She glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me.”
Tejay fumed silently beside him for a long time before she spoke again. The column continued to move past them. Adham waved as he rode by, sitting beside Rorin in the centre of the column. The dozen or more supply wagons were almost on them before Tejay deigned to answer his challenge.
“Terin is very conscious of the fact that his father was a bastard son promoted to Warlord,” she said finally. “He believes I consider him beneath me. That I think I’m somehow better than he is because I come from a long line of Warlords and he’s the son of a bastard soldier.”
“Do you?”
She glared at him. “If I think myself a better person than Terin Lionsclaw, Damin, it’s only because his actions lack nobility, not because of his birth.”
“So he thinks you’re a snob,” Damin concluded.
“It’s more than that,” she replied heavily. She hesitated, and then the words began to tumble out of her as if they’d been pent up against a wall and Damin had finally forced her to breach it. “You can’t conceive of what it’s been like, Damin. His every waking moment is devoted to proving he’s better than me. Better than my father, better than my brother, even better than his own father. It governs his every action. You can’t draw breath without him reading something into it, some implied criticism or insult. To start with, it was just when we were alone, but the longer we’re married the worse it gets. Even Chaine took him to task about it, on more than one occasion. He ridicules me in public every chance he gets because he thinks it proves he’s better than me.”
She hesitated, brushing away an annoying insect, but steadfastly refusing to look at him. “I stopped inviting my family to visit Cabradell years ago. I have no friends because he doesn’t allow them in the palace. I can’t go anywhere without having to explain where I am every moment of the day and who I’m with. He doesn’t love me, but he’s insanely jealous. I’m allowed no court’esa and when I once made the mistake of getting a little too relaxed in the company of one of my bodyguards, he had the man falsely accused of adultery and put to death.”
“Then how did you ever convince him to let you take the children …” Damin’s words trailed off and he stared at her. “He didn’t let you go, did he? You were leaving him.”
“But then the plague got in the way,” she said. “Which is why I turned north to Krakandar when I realised I couldn’t get to Natalandar. There was no way I could face going home. After Chaine died, I knew it was only going to get worse. My father-in-law at least made it tolerable because he had the power to curb the worst of Terin’s excesses. I couldn’t turn back, Damin. Even if the thought of going back to my husband hadn’t been so unendurable, the chances are good Terin would have had me killed the moment I stepped foot back in Cabradell Palace for taking the children away.”
“He knew you were leaving him?”
“Oh, yes. In my righteous indignation, I made the mistake of leaving a letter, spelling out—in no uncertain terms—what I thought about him.”
“Then he’s not likely to take your return to Sunrise Province at the head of the armies of Krakandar and Elasapine in a very good light, is he?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Damin.”
He shrugged philosophically. “It’s not your fault, Tejay. It’s just another problem we have to deal with.”
“You say that because you’ve never been through the torment of living with someone like Terin Lionsclaw,” she sighed.
Damin’s frown deepened. “Did he hurt you, Tejay?”
She looked away, still refusing to meet his eye. “That’s not the issue, Damin.”
“If he laid a hand on you in anger, my lady, I’ll make it an issue.”
“You need to worry about Hablet and his invasion, Damin. Terin may be a cowardly little prick, but he’s a loyal Hythrun. You need him and his army if you’re going to defend Hythria.”
“You said he was easily distracted,” Damin reminded her. “The man you describe sounds quite the opposite. Almost obsessive, even.”
“Terin’s feelings of inferiority aren’t confined to me, Damin. He thinks every vassal in Sunrise Province is looking down on him, criticising him, judging him. And that damned Karien just makes it worse.”
“What damned Karien?”
“Renulus is his name,” Tejay explained. “Chaine hired him to do a census of Cabradell City about two years ago. He moved into the palace and never left. Nor, incidentally, has he ever produced a count of Cabradell’s population. But that doesn’t seem to bother my husband. The two of them became great friends within days of meeting. Now he’s all but running the province and Terin just lets the sly little maggot do whatever he wants.”
“And he’s a Karien, you say?” Damin asked curiously.
“Strange, isn’t it? I always thought the Kariens couldn’t bear to be parted from their precious god long enough to travel into the evil heathen south, but this chap seems to manage. And what’s worse is Renulus has Terin believing the whole world is against him, including me. My husband spends most of his time trying to foil the plots Renulus has convinced him are going on all around him. Today it will be poor old Murvyn Rahan in Warrinhaven, tomorrow it’ll be Lord Branador up at Highcastle …” She sighed, shaking her head. “You’ll probably be halfway to Cabradell before either one of them notices your army, Damin, and when they do, it’ll all be part of yet another dire conspiracy, as far as my husband is concerned.”
“If he’s behaving so erratically, they won’t be imaginary plots for long, my lady,” Damin warned. “Particularly not if people come to believe a Karien has his ear.”
“I know that,” Tejay agreed helplessly. “And you know it. But there’s nothing I can do to convince Terin he’s being a fool. It broke my heart, living in Cabradell, Damin. Sunrise should be the richest province in Hythria. We control the only trade routes into Fardohnya. We have fertile soil, rivers teeming with life, enough lumber in the mountains to see us through to the end of time. And Terin just lets it all go while he tries to consolidate his position in a world where a good half of his enemies are in his own mind.”
