by Jack
Every morning. The same bird, the same time, and, Adrina was starting to suspect, the same damn crumb.
‘Didn’t we do this yesterday?’ she said, climbing awkwardly to her feet as her winged visitor dived and swooped away toward his nest somewhere high in the white towers of the city.
Damin glanced up from the scroll he was reading by the fire. He always got up before she did. And she always found him by the fire, which was odd, because, as a rule, Damin wasn’t the sitting-by-the-fire type.
‘Did we?’
He sounded distracted. No, worse than that. Utterly disinterested.
‘I feel like I’ve been pregnant forever.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Adrina glared at her husband — sitting there sipping mulled wine as if he didn’t have a care in the world. ‘So says Damin Wolfblade, the wastrel who spends his days swanning around the Citadel with the Lord Defender, pretending he’s important.’
He grinned. ‘I’m the High Prince of Hythria, Adrina. I am important.’
‘And my job is to do nothing more than sit here incubating your precious Hythrun heir?’
Damin put down his wine and turned to study her. ‘I rather thought you liked the idea of being here in Medalon. You kicked up a big enough fuss about coming along.’
‘I know ...’ She sighed and stretched her aching back. ‘But don’t you ever feel as if we’ve been here in the Citadel forever?’
Damin’s face creased with a thoughtful frown. ‘I never really thought about it.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
‘All right,’ he said, smart enough to know when he was approaching the edge of a precipice. ‘Now that you mention it, it does seem like we’ve been here a long time, but I was under the impression we’re still here because we’re waiting for you to deliver my precious Hythrun heir before we can travel again. If you’re sick of being in Medalon ... well, any time you’re ready, sweetheart.’
The nearest thing to hand was Adrina’s empty wine goblet. She hurled it across the room, scoring a hit squarely over Damin’s left ear. The empty clay goblet fell to the ground, shattering as it landed.
‘Ow!’ Damin exclaimed, jumping to his feet as he rubbed his wounded head. ‘What was that for?’
‘For blaming me. It’s not my fault we’re stuck here.’
He glared at her, still rubbing the lump on his head. But if he had a glib answer, he wisely kept it to himself. Assuming a much more sombre expression, he asked, ‘Do you seriously think it’s something magical keeping us here? Something to do with the Harshini, maybe?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps we should ask Shananara. I can’t really explain it, though, so I’m not sure what we’d ask. I just have a feeling, that’s all, and it’s not indigestion brought on by pregnancy that’s causing it. Gods, I even feel like we have this conversation every morning.’
‘I’ll speak to Tarja.’
‘Which is your answer to everything, lately,’ she complained. ‘Can we go riding today?’
‘Won’t that be bad for the baby?’
‘Maybe it’ll bring the wretched creature on.’
Nodding, Damin walked toward her. ‘Let’s ride then, and see if we can’t hurry this mighty prince’s entrance into the world.’
Adrina glared at him, annoyed at the assumption she was having a son. Before she could say so, however, there was a knock at the door to their apartment — a suite once the luxurious quarters of a senior Sister of the Blade. Adrina didn’t know which sister had lived here and didn’t care to know. They all made her uneasy, so it hardly mattered anyway.
‘That’ll be Tarja,’ she muttered as Damin crossed the sitting room to open the door.
He opened it and stepped back to allow their visitor into the room. Adrina sighed. Sure enough — as she had known it would be — it was Tarja Tenragan.
The tall, dark-haired Lord Defender bowed politely to both of them. ‘Good morning, Damin. Your highness.’
‘Good morning, Tarja,’ Adrina said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Tarja ... she was just sick of seeing him. She was sick of everyone here. She really did feel as if she’d been trapped here in Medalon for years, not just the month or so it should have been. ‘Did you want something, Tarja? Damin and I were just about to go riding.’
‘Of course,’ The Lord Defender said with a smile. ‘I’ll order your horses saddled ...’
* * * *
The small brown bird flew down to eat the crumbs Adrina sprinkled on the sill outside the living-room window of her apartment. He landed on the very edge of the stonework, tentatively approach the crumbs, tweeting softly, as if debating aloud the wisdom of accepting this unexpected bounty ... and then snatched up the fattest crumb and flew away, disappearing amidst the shining white spires of the city with his prize.
The same bird, the same time, and, Adrina was becoming convinced, it was the same damn crumb.
‘Didn’t we do this yesterday?’ she said, climbing awkwardly to her feet as the sparrow dived and swooped away, as he always did, toward his nest somewhere high in the city.
Damin glanced up from the scroll he was reading by the fire. As usual, he was up before she was, by the fire reading. As usual, Adrina thought it odd, because Damin wasn’t the sitting-by-the-fire type.
‘Did we?’
He sounded as distracted as Adrina remembered. No, worse than that. Utterly disinterested.
‘I feel like I’ve been pregnant forever.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
‘Tell me about it.’
