Part 35 (1/2)
What Firon was too far from had been amended, but Pol didn't press for a correction. ”Well, if that's how you feel about it . . . but I don't know too many men who'd turn up their noses at a princedom. Come on, let's get something to eat and then visit the hawks. Mother says she bought me one, and I haven't had the chance to see him yet.”
They selected various snacks and ate as they walked up the hill to the wood. Pol wanted to explore-out from under the stern eyes of Maarken and Ostvel-and so before turning for the caged and hooded birds, the pair slid through the trees and underbrush. Tilal made a game of it, teaching Pol some of the tricks necessary for hunting in a forest, which this son of the open Desert had yet to learn.
”You'll have to come to River Run some autumn and I'll show you what real real hunting is,” Tilal chuckled after Pol had stepped on yet another twig, its loud crack startling him. hunting is,” Tilal chuckled after Pol had stepped on yet another twig, its loud crack startling him.
”My lord Chadric lets us come with him sometimes, but it's always on horseback, hunting deer. Show me again how to walk without any noise.”
Tilal obliged, and Pol imitated him with growing skill. Each foot was placed softly, carefully; every muscle in the body controlled; all senses aware of scents and textures and breezes and sounds- ”Come any closer and I'll scream,” a woman said quietly.
Tilal grabbed Pol's elbow and they both froze. The voice had come from beyond a stand of berry brambles, its owner invisible and unknown to Pol-but the tense anger on Tilal's face revealed that he knew the woman's ident.i.ty.
”I mean it, Kostas! I'll scream and bring everyone running to witness this shameful-”
”No, Gemma. You won't scream. Above the noise of the hawks and the noise of the Fair, who would hear you? Besides, I mean you no harm, my lady. Only come to me, be with me-”
”No!”
Tilal's fingers put bruises onto Pol's arm to stop the boy's intended rush into the woods. ”No,” he breathed. ”Wait.”
”But he's going to-”
”Not even Kostas would do that.”
Pol considered. Rape was a heinous crime. If found guilty, the accused man was deprived of the physical equipment that would enable him to repeat the offense. If the woman made a false accusation, however, her dowry was forfeit to the man and her overlord had to pay a hefty fine for her lies. Kostas and Gemma both knew the law; neither would be so foolish as to risk rape or an accusation of it.
Gemma was stating this very fact to Kostas as Pol and Tilal listened. ”I'm sure you eventually want children! But be a.s.sured, my lord, that they will not come from me!”
”If you accuse me I can prove my innocence-and then you would lose Ossetia, for that's your dowry. I would be Prince of Ossetia with or without you, my lady. I would much rather it be with you at my side, in honor.”
”Honor!” she spat. ”And how would you prove your innocence? What makes you think my uncle Prince Chale would even let it come to trial? I have only to accuse you, and he'll kill you!”
”With my my uncle High Prince Rohan standing by? I think not, my lady. There are four witnesses of impeccable repute ready to swear I was with them all day. Come, Gemma,” he said, his voice softening. ”Stop this nonsense. We have always been intended for each other, even before you became Chale's heir. Accept me, and I'll make you happy, I swear it, and be a good and wise prince for both our lands-” uncle High Prince Rohan standing by? I think not, my lady. There are four witnesses of impeccable repute ready to swear I was with them all day. Come, Gemma,” he said, his voice softening. ”Stop this nonsense. We have always been intended for each other, even before you became Chale's heir. Accept me, and I'll make you happy, I swear it, and be a good and wise prince for both our lands-”
By now Tilal's hand was white around the wrapped sword. He had heard enough. He let go of Pol and slipped through an opening in the bushes. Pol followed, trembling with fury, and stood watching as the brothers confronted each other in the little glade.
”Four witnesses more impeccable than your own brother and the High Prince's son?” His voice was a swordthrust into Kostas' spine; the elder brother whirled, rage blazing in his eyes. ”How dare you?” Tilal hissed. ”d.a.m.n you, Kostas, leave her alone and before I forget you're my brother!”
Kostas' answer was to unsheathe his sword. Tilal tore at the wrappings of the weapon he'd bought for his father. Gemma had the good sense not to scream; instead she flung herself between the pair, a courageous move that nonetheless irritated Pol. He went forward, grasped her arm, and hauled her out of the way.
”They won't fight, my lady,” he told her in a clear voice meant not so much for her as for his cousins. ”If they do, everyone in all the princedoms will hear about this from me. me. Put up your weapon, Kostas. Put up your weapon, Kostas. Now. Now. Tilal, if you untie one more of those knots-” Tilal, if you untie one more of those knots-”
Enraged, the brothers turned on him with snarls. Pol found that his shaking had retreated deep within his body. His hands and voice were steady, his knees secure. He felt at once powerful and vulnerable: his will and personality battered strongly at their anger, but he was vulnerable to his own strange inner trembling, a warning he could not understand. Did his father ever feel this way? Was this what it was to experience the power of being High Prince?
Power he had, and it was exhilarating as well as frightening. Kostas slammed his sword back into its sheath. Tilal's fighting stance relaxed a fraction. Gemma was the one trembling now, her breath coming in little gasps.
