“I fear you may be right about that,” Marla chuckled.
The door opened and a man entered carrying the tray of refreshments he’d ordered when Marla first arrived. Elin turned to discover it wasn’t a slave bringing the tray in but Marla’s stepson, and the son of the previous Raven, Galon Miar. Trained assassin though he was, Kiam didn’t seem to mind acting as a servant on this occasion. It was a mark of his fondness for Marla, Elin supposed.
Kiam placed the tray on the low table in front of Marla and then leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. “To what do we owe this rare honor, your highness? You don’t visit the Assassins’ Guild often these days. At least not in broad daylight.”
She smiled up at him fondly. “Still not ready to call me mother, are you?”
Kiam look a little uncomfortable at the question. “Well, since my father is dead, and you’re not really my stepmother any longer, I’m not sure it’s appropriate. I’m always amazed and touched that you continue to ask me to call you that, though.”
“She likes causing trouble,” Elin told Kiam, moving away from the window. “It amuses her royal highness to remind her enemies that her last husband was the Raven of the Assassins’ Guild and her son, the High Prince, has an assassin for a stepbrother.”
“You make me sound a terrible person, Elin.”
“You are a terrible person, your highness,” he told her. “And you’re far too unprincipled to make the grade as an assassin.” He turned to Kiam. “Speaking of making the grade, have you looked over the latest crop?”
Kiam shook his head. “I’ve been at the palace with the High Princess Adrina.”
Marla sighed, which made Elin smile. The dowager princess shared an uncomfortable relationship with her Fardohnyan daughter-in-law. “Who is Adrina arranging to have assassinated now?” Marla asked. “Me, I suppose?”
“You know he can’t answer that.”
“Actually, your highness, she wasn’t arranging to assassinate anybody. She wanted to hire me as an escort.”
“Why does she need an escort?”
“It’s not for her. It’s for her sister, Rakaia.”
Marla rolled her eyes. “Dear gods, are we to be inflicted with more of Hablet’s unwanted horde of daughters?”
The Fardohnyan king had scores of them, Elin knew, and only one legitimate son. Marrying his daughters off to suitable husbands was proving to be something of a chore for the Fardohnyan king, his sources in Talabar informed him. It wasn’t just that Hablet wanted to marry his daughters off; he needed to make sure none of them found a suitor rich or powerful enough to threaten his throne someday, something he’d failed at spectacularly with his eldest daughter. Every single daughter he had managed to dispose of had been so comprehensively removed from the line of succession their husbands had no hope of pushing one of their sons to challenge Alaric for the throne in the future.
It was a wise precaution. King Hablet’s plan to ally with his vast resource-rich northern neighbor, Karien, by marrying Adrina to their crown prince more than a decade ago, resulted in her eventually becoming the wife of his sworn enemy and High Princess of Hythria. It was only the Wolfblade family’s willingness to relinquish any similar claim on the Fardohnyan throne that placated Hablet and allowed peace to settle over the previously warring nations.
Kiam nodded. “Hablet has done a deal with Frederak Branador, according to Adrina. It’s quite a coup, from what Adrina was saying. Hablet gets access to the pass, but our trade delegates have been able to squeeze quite a bit out of Hablet in return. I have to say, though, the High Princess didn’t seem any more thrilled about the idea of her sister coming here to Hythria than you are, your highness.”
“That’s because Adrina knows her wretched father only sends the troublesome ones away from his harem.” Marla sniffed, adding, “Like his eldest daughter, for instance.”
“I’m curious, your highness,” Elin said, taking a seat on the low cushions opposite Marla. “Are you ever going to admit defeat?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Are you ever going to concede that Adrina loves your son, that Damin adores her even more, that she has given you four beautiful grandchildren and she has never done anything to warrant your low opinion of her, other than being unfortunate enough to be the eldest daughter of the Fardohnyan king?”
Marla pretended to consider the question for a moment and then shrugged. “No.”
