Warrior

by Jennifer Fallon

  It might even be enough, Alija mused with a small, secretive smile, to tempt Luciena Mariner into seeking revenge—revenge that could not, in any way, be traced back to the High Arrion of the Sorcerers’

  Collective.

  Chapter 11

  Is it hot in Krakandar at this time of year?” Luciena asked.

  Aleesha shrugged as she folded another of Luciena’s formal gowns and laid it carefully in her trunk. “How should I know? I’ve never been there.”

  “I suppose I should take the cashmere shawl,” Luciena decided, standing in front of the shelves that lined one wall of the small room off the main bedroom where Aleesha stored her clothes. “Just in case.”

  “Why not take it all?” the slave grumbled.

  Luciena turned to her in surprise. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me. You’ve been snapping at me all day, slamming things around, muttering under your breath . . . what’s wrong?”

  “I’m just a poor dumb slave, my lady,” Aleesha replied as she laid a blue and gold silk gown across the bed to fold it. Luciena’s mother had bought that gown only weeks before she died. She’d never worn it. “It’s not my place to say.”

  “I’m making it your place. Tell me!”

  Aleesha stopped her folding and placed her hands on her hips, glaring at her mistress. “Well, if you must know, I think you’re a screaming bloody fool!”

  “For agreeing to go to Krakandar with Princess Marla?”

  “No,” the slave replied sarcastically, “for deciding to eat eggs for breakfast this morning.”

  “I have no choice,” Luciena sighed. “You know that better than anyone.”

  “You had a choice. You could have said no.”

  “And what would happen to us if I did?” she asked. “Princess Marla paid off our debts, Aleesha.

  If not for her intervention, I’d be fighting off that animal, Ameel Parkesh, by now. Or would you rather see me selling my body to a moneylender to spare you the effort of packing my trunks?”

  “If you ask me, Marla Wolfblade bought you along with those damn debts,” the slave complained. “Just because the bed has silk sheets and a feather mattress, Luciena, it doesn’t make you any less a whore if you choose to lie on it and open your legs. Your mother should have taught you that.”

  “For pity’s sake, Aleesha! What did you expect me to do?”

  “Anything but roll over without a fight and say: Yes, your highness,” Aleesha replied in a scathing falsetto voice. “Of course I’ll drop everything and follow you right across the country, put myself completely at your mercy, and let you dictate the rest of my life to me.”

  Luciena was wounded by Aleesha’s scorn. “You think I would’ve been better off taking my chances with Parkesh, do you? Or have you forgotten that you were the one who went racing off in a blind panic to fetch the Palace Guard because you thought I was in danger?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” the slave snorted, as she began folding the gown again. “I just wanted an excuse to talk to that young officer again.” Suddenly Aleesha looked up and smiled mischievously.

  “He was pretty cute, you know.”

  “He’s Princess Marla’s nephew,” Luciena told her, shaking her head at Aleesha’s impertinence.

  There were going to be problems with her slave if she didn’t learn to act a little more like a slave once they were travelling with the princess’s entourage.

  “That figures,” Aleesha shrugged. “There’s always something about the good-looking ones that makes them trouble. Is he the reason you agreed to go?”

  “What?”

  “I could sort of understand that,” the slave explained. “I mean, I can’t for the life of me imagine why you’d want to have anything to do with Princess Marla after cursing her every day of your life since your father died. But I can appreciate a bit of good old-fashioned lust. Is it the uniform, I wonder?

  Perhaps it’s the sword? Or those tight leather trousers, eh? It’s all those hours they spend in the saddle, you know, that gives them thighs like—”

  “Aleesha! Stop it!” she ordered, raising her voice to emphasise her point. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “Then explain it to me, my lady,” the slave responded just as loudly. “Because the gods know, I can’t think of any other logical reason why you’d go along with this!”

  “I have explained it! Over and over again! Princess Marla paid off my debts!”

