Warrior (33 page)

And she remembered Tejay saying, “Welcome to the family.”

After that, Luciena didn’t remember very much at all . . . not until hours later when she discovered she was in Damin Wolfblade’s room, just after he hit her on the jaw, knocked her down, almost wrenched her arm from its socket and then stood on her neck while he accused her of trying to kill him.

What had happened in the intervening hours was a complete mystery.

Luciena put her pounding head in her hands, recalling the look on Princess Marla’s face as the guards had hauled Luciena to her feet. It was her contempt that ate at Luciena more than anything.

“So, this is how you repay my generosity?” the princess had said to her. If Marla had been the God of Storms, her voice alone would have brought on an Ice Age.

Luciena tried to shake her head; she tried to deny she’d done anything wrong. But the pain was unbearable and there were no words available to her. For some reason, she couldn’t speak, even though she’d desperately wanted to protest her innocence. And even if she’d found her voice, what was she supposed to say? She didn’t remember any of it. She’d certainly never set out to harm Damin Wolfblade and had no recollection of sneaking through the slaveways and using the hidden key to his room. The guards outside Damin’s door hadn’t granted her entry so, short of her scaling the outside wall of the palace—unlikely—even Luciena admitted there was no other way she could have got in there.

But why?
she asked herself, over and over.
Why would I do something like that?

There was no logical reason for any of this. Luciena had no gripe against Damin. Since coming to Krakandar she’d even begun to soften towards Marla, understanding a little of the pressures that dictated the princess’s actions. The children of Marla’s extended family had welcomed her with remarkably little fuss. Even Lord Damaran, although clearly dubious about Luciena’s pedigree, had treated her with distant cordiality.

It’s what I always wanted. Why would I throw it all away?

Locked in the hot, close confines of her bare prison, Luciena had had all night and much of the day to ponder that thought. In the cells behind the Raider’s barracks—thankfully they didn’t have dungeons here—she’d done little else but wonder how this could have happened to her.

In a way, the thoughts were a welcome distraction. Trying to figure out why she’d attacked Damin meant she didn’t have to think about her future.
Not that I have a future
. Luciena was under no illusions about the inevitable fate of anybody foolish enough to assault the High Prince’s heir.

Breakfast was served in her cell the following morning and she sat on the edge of the straw pallet in her ruined ballgown and ate the slops mechanically. She didn’t taste a bite, but wasn’t sure if that was the result of her misery or simply the tastelessness of the gluey gruel that passed for food here.

They gave her a jug of tepid water and a bucket to use as a toilet and then left her alone to ponder her fate, hour after torturous hour, the silence and the isolation more frightening than being yelled at. It was as if they’d thrown her in here and forgotten all about her.

Maybe that’s my punishment. “Lock her up and throw away the key.”

Would Marla Wolfblade be content with that?
Probably not. She’s more your blood-for-blood
sort of woman
. She was practical, too. For the fool who dared threaten one of her precious babies, death was far cheaper than longterm incarceration.

It was almost sunset, and the pain had abated a little, when the lock on the door rattled, making Luciena jump to her feet, filled with a fear that was nauseating in its intensity. Suddenly, being ignored seemed so much better than being forced to confront the possibility they had come to carry out her execution.

The door opened. Luciena almost fainted with relief to discover it was Xanda Taranger. Then she noticed the look on his face and wondered if, perhaps, execution wouldn’t have been easier to deal with.

He studied her for a long moment before he spoke. Luciena imagined the picture she must present. Her beautiful blue and gold gown was a ruin. The skirt was crumpled, the bodice stained by unsightly damp marks under her arms and across the small of her back. The smell of her unwashed body seemed to fill the small, airless cell. Her dark hair was in disarray and they’d taken her shoes and jewellery from her when she was thrown in here to await judgment.

When Xanda finally spoke, his voice was icy. “Are you feeling better?”

Does Marla give the whole family lessons in speaking like that?
she wondered irreverently. Fear was making her foolish, almost hysterical. The idiocy of the thought made her want to giggle, a fatal impulse she forced herself not to give in to. Instead, she nodded, not trusting herself to speak—or even certain she was able.

“Captain Almodavar claims you’re in some sort of shock.”

