Treason Keep

by Jennifer Fallon

  “Thank you, but I’d rather not ask him anything. Tell me more about R’shiel. Is she truly the demon child?”

  “So the Harshini claim.”

  “Don’t you believe them?”

  “I’m an atheist. I’m supposed to devote my life to eradicating the Harshini.”

  “Yet you have a Harshini lover? A curious way of carrying out your orders, Captain.”

  “I have a talent for complicating my life far more than is necessary, your Highness. And you are a complication I don’t want or need, so quit rubbing up against me like that, or I’ll end up doing something we’ll both regret, and when R’shiel gets back she’ll turn you into a toad and me into something that looks like a smudge on the road.”

  Adrina smiled. “I like you, Captain. I’ve even forgiven you. Is the demon child really so fearsome?”

  “No, just very certain about her territorial boundaries.”

  “And I’m crossing them?”

  “You’re getting close.”

  Adrina stepped back a little, her ego somewhat appeased. She had been beginning to wonder if she was losing her touch. The dance ended with a round of applause and Tarja led her back to the stairs. The Lord Defender had moved on and was talking to the officer who had charge of the horses. The musicians struck up another tune and the hall echoed to the stamping feet of the dancers. Damin was sitting on the stairs sipping his wine. He didn’t bother to rise as she approached. His manners were appalling.

  “I see her Highness dances with the same flair she spins fanciful stories,” Damin remarked. “You survived, Tarja. I’m proud of you.”

  “Only just,” Tarja admitted with a smile. “Your Highness, it’s been a pleasure, but I have duties to attend to. I’m sure Lord Wolfblade would be delighted to keep you entertained.” He bowed and walked away, leaving her standing there. His abrupt departure left her speechless.

  “Don’t worry Adrina, you didn’t drive him off. He’s waiting for a bird from the Citadel. Tonight is more important to the Medalonians than you know.”

  She turned to Damin curiously. “What do you mean?”

  “Tonight is their annual Gathering at the Citadel. R’shiel is planning to make some changes in the Sisterhood and Tarja’s very nervous about it. Here, have a seat and drink up. I’m sure you’ll find me much more agreeable company if you’re drunk.”

  Adrina accepted the cup and sat beside him on the stairs, drinking her wine thoughtfully. It was a surprisingly strong blend. “He told me about R’shiel.”

  “I’m not surprised. You weren’t being very subtle, you know. I was half expecting you to start tearing his jacket off, right there on the dance floor.”

  “Do you always have to be so crude?”

  “I’m being suitable to the occasion, your Highness. If you act like a whore, you shouldn’t be surprised when you get treated like one.”

  Adrina had taken just about all she intended to from this barbarian. He had done nothing but taunt her and torment her. It was time to put him in his place. Time to wipe that superior smirk off his face.

  “You’re jealous.”

  “Of you? Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Of course, you are,” she laughed. “I’ve misjudged you badly, my Lord. All this time I thought you were a degenerate pervert like your uncle, when in fact, you fancy yourself Kalianah’s gift to women. You don’t even like me, yet you can’t bear the thought that I might find Tarja attractive. How pathetic!”

  “Your attempts to sleep your way to freedom are far more pathetic than anything I can come up with, Adrina.”

  “If I’d been trying to ‘sleep my way to freedom’, as you so crudely put it, I would have been out of here weeks ago,” she assured him confidently.

  “You’re that good, are you?”

  She finished the wine in a swallow, surprised at how potent it was. She had heard that the drier the climate the stronger the wine, but she hadn’t realised until now the difference between the sweet blends of Fardohnya and the hardy Medalonian vintages.

  “Well, that’s something you’re never likely to find out, is it?”

  Damin refilled her cup from a jug he had on the step by his feet. “Ah, now that would imply that I would want to find out, Adrina. Thank you, but I prefer to sleep with women who aren’t likely to try slipping a knife between my ribs.”

  “I imagine that’s all you can do, Damin. Sleep with women.” She downed the wine recklessly. She was enjoying this. To the Seven Hells with being nice.

