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  “Don’t be snide,” Marla scolded. “Anyway, I’m simply making use of Rule Number Eight: ‘Use your enemy’s weaknesses against them.’ Corin is Ninane’s weakness. So I’m using him.”

  “But Rule Number Twenty-Seven states you may think as you like, but should behave decorously, your highness,” Elezaar reminded her. “Refusing to learn what is required of you is hardly the way to apply that rule.”

  “Isn’t Rule Number Twenty-Three, ‘Know when to ignore your advisors’?”

  “No, my lady, that’s Rule Twenty-Two. And now is not the time to apply that rule. You run a grave risk by playing this game.”

  Lirena nodded in agreement with the Fool. “Ignorance is a very bad look for a new bride.”

  “I’m not ignorant!” Marla objected. “And I’m not playing games. I just haven’t been . . . in the mood.”

  “There’s a luxury you’ll not have once you’re married.”

  “You know, in Karien a woman prizes her virginity,” she informed them, turning back to the mirror to pin the veil in place. “It’s considered a sin to make love before you’re married.”

  “And a sin even after you’re married for any other reason than procreation,” the dwarf informed her. “But this isn’t Karien, my lady, and Lirena has a point. If you’re not being deliberately recalcitrant, then you’re cutting it awfully fine if you plan to learn anything useful in the time you have left before the wedding.”

  “Maybe they’ll just have to delay the wedding if I’m not properly trained,” she suggested, her hopeful tone betraying the real reason for her reluctance to make use of either of the court’esa she had been given for that specific purpose.

  “Unlikely, my lady,” Elezaar told her. “The only likely outcome of such a proposal would be the death of both Corin and me for being negligent in our duties.”

  “But it’s not your fault.”

  “That matters little, your highness,” Corin warned.

  Marla was a little surprised to hear from him. He rarely spoke up. He was always listening though. When he’d first come back to Highcastle with her, Marla had thought Corin’s gifts were physical rather than intellectual. But lately she was beginning to wonder about that. He didn’t miss much and, for some vague and unsettling reason, it made her nervous.

  “Corin and I are slaves,” Elezaar added. “Therefore, we are, by definition, responsible for any fault in our mistress.”

  “That’s a bit harsh.”

  “But it’s the reality of the situation,” Lirena agreed, putting down her knitting to look at her mistress. “You might like to dwell on that before you send Corin away the next time.”

  Marla glared at the three slaves with the distinct impression they were ganging up on her. It was just so hard to explain to anyone. Marla’s resistance to learning anything about the arts of seduction and love from her court’esa was a form of unspoken defiance. To accept that she must learn anything from Corin or Elezaar was to accept the inevitability of her fate and she wasn’t ready to do that just yet. She still harboured a hope that the High Arrion had meant what he said about trying to find a way out of it. She still went to sleep at night dreaming of being in love. Of being wooed and courted; of being swept off her feet . . .

  Her fantasies even had a face. Lord Nashan Hawksword of Elasapine.

  When Marla closed her eyes and wished for a better future, Nash was the man who would make it happen. When she fell asleep thinking of being in love, it was Nash who walked through her dreams.

  Unfortunately, when Marla opened her eyes there was nothing there but Elezaar and Corin and the harsh reality that in a mere three months she was destined to marry the King of Fardohnya and nothing short of a miracle could save her.

  chapter 27

  W

  e’ll all be murdered in our beds,” Laran’s sister Darilyn announced petulantly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the High Arrion told her, taking a sip of wine.

  They were sitting in the small family courtyard in Jeryma’s chambers, enjoying the mild winter sunlight. A small fountain bubbled happily in the corner of the vine-encrusted, high-walled enclosure. The delighted squeals of Darilyn’s two young sons, Travin and Xanda, who were trying to catch the goldfish in the pool with their bare hands, formed an odd counterpoint to the discussion the adults were having.

  Darilyn turned on the old sorcerer. “It’s all right for you! You’re the High Arrion! Nobody would dare interfere with the Sorcerers’ Collective. But what about my children and me? We’re not above the law.”

