Treason Keep

by Jennifer Fallon

  “Me? An example of virtue? I fear I am not worthy of that honour, your Highness.”

  Completely oblivious to her meaning, Cratyn nodded. “Your humility does you credit, Princess. I am sure the Overlord will look most kindly on your character.”

  Just so long as he doesn’t look too closely, she told herself. Still, the trip from Fardohnya so far had been bearable. She had only had to socialise with her Karien fiancé and his priests during meals. The rest of the journey she had been left to her own devices in her small but sumptuous cabin, which was quite appallingly decorated by someone who had either been very devout or blind drunk when he chose the colours. Every flat surface was emblazoned with the five-pointed star and lightning bolt of Xaphista.

  Tristan and the rest of his regiment were not invited to Slarn. Their small fleet of Fardohnyan ships was sailing straight onto Karien.

  “Your ladies-in-waiting will also join us when we reach Slarn,” Cratyn added carefully. “I will then make arrangements to return your slaves to Fardohnya.”

  Adrina turned to face Cratyn determinedly. “My slaves aren’t going anywhere, your Highness. They will stay with me.”

  Cratyn took a deep breath before he replied, as if he had known what her reaction to such a suggestion would be. It explained his sudden desire for her company this morning. She wondered how long it had taken to work himself up to delivering the news.

  “The Overlord says that man can have only one master, and that is God. We do not condone or tolerate slavery in Karien, your Highness. Your slaves must be sent home.”

  “I don’t give a damn what the Overlord says. My slaves are staying with me.” She tossed her head imperiously. Pretentious little upstart! “Did my father know you were planning to deprive me of my slaves the moment we left Fardohnya?”

  “He suggested that it would be wise not to broach the subject until we reached Slarn.” Cratyn agreed. “But he assured us you would understand the necessity—”

  “Well, he was wrong!” she declared. “I do not understand.”

  “I realise you are quite attached to them, your Highness, but as the Crown Princess of Karien, you cannot be seen to be supporting such a barbarous custom.”

  “Barbarous!” she cried. “My slaves live in more luxury than most of your damned knights. They are cared for, looked after, and secure. How dare you call my treatment of them barbarous!”

  Cratyn looked rather taken aback by her outburst. “Your Highness, I did not mean to insult you. I’m sure you take great care of your slaves, but they are not free.”

  “Free to do what, exactly? Free to work like drudges for a pittance? For lordlings who think tossing their underlings a coin liberates them from any further responsibility for those less fortunate than themselves? It is harder to be a master than a slave, your Highness. A master must see to the welfare of his slaves. A master must ensure that everyone in his charge is taken care of. How many of your noble lords own the same level of responsibility?”

  Cratyn sighed, unaccustomed to defending his position, particularly to a woman. In truth, Adrina was not surprised by the order to send her slaves home. She was far better versed in Karien customs than Cratyn knew, and had been expecting something like this for days. But she was enjoying watching him squirm.

  “Your Highness, you must see that keeping your slaves is impossible…”

  “I see no such thing,” she announced petulantly. “Isn’t it enough that I will never see my home again? Now you want to take away the only familiar faces I know. How can you be so cruel? Does your Overlord preach thoughtlessness along with virtue and piety?”

  That left him speechless for a moment. Cratyn had not expected her to use his God to support her argument. “I…of course not…perhaps a compromise might be reached?”

  Adrina smiled sweetly as he gave her the opening she was fishing for. “You mean I can keep some of them? Maybe just one or two?”

  “You would have to emancipate them,” Cratyn warned her. “But as free servants, I’m certain the priests wouldn’t object to their presence.”

  “Oh, thank you, your Highness,” she gushed, with vast insincerity. Taking his bare hand in hers, she turned it over and kissed it, in the Fardohnyan tradition, letting her tongue trail lightly along the sword-callused palm. Cratyn snatched his hand away at the intimacy. He actually blushed.

  “Perhaps we should go below now, your Highness,” he suggested.

