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“Without her pushing the notion of her husband as a viable alternative to the High Prince, the Patriot Faction would have no focus. They’re not going to be happy if they think Lernen has found a way to keep his throne.”

  Wrayan listened to the conversation with interest. In all the years Wrayan had been apprenticed to him, Kagan had done as little as possible to fulfil his duties as High Arrion and then only begrudgingly. He had continued to profess his abhorrence of all things political right up until the current High Prince, Lernen Wolfblade, ascended to the throne. Since then, Kagan had been acting just like a real High Arrion and Wrayan had been hard pressed to keep up with him.

  “I’m curious, Kagan, as to your sudden change of heart,” Tesha said. “The last time I asked you to aid me in settling a dispute, you told me to . . .” She hesitated and glanced at Wrayan before she continued. “Well, suffice to say, you suggested I perform an anatomically impossible feat upon myself.”

  “And how do you know it was anatomically impossible? Did you try it?”

  The Lower Arrion reddened with embarrassment. “Kagan, if you continue in this vein, I will move to have you expelled.”

  Kagan looked unimpressed by the threat. “You’d have me expelled for being crude? Here’s an idea! The Patriot Faction, led by the Warlord of Dregian Province and aided by his sorcerer wife—in direct contravention of our rules—is actively plotting to take the crown of the man we’re sworn to protect. Why not bring that up at the next Convocation?”

  “If we had a High Prince with half a brain, or even one located in his head rather than his nether regions, none of this would be happening, Kagan,” Tesha pointed out testily. “The Patriots were nothing more than a clutch of whining old men until that pervert you’re so determined to prop up took the throne. And as you are his chief advisor—”

  “So it’s my fault Lernen is a useless prick? Fine! The Convocation of Warlords is only a few days away. Once we’ve confirmed Laran Krakenshield as the Warlord of Krakandar, I’ll have the High Prince declare war on his cousin in Dregian Province, shall I? We’ll find out who the Royalists and the Patriots are then, won’t we?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous—”

  “Here’s a lesson for you, my young apprentice,” Kagan cut in. “What the Lady Tesha is trying so hard not to say is that it doesn’t matter how dangerous the threat to the High Prince gets, the Convocation of Warlords wouldn’t lift a finger to stop the Patriots. Now why is that, do you think?”

  Wrayan knew it wasn’t a rhetorical question. Kagan rarely forced him to study, but he was always questioning him and his observations. It was the way Kagan liked to teach, which was to say he would rather not be teaching him at all.

  “Because damn near half of them have joined the Patriot Faction?”

  Kagan laughed aloud. Tesha wasn’t nearly so amused. “What are you teaching him, Kagan?”

  “As little as possible,” Kagan admitted honestly. “I’m trying to make him learn for himself. It’s a lot less work for me and a lot better for him in the long run.”

  Tesha wasn’t really listening. Wrayan felt a tickle against his mind as she tried to probe his thoughts, but he shut her out with ridiculous ease. Kagan noticed the push too. Tesha was almost, but not quite, an Innate, which meant she was very good at giving the impression she had real magical talent, but didn’t have much skill when it came to actually putting it into action. Kagan, on the other hand, was a master of reading other people’s body language, which made many people think he was a magician when in fact, he had no magical talent at all. It was simply his quite astounding skills of observation.

  “You’ve not a chance of cracking that boy’s mind, Tesha,” he laughed.

  “I know the boy’s potential, Kagan. It’s why the Collective sent him to you for training.”

  “And all this time I thought it was my charming personality.”

  Tesha rose to her feet and placed the empty wine cup on the low table. “It is times like this when I truly grieve the loss of the Harshini. It is a sorry state of affairs indeed, when the choice of apprentice-master for a boy of Wrayan’s ability is a lazy, cynical old fool.” She lifted her chin and departed the room, her back straight and unrelenting.

  “Ages come and ages go,” Kagan noted as he watched her leave, holding out his cup to Wrayan for a refill, “but that woman never changes.”

