in the soil. The jeweled hilt shone in the silvery surrounding Fire.
“I’ll teach your son to kneel,” Roelstra hissed.
There was a sudden roaring in his ears, salt bitterness on his lips. Fury came to him at long last, a killing rage that had nothing to do with clean battle or even with vengeance. My son. The words echoed over and over in time to the vicious pounding rhythm of his blood: My son—
“Kneel to me, princeling,” Roelstra demanded, his voice thick with hate. “Kneel!”
Rohan moved very slowly. He pushed himself up, holding his ribs with his good hand, groped out with the other as though seeking support that would get him to his knees. My son. There was a burning in his flesh and something cold and dew-moist in his hand. One foot under him, leaning heavily on the other knee, he looked up through a stinging mist at the grandfather of his son.
Roelstra was smiling. He continued to smile even as Rohan surged upward and shoved a knife he could barely hold into the soft flesh of Roelstra’s throat. The long blade stabbed through the underside of the chin and Rohan thrust it deeper, through tongue and mouth all the way to the base of the brain.
The High Prince toppled to one side. Rohan watched him fall, knowing Roelstra was dead. And then the wet grass slicked with blood came up to meet him, and he knew nothing more.
Only the frightened rasp of Chay’s voice made Andrade recall that she had an existence apart from the raging cold starfire that by now had bled all color into its pallor. She heard him, and painfully gathered into coherence the splintered pattern that was herself. The others, less powerful than she, were still caught in the glowing dome. She labored with all her strength to separate them, to rebuild the shimmer of each distinctive mind.
Urival was first, his deep sapphire and pale moonstone and shining amber forming once more into the familiar design. Truth, wisdom, protection against danger—all these things were Urival, and she wept with relief that he was whole. He helped her with the others, unraveling the chaotic weave that was comprised of Sioned and Tobin and the two startling, shocking others. The two princesses, known to them, were swiftly separated and reformed, cherished patterns not lost to shadows lurking in the night. The last pair—Andrade left the familiar one to Urival and explored the new and unexpected presence herself. Topaz for sharp intelligence; emerald for hope; iridescent pearl for purity; all lit by a diamond brightness that was beauty and cleverness. She knew who he was, this brilliant pattern of green and white and gold. The Sunrunner Prince. Rohan’s son.
“Andrade!” Chay was almost sobbing now, and she opened her eyes to see his stricken face above her. She was vaguely curious about how she had come to be lying on the ground with her head cradled in his arm. When she moved, bruises told her of a hard fall. “Sweet merciful Goddess,” Chay whispered. “I thought you shadow-lost.”
“No,” she said, and coughed. “It’d take more than this to kill me.” She pushed herself up. “Urival?”
“Here,” came his voice from nearby, where Pandsala lay senseless on the grass. “Do you know what happened, and what she did?” he asked softly, his eyes sunk into hollows. “And why?”
Andrade swallowed and nodded. “Yes. Is she—”
“I don’t care about her or about what happened!” Chay snapped. “It’s Rohan who needs you, damn it!”
He pulled her up and helped her to walk. They crossed the faint dark line where Fire had risen. No one had yet dared cross into the circle. Roelstra’s people, seeing that the unthinkable had occurred and their prince had fallen, were too stunned to attempt either revenge or escape. Rohan’s soldiers were equally silent and motionless. Andrade sank down beside the slight form curled in the starshine, light gleaming off his fair hair.
He lived. Blood covered him like a cloak, but he lived. Andrade nodded at Chay, who lifted Rohan very gently and carried him to where Urival had made a small, warming fire. Rising to her feet, Andrade stood over Roelstra and gazed down into his dead eyes. Rohan’s knife was sunk into his throat and he wore a half-smile that chilled her. She bent stiffly and closed his eyes, but the feeling of insects crawling on her skin did not fade. For he smiled still; like her, he finally had what he wanted, though not quite in