her father gape speechlessly at the commander, who was now sucking on three bleeding fingers, having completed his story. The rest of the ragtag group that had once been the High Price’s finest mounted detachment galloped up in the interval and shouted out the same tale to their appalled compatriots. From them it was learned that most of the horses had fled beyond hope of recovery, and the other troops were walking back to camp. Pandsala made a quick count of the survivors, keeping stern control of her expression. Her father, not having had hard training at Goddess Keep, turned all the colors of the rainbow.
“Thirty-five!” he roared. “Out of two hundred, you bring me back thirty-five, and praise your own wisdom in the loss! You credulous idiot! Dragons! As if Rohan could order them into battle!”
The commander flung himself to his knees. “I beg forgiveness, your grace—but the others will tell you—the fierceness of the attack—had we stayed, there would not even be thirty-five left—”
“Moron!” Roelstra swung around and pointed a finger at Pandsala. “You! This is your doing!”
“Mine?” She countered, incensed. “Is it my fault he’s a fool? I advised you to send a detachment of horse against those Rohan is hiding in the woods to the south. I didn’t advise this imbecile to camp in a dragon feeding-ground, which is what it seems he did! How can this be my fault?”
The High Prince lashed out a booted foot and caught the prostrate commander in the ribs. “Get out of my sight,” he snarled. “And be grateful that I need everyone who can sit a horse!” He stormed off and Pandsala hurried along after him, keeping her distance but curious to see what he would do next.
He circled the perimeter of the camp, much more quickly than at his usual regal pace. He slowed as he reached the horse pickets, but she did not catch up, wisely assuming that he was counting the mounts available to him, an exercise that could only renew his fury.
Then he received his second shock of the morning.
It came in the form of a small, auburn-haired girl clinging to the neck of a sweating gray pony whose lungs were heaving like bellows. Soldiers tried to snatch the girl down, but she kicked and spat in a rage no less impressive for the fact that she was so young. A real royal tantrum, Pandsala told herself, a sick feeling in her stomach, for she knew her half-sister’s rampages of old.
“I want to see my father!” Chiana shrieked. “You don’t dare touch me! I’m the daughter of the High Prince!”
Roelstra turned on his heel and swore. Pandsala hurried to his side and he turned a killing look on her, green eyes like a frozen sea.
“Father,” she began.
“Where did that brat come from?” he grated.
“She was with me and Andrade and Urival—”
“What is that whore’s spawn doing here?” he shouted.
Chiana turned, gaze unerringly finding the sire she had never before seen. She leaped from the pony, eluded the soldiers, and flung her arms around Roelstra’s legs, lifting a pale, dirt-streaked face.
“You have to listen to me, Father, please! Andrade is coming, with soldiers—she can’t be very far behind me! I came to warn you!”
Roelstra stared down at this replica of himself and his dead mistress. Then he pried Chiana from his legs, took her by the shoulders, and raised her so he could inspect her face. She flinched slightly with pain but did not cry out.
“You’ve the look of your mother,” he said softly, dangerously. “My daughter, Treason—who’s spent her whole life in Andrade’s keeping.”
“I hate her! I hate her even more than Pandsala does!”
“Come, Treason, tell me how much.” Abruptly he loosened his grip and Chiana tumbled to the ground. She was up instantly, proud and straight.
“I’ve always hated her! And now I’m going to get back at her! She tricked your soldiers, Father, she’s coming here with Prince Lleyn’s troops and—”
“Lleyn?”
“They climbed the wall at night and Urival tied me up so I couldn’t scream and warn—”
“His ships were reported off the coast,” Roelstra mused. “I wouldn’t put it past Andrade, even to the reports that came back from River Run saying all was well.” He looked down at his youngest daughter and a thin smile curved his lips. “Very well, Treason. I’ll choose to believe you, but only because it doesn’t matter. Our dear Lady Andrade is helpless and powerless, even in her freedom. She can do nothing against me, but it’s interesting