and smiles, the warmth of her colors. Though Sioned had walled herself off to all other faradh’im and Tobin was the one who received messages on the sunlight, at this moment she was filled with recollections of that first joyous weaving of sunlight, lessons learned and practiced with Cami. How young they had been, how eager to discover their gifts, how excited by the wonders to be seen and felt on the light, how entranced by this incredible thing they could do. Sioned remembered what it had been like, and instinct opened her mind and heart to the sunlight around her.
She felt the colors of the music—sapphire and diamond and topaz and amethyst, all shot through with pulsing silvery shadows. Tilting her head back, she presented her face to the sun, eyes closed, watching her own colors form the distinctive pattern she used to weave the thread of light. Yet the lute colors were strangely insistent, swirling in momentary chaos before resolving into a coherent pattern—as if they belonged to a living being instead of wire and wood.
Help me!
Sioned could not help but respond to that cry. Master Sunrunner’s training took over and swiftly she meshed the hues together, perceiving the unique design of a clever, even devious mind, unfamiliar to her but carrying something oddly familiar in its undertones.
Goddess blessing, Sunrunner—I’ve been trying for days to find you. Your colors are well-known, but you haven’t wanted to be found—and I can well understand why. Please—don’t withdraw from me—please!
Sioned did not withdraw, but neither did she venture down the sunlight to discover who had called to her thus. Tense and wary, she examined the pattern and found little to reassure her. There were shadows here, and flickers of diamond-white that was the color of cunning.
I’ve only three rings—I’m no danger to you! Listen to me, please! I know things your prince will need if he’s to defeat Roelstra. Prince Jastri is angry and hot-headed, and instead of being chastened by his losses in battle he chafes for vengeance. He commands over three hundred. He will not obey Roelstra if temptation enough is provided him. Give him a reason!
The deeper colors burned, outlined in Fire now, hatred clear. Sioned drew back, uncertain where that hate was directed.
Believe me! Would I dare this if I was not sincere? I want to help you!
“Sioned?”
Startled, she lost the pattern, and a faint cry echoed away into the sunlight. She opened her eyes and saw Ostvel, lute in one hand, staring at her.
“I was just thinking,” she managed in a fairly natural voice. “Forgive me, Ostvel, I didn’t mean to intrude on your music.”
“You didn’t. I’d finished.” He glanced away. “Sioned, I have to talk to you. Tobin heard from Kleve in Tiglath this morning.”
“What does he say?”
“No change. Minor skirmishes, but the siege continues. Walvis is worried and impatient, and that’s a dangerous combination. They need a battle to lift their spirits.” He smiled ruefully at the irony.
“Death to make them more hopeful of life.” She shook her head. “What are we doing to these children, Ostvel? Walvis should still be practicing with his sword, not using it in earnest. And Maarken—he should be learning the arts of a gentleman, not a warrior.”
“At, least they’re doing something.” Ostvel shrugged irritably. “I feel like one of Roelstra’s daughters caged up in Castle Crag.”
Sioned gaped at him for a moment, then threw her arms around him, laughing. “Roelstra’s daughters! Ostvel, you’re brilliant!” Not giving him the chance to voice any of his bewilderment, she ran for the keep, shouting for Tobin.
Rohan knew very well that the option of playing idiot was no longer open to him. Between his first Rialla and this campaign to save his princedom had come six years of capable government and ample demonstration that he was no fool. Yet his experts at war were taken aback when, on the twentieth morning after his arrival, he ordered them to break camp and move back from the Faolain. He smiled slightly, glad that the notion of retreat was abhorrent to them, and waited for them to understand.
Chay’s captain, Gryden, saw it first. “Draw them into the Long Sand, your grace?”
“Exactly. I want the troops spread out as thinly as we dare, always keeping some in sight of the sea. You’ll all leave at different times and by different routes. Confusion is the idea here, with the hint that some of you are thinking about going home. Three days from now I want this area