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  “Can you help, my lady? Could you speak to my brother?”

  “I’m not sure if that would serve or hinder your cause, my dear,” Alija told her. “As you may be aware, there are some fallacious rumours doing the rounds claiming my husband has designs on your brother’s seat. Even rumours that we were somehow involved in that tragic business with Ronan Dell. It’s inevitable, I suppose, for that sort of talk to crop up when there is no clear heir to the throne. I mean, Barnardo is your cousin, after all, so people see him as the natural successor, should Lernen be unfortunate enough not to get an heir. However, it means any words from me championing your cause might be . . . misconstrued.”

  “But what am I to do?” Marla cried. Every avenue for redemption seemed to collapse as soon as she stepped on that path.

  “You could . . . do both.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what’s wrong with marrying Hablet and taking a lover?”

  “In Fardohnya? It would be a death sentence!”

  “Yes, they’re not as open-minded about those things as we are, I suppose. They have no problem with Loronged court’esa, though. You may have to settle for that.”

  “What’s that? A Loronged court’esa?”

  “A male court’esa guaranteed sterilised,” Alija explained. “The drug they use is a poison called loronge. It has a rather high fatality rate, unfortunately, but those men who take it and survive are guaranteed sterile. They are the most expensive of all court’esa. There is a huge demand for them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, despite the herbs court’esa use to prevent accidents, most noble houses wouldn’t consider allowing their women anything else. In the question of bloodlines, there can be no doubt about who fathered an heir.”

  “I suppose that will be the next thing,” Marla grumbled. “Some pretty boy court’esa to teach me how to keep Hablet happy. I used to think I couldn’t wait until I got my first court’esa. Now I’m dreading it.”

  “If you use your head, Marla, your court’esa will become your greatest asset. Especially if you can find one who is totally loyal to you. I’ve still got the very first one I was given; he’s proved very useful over the years. And they can be rather enjoyable, you know,” she added with a faint smile.

  “I don’t care, Lady Alija. I don’t want to marry Hablet. I don’t want to know how to make him happy.”

  Alija came to sit beside her on the bed again. “Would you like my help?”

  “Can you stop my marriage to Hablet?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of helping you choose your first court’esa. It’s a tricky business, you know.”

  “I suppose,” Marla shrugged. “I don’t really care any longer.”

  “Of course you do!” the sorcerer scoffed. She stood up and clapped her hands decisively. At her summons, several barefoot house slaves, who must have been waiting in the other room, hurried in to prepare her bath. “We will attend to this immediately. You shall have your bath, and I shall speak to the High Prince and inform him that I will be escorting you to the slave markets tomorrow to select your first court’esa.”

  chapter 17

  T

  he slave markets were busy as the litter carrying Marla and the Lady Alija pushed its way through the crowd towards the exclusive area at the far end of the vast marketplace where the court’esa were on display. There were several firms who specialised in court’esa, Alija explained, the best of which was undoubtedly Venira’s Emporium, which had been in business longer than anyone else and served the most exclusive clientele. For a Hythrun princess, according to Alija, there was simply no other place to shop.

  As they dismounted, two well-oiled slaves, wearing little more than welcoming smiles and very short loincloths, hurried out to help them out of the litter. They followed the slaves into the dim coolness of the entrance, where they were immediately served tall glasses of cool mint tea, while other slaves hurried forward with damp towels to wipe their hands and feet.

  “My Lady Alija!” a voice declared joyously from the gloom. A few seconds later the owner of the voice appeared. He proved to be a short man with a vast belly that wobbled whenever he spoke, wearing a brocaded gown, a fortune in gold and followed by a fan-wielding slave. “What a delight it is to see you here again!”

  “Hello, Venira. You’ve not gotten any thinner, I see.”

  “Ah, my lady, you wound me to the quick. I have simply starved without your patronage.”

  “I’m sure,” Alija agreed. “Allow me to introduce my husband’s cousin, her royal highness, the Princess Marla.”

