Warrior (11 page)

“Must I give you an answer immediately?”

“What could you possibly need to consider?” Marla asked impatiently.

“One of your conditions is that I swear allegiance to the House of Wolf-blade, your highness. You say you want me to use my father’s fortune to aid your son’s ascension to the throne some day. Don’t I have a right to see what sort of a prince you would have me swear my allegiance to, before I take such an oath?”

Marla stared at her in surprise. Part of her was quite offended by the girl’s manner. Another part was thinking:
This girl is going to be formidable when she gets her hands on her father’s business
.

“You’ve more cheek than a street urchin, Luciena.”

“And whose fault is that, I wonder? Wasn’t it
you
who paid for my education?”

Marla frowned. “Very well. You may accompany me and my husband north to Krakandar. We will discuss your future further once you have met Damin and made up your mind about him. Speak to Xanda on your way out. He’ll make arrangements for your slave to have your trunks delivered to the palace. I assume you’ll want her to accompany you?”

“Yes. Thank you, your highness.”

“I’ll see you the day after tomorrow then.”

Realising she was dismissed, Luciena rose to her feet and curtseyed. “As you wish, your highness.”

Luciena turned and walked to the door. Marla waited until she was almost there before adding as an afterthought, “One other thing, Luciena.”

The girl turned to look at her. “Your highness?”

“Don’t get any ideas about my nephew.”

“I
beg
your pardon?” Luciena asked, quite shocked.

“He’s young, handsome and completely out of your class, Luciena. I will find a suitable husband for you when the time comes. Someone less . . . exalted. Don’t presume to think I will allow you to make such a decision for yourself.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, your highness.”

“I’m sure you do,” the princess corrected. “Good day, Luciena.”

The young woman curtseyed again without speaking and fled the room.

Marla leaned back against the cushions and smiled with satisfaction. Behind her, the curtain rustled softly and Elezaar stepped out of his hiding place, where he’d listened to the entire exchange.

“What did you think of her?”

“Interesting young woman,” he remarked, waddling around the piled cushions to face his mistress.

“Interesting indeed,” Marla agreed.

“One thing I don’t understand, though. Why warn her away from Xanda?”

“Because she’s seventeen and she thinks she hates me, Elezaar. What better way to give voice to that hate than to openly defy me?”

“You think that by forbidding her a relationship with Xanda, she’ll deliberately set out to have one? Does Xanda have any idea that you’re using him so blatantly?”

“Of course not.”

“Don’t you think he’d be upset?”

“Wasn’t it you, Elezaar, who pointed out that my nephew is too full of raging lust and bravado to notice what I’m up to?”

“Still, you might want to warn him of your plans.”

“I will. When the time is right.”

“Before or after the wedding?” Elezaar asked pointedly.

“After he’s in love,” Marla told him with a smile. “It won’t matter what I tell him then.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know for a fact that people in love don’t listen to anything but their own hearts,” she replied, her smile fading. The pain of her own lost love was still a raw wound Marla carefully concealed from the rest of the world, even after all this time.

“Perhaps that’s a good thing,” the dwarf shrugged. “Love is supposed to be blind, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps that’s why we never see the truth,” Marla agreed. “Even when it’s right in front of us.”

Elezaar offered no reply. He didn’t have to. He knew her well enough to understand she was no longer talking about Xanda and Luciena.

“See that she’s taken care of, Elezaar,” she ordered when the silence started to become tense.

“And make sure Xanda knows I want him to look after her, for me.”

“Was there anything else, your highness?”

“No,” she said, a little surprised to find herself choking back memories of what it was to be young and innocent and desperately in love. “Leave me.”

The dwarf bowed and then waddled to the door, leaving Marla alone. Impatiently, she wiped away an unexpected tear and took her wineglass from the table, downing the remainder in a single swallow.

“Don’t be a fool,” she muttered to herself.

Never regret anything. Never look back and wonder
. Was that one of the dwarf’s damned Rules of Gaining and Wielding Power? It ought to be. Because who would have thought the memory of Nash Hawksword would still hurt so much after all these years?