  Adrina had to bite her lip to prevent herself laughing aloud. She realised, with mild surprise, that this young man was probably a virgin. The Overlord preached abstinence from sex except in marriage—and then only for the purposes of procreation. Cratyn was so annoyingly devout, he probably felt the need for penance if he had an impure thought. Adrina decided the wedding night was going to be quite an event, with Cratyn trying to pretend he knew what he was doing, and her trying to pretend she didn’t.

  “Perhaps we should,” she agreed, with a smile that had nothing to do with the conversation and a great deal to do with her vision of her upcoming nuptials.

  The Monastery of Slarn was as depressing and dark as the rest of the island. What little Adrina saw of the place in the carriage ride from the wharf was bare and rocky and windswept. The island sat in the middle of the Fardohnyan Gulf, but its fame stemmed more from its occupants than its strategic value. Slarn was home to the priests of Xaphista and a colony of Malik’s Curse sufferers. For some reason, the priests were immune to the wasting disease, and anyone diagnosed, regardless of nationality, was packed off to Slarn as soon as their condition was identified. Cratyn had assured her that the sufferers were kept well away from the monastery, but she wondered just how safe this place was. Her half-brother Gaffen’s mother had contracted the disease when he was a small boy, and Adrina still remembered standing outside the palace watching everything burn as she was taken away, screaming and crying to be allowed to say goodbye to her son. Everything Emalia had touched was destroyed with fire, lest it infect anyone else in the palace. Was Emalia still here, Adrina wondered, or had the disease taken her by now?

  She glanced at Cratyn and frowned. He was seated across from her in the unadorned, but serviceable, carriage that had met them at the wharf. His head was bowed and he seemed to be muttering something. Praying, no doubt, she thought impatiently. Slarn was holy ground, after all.

  “I hope they have a fire going when we get there,” she remarked, as much to disturb his concentration as to make conversation. “Is it much colder than this in Yarnarrow?”

  Cratyn looked up, and silently finished his prayer before answering. “Much colder, your Highness. We are snowbound for part of the year.”

  Adrina clapped her hands in delight. “I’ve never seen snow.”

  “You’ll see plenty in Yarnarrow.”

  “Then I’ll have to rely on you to keep me warm, won’t I?” Baiting Cratyn was proving to be a most distracting pastime.

  To her delight, he blushed again. “I’ll…do my best to see you are…comfortable, your Highness.”

  The carriage finally clattered to a halt before the forbidding façade of the monastery. The door opened and a hand reached in to help her down. There was a gaggle of tonsured priests waiting for them, in addition to a dozen or more Church knights and five women, all but one of them younger than Adrina. She looked about with interest as Cratyn disembarked beside her.

  The older woman in the group stepped forward and smiled with the ease of a professional diplomat.

  “Welcome to Karien, your Highness,” she said with a deep curtsy.

  “Princess, may I present the Lady Madren,” Cratyn announced, sounding surer now that he was on familiar ground among his own people. “Lady Madren, this is Her Serene Highness, Adrina of Fardohnya.”

  The woman glanced at Cratyn questioningly. “Adrina? We were expecting the Princess Cassandra.”

  “Princess Cassandra proved unsuitable,” Cratyn informed the woman uncomfortably, although he managed not to blush this time.
“Adrina is the eldest daughter of King Hablet, and as such, is an eminently qualified consort.”

  “Of course, your Highness.” Adrina could tell she was burning with curiosity over the sudden change in brides. She wondered if Cratyn would admit to the real reason, or if it would prove too embarrassing for him. “You are most welcome, Princess.”

  “Thank you, my Lady.”

  “Please allow me to introduce your ladies-in-waiting.”

  Adrina was tempted to ask if it could wait until they were inside. The wind was bitingly cold, and the idea of standing out here on the bleak steps of the monastery while she was introduced to everybody was distinctly unappealing.

  “This is Lady Grace, Lady Pacifica, Lady Hope and Lady Chastity,” Madren announced as the young women in question stepped forward. Adrina glanced at the pale young women for a moment in astonishment.

  “Are those really their names?”

  Madren stiffened at the insult. “In Karien, it is the custom to name one’s daughters after the virtue they hope the child will emulate, your Highness.”

