Wolfblade (7 page)

Kagan cursed softly and savagely for a moment. “Dammit, girl! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”

“I was just asking,” she said defensively.

“Stop asking. Stop even thinking it.”

Marla stared at him sceptically. “Are you really going to try and prevent it?”

“Only if I can find a way that doesn’t involve a lot of people dying. Including you. And it’s not as if you have to marry him right away. You’ve still a great deal to learn before you’re fit to be anyone’s wife.”

Marla looked down at her hands, and then she took a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet the sorcerer’s. Suddenly, she felt very certain of what she must do.

“Could I have a moment alone?”

Kagan studied her suspiciously. “You’re not planning to kill yourself, are you? Or do anything else stupid?”

“No,” she promised. “I’d just like a few moments to get used to the idea. If I must do this thing for Lernen, I will,” she declared selflessly, with a heavy, dramatic sigh. “I will put aside my own feelings. For my brother. And for my family. For Hythria. My sacrifice will be my gift to Hythria’s people.”

“Oh,
please
,” Kagan moaned, rolling his eyes. But he rose to his feet and did as she asked, leaving her alone in the anteroom to contemplate her fate.

And what a fate it was. Lernen had married her off to a Fardohnyan.
What was he thinking? Surely it would have been better to pick a Hythrun consort for his only sister? Were things so bad that he needed Fardohnya’s help?

Before she could come up with a satisfactory answer, the door opened again. Marla sighed, thinking she was never to be left alone. But it wasn’t Kagan returning, it was the Lady Tesha Zorell.

“Lord Palenovar asked me to keep you company.” She smiled as she closed the door behind her.

“I’d really rather be left alone, Lady Tesha.”

“Indeed.”

Marla had no intention of being stuck with Tesha Zorell for any length of time so she forced a bright smile and rose to her feet. “On second thought, I’d like to return to the party.”

“Are you sure, your highness? Lord Palenovar mentioned you were a little upset over the news of your upcoming betrothal.”

“I was,” she admitted, with an unconcerned shrug. “But I’m over it now. And the night really is quite young. This may be the only chance I get to enjoy myself before I’m formally betrothed.”

The Lower Arrion studied the princess for a moment, clearly suspicious, but in the end she shrugged and allowed Marla to head for the door and back to the party.

A
lija Eaglespike halted on the top step of the ballroom and surveyed the hall, her worst fears solidifying into reality as she picked out King Hablet of Fardohnya’s pet eunuch, Lecter Turon, in the crowd, accompanied by the High Arrion’s apprentice, Wrayan Lightfinger. Nothing could have confirmed the rumours that Kagan Palenovar was brokering a marriage between the Fardohnyan king and Lernen’s young sister, Marla, more than seeing those two underlings together.

Kagan is going to hand over Hythria to Fardohnya without a whimper
, she thought.
Gift-wrapped
.

And the wrapping will be Marla Wolfblade
.

She let her gaze linger on Wrayan Lightfinger for a moment, let the power swirl around her as a silent warning. Kagan’s apprentice was, perhaps, the only other living sorcerer who could challenge her magically. Kagan certainly couldn’t. The problem was, Alija didn’t really know how powerful Wrayan was. He was very good at shielding his ability.

As if he knew she was thinking of him, the young man glanced across the hall and met her eye. His expression didn’t change, his gaze didn’t waver. His confidence was disturbing.

“Here comes Kagan,” Barnardo remarked, breaking her concentration. Alija looked at her husband, fighting back the urge to scratch at her arms where the formal robes of the Collective were making her itch. She rarely wore them. Hardly any of the sorcerers in the Collective did.
You would think with several thousand years of magical experience behind them, someone could come up with a robe that didn’t make you itch
.

“Say nothing,” she warned. Barnardo could be an idiot at times. On public outings such as this, she was afraid to let him out of her sight.

“If he says anything to me about Ronan Dell’s murder—”

“He won’t,” Alija promised. “He knows better.”

