sons, Chay—swear.”
The older man froze for a moment. Then, slowly, he said, “You know me better, so you must be trying to impress me with how serious this is. Very well. I so swear.”
“I meant no insult.” He rolled the goblet between his hands, staring down into the swirling dark wine. “Sioned—” The catch in his voice humiliated him. “She’s emptied Stronghold again. Those not with me went to Skybowl to take care of the Merida there, and will go on to Walvis at Tiglath. She says—and Tobin agrees with her—that if anyone gets close enough to threaten Stronghold again, there won’t be anyone left to save it for anyway.”
“Logical,” Chay grunted. “Why are women always so logical?”
“Most of the servants went to Remagev with the twins. Only a few stayed behind at Stronghold—those loyal enough to lie.”
“About what?”
“Ah. Then she didn’t tell Maarken.” He took another swallow of wine. “There’s to be a child in midwinter. Ianthe got what she wanted of me.”
Chay’s expressive face was immobile with shock. Rohan shrugged.
“Aren’t you going to ask how she managed it? The first time I thought she was Sioned. The second time—I raped her. I should have killed her. I didn’t. She timed it perfectly and now she’s carrying my child. Sioned says it will be a boy. Beyond that she doesn’t say much at all. She won’t talk to me, Chay, and I can’t talk to her, I can’t—”
“No more,” Chay whispered. “This can wait.”
“I have to talk to someone!”
Chay set his winecup down and rose, deliberately looming over Rohan. “You have an army awaiting your commands. You have an enemy across the river who wants you dead. Feel sorry for yourself some other time—when you have the time!”
Rohan knew he was being manipulated and part of him hated Chay for it. But this brother in all but blood was right—damn him. He saw the hard eyes watching for telltale changes in his face, and turned away. But even that movement was enough.
“That’s better,” Chay said, resuming his seat. “Now that you’re capable of thinking again, turn that mental maze of yours to this. I’ve given Roelstra ten days to get half his army across the bridges,