The Lyre Thief Page 30

  With that dire warning ringing in her ears, Charisee followed Adrina into the palace to begin her life proper as Her Serene Highness, the Princess Rakaia.

  Princess of Fardohnya. Lady of Highcastle Keep. Liar.

  Part four

  Chapter

  43

  THE CLOSER THEY got to Krakandar, the more animated Mica became, as if there was something great waiting there for him. When Rakaia asked why he was so excited by the prospect of visiting the city, he shrugged and grinned and said he was expecting some good news when they got to Hythria, but would not elaborate.

  “Have you been to Krakandar before?” she asked as they rode side by side on the horses Mica had bought in Bordertown with one of the emerald earrings her mother had given them.

  “Once.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “You seem really excited about going back.”

  Mica leaned over and kissed her. “You’ll see.”

  She smiled at him. Rakaia had never been worshipped before. Not the way Mica worshipped her. It was possible his infatuation was entirely centered on sex. She knew that. They’d made love every single night since their first encounter in the bathhouse. Mica was voracious. He wanted to learn everything Rakaia could teach him.

  Rakaia was happy to oblige, almost as enchanted by Mica as he was with her. She’d been taught well by her court’esa, but one thing she was only just beginning to understand was the difference between having sex and making love.

  That latter, she was discovering, was much more fun.

  By the time Krakandar finally came into view and they’d joined the line of people waiting to enter through the city gates, Rakaia was starving. For some reason the road leading toward the city was jammed with travelers, and there was some holdup at the gate.

  The northernmost city in Hythria was a grand sight from a distance, built in a series of concentric rings that all peaked with the palace perched on the hill in the center of the sprawling metropolis. While not as large as Talabar or Greenharbour, it was an important center of commerce in the north and pretty much all the trade that happened between Medalon and Hythria came through here.

  Rakaia sighed when she realized it would be hours before they reached the gates. The red-bricked walls of the city were still a mile or more ahead of them, and because the surrounding countryside had been cleared of vegetation to prevent a sneak attack, it was hot, there was no shade, and more than once they passed both men and women squatting down to relieve themselves on the side of the road as they inched their way forward.

  “Is it always this busy?” she asked Mica.

  “Something important must have happened,” Mica replied as if he knew something she didn’t.

  Before she could answer him, she spied an enterprising food vendor walking toward them, weaving his way through the line of wagons and pedestrians, all patiently waiting to enter. “Sweatmeats! Meatballs! Spicy jerky!”

  Mica glanced at Rakaia. “Are you hungry?”

  Her tummy rumbled in answer. Mica laughed and hailed the man over. He wheeled his small cart to them, revealing a selection of dried meats and pastry-covered balls filled with dried fruit.

  “Is something happening in the city?” Rakaia asked the vendor, as Mica dismounted to closer inspect the man’s wares.

  “The Princess Marla arrived yesterday,” the man explained. “She’s on her way to Medalon, they say, for the treaty negotiations.”

  Mica selected a few pieces and handed them up to Rakaia, saying, “I suppose the whole city is still in mourning.”

  The man shook his head, puzzled. “Mournin’? Mournin’ for who? Princess Marla is alive and well.”

  “I meant for the High Prince.”

  The food vendor looked at Mica like he was mad. “The High Prince ain’t dead,” he said. Then he leaned forward and added in a low, conspiratorial tone. “Word is he’s off on a special mission with the demon child, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

  Mica stared at the man. He looked stunned. “What do you mean, he’s not dead? Are you certain? Maybe the news hasn’t reach Krakandar yet?”

  The food vendor shook his head. “We’d know an hour after it happened, lad, if something befell our Damin. There’s Harshini here now, same as there are in every city since those evil bitches in Medalon were tossed out on their arses and it was safe for them to come back. They talk through them stones to each other all the time. ’Sides, can you imagine Princess Marla galavantin’ off to Medalon if the High Prince of Hythria had just passed on?” The man laughed, “Ye gods, lad, you need to stop listenin’ to silly rumors. That’ll be four rivets, thanks.”

