by Julia Knight
The third man with the piercing blue eyes that radiated hate at Lord Hunter must be Valguard, their chief priest and a powerful man, second only to the king, or regent. Hunter seemed to ignore him and his obvious enmity, but why did Valguard hate him so much? Maybe there was something there she could use. She made a mental note to draw him out at the first opportunity.
Valguard bent over her hand and spoke to her in her own language. “It is a more pleasant welcome than I had hoped, and you are a vision more beautiful than I could have dreamed.”
Oh yes, this one would be easy to bring round. She favoured him with a seductive smile and a lingering look and was pleased when he flushed.
Followed by a retinue of her personal guards, she led them through the cool, dark atrium past tinkling fountains to a room laid out with refreshments. Sticky dates, small pastries, ice-cold wine. Low couches were dotted around the room and servants stood every few feet with cool water and linen cloths so the travellers could bathe their faces. Windows, deep-set so the sun could not enter to sear the air, looked out over the formal gardens, and the scent of jasmine pervaded the room.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
The nobles spread out to wash their faces and hands and pick at the food. Hunter didn’t move at first, just stood sweating and implacable with his good hand on the hilt of his sword. He was impossible to read, and that intrigued her because she had yet to find a man she couldn’t twist around her finger and then have him beg for more. Aran lingered near to her looking like a homesick puppy and Valguard never took his eyes off Hunter’s back.
Finally the regent seemed to relax a little—maybe he had been checking the room for threats. She tore her eyes away from him, smiled at Aran and beckoned over one of the servants. “Please, you must be hot and dusty.”
Aran smiled back at her. “Thank you, indeed I am.”
His voice was still a little rough where it hadn’t yet broken fully and Nerinna had to suppress a smile. He was too young for her really, sixteen and that only barely. But she had no sisters and he had no brothers, so there it was.
She called over two more servants to tend to Hunter and Valguard. They washed their faces of sweat and dust. Nerinna was entranced at how well Hunter did with one hand. She tried not to stare, but he couldn’t hide the twitch at his scarred eye as his arm pained him again. And the little smile, soon hidden, that played over Valguard’s face when he saw.
“I suspect you’re all very tired. It’s a long hot road from the sea. I’ve arranged an informal dinner for this evening, nothing too taxing. Perhaps you would all like some rest first? The heat can be very draining for those not used to it.”
Hunter spoke for the first time. “That would be satisfactory.”
He had a deep, firm voice and the accent sounded strange to her, strange but oddly thrilling.
She clapped her hands and servants came running. “I will have you all shown to your quarters. If there’s anything you require, don’t hesitate to ask. But first, I must ask your nobles to remove their weapons. I will grant that Aran, Valguard and yourself may carry one sword apiece, if you feel it necessary. I’ve also arranged some lighter clothing to replace your armour. It’s considered impolite to wear mail while you are within the protection of these walls.”
She favoured Aran with one of her special smiles, the one that promised a man’s dreams and desires made real, and was gratified at the reaction. At the look that he couldn’t believe his luck. She toned the smile down a notch and turned it on Hunter, but he deflected it by inclining his head and turned to follow a servant. He didn’t talk much and had barely even looked at her. Immune to her charms. How very vexing, and something she would have to put right without delay.
Culture Clash
Chieftain’s Palace, Kadara
Hunter sat in his palatial room, all marble and golden silk, and wished that Sannir wasn’t quartered with the other soldiers. The sooner he came on duty the better. It was hard enough to ask even him for help—Hunter would ask no other. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder as he tried to take off his armour on his own. Even after five years some things were still difficult with one arm and this was one of them.
At last, sweating and bad-tempered, he managed it. He drew the small vial from his belongings and walked over to a sideboard with wine and glasses laid out. Just one drop now. Just one, to chase the pain away and make rest at least a possibility. One drop of duria in a glass of wine and a drop of his own blood. He drank it with a shudder. No matter how often he took it, he could never get used to the vile taste, but that didn’t matter when it took only moments for it to work. The pain in his shoulder lessened, a little. Enough that maybe he could doze.
Two swords lay on a marble shelf by the window. His sword and Regin’s, Shadow’s Curse. That one he’d never wielded since the war, could not because although Regin had managed it one-handed, it was too big for him to do so. Even if he could, he doubted that he would have. Although a touch of the hilt beat back all the pain in his arm, its smooth handle, with the dents where Regin’s hand had fit, reminded him of what it was. Magic. Not to be trusted.
He lightly touched the hilt and the pain in his shoulder faded to nothing, as though he were young and whole again. He lips twisted bitterly. If only that were true. Nerinna had witched him, that was sure. Maybe it was just as well that he was not whole, that she would have no cause to look at him. He wouldn’t betray Aran as he had Aran’s father. The boy was besotted with Nerinna, that was apparent. In fact Hunter had had to tell him to keep his emotions from his face. He couldn’t be seen to be wanting the girl so badly or negotiations would be hopelessly one-sided. They needed the Reethan’s surplus food, although part of him wondered whether they had any or if all this was just a ploy of Nerinna’s. But they needed that food.
