Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince by Melanie Rawn Page B

for the future of the son who became ruling prince when Zehava breathed his last. Ignoring the tradition that forbade him the death chamber, Rohan was with his father when he died. Milar closed her husband’s eyes; Tobin ran her fingers gently over his forehead to smooth out the lines of stress. Rohan bent and kissed his father, then turned and left the death chamber.
    Andrade waited a little while, then went after him. He was where she knew he’d be: in the Flametower, helping the servants build the fire high enough to shine out over the Desert and inform Zehava’s people of his passing. The blaze would be seen from distant hills where other fires would be lit in a chain of light that by nightfall would extend the length and breadth of the princedom.
    Moisture had become an unpleasant trickle down her spine and between her breasts before Rohan had satisfied himself that the fire was sufficiently bright. She was not in the best of moods anyway, and the heat worsened her temper. Though never deeply attached to Zehava, she had appreciated him and knew the world to be poorer for his death. But now she had a new prince to deal with, and as they left the inferno behind, her voice was perhaps sharper than it should have been.
    “Not a single preparation has been made for Sioned’s arrival. Why are you denying your bride her proper honors? I refuse to have the girl slink in here like a common guest, and not a very important one at that!”
    “Peace, Andrade,” Rohan said tiredly. “It’s been a long night, and I have a longer day ahead of me.”
    “You’ll answer me before it grows any longer, boy!”
    A glittering gaze met hers, fierce as a dragon on the hunt. “The girl is coming to my keep, Andrade, not yours. Her welcome or lack of it will be arranged as I dictate.”
    “Rohan!”
    But he was off down the stairs, supple limbs setting a pace her older bones could not match. She spat a series of oaths that would have shocked even those who knew her best, then went to her rooms for a fruitless try at sleep.
    The signal fire burned throughout the day, but Rohan was not at Stronghold to feel the heat melt slowly down through the keep. At daybreak he rode from the courtyards through the tunnel cut into solid rock down to the desert. With Chaynal at his side and his guards commander Maeta supervising nine more soldiers, he rode toward Rivenrock Canyon.
    The sun rose, broiling the air, small updrafts brushing at his clothes and his horse’s mane. Rohan’s fair hair soon darkened with sweat and the thin gray silk of his tunic clung in damp patches to his chest and back. He told himself the salt sting in his eyes was sweat and that the hollow in his body was only the growling of an empty stomach. Over forty measures passed in silence. The sweltering air kept all animals in their shelters with barely enough energy to whimper their complaints to each other. A few birds were aloft on their way somewhere else, as birds always were in the Desert. Sometimes there came the soft shussh of shifting sand or a snort as one of the horses cleared its nostrils. But none of the men or women spoke for a long, tense time.
    Finally Chay, who had let his horse lag behind Rohan’s to give the young man some privacy, caught up to him again. They rode ahead of the troops, out of earshot even in the profound stillness. Rohan glanced around at him. “Yes?” he prompted.
    “You’ve never hunted a dragon before. It’s past mating now, and he’ll be even more vicious.”
    “I promised Father.”
    “Rohan, I wish you’d let me—”
    “No. This dragon is mine.”
    Chay glanced away. “As you wish, my prince,” he said stiffly.
    “No! Chay, don’t—I never want that from you!”
    The cry from the heart softened Chaynal. “I’ll have to call you that around the others, you know. But we’ll stay to each other as we’ve always been, if that’s what you want.”
    Rohan nodded his gratitude. “I need that, Chay. I’m going to need your