Wolfblade (27 page)

Mahkas watched her leave and then shook his head with a smile. “She’d be so much nicer if she . . . moved to . . . Karien.”

“Don’t be horrible,” Riika scolded. “She’s really not that bad.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’ve only been here half an hour and already I want to strangle her.”

“You do not! Now stop worrying about Darilyn and tell me what else has been happening at home.”

“Well, the whole of Cabradell is fairly buzzing, as you can imagine. Laran and Nash Hawksword took his father’s troops up to Highcastle to block the southern pass and to arrange for Marla to get to Warrinhaven.”

“Is that where the wedding will take place?”

Mahkas nodded. “Kagan and Wrayan left for Greenharbour a couple of weeks ago to sort out Lernen. And here I am, ready to defend your precious little backside.”

Riika studied him for a moment, wondering at his tone. “Is something wrong, Mahkas? You sound a little . . . bitter.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What do I have to be bitter about?”

“You’re not jealous my father left Sunrise to Laran and not you?”

“I’m always being pushed aside for Laran, Riika. I don’t waste my time getting jealous about it any more.”

“You
are
angry.”

He smiled disarmingly. “You’re imagining things. Your father did what he thought was the best thing for Hythria. How I feel about it isn’t even a factor in the equation. This will work because Laran now controls two provinces. I control nothing, so even if he had left Sunrise to me, none of this would have been possible.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Now stop worrying about it, silly girl. I still love you. And I’m here to murder any bastard who thinks he can lay a hand on my little sister.”

Riika smiled and let him hold her close, his breastplate chill against her face, unable to avoid the feeling that Mahkas was not trying to convince her that he wasn’t bothered by Laran’s inheritance, so much as himself.

A
lija Eaglespike much preferred the townhouse in Greenharbour to the ancient castle in Dregian Province, the traditional seat of her husband’s family. With seventeen bedrooms, its own stables, accommodation for more than fifty slaves and internal plumbing to the main suites, the townhouse was far more comfortable than the tall, narrow, draughty tower of Dregian Castle with its crashing oceans, damp climate, endless stairs and impossibly ancient amenities. But even Alija couldn’t delay her return home indefinitely, and it was nearly two months since she had seen her boys. She was missing them desperately.

She had no legitimate excuse to stay in Greenharbour, really. The deal with Fardohnya had been struck. Marla Wolfblade was to marry the Fardohnyan king in the spring, as soon as she turned sixteen. The young woman was back at Highcastle with her
court’esa
, learning the arts required to make her a desirable wife.

At least she should be. Alija’s reports had been rather vague on that point. She had a spy among Marla’s retinue, of course, and would know almost as soon as anything happened, but she didn’t expect to hear much from High-castle until the winter snows cleared. And Marla wasn’t actually a problem. Just a silly girl, with no comprehension of the power she held in her foolish, innocent hands.

The Lady of Dregian was well pleased with her work. The seeds of fear and dissent among the Warlords had been sown and all that remained was for the crop to mature, which it would as soon as Marla Wolfblade bore Hablet of Fardohnya a son. Then the time would be ripe for Barnardo to make his move. Even if it took years for Marla to produce a boy, as soon as Lernen made an attempt to confirm any child of the Fardohnyan king as his heir, he was doomed. The other Warlords wouldn’t stand for it. Even those aligned with the Royalist faction would move to replace the High Prince—immediately—with
the only man of royal descent who could provide Hythria with not one, but two, pure Hythrun heirs.

Barnardo Eaglespike.

There wasn’t much Alija could do at the Collective, either. She had long ago removed from the Collective’s library any scrolls that gave an insight into the unique power she wielded as an Innate. She didn’t need to be here in Greenharbour to study them. In fact, she was better off not experimenting with the scrolls here in the city, so close to the Collective, where someone might detect her working.

Kagan and his apprentice were away, so there wasn’t even her nemesis and his sidekick to keep an eye on. The High Arrion’s brother-in-law had been killed recently. He was up north in Sunrise Province, consoling his sister and probably desperately trying to arrange a suitable husband for his niece, Riika Ravenspear, to keep the province in the family. If the Raven-spears arrived at the next Convocation with Riika married to some suitable but inoffensive and uncontroversial candidate, then it was more than likely the Convocation would simply ratify her new husband’s appointment as the next Warlord of Sunrise Province and that would be the end of it. Alija had toyed with the idea of putting forward a husband for the child herself, but in the end settled for sending her condolences instead. There was nobody she trusted enough to place in such a position of power. Besides, the Warlords rarely interfered directly in the succession of each other’s provinces. It set a bad precedent.

Let’s see who the family comes up with
, she decided.
I can work with whatever hand fate deals me
.

If there was one thing Alija had confidence in, it was her ability to get what she wanted out of people.

With a sigh, Alija turned from the window of her private study and glanced at the work still to be done littering her delicately carved writing desk. It was always a chore, relocating between Greenharbour and Dregian. There was the house to close up, slaves to be dispatched, others she had no further need of to be disposed of in the slave markets, invitations she must decline, others she must issue for a final soirée before her departure next week.

A thousand little details that she couldn’t trust to anyone else.

She would need to make arrangements for her messages, too. The spies Alija had located all over Hythria would have no way of knowing she was no longer in residence in Greenharbour. She couldn’t risk even one of those messages falling into the wrong hands.

The only person Alija trusted to take care of such things in her absence was Tarkyn Lye, the
court’esa
who had been with her since she was sixteen years old. She rarely called upon his services as a
court’esa
these days, having found him far more useful in other areas to waste him as a pleasure toy.
Tarkyn’s loyalty was one of the few things Alija was certain of. She had delved into his mind as far as it was safe to go without killing him and found nothing but dedication to the mistress who had saved him from the slave pits.

