The young man grunted. "There's no fooling you, is there? A courier rode in a little while ago with a note from Miyon of Cunaxa. He wants a conference regarding trade and has several interesting proposals. He also wants a swift answer, so I came down here to ask what reply you want sent."

"How interesting?" Pol leaned forward, blue-green eyes narrowed with suspicion. interesting?" Pol leaned forward, blue-green eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Very. For instance, he suggests a yearly port fee for trade through Tiglath, the same for what goes past Feruche. His initial figure is fairly substantial, but it's still less than I make fining the shipments they try to slip by me."

"I see," Rohan said softly. "And what do you think?"

Tallain shrugged. "You must do what you believe is right, my lord, as always. I trust you to see to my advantage as well as your own. But there would be a benefit in setting a yearly fee for as much as they can ship from Tiglath. I wouldn't have to play this ridiculous game of spying on Cunaxan shipments. It's highly undignified. I'm willing to give up a little profit for a little peace."

Rohan flicked a glance at his son. But Pol had never had any experience of greedy, self-serving va.s.sals who said one thing, thought another, and did a third. Pol found Tallain's words perfectly natural as well as logical.

Pol thought the look was to prompt his comments. "Relations among all three princedoms would improve, you know. We wouldn't have all this squabbling over fines on illegal trade. It is, as you say, undignified."

"Exactly. And I'd save the wages of six or eight inspectors, too." Tallain chuckled. "Ah, they call us lords and princes, when all we really are is glorified merchants!"

"Speak for yourself," Pol shot back, grinning. "I happen to be a glorified farmer!" happen to be a glorified farmer!"

Rohan laughed with them, but as he was agreeing to the conference he was also thinking about the other factor probably involved. Ruval and Marron had escaped north from the vicinity of Elktrap Manor; Miyon was a possible ally in any attempt against himself and Pol. It was conceivable that this trade negotiation in advance of the Rialla Rialla was a second move in that challenge. If so, Ruval and Marron might be-no, was a second move in that challenge. If so, Ruval and Marron might be-no, would would be-part of Miyon's suite. be-part of Miyon's suite.

Might be, could be, would be-so much of a prince's life was based on conjecture and speculation. No wonder Pol accused him of not acting. acting.

"However," Rohan finished, "I won't have Miyon at Stronghold. Invite him to Tiglath. And keep a sharp eye on him. Riyan can go with you and act as Sunrunner to keep us apprised of what's going on." Riyan also knew what the brothers looked like. Rohan would speak to him about his suspicions, but not to Tallain. The young lord would have enough to do without seeking spies as well.

Tallain nodded slowly, his eyes lighting. "Perhaps I can fool him into thinking we can make a private deal, and learn what's behind all this sweet friendship. I don't believe any more than you do that all he wants is an agreement prior to the Rialla. Rialla. But I hadn't thought before of sounding him out in private at Tiglath." Turning to Pol, he added, "I was your father's squire for eight years, like Tilal and Walvis before me. And not one of us has ever been about to outthink him!" But I hadn't thought before of sounding him out in private at Tiglath." Turning to Pol, he added, "I was your father's squire for eight years, like Tilal and Walvis before me. And not one of us has ever been about to outthink him!"

"Neither have I," Pol grumbled, shooting a teasing glance at his father. "He does it just to annoy us, you know."

"I always suspected as much."

Rohan sipped his wine and looked innocent, unwilling to show that Tallain's interpretation was one he had not hit upon. From his aunt Andrade he had picked up the trick of taking credit for more cleverness than he possessed. And very useful it could be, too.

"Go away now, children," he said, waving them from the room. "All this thinking has worn a hole in my brain. I'm growing old, and the younger generation exhausts me."

Snorting, Pol got to his feet and accompanied Tallain to the door. "Mother said something about coming down this evening to dine with you. Shall I tell her you're too feeble to do her justice?"

"If you did," Rohan said serenely, "she wouldn't believe you."

Chapter Thirteen.

Tiglath: 20 Spring.

It had happened as Tobin had said it would; for the first time in a hundred years, the Desert bloomed.

Rain, soaking into the parched land all winter, had washed away the work of countless storms that constantly resculpted the dunes and piled layers of sand atop the seeds and spores that had lain dormant since the last floods. Deposited there long ago by winds and dragons and migrating birds, the sleeping life swelled with water, quivered in the sun's warmth as the sand sluiced away. More recent arrivals washed down gulleys and were caught by rocks or in little pools. These muddy cauldrons were the first to bloom.