  “This from the woman who couldn’t even coax a virgin boy into her bed,” he said. “I wonder what Cratyn’s doing at the moment? Praying to the Overlord for the return of his beloved wife, or thanking him for getting rid of her?”

  “You’re a pig, Damin Wolfblade!” She stood up—far too quickly, she discovered with alarm—and gripped the rough stone wall. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to your drunken insults any longer.”

  “Giving in so easily, your Highness? You disappoint me. I thought you’d be good for another hour at least.”

  “You’re drunk!” she accused, turning to climb the stairs to her room. She misjudged them and stumbled, but Damin caught her before she fell.

  “Actually, I’m disappointingly sober,” he corrected. “You, on the other hand, are well and truly under the weather. How much did you have?”

  “Let me go!” she demanded, shaking free of him. “I am not drunk. I had two cups, that’s all.”

  “They weren’t cups, they were tankards, and the wine you’re used to is like mother’s milk compared to this Medalonian stuff. Come on, let’s get you upstairs before you really do something to embarrass yourself.”

  “Take your hands off me!” she hissed. Gripping the wall, Adrina took the steps carefully, grateful, but not willing to admit it, that Damin was behind her. Her head was starting to spin alarmingly.

  By the time they reached the door to her room, Adrina felt a little better. She took a deep breath and turned to Damin, feeling almost gracious enough to thank him for his assistance. Until she saw the smirk on his face.

  “You’re insufferable! How dare you laugh at me!”

  “You really should learn not to take yourself so seriously. You’d be much more bearable, if you did.”

  “I’ve no interest in making myself bearable to suit you.”

  “I doubt you could even if you tried, Adrina.”

  A small part of Adrina—that part that was still reasonably sober—warned her to let the comment go. But for some reason, she felt compelled to rise to the challenge. She was sick to death of this man.

  “I’ve told you before. In the unlikely event I ever decide to entertain myself with you, Damin Wolfblade, you won’t know what’s hit you.”

  “So you keep telling me. You’re not quite game to put it to the test, though, are you?”

  “You think I couldn’t?”

  “I think you’re afraid of me.”

  “I’m not afraid of anyone, least of all you!”

  “Brave words from a cheap drunk. Go to bed, Adrina.”

  She laughed softly. “You’re afraid of me, that’s the truth of it. You even warned Tarja that I’m dangerous.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Yes.”

  “He really does have a bad habit of repeating the most inconvenient things, doesn’t he?” He reached across and opened the door to her chamber. “Goodnight, Adrina.”

  “I’m right, aren’t I? You’re afraid of me.” Adrina wasn’t sure why she was being so insistent. It just seemed that the world would be a much better place if Damin Wolfblade admitted that he feared her. Even a little bit.

  “Terrified,” he agreed, as if he were speaking to a small child. “Now go to bed.”

  “You’re just saying that to get rid of me.”

  “You noticed? Maybe you’re not as drunk as I thought.”

  “I know why you’re afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of this
,” she said, and then she kissed him.

  Adrina had intended to bestow one blazing, breathtaking kiss on him and leave him gasping for more. He would never get any more, of course, but that was the whole point. Let him have a taste of the forbidden fruit and then deny him the sweetness forever more.

  But she didn’t count on Damin’s reaction. She didn’t count on him kissing her back. Didn’t count on finding herself pushed against the wall with strong arms holding hers pinned against her body while her pulse pounded in her ears, blocking out all other sensations. Adrina had kissed plenty of men before, but no court’esa in her service would have dared such unbridled lust. Her grand plan evaporated in a heartbeat. For a fleeting, dangerous moment, she gave herself up to the sheer, unexpected pleasure of it.

  “Your Highness?”

  Tamylan’s startled greeting brought her back to her senses and she pushed Damin away with a shove, gasping for air. Her slave stood in the open doorway to her chamber, her expression a mixture of astonishment and horror.

  “Are you alright, my Lady?” she asked with concern, glaring at Damin.

  “I’m fine Tam. Go back to bed. I’ll be in shortly.”

