Warlord

by Jennifer Fallon

  Unfortunately, it was working.

  “Nonsense!” he breathed, as seductively as any lover, his lips burning the flesh of her earlobe. “I’ve seen you two embrace like old friends. No, Marla, my precious, you don’t care if Alija touches your mind because she can’t read it, can she? You’ve found a way to stop her and I’m guessing it’s a whole lot more effective than any assassin mind-trick. Not to mention a lot less effort to maintain.”

  Marla was finding it hard to breathe. “Even if you’re right, why … should I share my discovery with you?”

  “Because you need me.”

  “Do I?” Marla managed a thin smile, her eyes fixed determinedly forward. “Give me one reason why I need you and I may not have you cut down where you stand for being so presumptuous.”

  She could feel his lips against her skin. “Let’s start with your unfulfilled bargain with the Assassins’ Guild. Has the Raven explained to you yet exactly what happens when we decide you’ve reneged on our deal?”

  Marla wished she could see his eyes, but he was still behind her, almost on top of her, and moving her head would place her lips much too close to his for comfort. “That is between me and the Raven.”

  “Not if I’m the one who has to carry out the punishment.”

  His empty threat made Marla smile. “You wouldn’t risk harming me, Galon Miar. And neither would the Raven.”

  “But you promised the guild a son, your highness. We intend to get paid. If you can’t provide a live one, a dead son will do just as well.”

  His threat broke the spell. She jumped to her feet angrily, pushing him away. “Don’t you dare threaten my family! I swear, if anything happens to one of my children …”

  “You’ll what?” he asked. “Send an assassin after me?”

  “Get out!”

  “You haven’t heard my proposal yet.”

  “I’m not interested in anything further you have to say to me, Galon Miar.”

  He made no move to leave. “Did I mention the Raven has left it up to me to decide when to declare your debt to the Assassins’ Guild forfeit?”

  Marla glared at him, wishing she had never made such a foolish bargain. It had seemed so distant, so harmless a promise back then …

  And now this man held the lives of her family in his hands. She knew the Assassins’ Guild wouldn’t launch a bloodbath to satisfy their debt; nor would they dare hurt Damin or Narvell, both of whom were too important in their own right for the guild to risk harming them. It was her extended family who was in danger. Luciena and Xanda’s sons, who were up in Krakandar with no way to warn them of the threat. Rielle and Darvad’s children in Dylan Pass. Rodja and Selena’s precious newborn son. They were all close enough to Marla to discharge the debt, but unimportant enough not to raise comment.

  With more courage than she thought she owned, Marla stood her ground as the assassin approached her. “What do you want?”

  “I have a business proposition for you.”

  “I don’t deal with blackmailers.”

  “I must be far less scrupulous than you, your highness. I’m more than happy to do business with a bad debtor.”

  “Just tell me what you’re proposing and be gone,” she demanded.

  “Well … you see, that’s it … I’m proposing.”

  Marla stared at him in stunned disbelief and then burst out laughing. She couldn’t help herself. “What?”

  “I think you should make me your next husband.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Quite the opposite. I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “And how exactly am I supposed to benefit from this … opportunity?”

  “Well, for a start, I have a son already apprenticed to the Assassins’ Guild. That would solve your biggest problem at the moment.”

  She was breathless, marvelling at his conceit. “You have no concept of the problems I face at the moment, Galon Miar. Callous as it may sound, saving the lives of my stepchildren’s sons is actually the least of them.”

  He didn’t seem perturbed by her scorn. “This proposal’s not as crazy as it sounds, Marla. What you said the other day about my involvement with Alija sending the wrong message to the Patriots is very true. You may not believe this, but I’m Royalist enough that such a thought disturbs me. Marry me and it would send the Patriots reeling.”

  “I am the sister of the High Prince of Hythria and you’ll be the Raven of the Hythrun Assassins’ Guild in the not too distant future,” she pointed out. “Such a union would be unconscionable.”