It was several days after Damin almost managed to kill Almodavar that the captain sent for Starros to discuss the young man’s plans for the future. Starros wasn’t sure if the two events were related.

They might have been. Since he was five years old, Starros had been a fosterling of the Wolfblade family. It was the custom in Hythrun highborn families to attempt to confuse potential assassins by surrounding the heir to the house with other children. The theory was that if an assassin could not identify the real heir, he might leave all the children alone.

To Starros’s considerable relief, the theory had never been put to the test in Krakandar. Mahkas Damaran, Damin’s uncle and Krakandar’s Regent, was vigilant to the point of being obsessed with his nephew’s safety. The palace was too well guarded, the staff too well vetted, to present a danger to Damin or anybody else in the household.

But Damin had now proved capable of defending himself against a full-grown man. What need was there for a decoy any longer for a boy so skilled in the martial arts? For that matter, it was almost a year since the boys had even shared a room. When Starros turned fifteen, as was the custom among the nobility, he had been given access to the palace
court’esa
. As this milestone meant he was, while not considered a man, then at least no longer a child, Starros had moved in with Xanda Taranger, Damin’s older cousin, until he left for Greenharbour last winter. Damin was still only twelve and it wasn’t considered appropriate for a boy so young to be introduced to a
court’esa
’s special skills. It was then that Damin begged his uncle to get rid of the armed guard who had stood over him while he slept since the first attempt on his life when he was four years old.

Mahkas had agreed, on the condition Damin could prove he was capable of looking after himself. The young prince had proved it resoundingly.

Perhaps Almodavar isn’t sending for me to tell me I’m no longer needed as a decoy
, Starros mused, as he neared the barracks.
Perhaps Almodavar is sending for me to tell me I’m no longer needed
at all
.

“How many times do I have to tell you, boy?” a familiar voice barked behind him. “Don’t slouch!”

Starros stopped and turned to face Krakandar’s most senior captain. Almodavar’s face, while not exactly fierce, wore enough nicks and scars to be well on its way to earning such a title. Starros knew the rumours that Almodavar was his father as well as anyone in Krakandar, but there was no family resemblance that Starros could see. He was slender and fair; Almodavar was big and dark, and he certainly never treated Starros like a son. For that matter, Almodavar never treated Starros any differently to the way he treated Damin, or Narvell, or Damin’s stepbrothers, so perhaps his gruff, impatient manner didn’t prove anything one way or the other.

“Sorry, sir,” Starros replied, straightening a little. “Travin said you wanted to see me?”

“Aye.” Almodavar fell into step beside Starros and they continued walking through the training yards. The day was clear and crisp. The captain’s hands were clasped behind his back, his expression thoughtful, as if he was carefully considering his words. After several moments of strained silence, which took them past the yards and out towards the stables, Almodavar finally spoke again. “You’ve been here a long time, lad.”

“Since I was five,” Starros agreed, although Almodavar hardly needed reminding of that. He was the one who had brought Starros to the palace. “Ten years.”

“And have you given any thought to what you want to do, once you leave?”

Starros looked at the captain curiously. “I wasn’t aware I
was
leaving, Captain. Is there something I should know about?”

“Princess Marla is due back soon,” Almodavar reminded him. “She mentioned on her last visit that you should start giving some thought to what you want to do with your life.”

“I have a choice?” Starros asked, a little surprised.

“The most powerful woman in Hythria thinks of you as her foster-son, Starros. You have been raised as a member of the family of the next High Prince of Hythria. Young Damin treats you like a brother and, most importantly, you can make him see reason when he gets his head full of some of the more harebrained schemes he’s becoming famous for.”

“He’s not a bad lad, sir. He just likes to test his limits.” Starros smiled. “A lot.”

“And you are one of the few with the ability to rein him in. The princess knows this.”

“She’s never said anything to me.”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate. She mentioned it to me, though. You’ve a rare chance to make something of your life, you know.”

“I assumed if I had any future here at all, it was as a member of the Palace Guard. Isn’t that usually what happens to fosterlings?”

“You’re too well educated for a life in the barracks.”