  “You couldn’t have felt anything. How did you know she was trying to probe my mind?”

  “She had that look on her face.”

  “What look?”

  “That constipated look of intense concentration she always gets when she thinks she’s using magic.”

  Wrayan shook his head in amazement. Even after all this time, he couldn’t quite believe Kagan could have such a level of disrespect for his peers and still get away with being their leader. “You really are a troublemaker, Kagan. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” the High Arrion sighed. “I am a bad, bad man. If they had a Troublemakers’ Collective I’d probably be High Arrion of that, too. Shall we go to the party and upset a few more important people?”

  Wrayan shook his head. Kagan was incorrigible. “What about Ronan Dell?”

  “What about him?” Kagan shrugged.

  “Shouldn’t we be trying to find out who killed him?”

  “I know who killed him, Wrayan.”

  “Shouldn’t you be trying to prove it, then?”

  “Probably,” the High Arrion conceded. “But right now, all I can think of is that the world is rid of a monster who preyed on the weak and the helpless, and fed the sick appetites of our esteemed High Prince. The world is well rid of him, Wrayan. I might despise the Patriot Faction and everything they stand for, but sometimes I have to admit they do have excellent taste in their victims.”

  chapter 4

  M

  arla was finished dressing and pacing her royal apartment impatiently by the time her brother arrived to escort her downstairs. A tall, gaunt man, although still only in his early thirties, Lernen had aged visibly since Marla had seen him last at his coronation. The responsibilities of High Prince had begun to weigh on him. His hair was dyed black this week, his cheeks were sunken and rouged and his brown eyes were dull with worry. This Convocation was his last hope, Marla knew. If the sorcerers wouldn’t aid them, the Wolfblades might soon be nothing more than a memory.

  But the sorcerers have helped us, she reminded herself. I am to marry Nashan Hawksword and, once the sister of the High Prince of Hythria is allied in marriage to the Warlord of Elasapine, not the Patriots, not Barnardo Eaglespike, not even the Fardohnyans, will dare challenge us.

  “Marla, you look lovely,” Lernen told her as she presented herself for inspection, twirling around in a small circle in a swish of lavender silk. The dress had belonged to her cousin Ninane and had been re-sewn by Lirena to make it more fashionable.

  “Is it really all right?” she asked, a little concerned. “It’s the feast of Kaelarn, the God of the Oceans, after all. I thought maybe I should be wearing blue.”

  “It’s a lovely colour. Didn’t cousin Ninane have a dress the same shade last year when she was here for the Feast of Kalianah?”

  “Lirena!” Marla wailed in despair, her eyes filling with tears.

  The old nurse rolled her eyes at the High Prince. “You really don’t think before you open that big mouth of yours, do you, Lernen Wolfblade?”

  Lirena had nursed all the Wolfblade children and treated none of them as a slave should. Marla always wondered if Lernen was just a little bit afraid of his old nurse, a suspicion that seemed more than justified as the High Prince took a step back from the slave, apologising profusely.

  “I can’t wear this!” Marla complained. “If Lernen noticed it’s a hand-me-down, everyone will!”

  “Nobody will notice anything of the kind,” the old nurse assured her. “Your brother’s just more observant than most about that sort of thing, that’s all.”

  “You truly are a
vision,” Lernen added hurriedly. “Nobody will notice a thing, I promise. Now dry your eyes or you’re going to look all red and blotchy when you go downstairs.”

  She sniffed inelegantly. “Are you sure nobody will notice?”

  “Positive.” Lernen smiled at her encouragingly. “And if anybody does say something, then I’ll order him beheaded! How’s that?”

  “Now you’re teasing me.”

  “You’ll be fine, Marla.”

  “I suppose . . .”

  “But there is something we must talk about, my dear,” her brother continued with a frown. “Things are happening which affect you . . . danger all around us. One of my friends was murdered today . . . and now . . .” The High Prince’s voice trailed off helplessly, as if he couldn’t bring himself to add to her woes by telling her the rest of his news.

