“Captain?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder at Almodavar. “Why is the palace guard wearing a hawk? I thought Damin’s emblem was a wolf?”
“It is, Your Highness. The hawk is the emblem of Elasapine. They are Lord Hawksword’s men.”
R’shiel laughed aloud when she heard. “I don’t believe it! Zegarnald actually did what I told him!”
“You told the God of War what to do?”
R’shiel nodded, looking inordinately pleased with herself. “I wasn’t really sure that he would. I asked him to turn Damin’s brother back, in case we didn’t make it here before your father tried invading Hythria.”
“His brother? Dear gods, you mean there’s more of them?”
“It’s his half-brother. Don’t worry, Adrina. If Damin dies, I won’t make you marry him.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Adrina promised.
As they rode on towards the inner wall, Adrina looked around, surprised at the affluence of the city and the people. Even the beggars in the streets of the outer ring had looked quite healthy under their rags and their professional air of misery. Here in the residential district, mothers held up their babies for Damin’s blessing, plump slaves fanned their masters and mistresses as they leaned over their balconies, and more than a few young ladies, noblewomen, peasants and court’esa alike, called out quite preposterous proposals, which Damin acknowledged with a laugh. One woman standing on the balcony of a very elegant, red-brick house, bared her breast and called out a suggestion that made even Adrina blush. Somewhat to her chagrin, Damin actually responded with a promise to take her up on her offer some other time.
“The man has no morals,” she muttered.
“That’s a bit rich, coming from you,” R’shiel remarked with a grin.
“You’d never catch me making a public spectacle of myself like that.”
“Of course not. You prefer to negotiate, don’t you.”
Adrina was feeling sufficiently put out that she did not deign to answer as they rode through the massive iron-reinforced gates into the inner city.
The noise of the crowd behind them faded as they rode forward, the clatter of the horses’ hoofs loud on the cobbled pavement. The road opened out into a vast courtyard, surrounded on three sides by impressive buildings. To the left and right of the square were the government buildings, three storeys high, gracefully symmetrical and uniform. In front of them lay the sweeping steps of the palace itself, lined with troops wearing the silver tabard-and-diamond symbol of the Sorcerers’ Collective.
Damin slowed his horse and glanced around, taking in the troops lining the steps and then looking up at the walls, which were lined with as many men wearing the hawk emblem of Elasapine or the rampant kraken of Krakandar as there were the wolf of Krakandar.
“R’shiel.”
The demon child rode up beside him. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Are you ready to be the demon child? I have a feeling I might need her.”
“No, but don’t let that stop you.”
He treated her to a faint smile then turned to Adrina. “How about you? Are you ready to face the High Arrion?”
“The High Arrion!”
“Her guard wouldn’t be here without her,” Damin pointed out. “If we’re going to do this, we might as well make it look plausible.”
Adrina opened her mouth to make some sarcastic comment, then suddenly thought better of it. Damin considered her intelligent. Perhaps his sister, arguably the most powerful woman in Hythria after Princess Marla, would think the same thing. It would be a nice change.
“I’m ready.”
She urged her horse forward until she rode on his left. R’shiel unconsciously sat a little taller in the saddle on Damin’s right, as if the girl who had gaped at the sights of Krakandar a short while ago had been put aside, and the demon child had taken over. It was interesting, Adrina thought, and more than a little disturbing, the way she did that.
Three figures appeared at the top of the palace steps as they approached. Adrina knew the woman on the left. They had met before, on her only other visit to Hythria. Dressed in black, the diamond-shaped symbol of her office winking in the sunlight, Adrina recognised her as Kalan, High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective, Damin’s half-sister. The man on the left looked sufficiently like Kalan to be her twin, so she guessed this was Narvell Hawksword, the Warlord of Elasapine, although his gold-chased breastplate, with its swooping hawk, would have given away his identity.
She did not recognise the woman in the middle. She was shorter than the man and woman who flanked her, but carried herself as if the world lay at her feet, waiting for her command. Adrina envied her poise. Her fair hair was flecked with silver but her skin was unlined. She studied Damin and the two women who rode beside him with dark, watchful eyes.
Damin dismounted at the foot of the steps and, without waiting for Adrina or R’shiel, took them two at a time until he reached the top. He swept the older woman up and hugged her.
“Mother!”
Adrina hesitated and glanced at R’shiel, but the demon child had obviously not heard of the fearsome reputation of Princess Marla of Hythria.
“Put me down, Damin! You smell like a horse!”
Damin laughed and turned to Kalan, who took a step backward. “Don’t you dare touch me! I agree with mother, I can smell you from here!”
“Fine greeting I get! Months away from home and all you can do is complain about how I smell.”
“Don’t worry, brother. Within a day they’ll have you drowned in perfume and then it’ll be your men complaining about the stench,” Narvell chuckled.
Damin embraced his half-brother warmly then held him at arm’s length for a moment. “It’s good to see you, Narvell. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re a welcome sight. I damned near fell off my horse when I saw your troops marching out of the palace gates to hold back the crowd. Did you get greedy while I was gone and invade me?”