  “You said the princess didn’t want the money back.”

  Luciena threw her hands up helplessly, not sure what else she could say to convince Aleesha she’d been left with no alternative. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Yes, it is that simple,” the slave insisted. “Let’s get out of this while we still can. You hate these people and you don’t belong with them.”

  “I can’t . . .”

  The slave abandoned all pretence of packing and walked across the room to her mistress. With an encouraging smile, Aleesha took Luciena by the shoulders so she couldn’t avoid facing her and added gently, “Look, you don’t have to pretend with me, pet. I remember your father telling you all those fanciful stories when you were small about how the princess was going to make you part of the family, how you’d have brothers and sisters and would live in a grand palace . . . And I remember how much you wanted it. But they were only stories, Luciena, and I know it hurt when you finally realised that . . . so don’t give in now. We don’t have to go to Krakandar. And for all you know, Princess Marla’s just inviting you along so she can get you out of the city and have you killed.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Luciena scoffed, pushing the slave away. “If Princess Marla wanted me dead, she could have done it any time in the past eight years and nobody would have cared about it, with the possible exception of you and my mother.” Even as she uttered the words, she knew they lacked conviction. What had Marla told her? You’re not actually worth the price of an assassin. “Besides, she owns everything of mine already. Why would she need to have me killed?”

  “That’s a question I’m rather curious about myself.”

  Luciena spun around at the unfamiliar voice and almost fainted with shock.

  The High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective was standing in the doorway.

  “My lady!” Aleesha gasped, falling to her knees.

  Luciena was too stunned to speak. The High Arrion smiled and stepped a little further into the room. She was wearing a pale yellow sleeveless gown, rather than the traditional black robes of her office, but there was no mistaking the diamond pendant she wore, or her unconscious air of superiority.

  “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t startle you. I did knock, but there doesn’t seem to be anybody around to answer the front door.”

  “Lady Alija!” Luciena said, finding her voice at last, curtseying as elegantly as she could manage.

  “Ah, you know me!” the High Arrion declared with a smile. “That’s good. It’ll save us going through all those tedious introductions. Do you have something cool to drink?” she added, looking at Aleesha.

  “Of course, my lady,” the slave replied, scrambling to her feet. She hurried from the room, bowing several times on the way out.

  Alija Eaglespike watched her leave and then turned to Luciena. “You must forgive my rudeness, Luciena. You and your slave were having a rather heated discussion and I must admit I overheard quite a bit of it. In fact, it was your raised voices which alerted me to the fact that you were home.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady.”

  “You’ve nothing to apologise for, my dear.”

  “Thank you . . . I . . . er . . . I mean . . . what are you doing here, my lady?”

  “My gateman informs me you came to visit the Collective yesterday,” the High Arrion announced, looking around with interest. “I came to find out why.”

  “You didn’t have to visit me personally, my lady.”

>   She smiled warmly. “Well, when I heard you were considering an offer from Princess Marla, I thought I should give the matter my immediate attention. Is that what you wanted to see me about?”

  “Um . . . well, no, not really. It was about my cousin. In Fardohnya.”

  Lady Alija raised an elegant brow in surprise. “You have family in Fardohnya?”

  “I think so.”

  “You’re not certain?”

  “My father had a brother,” she explained nervously, totally unprepared to face the High Arrion with her request. “They had a falling out long before I was born. My uncle followed his heart—and the wife my father didn’t approve of—to Fardohnya. He has three sons, according to his letter. And they have a number of their own children.”

  Alija nodded as she strolled around the room, apparently engrossed in the painted murals on the walls. “How lovely for you, my dear. What does that have to do with me?”

  “One of my cousins has some sort of magical talent, according to my uncle.”

  Alija looked at her in surprise. “Does he now?”

  “Well, I suppose . . . I don’t really know.”

  She smiled. “And what were you hoping I’d do about it?”