  Mica seemed too shocked to speak. “What . . . ?”

  “Pay the man, Mica,” Rakaia urged, worried about how pale he suddenly looked.

  “Oh . . .” Mica fished some coins from his purse and tossed them on the food vendor’s cart.

  “Thanks, lad.” He pocketed the coins with a grin and then turned to keep working his way up the line. “Sweatmeats! Meatballs! Spicy jerky! Sweatmeats! Meatballs! Spicy jerky!”

  “Mica, what’s wrong?”

  He didn’t answer. He just swung up into his saddle and gathered up the reins, staring into space as if she weren’t even there.

  She reached out to place her hand on his arm. “Mica . . .”

  He reacted to her touch as if he’d been burned, turning his horse’s head so savagely Rakaia winced for the poor beast’s mouth. Without another word, Mica kicked his horse with a soundless cry and galloped off in the opposite direction, away from Krakandar.

  IT TOOK RAKAIA nearly an hour to catch up with Mica, another half hour to find him, and by then the sun was moving toward the horizon and she realized they would not be entering Krakandar City today. The gates would be closed for the night before they got back.

  She spied his horse first, grazing on the side of the road near an outcropping of rock. Rakaia dismounted and led her horse over to Mica’s, picking up the reins and draping them over the saddle so the poor thing couldn’t step on them. He was lathered and had obviously been run until he almost foundered, but there was no sign of Mica.

  She petted him for a moment to calm him down, whispering sweet nothings to him as she led the horses to a nearby sapling, where she tied them both. Rakaia smiled fleetingly at the thought of how proud Charisee would be of her, for being so considerate of the horses for once, before she turned and called out for Mica.

  There was no answer, although she was certain he must be nearby.

  “Mica!”

  Other than the echo of her own voice from the rocks, there was no reply.

  “Mica! Please! Don’t leave me out here on my own! It’ll be dark soon!”

  She waited for a moment and then she heard a faint call.

  “Over here.”

  “Over where?”

  A hand appeared above the rocks a hundred paces or so to her left, waving briefly before it disappeared.

  With a sigh of exasperation, Rakaia picked up her skirts and headed over the rough ground to where he was hiding, still unable to imagine what might have made him gallop off like that. She could conceive a person being that upset on learning a loved one had died, but he seemed ridiculously upset to learn the High Prince of Hythria was alive and well.

  “Mica! Please . . .” she called, after crossing a small creek narrow enough for her to step over.

  “Over here,” he called again.

  Now that she was closer, she could hear him better and only a few minutes after crossing the creek she rounded an outcropping and found him sitting in a small shallow cave formed by a hollow in the rocks.

  He looked up as she blocked the sun with her approach. She was shocked to discover his face streaked with tears. In his hands he held a fine gold chain with a tiny golden lyre hanging from it. She’d seen it before. He usually wore the chain around his neck.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Not r
eally.” He wiped his tears away with the heel of his hands, as if he was embarrassed for her to see him like this.

  She squatted down so she could look him in the eye. “Why did you run off like that?”

  “Because it’s all gone, Rakaia. Everything I had planned. It should have happened by now.”

  She moved around until she was beside him and then sat down with her back to the rocks and put her arm around him. “What did you have planned, Mica?”

  “This,” he said, holding up the lyre necklace. “Zegarnald said it would fix everything.”

  She smiled at that. “So the God of War is the one at fault here?”

  “He said he’d help me. Help me get even . . . or even things up . . . I’m not even sure now.” He put his head on her shoulder. “But nothing has gone the way he said it would. The only good thing that’s happened to me lately is you, and he didn’t mention you at all.”

  “The God of War didn’t mention me? How rude.”

  He turned his head to look at her, his expression pained. “You don’t believe me.”

  “I’m sure you talk to the gods all the time, Mica. I certainly do. I just don’t expect them to talk back to me.”