“We can discuss what he’s doing here later,” Princess Marla announced abruptly, then turned her piercing gaze on Adrina and R’shiel. “In the meantime, you can introduce me to your companions.”
Damin knew better than to argue with her. He turned and beckoned R’shiel forward. “Princess Marla, Lady Kalan, Lord Hawksword, may I introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess R’shiel té Ortyn.”
Adrina wasn’t sure who was more surprised at the declaration of her full title, R’shiel or the trio on the steps. Kalan’s jaw dropped. Narvell looked puzzled. Marla stared at her openly then arched her brow elegantly. “Té Ortyn, did you say? I only know of one té Ortyn family.”
“Then you understand the importance of our guest,” Damin replied meaningfully with a glance at the troops who lined the steps and could hear every word they said.
Marla’s eyes narrowed. She understood exactly. “Of course. Forgive me. You are most welcome, Your Highness.”
“Thank you,” R’shiel replied, looking rather uncomfortable. Damin would receive a tonguelashing later, Adrina suspected. R’shiel was not fond of her status as the demon child—and was even less keen to be reminded that her father had been a Harshini king. A few months among the Harshini had not completely eradicated a lifetime of prejudice instilled in her by the Sisters of the Blade.
“And this,” Damin announced, holding his hand out to Adrina, “is my wife.”
“Your wife?” Kalan gasped. It was plain she recognised Adrina.
She accepted his hand and stepped up beside him. “Adrina, I’d like you to meet my mother, Princess Marla; my brother, Narvell; and I believe you already know my sister, Kalan.”
“Adrina?” Marla remarked, looking Adrina over coldly. “That’s a Fardohnyan name and I only know of one Fardohnyan Adrina. Please tell me this is not the one I’ve heard of?”
“Perhaps we could continue this discussion in private?” Damin suggested, before his mother could get too worked up. Adrina was a little taken aback by her r
eaction. She was hardly expecting a warm welcome, but Princess Marla seemed quite appalled. She wisely remained silent, letting Damin deal with his mother.
“I think we’d better,” Narvell agreed. He waved his arm and men rushed forward to take their horses. Almodavar dismissed his men and they were led inside to the marble-floored foyer of the palace. Tamylan and the two Karien boys looked a little lost until Almodavar took them under his command and ushered them away.
Marla led the way into the palace, her slippers silent on the highly polished floor. Eventually they reached a pair of ornately carved doors at the far end of the main hall. She threw them open and marched inside, turning as soon as Narvell closed the doors behind them.
“So, you are Adrina of Fardohnya?” she accused without preamble.
“Yes, Your Highness, I—”
“I thought you were married to Cratyn of Karien?”
“I was, but—”
“How in the name of the gods did you happen to marry my son?”
“I—”
“Mother!”
“Have you lost your mind, Damin!” Marla demanded, turning on him. “Whatever she did to trap you into this marriage, it must be undone immediately! I will not jeopardise everything we have worked for, just because you were taken in by some Fardohnyan whore!”
“If you would let me explain…”
“Explain? You think you can offer any explanation that will satisfy me? And while you’re at it, you might like to think of what you’re planning to tell your uncle and the Warlords! Lernen will have a fit when he hears of this. I can’t begin to think of what the Warlords are going to say!”
“Mother—”
“All my life I have done nothing but try to secure your throne. It was bad enough your abandoning your province to go chasing off to Medalon. Your unauthorised and ill-timed treaty with the Defenders had the Warlords howling for your blood. And now, after I spend months trying to win them over on your behalf, you throw it all away for the sake of a woman. And a foreigner at that!” She turned suddenly and glared at Adrina. “No, not just any foreigner! You had to go and marry the most notorious harlot on the whole continent!”
Adrina looked to Damin for support. He sat on the edge of the gold-inlaid desk, listening to his mother’s rage with barely concealed amusement. It annoyed her intensely that instead of defending her he thought it was funny.
“Are you finished yet?” R’shiel asked quietly, from the back of the room. She had been studying the books in the bookcases that lined the walls of the library, but now she turned to them, the command in her voice impossible to deny.
Marla glared at her. She was not used to having her authority challenged.
“And who are you to tell me what to do?”
“I am R’shiel té Ortyn.”
“So you claim!” the princess scoffed. “You’re no Harshini! What right do you have to use the name of the Harshini royal family?”
“Lorandranek was my father.”
“That’s absurd!” Kalan declared. “You’re human. If Lorandranek was your father, that would make you the…” Her voiced trailed off as she realised what she was about to say.
“Yes?” R’shiel prompted.
“It’s not possible!”
“You of all people, should know that it is possible,” Damin pointed out.
“What are you talking about, Damin?” Narvell asked.
“Tell him, Kalan.”
Kalan glanced at her twin and shrugged. “If this young woman is really who she claims to be, then she is…the demon child.”
Narvell looked impressed by the news, but Marla was not so easily persuaded. “This girl? The demon child? Damin, they must have fed you something in the north that affected your reason. You surely don’t believe it, do you?”
“R’shiel is the demon child, mother. She was placed in my care by Zegarnald himself.”
