a humble little plant, growing only in the highest reaches of the Veresch, but incredibly potent when boiled, dried, and refined to powder. Crigo was its slave, and because Roelstra was master of his dranath supply, the Sunrunner was Roelstra’s slave as well. It was a pity so useful a tool was wearing out.
Inhaling deeply of the moist breeze off the river, he thought of the dry heat of the Desert and grinned. One of his daughters would soon find out how people survived there. The Goddess had not cursed him with so many female offspring for nothing. Prince Zehava would be dead soon; by late summer when the Hatching Hunt was over, the new prince would be seen for the weakling he was. At the Rialla in autumn, Rohan would find himself matched to one of the princesses and overmatched in his dealings with their father.
Roelstra stretched his powerful shoulders and smiled, thoughts of the Rialla bringing to mind the beach at Brochwel Bay and making love to Palila there. But he reminded himself that pregnancy would have swollen her to grotesque proportions by then. Roelstra preferred very slender women. But if her looks were lost for the sake of bearing a son—He bit his lip against a hope that surely ought to have died after seventeen daughters.
Which one should be Rohan’s bride? Naydra might do; Lenala was impossible. Pandsala or Ianthe—now, there was a thought. Beautiful, brilliant Ianthe. But would she come to relish power and forget who had given it to her by making her Rohan’s wife? He tried to identify the faces and characteristics of his other girls, and could not; there were so damned many of them. Still, the fact that they had rarely been called to his notice led him to believe that they might be more trustworthy than Ianthe. Women who wanted his attention inevitably wanted something more—gowns, jewelry, trinkets to keep them content for a while before they desired more. Those things were easy compared to doling out power. No true child of his would ever be content with anything less.
Which of them would understand his goals and play the game with relish to match his own? Which of them could be used best and trusted most? It was a pretty problem, and he mulled it over as he gazed down at his girls. A pity Kiele was too young; aside from Ianthe and Pandsala, she showed the most spirit. But perhaps one of the others would surprise him. He would have to keep an eye on them over the rest of the summer.
Whichever one it turned out to be, he would have to provide handsomely for her. A nice, fat dowry, and the border castle of Feruche thrown in, none of it very hard to part with because within ten years he would have it all back, and the Desert itself besides. All the wealth of mines and salt, horses and silk trade would be his. He would have everything.
Except a son.
Crigo shivered in the day’s warmth as he crept between the bed-sheets. His head ached abominably, his tongue was thick in his mouth with the wanting of dranath, and his fingers shook as he clenched blankets in his fists. But he was used to the physical discomfort and knew how much of it he could take. What he had never grown used to was the betrayal of everything he was.
Five years ago he had been on his way north to Fessenden, assigned by Lady Andrade to replace a faradhi killed in a climbing accident. Crigo had been thrilled by the honor and enchanted by the long journey overland, for aside from Goddess Keep and his home farm in Grib, he had never been anywhere in his life. He’d sent his impressions back on the sunlight to his friends at Goddess Keep, keeping them amused and envious for many days. But just inside Princemarch it had been necessary to cross a branch of the Faolain River, and even that short row over placid water had left him insensible. And that was when the High Prince’s men had taken him.
Crigo had not been bound; there had been no need. All they had had to do was keep him on the river. Technically he was free to leave at any time—but sick, shaking, unable to think past his physical misery, he had barely been aware of the journey upriver to Castle Crag. When he finally was in possession of his faculties again, he