“You know, Elezaar has a saying,” Damin told her. “By the time you’ve killed your last enemy, burned his last village and slaughtered his last chicken, it’s too late to discover you can’t enjoy being a conqueror if all you have left to rule over is a field of smoking ashes.”
“Elezaar seems to have a saying for every occasion.”
“It’s probably the most annoying thing about him,” Damin agreed, “besides his nasty tendency to report every little thing I do to my mother.”
“But at least you took some notice of what you were being taught,” Tejay sighed. “It’s a pity Elezaar, or someone like him, wasn’t responsible for teaching Terin.”
Damin leaned over and patted her arm encouragingly. “Then we’ll have to re-educate Lord Lionsclaw ourselves. And maybe do something about his little Karien friend, while we’re at it.”
“Good luck,” she replied sceptically.
The column had almost completely passed them by. As the last of the supply wagons trundled past, Damin gathered up his reins. “Race you to the head of the column?”
Tejay rolled her eyes. “You really are such a child sometimes, Damin Wolfblade.”
He laughed. “You’re just afraid you can’t beat me.”
“You think?” she challenged. Urging her mount into a gallop, Tejay charged forward leaving Damin staring after her in surprise.
“That’s cheating!” he yelled after her.
Without looking back, Tejay indicated exactly what she thought of his opinion with a rather crude hand gesture more common to a Raider than the highborn wife of a Warlord. Damin laughed at her as he took off in pursuit.
Accompanied by the cheers of the watching troops, he overtook Tejay a few paces from the head of the column.
Panting from the effort of the short, sharp ride, Tejay caug
ht up with him a moment later, her fair hair whipped back by the cool breeze. The sun was shining brightly, but there wasn’t much warmth in it. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were rosy from the brisk wind. “You just can’t bear to lose, can you?” she accused as she reined in beside him.
“My mother says that’s an admirable quality in a prince.”
“Your mother is hardly objective, Damin.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s wrong.”
Tejay wasn’t amused. “Well, I just hope Hablet appreciates your intolerably competitive spirit. I’m not sure Starros will.”
Damin looked at her, puzzled by her abrupt change of subject. And her reproachful tone. He’d thought they were just fooling around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, Damin Wolfblade,” she scolded like a disapproving big sister as they rode at the head of the column, “that in your endless desire to win at all costs, you made a decision about your friend that really wasn’t yours to make.”
“How does that make me intolerably competitive?”
She rolled her eyes. “You won’t even let death beat you, Damin. I think that qualifies as intolerably competitive.”
He was wounded by her accusation. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Maybe it is.”
Damin still wasn’t sure why she was rebuking him. He certainly didn’t feel like he’d done the wrong thing for Starros. “Would you rather I did nothing and left Starros to die?”
“What if he was meant to die?”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
“I won’t regret it,” Damin told her. “No matter what you say.”
“Won’t?” she asked.
“I can’t afford to regret anything, Tejay. Not if I want to rule Hythria someday and still maintain my sanity.”
Tejay studied him curiously. “Is that another one of Elezaar’s infamous Rules of Gaining and Wielding Power?” she asked. “Or one of your mother’s pearls of wisdom?”
“Hard as it may be for you to believe, my lady,” he informed her, “I actually came to that conclusion all on my own.”
Before Tejay could answer, one of the scouts galloped toward them, his horse rearing as he hauled the beast to a halt in front of the column.
“We’ve got trouble,” the man announced, turning his horse sharply to bring the excited beast under control. “On the border.”
“What sort of trouble?” Damin asked.
“Your brother’s waiting for us, your highness,” the scout informed him. “And Lord Hawksword said to tell you that you’re out of your mind if you think he’s going to let anybody cross into Elasapirie uninvited—even you—with an army at their heels.”
Damin reined in his horse and brought the column to a halt. Almodavar, followed by Rorin and Adham, cantered forward to find out why Damin had stopped their progress.
When he explained what was going on, Almodavar nodded in understanding, apparently unsurprised. “Charel Hawksword is a wise man.”
“Charel?” Adham asked. “I thought it was Narvell waiting for us at the border.”
“On Charel’s orders,” Almodavar replied. “You can bet your life on it.”
“But why?” Rorin asked. “Have you done something to upset the old man, Damin?”
“Not that I know of.”
“It’s because Charel’s heir is the younger brother of Hythria’s future High Prince,” Tejay concluded, beginning to understand what Almodavar was getting at. “And he’s trying to establish Narvell’s independence.”
“That’s what this will be all about,” the old captain agreed. “Just a show of force for the sake of appearances.”
“Great!” Damin sighed impatiently. “We’re facing a Fardohnyan invasion and Narvell decides to make a point with Elasapine’s army. We really don’t have time for this.”
“Maybe, if you explained what is going on to Narvell?” Rorin suggested.
Damin thought about it for a moment, certain his younger brother wouldn’t be trying to impede their progress if he knew the real reason for it. He turned to the scout who had delivered the news. “Did you actually speak to Lord Hawksword?”