“You see. You are a terrible person.”
“I’m a cautious person, Elin,” she corrected, and then turned to her stepson. “When did Adrina say we are to be inflicted with the curse of yet another entitled, spoiled, obnoxious Fardohnyan princess?”
“She wants me to leave for Winternest within a few days. I’m to meet Rakaia’s entourage at the border with a century of Greenharbour Raiders and escort them back here.”
“You see,” Marla pointed out to Elin. “She’s coming with an entourage, every one of whom will be sponging off us for months, if not years, while spying for Hablet.”
“Would you like me to kill them all before they get here?”
Marla smiled. “Ah, if only I thought for a moment that you weren’t joking, Ky.”
“I’m sure she’s a lovely girl,” Elin said.
“I wish I shared your optimism, Master Raven.” Marla held out her hand to Kiam. “Help me up, Kiam. I really need to be getting back to the palace. If the Fardohnyans are coming, I need to lock away the silverware.”
Kiam helped Marla to her feet. Once she was balanced on her cane, the princess turned to Elin. “Don’t bother getting up. Enjoy your lunch. I know you have a busy day ahead of you. Ky can see me out.”
He smiled at her. “It was good to see you again, your highness. You should visit us more often.”
“I should, Master Raven. And I will.”
He returned to the window as Marla limped from the room on Kiam’s arm. Below him, the Master of Assassins was putting the candidates through their paces around an obstacle course set up to test their fitness, among other things. He watched the boys struggling to scale the wooden barrier, some of them trying to climb, others thinking it better to take a run up and hope their momentum would carry them over.
A little while later the door opened and closed behind him. Kiam came to stand beside him at the window. Down in the courtyard, one of the boys trying to climb the barricade fell, landing heavily on the tiles. Another boy running toward the barricade stopped to help him up, before continuing on his way.
“Find out who that is,” Elin told him.
“The boy who fell?”
“No, the one who helped him up.” He glanced at Kiam. “Did the princess get away safely?”
“Still bitching about the Fardohnyans, but yes.”
He smiled. “There’s some history there, I suspect, which explains why she feels that way about Hablet. But she is right about one thing, and you need to be very wary if you take on this job as escort to Adrina’s sister.”
“I know. Adrina did warn me.”
“I hope she warned you enough. Because whether you trade on the relationship or not, your stepbrother is still the High Prince of Hythria, Kiam, and there is nothing more dangerous in this world than a Fardohnyan princess let out of the harem for the first time.” He turned from the window and indicated the buffet he’d had sent up for the princess. “Care to join me for lunch? That curry is blue-finned arlen.”
“That’s a fairly exotic dish for a lunch menu,” Kiam remarked, lifting the silver lid on the tureen to take a sniff. “Even with Marla coming for lunch.”
“The arlen was a gift,” Elin said, watching the assassin closely. “From a particularly grateful Trinity Isles sea captain.”
Kiam froze for only a fraction a second. The Raven would not have noticed his flinch, had he not been looking for it.
“Apparently, the Assassins’ Guild did him a favor recently.”
“What favor?” Kiam inquired with a perfectly straight face.
Elin folded his arms and studied Kiam, looking for his reaction. “His sister had some fanciful tale about being rescued from a whorehouse by one of our number and escorted safely back to her ship.”
Kiam turned to look at the Raven. He didn’t seem the least bit contrite. “Oh. That favor.”
“You came back with a dog, too, Ky.”
“He followed me home.”
“You forgot to mention the girl.”
“It was a busy night.”
“Stop to adopt any orphans along the way?”
“It was help her or kill her,” Kiam pointed out with a shrug. “What was I supposed to do?”
That was the dilemma, Elin supposed. The Guild insisted they didn’t harm innocent bystanders, but the truth wasn’t nearly so noble or so cut and dried. “Word of this is going to get about,” he warned.
