Wolfblade

by Jennifer Fallon

  He didn’t have much time. Forcing himself not to think about what he’d done—what she’d forced him to do, he corrected self-righteously—Mahkas grabbed one end of the wire still embedded in Darilyn’s throat and tossed it over the beam. He caught the other end and hauled on it until Darilyn began to lift from the chair. Then he encountered another problem. The wire cut through human flesh as if it was butter and the dead weight of her body was causing the harp string to slice so far into her neck he was in danger of decapitating her. Cursing, he had to let her down again. He’d have trouble convincing anyone she’d committed suicide if that happened.

  Mahkas hauled on her again, lifting her more slowly this time, the wire sawing through the beam and Darilyn’s throat with almost equal ease. After a few minutes of careful lifting, though, he finally got her feet clear of the floor and the puddle of blood that had dripped down from her severed head and pooled beneath her. Hurriedly, Mahkas tied off the wire on one of the hat-pegs by the door, then, with infinite care, he tiptoed around the bloody floor to the door, making sure he left no footprints to betray his presence during Darilyn’s death throes. He refused to look at her too closely. The force of the wire had dislocated her jaw and her face was misshapen and grotesque beneath the veil of blood she wore.

  Mahkas took several deep breaths and checked his clothes once more before opening the door. The only evidence he’d been in a struggle was a slight tear in the sling and a small bead of blood on the sleeve of his shirt, easily explained away by his wounded arm bleeding from overuse.

  Lifting the sling back into place and forcing his face into an unconcerned expression, he let himself out of Darilyn’s room and walked down the candle-lit corridor to the main hall where his nephews were probably still trying to convince Veruca that Uncle Mahkas had promised them a treat.

  In a little while, he’d send the boys to say goodnight to their mother and her tragic suicide would be discovered. That would further strengthen his story when he faced Laran tomorrow. No man in his right mind would send two young boys to discover what was awaiting them in Darilyn’s room.

  But that was all right, he mused, because Mahkas was starting to wonder if he’d lost his mind anyway.

  chapter 58

  W

  internest came into view late on the afternoon of Thirdday. Laran had never been so glad, yet so tormented, at the idea of coming home. Not that Winternest was his home. No place in the whole of Sunrise Province really felt like a home to him. It was familiar, certainly, and comforting to be back, but it was the red granite walls of Krakandar that Laran considered his true home.

  When he spied the castle he noted the flags were all flying at half-mast, a sure sign the news about Riika had reached the border post already. Laran considered himself something of a coward for breaking the news about their sister’s death to Mahkas and Darilyn in a letter rather than in person. But what did one say at a time like this? Mahkas was probably blaming himself. Darilyn—assuming she was innocent of any involvement in the affair—was probably just as torn with grief. Once they found the traitor in their household, things would be a lot easier to deal with, he reasoned. Their anger would have a focus. Their need for vengeance would have something concrete to fix itself to.

  Laran clung to that thought as he led the funeral procession into Winternest. He had dispensed with Hablet’s escort, leaving the Fardohnyan guard of honour back at Westbrook. Only the Krakandar Raiders were given the honour of bringing Riika home.

  Mahkas was waiting for him in the bailey of the southern keep, his arm still in a sling, his expression grave. The boys were with him, standing either side of their uncle, but there was no sign of Darilyn in the welcoming party.

  Laran dismounted, handed his reins to one of the grooms then waited until the carriage bearing Riika’s body had come to a complete stop before he turned to greet his brother.

  “This is a sad day for our family, Mahkas.”

  “Sadder than you realise,” his brother agreed. He glanced at the coach with a shake of his head. “I’ve made room in the main hall for her. I thought it would be more . . . comforting, than what passes for a temple here.”

  Laran nodded, and signalled the Raiders to bring Riika’s body inside. The boys watched solemnly as their aunt was lifted out of the coach and carried towards the keep.

  “Mama won’t be so lonely now,” Travin announced. “Not with Aunt Riika for company.”

  Laran looked down at his nephew in confusion. “What?”

  “Veruca!” Mahkas barked sharply. “Take the children inside, please.” As the nurse hurried forward, Mahkas laid his hand on Laran’s arm. “There’s something you need to see.”