Scrub that flowered seasonally with miniscule dry blossoms burst into luxuriance. Cacti and succulents drank in water, put forth new growth and wildly beautiful flowers. The Desert that in living memory had never worn any colors but gold and brown and sun-bleached white slowly bedecked itself in a motley of blues and reds and oranges on a background of startling green.

And it spread, gradually and then with increasing speed, up from the canyons and ravines across the dunes: veils of dusky, hesitant green that thickened into blankets of flowers. All across the Long Sand incredible color unfurled, rippling over the curves and hollows like a velvet quilt across a sleeping body, moving gently with every breath.

Always before, any flowers that appeared in the Desert withered within a few days. But roots and stalks had stored up the glut of water, and the colors not only lived, they increased with new blossoms. Scents sweet and spicy and pungent and heady obliterated the dry, thin smell of wasteland air. And with these came other movement, tiny winged creatures attracted by the fragrance of flowers. Insects by the millions came to the feast, some wearing as many colors as the flowers. Their humming underscored the usual silence, slowly overtaking it-until the birds came. And then there was not only color and scent and sound in the Desert, but music.

Sionell of Tiglath, absently working a lapful of flowers into a chain, saw her present companion as very like this brilliant spring: beautiful to begin with, but wearing unfamiliar finery. She wondered which would be the first to cast it off-the Desert, or Meiglan.

Occasionally she suspected that the girl was thinking the same thing.

Her history was simple enough. Born at Gracine Manor to the first of Miyon's several mistresses, she had spent the first fifteen winters of her life despised by the mother who had counted on a son. Miyon had ignored them both. At Lady Adilia's death two years ago, Meiglan had been brought to Castle Pine, given a personal servant, pretty clothes, and a strict education according to Miyon's idea of the perfect prince's daughter.

"Not a happy schooling, either, from what I was able to learn from her servant," Rialt had told Sionell. "Whatever she does, and however hard she tries, Miyon finds fault."

As if everyone at Tiglath hadn't guessed that by now. Yet Meiglan was part of her father's entourage on this little visit to Tiglath. Miyon no longer ignored her-but why exactly he had decided to bring her with him gnawed at Sionell's curiosity.

Meiglan was a succession of contradictions. At nearly eighteen, her face was still as sweetly wistful as a little girl's, but her body's perfect curves were those of a woman grown. She was a blonde, with delicate white skin and ma.s.ses of pale hair that floated down her back like a golden cloud, but her eyes were the deep brown of fallen leaves. In that dark gaze was a watchfulness that combined an adult's shrewd calculation of the moods and whims of others-and a child's wariness of their power to hurt her.

She sat near Sionell now on a gra.s.sy knoll that last spring had been a sand dune, frail hands also weaving chains from the flowers brought by Maarken's five-year-old twins. The children raced about, Rohannon a little awkward on long legs he couldn't quite get securely under him, plucking up blossoms to dump in the ladies' laps. Sionell had suggested the outing to get Meiglan out of her room for a morning-the girl had hidden there all day, every day, for the six she had been at Tiglath, emerging only at dinner. And small wonder. Miyon no longer ignored her, but his attention was no blessing.

Sionell gave a sudden start as Chayla rained an armful of pollen-heavy goldbeard all over her. She grabbed for the child, tickling until they were breathless and had rolled halfway down the hill. When she climbed back up, retrieving scattered flowers along the way, she caught Meiglan looking at her with an expression bordering on tears.

Poor little one, Sionell thought. Her throat ached with pity for this child, growing up alone with a mother who loathed her and now trapped at Castle Pine with a father whose contempt was expressed in mocking endearments-"precious jewel," "sweetest treasure," "perfect golden rose." If he had brought Meiglan with him simply to infuriate his hostess, he had accomplished his aim. Sionell thought. Her throat ached with pity for this child, growing up alone with a mother who loathed her and now trapped at Castle Pine with a father whose contempt was expressed in mocking endearments-"precious jewel," "sweetest treasure," "perfect golden rose." If he had brought Meiglan with him simply to infuriate his hostess, he had accomplished his aim.