The scout shook his head. “No, your highness. It was one of his officers who passed on the message. I don’t think Lord Hawksword was even on the border at the time.”
“How can you be sure?” Adham asked.
“When I arrived they were debating among themselves whether to send for him—to the manor house, they called it—but in the end, they decided not to disturb him. I’d gotten the gist of their intentions by then, anyway.”
“The manor house?” Damin repeated, a little confused.
“They’ll mean Zadenka Manor,” Rorin suggested. “Lord Warhaft’s estate. It’s right on the border. He’s probably staying there.”
“Do you know where to find it?”
The young sorcerer nodded. “Sure. Keep going along the highway until you reach the village of Zadenka and follow the sign pointing left to Zadenka Manor. It’s not really a great feat of navigation, Damin.”
“Good,” Damin said. “Then it shouldn’t take you long to get there, should it?”
Rorin looked at him in confusion. “What?”
“I want you to ride for Zadenka Manor, Rorin, take that brother of mine aside and explain to him what’s going on. Give him a chance to withdraw gracefully before we get to the border.”
“Why me?”
“Because he ordered you to,” Adham said. “He’s the prince. They’re allowed to give orders like that. Do it all the time, I’ve noticed.”
Rorin seemed unimpressed by Adham’s attempt at being witty. He turned his attention to the prince, ignoring Damin’s stepbrother completely. “Anything else you want me to tell him while I’m there?”
“Just make him see how important this is, Rorin,” Tejay said, before Damin could offer his suggestion. “Tell him Charel can prove he’s not his big brother’s lackey some other time. We don’t have time for a border skirmish. Even a small one.”
Damin indicated his agreement with a nod and turned his gaze on the sorcerer. “You heard the lady.” To the scout he added, “Stay with Master Mariner. Don’t let any harm come to him.”
The scout saluted in acknowledgment of the order and gathered up his reins. Rorin did the same, smiling at the rest of them. “On the bright side, I guess this means I’ll get to sleep in a real bed tonight.”
“We’ll see you at the border tomorrow,” Damin promised.
“Count on it,” the young man replied, turning his mount in the direction of the scout.
Annoyed more than concerned, Damin watched them cantering down the road until they disappeared behind the crest of the next rise and then gave the order to move out. As the column moved ahead he was left wondering why Charel Hawksword, a man he looked on as a beloved surrogate grandfather, would choose now, when they could least afford it, to start playing politics.
CHAPTER 6
Starros had just finished wearily pulling off his boots when he heard the sound of a door closing in the small room adjacent to his bedroom. The door inside the tiny dressing room clicked shut and a moment later Leila emerged from the slaveways, dressed in a nightgown, her long fair hair hanging loose around her face, rippled from being braided so tightly all day.
Even though Starros knew he was dreaming, in his mind’s eye she crossed the small bedroom in three steps and wordlessly stepped into his arms. He held her close, the feeling so real, so intense, that he felt almost overwhelmed by it; a moment of sheer bliss for both of them when neither had said a word, so neither of them was able to shatter their fragile happiness by speaking of reality.
After a time she lifted her head from his shoulder and he kissed her, and then let her go and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. She smiled wanly, and sniffed back the rest of her tears.
“I’m sorry,” he remembered telling her, not sure why he was apologising.
“It’s not your fault, my love,” Leila sighed.
“You know, I don’t think I ever really lamented the fact that I was common-born until tonight, when I realised how far out of my reach you really are.”
“I’m here in your arms, aren’t I?” she whispered, kissing him again.
“Yes,” he agreed. “In secret. In the dark …”
With a jerk, Starros sat bolt upright, splashing his ale on the stained wooden table of the booth, as he suddenly realised where he was. Despite both Wrayan and Luc warning Starros to stay out of sight, for fear news of his miraculous recovery might make its way to the palace, he found himself drawn back to the Pickpocket’s Retreat. He sat alone in a corner booth and spoke to nobody, but he wasn’t there for the conversation. It was the sound of other voices that he craved; the nearness of other living souls. Alone, Starros had only his memories of Leila, his guilt and her ghost for company, but even the close proximity of other people wasn’t enough sometimes to fend off his despair.
And the uncomfortable urge to steal something.
“Another ale, lad? You’ve spilt more of that than you’ve swallowed.”
Starros looked up, pulling his dripping sleeve out of the puddle of ale. Hary Fingle, the proprietor of the Pickpocket’s Retreat, was looking down at him with concern. He glanced at the mess he’d made and looked up at the white-haired tavern owner. “Thanks, Hary, but I think I’ll just sit on this one for a while longer.”
“Well, just call Fee if you want another. Wrayan’s picking up the tab. I daresay he’d prefer you drank it, though, rather than swim in it.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“The Wraith looks after his friends.”
“Wrayan the Wraith, eh? Odd to hear him called that.”
“There’s more people in Krakandar who know him by that name than any other,” Hary said. “It’s only you folks from the palace who think he’s some sort of gentleman rogue who never actually gets his hands dirty.”
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