  Puzzled, Laran followed Mahkas into the hall in the wake of the guards carrying Riika. The room was ablaze with candles and a trestle had been set up near the fireplace to take Riika’s stretcher. Next to that table, another body was laid out, covered with a funerary cloth of gold, similar to the one that covered Riika.

  Laran stared at the second body for a moment then strode forward, impatiently throwing back the cover. His shock at finding Darilyn lying on the second trestle left him speechless. Mahkas dismissed the guards and turned to Laran as soon as they were alone.

  “She intercepted your letter,” he explained, walking the length of the hall to stand at the head of Riika’s trestle. “I swear, I had no idea she was involved, Laran. Not until I was told Raek Harlen had come back early and I went looking for the dispatch you sent with him. She was distraught when I found her, in tears over Riika’s death, I thought, at first. But then she started babbling about how she hated you and how she had no control over her life and how things would have been so much better once she had money of her own . . .”

  “How did she die?” Laran’s voice was flat and lifeless.

  “She hung herself,” Mahkas informed him. “After I spoke to her and realized the depth of her infamy . . . well, she knew I was furious. And I had to leave at that point, Laran, I swear, because I was ready to kill her myself for what she’d done. Anyway, I’d confined her to her room while I considered what I should do next, when I heard Veruca scream. She’d taken the boys in to say goodnight to their mother and they found her hanging from a beam . . . It was awful, Laran. She used the wire from her harp. I’ve never seen so much blood.”

  “Did the boys see her?”

  “Travin did, but I’m not sure if he realises what he saw. Fortunately, Xanda was pulled away by Veruca before he could get a good look at her.”

  Laran pulled the cover back a bit further. Darilyn’s arms were crossed, resting on her chest. He pulled down the high collar of her gown to find that Mahkas spoke the truth. Her neck was severed almost to the point of decapitation.

  “Are we being punished, Mahkas?” he asked, as he gently laid the cloth down. “Is this the price the gods have extracted for our arrogance?”

  “Perhaps,” Mahkas agreed. “It seems rather a high price, though.”

  Laran shook his head, unable to comprehend the tragedy that had brought both his sisters to such untimely deaths. He discovered he wasn’t angry at Darilyn. He was still too numb to be capable of rage. He just felt weary. And old.

  “What do I tell Jeryma?”

  “The truth,” Mahkas suggested. “It’s always better when you tell the truth. Much less pain in the long run.”

  Laran shook his head sadly. “I can’t believe she would do such a thing . . . her own sister? It’s . . . it’s almost inconceivable.”

  “Don’t judge her too harshly, Laran.”

  Mahkas’s words made him feel rather ignoble, but Laran couldn’t find it in himself to forgive this. Not yet. It was too raw; too painful for forgiveness. “Your generosity of spirit is far greater than mine, little brother. I doubt I will ever be able to forgive her.”

  “Neither of us could ever really know what drove her to such an act,” Mahkas said. “But you know she’s always been resentful of Riika. And of the fact that you controlled her w
ealth.”

  “I never denied her, Mahkas. Not once.”

  “But you could have,” Mahkas reminded him. “It was the possibility that drove her mad, I think, not the facts.”

  Laran glanced down at Darilyn once more then pulled the gold funerary cloth back over her head. “It doesn’t seem right, leaving Riika here in the same room as her murderer.”

  “Don’t think of them as victim and assailant. They were family first.”

  “Family don’t arrange to have each other kidnapped and murdered, Mahkas.”

  “Nor did Darilyn, I suspect. She would have thought only of the profit to be made from a hefty ransom you were sure to pay, not of any other consequences.”

  Laran looked at Mahkas, whose face seemed carved out of grief in the flickering candle-lit hall. “You’re far more charitable towards her than I’m feeling right now, brother.”

  “One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Mahkas replied.

  Laran nodded. “Do the boys understand . . . ?”

  Mahkas shrugged. “I’m not certain. Travin’s old enough to realise what’s going on, but Xanda? Who knows? Which brings me to another matter. I was thinking . . .”