“Is that such a bad thing?” Kiam asked, replacing the lid on the tureen. “She doesn’t know my name, just that I’m from the Guild. The rumor will spread. People will whisper about the child who was saved by the Assassins’ Guild. Should buy us quite a bit of good will against the next time we accidentally slaughter a few innocents in the line of duty, don’t you think?”
“You’re turning into a cynic, Ky.”
The assassin smiled at that. “I achieved cynic years ago.”
“You’ll be careful with Adrina’s sister, won’t you? You’ll not stop along the way to set up a home for stray cats?”
Kiam laughed. “Don’t start giving me ideas.”
Elin leaned forward to lift the lid off the tureen. He placed it on the cart beside the dish and took a deep, appreciative breath. He wasn’t going to let this meal go to waste. “Well, take that damned beast with you when you leave,” he instructed as he spooned some of the thick, aromatic curry into a bowl. “He’s eating the Guild out of house and home.”
“I will.” Kiam turned for the door, stopping when he reached it. He turned back to look at the Raven with a frown. “I just had a thought. Isn’t Frederak Branador one of Marla’s cousins?”
“I believe so. Why?”
“That makes him . . . what? In his eighties?”
“So?”
“Adrina’s sister is not even twenty-one.”
Elin put down the serving spoon and glared at the man everyone assumed he was grooming to be his successor. “Dear gods, Kiam Miar, I swear by every Primal God there is, if you even think about trying to rescue her from this marriage, I will kill you myself.”
Kiam opened the door, grinning. Elin realized—or at least hoped—that he was just trying to get a rise out of his boss. “Never fear, my Lord Raven. I promise to restrict my heroics to small children, puppies, and kittens. I really do like that idea about a stray cat home, by the way.”
“Get out of here, you idiot.”
Kiam shut the door behind him. Shaking his head at the young man’s folly, Elin sat down, settling back against the cushions to enjoy his stew, unable to completely push aside the uncomfortable notion that Kiam Miar’s absurdly noble nature, and unfortunate tendency of doing the right thing, even if it wasn’t what he’d been contracted to do, would eventually be the undoing of them all.
Chapter
7
IN THE WHIRLWIND of their departure, Rakaia barely saw her mother. It was only on the eve of her departure that Sophany was finally able to steal a moment alone with her daughter.
Once again, they took a turn around the gardens, only this time it was dark, the sun long set, so there was no need for false frivolity to fool any spies who might be watching. The night was hot and humid and seemed uncomfortably close. Rakaia doubted it was the weather unsettling her so.
More likely it was her mother’s insane plan to save her from Hablet’s wrath. She suspected agreeing to be a party to it made her certifiably insane, too.
“You must give no hint of what you’re planning,” she warned her daughter as they made their way along the secluded path. “Not to anyone. Especially not to Charisee.”
“She’ll know something is wrong, Mama. She can read me like a book.”
“You must let her. More importantly, you will have to convince her your nervousness is due to your upcoming wedding and not something more sinister.”
“I’m a terrible liar.”
“Then behave in such a way that you have no need to lie.”
Easier said than done, Rakaia thought, but there was no arguing with her mother on this. Sophany’s insane—and not terribly well thought out—plan was too far along now for it to be abandoned without serious consequences for both of them.
“Everything is in place,” Sophany told her. For someone plotting against the kings, she seemed remarkably collected. “I have been able to get a letter to my brother, your uncle Liance. He will protect you once you reach Lanipoor.”
“Assuming I can get to him.” Rakaia was far from confident her mother’s plan for her escape was going to work. “How did you manage to get a letter out of the harem detailing your plan, anyway?”
“I would never be so foolish as to commit this plan to paper, Rakaia.”
“Then he doesn’t know I’m coming.”
“Get to Lanipoor,” Sophany insisted, refusing to acknowledge the shaky foundation on which her plan was built. “Your uncle will look after you.”
“What about you, Mama?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“How will you get away?”
