out laughing, but inside she fought sudden fear. Had Pandsala come here to kill her? She cursed herself for all the years she had thought the princess less dangerous than Ianthe.
“You believe you carry my father’s heir,” Pandsala went on. “Perhaps you do. But if you do not—must I give the details? Another mistress, younger and more beautiful, will supplant you. A woman who might give him a son. You’ve had four chances, Palila. This one is your last, and you know it.”
She gave up all pretenses and sank into a chair, gesturing wordlessly for Pandsala to continue. The princess sat just across the aisle, smiling again.
“If you have a son, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Father will marry you and your position will be secure. But if you have another girl, one might say it would be the end of your life, don’t you agree?”
Palila rallied enough for an answering smile. “No, my dear. He is not what one would call indifferent to my bed.”
“But when that younger, more beautiful girl comes along—how do you know she won’t be just like you, and get rid of you the way you disposed of Surya?”
She betrayed herself with a gasp, and cursed. The princess laughed and stretched her arms wide as if to gather in the moment of triumph.
“Not even Ianthe knows that I know about it. I was only fifteen, but I remember every detail—how you stood in the trellis garden one morning and paid off the servant who’d helped you. Lucky for you, Father was so furious that he had the woman executed before she could accuse you.”
“Roelstra would never believe this ridiculous story!”
“Perhaps not. But all he’ll want is an excuse to get rid of you if you have another girl. He’s not unkind, when it suits him. He might just send you away. But when I tell him about Lady Surya, I’ll add the name of the man who put the poison in Lady Karayan’s wine.”
“Father of Storms!” Palila cried. “You bitch!” The penalty for murder was execution—and she had a sudden, terrifying memory of Roelstra’s words about changing his methods to fire.
“How nice that you’ve stopped pretending,” the princess observed. “Now we may do business. I want Prince Rohan. I’m sick of living in this nursery and I want a rich, powerful husband. I’m told he’s quite good-looking as well. He’ll do very nicely for me. And now that you know what I know, you’d love to see me gone, wouldn’t you? What better place for me than far away in the Desert?”
Palila gathered herself. “How do you know I won’t do to you what I did to them?” she hissed.
“Because I know something else, Palila, which really could mean your life. Well? What do you say? Shall we make a bargain of it?”
Palila pushed herself to her feet and went to the long table where silver candle-branches winked in the dim moonlight. Between them was an intricately etched gold plate. She tilted it up and saw her own reflection crossed with tiny lines—a vision of old age when her looks and her power would vanish and she would have only her son to keep her in luxury. It must be a son. Roelstra must make her his wife. She must do whatever Pandsala asked.
“I will promote you as Prince Rohan’s bride,” she said tonelessly, still staring at herself in the flat golden plate. “I’ll do everything I can to ruin Ianthe’s chances. But I can’t promise, Pandsala. You know your father.”
“All I ask is your influence—subtly, if you please. For my side of the bargain, I won’t tell Father what I know. Nor will I run to Ianthe with tales. I knew you’d be nervous about that,” the princess added slyly, and Palila hated her. “She’s attempted your life, you know.”
“More than once,” Palila said, and put the plate down. She turned. “My servants are loyal.”
“I’m counting on it. Will they say what you tell them to say, even if they find iron burning in front of their eyes?”
Fire—Palila repressed a shudder. “They know I will do worse to them if they disobey me.”
“Excellent. Now listen to me, Palila. Ianthe’s plan is complex, and you must understand completely if we’re to turn it to our advantage.” Pandsala laughed suddenly, a sound that frayed Palila’s nerves. “You’re going to have a son, Palila—one way or another!”
Crigo paused outside the entrance to the oratory—not from any caution, but because his heart was always caught by