Luciena nodded again, warily. Not long ago, Xanda had wanted to kiss her. He looked at her now as if he wished they’d never met. It surprised Luciena to discover how much that hurt.

“I . . . I don’t know . . .,” she managed to stammer, her urge to giggle forgotten as tears blurred her vision.

Xanda looked down at his boots.

“What’s going to happen . . . to me?”

“Nothing for the moment,” he informed her with all the emotion of a slave delivering a report on the state of the livestock. “I think . . . I mean, there’s a suggestion someone tampered with your mind. You won’t be executed until we know for sure.”

“But I
will
be executed,” she said, finding it easier to reach for the words she wanted each time she spoke. The veil of her torpor was wearing away, abraded by fear.

For the first time, Xanda showed some sort of emotion when he looked at her, and it seemed to be despair rather than the anger she anticipated. “What did you
expect
, Luciena? You attacked the heir to the Hythrun throne! You tried to kill him!”

“But I don’t
remember
!” she cried, wiping away her tears impatiently so she could see him more clearly. “I don’t remember anything!”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Gods, even if I could bring myself to believe your mind wasn’t your own, he’s only a child! Didn’t some part of you understand what you were doing?”

“I don’t
know
what I was thinking, Xanda! The first coherent memory I have after the markets yesterday was Damin belting me in the jaw, just before he tried to rip my arm off.” She wanted to add that he might only be a child, but Xanda’s precious little heir to the Hythrun throne had a fist like a sledgehammer and she had the bruises to prove it. But apparently nobody cared about her injuries.

Surprisingly, Xanda’s demeanour softened a little. He took a step closer and grimaced as he examined her bruised jaw. “It looks pretty painful.”

“I’ll live. At least until they hang me.”

He reached out and touched her injured face with unexpected gentlness. Luciena wasn’t sure how it happened, but the next thing she knew Xanda was holding her in his arms while she sobbed against his shoulder. She clung to him desperately, the horror of her predicament finally getting the better of her. Xanda let her cry, saying nothing, seemingly content to just hold her close and comfort her.

After a while, the tears abated and she sniffed and leaned back in his embrace. “Won’t you get accused of being a traitor, coming here to visit me?”

Xanda shook his head. “I’d have come anyway. I sort of feel responsible for this. I was the one who convinced you to visit Aunt Marla. If I hadn’t done that, she wouldn’t have invited you here. And if she hadn’t invited you to Krakandar, Alija probably wouldn’t have tampered with your mind—”

“Alija?” she asked in shock. “You mean Alija
Eaglespike
? The High Arrion?”

Xanda nodded. “I’m hoping she’s the one who made you do this. Otherwise you’ll be hanged as a Fardohnyan spy. We won’t know for certain until Wrayan gets back, though.”

Now she was really confused. “Wrayan? The man from the Thieves’ Guild who came to lunch that day? The chap Kalan has a crush on?”

Xanda smiled faintly. “That’s the one.”

“What’s he got to do with anything?”

“Wrayan’s a sorcerer,” Xanda told her. “He’ll be able to tell us what happened to you.”

“And what happens if this Wrayan of yours decides my mind
hasn’t
been tampered with?”

Xanda hesitated before he replied. “Then the only conclusion we can draw is that you knew exactly what you were doing. That you’re a Patriot assassin. Or working for the Fardohnyans.”

She stepped out of his arms, shaking her head. “But that’s impossible! I don’t even know any Fardohnyans.”

“That’s not what your slave claims.”

Luciena sighed and threw up her hands. “My father had a brother . . . they fought when they were young men and hadn’t spoken to each other for over thirty years when my father died.”

“Then why were you trying to see the High Arrion?”

“I got a letter . . . it came out of the blue. I’d never even heard from my uncle before. He claimed his grandson was magically gifted. Aleesha thought he was just trying to extort money out of me.”

Xanda smiled sympathetically. “You don’t have to make up stories about stray magicians to convince me you’re innocent, Luciena.”

“I’m not making
anything
up,” she protested. “My cousin is an Innate, or something like that—

I’ve never met him, actually, so I can’t say for sure.”

“And you believed this letter?”

