Wolfblade

by Jennifer Fallon

  chapter 67

  T

  he High Arrion looked exhausted when he arrived at the palace. After a perfunctory greeting for Marla, Bylinda and Nash, he retired to his rooms almost immediately. He wasn’t at dinner that night or at breakfast the next morning. Marla was quite worried about him. He was an old man, after all, and it was a long way from Greenharbour. Perhaps the journey had taken more out of him than he’d expected. Kagan had sent a message asking not to be disturbed so she ordered Orleon to see that his every need was catered for and went to check on Bylinda.

  Her sister-in-law was having an uncomfortable time of it this morning and had stayed in bed. It was obvious she must give birth any day now, but the child seemed reluctant to leave the warmth and security of the womb. Marla hoped it didn’t mean it was going to be a difficult birth. Even for a woman as well cared for as Bylinda, childbirth was a dangerous time. But the midwives seemed unconcerned, assuring their young mistress that the babe would come when it was good and ready. So Marla left Bylinda with the midwives and went looking for Nash.

  “Lord Hawksword took Master Travin and Master Xanda into the city just after breakfast,” Orleon informed her when she couldn’t find him in the palace.

  “Why?”

  “Do you expect me to question the comings and goings of every visitor in the palace, your highness?”

  “I expect you to know why my nephews were allowed to leave in the care of a stranger.”

  “Lord Hawksword is hardly a stranger, my lady, and he took a full guard with him. The young lords will be quite safe.”

  Marla remained silent, having learned that a glare was sometimes the only way to deal with the steward.

  “I believe they mentioned something about puppies, your highness,” he added after a moment.

  “And you couldn’t just tell me Lord Hawksword had taken the boys into the city to buy them a dog?”

  Nash had promised the boys he’d get them their very own fighting dog the day he arrived, even though Marla thought them much too young to own anything so potentially vicious.

  Orleon had the sense to look a little shamefaced. “I apologise, your highness.”

  Marla had the feeling that Orleon wasn’t in the least bit sorry, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. “I would like to be informed as soon as they return. I have matters I need to discuss with Lord Hawksword.”

  “As you wish, your highness.”

  “I’ll be in the nursery.”

  “Very good, your highness.”

  “Very good, your highness,” she muttered sarcastically under her breath as she walked away, her slippers silent on the perfectly polished floor. If it was “very good, your highness”, she shouldn’t have to ask these things at all.

  As it turned out, Marla didn’t need to wait on Orleon to advise her of Nash’s return. Nash brought Travin and Xanda back to the nursery himself just before lunch—fortunately without a puppy. There had been nothing available that Nash had liked the look of, he claimed, so the boys had returned empty-handed. Marla was quite relieved. The task of choosing any sort of companion—canine or otherwise—for Laran’s nephews should have been left to Laran or Mahkas, she thought.

  “Orleon mentioned that you wished to speak to me, your highness,” Nash remarked casually after the boys had finished their excited tale about the terriers they’d been to see.

  She nodded, handing Damin over to Lirena. Starros stood near the old nurse, hiding behind her skirts. He was still wary of all these new faces, but had taken the change in his circumstances with remarkable equanimity. Marla suspected the child was too street-smart to question his sudden good fortune. He was simply riding this unanticipated wave of prosperity while it lasted, probably expecting it to come to an end at any moment. After tut-tutting about the notion of allowing a working court’esa’s bastard into the nursery, Lirena and Veruca had taken the child under their collective wing and set about making him look more like a suitable companion for a prince. Starros was scrubbed this morning, his hair trimmed and combed neatly, and he was dressed in a shirt, trousers and boots that had once belonged to Xanda. He was really quite a presentable-looking child when he was clean.

  Marla spared the child a quick, reassuring smile, kissed her son and then took a deep breath before turning to face Nash.

  “Yes, I would like a word with you, my lord,” she agreed, trying to sound formal and aloof. “Would you take a turn around the gardens with me?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  Leaving the children in the care of Lirena, Marla waited for Nash to open the door for her then stepped out onto the terrace which led down to the lawns. Nash fell into step beside her as they walked away from the palace.

  Neither of them said a word until they were out of sight of the terrace, at which point Nash took her arm and led her into one of the sheltered grottoes scattered through the gardens. Surrounded by a tall hedge which was covered in jasmine climbing across from the nearby wall, there was a small love-seat in the grotto beside a fountain sculpted in the shape of Kalianah, the child Goddess of Love, pouring water into the small pool through an earthenware pitcher. Marla glanced around with a frown. Of all the places she didn’t want this conversation to happen, Kalianah’s grotto was probably the top of the list.

  Another day had given Marla a chance to think things through, and she realised the folly of what she had been contemplating. It didn’t matter what she felt about Nash. She gave up any hope for something between them the day she married Laran. What was it Jeryma had said back in Cabradell when she confessed her own dalliance? Affairs like that are doomed to fail.

