ease it.”
“No, no pain. Not for me, at least.” He closed his eyes again and nodded. “It’s a good potion that numbs the wounds while leaving the mind clear. My thanks, Andrade. But I doubt you have anything to ease Mila’s pain.”
“Not even time heals a woman who loses a man like you, Zehava.”
He looked up, surprised. A smile danced across his face for an instant. But what he said was, “I want to see my son.”
“I’ll send for him.”
“Alone. Do you hear me, Andrade? Alone.”
Rohan was there quickly, dark circles beneath his eyes and strain tightening his features. Andrade lingered long enough to see him sit and take his father’s hand, then left them alone.
Rohan pressed the cold fingers between his own. “I’m here, Father.”
Zehava’s hand curled around his. “There are things I must tell you. Will you listen to me at last?”
“I’ve always listened.”
“And then gone your own way. Well, I won’t be here to listen to much longer, so pay attention.” Zehava licked his lips and made a face. “It won’t be the dragon claws through my guts that will kill me. I’ll die of thirst and starvation. Get me something to drink.”
Rohan took a square of white silk soaked in water and pressed it to his father’s lips. It was all that was allowed; anything Zehava swallowed would only make the pain worse. Andrade had ordered that nothing be given the prince but her own concoctions, which would kill the pain before they caused it.
Zehava sucked at the moisture, grimaced again, and closed his eyes. “Never trust anyone, Rohan. Especially not the Merida, and most especially not the High Prince. The first will slink into the Desert to attack when you least expect it—and the second would like to.”
“Actually,” Rohan replied, “the Merida will probably try to test me next spring. I thought it might be interesting to fight them for a while, then buy them off. Oh, I know it’s risky,” he admitted, seeing his father’s eyes widen in outrage. “They’ll purchase weapons and support that won’t make it any easier to crush them when they grow arrogant enough to attack in full force. But if they can’t defeat us after I hand them the money to do it with—and they won’t, I promise—their sources will dry up. Still, I’m afraid that I’ll have to spend a great deal of money to lure them into doing what I want them to.”
“Buy them off! Of all the—!” But then he gave a short cough of laughter. “As if I have anything to say about it now! My pride would never have permitted it. But I have to trust you, don’t I, Rohan? Laugh for me when they’re beaten back.”
“I will.”
Zehava nodded and changed the subject. “You’ll need a wife soon.”
Rohan smiled slightly. “I promise she’ll be pretty, and you’ll have handsome grandchildren.”
Zehava grinned his appreciation, teeth flashing whitely in his black beard that seemed to have acquired gray streaks very suddenly. “Pretty or not, treat your wife as you would a dragon. Prepare yourself carefully to meet her, and approach with respect and admiration. Always preserve her pride by letting her show her strength—and then educate her as to exactly who her master is.”
Rohan thought of the face in the flames and said nothing.
“The promises of a prince die with him,” Zehava went on, shifting slightly in the bed. “You’ll have to see to the holdings soon. Send Chay to the lesser ones as your deputy, but go yourself to the greater. They must feel your hand as they have felt mine. Don’t try to buy them off.”
“No. I won’t.”
“I wish I could have seen your wife,” he fretted. “Make sure she’s not too beautiful. A beautiful woman is her own temptation. She’ll think more of herself than of you. The only exception I ever met was your mother.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Your real wealth is in your children, Rohan.” The fierce black gaze slid away to a corner of the room. “Mine has been.”
Rohan’s eyes stung at the rare words of tenderness. “Is it?” he asked, his throat tight. “I’m not the son you wanted. You would have done better with someone like Chay.”
“I would have known him better,” Zehava acknowledged. “I don’t know you very well, do I? And I fear for you because of it. I’m leaving you a strong princedom built by four generations. Hold onto it, Rohan.”
“My ways aren’t yours, Father. But I promise I’ll keep what’s ours.”
“Yours now,” Zehava said gruffly. “I give