  “No one has broken any laws,” Kagan pointed out reasonably. “The custom of appointing new Warlords, rather than increasing the power of the existing ones when there is no clear heir, is tradition not law.”

  “I’m sure that will be a great comfort to my children as their throats are being slit!”

  “Darilyn, your brother will not let any harm come to you or your children,” Jeryma told her soothingly. “I am surprised that you would even consider such a thought.”

  Darilyn turned her attention to her mother. “He is my half-brother,” she pointed out coldly. “Had my father lived, this situation would never have arisen.”

  “If your father had lived, a lot of things would be different,” Jeryma replied, just as coldly. “You are quite safe under Laran’s protection.”

  “So was my husband, I recall,” she noted bitterly.

  “Your husband probably threw himself on a Medalonian blade to escape your whining,” Kagan muttered impatiently.

  Laran suspected Kagan hadn’t meant the comment to be overheard, but it carried alarmingly in the still morning air. His brother Mahkas, sitting next to Jeryma, smothered a grin as Darilyn turned on Kagan.

  “You unfeeling monster! How could you say such a thing? Mother?”

  “That was uncalled for, Kagan,” Jeryma scolded. “But I do think you are being overly dramatic about all this, Darilyn. Your sons will not be a target in the coming conflict.”

  “If you’re so worried about your precious skin,” Laran said, unable to bear Darilyn’s whining any longer, “I’ll move you to the castle at Winternest. It’s the most fortified place in all of Sunrise Province. You and the boys will be perfectly safe there. Riika can go with you for company.”

  “You were named by my father as his heir, Laran,” Riika said. “I’ll stay with you here in Cabradell. I have no quarrel with his choice.” She was looking tired, Laran thought, and wondered if Riika had slept much since Glenadal’s death.

  “Thank you, Riika,” he said, genuinely touched. “But you, of all people, may be in the most danger. There is many an aspiring young warrior who thinks he could claim your father’s province if he took you to wife. I’d prefer not to have that worry.”

  “You don’t mind protecting her; do you?” Darilyn snapped, leaping to her feet. “What about me? Aren’t you worried someone will kidnap me for the same reason?”

  “If I could find some man fool enough to kidnap and marry you, Darilyn, I would have arranged it months ago,” Laran said, finally losing his patience with her. “For pity’s sake, stop thinking about yourself!”

  Darilyn immediately sat down. Laran rarely lost his temper and even she was not fool enough to push him too far. “Very well then, I’ll go to Winternest if you order it.”

  “I do,” Laran announced. “And what’s more, you will damn well stay there with Riika until I give you permission to leave. Understood?”

  “Mother?” she asked pleadingly. “Is it your wish also that I be confined to the gloom of Winternest until this is over?”

  Jeryma’s expression was determinedly neutral. “It would be for the best, I think. And the boys have been living in Greenharbour so they’ve never seen snow. They’ll have a marvellous time. Think of it as a holiday.”

  “And if the Fardohnyans attack?” Darilyn asked. “For all you know, Laran, you’re not removing us to a place of safety, you’re putting us in harm’s way.”

 
“Even if the Fardohnyans did attack,” he replied, “you’d still be safer in Winternest than anywhere else. It’s a fortress, Darilyn, and it’s never been breached in recorded history.” That wasn’t strictly true. The fortress had been breached once, about half a century ago, when the Fardohnyans started a plague in the fort, but they had withdrawn inexplicably before they could press their advantage. “I wouldn’t send you there if I thought it was a risk.”

  “You wouldn’t send Riika there if you thought it was a risk is what you really mean.” She stood up and smoothed down the billowing folds of her white pants. “I suppose, if I’m to be banished, I should make arrangements to pack.”

  Laran watched her walk towards the pool and breathed a sigh of relief when she disappeared inside with the boys in tow, protesting loudly at being taken from their game.

  “I almost wish . . . no, I don’t,” he muttered wearily. “Mahkas, can you arrange a troop of Raiders to escort them? I meant what I said about Riika. She’s in more danger than I am.”

  “I’ll speak to Chaine.”

