Hall. “And if there is a man you wish to wed, you will be dowered as befits your royal blood.”
A babble of voices greeted this announcement. Rohan let the noise play itself out, amused. He and Sioned had cast themselves in the role of generous prince, but there were reasons other than public show of magnanimity. Locking up Roelstra’s daughters was not in Rohan’s nature, not even for Pol’s sake, and making silent, captive martyrs of them would have been more dangerous than setting them free to breed children who might one day become a threat. Most would probably sink into obscurity, either living in pleasant manors under close if benevolent watch—he was no fool—or married to some minor lord or other. He looked them over as they struggled to comprehend this total reversal of their fortunes and the prospect of more freedom than their father had ever given them. Eight nonentities, he told himself, but four who would bear observation: Kiele with her new husband Lyell of Waes; Cipris, who at eighteen was sharp and beautiful as a new morning; and sly-eyed little Chiana and her full sister Moswen.
He doubted, however, that many men would be willing to marry a daughter of the late High Prince, despite the rich dowries he intended to provide. He could afford to be generous—especially as he had claimed for the Desert a nice chunk of Princemarch, including the ruins of Feruche and the dragon caves nearby. All thought his reasons were due to some ancient claim of his family. Rohan was not about to enlighten them.
The procession into the Great Hall was nearly over. The daughters took their places, Kiele fuming at the prospect of married sisters as she joined Lyell. Then absolute silence descended as Andrade and Urival walked in. They were both in silver and white, she with moonstones binding her white-gold hair, he with the same gems in a belt around his waist. Knees and heads bent to them as they passed up the long aisle to the high table, and as Rohan bent his own head to his aunt he caught the glimmer of gleeful anticipation in her eyes. He had told her certain things about his plans for tonight that merited the malicious sparkle; he had not told her certain other things, which would probably give her apoplexy. Still—she loved a good show.
The feast began as soon as the wives, heirs, and important retainers of some of the princes present filed in and took their seats. The lowest tables were for the knights and squires, the latter freed from regular duties at table by Rohan’s own servants. Their group was presided over by Maarken and Tilal, two boys who differed from their companions in the self-assurance that came of having known battle. Andry and Sorin were there as well, along with Ostvel’s son Riyan. The trio would be allowed to stay up late so long as no infringement of decorum attracted parental attention.
As the first course was served, Maeta and a nurse came to take Pol up to bed. He was irritable after being subjected to inspection by so many strangers. Rohan sympathized; he had uncomfortable childhood memories of being similarly on display. But a prince was a prince. It was something Pol would get used to.
Walvis had charge of the knight’s table, his poise shaken only when he happened to glance over at a slim, redheaded girl with gray eyes whom it had pleased Rohan and Ostvel to place at the next table, directly in his line of sight. The two men exchanged a meaningful glance and a grin.
It had also pleased Rohan to order special cups made for the high table. Souvenirs of this night they were, magnificently wrought. A goblet of red Fironese crystal footed in silver served his sister and her lord; plain silver set with moonstones was shared by Andrade and Urival. Beside Ostvel’s plate was a golden cup studded by a single carnelian, and a pair of iridescent blue-green goblets for himself and Sioned had been etched with their new design and footed in dragon gold. He lifted his to her in silent tribute, and she smiled. But then she touched the small, empty golden cup between them, that matched those given to all the other princes. He knew her meaning; they were not Rohan and Sioned tonight, but the Dragon Prince and his Sunrunner princess.
With Lord Farid of Skybowl gone, Rohan’s athr’im had chosen Baisal as their spokesman. Obedient to a