sole mistress of the Holdings and their wealth, Sioned would never have been sent to Goddess Keep.
And she would not be riding now to become the wife of a prince.
Why was Andrade doing this? she wondered. The last trained faradhi to marry into the important nobility had been Sioned’s grandmother, who, though not a highborn herself, had married a prince of Kierst. Their daughter had married Sioned and Davvi’s father, having shown no signs of the gifts. Younger sons and daughters of high-borns sometimes become Sunrunners, but usually they stayed untrained despite evidence of talent, marrying rather than coming to Goddess Keep for instruction. A prince or lord wearing faradhi rings was unheard of. Sioned did not interest herself overmuch in the affairs of the princedoms, but she knew enough to understand that a Sunrunner prince would be perceived as a threat. But there was a very good chance that one of her children would be just that. Though Princess Milar did not possess the gifts, they had been known to skip several generations before showing up again.
All at once Sioned realized that the son she bore to the prince would rule after him. She cursed her stupidity in not having considered it earlier, for being so wrapped up in her thoughts of him that she had not thought about children at all. And she knew what Andrade wanted of her at last: a faradhi prince ruling the Desert, using all the power of his position and his gifts to—to do what? That was what she could not understand. Or, rather, she hoped she did not understand.
Chapter Five
Prince Zehava died before dawn on the sixth day, his family attending him. He had drifted in and out of awareness all the previous day and night, oncoming death dulling his mind and slurring his speech. But he died without pain, and without fear for the future of the son who became ruling prince when Zehava breathed his last. Ignoring the tradition that forbade him the death chamber, Rohan was with his father when he died. Milar closed her husband’s eyes; Tobin ran her fingers gently over his forehead to smooth out the lines of stress. Rohan bent and kissed his father, then turned and left the death chamber.
Andrade waited a little while, then went after him. He was where she knew he’d be: in the Flametower, helping the servants build the fire high enough to shine out over the Desert and inform Zehava’s people of his passing. The blaze would be seen from distant hills where other fires would be lit in a chain of light that by nightfall would extend the length and breadth of the princedom.
Moisture had become an unpleasant trickle down her spine and between her breasts before Rohan had satisfied himself that the fire was sufficiently bright. She was not in the best of moods anyway, and the heat worsened her temper. Though never deeply attached to Zehava, she had appreciated him and knew the world to be poorer for his death. But now she had a new prince to deal with, and as they left the inferno behind, her voice was perhaps sharper than it should have been.
“Not a single preparation has been made for Sioned’s arrival. Why are you denying your bride her proper honors? I refuse to have the girl slink in here like a common guest, and not a very important one at that!”
“Peace, Andrade,” Rohan said tiredly. “It’s been a long night, and I have a longer day ahead of me.”
“You’ll answer me before it grows any longer, boy!”
A glittering gaze met hers, fierce as a dragon on the hunt. “The girl is coming to my keep, Andrade, not yours. Her welcome or lack of it will be arranged as I dictate.”
“Rohan!”
But he was off down the stairs, supple limbs setting a pace her older bones could not match. She spat a series of oaths that would have shocked even those who knew her best, then went to her rooms for a fruitless try at sleep.
The signal fire burned throughout the day, but Rohan was not at Stronghold to feel the heat melt slowly down through the keep. At daybreak he rode from the courtyards through the tunnel cut into solid rock down to the desert. With Chaynal at his side and his guards commander Maeta supervising nine more soldiers, he rode toward Rivenrock Canyon.
The sun rose, broiling the air, small updrafts brushing at his clothes and his horse’s mane. Rohan’s fair hair