  “Poor Chastity,” Adrina murmured, then she smiled apologetically at the older woman. “I’m sorry, I should not have been surprised. We have a similar custom in Fardohnya. My own name means ‘she whose beauty will tempt men to insane acts of bravery for the chance to spend the night with her’.”

  Adrina’s name meant no such thing, but it was too tempting an opportunity to pass up. The looks on the Kariens’ faces alone made the lie worthwhile. Cratyn looked as if he wished the ground would open and swallow him whole, and the ladies Grace, Pacifica, Hope and Chastity were on the verge of swooning.

  “What virtue does ‘Madren’ represent?”

  “I was named for my mother’s home province, your Highness,” Madren replied haughtily. “The naming after virtues is a relatively new custom.”

  “Well, with luck, it will prove a passing fad,” Adrina announced airily. “Shall we continue the introductions inside? I’ve no wish to keep you all out here in this wind on my account.”

  She smiled sweetly at Cratyn and Madren as she swept up her cloak. There was little they could do but follow her inside.

  Everything on Slarn was damp and the monastery was no exception. The black stone walls wept moisture and the rushes scattered on the stone floor of the main hall squelched faintly underfoot. There was no noticeable difference between the temperature inside or out. Two huge pits, evenly spaced in the floor of the lofty hall, hosted blazing fires that did little to warm the cavernous room. Adrina looked about with a frown. Xaphista must be one of those gods who thinks suffering and misery is good for you, she thought, rather depressed at the prospect of spending the rest of her life among his worshippers. She hoped the castle at Yarnarrow was better appointed than this miserable place.

  An acolyte stepped forward to take her wrap, but she waved him away. It was too cold to shed the warmth of her cloak, and underneath she wore a Fardohnyan costume ill-suited to the bitter cold. She had been planning to make an issue of that too, knowing her mode of dress would appall the straight-laced Kariens. Now she was not so certain. The concealing, drab woollen dresses of her ladies-in-waiting looked decidedly warmer than her gloriously provocative gown.

  The introductions continued once they were inside. Adrina smiled and nodded as Madren introduced her to an endless stream of priests and knights. Without exception, they greeted her solemnly; their eyes wide as they studied the exotic Fardohnyan bride Cratyn had brought home. Each priest ceremoniously laid his elaborate star-and-lightning-bolt-tipped staff on her shoulder, to satisfy himself that she was not an evil spirit—or worse, a Harshini, in the guise of a mortal. As for her future husband, he was nowhere to be found. He had vanished in the company of a young sandy-haired knight almost as soon as they crossed the threshold of the monastery.

  “And this, your Highness, is Vonulus,” Madren announced, as the last of the supplicants stepped forward. “He will be your Confessor and will instruct you in the doctrine of the Overlord, as well as advising you on pastoral matters.”

  Vonulus laid his staff on her shoulder gently, then bowed, his tonsured head shining in the damp morning light. Adrina studied him with interest. He was a little older than she, with intelligent brown eyes, and a serene expression that came from an inner peace Adrina doubted she would be able to disrupt easily.

  “Your Serene Highness,” Vonulus said in fluent Fardohnyan. “I am honoured to serve you.”

  First mistake, Adrina thought. He should not have let me know he spoke Fardohnyan. “Vonulus. I look forward to receiving your wisdom.”

  “I claim no wisdom, your Highness. I am a simple man, but moderately well read.”

  “Finding anyone who can read at all in Karien is a surprise,” she remarked, watching for his reaction. The Kariens she had met so far were a universally dour and humourless lot. And they were insulted by the slightest hint of criticism. But not Vonulus. He met her eye unblinkingly, accepting her unspoken challenge.

  “Your Highness, I hope you receive many surprises in your new home.”

  “I’m sure I will, sir.”

  “My first official duty will be to prepare you to accept the Karien wedding vows,” he told her. “The ceremony will take place in Xaphista’s Temple, as soon as we reach Yarnarrow. Lady Madren will advise you on matters of dress and protocol. I will, if the Overlord wills it, assist you to steer an easy course through the many intricacies of our religion.”

  “Tell me, Vonulus,” she asked. “Hypothetically speaking, what would happen if I chose not to embrace your god?”