  Venira’s dark eyes lit up. “Marla Wolfblade? The High Prince’s very own sister?” Venira looked as if he might swoon. “Oh, Lady Alija! You do me too great an honour to allow me to serve a person of such distinguished lineage!”

  “I’m sure you’ll manage to put a price on it,” Alija remarked, with a wink at Marla. She smiled back, thinking the slave master the most outrageous character she had ever met.

  “My cousin is in search of her first court’esa, Master Venira,” Alija explained. “I thought we’d glance over your pitiful stock before moving on to somewhere more likely.”

  “My lady, there is no other slave house in Greenharbour, nay, in all of Hythria, with a better selection of court’esa than the House of Venira.” Marla noticed with interest that it took a few seconds after he stopped speaking for everything to stop wobbling.

  “So you say, Venira. But I think we shall be the judge of that. Lead on.”

  With a bow that was considerably hampered by his bulk, Venira led them through another set of etched double doors into a courtyard shaded by thin muslin sails. There, a dozen or more young men and women lounged about, all wearing short, almost transparent costumes designed to display their assets to the best effect. Alija cast her eye over the group and shook her head.

  “We want only male court’esa, Venira. Loronged males.”

  “Of course, my lady. If you would follow me?”

  Venira led the way through the courtyard. The court’esa watched as they walked through, their eyes following the two women curiously. Marla felt uncomfortable and rather overdressed compared to the statuesque young men and women who posed for her as she passed.

  “Pay no attention to this lot,” Alija warned as they walked through. “Damaged goods, every one of them. You really don’t know where they’ve been. We’ll find you one that has a proven record of service.”

  Marla nodded warily and hurried on in Alija’s wake.

  The next set of doors opened to reveal another courtyard. This one was much more opulently decorated. Amid the sheaths of muslin and the potted palms a number of men and women sat, draped on display over silk-upholstered couches. This lot looked at them with a level of uninterest that bordered on condescending. They moved on to another set of doors and into a room sectioned off into alcoves, each discreetly hidden from the next.

  “This is Lorince,” Venira announced, approaching the first alcove. “Formerly in the service of Lady Caron of Meortina. He is an accomplished musician and dancer, in addition to his more . . . erotic skills.”

  “Why did she get rid of him?” Marla asked. He was a handsome boy, no more than twenty, with smooth olive skin and eyes so dark they seemed to devour her soul when he looked at her. He moved on the couch to better display his assets, which, as far as Marla could tell, were quite substantial.

  “Alas, Lady Caron recently perished in childbirth, your highness. A sad moment for her husband, but a happy chance for me to acquire a rare piece of merchandise.”

  “Died in childbirth?” Alija enquired with a raised brow. “Odd. She seemed quite well when I spoke to her at the Feast of Kaelarn Ball two nights ago.”

  Venira smiled, apparently unconcerned that Alija had caught him out in a lie. “Please forgive my dramatic licence, your highness. I thought it more romantic than the truth.”

  “And what is the truth, Venira?” Alija aske
d.

  The fat slaver shrugged. “The daughter of the house got married and her court’esa will now be provided by her husband’s family. It’s an everyday occurrence, my lady.”

  “True. But he’s much too young for Marla,” Alija declared. “She needs something with a bit more experience.”

  “Perhaps this will please my ladies?” Venira suggested, moving to the next alcove. “Recently acquired from Lady Rena of Bramster. He belonged to her eldest daughter, who married Lord Aryn of Baronnlae. It was a love match, you know, so the young lady no longer felt the need for . . . professional . . . entertainment.” He winked at Marla and chortled. “One wonders how long it’ll be before the shine has worn off romance and she’s back here looking to make another purchase, eh?”

  With a disdainful frown, Marla took a step back from the slaver and turned to look at the court’esa. He was long-limbed and handsome; fairer than his companion, with smouldering eyes and long brown hair. His muscles had been oiled to perfection, his body was as perfectly sculpted as one could hope for. But his expression was vacant and empty. It was as if there was no soul inside the flesh and blood exterior.

