Not once, in all that time, had Alija felt a moment of remorse, or experienced even a whisper of guilt.
Until she walked into her bedroom and found Tarkyn Lye splayed across the covers with his throat cut.
Alija knew it was her fault. He had died because of her. Without her, Tarkyn was nothing more than an old, blind slave who’d long outlived his usefulness as a court’esa. It was his relationship with the High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective that gave the man standing.
And his relationship with Alija had cost him his life.
She was paralysed with grief for the first few days after it happened, unable to think straight. Unable to eat. Unable to stop blubbering. Nothing made sense and even Tressa, the slave who had been with her for the last two decades, could do nothing to console her mistress. Alija had wept an ocean of tears. It was days before she was thinking clearly enough to even consider vengeance.
Once she was able to think about it, however, her first thought was the Assassins’ Guild. Someone had obviously paid to have Tarkyn killed. His slave collar was missing, probably souvenired by the assassin as proof of the kill. And the cut had been a clean one; a simple and effective slice, almost certainly done from behind. That fact alone made it a certainty the Assassins’ Guild had been responsible.
Tarkyn was blind. His other senses were sharper to compensate. Nobody sneaked up on Tarkyn Lye.
Nobody except a trained assassin, perhaps.
“My lady?”
Alija looked up anxiously. She was sitting in front of her dressing table, which was unfortunate. When she caught her reflection she was horrified. She looked old and haggard. And alone.
“Is he here?”
Tressa shook her head. “I’m sorry, my lady. There’s still been no word from Master Miar. It’s Princess Marla.”
“What about her?”
“She’s here, my lady.”
Alija sat up straighter in astonishment. “Marla’s here? In my house?”
“Downstairs, my lady.”
“Did she say what she wants?”
“Only that she wishes to speak with you, my lady.”
Alija looked at herself in the mirror again, wondering if Marla had come to see how she was coping. Has she come here to gloat, to see how Tarkyn’s death has affected me?
Then again, unless she’d had something to do with it, how would Marla even know Tarkyn was dead?
Which set Alija wondering. Perhaps the princess had some idea of what had happened to the dwarf and had killed Tarkyn in retaliation. Who else had the coin to waste hiring an assassin to kill a slave?
“Serve her highness with refreshments and tell her I will be down shortly,” she ordered the slave.
“Yes, my lady.”
“And Tressa …”
“My lady?”
“Say nothing else to her,” she commanded. “Do you understand ? Not a word. Don’t even talk about the weather.”
“Yes, my lady,” Tressa agreed, then she curtseyed and hurried away to do her mistress’s bidding while Alija turned back to her mirror and began brushing out her hair.
“Marla!” Alija gushed with vast insincerity as she strolled into the morning room almost an hour later. “Please forgive me for keeping you waiting. You quite caught me unawares.”
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Marla asked with a slightly raised brow. Dressed in mourning white, she was standing by the window, framed by the sunlight, which gave her an unexpected aura of ethereal, almost mystical light. Alija wondered if she had chosen to stand there deliberately. Whether she had or not, this was one morning Alija didn’t need reminding of Marla’s legendary beauty.
“Of course you didn’t disturb me! To be honest, I was just having a lie-in. It’s not often one gets to relax these days. I didn’t have much on this morning, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to laze around the house for a few hours before I have to tackle the problems of the day.”
“How lucky you can afford the time, Alija. With the High Prince departing for war, I thought you’d have a great deal to do. Particularly as it was you who put the idea into his head in the first place.”
Alija found herself unable to completely hide her pleasure at how much it had irked Marla when she’d done that. “Are you angry at me, dear?”
Marla shrugged. “Why would I be angry at you, cousin? You’ve provided my brother with an opportunity to carve his name into the annals of history. I’m just amazed I didn’t think of it first.”
Alija was sceptical. “I’m sure if you’d thought Lernen was going to carve his name with distinction in anything, Marla, you would have thought of it first.”
“And you seem fairly confident he won’t. Isn’t that why you wanted Cyrus appointed as his second-in-command?”
“We’ll see,” she replied, refusing to be drawn. “Is that what you wanted to see me about?”
“No,” Marla replied brightly. “Actually, I have a gift for you.”
“A gift?”
“I know, there’s not really an occasion,” the princess said, holding out a small parcel wrapped in blue silk and tied with a silver ribbon. It was about the size of a small plate. Alija couldn’t imagine what it might be, or why Marla was offering it to her. “But I just felt it was time I gave you a token of my appreciation,” Marla told her, “for all the years of faithful service you’ve shown me and the High Prince. I can’t imagine what life would have been like without you, Alija, and then I saw this … and it just said it all … so much better than words could ever do …”
Curiously, Alija unwrapped the gift. As the bloodstained silk fell away and she realised what it was, she dropped the silver slave collar in horror and jumped back from it.
“Does it not please you?” Marla asked with venomous sweetness.
“You evil bitch!” Alija hissed, unable to take her eyes from the slave collar on the floor. Tarkyn Lye’s collar. “Why?”
“Why?” Marla repeated with an incredulous laugh. “Surely you don’t have to ask.”
“I can’t believe you did this!”