But there must be something else, Sionell fretted. The girl wasn't stupid-there was intelligence enough behind her cowed silences. Perhaps she had some part to play in the negotiations that was so obscure only Rohan's devious mind would discern it.

Miyon, however, seemed intent on creating the impression that his daughter was a moron. Only last evening he had commented, "Her mother didn't have the wit to come in out of a sandstorm-but Meiglan doesn't have a wit in her head." Then, smiling a smile that made Sionell want to slap him, he added, "But a beautiful woman doesn't need a brain, does she, my precious flower?"

Meiglan wasn't wasn't stupid. And no one could be as innocent as she appeared to be. She must know many useful things about her father and his court. With a mental shrug, Sionell decided that at least she could draw her out about Miyon's other b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, rumored to number at least three. So, gathering the blossoms Chayla had scattered, she started chatting about her own extended kin-network. Though she was related by blood to none but her parents and brother, the position of squire to the High Prince held by her father and later her husband included them and her in the vast tangle of highborns that embraced six princedoms. She spoke casually of Kostas' young son Daniv and Tilal's boy Rihani, both of whom would be ruling princes one day; Alasen's little Dannar with his head of flaming red hair, and Volog's grandson Saumer, Named for his old enemy of Isel. It was utterly lost on Meiglan that all the offspring mentioned were boys. She merely nodded and looked impressed, and volunteered nothing about any siblings she might or might not have who could one day inherit Cunaxa. Sionell couldn't decide if this was due to cunning, orders from Miyon to keep silent, or simple shyness. Perhaps, she thought, a combination of all three. stupid. And no one could be as innocent as she appeared to be. She must know many useful things about her father and his court. With a mental shrug, Sionell decided that at least she could draw her out about Miyon's other b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, rumored to number at least three. So, gathering the blossoms Chayla had scattered, she started chatting about her own extended kin-network. Though she was related by blood to none but her parents and brother, the position of squire to the High Prince held by her father and later her husband included them and her in the vast tangle of highborns that embraced six princedoms. She spoke casually of Kostas' young son Daniv and Tilal's boy Rihani, both of whom would be ruling princes one day; Alasen's little Dannar with his head of flaming red hair, and Volog's grandson Saumer, Named for his old enemy of Isel. It was utterly lost on Meiglan that all the offspring mentioned were boys. She merely nodded and looked impressed, and volunteered nothing about any siblings she might or might not have who could one day inherit Cunaxa. Sionell couldn't decide if this was due to cunning, orders from Miyon to keep silent, or simple shyness. Perhaps, she thought, a combination of all three.

It irritated her to suspect Meiglan of anything-and the fact that she could come up with no specific reasons for her suspiciousness irked her all the more. The girl looked so utterly guileless, innocent as a raindrop in the sun. It almost made Sionell feel unclean to mistrust her.

And perhaps that was exactly how she was meant meant to feel. to feel.

Still, after seeing Meiglan turn white as ice in response to Miyon's barbed superlatives at dinner that night, Sionell had had enough.

"I've never seen a servant servant treated like this!" she fumed as she and Tallain got ready for bed. "He says he brought her along to see something of the world-but she's really here to provide an outlet for his temper!" treated like this!" she fumed as she and Tallain got ready for bed. "He says he brought her along to see something of the world-but she's really here to provide an outlet for his temper!"

"Which he doesn't dare inflict on the rest of us," Tallain replied. "It sounds as if she's made a friend in you, though."

"I don't think she knows what it is to have a friend." She unbound her hair and angrily began brushing it.

Tallain smiled. Taking the brush from her fingers, he smoothed the thick, dark red waves of her hair, his touch caressing and proud. "I understand your irritation, Sionell. But don't sc.r.a.pe your head bald over it. Meiglan probably doesn't see him here as much as she does at Castle Pine, so he has less opportunity to devil her. That alone must be G.o.ddess blessing to the poor girl."

She closed her eyes, sighing with the pleasure of his hands. "I keep waiting for her to smile a little. This morning we went out picking flowers-n.o.body can resist Chayla and Rohannon at play. But she was all stiff and withdrawn. It's pathetic, Tallain. She's little more than a child herself."

"Mmm. When one looks at her face, yes. Perhaps."

Sionell met his gaze in the dressing table mirror. "Which means?"