“I won’t need to. Meyrick has held his tongue. The king knows nothing.”
“Then why do I need to leave?”
“Because that may change.”
“Then what happens to you?” she asked again. Sophany was avoiding answering her question quite determinedly.
Sophany glanced sideways and smiled at her with eyes full of unspoken fears. “You need not worry about me, darling. I can look after myself.”
Rakaia didn’t believe her for a moment, but her plans were too far along to back out now. “What happens when they find out I’m missing?”
“They mustn’t,” Sophany told her. “Whatever you have to do, whatever you have to tell her to make her play along, you must convince Charisee not to betray you. Even if she can’t keep up the charade for more than a few days, you need to be long gone from Winternest before she breaks down and confesses the truth. If not, we’ll all be in serious trouble.”
“No pressure, then.”
Sophany stopped and turned to look at her daughter. “You can do this, Rakaia.”
“I don’t know anything about surviving in the outside world, Mama.”
“Then you need to learn. Quickly.”
“What about my entourage? How am I supposed to convince them to keep quiet about what I’ve done?”
Sophany was silent for a moment. Apparently she hadn’t thought of that.
“Mama?”
“Send them home.”
“What?”
“Send them home. When you get to Winternest, send your entourage home.”
“What possible reason would I have for doing that?”
“I don’t know,” Sophany snapped, a little impatiently. “Tell them you’re worried they’ll be homesick or something. Use your wits, Rakaia. You’ll not survive in the outside world without them.”
Rakaia fell silent, a little hurt her last words with her mother might be spoken in anger. “It doesn’t seem fair to Charisee.”
“It’s fairer than the lot in life she was destined for.”
“I wonder if she’ll see it like that.”
“Make her see, darling, or we will all suffer the consequences.”
Sophany slipped her arm through Rakaia’s and they continued to walk, treasuring this last moment of solitude together. As they walked, Sophany talked low and urgently, trying to tell Rakaia everything she could think of that might help her before her sheltered and woefully unprepared daughter had to fend for herself in a cruel and unsympathetic world beyond the walls of the Fardohnyan Royal Harem.<
br />
Chapter
8
“THERE! YOU LOOK beautiful! Just like a real princess.”
“You’re going to get me killed, Rakaia.”
Rakaia smiled as she adjusted Charisee’s borrowed veil. Red looked so much better on her half-sister than it did on her. “Don’t be so melodramatic. Now hold still.”
Charisee pushed Rakaia’s hand away and turned from the polished bronze mirror to face her sister. She put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Nobody in Hythria is going to believe I’m you for a moment. Quite the opposite. And when they realize what we’ve done, they’ll whip you, kill me, and then probably go to war with Fardohnya over the insult.”
Rakaia shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant and not desperate, wishing she could tell Charisee the truth. “Well, then, we’d better not get caught then, had we?”
Charisee pulled the veil from her head and began to remove her borrowed finery and toss it on the bed. It was chilly in their guest room here at Winternest. The thick stone walls seemed to suck all the warmth from the air, even though the fire in the fireplace was blazing and it was—despite the three feet of snow outside—supposed to be almost summer. Her sister’s skin prickled with gooseflesh as she got down to her undergarments. Charisee wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t having fun any longer.
Perhaps guessing what her half-sister was thinking, Charisee glared at her. “This is not funny, Rakaia.”
“Oh, come on, of course it is.”
Stepping out of her borrowed petticoat, Charisee picked up her own woolen dress. It was much less grand—simple gray with a red band on the bottom denoting the wearer’s status as an indentured servant. The garment of a slave, not a princess.
Rakaia snatched it from her. “We’ve only got one chance at this, Chari. If we don’t do it, you’ll be a slave for the rest of your life, and six months from now I’ll be married to a disgusting, ill-educated Hythrun brute who wants nothing more from me than babies and a bed warmer, being raped every night for that very purpose.”
The Lyre Thief Page 5