  The slave nodded warily and moved away from the door. Only then did Adrina feel composed enough to meet Damin’s eye.

  “I think I’ve proved my point, don’t you?”

  Damin’s expression was far too smug. “You think so?”

  “I hope you enjoyed it, my Lord. You’ll never receive another. From now on, you’ll just have to dream about what you’re missing.”

  Adrina still had enough of her wits about her not to wait for his answer. She turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her with a resounding, and most satisfactory, thump.

  “What are you playing at, Adrina?” Tamylan demanded as soon as the door banged shut. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

  “You forget your place, Tamylan.”

  “So have you, your Highness,” the slave retorted. “Have you forgotten where we are? Who he is? What he is?”

  “Be silent!”

  Tamylan shook her head in disgust and left the rest of it unsaid.

  CHAPTER 46

  For the second time in her life, R’shiel entered the Great Hall to attend the annual Gathering of the Sisters of the Blade, although on this occasion she didn’t have to scale the outside of the building in the rain.

  This time she walked through the main doors quite brazenly, concealed by a glamour that made her unnoticeable. She broke from the crowd at the entrance and made her way to the narrow stairs leading to the gallery. Once she had climbed the stairs, she walked along the gallery to almost the exact spot from which she had watched the Gathering two years ago with Davydd Tailorson. It was odd, and a little disconcerting that she could barely remember his face. Davydd had died trying to help her and Tarja escape the Citadel. He deserved to be remembered more clearly.

  R’shiel watched the Hall filling with blue-robed sisters, fidgeting nervously. She wanted to call Dranymire, to ensure the demon knew what was expected of him and his brethren, but she couldn’t risk them being noticed before she took control of the Gathering. She wanted to know where Mahina was. She wanted to get a message to Affiana, concerned that the woman had not been at the pre-arranged meeting place. It could simply be that she had not waited around. R’shiel and Brak had been late arriving at the tavern. R’shiel was worried. Affiana had not even left a message for them.

  She leaned on the balustrade, watching the growing crowd. Garet Warner, the ranking officer in the Citadel, stood off to the left of the dais with two other officers, where Lord Jenga and Tarja had stood the night Joyhinia had been appointed First Sister. She wished she could tell what he was thinking. Wished she knew how far he could be trusted.

  R’shiel also wished Brak had come with her, but he had insisted he wait outside with the horses, ready for a quick departure. He wanted her away from this place with a determination that bordered on obsession. Brak was a hard man to read. The only thing R’shiel was certain of was that he would stay by her, regardless of how he felt about what she was doing. She wasn’t even sure that Brak liked her very much, but he took his responsibilities seriously. He had killed the Harshini king to ensure her survival. To desert her now would make that act meaningless.

  The doors closing with a hollow boom signalled the start of the meeting and every eye turned forward as the white-robed members of the Quorum filed on to the dais from the door at the back of the Hall. Traditionally, the First Sister entered last, a custom R’shiel was extremely grateful for. She sent out a mental call for Dranymire. The demon responded instantly, popping into existence beside her, his too-large eyes glittering in the gloom.

  Are you ready?

  May the gods be with us, Dranymire responded before he disappeared again.

  “Be careful,” she whispered to the vanished demon.

  She turned her attention to the dais, as Francil began reciting the ritual thanksgiving to the Founding Sisters. On the edge of her awareness, she could feel the demons forming the meld that would be Joyhinia. She pushed aside the distraction and reached inside herself, feeling the glow of the Harshini magic that nestled in her mind. She drew on the power carefully, as Brak had shown her, and formed the thoughts she wanted to impose on the Gathering although she held back releasing them. Her eyes darkened until they turned completely black, the whites of her eyes consumed by the power she gathered to her. As Francil’s dry voice finished the litany, the door leading from the small anteroom opened and the demon meld stepped onto the dais.