Luciena shrugged, resenting Xanda’s tone. She wasn’t nearly as gullible as he believed. “For all I know, it’s true. I know my father used to joke all the time that we had a Harshini ancestor. When Warak Mariner wrote wanting me to arrange passage for his grandson to Hythria so he could join the Sorcerers’

Collective as an apprentice, it didn’t seem that outrageous to me.”

“So you get a letter from a complete stranger in Fardohnya and you immediately race off to see the High Arrion? To do what? Enrol your cousin in the Sorcerers’ Collective?”

“What else was I supposed to do? If you recall, I was flat broke by then so I couldn’t have sent him money, even if I’d wanted to. I thought . . . if Rory really was gifted, then maybe Lady Alija . . .” Her voice trailed off as she searched his face, hoping for some sign that he believed her. “Why are you interrogating me like this? I swear on my mother’s grave, I’m not making this up, Xanda. I’m a loyal Hythrun. I didn’t come to Krakandar to harm your cousin. Or anybody else, for that matter.”

Xanda nodded again and then, after a long moment, he smiled cautiously, taking her hands in his. “Actually, I don’t believe you did, either.”

“But it’s not up to you, is it?”

“No.”

“Should I speak to Princess Marla? Tell her—”

“That’s probably not a good idea right now.”

Thinking of the rage Marla Wolfblade must be in, Luciena had the feeling Xanda’s words might be something of an understatement. She sighed heavily, consoling herself with the thought that at least they weren’t planning to drag her out into the courtyard and summarily execute her. “How long do I have to stay locked up in these cells?”

“Until Wrayan gets back.”

She could feel the despair starting to overwhelm her again. “Will you visit me, every once in a while?”

“Do you want me to?”

Luciena nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll come.”

Despite the hope that simple promise gave her, the silence quickly grew thick between them, taut and filled with unspoken emotions that neither of them was sure about or willing to examine too closely. When she could bear it no longer, Luciena shrugged, certain the only thing she
could
say to him was the truth. “I’m innocent, Xanda. You’ll see.”

Xanda let go of her hands, nodding guardedly. She wasn’t sure if he was agreeing that she was innocent, or that he’d see soon enough, one way or the other. He moved back towards the door and knocked on it. The guard waiting outside unlocked it and waited for Xanda to step outside.

“I’ll try to come again tomorrow,” he promised.

The thought that at least one person might still be on her side bolstered Luciena’s fading courage. “I’ll try to squeeze you into my busy schedule.”

Xanda smiled at her weak attempt at humour. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Thank you.”

“For getting you into this mess?” he asked heavily.

“For believing in me.”

He didn’t reply to that; perhaps just as uncertain about his feelings as she was. In the end, after hesitating for a moment, he simply turned and left the cell. The guard closed the door behind him and locked it and Xanda’s fading footsteps in the corridor outside were the last thing Luciena heard for a long, long time.

The man from the Fardohnyan Thieves’ Guild was waiting for them when they arrived at Westbrook, just as the gates were closing for the evening. A rather less impressive version of Winternest, Westbrook was built to a similar scale, although it lacked the elegant lines provided by a bridge over the road linking the two arms of the keep. Brak recalled that the current buildings had replaced a ramshackle fort, constructed mostly of wood—a dilapidated series of dangerously unstable structures, that had been unroofed, without fail, almost every winter, surrounded by a flimsy wooden palisade that wouldn’t have stopped a concerted attack by a gang of hungry children.

Now it’s a solid, damn-near-impregnable fortress
, Brak thought, trying to remember the first time he had come through here. It must have been more than six hundred years ago, he realised with mild surprise, back when it was still under construction.
No wonder it’s starting to look old
.

Brak and Wrayan rode into the vast bailey of the northern keep behind a long Hythrun caravan they had caught up with in the last half mile of the pass. The lead wagon was loaded with barrels of ale and several large clay jars of mead, the next three were stacked with bales of wool and the remaining half dozen were wagonloads of raw quartz from the mines near Byamor in Elasapine. Wagonloads of raw quartz were much less tempting to bandits. Despite the gold locked inside the rocks, they weighed too much for too little return to a criminal, so the ore caravans were usually allowed to pass though the Widowmaker unmolested. Still, it was heavily guarded and the caravan owner visibly relaxed as the first gate boomed shut in the darkness.