Mother, the letter began, written in Damin’s own hand. I trust this finds you and the rest of the family well—an optimistic hope, under the circumstances, but one I wish for nonetheless.
“We arrived in Krakandar without mishap,” Marla read aloud, realising that Elezaar was also bursting from curiosity to know what was in the letter. “I stumbled across Kalan and Rorin on my way through Nalinbar and brought them back with me, so you’ll be relieved to know we are safe and sound and being coddled to death by Mahkas and Bylinda as if we were all still ten years old. The plague has not reached here yet, although it’s spread as far as Pentamor and Izcomdar. Rogan Bearbow has fallen victim to it, and Tejay Lionsclaw and her children have taken refuge here with us until it’s safe for her to return home.”
The relief Marla felt was indescribable. All her efforts to locate Kalan since the plague took hold had proved fruitless. “Thank the gods, Kalan and Rorin are safe.”
“And that they had the wit to head for Krakandar and not attempt to return here,” Elezaar added, almost as relieved as his mistress. “It’s not good news about the Warlord of Izcomdar, though.”
“I assume you’ve heard by now,” Marla continued reading, “that Chaine is dead (another victim of the Widowmaker) and that Terin Lionsclaw is now Warlord of Sunrise? I wish I could say the idea makes me happy, but I fear something is amiss in the west and if not for this damn plague, I would return to Sunrise with Tejay to find out what it is. I have no proof of this, mind you, it’s a gut feeling with no basis in fact, and Tejay insists all is well, but how much of that is truth and how much is simple loyalty to her husband, I cannot guess.
“It is moot at present, in any case. I’m not in a position to go anywhere. We have sealed the city against refugees bringing the plague in from the southern provinces and have set about purging the city of any likely carriers of the disease.”
“Damin sounds as if he’s learned a thing or two from me, after all, your highness,” Elezaar remarked, with a hint of paternal pride. Marla thought the dwarf’s attitude quite amusing, given he had been appalled by the notion of becoming Damin’s tutor at one time, and now he was obviously patting himself on the back for it. “Do you think he’s right to be concerned about Sunrise?”
Marla shrugged, wondering much the same. “I don’t know, Elezaar. Unfortunately, even if he is, I’m in no better position to investigate the matter at present than he is. I hope Chaine was able to get the Denikans across the border before he died, though.” She returned her attention to the letter and read on.
“On a slightly more hopeful note, Rorin says to have someone check the library. According to him, the Harshini believed the disease to be transmitted by fleas, and that clearing the city of all possible breeding grounds before they start to breed again in the warmer weather is the only way to control it.
He’s certain there are records of prior outbreaks still in the archives somewhere, which may be of some help to you. Perhaps Bruno Sanval will know where to look. Doesn’t he know the contents of the Sorcerers’ Collective library down to the last dead cockroach? Anyway, with Wrayan’s help, we’ve enlisted the cooperation of every person here in the city, noble and commoner alike, even in the Beggars’
Quarter. There’s not a rat safe from capture and death in Krakandar. I wish I could claim this sterling effort is being driven by loyalty to their city, but I suspect fear of a painful death and the rat bounty, rather than civic pride, is their motivation. Still, as Elezaar would say, ask help only from those in whose best interest it lies to aid you. I think that’s Rule Number Twenty-five, isn’t it? Or is it Twenty-four, perhaps? Don’t tell him I can’t remember. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Marla glanced at the dwarf and smiled. “Perhaps your teaching wasn’t as thorough as you think, Elezaar. He’s quoting Rule Number Twenty-three, as I recall.”
“He’s applying the rules, madam. I think, given your son’s somewhat mercurial nature, in the long run that may prove more useful than him remembering the order in which they’re written.”
“Do you think Rorin is right about the rats?”
“He’d know, my lady, if anybody would.”
“I’ll speak to Bruno then,” she said. “If we could get this damned thing under control before the really hot weather hits us . . .”
“It’s probably worth looking into.”
