reached Alqualanya Flower Forest a few candlemarks later, and then Carangil and those Lightborn with Door to Call moved them between Alqualanya and Rimroheth in a heartbeat. It had all been accomplished with such speed that no messenger could have sent word before them, but as Runacarendalur and Ladyholder Glorthiachiel walked from the center of Rimroheth, they found a familiar figure waiting for them.
“’Rulion,” Runacarendalur said in surprise. “Am I to be laid in irons? Or do you come to rejoice at our dear mother’s return? And mine, of course.”
“You look like a Landbond,” his brother said flatly. “But I came to warn you, because Light knows your servants won’t.”
“Warn us?” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel demanded. “Of what?”
“Father … entertains,” Ivrulion said with heavy irony. “What news Runacarendalur sent of the battle disturbed him. And so we host Cirandeiron, and Aramenthiali, and Telthorelandor.”
“What?” Runacarendalur and Ladyholder Glorthiachiel spoke almost in chorus. Runacarendalur could not have been more stunned if his brother had told him Vieliessar had conquered Caerthalien and was awaiting him here.
“Their armies, or…?”
Ladyholder Glorthiachiel glared at him murderously, and Runacarendalur fell silent.
“Their War Princes,” Ivrulion said. “And you should be grateful for that, Rune, for the army—what you left of it—is still a fortnight from the border. It is the absence of their provisions, their servants, and our Lightborn that slows them, I suppose, though really, when you consider the matter, a smaller—”
It took a moment for the sense of his brother’s words to penetrate. “But the servants— Our Lightborn—” Runacarendalur said, in shock.
“Some of the servants—a few hundred—accompany them. None of our Lightborn.”
“Oh, never mind that now! If Cirandeiron, Telthorelandor, and Aramenthiali are within our walls, why are we standing here talking?” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel demanded. “And we will enter by the siege gate, Ivrulion, for I will not permit our adventure in Oronviel to seem as if it were a disaster.”
For one War Prince to come to another’s domain meant either absolute trust between them—which was impossible—or a common goal so important that a temporary amnesty existed until that goal was met. Runacarendalur did not have to ask why Cirandeiron, Aramenthiali, and Telthorelandor had been sent for: the timing was too exact.
Any thought he’d had—admittedly negligible—of telling anyone that he had discovered himself to be the destined Bondmate of Vieliessar of whatever-domain-she-claimed vanished. He suspected that revealing this would dramatically shorten his life, but loyalty to Caerthalien had made him at least consider it. But that had been when it would be a thing known only to Caerthalien. If Father was conspiring with other War Princes once more …
Runacarendalur picked up the winecup on the tray a servant had brought to his room but set it down again. He’d been summoned to attend Father’s gathering as soon as he was washed and dressed. He’d need a clear head for that—he’d rather walk naked into an ice tiger’s den at Midwinter than deal with any of the Old Alliance. Or their consorts.
He regarded himself in the mirror and thought he looked presentable enough. No one would think that for more than a sennight he’d been sleeping under bushes and eating food he wouldn’t throw to his hounds.
He gave a last tug to his tunic and walked from his chambers.
The old records called the chamber directly above the Great Hall the Audience Chamber, but generations of War Princes had conducted all their duties in the Great Hall, before the sight of all, or in their private chambers, before the sight of none. Runacarendalur couldn’t remember the last time the Audience Chamber had actually been used. Just now it had been dressed as a rather luxurious receiving chamber.
“—stromancer could have picked a more convenient time to enact this foolishness,” Runacarendalur heard as the servant opened the door. It was Lord Girelrian—War Prince Girelrian of Cirandeiron—who spoke. She was old enough to be her husband’s greatmother, for she had taken the throne early and ruled alone until the need to secure the Line caused her to make Irindandirion of Cirandeiron her Consort-Prince. Irindandirion was deadly upon the battlefield and fanatical about his clothes and jewels. He kept a dozen catamites and knew better than to involve himself in any matters of rule.
“Oronviel’s timing in removing its Postulants from the Sanctuary is interesting,” War Prince Ivaloriel Telthorelandor said. “Either Hamphuliadiel plots with Oronviel, or Oronviel wishes us to think he does. Either way, we have sufficient cause to encourage the Astromancer to resign—whether the Vilya has … ah … fruited, or not.”
It was said no one had ever seen Lord Ivaloriel angry, even when the tide of battle turned against him. His detachment on the field was matched only by his even-handedness in ruling his domain; the War Prince of Telthorelandor ruled without favorites or intimates—except Ladyholder Edheleorn, his Bondmate. Runacarendalur barely flinched at the thought of Bonding; the fact that three War Princes were being hosted by a fourth was too shocking.
“Oh, but here is Runacarendalur!” An exquisitely dressed woman, all in green, left her husband’s side and swept over to where Runacarendalur stood. She placed a hand upon his chest and gazed up at him meltingly. “Why, you are even more handsome than you were when I saw you last. Soon you will eclipse your father in beauty and I shall be lost.”
“Ladyholder Dormorothon,” Runacarendalur answered, his voice even. He didn’t miss the look of cold venom Lord Manderechiel directed at his lady’s back—and at him, for there were two things in the Fortunate Lands the War Prince of Aramenthiali hated above all others: his wife … and House Caerthalien.
Dormorothon was Manderechiel’s second wife—his first marriage had been a love match, but Lady Ciamokene had died giving birth to Sedreret Heir-Prince, and Manderechiel had chosen to wed Dormorothon, for no Lightborn’s children would ever challenge the progeny of his beloved Ciamokene for the right to succeed him. Dormorothon had been plotting even then; she made sure to bind Sedreret to her with ties stronger than blood. And now the tapestry of power patterned by the threads of her weaving was in danger of being disastrously unraveled.
“I see Mother is here before me. Have you yet had time to greet her properly?” Runacarendalur asked, doing his best to feign obliviousness. He walked with Dormorothon to where Ladyholder Glorthiachiel stood, Ivrulion beside her. Ivrulion nodded fractionally as Runacarendalur’s eyes met his: the chamber was Warded against any use of Magery. Ladyholder Dormorothon was not thought to possess the Lightborn Magery that would permit her to Hear the thoughts of others, but no one wanted to take any chances.
If not, of course, for his own overweening ambition.
Ivrulion’s presence at the meeting was reasonable enough. As Caerthalien’s Chief Lightborn, he was responsible for seeing that none of Lord Bolecthindial’s guests were poisoned or bespelled during their stay. Runacarendalur, however, was in attendance for no purpose other than to give a report of the campaign against Oronviel.
“Enough of this,” Lord Manderechiel barked. “We take no joy in one another’s company. We are here to discover why your heir made such a disastrous botch of a simple raid!”
“If it was so simple, my lord, I am surprised Aramenthiali did not precede Caerthalien to the field,”