  Her recycled dress forgotten, Marla brightened considerably when she realised what her brother was trying to say. “Oh Lernen, don’t look so distraught. I’m sorry about your friend, but I know what you’re going to tell me, and I couldn’t be happier.”

  “You couldn’t?” Lernen glanced at Lirena with a puzzled look. The old nurse shrugged, as if to say, who could fathom the fickle mind of a teenage girl?

  “I couldn’t be happier,” she repeated firmly.

  “And you don’t mind?”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I’ve always known I would have to marry someone you chose, but Lernen, I swear if I’d chosen him myself, I couldn’t have done better.”

  “But you’d be so far away . . .”

  “It’s not that far, silly. I’ll visit you as often as I want.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind, Marla? Really? He’s a little older than you, I know, and certainly not what I envisaged, but this alliance would mean we could do something about Barnardo—”

  “Shoosh, big brother,” she said, placing her finger on his painted lips to silence his apology. “I understand, truly I do. It’s a sound political decision. And I honestly, truly, positively don’t mind a bit.”

  “I don’t deserve such a sister,” he told her, with obvious relief. “But how did you learn of it? It was to be kept secret until the negotiations were completed.”

  “We bumped into Lord Palenovar,” Lirena explained as she tidied up the chaos Marla had left in her wake. “He let it slip that an offer had been made.”

  Lernen nodded. “Kagan is the mediator for the negotiations. An interesting man, if somewhat disrespectful. I keep meaning to chide him for it, but I’d be lost without him. And his rank allows him some leeway, I suppose.”

  “His rank?” Marla asked. “You mean because he’s the High Arrion?”

  “He’s not just High Arrion, Marla, he’s a member of one of the oldest and most powerful noble families in Hythria. And the most ardent supporter of the Royalists in Greenharbour. I wouldn’t have a throne if not for him.”

  Marla’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Then his apprentice—and his friends—would be of a similar political persuasion?”

  “I suppose. I never really thought about it.”

  So Nashan is a Royalist, she concluded with satisfaction. “Oh, Lernen, you’ve made me so happy.” Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. Lernen held her stiffly, never comfortable with overt displays of affection from his sister.

  “Yes, well, we should be getting downstairs,” he said, peeling her arms from around his neck.

  “I’ll make you so proud of me, Lernen,” she promised.

  “I’m proud of you already, dearest.”

  “How long will it be?”

  “How long will what be?”

  “How long will it be before I’m married?”

  Lernen shrugged. “Not until you turn sixteen. In the spring, perhaps. Your intended is a devotee of Jelanna, so he may want to hold the wedding on her feast day. We haven’t got that far in the negotiations, in truth. And you’ll need to be trained first. I suppose I shall have to buy you a court’esa or two now.”

  “Just you make sure you pick a good one,” Lirena advised with a grunt as she bent over to pick up another towel Marla had dropped.

  Lernen smiled nervously. “It won’t be me who picks Marla’s first court’esa, Lirena. Gracious! What a terrifying thought. Anyway, it’s usually a female relative who accompanies a girl on her first trip to the slave markets.”

  “Oh, Lernen!” Marla cried in alarm. “Promise me I don’t have to go shopping for a court’esa with Aunt Lydia!”

  “Sounds like a grand idea to me,” Lirena grumbled. “At least you’d wind up with one that’s more than just a pretty face and a well-shaped backside.”

  “If I let Lydia pick my first court’esa I’ll wind up with an old man who wants to teach me accounting!” Marla complained. “Anyway, who asked you for your opinion?” She turned to her brother and smiled sweetly. “Please, Lernen, promise me you’ll find someone else.”

  Her brother shrugged helplessly. “I suppose. Although I’ve no idea who.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll think of someone.” She hugged him again and then laughed delightedly. “I’m so glad you sent for me. You will let me stay here in Greenharbour until I’m married, won’t you?” Lernen had seemed unwilling to commit himself on that point for days now. Marla thought it might be prudent to extract a definite promise while he was feeling so kindly disposed towards his sister.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier, Marla? Our enemies are everywhere! Ronan Dell was murdered today. In broad daylight!”