“Then you have fatally underestimated me, my lady. You might find that something of a problem in the days and weeks to come.”
She tore her eyes from the bloodstained collar and stared at Marla. “What are you talking about?”
“The days and weeks between now and when I’m able to spit on your corpse,” the princess replied pleasantly. “I’m sorry, did I forget to mention that part?”
Alija thought she might be sick, but it wasn’t the blood on Tarkyn’s collar making her queasy. It was Marla’s coldblooded, triumphant expression that nauseated her. This was Marla letting her know she was wise to her. This was an open declaration of war.
“How … how did you get the Assassins’ Guild to … ?”
“To kill Tarkyn Lye when you so obviously had the guild in your pocket?” Marla finished for her. “Ah, that would be part of the whole ‘fatally underestimating me’ problem you have, Alija.” The princess made a great pretence of looking around the room for something. “Where is your handsome younger lover, by the way? Not here consoling you in your hour of need? What sort of fair-weather friend is he?”
Alija had to force herself not to scream. She clenched her fists by her side and fought to remain calm. “I will destroy you for this, Marla Wolfblade.”
Marla didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by her threats. “You had your chance to destroy me, Alija. You let it slip you by. Now it’s my turn.”
The High Arrion shook her head, not sure if it was denial or disbelief that prompted it. “You haven’t got the guts for this fight, Marla. You’re too practiced at avoiding confrontation.”
Marla seemed amused. “We just keep coming back to that little ‘underestimating me’ problem, don’t we? Do give Galon my regards when you see him, won’t you?”
She’s gotten to Galon, Alija realised with despair. Dear gods, how did she manage that? But Marla wasn’t going to just walk o
ut of here looking so smug and superior, Alija decided. Not while she still held the trump card.
“Fool! Do you really think you can fight me?” Alija asked. “Do you think you have any secrets from me, you perfidious little bitch? I know everything! The Fool betrayed you! I know about Wrayan. About Luciena. And Rorin Mariner. I know about the mind shields …”
Marla stopped and turned to look at her serenely, apparently unsurprised by the news of the Fool’s betrayal. “Did Elezaar mention that Wrayan’s actually here in Greenharbour at the moment?” she asked. “Ah, no, he wouldn’t have known that when he spoke to Tarkyn, would he? Perhaps you should have waited a few more days, Alija, before suborning him. He would have had so much more to tell you, if you had. In fact, I’m willing to bet that until the day you die—a happy occasion which I can assure you is significantly closer than you appreciate—you’re going to wonder how much of what Elezaar told you is true and how much is merely what I wanted you to hear.”
She stared at Marla in shock. “You knew.”
“Of course I knew.”
Alija wasn’t going to let such a triumphant smirk go unchallenged. “And what do you think you can do about it?”
Marla pointed to a folded document lying on the table next to the fruit platter. “Perhaps you should read that.”
Alija looked at the document, obviously puzzled. “What is it?”
Marla waited until Alija had picked up the document and unfolded it before she answered, “You have a little problem, my lady.”
She opened it, glanced over it, and then looked up at Marla in confusion. “It’s the decree granting my son interim status as the Warlord of Dregian after his father died in the plague, until it can be confirmed by the Convocation. What’s the problem? Cyrus was of age and the legitimate heir when I signed that, and in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s been cosigned by the High Prince. That decision can’t be overturned.”
“It can if I prove the confirmation was made under false pretences.”
“What false pretences?”
“It says Cyrus is Barnardo Eaglespike’s son,” Marla pointed out. “But we know that’s not true, don’t we? Tarkyn Lye fathered both your sons.”
Alija was almost amused by Marla’s clumsy attempts to blackmail her. “Is that your plan to bring me down, Marla? I’d like to see you prove it.”
“Wrayan is willing to testify that he took the information from Tarkyn Lye’s mind. And yours.”
“Nobody would believe him,” she predicted.
“Oh … I think they might. Given the right incentives.”
Alija stared at Marla, confident this was a bluff. “You’d never support exposing the truth about my sons, Marla. Not even to bring me down. It would threaten every woman in Hythria if the men of this country had any idea how many of their sons were fathered by slaves and lovers.”
“I would prefer not to,” Marla agreed, “but you’re sadly mistaken if you think I wouldn’t.”
“What are you suggesting, then?” Alija asked, curious to see how far Marla was prepared to go.
“Your life in return for your sons’ futures,” Marla informed her calmly.
Alija stared at her in surprise. She hadn’t expected that. “My life?”
“I’m tired of you, Alija. I don’t want you around for another twenty minutes, let alone another twenty years. I want you gone and if you had any care for the Eaglespike name you would commit suicide now, and save your sons the pain of your coming downfall.”
Alija shook her head, wondering if Marla had been drinking. Or maybe Tarkyn’s murder had emboldened her so much she was becoming reckless. “You’re deluded, Marla. You can’t bring me or my House down. Nobody will ever question my son’s right to inherit Dregian Province.”