Adrina glared at her husband — sitting there sipping mulled wine as if he didn’t have a care in the world, wondering why it felt like they’d had this argument so many times before. ‘It’s all right for you, Damin Wolfblade. You’re the wastrel who spends his days swanning around the Citadel with Tarja, pretending you’re important.’
He grinned at her. Even before he opened his mouth, she knew he was going to say, ‘I’m the High Prince of Hythria, Adrina. I am important.’
‘And what?’ she couldn’t help responding. ‘My job is to do nothing more than sit here incubating your precious Hythrun heir?’
He put down his wine and turned to study her. ‘I rather thought you liked the idea of being here in Medalon. You kicked up a big enough fuss about coming along.’
‘I know.’ She sighed wearily and stretched her aching back. ‘But don’t you ever feel as if we’ve been here in the Citadel forever?’
Damin’s face creased with a thoughtful frown. ‘I never really thought about it.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
‘All right,’ he said. Now that you mention it, it does seem like we’ve been here a long time, but I was under the impression that’s because we’re waiting for you to deliver my precious Hythrun heir before we can travel again. If you’re sick of being in Medalon ... well, any time you’re ready, sweetheart.’
Adrina picked up the nearest thing to hand — her empty wine goblet — and hurled it across the room, scoring a hit squarely over Damin’s left ear with the unerring skill of a well practised throw. The empty clay goblet fell to the ground, shattering as it landed.
‘Ow!’ Damin exclaimed, jumping to his feet as he rubbed his wounded head. ‘What was that for?’ ‘
‘For blaming me. It’s not my fault we’re stuck here. You’re the one who put me in this condition.’
He glared at her, rubbing the lump on his head. But if he had a glib answer, he kept it to himself. Assuming a much more sombre expression, he asked, ‘Do you seriously think it’s something magical keeping us here? Something to do with the Harshini, perhaps?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe we should ask Shananara,’ she said, deciding that today she would insist they speak to the Queen of the Harshini, and not just suggest the idea. ‘Although I can’t really explain it, so I’m not sure what we’d ask her. I just have a feeling, that’s all, and it�
�s not indigestion bought on by pregnancy that’s causing it. Gods, I even think we have this conversation every morning.’
‘I’ll speak to Tarja.’
‘Which is your answer to everything, isn’t it?’ she complained. ‘Can we go riding today?’
‘Won’t that be bad for the baby?’
‘Maybe it’ll bring the wretched creature on.’
Nodding, Damin walked toward her. ‘Let’s ride then, and see if we can’t hurry this mighty prince’s entrance into the world.’
Adrina glared at him, annoyed at his insistence she was having a son. Before she could say so, however, there was a knock at the door to their apartment.
‘That’ll be Tarja,’ she muttered as Damin crossed the sitting room to open the door.
He opened it and stepped back to allow their visitor into the room. Adrina sighed. Sure enough, it was Tarja.
The tall, dark-haired Lord Defender bowed politely to both of them. ‘Good morning Damin. Your highness.’
‘Good morning, Tarja,’ Adrina said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Tarja ... she was just sick of seeing him. She was sick of everyone here. Adrina was becoming obsessed by the idea she was trapped here in Medalon for years not just the month or so it should have been. ‘Did you want something, Tarja? Damin and I were just about to go riding.’
‘Ah ...’ Tarja said, glancing at Damin. ‘I was hoping to borrow Damin for a while, your highness. I have a bit of a problem and I thought he might be able to help.’
Adrina stared at Tarja in shock.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I have a bit of a problem and I thought Damin might be able to help,’ he repeated, looking at her oddly.
This was different. Adrina couldn’t say why, but it felt very different. ‘What sort of problem?’ she demanded.
‘Interrogating a prisoner.’
‘You can’t interrogate a prisoner on your own?’
‘This man is proving ... difficult.’
Damin closed the door, not nearly so excited by this break in their normal routine as his wife. ‘Why not just have one of the Harshini read his mind?’
Tarja glanced at Damin and shrugged. ‘They have prohibitions against that sort of thing.’
Adrina was still surprised, but suspicious, too. The Defenders were by no means gentle interrogators. It was hard to imagine any prisoner resisting them for long. ‘And what do you suppose my husband is going to be able to extract from this prisoner that your Defender bullies can’t?’
‘It’s not that he won’t give us any information, your highness,’ Tarja explained, as much to Damin as Adrina. ‘It’s what he’s telling us.’ To Damin he added, ‘And I have spoken to Shananara. She’s already spoken to him and in her opinion, he’s telling the truth, even though what he’s telling us is ridiculous.’
‘What’s he saying?’ Damin asked. Adrina could tell he was already getting caught up in Tarja’s latest folly. It was more proof they had been here far too long.
‘He’s claiming,’ Tarja announced, ‘that the world is about to end.’