  “They talk back to me,” Mica insisted. “At least they used to talk to me. Kali would come visit me sometimes. I know Jakerlon and Dace and Zegarnald and . . . Gimlorie . . . I even knew Xaphista once.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised you know Gimlorie,” she said. “You sing like the God of Music chose you himself.”

  Mica shook his head. “He never chose me . . . it was the demon child who made him teach me his song.”

  Having heard Mica sing and seen what he could do with his songs, that was one claim she wasn’t prepared to dismiss out of hand. “Is that how you know the demon child?”

  He nodded. “I knew them all, once,” he said. “Princess Adrina, the High Prince, Brakandaran the Halfbreed, the demon child . . . I was only a small boy, but I knew them . . .”

  Somehow, Rakaia realized, no matter how bizarre his story, Mica was telling the truth. “So what happened? How did you end up here?”

  “It all started,” Mica said, wiping away a fresh bout of tears, “when Damin Wolfblade ordered me put to death and Brakandaran the Half-breed killed me.”

  Chapter

  44

  ONCE CHARISEE WAS accepted by Princess Adrina as her sister, it removed the last chance anybody might question her identity. Rakaia was one of a dozen legitimate sisters and a score of bastards raised in the harem. They hardly knew each other. Adrina already had her first court’esa by the time Rakaia was born and she’d left Talabar more than a decade ago.

  There wasn’t a single question Adrina might ask her sister that Charisee couldn’t answer. It gave her a sense of renewed confidence.

  To Charisee’s immense relief, Adrina didn’t throw a banquet to welcome her to Greenharbour the day she arrived, although she assured her one would be held in due course. Adrina didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic about the idea, which suited Charisee just fine. She wasn’t so full of confidence yet that she was ready to be the main attraction at a royal gala.

  They ate an informal dinner in the nursery so Rakaia could meet her nieces and nephews. Although it would have been nice to think Adrina was considering Rakaia’s feelings, she quickly deduced the informality of the occasion was for the children’s sake, not hers.

  Adrina had arranged a dinner table set up in the large playroom. There Charisee met Jazrian, the eldest, a bright, tousle-haired eleven-year-old who seemed to study everything around him quite intently before making a decision about anything. Marlie, his nine-year-old sister, was much more outspoken. Charisee got the feeling it was Marlie who ruled the nursery, not her quieter older brother.

  The two youngest, Tristan and Kimarie, were twins. They were four, as different as two siblings could be, and rather intrigued by the notion of having yet another aunt. The Wolfblades were a large extended family, and it seemed they knew all their aunts and uncles by name. It took Adrina quite some time to convince them Rakaia was another aunt they had only just met.

  Being the youngest, they had eaten earlier, and were carried off to bed by their nurses once the introductions were over, leaving the two older children to share their dinner with their mother and their new aunt.

  Marlie, in particular, was very excited at the prospect of being an attendant at the wedding.

  “Have you decided what color we’ll be wearing,” Marlie asked as they took their seats on the cushions around the low dinner table.

  “Wearing for what?” Charisee asked, a little confused.

  “The wedding, of course.”

  “Marlie seems to think you’re going to want her as your head attendant at the wedding,” Adrina explained as she began to help herself to the food, which was the signal that everyone else could eat. “I have been trying to explain to her that a bride’s head attendant is usually much older, and her cousin, Julika, is the most likely candidate. The decision is yours, of course. I haven’t yet convinced Marlie she shouldn’t presume any such thing.”

  “I’d be delighted to have Marlie as an attendant.” Charisee forced herself to smile as the looming reality of her wedding to a man old enough to be her grandfather became horribly real. “Who is Julika?”

  “Aunt Kalan’s daughter,” Marlie informed her before her mother could answer. “She’s apprenticed to the Sorcerers’ Collective. Jaz says it’s because her mother is the High Arrion. I think it’s because her papa was a Harshini prince and she’s a real sorcerer.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Marlie,” Jaz scolded. He turned to Charisee, shaking his head. “Don’t pay any attention to her, Aunt Rakaia. She’s making it up. Nobody knows who Julika’s papa is.”