  “No!” Riika objected. “Anybody but him.”

  Laran and Mahkas exchanged a curious glance. “You’ll be quite safe with Chaine, Riika.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want Chaine Tollin anywhere near me. He makes me . . . uncomfortable.”

  “You could send some Krakandar troops with them,” Jeryma suggested to Laran. “That new fellow, Almodavar, seems competent enough.”

  “New fellow?” Mahkas chuckled. “He’s been with us since he was fourteen, mother.”

  “Is it that long?” Jeryma asked. “I get to Krakandar so rarely these days. It seems like only yesterday that he signed on as a Raider.”

  “I suppose I could send Almodavar temporarily,” Laran shrugged, sympathetic to his young sister’s feelings but a little annoyed she simply couldn’t get over her problem with Chaine. The man couldn’t help who he was and had never, in Laran’s experience, treated Riika or her mother with anything less than the greatest respect. Laran wondered how much of Riika’s angst towards Chaine was because she really didn’t like him, and how much was just simple resentment. Chaine Tollin was living proof that Glenadal wasn’t the saint his daughter liked to imagine he was.

  “I’ll see to it,” Mahkas agreed, smiling encouragingly at his younger sister. “You know, you could name any bride price you wanted at the moment, Riika.”

  “I’ve no wish to be married to anyone, Mahkas.”

  “And you won’t have to be, until you inform me otherwise,” Laran promised.

  “I know. Thank you.” She stood up and sighed meaningfully. “I should help Darilyn get organised. You know what she’s like.”

  “Only too well,” Laran agreed. “You’ll like Winternest, Riika. It’s very pretty.”

  Riika smiled; the first one Laran could recall since Glenadal’s death. It lit her face and for a moment she looked like the child she still was. “I’ve never seen snow, either. Papa always promised to take me, but he never got around to—” She stopped abruptly, unable to go on, and then turned and fled the courtyard with a loud sob.

  “Riika!” Laran called after her.

  “Let her go, Laran,” Kagan advised. “She just needs time, that’s all.”

  Before Laran could respond, a slave hurried into the courtyard, bowing low to his mistress. “My lady, Master Lightfinger sends word that the Warlord of Elasapine is on his way with his son and is asking for an audience with you and Lord Laran.”

  “Thank you, Nikki,” Jeryma replied expressionlessly. “Show them to the reception hall when they arrive and see they are served refreshments. Tell Lord Hawksword and his son we will join them shortly.” As the slave backed out of the courtyard, she sighed wearily. “One month today Glenadal is dead. And now it begins.”

  “The official mourning is over now,” Kagan pointed out, rising stiffly to his feet. “I’m surprised they had the decency to wait even this long.”

  chapter 28

  T

  he Warlord of Elasapine was a big man with a mass of thick grey hair and an equally impressive beard. He wore his ceremonial armour—the silver-chased hawk emblem of his house outlined in gold—implying that he came in peace, but his sword was big and heavy and battle-scarred, giving lie to the impression he was trying to create. Like his father, Nash was dressed in armour too; the boiled leather cuirass he wore was embossed with the hawk emblem of his Province, but his was much more serviceable than his father’s.

  As they entered the hall, Nash bowed respectfully to Kagan and Jeryma and then winked at Laran.

  “I might have known the High Arrion would become involved in this fiasco,” Charel Hawksword snapped. “Get up, fool,” he added to his son. “Kagan is here to console his sister, Jeryma, not in his capacity as High Arrion. Or at least he had better be,” the Warlord added ominously, glaring at Kagan.

  Jeryma smiled. “Charel, do sit down.”

  The Warlord bowed stiffly, the ceremonial armour hampering his efforts somewhat. “My lady, I bring you my sincere condolences at your loss. And also,” he said, turning his attention to Laran, “to find out what this damn fool boy thinks he’s doing by accepting Glenadal’s bequest!”

  “Hello, Charel. Nash,” Laran said.