* * * *
Chapter II
Tarja’s harbinger of doom proved something of a disappointment. Adrina expected a wild-eyed lunatic dressed in rags with fiery eyes and crazy, uncombed hair that stood on end, spouting incomprehensible prophetic verses while banging his head repeatedly against a wall.
What she discovered — when she invited herself along to the cells at the back of the Citadel’s Defenders’ Headquarters with Tarja and Damin — was a slender youth of about nineteen or twenty. He seemed calm, had a pleasant, if unremarkable face — albeit somewhat bruised and battered — dark hair and a perfectly lucid manner. The lad was rather the worse for wear but his cuts and bruises didn’t seem to bother him overly much.
The stone cellblock was dimly lit, the only daylight coming from the narrow windows at the top of each cell with bars set into the thick granite blocks. Dust motes danced in the infrequent light, stirred into frenzy by their passing. The young man claiming the world was about to end stood up from his pallet as they approached the bars of his cell, his expression filled with hope and expectation.
‘My Lord Defender —’
‘Don’t start,’ Tarja warned the young man. He turned to Damin. ‘Did you want some time alone with him?’
Damin studied the battered and bruised prisoner with a frown. ‘I’m not sure there’s much more I can do, Tarja. Your lads appear to have worked him over quite thoroughly.’
‘Not that it got us anywhere. He’s sticking to his story.’
The prisoner took a step closer to the bars. ‘You don’t need to torture me, my lord,’ the young man insisted with a reassuring smile that split his lip afresh and started it bleeding. ‘I told you already —’
‘And I told you to shut up,’ Tarja warned.
Without knowing why she spoke up, Adrina stepped forward. ‘Let me talk to him.’
Damin and Tarja turned to stare at her. ‘What?’
‘Let me talk to him. I’ll find the truth for you.’ And for me, she added silently. Truth be told, anything was better than a day where the highlight was a sparrow stealing crumbs.
Her husband shook his head. ‘If you think I’m going to endanger my heir by letting you anywhere near a dangerous prisoner ...’
‘He’s not dangerous,’ she said. Adrina addressed her next words to the young man. ‘You’re not dangerous, are you?’
‘No, my lady.’
‘There, you see. He’s not dangerous.’
‘Adrina,’ Tarja began in a patient and vaguely patronising voice, ‘I know you’re bored, but this isn’t the way —’
‘To amuse myself?’ she cut in. ‘Thank you, Tarja, but I was going to suggest that as torturing this boy clearly hasn’t achieved anything, you might as well try something different. Like treating him in a civilised manner. It’s a well-known sign of insanity, you know ... doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.’
Tarja didn’t seem pleased by her observation, Damin even less so, but her husband knew her better. For all he gave the impression he was uninterested in anything that didn’t involve him having a good time, Damin Wolfblade was smarter than most people gave him credit for. He studied the prisoner for a moment longer and then, much to Adrina’s relief, he nodded.
‘Fine. Do it your way.’
Tarja was appalled. ‘You can’t be serious!’
Adrina looked at her husband for a moment and then turned to Tarja with a bright smile. ‘No, Tarja ... I think you’ll find that’s his serious face.’
The Lord Defender stared at his Hythrun guests and then threw his hands up. With an unhappy sigh, he signalled the guard to come forward with the key. ‘Be it on your own head, then,’ he warned, ‘if something happens to Hythria’s High Princess and her unborn heir.’
‘No need for keys,’ Damin said, holding his hand up to forestall the guard unlocking the cell. ‘Just a chair will do.’
Adrina opened her mouth to object, but Damin never gave her the chance. ‘Tarja’s right, Adrina. It’s too dangerous. You can talk to him, if you must, but you’re not going to do it anywhere within reach of him. You can chat from out here in the corridor through the bars.’
‘But Damin ...’
‘It’s that or we forget this and go riding.’
Adrina glared at her husband. She didn’t think she was in danger from this young man, but her husband had a point, because there was really no way to be certain. ‘Oh, very well.’
Tarja nodded to the guard and he hurried off to find Adrina a chair. She turned to the prisoner with a reassuring smile. He looked a little bemused, but had wisely done nothing threatening; nothing that would give either the Lord Defender or the High Prince of Hythria cause to change their minds about letting him talk to the princess.
A moment later, the guard arrived with a straight-backed wooden chair, which he placed on the cobblest
ones in front of the prisoner’s cell, well out of arm’s length of its occupant.
Damin unsheathed his sword and handed it to Adrina. ‘If he makes a move toward you, cut him down.’
It seemed a ridiculous precaution, but she accepted the blade as she sat down, a little annoyed her back was already starting to ache. Damn this being pregnant forever.
She glanced over her shoulder. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she assured both of them, straightening her skirts as she turned to face the prisoner. ‘Now go, and leave us in peace. I’ll tell you all about it when we’re done.’