Starros stared at the captain, surprised to hear the warrior suggesting anything
other
than a life in the barracks. An avid follower of the God of War, for Almodavar there was simply no more noble profession than being a warrior in the service of your prince.

“What did she have in mind?”

“Every High Prince needs a steward.”

Starros stopped dead and stared at the captain. “You think I’m capable of becoming Damin’s steward some day?”

“It’s not an unlikely scenario,” Almodavar replied. “You’re a bright lad. Damin trusts you. With the right training, you could be anything you want.”

“I’m a bastard fosterling, Almodavar,” Starros reminded the captain. “That sort of limits my options a little, don’t you think?”

“Hablet of Fardohnya’s chamberlain is a slave
and
a eunuch,” Almodavar pointed out. “And yet Lecter Turon is one of the most powerful men in Fardohnya.”

“Is losing your balls a job requirement?” Starros asked, a little alarmed.

The captain smiled. “Not unless you’re planning a career in Fardohnya.”

“Then I think I’ll stay right here in Hythria,” he replied with a shudder. “With all of me right where it belongs, thank you.”

“But you’ll give it some thought?”

“I suppose,” Starros shrugged, seeing no harm in agreeing to this. He couldn’t imagine himself ever being offered such a powerful position, despite how highly the princess thought of him. The best Starros thought he could really hope for was to become an officer in the Raiders, albeit one with very important and influential friends. “What sort of special training would I need?”

“I don’t really know. More lessons in economics, I guess. And history. Probably diplomacy. And protocol. Princess Marla has it all worked out, I don’t doubt.”

Starros smiled. “All the stuff Damin can’t sit still for.”

The captain nodded his agreement. “He’s going to have to learn to sit still some day,” he warned. “Damin has the makings of a formidable warrior, but he’s not going to make much of a High Prince if he can’t get his head around the things that really matter.”

“I thought the only thing that really mattered to a warrior was getting into a good fight?”

“Aye,” Almodavar agreed solemnly. “And I’ll grant you this—Damin is going to be an awesome fighter some day. But before you can tell if it’s a good fight, you have to know
what
it is you’re fighting for, Starros. That’s where you come in. A prince needs to know more than how to spill blood efficiently.

And that’s what Damin has yet to learn.”

“Do you think Damin will make a good High Prince?” Starros asked curiously.

“He’s only twelve,” Almodavar shrugged. “Ask me again when he’s thirty.”

“It’ll be a bit late by then.”

“Then we’ll just have to surround him with people like you. People we can trust to serve Hythria well.”

“Cover for him, you mean,” Starros suggested with a canny smile. “The way Princess Marla covers for High Prince Lernen.”

“You mind your tongue, boy. It’s not up to you to speculate about what Princess Marla is or isn’t doing.”

Their walk had taken them past the stables towards the riding yards where Damin’s stepsister, Rielle Tirstone, his cousin Leila and his half-sister Kalan were doing a circuit of low jumps under the careful watch of Krakandar’s Master of Horse, Jozaf Pasharn. Starros and the captain stopped to watch, leaning on the rail as, one after the other, the girls rode the course.

Rielle, the tall, flirtatious, sixteen-year-old sister of Rodja and Adham Tirstone, was riding a spirited grey mare but handling her well, guiding her over the jumps with the sure hand of an experienced horsewoman. Leila followed on a handsome gelding with a golden coat and deep chest that hinted at a touch of the prized sorcerer-bred bloodline in his ancestry. By contrast, Kalan’s piebald pony had the rugged look of a stock horse, which rather matched the way she was riding it.

“For the gods’ sake, Kalan!” the Horse Master yelled, as Kalan dragged her pony around for another go at the second jump when it shied from it. “Think of that poor beast’s mouth!”

“Of the three of them, Leila’s the better horsewoman,” Almodavar remarked.

“Why do you say that?”

“Look at them,” the captain ordered. “Rielle rides like a mistress commanding her slave.”

“It’s not just horses she treats like that,” Starros remarked with a grin.

Almodavar smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’ve noticed she’s rather unconcerned that her stepbrother will one day be her High Prince.” The captain pointed at Kalan then, his smile fading.