Both Tarkyn and Alija knew that she had purchased him only because it wasn’t possible for her family to afford a quality
court’esa
, but her status as an apprentice sorcerer had demanded she have at least one, for appearances if nothing else. A Loronged
court’esa
had been so far out of her family’s reach it didn’t even bear thinking about. So they had gone to the general markets, looking for a bargain.

It wasn’t uncommon for
court’esa
, even well-trained ones, to wind up in the general markets. Slaves who had grown too old, become disfigured or had misbehaved in some way were often sold off at the end of their useful lives as regular house slaves. Tarkyn had been sold for the crime of falling in love with another slave. Their master had caught the two of them sleeping together, a crime of gargantuan proportions among slaves, particularly for those considered breeding stock. In a fit of rage, he had Tarkyn’s lover put to death and the
court’esa
’s eyes put out for daring to look at another woman while in his wife’s service (even enraged, the lord understood Tarkyn was too valuable to destroy out of hand). He then shipped Tarkyn off to the Greenharbour markets to recover what he could on his investment.

A blind
court’esa
seemed like a poor buy in the beginning. But Tarkyn’s blindness concealed a sharp mind and a burning desire to seek revenge on the man who had destroyed his lover and his sight. There was another interesting side effect of his blindness, too. A
court’esa
required to do everything by touch alone was an awesome tutor. And he was an astute political advisor. It was Tarkyn who pointed out that marrying Laran Krakenshield was a waste of time if she seriously wanted to pursue power. It was Tarkyn who had taught Alija the skills she needed to seduce Barnardo.

And it was Tarkyn Lye who had fathered her two children, although nobody but Alija and her
court’esa
knew it. Barnard was a fat, impotent fool, but with enough wine in him to goad his ego and a sorcerer wife who could invade his mind at will, the Warlord of Dregian was convinced he was a lover of quite legendary skill and stamina. Her husband doted on his sons and, as they both shared the same fair colouring, it was highly unlikely that anybody would ever suspect the truth. Alija felt no guilt over her deception. She certainly wasn’t the first noble wife to pass off a slave’s bastard as her husband’s child.

Tarkyn had given Alija her children and, in return, she had given him the revenge he sought. Lord Parrinol, the man who had blinded him, had been found dead several years ago, apparently a victim of his own rather exotic sexual practices, strangled by a noose hanging from the chandelier in his bedroom in what everyone in Greenharbour assumed was a case of a bit of
fun gone badly wrong. The practice of trying to achieve a heightened level of pleasure while being starved of breath waxed and waned in popularity among the bored and jaded gentry. At the time of Lord Parrinol’s death, it was long out of fashion, although Alija heard his demise sparked a few close calls in other fools wanting to find out what it felt like to climax while suffocating. Nobody had realised he was a devotee of that particular fetish, but his
court’esa
swore he did it often and his wife was glad to see the end of him, so nobody questioned his death too closely.

It had been a very satisfactory episode all round. Tarkyn was avenged, Lord Parrinol’s wife was freed of a nightmare marriage, the
court’esa
who had so earnestly sworn their Lord was fond of strangling himself for pleasure were rewarded handsomely, and Alija had gained a devoted servant who would willingly lay down his life for his mistress.

For that, it had been worth every bit of the small fortune it had cost to arrange Lord Parrinol’s “accident” with the Assassins’ Guild.

As if he knew she was thinking of him, the familiar tap-tap-tap of Tarkyn’s cane sounded on the tiles outside in the hall. She called permission for him to enter before he had even knocked on her door.

“And to think I imagined I was sneaking up on you,” Tarkyn remarked as he opened the door.

“You were,” she said, smiling. “But you forget I’m a sorcerer. I wield powerful magic.”

Tarkyn’s once handsome face broke into a smile. Lord Parrinol had taken Tarkyn’s sight with a burning brand. The skin around his eyes was puckered and scarred, the eyelids sealed permanently shut. Alija had been able to relieve his pain with magic, but restoring his sight, or even reducing his scarring, was beyond her. He wore a scarf over his eyes so as not to offend others with his hideous appearance, but rarely bothered around Alija. In fact, she barely even noticed the scars any more. He tap-tapped his way across the room to the chair in front of her desk where he knew it would be. Alija had whipped slaves for moving the furniture even a few feet from its normal position in the rooms Tarkyn frequented.

“I’m leaving you here,” she announced as he sat down. “I’m expecting a message from Highcastle and I want you to be here to receive it.”

“Expecting a progress report on Princess Marla, are we?” he asked, laying his cane across his knees. “I never took you for a voyeur.”

“I don’t care how she’s getting along with her
court’esa
, Tarkyn. I want to know how willingly she’s taking part in this marriage. It will help my cause no end if I can claim she was forced into it against her will.”

“Why?” Tarkyn scoffed. “Most Hythrun noblewomen are forced into marriages they don’t want. Nobody will think it the least bit extraordinary.”

“You think like a man, Tarkyn.”

“Really? I can’t
imagine
how that happened.”

She smiled. “What I mean is, when the time comes to bring down Lernen, those same Hythrun noblewomen who remember being forced into marriages of their own will be looking over their husband’s shoulders, whispering in their ears. Some may even sway their husband’s decision. Even if they’re now content with their lot, they’ll remember what it was like to be young and afraid and faced with a lifetime of servitude to a complete stranger. And they’ll despise Lernen for forcing his sister on a Fardohnyan.”

“Well, incomprehensible female logic aside, I have some news which may delay your return home.”

“What news?”

“Kagan Palenovar is back.”

“When?” she asked, annoyed that she was only just being told of it.

“This morning. One of our people spotted him coming through the west gate.”

“Was he alone?”

“Wrayan Lightfinger was with him, if that’s what you mean. But I have other news which you might find rather more disturbing.”