  “Oh,” Charisee said, not sure how to react to the news that the High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective had given birth to a bastard.

  Adrina smiled. “Welcome to the Wolfblade family,” she said. “As I’m sure you’ll learn soon enough, the Wolfblade women—Kalan in particular—are fond of defying convention. There’s a lesson in that, actually. Don’t assume anything about the people you meet here. They are not always what they seem.”

  Charisee smiled at the irony of Adrina’s advice. “Well, I’m going to be terribly boring, I’m afraid, doing exactly what convention requires of me and marrying Lord Branador.”

  “Maybe you’ll get lucky,” Jaz said, “and Uncle Frederak will die of old age before the wedding.”

  “Jazrian, that’s a terrible thing to say!”

  “I didn’t say it,” Jaz told his mother calmly. “Nana Marla said it. She said Grandpapa Hablet breeds daughters like cattle, and he trades them like cattle too so he can—”

  “That will be quite enough about what Nana Marla says,” Adrina scolded. She turned to Charisee. “I’m sorry. As you’ll soon learn when you meet her, my mother-in-law is inflicted with an unreasonable prejudice against all things Fardohnyan in general and very specifically against all things relating to our family.”

  “That must make life here difficult for you.”

  Her response seemed to surprise Adrina. “It has its challenges. Fortunately, you’ll be living in Highcastle after the wedding. You shouldn’t have to weather Nana Marla’s animosity more than two or three times a year.”

  “We can come and visit you at Highcastle, too,” Marlie offered. “Can we, Mama?”

  “I’m sure a visit can be arranged. If you haven’t driven Rakaia mad by the wedding, pestering her about how you think it should be done.” She turned to Rakaia and added with a smile. “Marlie is one of nature’s little organizers. She’s never happier than when she is ordering people about. We’re considering a career in the military for her. She’d make an excellent general.”

  “But you and Papa said I couldn’t train with the Raiders like Jaz does, Mama.”

  “That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make a wonderful general, darling.”

  “Is Princess Ra
kaia’s wedding still going ahead, Mama?” Jazrian asked, his expression too grave for one so young. “With Papa still so ill?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “If it would be easier on you to delay it, your highness . . . ,” Charisee began, still not comfortable calling this intimidating woman by her given name.

  “Easier, yes,” Adrina agreed. “But politically foolish. And we live by politics in this place.”

  “How is the High Prince?” she asked cautiously, wishing as soon as she said it that she’d not asked the question in front of the children. “Is he recovered from his wounds?”

  “He’s better than expected, worse than I’d like,” Adrina replied cryptically. “After dinner we’ll visit him so you can pay your respects.”

  THEY LEFT THE nursery an hour or so later. By then Marlie had explained all her plans for Rakaia’s wedding, what she should do with her time in Greenharbour, and how she should manage her household when she got to Highcastle. Jaz said little, just rolled his eyes a lot as Marlie chattered away. Adrina didn’t seem to say much either, prepared to let Marlie do the talking while she watched her sister out of the corner of her eye.

  This was a test, of sorts, Charisee realized.

  She wished she could tell if she’d passed it or not.

  As promised, Adrina took Charisee to meet her husband after dinner. They walked in silence along the wide mosaic tiled hall toward the royal suite on the second floor. Charisee didn’t mind the silence, quite certain any attempt she made to fill it with small talk would only end in disaster.

  It was Adrina who broke the silence, surprising Charisee with a compliment. “You were very patient with Marlie tonight.”

  “She’s a sweet child.”

  Adrina seemed amused by that. “You say that because you’ve only just met her. Still, it’s not often a grownup gives her many and varied opinions so much weight. You’ve made a friend for life there, I suspect.”

  “Then I’m pleased to know I have made my first new friend in Greenharbour.”