  It would break Marla’s heart to give up the only man she had ever truly wanted, or loved, but she had her son to think of. And the danger was very real. A cuckolded husband was quite within his rights to put aside an adulterous wife. And he could deny her any access to their child. Her mother-in-law was right. If you need that sort of comfort, stick to a court’esa, Jeryma had advised. They’re actually better at it and they don’t come with all the risks attached to one’s own class. Keeping a slave for pleasure wasn’t considered cheating. Slaves were possessions, after all, not people. A wife could only be accused of cheating if she indulged in an affair with a free man.

  Filled with a sense of righteousness, Marla took a deep breath before she spoke.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the other evening,” she began as she pulled away from Nash and put the small fountain between them.

  Nash didn’t answer her. He simply waited for her to continue. His expression was hard to read, but he had learned one lesson. He wasn’t looking in the least bit smug.

  “There can be nothing between us, Nash. You know that.”

  “I see,” he replied in a voice that betrayed no emotion at all.

  “I mean it,” she added sternly. “I don’t want you to even suggest such a thing, ever again. What happened must be forgotten.”

  “As you wish.”

  She glared at him suspiciously. “So you agree?”

  “If that’s what you want of me . . .”

  “It is.”

  He nodded. “Very well.”

  This was too easy. She felt a stab of disappointment. Nash had capitulated to her wishes far too readily. Maybe he never really loved her at all. Maybe that’s why he raised no objections to her insistence that he stop pursuing her. He didn’t care . . .

  Marla swallowed hard in an attempt to lubricate her dry mouth. She was suddenly aware of every little detail—the cobalt sky, the warm spring air with a hint of jasmine on it from the hedge. The birds chirping in the branches of the milkwood trees near the outer wall. She could feel the silk of her gown against every pore, even the leather on the soles of her slippers.

  “Well,” she said uncomfortably. “That’s taken care of that, then.”

  She squared her shoulders and walked back around the fountain towards the small arch in the hedge which led back to the path.

  “Marla .
. .”

  She turned back to him impatiently. “What?”

  “I’ll always love you.”

  She was three steps away from Nash. And three small steps away from the path outside the grotto and doing the right thing. Marla hesitated for barely a moment before turning her back on every good excuse and reason she’d thought up in the past two days for not following her heart. With those four words Nash undid every good intention she aspired to.

  Hearing that simple admission, Marla discovered she didn’t care about anything else.

  Marla was in Nash’s arms before she had time to question the lunacy of her decision. He lifted her off the ground, kissing her hard and hungrily. She kissed him back ferociously, wrapping her legs around him, wishing she could treasure this moment, this feeling, forever.

  For the first time since she rode out of Highcastle more than two years ago, Marla felt like she was doing something for herself—not for her brother, or for Laran or for Hythria, but for herself.

  Ignited by a moment of madness, her ardour had no bounds. There was no need for words. Nash stumbled backwards and Marla landed astride him on the small patch of lawn. Neither of them had the breath or the wit to speak. Perhaps it was this place. Here in this grotto dedicated to the Goddess of Love, reason and duty dissolved into mist. Only pleasure mattered. Only love prevailed.

  Marla didn’t even realise her gown was gone until she felt Nash’s lips on her breast, his hands between her thighs. She was so consumed by the heat of her desire, she didn’t even notice that he’d unbuckled his belt. Nash didn’t bother trying to undress completely, for which Marla was extremely grateful. This was urgent and the awkwardness of high boots and tight trousers was something she had no time to deal with. She was still tearing at his shirt when she felt him enter her. Arching her back, she cried out—a moan of sheer ecstasy. Nash pulled her head down and silenced her with a kiss, perhaps still aware enough of his surroundings to understand that anybody strolling past the grotto through the gardens might hear them. Marla didn’t care. She just wanted Nash. She wanted this to go on forever; wanted this moment of bliss to last a lifetime.

  Marla wasn’t sure how long it was before they were spent. She knew only that nothing in her life, not all the lectures from Elezaar, or demonstrations from Corin, or even the considerate ministrations of her husband, had prepared her for this.

  It was, she decided, worth everything it might eventually cost her.

  “Why don’t they warn you it’s like this when you’re in love?” she murmured dreamily as she rolled onto the grass beside Nash, breathing hard.

  “That would take all the fun out of it, I suppose,” he answered, gathering her into his arms. Marla snuggled into his embrace and looked up at the sky. The sun had barely moved but the world had shifted significantly since she’d last glanced at it a few minutes ago.

  “I love you, Nash,” she sighed. It felt so good to say it aloud. And she needed to say it. She needed him to know she loved him; that this wasn’t some tawdry way to pass the time because she was bored and lonely as Laran’s wife and the Mistress of Krakandar.

  “And I love you,” he replied, kissing her forehead tenderly.

  “I just wish . . .”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know . . . that it could always be like this, I suppose. Or that we could do it in a real bed.” She smiled suddenly. “This grass is going to make me itch like crazy.”

  Nash laughed softly and sat up, making Marla do the same.

  “Get dressed,” he advised.

  She felt suddenly cheapened by his practicality. She wanted to lie here in his arms forever.

  “I can come to your room tonight,” he offered as he tucked in his shirt.

  “No, you can’t risk it!”

  “Why not?” he asked, reaching for her gown. He tossed Marla the garment which lay abandoned on the grass a few feet away.