Kalan stared at him with astonishment. “You spoke to the God of War?”
“In the flesh.”
“He spoke to me, too,” Narvell admitted. “It’s why I turned back.”
“This is unprecedented.”
“Everything about me is unprecedented,” R’shiel remarked. “So, if we’re through with the histrionics, perhaps we can start again. Princess Marla, I think you owe your daughter-in-law an apology. She’s really not that bad. As for you, High Arrion, you and I need to have a talk. Damin, can you do something about rooms for us? Your mother was right about that much at least—we all stink like horses. Perhaps once everyone has had a chance to clean up and calm down, we can sort this out like rational human beings.”
Princess Marla stared at R’shiel with undisguised horror, although whether it was because she found herself face-to-face with a legend, or simply R’shiel’s high-handed manner, Adrina could not tell.
CHAPTER 12
Damin knocked on the door of the rooms adjacent to his that his Chief Steward had allocated to Adrina and opened it without waiting for an answer, a little surprised to find it unlocked.
The room had been his mother’s once, on the rare occasions she had lived at Krakandar when he was a child. It was furnished in her impeccable taste: the rooms airy and light; the rugs imported from Karien; the crystal made in Fardohnya; the red granite floors polished to perfection. Not a piece of the whitewood furniture was out of place; not a vase or lamp did not belong here.
He followed the sound of voices through the sitting room and into the dressing room beyond. Adrina was standing before the full-length mirror, examining herself critically. She was dressed in a long, sleeveless robe that fell softly to the floor in a cascade of emerald silk. Her slave was moving about in the next room, tidying up after her mistress’ bath. She turned sharply as she caught sight of her husband in the mirror.
“Damin!”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Don’t you know how to knock?”
“I did knock.”
“Oh…” She straightened her gown and studied him for a moment. “There’s something different about you…I know what it is. I’ve never seen you so clean. You almost look civilised.”
Damin had not given much thought to what he wore. A white silk shirt, trousers and polished boots hardly seemed to warrant such admiration. But compliments, even backhanded ones, were a rare thing from Adrina, so he chose not to make an issue of it.
“Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes, thank you. Your sister sent along the dress. I don’t know who it belonged to before me, but it’s an adequate fit.”
“Well, if you need anything, just ask Orleon, my Chief Steward. He’ll see that you get it.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll have a seamstress sent to you tomorrow. You’re going to need a suitable wardrobe.”
An uncomfortable silence settled on them as Damin wondered how to broach the subject he’d come here to speak about. Adrina was a volatile and unpredictable woman. He had no way of knowing how she would react to what he had to say.
“I’m sorry about my mother. She shouldn’t have spoken the way she did.”
“We both knew this wasn’t going to be easy, Damin. Her reaction was nothing less than I expected.” She smiled suddenly, her eyes glinting. “I will console myself with the thought of my father’s reaction when he hears about it. I imagine your mother will seem quite reasonable by comparison.”
“That’s true,” he agreed, relieved things were going so well. “But, I do have a favour to ask.”
“A favour?”
“We caught Marla off-guard today. You may not have heard the worst of it. It would be…easier…”
“If I bite my tongue and let her insult me?” Adrina finished for him.
“Something like that.”
He expected her to explode at that point, but to his astonishment, she nodded her agreement. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”
“You will?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I plan to survi
ve this farcical arrangement, Damin, and to do that, I’ll need your mother on my side. You’d be surprised how charming I can be when the mood takes me.”
Actually, Damin wouldn’t have been surprised at all. She could be very disarming when she wanted something. “Well, if you can win Marla over, you’ll have the whole of Hythria at your feet.”
“That’s the plan,” she agreed. “And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, you should be safe enough here in the palace. I’ll have Almodavar hand-pick your bodyguards. You have to promise you won’t try leaving the palace without them.”
Adrina scowled, but nodded. “I suppose.”
“I’ve already arranged for a message to go to the Assassins’ Guild,” he added. “I plan to hire them before someone else thinks of it. They are very loyal employees.”
“You mean they stay bought.”
“It’s the same thing in the end.”
She sighed, as if the realisation that life would be difficult for some time to come had just dawned on her. Damin could not fathom her mood.
“Well, if you’ve everything you need, I’ll see you at dinner. I’ll have Orleon send someone to show you the way.”
“Damin,” she called as he turned to leave. “Why are your mother and the High Arrion here in Krakandar? I know R’shiel arranged for Zegarnald to turn Narvell back, but that doesn’t explain the other two.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, a little surprised that she’d asked. He reminded himself, yet again, not to underestimate his wife.
“Well, I suggest you find out. I may not be an expert on Hythrun politics, but I do know the High Arrion doesn’t do anything without a good reason, and I suspect your mother hasn’t made an impulsive move in her entire life.”
It was a remarkably accurate assessment, considering her short acquaintance with his family. Damin wished for a moment that he could trust her. She would make a daunting High Princess—if she didn’t try to murder him first.
“We’ll find out what’s behind their presence soon enough. Once Marla has gotten over the news about you.”
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