  “What do you think, my dear?” Alija asked, apparently finding this one satisfactory. “Would you like a closer look?”

  Marla shook her head. She was in no mood to purchase this slave. Or any court’esa for that matter. Since she was old enough to understand what it meant, Marla had been looking forward to this day. Now it was here, she discovered she wasn’t the least bit interested. There was a certain finality in the act of purchasing a court’esa. She suspected it would seal her fate forever. While she was an untrained virgin, she was worth hardly anything, but court’esa-trained she became more than the alliances she brought with her to the marriage. She became a real wife.

  And that was an idea she was not prepared to entertain. Not with Hablet of Fardohnya, at any rate.

  “Can we keep looking?”

  Venira led them past several other alcoves. Some contained men, but Alija waved them on, declaring them too young, too old, or simply not handsome enough for her young cousin. A number of the alcoves were occupied by women. One held a pair of identical twins; in another, was the most exquisite young woman Marla had ever seen. The court’esa was slender and statuesque, her thick fair hair tumbling past her waist in a cascade of carefully arranged coils that somehow managed to give the impression she had just climbed out of bed. Her eyes were heavily made up with kohl, giving her a sultry, exotic appearance. Marla stared at her, wondering if she would learn that come-hither look once she had her own court’esa to instruct her.

  “The princess would prefer a female court’esa?” Venira enquired curiously when he saw that Marla had stopped. “If that’s the case, then I have—”

  “No,” Marla said, staring at the court’esa. “I was just wondering about her, that’s all.”

  “Her name is Welenara, your highness. She’s here among the Loronged court’esa because she’s just been sold. To your brother, actually.”

  “The High Prince bought a female slave?” Alija asked in surprise.

  “As a gift for the Fardohnyan king, I believe, my lady.”

  Marla frowned. News that Lernen had made a gift of the exquisite court’esa to her future husband did nothing but depress her more. What hope would she have of gaining any sort of status in a Fardohnyan harem when Hablet had creatures like Welenara at his beck and call?

  “The High Prince’s own tastes are rather more . . . exotic,” Venira added with a knowing leer.

  “What about that one?” she asked, pointing to the next alcove. She wasn’t really interested in the next slave, but was desperate to change the subject before Venira decided to start telling her exactly what he meant by Lernen’s “exotic” tastes.

  “Ah, the young lady has an eye for quality, I see,” Venira declared, moving to the next alcove. “And for a lady such as yourself, I have been saving this one. Allow me to present Corin!”

  A young man stepped forward from the next alcove and bowed gracefully. He was tall and slender, with thick fair hair that fell to his shoulders. Alija smiled when she saw him. “Ah, now this is more promising. What does he do?”

  “He is a poet, my lady,” Venira assured her. “He speaks Hythrun, Fardohnyan and even a smattering of Karien, I’m led to believe. His verse is said to be sought after from one end of Hythria to the other.”

  “Said by you, no doubt,” Alija snorted.

  “They claim his tongue is coated in silver, my lady, making him useful in more ways than one.”

  The young man said nothing while Venira sang his praises. He did, however, spare Marla a conspiratorial wink, which made her blush.

  “Who was his previous owner?” Marla asked, guessing that was the sort of thing one needed to enquire about if one wished to give the impression she was at least making an effort to select a court’esa.

  Venira hesitated, glancing at Alija before he answered. “Why, I believe it was one of Lord Eaglespike’s vassals, your highness. Lord and Lady Garkin of Kinsae. Lord Garkin’s gambling debts left him somewhat . . . financially embarrassed, shall we say? I was fortunate enough to be able to assist him by purchasing Corin.”

  Marla cast her eye over him disinterestedly. He was all right, she supposed, but not really to her taste. She looked around the courtyard and spied something in the far corner. “What’s that?”

  “That is Elezaar the Fool, your highness.”

  “The Fool?” Marla asked. “What is it?”