She nodded, deciding to pursue the matter tomorrow, and then returned to the letter, frowning as she read the next paragraph.
“Lastly, Mother,” the letter continued, “I have a favour to ask—no, demand— of you. Will you please write to Mahkas and make it clear, in no uncertain terms, that you will never permit me to marry Leila? I know you’ve had your reasons for not putting an end to his speculation in the past, but the situation here is beyond awkward. It is untenable. Mahkas is throwing her at me like a cheap court’esa and it’s tearing Leila to pieces, because, unlike her father, she can see his hopeless ambition for what it is. She doesn’t love me and doesn’t want me, nor I her, but I am fond enough of my cousin to wish her every chance at happiness. I know you care about Leila, too, so if you won’t do it for me, do it for her, otherwise I will be forced to tell Mahkas myself, and we both know I won’t do it nearly as tactfully as you will.
“He finishes off the letter with Please give my respects to Ruxton, and the boys, and tell Elezaar I beat Almodavar—again—although the old fossil insists he let me win. Damin. And there’s a postscript,”
she noted, with a shake of her head. “By the way, Mother, would it be terribly difficult to make Starros the lord of something when he finishes his apprenticeship with Orleon? With all these people dropping like flies from the plague, there must be a vacancy somewhere?”
“Actually, that last suggestion about Starros may not be a bad idea,” the dwarf said.
“It’s his first one that bothers me. Should I do as he asks, do you think?”
“Tell Lord Damaran there’s no chance you’ll allow his daughter to marry Damin? You should have done it years ago, your highness.”
“If I do it now, there will be speculation that I have chosen a bride for my son.”
“If you do it now,” Elezaar countered, “most people are so concerned with the plague, that the betrothal of your son, or the lack of it, will barely rate a mention.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” she mused. “I can just imagine how uncomfortable it must be for both Damin and Leila.”
“Then put them out of their misery. Write the letter.”
She nodded, thinking the time had probably come to do just that. Mahkas would understand.
“I’ll do it in the morning. In the meantime, I suppose I’d better be getting down to dinner.”
“They’ll wait for you, your highness.”
“Did we ever get a message from the Sorcerers’ Collective explaining why Alija didn’t come to the funeral?”
“Not a word,” Elezaar confirmed. “Perhaps the High Arrion has succumbed to the plague herself? She didn’t look well when she left here the other day after Master Tirstone passed away. In fact, she fled the house like all the demons of the Harshini were on her tail.”
“I could never be that lucky,” Marla sighed, thinking how convenient it would be if the plague removed Alija and a few other enemies she’d dearly like to be rid of before it was done. Pity there wasn’t a way to select whom it killed. “Go downstairs and let them know I’m on my way, would you?”
“Are you sure you’re feeling well enough for dinner, your highness?” Elezaar asked again, clearly worried about her. It wasn’t an idle concern. They’d had plague in the house now. Despite all the precautions she had taken to keep Ruxton isolated, there was no telling how many of them would fall victim to it.
“I’m not ill, Elezaar,” she assured him. “Just weary.”
“It’s all right to grieve for him, you know,” the dwarf told her gently.
She turned to him sharply, angered by his presumptuousness.
“Don’t try to second-guess me, Fool.”
“I’m sorry, your highness,” he said, instantly contrite. “I will deliver your message. Was there anything else?”
“No. Just leave me be.”
“As you wish, your highness.”
Marla heard the door close behind the dwarf and turned to look at her reflection again. She hadn’t cried much when Laran died, too overwhelmed with guilt at the thought that his death might be some sort of punishment for her infidelity. She’d not cried when Nash died, either. The hypocrisy of weeping for a man she had arranged to have assassinated was too much, even for Marla. She barely even noticed when Jarvan Mariner passed on, too involved in securing his vast wealth and furthering her ambitions for her son.
But Ruxton was different. They’d been married sixteen years. He was a friend, not a lover. One should be allowed to weep for lost friends.
