Along with the family and more than two hundred others, they had followed him in silence the three measures to the Goddess’ Apronful, a scattering of huge boulders that took on strange, fearsome shapes in the moonlight shadows. Legend had it that the stones had dropped from the sky when the mountains had been built, to lie here forgotten in the sand. Maarken and Jahni had active imaginations even for five-year-olds, and Tobin knew they would be seeing monsters lurking behind every stone. She wished she could whisper a few soothing words to them, but silence was the rule.
Rohan stood apart and alone, holding a torch in his hand. The flame turned his hair to molten gold and sank his eyes into darkness. He was a stranger tonight. For almost the first time, Tobin could see their father in him; the Desert had claimed him for its prince. Zehava, too, had had this look about him, for despite the comforts Milar had brought to Stronghold, the sand and the wind had been bred into him. The dragon that had killed the old prince sprawled between the largest boulders. There was a long, hollow wound in the sand, the path made as the great corpse was dragged to this place. Nearby on a flat stone that had been the final bed of fifteen generations of princes, Zehava lay beneath a silvery cloak that concealed his body from neck to feet. Torchlight picked out the sharp profile and black beard, so different from his son’s finely drawn features and clean-shaven cheeks. Yet they were alike, Desert-bred and dragon-born.
Rohan turned at last to Princess Milar, who walked forward to the funeral stone with the steps of an old woman. The shining scars of tears were on her cheeks, and she stood for a long time at her husband’s side, stroking back his hair and letting the Water of her grief fall onto his face. Andrade came forward to trickle a handful of sand onto Zehava’s motionless chest, the Earth from which he had been made. Anthoula,
faradhi
to the dead prince for many years, limped to his bier and spread her hands wide. The cloak’s hem stirred as she called Air to touch him lightly in farewell. Then she bent her head in homage for a moment, and returned with Andrade to the place where the other Sunrunners stood cloaked, hooded, apart.
At last Rohan approached his father, carrying Fire. He lifted it high, his right arm a little stiff from his wound. The light was painted over Zehava’s body and on the great bulk of the dragon behind him, dripping down to the sand. Rohan touched the flame to the four corners of the cloak. The material caught and flared, beginning the blaze that would liberate Zehava’s spirit from the elements of which his physical form had been made.
Then Rohan did a shocking thing. He went to the dragon and took a small waterskin from his belt, pouring the contents over the beast’s wing. A handful of sand was scooped up and flung atop the water, and a fiery breeze created with a sweep of the torch over the dragon’s head. At last he set fire to the carcass and stepped back, his shoulders set defiantly.
Tobin was stunned. She had known he intended to burn the dragon, but honoring the creature as Zehava had been honored was unthinkable. Yet as she looked at her brother’s face, she thought she understood. Enemies killed in battle were accorded decent burning; so, too, the dragon.
Sweat began to bead on Tobin’s forehead as the flames rose higher and hotter, augmented now by the silent efforts of the
faradh’im
standing nearby. Piles of sweet herbs and incense had been placed around both corpses, but they could not mask the smell of charring flesh. She glanced at the faces around her, seeing that Stronghold’s people wept unashamedly for their prince. Various foreigners who happened to be at the keep stood in little groups, wearing conventional masks of solemnity. Tobin resented their presence, but they had to witness the ceremony and Rohan’s conduct during it. He had undoubtedly shocked them all by honoring the dragon, but they would learn by it that he was not to be predicted.
As the first waiting time ended, the outsiders filed toward Rohan, bowed, and started back to Stronghold. The servants and soldiers followed after they, too, had acknowledged their new prince. Before too much longer only the family and the
faradh’im
would remain here. Tobin tried to pick out Sioned in the cluster of anonymous gray-clad Sunrunners. At last Tobin saw the ends of the long fire-gold hair that hung loose down Sioned’s back below her veil. There were so many things Tobin wanted to know about this woman whose colors she had touched so briefly, but there had been no chance to talk. What did Sioned think of Rohan, of Stronghold, of the Desert—of becoming a princess?