"There's a woman's body on that child. Not a man here hasn't noticed it."

Her brows arched. "Yourself included?"

"Of course," he replied blithely. "But I prefer women who are are women." women."

"Prettily said, my lord."

"It also has the merit of being the truth-not a thing I've heard much of these last six days."

She turned to face him. "Have you discovered Miyon's real reason for being here?"

"Nothing I can put my finger on." He shrugged, tapping the back of the brush against his palm. "It's as if he's waiting until lack of agreement makes it necessary for him to visit Stronghold for direct talks with Rohan and Pol. But what he wants from them them isn't clear at all." isn't clear at all."

"He knows you're authorized to negotiate in their names," she mused. "So we're correct, and this business of yearly fees isn't his real aim at all. I wonder what he wants."

"What he's always wanted: Tiglath itself. We toured the warehouses the other day and his eyes were positively glowing with greed."

"Has he some scheme in mind to take the city from us?"

"To do that, he'd have to get rid of Rohan. He has no right to the Desert and everyone knows it. He hasn't the armies to concoct a military victory that would win our land by right of war. Not even Miyon is fool enough to try it."

"On his own, no. But you're forgetting his probable allies. Roelstra's grandsons."

Tallain nodded, admiration in his face that he never spoke of aloud-which was an even greater compliment than if he had congratulated her on her wits. He expected expected her to be clever; telling her she was would be insulting. her to be clever; telling her she was would be insulting.

"You're right. I had had forgotten. But that still doesn't tell me why he wants to be at Stronghold." forgotten. But that still doesn't tell me why he wants to be at Stronghold."

"Betrayal from within?" she mused. "He's got an armed escort. Some of them are probably Merida. It may be hundreds of years since they started their filthy trade, but I doubt their talents for a.s.sa.s.sination have wilted."

Tallain shook his head. "Any challenge has to be public. And for that they need Pol alive. That was Rohan's reasoning in the matter of the pretender nine years ago. He wanted Masul denounced in public so Pol's right would be in no doubt." He shrugged again and resumed brushing her hair. "It didn't quite work out that way, of course. But depend on it, no son of Ianthe's could be stupid. It wouldn't be enough simply to kill Pol and seize Princemarch."

"They'd have his death and his princedom. What else could they want?"

"Revenge. There's not a vicious bone in your body, my love. You don't think that way. But consider the sons of a princess, grandsons of a High Prince, condemned to obscurity all their lives."

Sionell nodded slowly. "It's just what motivated Masul."

"But his birth was in doubt. Ruval and Marron know precisely who their mother was."

"Lucky them," she said sourly. "Well, at least we don't have to fear gla.s.s knives in our princes' throats. Whatever happens will happen out in the open. Rohan's already thought of all this, of course."

Tallain smiled. "He'd be shocked if we ever doubted it. I'm going to stall Miyon here until Rohan wants him at Stronghold. Which should make for an interesting spring, given Miyon's behavior and your fondness for Meiglan." He laughed suddenly. "Do you remember what Rohan said about him once? That rumor had it Miyon made a detailed study of human beings and learned to imitate them rather well. Not perfectly, of course, but he manages to get most of it right."

She gave him her sweetest smile. "My mother once carved up a dragon to find out how he worked. Perhaps I ought to do the same for Miyon."

It had been hard to arrange, but Ruval and Marron had their own chamber at Tiglath. Small, cramped for one person and nearly impossible for two, lacking window or fireplace for light and stuffy beyond toleration, still it had the one essential feature that made it perfect. It locked.

Marron slid the bolt home and secured it. Ruval's lips twisted at his brother's long, relieved sigh.

"Too much of a strain?"

"Don't pretend you're not tired," Marron replied irritably. "You may be used to the high dose of dranath dranath necessary for this, but it's not easy." necessary for this, but it's not easy."

"Still, rather amusing, you'll admit." Ruval stretched out on one narrow cot, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the rough-hewn ceiling. "I never realized before what scant notice highborns take of those who serve them. For instance, I rode escort with Miyon and Tallain the other day to the merchant quarter, and neither looked twice at me. Miyon's aware of the shape I've taken, but he honestly didn't see me."