“Lady Alija. Lord Eaglespike.” Kagan stopped just below the bottom
step and bowed, if you could call such a perfunctory nod a bow. “How nice of you to join us.”

“Lord Palenovar.” Alija responded with a bow just as disrespectful as the one Kagan had treated her to. Kagan had no idea how much Alija would have preferred
not
to be here this evening. Certainly not with her husband. She was desperately trying to convince the Warlords of Hythria who were leaning towards the Patriot Faction that Barnardo was a viable alternative to Lernen as High Prince. A task much more easily accomplished when Barnardo wasn’t around. But if they hadn’t shown up tonight, people might think they’d had something to do with Ronan Dell’s murder. “Surely, you didn’t think we’d miss something as important as the Feast of Kaelarn Ball? Whatever would the court gossips have made of our absence?”

“I can’t imagine,” Kagan replied. “Perhaps you could leave and we would find out?”

“You can’t threaten us!” Barnardo snapped, his petulant whine making Alija wince.

This all would have been so much easier if I’d not been so impatient
, she realised. The chance to take the throne had seemed so easy once. Back when Lernen had just become High Prince and there wasn’t a soul in Hythria who didn’t know him for what he was. Nobody had expected him to last the year out. He had no heir and was not likely to get one. All it needed was the right man to step forward and the High Prince’s seat was his for the taking.

The right man, Alija had been convinced, was Barnardo Eaglespike. He was Lernen’s cousin, so he had a blood claim to the throne. He was a Warlord with the resources and—significantly—the army of a rich province behind him. He had allies. He had everything needed to step into the breach when Lernen failed.

Alija was a Patriot. She cared too much about Hythria to let it rot in the hands of a despot. So she had calculated the odds and gone with the favourite. For the sake of her country, Alija had turned her back on a man who loved her and chosen the route to power instead, privately convinced that only she could steer Hythria through the coming crisis and back to greatness.

And where had it gotten her?
Nowhere
. Somehow, Lernen had clung to his throne. Barnardo Eaglespike had all the necessary qualifications for kingship except one—a brain. Her Innate power frightened her colleagues in the Collective, so instead of winning the post of High Arrion as she should have when Velma retired a few years ago, they had appointed that old fool Kagan Palenovar instead. Not because he was powerful—Alija had more power in her little finger than Kagan would ever command. No, he’d won the post because he was from an old and trusted noble family, his sister had been married to not one, but two Warlords, and he was notoriously uninterested in
politics. Those spineless fools in the Collective considered him by far the safer candidate. They had weighed up Alija’s ambition against Kagan’s total lack of it and she had lost badly in the comparison.

And the irony? Kagan was running the damn country, just as they’d feared Alija might, and nobody seemed to realise it. Had she done nothing; had she simply bided her time, married the man she loved and spent the last few years steeped in happiness instead of intense disappointment, she’d be in exactly the same position. Laran Krakenshield was going to inherit Krakandar Province in the next day or so. He would be Warlord in his own right, richer and probably more powerful than Barnardo, and a far better candidate for High Prince, given he was articulate, well-educated and he commanded enormous respect from the other Warlords, who considered him to have conducted himself with nothing but honour in the manner he had waited for his inheritance.

Still, Alija didn’t lose much sleep over the route she had chosen. There wasn’t any point. She had played her hand and it hadn’t worked out quite the way she’d expected. She consoled herself with the thought that even if she’d married Laran Krakenshield, the chances were he would never have agreed to make a play for the throne. He was too damned honourable for that. This way, she had power, limited though it was. And wealth. And her boys. They were young yet, still babies really, but she was driven by ambition for Cyrus and Serrin as much as herself these days. And all was not lost. Not yet. It wouldn’t be lost until the moment Hablet of Fardohnya took Marla Wolfblade as his wife.

And that was something she was willing to go to almost any lengths to prevent.