So she did. For one small instant in time, Marla let down her walls, put her head in her hands and wept for Ruxton Tirstone.
Chapter 54
From the moment Luciena mentioned she was interested in purchasing ships from the Fardohnyans, King Hablet’s entire demeanour changed towards his reluctant houseguests. It made her very suspicious, but Xanda seemed unsurprised. According to her husband, trade was such a fundamental part of the Fardohnyan makeup the king probably didn’t even realise he was doing anything differently now he’d smelled a whiff of profit on the wind.
As Xanda predicted, after the restrictions of a sailing ship, the children had run riot through the palace. Luciena couldn’t blame them. After being confined on board for weeks, and trapped in a city riddled with plague prior to that, they were thrilled to finally have the illusion of freedom. Every time she tried to scold them for their unruly behaviour, however, Xanda stopped her. Let them go, he advised. They’re only children. Xanda claimed Hablet wasn’t that bothered by the children, anyway.
Oddly enough, the Fardohnyan king seemed rather fond of them. But her riotous offspring drove that slimy little eunuch, Lecter Turon, quite insane. And that, Xanda claimed, made it all worthwhile.
Luciena was inclined to agree. There was something about the chamberlain that set her teeth on edge.
She was not the only one who thought that way about the eunuch, Luciena soon discovered.
Hablet’s eldest daughter, Adrina, had a similar opinion of her father’s closest advisor and made no secret of the fact.
The princess had shared her dislike of the chamberlain with the entire dinner party a few days after they first arrived at the palace, making some rude comment across the table about Lecter that had her father guffawing with laughter and the chamberlain shooting her venomous looks that did not augur well for her future.
Adrina appeared unconcerned. She was a dusky, exotic, green-eyed creature with some indefinable quality about her that made men stop and take a second look. She wasn’t pretty the same way her younger sister Cassandra was. Luciena wasn’t sure what it was about the young princess, but even Xanda remarked on it.
Striking, he called her, not beautiful.
Of course, the fact that she usually dressed in the traditional Fardohnyan manner, which left her midriff bare—from just below her ample breasts to just below her jewelled navel—may have had something to do with the reason every man in the room followed her with his eyes whenever she graced them with her presence.
Adrina had a reputation for being rather difficult. Luciena had found her quite the opposite. She was charming, spoke Hythrun with barely a trace of an accent, and was frighteningly well educated. She had a sharp wit and a clever sense of humour and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, even when she knew her father wouldn’t approve of her opinions. Confined to the harem unless granted permission by the king to leave, however, Luciena usually only saw her at dinner on the nights Hablet desired her company.
But today Luciena was visiting Adrina and had been allowed, for the first time, to step into Hablet’s legendary harem.
Luciena wasn’t sure what she was expecting. A room crammed with terrified women, she imagined, all primping and preening themselves, waiting to be chosen by their king for a night of desperate pleasure, hoping their performance was enough to catch his interest so they might be asked back for a return visit, perhaps. But to her surprise, the harem, as it turned out, wasn’t even a room.
It was more a palace within a palace. Behind the harem walls were extensive gardens, a number of large buildings that housed the living and sleeping areas of the complex, a separate nursery and school for the children, their own kitchens, entertainment areas, even stables and a round yard where the royal children learned to ride. Nor was the harem confined to women. There were male slaves everywhere she looked (all eunuchs, Luciena suspected), a number of Loronged male court’esa who probably doubled as entertainment for the women and tutors for the children, depending on their area of expertise. Along the high walls, a contingent of Palace Guardsmen patrolled the wall-walk, although whether they were there to stop anybody breaking in or to prevent the residents from escaping, Luciena couldn’t say for certain.
Across the lawns, the laughter of several children chasing hoops around a larger pavilion caught her attention.
“Luciena!”
She turned as Adrina hailed her from a small, silk-shaded pavilion set amid a flower-filled grotto on her left. The male slave leading her through the gardens bowed silently and walked away. Adrina indicated Luciena should sit on the small chair by the table.