"I know what you mean." The younger of the brothers leaned back against the wooden door, fists in the pockets of his trousers. "I used to get the same treatment at Swalekeep. Until I made made Chiana notice me." Peering at Ruval by the light of a candlebranch-outrageous expense that indicated the extent of Tallain's wealth-he snorted suddenly. "You're fading." Chiana notice me." Peering at Ruval by the light of a candlebranch-outrageous expense that indicated the extent of Tallain's wealth-he snorted suddenly. "You're fading."

"I'm relaxing," Ruval corrected. "And anyway, we diarmadh'im diarmadh'im can more or less see through this if we're looking for it. You are. The others aren't." He laughed. "I may spend tomorrow around Riyan, if I can manage it." can more or less see through this if we're looking for it. You are. The others aren't." He laughed. "I may spend tomorrow around Riyan, if I can manage it."

"Stay away from him!" Marron warned.

"Stop fretting." Kicking off his low boots with the soft heels that were mandatory within this residence of polished floors and priceless carpets, Ruval stretched. "Maybe you're right about this being a strain. Or maybe I'm just bored. By the Nameless One, this bowing and sc.r.a.ping is hard on a man's nerves. I don't know how you tolerated it at Swalekeep." Yawning, he untied the top laces of his light silk shirt. "I can hardly keep my eyes open."

"Well, let go of the working, then. And get some sleep."

"Such solicitude, brother," Ruval said mockingly.

"Self-preservation, brother," Marron replied in the same tone. "If you start to waver, that'll put an end to this. And, frankly, I intend to be a guest at Pol's burning, not the centerpiece at my own."

Marron blew out the candles one by one. Eight small puffs-but he hesitated before the ninth, glancing at his brother to confirm the slow change. Gone was the eerie impression of sharper cheekbones, cleft chin, brighter hair, and longer jaw superimposed on the familiar like the presence of a ghost. Ruval's face was again Ruval's face, not the subtly altered features of a stranger.

Marron let go of his own iron control, bolstered by huge amounts of dranath. dranath. He didn't need to rea.s.sure himself with the sight of his own transformation in the small mirror by the door; he had watched it before, fascinated. There was little physical sensation either in the a.s.sumption of the differences or in their fading, only a slight tingle in his head as he projected the illusion. He didn't need to rea.s.sure himself with the sight of his own transformation in the small mirror by the door; he had watched it before, fascinated. There was little physical sensation either in the a.s.sumption of the differences or in their fading, only a slight tingle in his head as he projected the illusion.

At first it had felt as if he was wearing someone else's clothes-a good fit but not perfect, binding here, loose there. His movements and facial expressions had been correspondingly awkward, the way one walks against one's natural rhythms, trying to compensate, when wearing another man's boots.

Only what he and Mireva had designed was a whole new skin, and it had taken time and work to adjust the fit.

The loosening of the spell relaxed him. He glanced at the scar on his wrist, souvenir of a childhood mishap, now visible again. His mouth was his own once more-wider, full-lipped, stretching in his own smile as the release of tension washed through him. He imagined sometimes that he could even feel his eye color change from pale yellowish-green back to brown.

At night even a diarmadhi diarmadhi mind must relinquish control, and anyone looking at him or Ruval would see their true forms and features. Thus the locked chamber. Mireva had no need for similar accommodations, and shared a tiny room with Thanys near the nursery. She had never been seen by any of their enemies; the only alteration in her appearance was a concerted effort to make herself seem even older than she was. mind must relinquish control, and anyone looking at him or Ruval would see their true forms and features. Thus the locked chamber. Mireva had no need for similar accommodations, and shared a tiny room with Thanys near the nursery. She had never been seen by any of their enemies; the only alteration in her appearance was a concerted effort to make herself seem even older than she was. Her Her illusion working would come later, at Stronghold. illusion working would come later, at Stronghold.

Marron made sure once again that the door was locked, then blew out the last candle and lay down on the second cot. The air was close and hot, and for the past six nights he had not slept well. But tonight he was exhausted, lack of sleep and acc.u.mulation of strain from sustaining the illusion finally catching up with him. After turning once or twice to find the least uncomfortable position, he sought and quickly found oblivion.

He did not wake when Ruval sat up, pulled on his boots, and silently left the room.

Mireva whirled angrily, nearly choking on a swallow of dranath- dranath-laced wine as the door opened and Thanys slid into their chamber.

"Don't startle me like that!" she hissed.