  “What?”

  “Well, someone has to take care of them now. Mother has done her time raising children, and Marla’s going to have her hands full with the new babe. Perhaps, when Bylinda and I are married, they could come and live with us?”

  “It’s my responsibility to see my nephews cared for,” Laran replied. Mahkas was making this far too easy for him. “Not yours.”

  “And how is placing them in a loving home with their own uncle not discharging your duty, Laran? I care for those boys as much as you do.”

  Laran nodded, conceding the wisdom of Mahkas’s suggestion. “Perhaps they should stay with you, then. If you’re sure Bylinda won’t mind.”

  “She loves the boys as I do.”

  He shook his head uncomprehendingly. “How typical of Darilyn to worry only about her own fate, and not care for the future of her orphaned sons.”

  “Selflessness was never a virtue of hers,” Mahkas agreed.

  Laran sighed heavily. “It’s a sad journey we’ll be making back to Cabradell.”

  “I’ve made arrangements for us to get away first thing in the morning,” Mahkas informed him. “With the immediate threat of reprisals from Fardohnya no longer an issue, I’m not needed here any longer.”

  Laran nodded in agreement. “We’ll take the girls home in the morning.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to your own devices for a time, if that’s all right? I have a few more things to arrange before we leave and I promised the boys I’d tell them a story before they went to sleep.”

  “You’ll spoil them.”

  “They need a little spoiling at the moment.”

  “No wonder you’re their favourite uncle.”

  Mahkas smiled faintly. “They love you, too.”

  “Not as much as their Uncle Mahkas. You have far more patience with them than I do. You’ll make a fine father when you have your own sons.”

  “So will you, Laran,” Mahkas assured him. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  Mahkas turned and headed towards the entrance to the hall, leaving Laran between his two sisters. He was almost at the door before something else Mahkas had said worked its way forward into Laran’s consciousness.

  “You said Marla would have her hands full with the new babe?” Laran called after his brother. “What did you mean?”

  Mahkas stopped and turned to him. “I’m sorry, Laran. With everything that’s gone on these past few days it completely slipped my mind. A letter arrived from Cabradell the day after you left for Westbrook. Marla is with child.”

  “Already?”

  “You’re obviously a quick worker,” his brother noted with a hint of a smile.

  “How strange to be thinking of a new life in the midst of so much death.”

  “The gods never let the balance falter for long,” Mahkas pointed out.

  Laran nodded, thinking that was the most logical thing he’d heard anyone say for the past few days. The rest of it didn’t seem real. Riika and Darilyn were dead and Marla was pregnant. It felt like he had stepped into a whirlwind that was gradually picking up speed, and that any minute now he would be flung off in some random direction that only the gods could predict.

  “So all is not lost,” Mahkas added. “We have our heir to Hythria.”

  “And all it cost was the lives of our two sisters,” Laran replied.

  chapter 59

  F

  or the second time in almost as many months, Kagan presided over a funeral on the crowded slopes of the Cabradell valley as his youngest niece was laid to rest beside her father. It was the most heartbreaking thing he had ever done.

  In contrast to the sombre gathering, it was bright and sunny—a glorious spring day that cared little for the sad duty they were performing under a cloudless, cobalt sky. He stepped back and waited as the family placed their parting gifts on the bier then moved forward again to beg Death’s sympathetic consideration for this pure and unsullied soul when he welcomed her into his realm. As Kagan said the final prayer and stepped back again to allow the pallbearers to lift Riika onto their shoulders he glanced at his sister. Veiled in mourning white, Jeryma stood beside Marla Wolfblade who held Darilyn’s two boys by the hand. She looked shattered.

  There were only four pallbearers. Riika’s slight body required no more. Laran and Mahkas took the front, Chaine Tollin and Raek Harlen the rear. The young lieutenant had begged the boon from Laran en route from Winternest. They carried her into the vault, taking with them the hopes of a whole province. Kagan wasn’t sure what effect the death of Glenadal Raven-spear’s only child was going to have on the people of Sunrise Province, but whatever it was, he doubted it would be a good one. Laran was going to have to tread very carefully these next few months.

