“What three conditions?”
“The first is that I adopt you, obviously,” she explained. “As your father’s only legal wife, I can adopt his child and legitimise her, even though he’s been dead these past six years, making you his heir.”
Luciena smiled, but it wasn’t pleasant. “I see. Now you decide to keep your promise to adopt me, and because I’m only seventeen you’ll get to manage my affairs for the next thirteen years as my guardian, strip me of my fortune in the process, all to prop up your brother as High Prince, no doubt.
The rumours about your ruthlessness really don’t do you justice, your highness.”
Marla was rather taken aback. “There are rumours about my ruthlessness?”
“As you are no doubt aware, your highness, I’ve had an excellent education. Please don’t insult me by treating me like a fool.”
“Then don’t insult me by not hearing me out,” Marla countered. She was staggered. There are rumours about my ruthlessness?
Luciena had the good sense to realise she’d overstepped the mark. “I’m sorry, your highness.”
“As I was saying, the first thing we must do is formally adopt you. The second is to arrange a marriage for you.”
“To whom?” the girl bristled. “Some scabby old man to whom you owe a favour? One of the High Prince’s sick, twisted friends, perhaps?”
Luciena’s meekness had lasted barely more than a few seconds. Marla was privately glad. She would have hated it if the girl were all simpering timidity and no spine.
“I’m sure we can find somebody acceptable.”
“And why does it matter who I marry?”
“It doesn’t,” Marla told her. “Not who you marry, at any rate. Just that you are married. You see, here’s the thing, Luciena. We are women in a world ruled by men. In some respects, we have less freedom than a slave. When we marry, we become the possession of our husband. What is his is his, and what is ours becomes his when we marry him. Now, because it was men who made the rules, and there’s no point in taking a sixteen-year-old bride if you have to wait until she’s thirty to inherit her father’s fortune, they left themselves a loophole. A woman might inconveniently die in childbirth long before she reaches her majority, and then what happens to all that money and property you married her for?”
The girl was quick. It took her hardly any time at all to understand what Marla was driving at.
“Do you mean that as soon as I am married, I can inherit my father’s estate?”
“If I’ve adopted you, yes.”
“Who has it now?”
“I do, of course.”
“But if you inherited my father’s estate, doesn’t that mean it now belongs to your current husband?”
“But I didn’t inherit it. I’m simply holding it in trust. It doesn’t belong to me, therefore my husband can’t touch it. And you needn’t fear for your fortune, Luciena. I’ve kept a very close eye on it.
When your father died, he owned a quarter of Hythria’s trading fleet. Now you own about a third of it.”
Luciena stared at Marla, her expression thoughtful.
“You said three conditions,” she reminded the princess after a moment.
“The third is that you swear allegiance to the House of Wolfblade.”
The girl seemed puzzled. “You want me to swear allegiance to the High Prince?”
“I want you to swear that you’ll do everything in your power, bring the entire weight of your fortune to bear if need be, to secure the throne for the High Prince’s heir.”
“You want me to swear allegiance to your son, then?”
“No,” Marla said carefully. “Asking you to swear allegiance to anyone other than the incumbent High Prince would be treason. I merely insist that you swear an oath to his House. That’s not the same thing.”
“Suppose the next High Prince turns out to be as useless as the one we have now? Or worse?”
“You can decide that for yourself when you meet him.”
Luciena was looking completely baffled now.
“If I’m to adopt you, Luciena, you’re going to have to meet the rest of the family.”
“You’d have me in your house? Me? A baseborn commoner?”
“My husband and I are leaving for Krakandar Province the day after tomorrow. If you’re willing to consider my offer, you may come with us to meet your new brothers and sisters, including the High Prince’s heir. You’ll find Damin inflicted with a degree of obnoxious self-confidence common to most twelve-year-old boys, but we trust he’ll grow out of it soon.”
“And if I don’t agree to your offer?” she asked warily.
“Then I shall find some likely lad and claim him as Jarvan Mariner’s long-lost son, adopt him and arrange to manage his estate until he comes of age. It will be a little harder to prove but I do have considerable resources at my disposal. And your father was a sea captain for a long time, you know.
With a court’esa or two in every port, he’s bound to have fathered more than one bastard.”
Luciena thought that over for a while before asking, “Who do you want me to marry?”
“We can decide that when you agree to my offer.”
“Why?” Luciena asked suspiciously.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What’s in this for you, Princess Marla? Is it because you want control of my fortune?”
“I already have that.”
“Then I don’t understand why you’re doing this for me.”
Marla smiled, thinking she would be just as suspicious of the offer she had just made this child.
“I’m not doing this for you,” she admitted. “You’re right about that much. I’m doing it for my family. It’s no secret the Wolfblade House has been self-destructing for generations. I intend to see it restored through my son. But thanks to his predecessors, Damin is going to have to fight to win his throne and work even harder to keep it. To do that, he’ll need the backing of more than a few sentimental Royalists determined to cling to the Wolfblade line for old time’s sake. You’ll have control over a third of the trading ships operating out of Hythria. And you will have control of them, Luciena. I didn’t waste all that education on you just to have you hand the responsibility over to someone else.”