“Trust me, they’ll question it, Alija. All it would take is a few words in the right ear. And Wrayan testifying about how you lied regarding your sons’ parentage. This document clearly states that Cyrus, son of Barnardo, is the legal heir to his father’s province. Now, I’m guessing that’s not the case because in order for Cyrus to be your husband’s heir, he would have to have been legally adopted by Barnardo, but to do that, you would have had to confess about him not being Cyrus’s father, wouldn’t you?” When Alija didn’t answer, she smiled. “So … without legal status as Barnardo’s. heir, my brother, the High Prince—you remember Lernen, don’t you, Alija? He’s the one you’re always trying to unseat—he’ll call the Convocation together as soon as I bring your little indiscretion to his attention. I think it would be an interesting debate, don’t you? The legality of a slave’s son posing as an heir and then being appointed Warlord under false pretences. Oh, and the best part?” Marla added, gleefully twisting the knife. “Thanks to your endless urge to tell anybody who will listen that your late husband was a member of the Wolfblade family, the only logical heir to Dregian Province if your sons are exposed as frauds would be one of my sons. Now isn’t that just deliciously ironic?”
Alija stared at her in disbelief. The picture Marla had painted was a very believable one. But highly improbable for all that. The woman’s gall was breathtaking. “And to avoid all this, you want me to commit suicide?”
Marla nodded. She didn’t seem to find anything about this bizarre proposal the least bit extraordinary. “My daughter suggests you would kill yourself before you did anything to jeopardise your sons or what you believed was Cyrus’s chance at the throne. I’m gambling on that holding true for him simply hanging on to Dregian Province.”
Alija had had enough of this game. “Don’t take that tone with me, Marla Wolfblade.”
The princess looked at her innocently. “I beg your pardon?”
“That holier-than-thou attitude you’re so fond of. That noble ‘I’m only doing this for Hythria’ act you’ve played so well all these years. It doesn’t impress me. And it certainly isn’t going to drive me to suicide.”
“I thought perhaps your concern for Cyrus and Serrin might.” Marla picked up the document and folded the decree with a shrug. “Still, if you want them to remember you as a stain on the Eaglespike name, the woman who broke a once-great House out of stubbornness, rather than the woman who selflessly took her own life to spare her sons the embarrassment of her dishonour, that’s entirely up to you.”
Marla turned away, her contempt obvious.
“Wait!” Alija called, as Marla headed for the door. “How do I know you’d even keep your word?”
The princess hesitated, and then turned to face Alija. “You mean what’s to stop me standing over you while you fall on your sword, and then have Cyrus tossed out of Dregian, anyway, as soon as you’re dead?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Marla considered her answer carefully. “Actually, there’s nothing stopping me, Alija. Except for two things. One, I would give you my word, which you may or may not accept, and two, it would be stupid of me to do it. We both know the consequences of advertising how many supposedly legitimate heirs are really the spawn of favoured court’esa. If I no longer have to worry about you, then I’m not going to worry about your son. He can be Warlord of Dregian if he wants. But if he wants my brother’s throne he’ll have to find a way to take it himself, without any help from you or the Sorcerers’ Collective.”
Alija knew that suicide—under the right circumstances—was considered a noble, if somewhat archaic tradition in Hythria. The ultimate sacrifice to the God of War to redress a wrong and restore honour to one’s House. But if Marla Wolfblade thought she was going to win this conflict by threats of some vague accusation she couldn’t prove, then perhaps she wasn’t the clever politician Alija feared. Maybe it had been the dwarf who owned all the political acumen and now that she had lost him, Marla was floundering.
She looked down at the decree the princess was holding, as if she was actually contemplating the idea. “If I … if I did this? You’d guarantee my sons’ safety?”
“Your eldest son is a Warlord now, Alija. I don�
�t know I’d be able to guarantee his safety, but I could guarantee nobody would challenge his right to rule Dregian Province.”
Alija savoured the moment, watching Marla thinking she might win, and then shook her head, smiling coldly. “This is just another one of your twisted schemes to cover your brother’s incompetence. Did you really come here thinking you could make me do such a thing?”
Marla shrugged. “It was worth a try, don’t you think? And I did so want to see the look on your face when I gave you your present.”
Sheer force of will was the only thing holding back Alija’s fury. She wished for the power she’d had that day long ago, when she’d used the Harshini enhancement spell and burned out Wrayan Lightfinger’s mind. She’d have done it now to Marla, except for that damnable shield. “I think you have no idea who you’re dealing with, Marla.”
“Nor do you,” Marla replied. “But I will give you one little bit of advice. Some of what Elezaar told Tarkyn Lye really is true and some of it was a complete fabrication. I’ll leave it to you to figure out which is which.” The princess frowned, then added with concern, “Do sit down, Alija. You’re looking quite peaked. I can see myself out.”
Marla gathered up her skirts and sailed serenely from the room, leaving Alija staring after her in speechless rage. It didn’t seem possible Marla would challenge her so openly. Marla was the Queen of Avoidance. She had made a career of never rocking the boat. In Alija’s opinion, that’s all she’d ever been good for. She didn’t have the brains or the wit to deceive someone like Alija Eaglespike so completely …
And then she remembered something else Marla had said. Did Elezaar mention that Wrayan’s actually here in Greenharbour at the moment?
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