with a knife. Sioned—she used the stars, Ostvel. There wasn’t any other light.”
Sioned touched Pol’s cheek. “There’s Fire in the stars,” she murmured. “Sunrunner’s Fire.”
Ostvel held Pol closer. “He felt it. All of it, Sioned. You know what that makes him.”
She nodded again, bright head bending low. “It begins too young for him. I hope one day he can forgive me.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Dragon gold.
It bought the labors of a hundred master crafters, and by the beginning of spring the Great Hall of Stronghold was splendid with the results. The artisans would have worked for nothing, of course; the honor of boasting that they had had a hand in the making was worth more than any payment. But Rohan paid. Gold was simple coin and cost him very little, though only a few privileged people knew that. He stood surveying his stage, knowing it was exactly that, and nodded his satisfaction.
Three hundred lamps shaded by sparkling Fironese crystal were set high along the walls where torches had once been. Tiles made in Kierst formed a pattern of blue and green on the floor. A new suite of fruitwood banqueting tables and chairs from Syr were laden with a fabulous dinner service of Gribain porcelain and utensils of Fessenden silver. Flowers were arranged in low vases of blue Ossetian glass; on either side of each was a wine pitcher made from the giant seashells found off the coast of Isel. Dorval’s silk provided the green napery folded into fanciful shapes atop the plates; pinewood boxes from Cunaxa held spices; fingerbowls of black deerhorn from Meadowlord and white elkhoof from Princemarch waited for noble hands that would be dried on small soft towels of blue Giladan wool. Beside each princely goblet was a delicate little cup, the only obvious use of the dragon gold that had bought all the rest.
The banners of Desert athr’im had been removed to the foyer, replaced by a single tapestry behind the high table: the new dragon symbol. Stylized into simple, elegant lines, the bold arch of outspread wings balanced the proud lift of the beast’s head. Gold on blue, the dragon was crowned with a thin circlet and held a small ring surmounted by a real emerald set into the cloth. Zehava would have approved the grand gesture—and the warning.
Rohan finished his inspection of the Great Hall and complimented his household staff, then walked between the empty tables to the side aisle where Maeta stood in full battle harness over a new blue silk tunic, her black eyes snapping with pride.
Rohan gave her a smile. “Stand easy. You’re making me nervous!”
She snorted. “You made me responsible for his safety, and here I stay.” She nodded at Sioned, who sat at the high table with Pol in her lap.
“Did you hear that old fool Chale say that Pol has Sioned’s eyes?”
“And your manners,” Sioned called out as the baby gave a loud burp. “Let’s get this started, Rohan. He’s quiet for now, but there’s no telling how long it will last. I don’t want him shrieking at the guests who’ve come to admire him.”
“And you,” he added. She wore a green gown dark as a mountain forest. The emeralds were around her throat and a thin silver circlet crossed her brow to hold back her loosened hair. He mounted the dais to stand beside and just behind her, fingers resting on the ornate carving of a dragon in flight that decorated the back of her chair, knowing very well what picture they would present. He wore a dark blue tunic and trousers, a topaz winking deep gold from a chain around his throat, a band of plain silver around his head. Pol’s clothes were green to match his mother’s gown, and the blanket around him was blue stitched with tiny golden dragons. A more perfect portrait of regal domesticity could not be imagined—precisely what Rohan had intended.
He signaled to Ostvel and the main doors were opened. The chaos outside in the foyer abruptly hushed as the chief steward of Stronghold announced Her Royal Highness the Princess Tobin and Lord Chaynal of Radzyn Keep. Tobin still favored her injured leg a little, but not in public. She and Chay, dressed in his red and white accented by rubies and diamonds, crossed the shining glazed tiles, made their bows, and joined Rohan and Sioned at the high table.
Next came Rohan’s vassals: Eltanin of Tiglath; Abidias of Tuath Castle, who guarded the far northern border of the Desert; old Hadaan of Remagev;