  “I’m happy to make it a condition of the agreement that we divorce the day I become Raven,” he said. “I’d rather not have to defend the guild from accusations that we’re answerable to the High Prince, in any case.” And then he eyed her up and down suggestively. “My reasons for this marriage aren’t all altruism and loyalty to the throne, you know.”

  “Which brings up another pertinent question,” she said, refusing to be seduced by him. “What do you possibly think I could do for you?”

  “Well, for one thing, you’ll promise to give me access to the protection against having my mind read that you have,” he told her. “And you’ll treat my children with the same generosity and favour you’ve shown Luciena Mariner and the Tirstone children.”

  She shook her head, still unable to believe she was hearing this. “Even if I thought this idea had one iota of merit, how could I possibly trust a man like you to keep up his end of the bargain?”

  “If you’ve found a way to stop Alija reading your mind, you’ve probably got your own magician out there somewhere, is my guess. He can probe my mind and tell you if I’m lying, can’t he? If I can be trusted?”

  He’ll be doing that anyway, Marla told him silently, wishing Wrayan was here now. You can count on that.

  “And that’s all you want?” she asked. “A wedding, a mind shield and access into highborn society for your children?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “For you, perhaps,” she said. “You certainly haven’t convinced me it’s worth my while.”

  “Well, in addition to not killing one of your stepgrandsons, there’s the effect our wedding would have on Alija to consider,” he reminded her. “If you’re out to destroy a woman and rub her nose in the fact, stealing her lover and marrying him is a fairly low blow.”

  “Assuming she cares enough about you to even notice you’re gone,” Marla remarked coolly. She was faking it, though. Of all the reasons Galon had offered to support his bizarre proposal, humiliating Alija was the one that appealed to her most.

  “You assume so much about me,” he said. “And yet you know so little. How do you know I wasn’t simply trying to ingratiate myself into Alija’s household for my own devious purposes?”

  She laughed at the very idea. “Is that your story now? You’ve got an ulterior motive? I’ll bet it’s a good one, too.”

  “The very best,” he assured her.

  “But one you’re conveniently not at liberty to divulge, I suppose.”

  “How did you guess?”

  She shook her head. “You are so full of hot air, Galon Miar, I’m surprised you don’t wear weights in your boots to stop you floating away on the morning breeze.”

  He moved closer. “That’s as may be, your highness, but even if you think I’m the worst liar in the world, you’re ignoring the most compelling reason of all.”

  Marla held her ground, refusing to be intimidated. “Which is?”

  Before she could pull away, Galon took her face in his hands and drew her to him until his lips hovered over hers. Shocked, horrified and unaccountably thrilled all at the same time, Marla froze, unsure how to react to such blatant seduction. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She closed her eyes … waiting for his lips to touch hers. The anticipation was torture, the temptation so exquisitely dangerous …

  The moment seemed to last forever …

  “You might actually enjoy it,” he whisp
ered.

  And then he let her go, bowed politely while Marla was still reeling, and left her alone with her thumping pulse and the certain knowledge she’d been played like an untrained virgin on her first night with a new court’esa.

  CHAPTER 33

  Fresh from his bath following another vigorous workout with Almodavar, Damin was pulling a clean shirt over his head when he heard the bedroom door open and close behind him. Wondering who would dare enter his room without announcing themselves, he turned to discover his new court’esa, Prince Lunar Shadow Kraig of the House of the Rising Moon, entering the room carrying a tray with a number of small bowls, two larger bowls and what looked suspiciously like a pile of apple pips. The prince ignored Damin, walked across the room, the beads in his long hair tinkling faintly as he walked, and placed the tray on the table by the window and then finally turned to face his supposed master.

  “Good morning, your highness.”

  “Good morning, Kraig,” Damin replied a little warily as he tucked in his shirt, wondering what was going on and the significance of the tray. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  The Denikan crossed his intimidatingly well-formed arms across his massive chest and stared at Damin. He was dressed as a court’esa in a sleeveless embroidered vest, loose linen trousers and a jewelled slave collar, but still managed to give the impression he was the master and not the slave here.