“You’re serious!”
“As you get to know me better, Luciena, you will learn this is not my joking face.”
“How much time do I have to think this over?”
“Do you have a better offer to consider?”
“That depends on whether or not I’m willing to sell my soul to the Wolfblades, I suppose,” the girl replied defiantly.
“You have a gift for the dramatic, I see, Luciena.”
“Actually, your highness, I thought I was merely stating an obvious fact.”
“Then allow me to state another obvious fact, my dear. You have a choice before you between a life of privilege and wealth or one of poverty and obscurity. If you are as intelligent as my informants have led me to believe, you will choose the former.”
“Do you think I’m so fond of material wealth that I would place myself in your power for the promise of a roof over my head? Do you think I’ll stand by and let you marry me off to one of your sycophants just to aid you in propping up the High Prince’s throne? And why should I believe your offer is genuine at all? I’ve made it plain how I feel about you. What reason have you to trust me? Or is it that you don’t need to trust me? Maybe all you need to do is adopt me, marry me off to someone you do trust, and have the Assassins’ Guild take care of the rest.”
“You’re not actually worth the price of an assassin. If I was that anxious to dispose of you, I’d do it myself.” Marla smiled at the girl’s shocked expression. “That was my joking face, Luciena.”
Warily, the girl nodded. “Yes, your highness.”
Marla smiled even wider, hoping to put the girl at ease. “We’ll have three weeks in a carriage on the way to Krakandar to test each other’s mettl
e, Luciena. I’m sure it will be an enlightening time for both of us. Now, do you accept my offer or not?”
“Must I give you an answer immediately?”
“What could you possibly need to consider?” Marla asked impatiently.
“One of your conditions is that I swear allegiance to the House of Wolf-blade, your highness. You say you want me to use my father’s fortune to aid your son’s ascension to the throne some day. Don’t I have a right to see what sort of a prince you would have me swear my allegiance to, before I take such an oath?”
Marla stared at her in surprise. Part of her was quite offended by the girl’s manner. Another part was thinking: This girl is going to be formidable when she gets her hands on her father’s business.
“You’ve more cheek than a street urchin, Luciena.”
“And whose fault is that, I wonder? Wasn’t it you who paid for my education?”
Marla frowned. “Very well. You may accompany me and my husband north to Krakandar. We will discuss your future further once you have met Damin and made up your mind about him. Speak to Xanda on your way out. He’ll make arrangements for your slave to have your trunks delivered to the palace. I assume you’ll want her to accompany you?”
“Yes. Thank you, your highness.”
“I’ll see you the day after tomorrow then.”
Realising she was dismissed, Luciena rose to her feet and curtseyed. “As you wish, your highness.”
Luciena turned and walked to the door. Marla waited until she was almost there before adding as an afterthought, “One other thing, Luciena.”
The girl turned to look at her. “Your highness?”
“Don’t get any ideas about my nephew.”
“I beg your pardon?” Luciena asked, quite shocked.
“He’s young, handsome and completely out of your class, Luciena. I will find a suitable husband for you when the time comes. Someone less . . . exalted. Don’t presume to think I will allow you to make such a decision for yourself.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, your highness.”
“I’m sure you do,” the princess corrected. “Good day, Luciena.”
The young woman curtseyed again without speaking and fled the room.
Marla leaned back against the cushions and smiled with satisfaction. Behind her, the curtain rustled softly and Elezaar stepped out of his hiding place, where he’d listened to the entire exchange.
“What did you think of her?”
“Interesting young woman,” he remarked, waddling around the piled cushions to face his mistress.
“Interesting indeed,” Marla agreed.
“One thing I don’t understand, though. Why warn her away from Xanda?”
“Because she’s seventeen and she thinks she hates me, Elezaar. What better way to give voice to that hate than to openly defy me?”
“You think that by forbidding her a relationship with Xanda, she’ll deliberately set out to have one? Does Xanda have any idea that you’re using him so blatantly?”
“Of course not.”
“Don’t you think he’d be upset?”
“Wasn’t it you, Elezaar, who pointed out that my nephew is too full of raging lust and bravado to notice what I’m up to?”
“Still, you might want to warn him of your plans.”
“I will. When the time is right.”
“Before or after the wedding?” Elezaar asked pointedly.
“After he’s in love,” Marla told him with a smile. “It won’t matter what I tell him then.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know for a fact that people in love don’t listen to anything but their own hearts,” she replied, her smile fading. The pain of her own lost love was still a raw wound Marla carefully concealed from the rest of the world, even after all this time.
“Perhaps that’s a good thing,” the dwarf shrugged. “Love is supposed to be blind, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps that’s why we never see the truth,” Marla agreed. “Even when it’s right in front of us.”
Elezaar offered no reply. He didn’t have to. He knew her well enough to understand she was no longer talking about Xanda and Luciena.