  It was hard not to feel partly responsible for Riika’s death. And Darilyn’s death, too. Like his nephew, Kagan suffered from an uneasy feeling of guilt. The additional loss of Wrayan still weighed on him like a constant pressure on his chest that made it difficult to breathe.

  All this time without word from his apprentice could only mean one thing. The boy was probably dead; he had accepted that. Whether Alija had killed him, or he had been wounded in his confrontation with her and died later, remained a mystery. Tesha claimed Alija was quite shocked to find Wrayan gone when she dragged the elder sorcerer into the temple to bear witness to his alleged crimes, but that could have been an act for Tesha’s benefit.

  The only thing Kagan was certain of was that there was no chance Wrayan was out there somewhere, hale and hearty, having simply decided not to return to his master. Unfortunately, months of investigation had left Kagan no wiser than he had been when he first returned to Greenharbour.

  It was another life lost to Glenadal’s plan.

  Funny how we’re all calling it that now—Glenadal’s plan—as if that absolves the living conspirators because it wasn’t our idea.

  But he was just as guilty as Glenadal Ravenspear. Kagan had wanted to avoid a Fardohnyan heir to the High Prince’s throne as badly as any other Hythrun. Thinking of their precious heir, his eyes rested on Marla for a moment. She showed no physical sign of her condition yet, other than that indefinable air of smug superiority all pregnant women seemed to acquire. It has something to do with being able to create and nurture life, Kagan thought. As if Jelanna, the Goddess of Fertility, endowed every pregnant woman with a sense of serene and total confidence in their ability to bring a child into the world. He’d first noticed the phenomenon when Jeryma was pregnant with Laran and had observed it in every pregnant woman he’d met since.

  The pallbearers emerged from the vault, signalling the end of the ceremony. Kagan noted, without surprise, that there was not a dry eye among the young men who had performed the heartbreaking duty of laying Riika Ravenspear t
o rest.

  But what happens now? he wondered. They were due to leave Cabradell in a few days to perform the same ceremony for Darilyn in Krakandar Province, where both her father and her husband were interred. She was to be laid beside her husband, Jaris, in the Taranger family vault in Walsark, the northernmost borough in Krakandar on the border between Medalon and Hythria.

  Another funeral procession. Another young life snuffed out prematurely. Kagan was uneasy with the manner of Darilyn’s death. He hadn’t thought her the suicidal type. Selfish, certainly. Shallow even. But not suicidal. Her wound disturbed him, too. Her throat was sliced to the bone. He couldn’t imagine how she had inflicted such injuries upon herself unaided.

  “My lord?”

  “Yes?” he replied, putting aside his disturbing train of thought. He turned to Marla, thinking she had coped better than all of them with this tragedy. But then she wasn’t as close to it as they were. To Marla, Riika Ravenspear and Darilyn Taranger were simply names—the sisters of the husband she barely knew. She had never met them and, while she understood the grief of those around her, she remained untouched by it.

  “Would you see Lady Jeryma back to the palace?” Marla asked.

  “Of course,” he replied, chiding himself silently for having to be asked. Jeryma had taken the loss of her daughters so close on the death of her husband very hard. “Will you keep an eye on the boys, your highness?”

  “They’ll be fine with me,” she assured him. She was still holding each of Darilyn’s sons by the hand and they seemed content with her company. Xanda clutched at the porcelain horse Jeryma had sent him. It was broken now, shattered as Darilyn kicked the table over when she hanged herself. Mahkas had apparently retrieved all the pieces but one, and glued them together for the child before they left Winternest, a remarkably generous act given the circumstances. The horse and its knightly rider were complete, except for the tip of his lance. There had been no chance of finding a piece so small in the chaos Darilyn left in her wake. Jeryma had tried to relieve Xanda of the horse before the funeral, but he’d refused to relinquish it and a mighty tantrum had ensued. Marla restored the peace in the end by promising to let him keep it—perhaps the first time in her life Jeryma had been overruled by another woman in her own home. But Marla was probably the only member of the family who wasn’t so wrapped up in her own grief that she couldn’t take the time to understand the distress of two young children who had just lost their mother.