  “Well, I thought . . . or rather, my uncle thought . . . he should join the Sorcerers’ Collective. I tried to make an appointment to see you because I was hoping, maybe . . .”

  “What? That I would arrange it?”

  “I’ve heard you’re searching for gifted apprentices.”

  “Not in Talabar,” the High Arrion replied wryly. “Have you spoken of your magically gifted cousin to Princess Marla?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “What have you told your uncle?”

  “Nothing, as yet, my lady. I mean, there’s nothing to tell. And there’s some doubt . . .”

  “About what?”

  Luciena shrugged, the preposterous notion of asking the High Arrion for help making her cringe with embarrassment as she spoke. What was I thinking? “The timing of his letter is a little suspicious.

  Aleesha . . . my slave, thinks it’s just an attempt by my uncle to extort money from me.”

  “Your slave may well be right. And I’d like to help you, my dear, but any members of the Sorcerers’ Collective foolish enough to set foot in Fardohnya are rotting in Hablet’s dungeons. If you can get him to Greenharbour, I’d be happy to consider your cousin, but I can’t do much more than that.”

  In truth, Luciena would have been surprised at more. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “You’re welcome, my dear,” Lady Alija replied, still studying the murals intently. “And do take care in your dealings with her highness. I share some of your companion’s concerns.”

  Luciena looked at the High Arrion in surprise. “My lady?”

  “It seems remarkably out of character for the princess to suddenly decide to pay off your debts and welcome you into her family after all this time. Are you sure you’ve examined this offer closely?”

  “It wasn’t actually an offer, Lady Alija. It was a done deed before I could object.”

  “Marla can be like that at times. Has she told you what she wants of you?”

  “I’m not sure I understand . . .”

  “Marla’s generosity must come with some sort of obligation.”

  Luciena shrugged. “She expects me to marry someone of her choosing.”

  “Did she say who?”

  “No,” Luciena replied, shaking her head. “Although she specifically told me not to set my cap at her nephew.”

  “Who? Xanda Taranger?” Alija glanced over her shoulder with a smile. “Not a bad bit of advice, really. He’s a second son with few prospects of his own. She made no mention, then, of who she has in mind?”

  “She said we’d discuss it after I’d met Damin.”

  The High Arrion forgot about the murals and turned to stare at her. “She’s taking you to meet her son?”

  Luciena nodded, wondering at Lady Alija’s sudden interest. She was far more interested in that news, in fact, than the idea Luciena’s cousin might be magically gifted. “We’re leaving for Krakandar tomorrow morning.” She waved her arm at the disorganised chaos lying around the room. “Hence the packing.”

  “That’s quite a boon, Luciena,” Alija remarked with a raised brow. “Princess Marla is very protective of her children. She doesn’t usually allow strangers close to them. She fears assassins the way others fear spiders. It has something to do with a foiled attempt on Damin’s life when he was a small child, I think.”

  “She had little choice in my case,” Luciena informed the High Arrion. “I have no intention of swearing allegiance to the Wolfblades without some idea of what I’m getting myself into.”

  “Marla wants you to swear allegiance to her son?” The High Arrion’s eyes sparkled in anticipation of her answer.

  “She wants me to swear allegiance to her House. She said swearing allegiance to her son before he became High Prince would be considered treason.”

  “And she’d be right,” Alija agreed.

  “Is that why you really came here, my lady?” Luciena asked, a little worried. “To see if I was plotting something against the High Prince?”

  Alija laughed. “My dear, at any given time, half the damned country is plotting something against the High Prince. No. I came here because I thought you’d requested an audience to seek my advice about Marla’s offer.” Lady Alija took a step closer and smiled, reaching out to take both Luciena’s hands in hers. “But you seem to have made up your mind. There’s just one little favour I’d like you to do for me, my dear. When you get to Krakandar.”

