sure RiverStar was making this up. SunSoars were fated to truly love only another SunSoar, cursed to desire only their own blood. RiverStar could not be this satisfied with anyone but a SunSoar male – and who was available for them in Sigholt? No-one but first blood, their brothers and their father, and first blood was Forbidden.
She paused with her mouth half-open. No, not quite. There was always –
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” RiverStar said, and Zenith stood up in frustration, determined to find another topic of conversation. Did RiverStar think of nothing but the pleasures of a bedding?
“What else is there to think of in this foggy palace?” RiverStar asked, looking out the window to where the magical blue mists shrouded Sigholt.
“There are mysteries to contemplate,” Zenith said quietly, moving over to the window. “Dreams to examine.” Her voice had faded, and she was lost in her own thoughts now, not listening to RiverStar.
“Mysteries, bah!” RiverStar waved her hand impatiently. “The only mystery I wish to explore exists in the junction of –”
“In you the Icarii inclination towards obscenity has flowered into its full, foul-smelling ripeness, RiverStar,” a man’s voice said from the doorway.
“Drago,” RiverStar said, and leaned back in her chair, smoothing her filmy gown over her body. “My dear, sweet twin brother, what bitterness you display! Ever since our mother reversed your blood order and disinherited you from your Icarii powers you have been absolutely incapable of bedding anyone save the girls who sweep the kitchens. Think, Zenith, of all the Icarii female Enchanters he must covet,” she ran her hand over a breast, “and yet whom he cannot hope to bed in the face of their laughter and rejection.”
“RiverStar –” Zenith began.
“Would you beg to have me, Drago?” RiverStar pinched out her nipple. “Would you roll on the floor before me and beg?”
“Whore,” Drago said flatly, and stepped into the room. He turned as if to speak to Leagh, sitting in such embarrassed silence she wished all the SunSoar siblings would just go and find somewhere else to quarrel, but RiverStar had not yet finished with her brother.
“Wouldn’t he have made a useless Enchanter, Zenith?” she said, pretending a thoughtful expression. “But perhaps he would have expended his power using the Star Dance to burn up beetles on the parapets.”
Zenith opened her mouth, and then closed it again. What could she do now that she hadn’t tried previously? The gulf between RiverStar and Drago had grown over the past ten years as Drago had felt the first stirrings of age within his human body. RiverStar – shallow creature that she was – could not help but taunt his mortality. Drago could do nothing but meet her taunts with either the pretence of indifferent silence or the uselessness of sarcasm. That they had once shared a womb meant nothing to them now.
She saw Drago turn his gaze from Leagh to her, and watched his own eyes harden as he saw the sympathy in hers. Drago did not want anyone fighting his wars for him.
“But there is SunSoar blood in you yet,” RiverStar murmured, and her hand slid down her belly, her fingers daring, “and perhaps it craves SunSoar blood. Methinks you do not find that among your kitchen maids.”
Drago took a great breath, held it, and turned his back on RiverStar. “Leagh, Caelum would like you to –”
“Aha!” RiverStar laughed. “Our splendid leader has found a purpose for this all but useless man who stands before us. A messenger boy. Not an occupation imbued with pride, Drago, but perhaps it gives you some small purpose in life.”
Her barb finally found its mark. Drago whipped round to face his sister. “You’re nothing but a cold bitch, RiverStar,” he said with icy flatness. “You’d be happy enough left with a hound to couple with.”
He, in his turn, had stung deeply.
“You pathetic little human man!” RiverStar hissed, her face twisted with loathing. “I shall laugh over your grave! I will enjoy my lover on the sods above your mouldering flesh! I will –”
“That is enough,” Zenith said sharply. “Drago, what is it?”
Drago wrenched his eyes away from RiverStar, two red spots of anger in his cheeks, and half bowed to Leagh. To Zenith’s amazement his voice came out soft, almost gentle, and she wondered at the effort it must have cost him.
“Princess Leagh, I was walking up the main staircase when my brother Caelum called me to find you. He wishes your presence in the courtyard. The word from the sentries is that Zared and his escort ride towards the bridge.”
And then he stepped forward, and with the grace of a courtier offered a shocked and pale Leagh his arm and support.
Leagh could not control the skidding of her heart, nor the sudden cramp in her chest that made each breath a painful effort. Calm down! she berated herself, but it did not help. Zared was only moments away, and it had been so long since she’d seen him.
Drago did not say a word as he led her down the corridors and stairwells of Sigholt. Leagh leaned on him without embarrassment – without him, she thought, she could not walk – and Drago made no complaint.
It was late afternoon, and the Keep threw a deep shadow over the courtyard. Leagh stumbled slightly as she and Drago walked outside, and he tightened his arm and drew her in a little closer.
“Hope,” she thought she heard him say, but when she glanced at his face it was expressionless, his eyes elsewhere, and so she thought she had imagined it.
There were several ranks of soldiers lined up in the courtyard, their hands ready on the hilts of their swords to provide a welcoming salute. Caelum, dressed all in black, walked forward to greet her.
Askam was two or three steps behind.
Leagh saw Caelum exchange a hard glance with Drago, and she felt Drago stiffen at her side, but she had no time for further observation of the brothers’ enmity.
“Zared?” she asked Caelum, and was stunned to hear her voice come out cool. Calm, even.
“A minute away,” Caelum said. “No more.”
And, indeed, at that moment Leagh heard the bridge call out to Zared, welcoming him. The bridge did not challenge him, for Zared had been born within Sigholt’s walls, and she knew him well.
Almost before the bridge had finished her greeting there came the clatter of many hooves on the bridge, and Leagh had a moment of panic.
Gods, what was she wearing? A pale blue linen gown that could be called serviceable, nothing more. And her hair! Leagh’s free hand patted at her head, remembering with horror that this morning she’d left her hair in nothing but a single thick braid down her back.
“Leagh,” Zenith’s soft voice said behind her, “you look lovely. Do not fret.”
I should be greeting Zared in the audience chamber of our
