in the offing next spring. People who fought loyally for the prince who ruled them would fight ferociously to protect lands deeded to them by written law in a promise that would not die with this prince.
She touched Rohan’s arm, and he turned to look at her. “Make them pay for it,” she advised.
“With enough to support Stronghold every year from now on,” he agreed.
Andrade nodded her approval. “You give them what they already have, and they pay for the privilege. Very economical, Rohan.”
He sat down and took a long swallow of wine. “Being a prince is thirsty work,” he commented.
As the moons rose, wine flowed in torrents and conversation in the Hall never let up for an instant. Andrade relaxed happily into the tumult, appreciating the quality of the entertainment Rohan had given her. It had been years since she’d been in the midst of doings like these, and if he was capable of a show like this at Stronghold, his performance at the Rialla would be something prodigious. She could hardly wait.
The night was not yet finished with surprises, however. Andrade kept an eye on Sioned, noting that the girl ate and drank almost nothing. Rigidly controlled, she sat with her hands folded in her lap, her lips compressed, her whole demeanor ice in contrast to the fire of her hair. As the dishes were cleared away and steaming pitchers of taze were placed along the tables, Andrade saw that Sioned no longer stared at her hands, but down the long aisle between tables to the main doors. Curious, Andrade glanced that way. Moonlight made hazy rectangles of the tall windows on either side of the entry, cool silvery light competing with the warmer glow of the torches. But Sioned was not watching the light. Her attention was on someone down at the bottom of the Hall. She rose slowly to her feet and glided along the outer aisle next to the window wall behind the diners’ backs. Andrade anticipated her course and stiffened as she saw the object of Sioned’s stare.
The wine steward Andrade had warned Milar about stood in one of the patches of moonlight beside the doors. His pale eyes were glazed over, his face blank, his body frozen in place. She recognized the look of someone being used by a Sunrunner as distant eyes and ears.
Sioned stood now before the second window, her slender body limned in quicksilver shadows. Andrade got to her feet, but knew it was too late to stop the faradhi. Coldly, politically, she knew there was no better time for Sioned to demonstrate her usefulness as Rohan’s princess.
Silence flowed in a slow wave up the Hall as people noticed Sioned. She lifted both hands; the emerald spat fire from her finger and her other rings took on a strange glow. As light gathered between her hands, Andrade shared a gasp with the rest of the Hall. But only she and the other faradh’im knew that this was a skill Sioned should not have had. In the unlit space before the open doors a form coalesced, called up by the Fire Sioned had woven into the moonlight. The image wavered, steadied, became recognizable. Andrade’s fists clenched as she recognized Roelstra. Someone screamed.
“Who are you?” Sioned raged at the wine steward, speaking not to him but to the unknown faradhi who controlled him. “What else have you seen for your master, the High Prince? Tell me what you plot against my lord, or I’ll follow you all the way back to Castle Crag and wrap you in your own shadows?”
The High Prince’s specter moved. His lips formed words unheard, his hands coming up to grip invisible shoulders. The steward’s head lolled back and forth in time to Roelstra’s movements as he shook the distant faradhi.
“Tell me!”
The steward’s face was a mask of terror now. “I swear on my soul—”
“You have none! Were you planning to kill him? Tell me!”
“No! No, I swear to you—”
“Hear me, Roelstra! Tell him my words, traitor! Tell him I’ll see him and his dead if he harms my lord!”
Andrade grabbed Rohan’s arm to prevent him from running to Sioned. He swung on her in a black rage. “No!” she hissed. “Let her be!”
Sioned’s eyes were wild as she proved herself worthy of her rings—and more—by tangling the other faradhi in light, threatening him with limitless shadows. But it had gone on too long; Andrade sensed the strain of the conjure and the moonweave drag at her own