  Madren hissed, shocked at the mere suggestion. Vonulus was less easily roused. “You will be the Crown Princess of Karien, your Highness. To worship another god would be considered treason. I imagine Fardohnya treats traitors much the same as we do.”

  She patted Madren’s hand comfortingly. “I was simply asking out of curiosity, my Lady. Never fear.”

  “Of course, your Highness,” Madren agreed. “I knew that.”

  “And will you be joining us for lunch, Vonulus? It is a pleasure to hear my native tongue spoken so fluently.”

  “I would be honoured, your Highness.”

  “Perhaps you would be more comfortable dressed in something more…appropriate?” Madren suggested, waving the silent ladies-in-waiting to her. “I shall have your ladies escort you to the chamber put aside for you.”

  Hoping that the chamber would be warmer than the draughty, cavernous hall, Adrina acquiesced graciously to the suggestion. Surrounded by the Ladies Grace, Hope, Pacifica and Chastity, she walked the length of the hall to the entrance where, not surprisingly, the five-pointed star and lightning bolt was carved into the large wooden doors. They opened as she approached to reveal Cratyn and a young knight entering the hall. The men stopped as they neared them. Cratyn’s eyes flickered over Adrina then fixed on the Lady Chastity, who walked on her right. The look he gave the young woman was filled with remorse. Adrina glanced at Chastity, startled to see her soft brown eyes misted with unshed tears and unmistakable longing.

  “Prince Cretin, I thought you were lost,” she said brightly. Was the pale and insipid Chastity the reason Cratyn was so unhappy about being forced to take a Fardohnyan bride?

  “It’s Cratyn, your Highness,” Lady Pacifica corrected her, rather crossly.

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Adrina asked innocently. “Cretin.” It was an unfortunate, if rather delightful, result of her accent, that she mispronounced his name. It was also quite deliberate. Adrina spoke Karien fluently. Much more fluently than her somewhat contrived accent led her hosts to believe. Her first court’esa had been a linguist of some note and he had taught Adrina to speak a number of languages fluently. Another thing better kept from the Kariens. She had not thought of the court’esa in years—a slender, gentle young man with dark eyes and long, graceful limbs.

  “It’s nothing to worry about, my Lady,” Cratyn assured Pacifica, not wishing to make an iss
ue of it. “Your Highness, this is my cousin, Drendyn, Earl of Tiler’s Pass. Drendyn, this is Her Serene Highness, Princess Adrina of Fardohnya.”

  The young Earl bowed inelegantly, smiling like a child confronted with a new and exotic toy. Adrina took an instant liking to him. He was the first Karien she had met who didn’t feel the need to mope about as if they were perpetually in mourning.

  “Welcome to Karien!” he gushed. “I do hope you’ll be happy here. After the wedding, you should come to Tiler’s Pass. We have the best wines in Karien and the hunting is just marvellous. You do hunt, don’t you?”

  “Every chance I can get. I shall look forward to your hospitality, my Lord.”

  “This way, your Highness,” Pacifica interrupted stiffly, with a frown at the Earl. She didn’t seem to like the idea of Adrina getting too friendly with him.

  “If you will excuse me, my Lord, Prince Cretin.” She curtsied gracefully and followed her ladies-in waiting into the hall.

  As the door closed behind them she stopped and called the women to her. They all turned to face her expectantly. Pacifica was tall and plain, with protruding pale eyes and pockmarked skin. Hope was a pleasant looking girl with rich brown hair and a vacant expression. Grace was a plump brunette with a button nose and a receding chin. Chastity was pale and fair and by far the beauty of the group. “Ladies, I’d like to make sure we understand each other.”

  “Your Highness?” Pacifica asked, still a little put out, she thought, by Drendyn’s enthusiastic welcome.

  “As my ladies-in-waiting, your actions reflect on me. If I ever see you, Pacifica, acting like a jealous fishwife again, or you Chastity, lusting after my fiancé, I shall have you both whipped. Is that clear?”

  Pacifica turned a brilliant shade of red. Chastity burst into tears. Grace and Hope simply stood there, dumbstruck. Adrina marched on ahead, not waiting for them to catch up. That way, they couldn’t see her laughing.

  CHAPTER 12