  Luciena nodded silently, suddenly filled with a warm sense of well-being. Still holding her hands, Lady Alija closed her eyes. The warm feeling grew and Luciena began to feel so hot she feared she might faint. Strange thoughts that seemed to belong to someone else flitted through her mind. Her mother called out to her. She saw her father sailing out of the harbour on one of his ships, heading for some unknown destination. She saw Princess Marla beckoning her towards an abyss so black it ate all the light around it, sucking the warmth from the air and life from anything foolish enough to venture too close to its edge. The thoughts swirled through her head, making her dizzy, nauseous . . .

  And then the strange feelings faded away and Luciena discovered she was lying on the floor of her bedroom, Aleesha kneeling over her with concern, calling out her name as if she’d been unconscious. The High Arrion was gone, as if she’d never been there at all, and a phrase was repeating itself, over and over, in Luciena’s mind.

  Welcome to the family, it said. Welcome to the family . . . welcome to the family. . .

  Chapter 12

  The town of Acarnipoor in central Fardohnya boasted a population of nearly five thousand people. It was a sprawling settlement that wound along the banks of the Serpentine River, the village divided in two by the narrow, fast-flowing waterway. Several footbridges, and a more substantial bridge constructed of stone, joined the two sides of the town. As evening approached and the sunset tinted the white walls of the stuccoed houses pink, Rory climbed down from the back of the wagon where he’d been hiding since Vanipoor and looked up at the sky, hoping it wasn’t going to rain.

  The slowly moving wagon trundled over the stone bridge linking the two sides of the town, the driver unaware his passenger had disembarked. For that matter, the driver probably didn’t even realise he’d had a passenger. Stretching his cramped limbs, Rory looked around with relief. Acarnipoor seemed large enough that he could mingle with the townsfolk for a time and not be noticed. He’d learned the hard way, these past few weeks, that small towns easily remembered a fair-haired boy who spoke Fardohnyan like a native but looked like a Hythrun. Particularly since there seemed to be notices nailed to just about every flat surface in Fardohnya these days, offering a reward for the boy rumoured to be a Hythrun spy. The boy rumoured to be a sorcerer. The boy wanted for murder.

  Rory might h
ave been safe, nobody might ever have connected him with the man on Victory Parade who got hit by an anvil, had it not been for an incident that happened a few days after he’d followed his cousin. Until then, despite an intensive investigation that disrupted the trade on Restinghouse Street for days, nobody thought anything of the fair-haired boy seen walking in the same direction as the victim and the whore he’d singled out for a bit of fun only minutes before his body was discovered with a dent in his skull matching the anvil on the ground beside him.

  The problem started when somebody pointed the finger at Patria as the whore who’d accompanied the dead man into the lane. Early one morning, several days after the incident with the anvil, the family was woken by a loud pounding on the door to their small house. Grandpa Warak had stumbled over the sleeping bodies of Rory and his brothers and opened the door just as Rory sat up, rubbing his eyes and wondering what all the racket was about. The room was suddenly filled with soldiers, but they weren’t the City Watch. These men wore the white and silver livery of King Hablet’s Palace Guard.

  “Arrest the Hythrun!” the officer ordered, as they tackled the old man to the ground. “And find the girl!”

  Other than to shove them out of the way, the soldiers ignored Rory and his brothers. His grandfather, however, was pushed down to the dirt floor of the hovel, a soldier’s foot on his face, as his arms were twisted savagely behind him and bound with a piece of rope. A few moments later, he heard Patria scream as the soldiers dragged her from the lean-to out back and into the house.

  Rory’s head began to pound as the soldiers manhandled Patria into the room. It was his responsibility to do something, he knew. Even if he wasn’t the cause of all this trouble, his father, Drendik, and his uncles, Abel and Gazil, had got a rare day’s work last night on a lobster boat and had left before dawn to help clear the traps located on the other side of the harbour. With his grandfather under the boot heel of a Palace Guardsman—quite literally—the only one left to protect Patria and his brothers was Rory.