Rohan accepted the homage of the last of the squires, then went to Anthoula and touched her arm, nodding toward Tobin and the twins. The
faradhi
’s limp was even more pronounced as she approached and held out her hands to Maarken and Jahni. She led them forward to pay their last respects to their grandsire. They turned then to bow to Rohan, and started back to the keep. Tobin was grateful for her brother’s kindness—Anthoula was too old to endure the entire night here, and the boys were too young. She pressed his hand in silent thanks and stood beside him, watching the flames.
Scenes from their childhood seemed to flicker in the fire, and a smile came to her face beneath her veil. Their father had been so good to them, loving them with a vast, gruff, indulgent affection even when he did not entirely understand them. As the hours wore on, she relived the past in the flames, glimpsing Zehava playing dragons with them, teaching them how to survive in the Desert, taking them along as he rode his lands—Radzyn, Tiglath, Tuath Castle, Skybowl, Remagev, Faolain Lowland, and a dozen smaller keeps where she and Rohan learned what it was to be ruler of the Desert. Tobin felt her grief burn away as the memories lit her heart.
Thank you for my life, Father. You never had much use for rituals, did you? But this one reminds me of all the things you gave me by giving me life. I love you as I love the Water I drink and the Air I breathe, the Earth’s bounty that feeds me and the Fire that’s between Chay and me. You gave me all those things. Thank you for my life.
When the three silent silver-cloaked moons were at their highest and their light very pure, the
faradh’im
formed a semicircle as close to the death stone as the Fire would allow. Smoke and bits of ash rose up to form a gray-black background as they linked hands, twenty-five slate-colored figures with Lady Andrade in their center. At any other time, Anthoula would have performed this ritual alone. Tobin was glad the old woman would be spared this strain—and that so many had gathered to give power to this ritual. She felt the flare of energy around her and swayed slightly. Chaynal, standing at her side, put his arm around her waist. She was aware of the exchange of frowns between him and Rohan over her head, but could not seem to look at either of them. Power was being woven nearby, and she sensed it along every nerve.
The
faradh’im
were stitching the moonlight into a silklike covering that reached the length and breadth of the land from the Sunrise Water to the island of Kierst-Isel, sending word to every other
faradh’im
that the old prince was dead. Tobin’s eyes were dazzled by the multiple prisms of color, each one different, all woven together in a loose, complex fabric flung out in all directions. And she was part of it—gliding with them down the skeins over moonswept meadows and mountains, across forests and lakes and deep gorges, skimming snowcaps and broad plains rich with wheat. She was a silver-winged bird gazing down at the whole of the continent, sending feathers of light drifting down to be caught by
faradh’im
in a hundred keeps. She was herself, and she was all the Sunrunners standing with their faces to the flames.
How beautiful it was, this landscape of an improbable dream. She flew with them, within them, colors shifting and dancing around her. Without any training and without any control but the general guidance of Andrade’s skill, Tobin was part of the gleaming fabric of moonlight across the land; was a bird flying free; was a dragon soaring and gliding through the night sky. She lost herself in image and color, dancing through light and shadow, enchanted.
“Tobin!”
She felt a vague disapproval as someone broke tradition by breaking the silence. Her name sounded again and something wrenched inside her. Too abruptly she returned, and was standing in the Desert near her father’s pyre. Chay’s arms were around her, his face stark with terror. A stabbing pain went through her skull and she whimpered, groping for that part of her that still winged over the moonlight. But she was alone, earth-bound, and cried out in anguish for the loss of that incredible beauty. From somewhere there came an answering cry, as despairing as her own, the voice of some unknown
faradhi
who understood her pain as none of the others could. She had a swift image of bright colors gone dark, and wanted to weep.
“Sioned!” called out another voice, and with faint surprise she realized it was the first time she had heard her brother speak the girl’s name. She shook like wind chimes in a storm, her bones clashing wild chords as each heartbeat brought new pain lancing through her head. “Sioned!” Rohan called again.
But it was Andrade who answered. “Urival—keep her breathing! Sioned, help me!”
The colors intensified, needles of reds and blues and greens slicing deep into her flesh and bone. Some of them hurt as they were torn away, but others melted into her body and she recognized these as her own.