”Do you wish to charge this man with rape, my lady?” Pol asked coldly.
She shook her head, bright auburn hair straggling down her neck and cheeks. ”No, your grace. I do not.”
”A wise decision, my lady.” He eased his grip on her and looked at the brothers. There was nothing more pathetic than two otherwise rational men fighting over the same woman. ”You both want her.”
Tilal glared at him, then turned away. Kostas looked as if he would draw his sword again and use it on Pol. The heady feeling of pitting his will against theirs grew-along with an equivalent fear of what might happen if he failed to dominate them.
”Did either of you ask Gemma what she she wants? Gentle G.o.ddess, what a pair!” Pol snorted. ”My lady, do you want either of these fools?” wants? Gentle G.o.ddess, what a pair!” Pol snorted. ”My lady, do you want either of these fools?”
She freed her hand from his and pushed the hair from her face, pulling herself straight and proud. ”The truth, your grace? Yes. And it is not Kostas I want for my husband.”
”And Prince of Ossetia,” Pol reminded her. ”Tilal, are you listening? Face me. Ask her.”
”No!” Kostas shouted. ”I won't allow it!”
Pol sighed. ”Tilal, I'm waiting.”
The young Lord of River Run swung around, still furious. ”I hope you're enjoying this, your grace!” he said viciously. ”Yes, I want her! I've always loved her-but I wouldn't marry her now if-”
Why were supposedly grown men so colossally stupid? ”You're about to lose your chance, Tilal. Ask her now or not at all.”
Kostas gave an inarticulate bellow and lunged for his brother. The pair rolled on the ground, not even remembering swords and knives, intent on the more direct satisfaction of pummeling fists, broken bones, and smashed jaws.
Pol watched for a moment, thoroughly disgusted. They probably would not do each other any serious damage, being evenly matched physically and too furious to be really effective in their battle. But as Kostas got in a decent kick, Gemma cried out Tilal's name, clinging to Pol's shoulder.
He shook her off and concentrated, calling Fire. Not much-just enough to get their attention. A respectable gout of red-gold flames rose from a stone to the height of the nearest bush. Gemma gave a little choked scream. Tilal and Kostas reacted more violently, breaking apart from each other and scrambling to their feet. The tense knot of power inside Pol uncurled, sending tendrils of excitement through him-still countered by the apprehension. He was beginning to cherish that chill little warning, and to understand it as an essential part of wielding power.
”Now,” he said softly, in the way he thought his father would, ”shall we behave like civilized people? Good. Tilal, the princess and I are still waiting.”
After Tobin's breakfast party-which had left Sioned satisfied with Chiana's progress in claiming Miyon's attention, if not with her son's little performance-she returned to her pavilion intending to spend a few quiet moments alone in her private quarters. But Andrade and Pandsala had arrived before her.
”Please don't start,” Sioned warned as she sank into a deep chair. ”Rohan didn't sleep very well last night, which means I didn't either. And I'm trying to think up a really good excuse to avoid blistering Pol's behind for him.”
”Oh, that.” Andrade waved away the boy's lapse with one hand. ”I was impressed by his control, actually. Sioned, we have things to discuss that can't wait.”
”I'm sorry, your grace,” Pandsala put in quietly.
”Apologize some other time,” Andrade interrupted. ”Sioned, over the years you've reasoned out most of my plans. But now the time is perfect for the culmination of everything I've worked for-and everything you and Rohan have wanted as well.”
Sioned felt herself go rigid with suspicion, and tried to relax. ”The two are not necessarily the same,” she commented warily.
”Nonsense. We all want the same thing in the end. And there'll never be a better chance for it. You can't consolidate everything under your own banner this year, of course, but the makings of it are right under your nose. Rohan started it himself when he encouraged Kierst and Isel to join in marriage. When Volog and Saumer are dead, that boy-what's his name? Arlis-he'll inherit both princedoms. And he's Pol's kinsman, which makes it perfect. Pol might just as well be ruling Kierst-Isel himself.”
Sioned murmured, ”Go on.”
”As for Ossetia-if we marry off Gemma to Kostas, then Ossetia and Syr are united as well under Pol's kinsman. What could be better?”
”Is there more?” she asked softly.
”Yes, your grace,” Pandsala replied. ”There is Firon. If it becomes part of Princemarch, then the crystal trade will be yours, as well as another princedom. And there is Port Adni. Lord Narat has no heir. His holding will revert to Volog on his death, and become part of Arlis' wealth. And there is Waes, as well. Once this pretender is exposed as a fraud, Kiele and Lyell can be dealt with, and Waes will become Clutha's.” She hesitated an instant, then went on determinedly. ”I suggest the same for all the others who support Masul. If they are allowed to retain their princedoms after opposing Pol's claim, they will always be enemies and not to be trusted. There are enough loyal young men within your own family and those of your allies to provide princes for Cunaxa, Gilad, Grib, and Fessenden, which look to be the main sources of opposition.”
”Do you agree with this?” Sioned met Andrade's cool blue eyes.