  “Are you insane?” she gasped as she slipped the rumpled gown over her head. “How long could we keep this a secret if every slave in the palace knows you’ve been sneaking into my room at night?”

  “I’ll use the slaveways.”

  “The what?”

  “The slaveways,” he explained. “The tunnels between all the suites. Some distant ancestor of Laran’s had them built. Seemed he didn’t like the idea of his slaves walking the same halls as their masters. They connect all the main suites with the kitchens and the other service areas of the palace.”

  “You mean there are secret tunnels all through Krakandar Palace?” she asked in astonishment.

  “Well, I’d hardly call them secret,” he laughed, doing up his trousers. “We used to play in them all the time when I was fostered here as a child. Some of them are still in use, as far as I know. It’s the quickest way from the kitchens to the main banquet hall, that’s for certain. And the only way to get the food to the guests before it cools. I thought Laran would have told you about them before now.”

  “He never said a word.”

  “Well, he probably didn’t think them worthy of mention,” Nash shrugged. “Anyway, it means our rooms are connected. I can come and go as often as you please.”

  She smiled at him, thinking that to answer that comment would only prove how wanton she had become. “You’ll come to me tonight?”

  “Nothing short of death could keep me away,” he promised, climbing to his feet. He held out his hand to her and pulled her up. In the distance they could hear voices. Female voices. Some of the palace ladies taking a turn around the gardens before lunch, probably.

  Nash kissed her quickly, furtively, and then smiled, pulling a twig from her hair. “You’re a real mess. You’d best get back to the palace and get cleaned up. And hope you don’t meet anybody on the way back.”

  “What will I tell them if I do?”

  “The truth,” he suggested with a soft laugh. “That way nobody will believe you.”

  She kissed him again hungrily as the voices drew nearer. “Tonight?” she whispered. “Promise?”

  “I promise,” he said, peeling her arms from around his neck. “Now go!”

  Checking the path outside the grotto, Marla slipped away. She blew Nash a kiss as she left, wondering why, of all the emotions she was feeling at the moment, not one of them felt like guilt.

  chapter 68

  B

  uilt on a small hill, the Krakandar palace commanded a view of the entire city, which sprawled across the surrounding slopes with geometric precision. The city was constructed of the local dark-red granite, which was quarried not far away and was one of the province’s major exports.

  Krakandar’s population numbered close to twelve thousand, they guessed, and had been growing steadily for a number of years now, so consistently, in fact, that Mahkas had suggested to Laran on a number of occasions that he should take a census to find out what the current population was exactly. The city was laid out in concentric rings and looked—even to the inexperienced eye—almost impregnable, but that wouldn’t mean much if a shantytown grew up outside the walls, as had happened in so many other cities when their ruling lords gave little thought to planning for the future.

  There were two rings in the city, each one protected by progressively more complex defences. The inner ring housed the palace and most of the government buildings. It also contained a huge grain store that each year at harvest time was filled as insurance against a siege. This close to the northern border, they couldn’t risk complacency. Prior to the annual harvest, the Krakandar stewards distributed the past year’s grain to the poor and, come harvest, the warehouses were filled again for the following year. The outer ring contained the markets and industries of the city and housing for the bulk of the population, the residences growing progressively more affluent the closer one got to the inner ring.

  The men rode through the massive iron-reinforced gates into the outer ring of the city, the guards on the gate recognising Mahkas on sight. Little fuss was made of their return, although
a few speculative gazes followed the troop as they rode by.

  There was a good argument for building an outer ring and moving the city’s industries and markets away from the inner ring, Mahkas thought, as they rode through the city. It would mean freeing up a good half of the existing outer ring and making it available for housing. An additional ring would enhance the city’s defences, too, but it would cost a great deal. Still, it wasn’t really as if they couldn’t afford it. The Warlord of Krakandar was richer than a god, now he had access to Sunrise’s revenue as well.

  I’ll have to do something about that, he decided. The people needed the room, and even with slaves doing the bulk of the physical labour, the city would benefit from the employment such an undertaking would generate. I’ll bring a level of prosperity to Krakandar the likes of which have never been seen before . . .

  As they rode on towards the inner wall, however, Mahkas’s idle musings about vast capital works to improve Krakandar were no longer able to offer him a diversion. He began to feel ill. He was bringing home more than just cattle for the Feast of Kalianah and his burden weighed on him like the weight of the entire world.

  They had delivered the cattle taken in the raid to the abattoir in the city’s outer ring earlier this evening. It had been a very successful raid in some respects. They’d got away with nearly thirty head of cattle—three times what Laran had estimated they would need. But the cost had been prohibitive. The Defender patrol they’d encountered on the return journey had been commanded by Captain Jenga, just as Mahkas had feared. They’d had no hint of the ambush waiting for them at the Border Stream, although they probably should have suspected something. But there had been so little sign of the Defenders—during and after the raid—that even Laran had been convinced that, for once, they might get away cleanly.

  Mahkas consoled himself with the notion that it had been Laran’s error that had cost them so dearly. Laran was the one who judged it safe to cross the border. It really wasn’t Mahkas’s fault. He’d simply taken advantage of the situation.