  “A rare and expensive creature,” Venira told her, although he was looking at Alija whose eyes had narrowed suspiciously. “A Loronged court’esa who doubles as a Fool.”

  “There’d not be many of those around,” Alija remarked.

  “The only one in existence,” Venira confirmed.

  Marla stared at the slaver and her cousin curiously. It seemed as if there was another, unspoken conversation going on between them. “Can I see him?”

  Alija shook her head, but did not deny the princess. “Some half-witted dwarf is not why we came here, Marla.”

  “I know. But he sounds interesting.”

  “Bring him out, then,” Alija sighed. “The sooner she sates her curiosity, the sooner we can get back to the business at hand.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” Venira hurried off and returned a few moments later with the ugliest creature Marla had ever laid eyes on. He stood no taller than Venira’s waist and his back hunched unevenly, forcing his neck forward which made him appear to be begging simply by looking up. He walked with a rolling gait that seemed quite painful and one eye was clouded white and obviously blind.

  “This is Elezaar the Dwarf, your highness,” Venira announced.

  “How much do you want for Corin?” Alija asked, dismissing the dwarf with a glance.

  “Perhaps you would care to join me over some tea, my lady, and we can discuss the price?” He smiled indulgently at Marla. “I am sure her highness will be entertained by the Fool while we’re engaged.”

  “You go on ahead, Lady Alija,” Marla said. “I’ll just keep looking.”

  “Very well.”

  Marla waited until Alija and Venira had disappeared through the double doors before she turned to the dwarf.

  “What do you do?”

  “Teach the art of pleasure, your highness,” the dwarf explained. “Both your own and the pleasure of your future husband.”

  Marla was shocked that the creature had dared to answer her so bluntly. She glared at him. “For your information, worm, I have no intention of bringing any pleasure at all to a husband. Or letting a creature like you lay a finger on me.”

  “That is your choice, my lady. I am here to serve you. Or not,” he added with a bow. “As my lady wishes.”

  chapter 18

  T

  he sight of Alija Eaglespike stepping into Venira’s Emporium almost brought Elezaar undone. Two days without being discovered had begun to foster the false hope in
him that he might just survive Ronan Dell’s massacre. But as soon as the Lady of Dregian Province caught sight of him he knew he was done for. Nothing could save him now.

  Except perhaps, he realised at that moment, the High Prince’s unsuspecting little sister . . .

  Elezaar bowed as elegantly as he could, his mind racing. There was nothing obvious he could offer this woman-child. She obviously found his physical appearance repulsive. At such a young age, she wasn’t at Venira’s Slave Emporium looking for something to tempt her jaded palate. Like everyone else in Greenharbour, Elezaar knew the High Prince was trying to broker a deal with the King of Fardohnya. Ronan Dell had been talking of nothing else to his cronies in the days before he was murdered. No, Marla Wolfblade was here because she was after someone like Lorince, or Darnel. Someone to teach her the skills she needed in the bedroom before she married Hablet of Fardohnya. Someone like the newcomer, Corin.

  The dwarf glanced over at the handsome young court’esa suspiciously. Corin had arrived just this morning. Venira had hurried him through the building and placed him in the showroom without so much as checking him for fleas. That wasn’t like the slaver. He was jealous of his good reputation and would do nothing to risk it.

  Still, even if Princess Marla wanted Corin for her bed, Elezaar had to find a way to make her want him as well. To be purchased by the High Prince’s sister would do more than protect him from Alija. It might well put him right out of her reach.

  “How did someone like you get to be a court’esa anyway?” the princess asked. Elezaar quickly revised his opinion of the young woman. She wasn’t repulsed by him. Merely curious. “Aren’t you too ugly? Too short?”

  “There are some who find my short ugliness appealing, your highness. Even arousing. Those people who like things that are . . . a little . . . different.

  “So what are you trained in? Besides perverted sexual practices?”

  The dwarf smiled. “There are no perversions, your highness. Merely different perspectives.”