“Of course not,” said Tanalasta. “She’s also concerned that when the king hears of our affections, the weight of the crown may land on her head instead of mine.”
Rowen’s expression grew enigmatic. “And that fear is not well founded?”
Though Tanalasta sensed the pain in his question, she did not hesitate to answer honestly. He deserved that much. “Your family’s disgrace would cause a difficulty for the throne, yes. The loyal houses would see any favor shown you as an affront to their allegiance, and the neutral houses might take it to mean the throne has a short memory.”
“Then the king would have no choice in the matter,” Rowen surmised. “He would be forced to name Alusair his heir.”
Tanalasta shrugged. “It is not for us to predict the king. He can be a surprising man, and he knows that it’s better to retreat than to lose. Our chess games have taught him that.”
As Rowen considered this, Seaburt glanced back from the end of the line. “If the princess is too weak to walk…”
“The princess is strong enough to walk,” Tanalasta said. “Pay us no mind. We’ll ask if we need help.”
“Of course.” Seaburt cocked his brow and turned away. “I will be listening for your call.”
Experiencing a sudden dislike for the priest, Tanalasta glared at his back. When he was out of earshot, she took Rowen’s arm and started after the rest of the company.
“You know what will happen when we reach Goblin Mountain,” she said, speaking softly. “Alusair will do a sending, and five minutes later a dozen war wizards will arrive to whisk me back to Arabel.”
Rowen gave her a sidelong look. “And I should be sorry to see you safely back in the city?”
“Yes, if it means we’ll never see each other again.”
“Aren’t you exaggerating? I should be capable of finding my way to Arabel-and Suzail too, for that matter.”
“When? Between scouting patrols into the Anauroch and spying missions in the Dun Plain? My father and Vangerdahast will keep you so busy you won’t see a Cormyrean city until I am wed and fat with some other man’s child.”
Though Rowen remained unmoved, at least he showed the courtesy of wincing. “And if I disobeyed Alusair I’d spend the next ten years in Castle Crag’s dungeon instead-with no hope at all of redeeming my family name.”
The company began to fan out across the flat scrub-land, each man leading a horse more or less westward, laying a network of false trails before they turned south. Tanalasta remained silent for a time, knowing Rowen was right. She had no authority to countermand Alusair’s order, and Vangerdahast was certainly ruthless enough to have the scout locked away under the pretext of disobedience.
“You’re right, of course. I can’t ask you to defy Alusair.” Tanalasta kept her eyes on the ground as she spoke, watching the brush for snakes and other hazards. “So I will come with you.”
“What?” Rowen nearly shouted the question, drawing a curious-and rather condemning-glance from Seaburt. The ranger lowered his voice, then continued, “I’d like nothing better, but Alusair would never permit it.”
“Alusair can command you to leave, but she cannot command me to stay,” said Tanalasta. “She is not my master.”
“Please, Tanalasta-I can’t. Doing as you ask would make me the same as Gaspar and Xanthon.”
“You could never be the same as those two.”
“I would be, if I put my own desire above my oath as a Purple Dragon.” Rowen guided Tanalasta away from a red catclaw bush, pulling her safely beyond the striking range of a half-hidden pixie-viper. “We all have our duties. I am a scout, and my duty is to move swiftly and find Vangerdahast. You are the learned one, and your duty is to return to Arabel and inform the king of what you have discovered.”
“And I will,” said Tanalasta. “In your company.”
Rowen shook his head. “You will be safer with Alusair.”
“Really?” Tanalasta cast a doubtful glance at her sister’s sickly men. “I should think it would be easier for the ghazneths to find a large company of sick men than two people moving swiftly and stealthily?’
“Perhaps.” Rowen paused to think, then said, “That would be so if you were healthy, but with the fever, you are too weak.”
“The fever will improve. Seaburt said…”
Tanalasta let the sentence trail off as the significance of Rowen’s pause struck her. He had been there when Seaburt cured her, and he certainly should have heard what the priest had told her. She stumbled along two more steps, then stopped and whirled on the scout.
“You don’t want me to go with you.”
Rowen’s expression fell, and Tanalasta saw she had guessed correctly. She pulled her arm free and stumbled back.
Rowen stepped after her. “Please, Tanalasta, it’s not what you think. I have every confidence in your ability-“
Tanalasta stopped him with a raised hand, then lifted her chin and began to back away. “That is quite enough, Rowen. And you may address me as Princess Tanalasta, if that will make you feel more comfortable.”
A muffled patter drummed down out of the pines, reverberating down through the valley, bouncing from one slope to the other until Vangerdahast could not tell whether the sound came from ahead or behind. He reined Cadimus to a stop and raised his arm, and the Royal Excursionary Company clattered to a halt behind him. The air filled instantly with the swish and clank of wizards and dragoneers readying for battle. Over the past day and a half, the company had lost dozens of men and horses to orc ambushes and lightning-swift ghazneth strikes, and now even the dee-dee-dee of a chickadee could send them diving for cover.
Vangerdahast twisted around. “Will you be quiet back there?”
He glared until the company fell silent, then looked forward again. The valley was one of those serpentine canyons with a meandering ribbon of marshy floor and steep walls timbered in pines. He could see no more than fifty paces ahead, and to the sides not even that far. As the patter grew louder, the trees scattered it in every direction, and soon the drumming seemed to be coming from all around. Sometimes it sounded like hooves pounding grassy ground and sometimes like wings beating air.
Cadimus nickered and raised his nose to test the air, then a ginger mare galloped around the bend, chest lathered and eyes bulging, reins hanging loose, stirrups flapping empty. She came straight down the valley at a full run, barely seeming to notice Cadimus and Vangerdahast, or the entire Royal Excursionary Company behind them. Close on the mare’s tail came a streaking ghazneth, its wings a black crescent as it banked around the corner, its arms stretching for the flanks of the ginger mare.
Vangerdahast leveled a finger at the phantom and uttered a single word, sending a dozen bolts of golden magic to blast the dark thing from the sky. The impact hurled the ghazneth into the pines, snapping branches and ripping boughs. In the next instant, the valley erupted into a cacophony of thundering hooves and screaming voices as dragoneers and war wizards urged their mounts to the charge. If the Royal Excursionary Company had learned anything over the past two days, it was never to hesitate around a ghazneth. Vangerdahast wheeled Cadimus around just as quickly and started after the riderless mount.
Tanalasta’s horse had been a ginger mare.
The horse did not snort, nor whinny, nor even groan. It merely dropped to its knees and closed its eyes, then toppled over onto a thicket of smoke brush. Tanalasta watched as Alusair, dazed with exhaustion and a relapse of fever, idly yanked the beast’s reins and tried to continue walking. When the horse did not move, Alusair cursed its laziness and, without turning around, hauled harder on the reins.
Tanalasta said nothing, content to see someone else make a fool of herself for a change. The princess could not believe how she had misread Rowen’s emotions. Their kiss had certainly felt sincere enough, but she had read that men experienced such things more with their bodies than their hearts. Was that the root of her mistake? Perhaps she had mistaken simple lust for something more… permanent. The affection she sensed had been no more than a man’s normal carnal attraction, kept in check by Rowen’s honorable nature. The princess almost wished he had not been so virtuous. Had he used her, at least she would have been justified in her anger. As it was, all she could do was feel embarrassed and try to avoid him until he went off to find Vangerdahast.