“Good morning, your highness,” she said, taking the proffered seat. Adrina’s slave stepped forward and proceeded to pour wine for them both. When the slave was done, the princess waved her away. “Leave us, Tamylan.”
The slave bowed and silently withdrew, leaving Luciena alone with the princess.
“Do you have harems in Hythria?” she asked Luciena, taking a sip of her wine.
Luciena shook her head, quite certain the princess already knew the answer to her own question. One didn’t learn to speak a language so well without knowing something of a nation’s customs.
“No, your highness,” she replied with a smile. “The men of Hythria find it hard enough to handle one wife, although it’s not uncommon for a married couple to keep a number of court’esa on staff.”
“Does your husband keep court’esa?”
“We have two,” Luciena confirmed. “One of them is a singer of some renown. She was a gift from Princess Marla on our tenth wedding anniversary. The other is a delightful young man, who, I have to admit, I bought for his accounting skills rather than his sexual prowess.”
“Is your husband in love with his court’esa?”
Luciena looked at the princess oddly, thinking it a very strange question. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“You’re lucky, then. My father is always falling in love with his court’esa. Never his wives.”
Luciena thought it very sad that Adrina should have such a gloomy outlook on life. “I’m sure your mother and father love each other very much, your highness.”
Adrina laughed sourly. “My father had my mother beheaded when I was two months old, Luciena. She tried to poison the court’esa he was in love with.”
“Oh,” Luciena said, not sure how else to respond to a revelation like that.
“Tell me about Hythria,” the princess ordered abruptly. “Is it true the Sorcerers’ Palace was built by the Harshini?”
“I believe it was.”
“And is it true your High Prince spends most of his time having lavish orgies in his roof garden where he engages in a wide range of perverted sexual practices involving young boys, animals and sick blood rites?”
Luciena almost choked on her wine. “I couldn’t really say, your highness,” she replied evasively.
Adrina smiled. “It’s all right, Luciena, you’re not giving away any state secrets. Everybody knows what the Wolfblade family is like.”
“And what exactly are they like, do you suppose?” she asked, rather take
n aback by the young woman’s obvious contempt for Hythria’s royal family.
“Wasteful, perverted, irresponsible . . . we have competitions, sometimes, to see who can think of the most adjectives.”
“Are you aware, your highness, that I am an adopted member of this family you so casually malign?”
“Of course I am,” the princess shrugged. “But you want to buy ships from us, so, in my father’s mind at least, that cancels out any negative feelings he may entertain towards you regarding your family ties.”
“And what about in your mind?”
Adrina thought about her answer for a moment. “I worry for Hythria.”
“That’s very generous of you, your highness.”
The young woman smiled at Luciena’s tone. “Look north sometime, my lady. Karien is full of the Overlord’s fanatics and Medalon is ruled by an atheist cult. It is left to Fardohnya and Hythria to ensure the Primal Gods are worshipped in the proper manner. Without us, the Harshini will never be able to return. I worry for Hythria, because if your nation gets much weaker, either Medalon or Karien might decide the apple is too ripe to leave hanging on the tree unattended.”
“You judge us far too harshly, your highness.”
“I don’t think so,” Adrina said. “Or can you give me reason to hope? Is Lernen’s successor going to do any better? I hear he’s rather fond of horse racing. Definitely a sign that he’s a serious and thoughtful ruler in the making.”
Luciena shook her head, unsure what she was supposed to say. Such cynical contempt was quite unexpected from one so young. “Did you invite me here just to point out the failings of my family?”
Adrina bowed her head apologetically, perhaps realising she might have overstepped the mark.
“I’m sorry, I really didn’t invite you here to upset you. Or insult you. In fact, my reasons are quite the opposite. I invited you here to warn you.”
“About what?”
“About the danger you and your family are in. I’m not the only one in the Summer Palace who thinks this way about the Wolfblades, Luciena.”
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