She ordered the corpse wrapped in its violet cloak, then went to tend her nephew’s wounds. She had no salves, no ointments, no soothing draughts but a skinful of wine taken from one of Rohan’s men. This she poured down his throat as Urival washed the blood away. Chay sent riders back to the main battlefield for supplies. They returned at top speed, led by the frantic Tilal and Maarken.
It was a long while before she was satisfied that Rohan had taken no serious hurt. He had not opened his eyes, but the blank unconsciousness had become reassuring sleep, the signs unmistakable to Andrade’s trained eye. Two litters were prepared, one for the living prince and one for the dead one. Tilal remembered to reverse Roelstra’s banner on its pole to signal his death so that Rohan’s people would not think it was their own prince who had died.
Andrade glanced up as Chay touched her arm and spoke her name. His face was rough with stubble, smeared with dirt and sweat, his gray eyes dull and bloodshot as he looked up at the sky. She was surprised to find the stars nearly gone, blackness becoming deep blue washed with rose-gold on the horizon.
“Dragons,” he murmured.
They flew in small groups, hatchlings chased through the air by watchful she-dragons and sires who called down warnings against any threats to their precious brood. Dark and graceful shapes against the misted dawn, they flew in search of a feeding ground unspoiled by the blood of humans. Andrade wanted to follow them on the new light, soar with them on wings of her own, and began to understand Rohan’s love for the dragons. For them there were no complexities of choice, motive, treachery, deceit; no battling against their own natures. She looked down at his sleeping face, smoothed back lank fair hair.
“I wish you could see them,” she whispered. “They belong to you, Dragon Prince.”
“To the Desert,” Chay corrected quietly. “Just like he does. Not the other way around, Andrade.”
“I envy him—and them,” she murmured. “I’ve never owned anything but my rings and my pride. And nothing’s ever owned me.”
“To claim anything you have to be willing to be claimed in return. That has to come first, Andrade. You have to give yourself, first.” He paused, knelt beside Rohan, touched his shoulder “We’re lucky that Rohan’s known that all along.”
“I gave him Sioned, didn’t I?”
“Do you think she was yours to give?” Urival asked softly.
Andrade stiffened. Rising to her feet, she gestured for Rohan to be placed on the litter, and turned away from the others. Nothing but her rings and her pride—but they were all she had, and she would defend herself with them as long as she lived.
A dragon roared in the dawn, and she looked up again, wondering suddenly what it would be like to be both possessed and free.
Tobin opened her eyes.
Ostvel was clasping the shivering, crying infant to his chest. Pol’s eyes were fixed on Sioned, the misty newborn blue gone in the flashing Fire. Tiny hands reached out, fists clenched exactly as Sioned’s were clenched. She was on her knees, white cloak blowing back from her shoulders like dragon wings, arms outstretched and features strained into terrifying intensity. The stars had found focus in her eyes, seemed to flow into the very bones of her slender body as a cold silvery brilliance writhed around her, a white Fire from the stars striking rainbows from her whiteness. Tobin knew what Sioned had done, how she had woven every thread of light from the sky into the patterns of power that were her framework: Urival, Andrade, Tobin herself—and the child.
Ostvel glanced up. “He started screaming. I couldn’t quiet him.” Tobin nodded. There would be no protecting the child from his heritage. Sunrunner and Prince.
All at once Sioned trembled as if her bones would shatter. The infant’s cries softened to whimpers and then he was silent, his small face relaxing at last into serenity. It was a long time before Sioned’s features showed any hint of the same peace.
“The one with the knife—you could have killed him,” Tobin whispered hoarsely.
Sioned nodded, and in her eyes were lingering traces of stars and power. “You understand about Pandsala now, don’t you? She and I have the same regret—that Roelstra never knew she was betraying him all along.”
Sensing Ostvel’s bewilderment, Tobin turned to him and said slowly, “There was—combat between Rohan and Roelstra. One of the High Prince’s men thought to end it