Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll by Melanie Rawn Read Free Book Online Page A

could slip it in with jewels due to be reset in time for the Rialla. At worst, if the boy was impossible, she would have a new ring.
    But if Masul was believable as Roelstra’s son, then even if he was truly baseborn there were endless ways to use him. Chiana’s public mortification when her birth was doubted was worth anything. The burden of proof would be on those who suspected his ancestry to be common—for the only thing certain about that night had been its chaos.
    And if the rumors were true, and Masul really was her half brother. . . . Kiele grinned into the mirror, contemplating the delightful prospect of Pandsala ousted from Castle Crag, Pol disinherited, and Rohan humiliated. She pictured Lyell as Masul’s champion and herself as his mentor, teaching him how to be a prince—and through him ruling Princemarch.
    She gazed at the two letters. One would go to Einar and bring Masul, the other to Port Adni and bring Chiana. She would keep Masul in hiding until the Rialla, school him, attach him to her as his only hope of winning his cause. It would not do to have him meet with Chiana before the princes assembled.
    But it all depended on his ability to pass himself off as Roelstra’s son. Kiele regarded her own reflection by candlelight, asking herself if it might be true—and if she wanted it to be true. She decided not. A fake, with reality to hide, would be much easier to control than the real son of the late High Prince. She knew the characteristics of her father’s breeding only too well.

Chapter Three
    P ol had dreadful memories of his first trip across the straits between Radzyn and Dorval. His mother had warned him that faradh’im and water were in no way compatible. But, wise in the way all eleven-year-old boys think themselves wise, and very conscious of his dignity as the son of the High Prince, Pol had not believed her.
    His first step on board ship had taught him otherwise. He remembered turning to look at his parents, who stood on the dock with Aunt Tobin and Uncle Chay, all of them waiting for the inevitable. The ship moved fractionally on the tide. Pol felt himself turn green. He staggered to the rails, was grabbed by a sailor before he could fall overboard and, after being dreadfully sick, fainted. A long day’s misery in a private cabin had been crowned by the indignity of being carried off the ship that night and put immediately to bed.
    The next morning his eyes had ceased their imitation of hot coals and his stomach seemed inclined to stay where it belonged. Pol pushed himself upright, every muscle in his body bruised with the violence of his reaction to crossing water, and groaned. A very old man was dozing by the empty hearth. The noise made him start awake from his nap, and a kind smile further wrinkled his face.
    “I thought you’d appreciate a good night’s sleep on solid ground before riding up to Graypearl. Feeling better? Yes, I see you are. You’ve freckles on your nose now, not green splotches.”
    Thus had he made the acquaintance of Prince Lleyn of Dorval. Pol had felt unequal to the breakfast the old prince proposed, and they had ridden to the great palace where the entire household had assembled to greet the future High Prince. The night’s rest enabled Pol to behave with suitable dignity, and his gratitude had been of such proportions that it had been only a short step to outright worship of the wry old man to whom his parents had entrusted him.
    Similar arrangements were made in Radzyn so that Pol and Meath could sleep off the crossing in private before their official arrival at Radzyn Keep. Assisted from the ship to a small house Lord Chaynal kept in the port, they were tucked up between cool sheets and in the morning were greeted by Pol’s cousin Maarken.
    “I won’t ask about the crossing,” he said, smiling in sympathy as the pair woke up bleary-eyed. “I remember it all too well myself. But you both look as if you’ll live.”
    Meath glanced at him balefully.