  Dranymire and his brethren had done an impressive job. The Joyhinia they had formed was a little too tall perhaps, and her eyes had never been quite that shade of blue, but one would be hard pressed to tell her from the genuine article. Joyhinia stepped up to take her place with a commanding air, nodding in acknowledgment to the Quorum before turning to face the Gathering. It was against protocol, R’shiel knew, but she didn’t want to risk the meld for a moment longer than she had to. Joyhinia would stand up, make her announcement and then leave. R’shiel couldn’t pick out Mahina among the sea of blue-robed sisters, but she trusted the old woman to be in place.

  She held back the coercion with difficulty. The power, once tapped, didn’t like to be restrained. Sweat beaded her forehead and her eyes burned as she gripped the balustrade. Unconsciously, R’shiel mouthed the words of Joyhinia’s rehearsed speech, as the demon meld addressed the crowd.

  “Sisters! It is good to be back among you, in these trying times.” The voice was too low, almost masculine, but it was so long since any of the sisters had heard Joyhinia speak, R’shiel doubted anybody would notice. “I have been on our northern border, supervising our efforts to repel the insolent Karien invasion of our sovereign nation.” The Gathering was silent as they listened to the First Sister, more curious than concerned. “Medalon will be safe in the hands of the Defenders and we must press all our efforts in that direction.”

  “From what I hear, it was a Defender who got us into this mess!” a voice called from the back of the Hall.

  R’shiel grimaced. She had not coached Dranymire to trade taunts with hecklers. The coercion laboured to be released. Her knuckles were white with the effort of holding it in. Dranymire ignored the comment and carried on, oddly enough, making the meld seem more like Joyhinia than ever.

  “The single most important issue facing Medalon is our survival. Everything else is insignificant in comparison to this. Personal ambition, feelings and prejudices must be put aside.” That actually drew a spattering of applause. There were many Sisters who were more concerned with their duties than their careers. Having grown up in Joyhinia’s shadow, R’shiel had to occasionally remind herself of that.

  Joyhinia waited a moment before she continued. R’shiel fervently hoped it was Dranymire pausing for dramatic effect, not fighting for control over the meld.

  “To this end, I plan to step down from the position of First Sister and nomin
ate the woman who I believe is the only one among us strong enough to see us through this: Mahina Cortanen.”

  Pandemonium erupted in the Hall at Joyhinia’s announcement. R’shiel let go of the coercion, almost gagging as it descended on the Hall, forcing down the opposition like a wet blanket thrown on a fire.

  R’shiel had known it would be uncomfortable, she remembered the feeling on the border when the Karien priests had coerced their troops, but she was not prepared for the wave of debilitating nausea that washed over her. Her knees buckled as she forced the women below to accept what they could not accept, to believe the unbelievable. She gritted her teeth, waiting for Mahina to step forward to accept the mantle of First Sister. The crowd settled as their thoughts were turned from rebellion to compliance, but there was no sign of the old woman. Joyhinia looked up toward the gallery uncertainly.

  “I call forth Mahina Cortanen!”

  Where is she? R’shiel forcibly held back the suspicions of the crowd, fighting the sickening feeling with all her strength. A movement at the back of the crowd caught her attention and she spied Mahina moving towards the dais with relief. It would be over soon. It was almost done.

  Mahina finally stepped up to the platform and turned to face the Gathering. R’shiel could not imagine what she was thinking. As First Sister she was sworn to destroy all vestiges of Harshini magic, yet her appointment this night couldn’t happen without it. She faced the Gathering with an unreadable expression as R’shiel forced the thousand or more Sisters present to accept her reinstatement.

  “Do you accept my nomination?” Joyhinia asked.

  “Yes!” came the unanimous, if somewhat muted reply. R’shiel needed them to agree. She didn’t have the skill to inspire them with enthusiasm.

  “Then I declare Mahina Cortanen First Sister!”

  There was no accompanying cheer, barely a murmur, in fact. Mahina didn’t wait for the customary accolades, in any case. The demon meld wobbled for an instant and R’shiel knew they couldn’t hold it together much longer.

  “Commandant, as the ranking officer of the Defenders in the Citadel, will you take the oath on behalf of the Lord Defender?”