  “You stupid son of a bitch!” the Warlord declared, his rich baritone rising to a hearty bellow. “Laran, you have no more brains than a flea! Do you fancy a nice state funeral? Lots of women beating their breasts at the loss of Krakandar’s Warlord?”

  “Charel Hawksword! Sit down!” Jeryma repeated firmly. Looking a little startled the big man lowered himself to the cushions. Jeryma smiled. “That’s better. Now, what exactly is your objection?”

  Charel took a deep breath before continuing. “Laran, I’ve known you since you were born. I fostered you. I helped train you. I always assumed you were intelligent. What has possessed you to accept this? Isn’t there some lad with potential who can marry Riika and be appointed Sunrise’s Warlord? You can’t think for a moment that the others will stand for this concentration of power. It’s only been a matter of months since you gained your father’s province. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  “Glenadal wanted me to have Sunrise Province,” Laran replied.

  “Glenadal was a sentimental old fool,” Charel replied. Then he took a deep breath and assumed a much more reasonable tone. “Look, I know he was like a father to you, Laran, but you’re a Warlord in your own right. Isn’t being lord of the richest province in Hythria enough? What do you want? To own the whole damn country?”

  “If I have to,” Laran agreed.

  “The gods save us all from ever having to witness another Hythrun civil war,” Charel muttered, the ancient prayer something Kagan hadn’t heard anyone utter in years. The Warlord turned his gaze on Kagan and the Lady Jeryma. “What is really going on here?” he demanded, suddenly wary. “What are you not telling me?”

  “Lernen has arranged for his sister to marry the King of Fardohnya,” Kagan told him, thinking the success or failure of this venture rested on the next few minutes. They could talk all they wanted, but without the support of Elasapine, the province that separated Krakandar and Sunrise, there was no point in even trying to make it work.

  “That’s old news.”

  “Is it? Have you thought what it means if Lernen produces no heir?”

  “Is there some reason he won’t?”

  “Physically, he’s probably more than capable,” Laran agreed. “It’s his choice of bed partners that places the likelihood in doubt.”

  “If Lernen dies childless,” Jeryma added, “any son Marla bears Hablet will inherit his throne. Glenadal’s greatest fear was that Hablet is planning to reunite the two nations of Hythria and Fardohnya.”

  “Unite them?” Charel snorted. “My lady, if anyone is planning to unite the Warlords of Hythria, it’s your son! They will all be united in their desire to see his head on a spike once word of this gets out.”

  “Glen
adal may have been sentimental,” Laran agreed, “but he wasn’t a fool, Charel. Even without your help, I now command nearly a third of the armies of Hythria. Married to Marla Wolfblade, any son she bears would be the natural heir.”

  “It won’t happen. Marla is already promised to Hablet. And even if she wasn’t, it’s moot. The Convocation of Warlords will never agree to you keeping Sunrise. Even if they thought you the most noble and benign soul in Hythria, the precedent is far too dangerous.”

  “The High Prince can overrule the Convocation,” Jeryma reminded him. “For that matter, he can appoint a Warlord at his pleasure, just as he can marry his sister to whomever he pleases. The practice of the High Prince asking the Convocation to vote on the issue is a courtesy, not a law.”

  “You think Lernen’s actually going to agree to this?”

  “I believe I can make him see things our way,” Kagan confirmed cautiously. “Given the right . . . enticement.”

  With an effort, Charel stood up and began to pace the room, tugging on his beard, as if the motion helped him gather his thoughts. The others watched him in silence as he considered the problem, knowing the man was both a friend and a potentially powerful enemy. Eventually, he stopped and turned to Laran.

  “Suppose—just for a moment—I go along with this,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m not, mind you, but let us suppose for a moment that I do. Have you considered the effect such a conflict would have on our northern neighbours? I can’t see them sitting back and doing nothing.”

  “The Medalonians aren’t a threat,” Laran said. “They have their own internal problems to deal with.”

  “I agree,” Jeryma added. “Since Trayla came to power, the Sisterhood seems more intent on self-destruction than expansion. One wonders how much longer they can go on.”

  “And the Kariens?”

  “Also too self-absorbed to be a threat,” Kagan concluded.