  “I wish to discuss our arrangement.

  “Is there something about it that doesn’t please you?” Damin asked. He couldn’t imagine what the Denikan’s complaint might be. Kraig and his bodyguards were accommodated in the court’esa quarters of Cabradell Palace in quite decadent luxury and had been left in peace since Tejay had arranged their transfer into Damin’s care, in no danger of being forced to prove they were actually court’esa. In fact, he’d barely spared any of them a thought since Tejay had suggested her plan to hide Kraig in Damin’s entourage more than two weeks ago.

  “Yes, there is something that does not please me.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” Damin said, quite taken aback. “What have I done?”

  “Nothing,” Kraig informed him quite crossly, “which is precisely my complaint. The success of this deception requires everyone to play their part, your highness. You are not pulling your weight and your reluctance—for whatever reason—is endangering us all.”

  “Hang on!” Damin said in confusion. “Let me get this straight. You’re here posing as my court’esa and I’m in trouble for not calling on your services?”

  “The reason for this charade,” the Denikan prince reminded him, “is to conceal my identity and the identity of my companions until we can secure safe passage home, while at the same time, deceiving your enemies into believing you and your uncle share a similarly foolish and venal nature.”

  “I know, but—”

  “It may inconvenience you, Damin Wolfblade,” the prince continued, allowing Damin no chance to defend himself, “to have your people realise you are not what you seem, but it will cost me and my companions our lives if the same becomes true for us. For whatever reason, you have chosen not to do what Lady Lionsclaw asked of you. Be it some misguided sense of propriety or simply squeamishness on your part, your reluctance to make use of such a valuable gift—as we Denikans so obviously are in your culture—is to both demean us and to cast doubt on the veracity of our arrangement. You ignore us at your peril.”

  Damin reluctantly conceded that Kraig had a point. “I didn’t really think about it like that, to tell the truth.”

  “That is abundantly clear,” the prince agreed. “Which is why I have taken matters into my own hands.”

  “You’ve taken matters into your own hands?”

  Kraig nodded decisively. “As of tonight, Lyrian and Barlaina will take turns coming to your room. I am sending Lyrian to you first because apparently she considers you … not unattractive. If you treat her well, she will report this to Barlaina and she should give you only a little trouble when it is her turn.”

  “Only a little trouble?”

  Kraig hesitated and then squared his shoulders manfully, as if he was about to make a confession. “I fear I might have misled you, your highness, when I described my companions as bodyguards. They are, in fact, members of the Denikan Warrior Caste, noblewomen in their own right and used to being treated as such. It is a little hard to explain what this means to one not of our … society. Suffice to say, it would be more accurate to compare Lyrian and Barlaina to members of your Assassins’ Guild rather than your Raiders.”

  “Oh …” Damin said, unsure how to respond to such a revelation.

  That answer seemed enough for Kraig. “Lyrian, being the younger, is slightly more tolerant of foreigners. Barlaina, on the other hand, is highly critical of many Hythrun customs. In particular, she disdains your need for court’esa and believes you treat your womenfolk like breeding cattle.”

  Damin smiled. He couldn’t help himself. “I can assure you, Kraig, the last thing that leaps to mind when I think of Lyrian or Barlaina is the word cow.”

  Kraig wasn’t amused. “Can we consider the matter settled?”

  “I suppose. But what about you?” he asked curiously, wondering how far Kraig intended to take this charade. “When shall I send for you, slave?”

  “I am here now.”

  That caught Damin off guard. “Ah … I see …”

  “Clearly, you do not see,” Kraig told him impatiently. “You and I will spend time together playing.”

  “Playing what, exactly?”

  “I will teach you the seed game,” the Denikan announced. He spoke as if it was some great favour only bestowed on someone blessed by the gods.

  “Sounds … riveting …” Damin replied, not wishing to offend him.