  “Yes, but you have lots of guards here in the palace. And the Sorcerers’ Collective is on our side, aren’t they?”

  “Well, yes, of course, but—”

  “Then I’m as safe as you are. Please let me stay.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Marla chose to take that as an answer in the affirmative.

  “That’s settled, then,” she announced happily. “Now we can go to the ball!”

  chapter 5

  E

  xhausted and fearful, Elezaar had to pound on the door of Venira’s Emporium for quite some time before anybody came to investigate. The façade of the slave emporium was impressive. Tall marble columns flanked the polished brass-sheathed doors. During the day, two slaves stood either side of the doors, ready to assist customers from their litters or coaches, but at this hour, they were long gone. The street was deserted and Elezaar’s voice was hoarse by the time the door was opened by another slave, who looked the dwarf up and down then smiled briefly when he recognised him.

  “I thought your soul would be looking for its way to the underworld, by now, Fool.”

  “It very nearly was. Dherin. Is Venira still here?”

  “He’s still here,” the slave confirmed. “He was waiting for your brother to show up.”

  “He’s not coming,” Elezaar informed him flatly. Dherin waited for Elezaar to elaborate, but when the dwarf offered no further explanation, he simply shrugged and stood back to let him enter. After he bolted the door, Dherin led the way through the dim halls and empty showrooms to the slaver’s private quarters out the back. Elezaar shuddered as he walked through the interlinked courtyards, wondering what had possessed him to come back here.

  Protection, he reminded himself.

  But it was a very temporary sort of protection, Venira might sell him tomorrow to the enemies of Ronan Dell and all Elezaar would have achieved by coming here tonight was a stay of execution. But there was a chance, however slender, he might not.

  And that was the risk, the gamble, Elezaar had taken.

  It was well after dark before he was shown into the slaver’s presence. Venira was a grossly fat man with an expansive belly, chins so numerous they looked like gills, and the garish bad taste of a self-made millionaire. He wore rings on every finger and the body-weight of a small child in gold chains around his neck. Too fat for trousers, he favoured long, tent-like robes of rich brocaded silk which were so hot he was followed everywhere by a s
lave with a large fan whose only function was to cool his master down. When Elezaar was admitted into his presence, the slaver was lying on a pile of overstuffed cushions on the floor, a low table laden with food before him, and the ever-present slave standing over his master wearing a bored expression as the fan moved through a slow arc, doing little to cool the humid air.

  “I was expecting Crysander,” Venira announced, picking at the fruit bowl on the table. He popped a grape into his mouth, quite deliberately crushing it with his teeth to send a spray of juice across the landscape of his chins, before deigning to turn his gaze on the dwarf.

  Elezaar shrugged, glancing around the room. It had changed little since the last time he stood here several months ago. That was just before he had been sold to Ronan Dell. “He was unavoidably detained,” he explained. “He sent me in his place.”

  The fat slaver seemed unimpressed. “I could sell your brother a dozen times over for the number of offers I’ll get for you, Fool.”

  “I can’t be held responsible for things beyond my control, Master Venira,” he shrugged with an ingenuous smile.

  Venira picked up another grape and treated it to the same torment as the first one. “I hear there was trouble at Lord Ronan’s place today.”

  “Really?”

  “They say he’s dead.”

  “What a shame.”

  Venira studied Elezaar closely. “They say the assassins killed all the slaves in the house, too.”

  “What a pity.”

  Venira’s eyes narrowed. “Including your brother.”

  “I’m heartbroken.”

  “I can tell.” The slaver leaned back on his cushions. “Who did it?”

  “Who did what?”

  “Who murdered Ronan Dell?”

  “I have no idea, Master Venira. Lord Ronan sent me on an errand early this morning and by the time I got back to the house they were all dead. Crysander had enough breath left in him to tell me to come here in his place. That’s all I know.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I don’t know who killed them, Master Venira.”