And now the boy was under Nerinna’s spell. Well, at least he would be happy with the arrangement, and Hunter cared about that maybe more than he did about Ganheim and Armand. He had to organise this, had to put aside his attraction to her and do what he must. He wouldn’t let history repeat itself. But it was going to be hard.
Something indefinable about her spoke to him. Maybe the way she moved, the languid steps, or the sleepy seductive look in her eyes when she looked at him. Maybe the soft voice, deep for a woman, or the heavy perfume he could still smell; jasmine and spices. Stop it, you’re too old and a cripple to boot. Besides which she used her charms as he used a sword, to do a job. She did it so well, he could only admire her for it, a woman prepared to do anything for the country she ruled.
Maybe that was it, why he couldn’t thrust her from his mind. The passion and intensity he saw in her, a passion that thrilled his stomach and made his lips tingle as though he were kissing her. Strong-willed women had always been his weakness, and she was stronger than most if she could tame the wild Reethan tribes.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He shook the image of Nerinna from his head and called out for them to enter. A serving girl came in, a pretty little thing but she looked hesitant, maybe afraid.
“Yes?”
She flinched at his tone and Hunter had to remind himself how odd he must look to someone who had never seen one of the Gan before. Like a pale ghost of a giant.
He tried again more gently. “What is it that you want?”
“Her Highness send me to help.”
“Help with what?”
“With bath.” She pointed into an adjoining room Hunter hadn’t bothered to look in. She wanted to help him with a bath?
“I think I can cope on my own.” He managed to keep the irritation from his voice. He’d never been the kind of man to ask for help, and even less so since he’d lost the use of his arm. Hated to be thought weak, to feel weak. Was that what Nerinna intended? It wouldn’t have surprised him. “You can go.”
The girl looked as though she was about to burst into tears. “But must. Highness say so. Gan men have servants as mistress.
Me help you bath. Or help in bed.”
Gods! The woman not only used her own body to further her ends, she used other people’s too. “I think she has been woefully misinformed. I certainly don’t need help with a bath, thank you.”
“Am ugly?” The girl looked up at him with soulful eyes.
“No, I don’t—Gan men don’t— I just don’t need help with a bath. Or anything else. That’s all.” His cheeks were burning as he tried to shoo her out of the room. How could he explain it to someone who had so little grasp of his language? That while Gan noblemen who were unmarried did often take mistresses of lower station, it wasn’t like this. Not because they were told to.
He managed to ease the still-crying girl out of the room and shut the door behind her. The Reethan might do things differently, but this was too much.
***
After a bath, on his own, that managed to soak away some of the pain from his arm, Hunter got dressed again. Not in armour this time, thank the gods. Though sunset was not far off, the air was still searingly hot. He looked down at what had been left for him and was surprised at the attention to detail that had gone into the clothes. Breeches such as he might wear at home, though of a much lighter leather. A soft, loose linen tunic, open at the neck, which had been minutely stitched with his emblem. A black wolf’s head on a red background, now with a smaller white wolf running across a midnight blue patch in the upper right corner, a reminder of his own emblem, and how he’d come by his nickname, the only name he was ever called now.
Once he had belted on his sword, he was ready. Feeling cooler than he had in days, he opened the door and called to one of the guards stationed along the corridor. No weapons, but still the guards were well trained to go without. Hunter was allowed one sword, one only. He couldn’t go without his at his side. One never knew, especially in a foreign court. Regin’s would, for once, have to stay behind, but he wouldn’t leave it unguarded. Sannir trotted over, the perfect man for the job.
“I need you to stay in my rooms and watch the sword.”
Sannir looked unbearably proud as he took his place and Hunter couldn’t help but smile that a sword could command such respect. But then Regin had been such an extraordinary man.
Hunter turned to Aran’s quarters. A guard knocked for him and opened the door at Aran’s call. The boy looked flushed and excited. And who could blame him? “Rested?”
Aran dropped his black tunic emblazoned with a gold bull’s head over his shoulders. “Yes, it’s just good to be cool again.”
“Good, you’ll need your wits about you. So what did you think of her, as if I couldn’t guess?”
“Gods, what could I think? She’s the most tantalising creature I’ve ever seen, and she terrifies me!”
Hunter forced a laugh. “From what little I know of marriage, that’s often the way of it. But try not to look too eager. We want to bargain, not just hand her everything on a plate. Ready?”
Aran took a deep breath and blew it all out. “No, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, but let’s go.”
The other nobles milled around in the hall, waiting for them. Valguard stood very tall and straight by himself and didn’t restrain an impatiently raised eyebrow. Hunter ignored him and nodded to one or two of the lords. It was odd to see them all in coloured linen rather than mail and breastplates, but at least they looked cool.
An escort of guards dressed in bronze-and-silver livery took them to a large area open to the sky and the last rays of the sun. Tables were set among lush bushes, and scented flowers hung down from a wooden trellis. Little lamps were everywhere, lighting up the darkening garden. Odd insect noises chirruped in the bushes and a lizard ran along a trellis. As unlike home as Hunter could imagine.
While each table could be seen by any other, it made for a private atmosphere. A good choice on her part for this first dinner. Aran wouldn’t be so nervous in a small group, but they were still visible to everyone else.