Tobin became aware that she was propped against someone’s chest and there were hands around her ribs, squeezing rhythmically to keep her breathing. Urival, she thought, not even wondering how she knew. Someone else knelt at her left side, holding her hands, and without opening her eyes she knew it was Sioned. She could sense Andrade just as easily on her right. She sagged back, unutterably weary and desperately glad to be alive.
“Tobin?” Chay whispered, and at last she opened her eyes. He was kneeling by Sioned, the flames shivering along the lines of his face and shoulder. She shifted away from Urival’s support and toward her husband. Freeing her hands, she touched his cheek and smiled slightly.
“Stay right where you are,” Andrade ordered sharply. “I’m not going to tell you twice, so listen carefully. You were nearly shadow-lost tonight, Tobin, and if Sioned and I hadn’t known your colors, you would have died. Don’t you ever attempt to follow a Sunrunner again!”
Milar gave a soft gasp. “Is that what happened? But how could she do it?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Andrade shrugged. “She has the gifts, Mila.”
“From me.” The princess turned her head away.
“But it was beautiful!” Tobin protested. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of!”
“Of course it isn’t,” Andrade said, casting an annoyed look at her twin. “Just the same, you shouldn’t have been able to do it.”
“It wasn’t her highness’ doing, my Lady,” Sioned whispered, her head bent. “I was the one who caused it. Forgive me. It’s because I’d touched her before, you see. I—I’m not fit to wear my rings. . . .”
Andrade rocked back on her heels, scowling. But it was Urival who spoke in deliberately mild tones, saying, “I thought I taught you better than that.”
“It would seem she was not paying sufficient attention,” Rohan said coldly.
Sioned flinched. But though they all stared at him in shock, no one dared make the retort such arrogant rudeness deserved. He was not brother or son or friend tonight; he was the prince.
Andrade finally broke the silence. “Chay, take her back to the keep and make her rest. She needs time to heal.”
“But she’ll be all right,” he said, not quite a question.
Tobin pushed herself to a sitting position, hiding sudden dizziness. “I wish you’d stop talking about me as if I weren’t here. I’m fine.”
“We’ll see,” Andrade said. “Chay, get her into bed.” Rising to her feet, she took Milar’s arm and returned to Zehava’s pyre.
Tobin submitted meekly as Urival helped her to stand and gave her into Chay’s worried keeping. After assuring himself that she could walk, he didn’t let her; he picked her up and carried her the whole three measures, telling her to keep her mouth shut when she began a protest. She looked back once over her shoulder at her brother, who stood alone and rigid and staring at Sioned’s bowed head.
Tobin managed to stay awake until Chay had tucked her into their bed and made her swallow a cup of wine. After the day’s fasting and the events of the night, the wine hit her like a fist to the jaw. The next she knew, it was morning and he was still at her side. The dark stubble of his beard scratched her cheek as he caught her fiercely against him.
“You scared me to death, you silly bitch,” he growled.
She snuggled into his arms, rightly interpreting this as proof of his love, then kissed his neck and pulled away. “I’m quite all right now. Have you been awake all night?”
He placed her back on the pillows as if she was made of Fironese crystal. “You stopped breathing out there, you know. So I kept count while you were sleeping.”
She bit her lip, then managed, “I’m sorry, love.”
“You ought to be. Turn over and go back to sleep.”
“I can’t. I have to talk to Sioned before Rohan does—and especially before Andrade gets the chance to shout at her. It really wasn’t her fault, you know.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind.” He was frowning.
“Chay.” Tobin sighed impatiently. “Does she seem like the kind of person who’d be so careless? Or, to put it another way, would Andrade have chosen her for Rohan if she was? I know what I experienced last night. I want her to explain exactly what happened, that’s all. We both have to know.”
“I can’t argue about that.”
She hesitated, then plucked at his sleeve. “Does it matter to you? That I’ve turned out to be—”
“What matters to me is that you’re still safe. And it hasn’t been proven that you’re
faradhi.
I’ll get a servant to go find the girl.” He rose and went to the door, then turned. “But if anything like this ever happens again—”