“I didn’t come here to threaten you, my lord,” Kagan told Barnardo with a sly smile. “I came merely to suggest you try the oysters. They’re fresh from your own province, I believe.”

“You think we came all this way to eat our own oysters, Kagan?” Alija asked with a thin smile.

“You’d better not have come for any other reason, Alija,” he replied softly.

Alija didn’t miss his meaning. Barnardo, however, took umbrage at his tone and puffed his chest out, looking mightily offended. “My Lord High Arrion! If you think you can stand there and tell us what we should or shouldn’t be doing—”

“The High Arrion meant no offence, my dear,” she cut in soothingly. “I’m sure he merely wanted to point out the success our trading delegations have been having.”

“Naturally,” Kagan agreed, with that same oily smile. Alija knew what he was thinking. She knew he enjoyed watching Barnardo make a fool of himself.
The High Arrion might be a lazy old drunkard, but he wasn’t blind to her husband’s failings. It was probably why he still supported Lernen. In Kagan’s eyes there probably wasn’t enough difference between the leadership abilities of Lernen and Barnardo to bother changing the status quo.

“Then we will make a point of trying the oysters as the High Arrion suggests,” Alija said with an oily smile of her own. “One can tell a great deal about the surrounding environment from the taste of an oyster, and I believe tonight is as good a night as any for testing the water.”

“Then be careful you don’t wade in so deep you drown, my lady,” Kagan replied. “I might find it a little difficult to throw you a lifeline.”

“You’re assuming I would accept one from you, Kagan Palenovar.”

“When one is drowning, my lady, one rarely has a choice.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not drowning, isn’t it?”

“Not yet,” Kagan conceded. Then he grinned. “But the night is young.”

Alija slipped her arm through Barnardo’s. “I believe, my lord, we are keeping you from your social obligations. Come, Barnardo. I think I see Lord Foxtalon over by the orchestra. We must thank him for the present he sent when Serrin was born.”

Alija didn’t give Kagan a chance to respond. She tugged Barnardo away from the High Arrion. He turned to her as they descended the steps, followed by their entourage, demanding to know what present from Lord Foxtalon had been so impressive it required a personal thank you. Alija wanted to slap her husband for being so dense.

Kagan stepped back to let her pass, his gaze barely wavering.
He thinks he’s won
, she realised.
Even with Ronan dead, he thinks that with Marla’s marriage, Barnardo has no hope of claiming the crown
.

And he’s right
. If Marla married Hablet of Fardohnya, all Alija’s dreams became just that, nothing more than idle dreams. The fear that Ronan Dell’s murder should have sparked in the High Prince was all but wiped out by the false sense of security he would acquire with the King of Fardohnya for his brother-in-law.

But as Kagan had pointed out, the night was young. And until the marriage happened, the greatest asset Alija had was the other Warlords’ fear of what an alliance with Fardohnya meant.

The battle was far from over.

T
his should be interesting.”

Laran Krakenshield glanced over his shoulder at the young man who had spoken, following his gaze to the entrance of the ballroom where Barnardo Eaglespike and his wife Alija had just entered. He also noticed his uncle, the High Arrion, quickly moving to intercept them. Many other eyes turned towards the sorcerer and her Warlord, no doubt wondering the same thing as Laran: what would happen when they confronted the High Prince and his new Fardohnyan ally?

“That’s one situation we’d do well to stay clear of,” Laran advised.

Nash grinned. “You’re not even a tiny bit interested in what your uncle is saying to your former lover?”

“Alija and I were never lovers,” Laran corrected, turning to the ice sculpture on the table which he’d suddenly decided required his undivided attention. The frozen water dragon was melting rapidly in the humid closeness of the ballroom.

“You’d have to be the only male past puberty in Hythria she
hasn’t
slept with,” Nash chuckled.

“Really? And when did you sleep with her?”

“Well, I didn’t,” Nash conceded. “Not yet, anyway.”

“There you go, then,” Laran cut in. “Now shut up and mind your own business.”