  “It is riveting. We teach the seed game to young children in Denika to promote strategic thinking and forward planning. It takes a moment to learn and a lifetime to master.” Kraig uncrossed his arms and turned to the tray he’d brought with him and began to arrange the bowls on the table. “In Denika, I am considered a master.”

  “What about the meeting I have this morning?” Damin asked, thinking Kraig had a lot to learn about the nature of the relationship between a slave and his master if he expected to carry off his disguise, particularly given his disapproval of Damin’s behaviour. “In about three minutes, I’m supposed to be meeting with the senior officers of our combined forces to discuss the logistics of moving the army west once we find out what Hablet is up to.”

  “Make them wait.”

  “What shall I tell them?”

  “That you’re playing with your court’esa.”

  Damin grinned. “You know, I think underneath that stem and implacable snarl you wear all the time, Kraig, you have quite a sense of humour.”

  The Denikan smiled briefly. “In my own country, I am also considered something of a wit.” He pulled out the chair and sat down. “Sit,” he commanded, indicating the chair opposite.

  Damin did as Kraig commanded. “I guess the Denikan sense of humour is different than ours.”

  “Not at all, your highness. Many things you do amuse me. I am simply too polite to laugh at a fellow prince.”

  “I’m not,” Damin chuckled, and then looked down at the table. “So, what’re the rules of this seed game of yours?”

  Kraig had arranged the small bowls so there were six on each side of the table with a larger bowl at either end. He was counting the seeds into each of the small bowls. “You own the six bowls nearest you. Your aim is to fill the large bowl at the end with seeds. The one on your right is your bowl. The one on my right is mine. This game is an ancient tradition in Denika, although in my country, when we play, we use gemstones or coloured beads instead of seeds.”

  “That’s all I have to do? Move the seeds?”

  “We begin with four seeds in every bowl,” the prince explained. “You may choose
to start in any bowl on your side of the table you wish and sow the seeds, one at a time, in each bowl in this direction. When you come to your own large bowl, you may place a seed in it. When you come to my large bowl, you jump over it. When you run out of seeds it is my turn. We continue like this, turn about, until all the seeds are gone or you have no seeds in your small bowls. The winner is the one with the greatest number of seeds in their large bowl at the end of the game.”

  Damin nodded slowly, thinking he could probably master this seed game of Kraig’s quite easily. How hard could it be to place a handful of seeds in a line of ceramic bowls?

  “You must accustom yourself to defeat,” Kraig warned. “I am an expert at this game and will, of course, defeat you soundly. However, if you pay attention and listen to my advice, you may, after a time, become a tolerable opponent. Or at least one who keeps me occupied.”

  “I may, may I?”

  “I do not mean to insult you, your highness. I simply refer to both your youth and inexperience, neither of which are your fault. I will be patient with you.”

  Damin couldn’t help his smile. He’d never met anybody quite so arrogantly condescending as Prince Lunar Shadow Kraig of the House of the Rising Moon. Or anybody who seemed less aware of it. “Tell you what, let’s throw in a small wager on the outcome?”

  “You wish to wager something? Even though I have warned you I am a master?”

  “I do have to keep up the useless wastrel image, you know …”

  Kraig inclined his head in agreement. “You are correct. What do you wish to wager?”

  “How about Medalon?”

  Kraig frowned. “Medalon is an independent nation to the north of Hythria, is it not? One you do not actually own?”

  Damin shrugged. “Mere detail.”

  Kraig allowed himself another brief smile. “Very well, your highness. I accept your wager of Medalon and offer you the Principality of Rostinelle in return.”

  “The Principality of Rostinelle?” Damin asked. “Never heard of it.”

  “It is a smallish nation on the western border of Denika,” Kraig explained. “It is peopled by a race of barbarians with little to recommend them other than their numerous emerald deposits. Even calling it a principality may be a little optimistic, given the brutal nature of its citizenry, but I don’t think ‘thugipality’ is a word in either your language or mine.”