“See that she’s taken care of, Elezaar,” she ordered when the silence started to become tense.
“And make sure Xanda knows I want him to look after her, for me.”
“Was there anything else, your highness?”
“No,” she said, a little surprised to find herself choking back memories of what it was to be young and innocent and desperately in love. “Leave me.”
The dwarf bowed and then waddled to the door, leaving Marla alone. Impatiently, she wiped away an unexpected tear and took her wineglass from the table, downing the remainder in a single swallow.
“Don’t be a fool,” she muttered to herself.
Never regret anything. Never look back and wonder. Was that one of the dwarf’s damned Rules of Gaining and Wielding Power? It ought to be. Because who would have thought the memory of Nash Hawksword would still hurt so much after all these years?
Chapter 8
It was several days after Damin almost managed to kill Almodavar that the captain sent for Starros to discuss the young man’s plans for the future. Starros wasn’t sure if the two events were related.
They might have been. Since he was five years old, Starros had been a fosterling of the Wolfblade family. It was the custom in Hythrun highborn families to attempt to confuse potential assassins by surrounding the heir to the house with other children. The theory was that if an assassin could not identify the real heir, he might leave all the children alone.
To Starros’s considerable relief, the theory had never been put to the test in Krakandar. Mahkas Damaran, Damin’s uncle and Krakandar’s Regent, was vigilant to the point of being obsessed with his nephew’s safety. The palace was too well guarded, the staff too well vetted, to present a danger to Damin or anybody else in the household.
But Damin had now proved capable of defending himself against a full-grown man. What need was there for a decoy any longer for a boy so skilled in the martial arts? For that matter, it was almost a year since the boys had even shared a room. When Starros turned fifteen, as was the custom among the nobility, he had been given access to the palace court’esa. As this milestone meant he was, while not considered a man, then at least no longer a child, Starros had moved in with Xanda Taranger, Damin’s older cousin, until he left for Greenharbour last winter. Damin was still only twelve and it wasn’t considered appropriate for a boy so young to be introduced to a court’esa’s special skills. It was then that Damin begged his uncle to get rid of the armed guard who had stood over him while he slept since the first attempt on his life when he was four years old.
Mahkas had agreed, on the condition Damin could prove he was capable of looking after himself. The young prince had proved it resoundingly.
Perhaps Almodavar isn’t sending for me to tell me I’m no longer needed as a decoy, Starros mused, as he neared the barracks. Perhaps Almodavar is sending for me to tell me I’m no longer needed at all.
“How many times do I have to tell you, boy?” a familiar voice barked behind him. “Don’t slouch!”
Starros stopped and turned to face Krakandar’s most senior captain. Almodavar’s face, while not exactly fierce, wore enough nicks and scars to be well on its way to earning such a title. Starros knew the rumours that Almodavar was his father as well as anyone in Krakandar, but there was no family resemblance that Starros could see. He was slender and fair; Almodavar was big and dark, and he certainly never treated Starros like a son. For that matter, Almodavar never treated Starros any differently to the way he treated Damin, or Narvell, or Damin’s stepbrothers, so perhaps his gruff, impatient manner didn’t prove anything one way or the other.
“Sorry, sir,” Starros replied, straightening a little. “Travin said you wanted to see me?”
“Aye.” Almodavar fell into step beside Starros an
d they continued walking through the training yards. The day was clear and crisp. The captain’s hands were clasped behind his back, his expression thoughtful, as if he was carefully considering his words. After several moments of strained silence, which took them past the yards and out towards the stables, Almodavar finally spoke again. “You’ve been here a long time, lad.”
“Since I was five,” Starros agreed, although Almodavar hardly needed reminding of that. He was the one who had brought Starros to the palace. “Ten years.”
“And have you given any thought to what you want to do, once you leave?”
Starros looked at the captain curiously. “I wasn’t aware I was leaving, Captain. Is there something I should know about?”
“Princess Marla is due back soon,” Almodavar reminded him. “She mentioned on her last visit that you should start giving some thought to what you want to do with your life.”
“I have a choice?” Starros asked, a little surprised.
“The most powerful woman in Hythria thinks of you as her foster-son, Starros. You have been raised as a member of the family of the next High Prince of Hythria. Young Damin treats you like a brother and, most importantly, you can make him see reason when he gets his head full of some of the more harebrained schemes he’s becoming famous for.”
“He’s not a bad lad, sir. He just likes to test his limits.” Starros smiled. “A lot.”
“And you are one of the few with the ability to rein him in. The princess knows this.”
“She’s never said anything to me.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate. She mentioned it to me, though. You’ve a rare chance to make something of your life, you know.”
“I assumed if I had any future here at all, it was as a member of the Palace Guard. Isn’t that usually what happens to fosterlings?”
“You’re too well educated for a life in the barracks.”
Starros stared at the captain, surprised to hear the warrior suggesting anything other than a life in the barracks. An avid follower of the God of War, for Almodavar there was simply no more noble profession than being a warrior in the service of your prince.
Warrior Page 8