“That’s not quite fair,” Walvis observed. “Sorin learned so much from building Feruche that more iron had to come to Dragon’s Rest—plus it’s so much bigger.”
“And whose fault is that? Again, my son’s.” The High Prince shrugged. “Ah, well. Reduction of patrols reduces the chance of any little ‘accidents’ like last winter.”
Sionell sipped hot taze, remembering how close they had come to war with Cunaxa. An encounter along the border had led to a disagreement about who had encroached on whose land, ending with several dead on each side before both backed off. A courier had galloped into Tiglath that night; Tallain rode out at once with an escort. His quiet diplomacy—aided by a map drawn by Goddess Keep’s Sunrunners in 705 that strictly defined boundaries—had convinced the Cunaxans that the matter wasn’t worth further bloodshed.
“Yes,” Tallain was saying in response to Rohan’s comment. “But if they’d been led by a Merida, I wouldn’t have let them away so lightly.”
Sionell turned to him with interest. “How did you know it wasn’t?”
“Northerners can smell a Merida at ten measures, my lady,” he answered with a tight little smile. “Ask your mother. She’s from our part of the Desert.” His brown eyes, startling contrast to the sun-gold hair swept back from his brow, lingered on her. She realized abruptly that he liked looking at her. She fought a blush as his attention returned to the High Prince. “Miyon’s impudent lately, though, which must mean he has a new ally. I suspect Meadowlord.”
“Chiana and her Parchment Prince,” Walvis said sourly. “They’ve a natural affinity with Miyon. I can’t believe Chiana’s insolence in Naming her son after her grandfather—and her daughter for her whore of a mother.”
Hollis blinked large, innocent eyes. “I’m surprised she didn’t Name him Roelstra.”
Rohan grinned and rapped his knuckles on the table. “Now, now, children. We can’t encourage such disrespect for other princes—next, you’ll be insulting us! Tallain, will incidents increase or decrease along the border?”
The thin smile crossed Tallain’s face again. “I couldn’t say, my lord—but for one factor. There’s an advantage to dealing with Prince Miyon. His merchants and crafters. They’ve got him by the throat, as ever. And they constantly try to sneak their shipments into Tiglath. Sometimes I let them.”
“Reaping a substantial profit thereby?” Sionell asked, amused.
“Of course, my lady. I let enough through to keep them trying. The rest I confiscate. You’d be astonished what they’re willing to pay to get their goods back and legally shipped. My father built two schools and a new infirmary on the proceeds. I’m planning to refurbish the market square next year.”
“Oh, I do enjoy the law,” Rohan sighed. “Especially the ones my athr’im ignore to our mutual advantage. But I never heard any of this, Tallain.”
“I never mentioned it, my lord.” The young man was unable to keep a twinkle from his dark eyes.
“It’s not civilized of me, of course,” Rohan went on. “And I really shouldn’t condone this sort of thing, even unofficially.”
Walvis was grinning openly. “But so much fun,” he urged. “And such a comfort to the rest of us to know you’re not perfect after all.”
The High Prince pretended horror. “Sweet Goddess, don’t tell anyone!”
Sionell laughed. Rohan really was so much nicer than Pol. “Your secret is safe with us!”
“My eternal gratitude, my lady,” he responded with an elegant bow. “To return to the matter of the Cunaxans—Sorin feels they may start to use the trade route over the Veresch again, now that Feruche is there for protection. I hope you’ll forgive me, Tallain, if I make the passage fees low enough to encourage them.”
Sionell answered, “He can hardly object, can he?”
Tallain gave her a long look, then grinned. “Hardly,” he said in dry tones.
“You’ll still make a profit,” Rohan added. “But if Miyon feels too bottled up, he’ll get nervous and start thinking about war again.”
“I don’t think he’s fond of you, Rohan,” Walvis said blandly.
Hollis was frowning. “He asked a lot of questions about Pol this year. And he was usually close by wherever Pol was. He might simply have been taking his measure, of course. . . .” She trailed off doubtfully.
“Did you get that impression?” Sionell asked. “His half-sister sat next to me at the races, being subtle.” She snorted. “She practically asked which boot Pol puts on first. As if I’d know anything, not having seen him for so long.”
“Audrite and I got the same treatment,” Hollis said, nodding. “And she knows him much