An odd little group sat at their table. Himself, Aran and Valguard for the Gan. Nerinna sat with Fadeen and another man who she introduced as Arashin, leader of one of the most powerful tribes of the Reethan after Nerinna’s and Fadeen’s. A man who looked supremely unhappy at this dinner. He spoke a language Hunter couldn’t understand, but from the way he looked at Aran from under narrowed lids, none of it was complimentary.
They made themselves comfortable and Nerinna quickly put Aran at his ease, though the boy blushed enough for ten people every time she spoke to him. Still, Hunter could see she was very good at this, at drawing him out and getting him talking. A soft word close to his ear here, a hand on his there. Very practised. And with each of them Arashin muttered under his breath, a sour twist on his lips.
Hunter sipped his wine and kept out of the conversation. Nerinna spent her time on Aran, as it should be. Valguard and Fadeen were lost in a religious debate that completely absorbed them and he had no interest in joining in. So he sat and watched Nerinna smile seductively at Aran and tried to think who she reminded him of.
After a time, when Hunter thought he never wanted to see another slice of whatever cold, glazed meat he’d just eaten that left a vile taste in his mouth, Nerinna tried to coax him into conversation. “So, my Lord Hunter, I trust you rested well? Your rooms are adequate?”
He wasn’t in the mood for idle talk, but it wouldn’t do to offend her. While the marriage was being arranged, she might still back out. Oaths were not quite the same to the Reethan. “My rooms are more than adequate, thank you.”
She smiled impishly and he tried to ignore the suggestion, one seemingly second nature to her, in the way she moved her lips. Tried to ignore how all he wanted to do was kiss them, kiss her till she was speechless. Long, soft, slow kisses that— “But you didn’t like your maid?”
He could not think how to answer for a moment, but managed, “She was very pleasant, but I do not require help in that regard.” Hopefully he kept the anger off his face. That she used those girls so, and joked about it.
“Really?” She leant forward in a conspiratorial way that wafted perfume over him and made his stomach burn, and whispered, “I thought it was common practice in Ganheim, or I would never have sent her. Sleeping with peasants is something no Reethan noble would ever do, I assure you.” She shuddered delicately.
Maybe not, but you sleep with your nobles to get what you want. At least in Ganheim it’s done with affection.
“Then it isn’t true that your nobles take lowborn mistresses?” she asked after a moment. Maybe he hadn’t kept the look of distaste from his face. “I thought it a strange custom.”
Hunter forced a smile. “We do, that’s true enough, but it’s not a transaction. We don’t take what isn’t freely offered, and the girls are courted most avidly. There’s affection on both sides and, as like as not, if the noble isn’t a first son, or sometimes even if he is, then he marries the girl.”
Valguard butted in with an unpleasant smile and a sneer. “Lord Hunter would know. His mother was a blacksmith’s daughter, after all.”
Hunter almost laughed at the look on Nerinna’s face, half shocked disgust, half fascination. Finally she seemed to regain her composure and bridled on Hunter’s behalf. “Valguard, how could you jest about such a thing? Say such things about your regent?”
Hunter did laugh then. “No jest, it’s true enough.”
Nerinna’s mouth parted in shock and Hunter had to pull his eyes away from her lips. And his thoughts away from what he wanted those lips to do, how they might feel.
“But, nobles and the lower classes?” She shook her head in disbelief and then her look became playful. “Have you? Did you love them?”
Oh gods, now there was a question. Aran looked at him eagerly, he’d been asking these same sorts of questions for months and Hunter found it increasingly difficult to answer him honestly without telling the whole truth. “I have, sometimes. When I was a young man.”
“You’re not old now.”
“Old enough.
But I’ve had other things to tend to. Raising two children for a start. Two countries to run.”
“And you have done so splendidly. But did you love them?” She seemed sincerely interested and more than a little shocked, and pleased, at the thought.
Well he could answer that honestly enough. “In a way. I was fond of them, very fond.” He had been, that was true. One of them he could have happily married—until he had seen Amariah, but that was not a discussion he wanted to get into. He spent far too much of his time doing things just so he wouldn’t think of it. It lurked at the back of his mind all the same.
“But you never married?”
Hunter shifted his bad arm as well as he could on his lap, and pain ran fire from his shoulder to his fingers. He struggled to keep the pain inside, hidden, and ignored the satisfied smile on Valguard’s face. “No. I never married.”
She smiled at him in a way that made him wonder if she already knew, if she was just playing with him. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least. “And why is it that a man such as yourself has never married? Surely there are plenty of women who would marry a duke, and especially a regent.”
Aran and Valguard both stared at him intently, and Nerinna seemed to glow at the way the question discomforted him. How was it this woman was getting him to talk about things he’d never discussed with anyone except Hilde? There was a sudden ache in his heart. For Amariah, whose death had brought him to this crippled pass. And for little Hilde, who had never judged him, who felt his pain with him.
Nerinna was watching him. He couldn’t turn this question aside; her dark, inviting eyes on his made it impossible. And he saw the same steely determination in her that had made him love Amariah. The same need to do right by her country.