by Julia Knight
He couldn’t speak for a moment. Please, Kyr, once was enough, don’t let this happen again. He couldn’t go through that again, loving a woman he could never have because of his sworn word. And he was sick of evading the question, of having to hide what he had felt. But still he couldn’t admit the whole truth. “The woman I would have married was not free to love me,” he said finally.
“You could not still take her as a mistress?” She looked confused.
“No! Not in Ganheim, it’s not done that way. Once you’re married, there is no—” He stopped just short of admitting it.
Nerinna looked utterly shocked, though surely she must have known. Maybe she hadn’t entirely believed it—as Hunter hadn’t entirely believed the stories of her bedding her nobles to keep her authority. Or not until he’d met her and seen her work her charms.
Fadeen muttered something to Arashin, translating perhaps. Arashin leant forward and shot a stream of invective at Nerinna that made Valguard raise his eyes, though he didn’t trouble to translate. Nerinna’s frown was swiftly covered by a sweet smile and a few soothing words. Arashin sat back and glowered at Hunter.
Nerinna turned back to Hunter and smiled, though it seemed a little forced. “How very odd. And still you’ve found no one else? Another mistress?”
“I’ve no time for that since the war.”
And who would have half a cripple? In Ganheim, no woman who had a choice.
Nerinna stared at Hunter, almost unable to believe it. So it was really true—they did bed peasants! How utterly barbaric. Surely no civilised people would do that? Peasants were so…well, peasanty. Uncouth. As Arashin had pointed out when Fadeen informed him that he was likely to lose the custom of the pledges if what Hunter said was true, to lose the chance of bedding her. She would have to be careful. Arashin could cause no end of trouble if she didn’t handle him right.
But Nerinna was pleased with herself. So Hunter did talk. Still, he didn’t seem to like talking to her. It perplexed her. She’d never met a man so impervious to her charms. She left him to his watchful silence and talked to Aran about inconsequential things, tried to calm his nerves and flirted gently with him. He almost stumbled over his own tongue as he talked. She felt confident he would help soften Hunter when it came to the final agreement.
Valguard and Fadeen seemed happily engrossed in a discussion about the importance of the true gods and how the little shrines should be done away with.
“But the shrines are as important,” she said. “All the spirits have their place.”
“Not all,” said Valguard, and Fadeen nodded vigorously in agreement. “Some are dangerous.”
She laughed softly, a calculated sound that should have them eating from the palm of her hand. Hunter drained his glass of wine in one swallow and poured himself another with a grimace.
Valguard looked undecided whether to press his point or laugh with her. “But the gods are with us, for us, in a way the shrine spirits could never be. The gods become displeased at this displacement of worship. Very displeased.”
“Indeed they do,” Fadeen said. “I’m sure that Herjan, and of course Oku, begging your pardon, Valguard, do not see this in the same way we do. The shrines leech away the faith of the Nine.”
“Eight,” snapped Valguard.
“Beg pardon once more, Valguard, but here, while we do not worship Mithotyn, we still see him as a powerful god. He is one of the Nine and no matter his crimes, he will always be so, though a god to beware of.”
Valguard inclined his head. “Then we agree for the most part. Still, these shrines, something must be done. It upsets the balance of faith.”
Nerinna was about to say something to deflect the conversation away from such discomforting talk when she saw the look that passed between Valguard and Hunter. She’d seen it earlier too. Something between them, a depth of enmity, surprised her. In her own court she would have expected it; the Reethan had no love for each other’s tribes except when threatened from the outside. But everything she knew about the Gan ran contrary to it. A people so bound by their given word they couldn’t see past it. A fatal weakness as far as she could see. And one she might use, if she were clever.
She watched Hunter from the corner of her eye. Of course—the larger sword he’d been wearing on his back earlier must be Shadow’s Curse. Regin’s sword. No wonder this talk of shrines bothered him. Regin’s were everywhere, had sprung up like mushrooms almost overnight when the tale reached them of how Regin, with Hunter’s help, had defeated the dark sorcerer who had killed so many in the war. She had half forgotten it. A brave man he must be, this Hunter.
She looked at him with new eyes. He looked very solid and strong. Nothing like the men of her people, what few were left, who were slim and swift and agile. He was big, broad and purposeful. As though not even a gale could move him, if he didn’t wish to be moved. Too different for her to think him handsome, but the reined-in energy in the lines of his face appealed to her, as though he were bubbling with hidden emotion only barely kept in check. Not as implacable as she’d first thought then. Good.
But she’d best keep this interest under control. Her father had taught her well. It’s fatal for rulers to get involved. It weakens you. Leaves you open to danger and robs you of objectivity.
She would study him, work out how to use him, but keep him at arm’s length. Maybe he would make a useful lover after the marriage. From the way Aran obviously idolised him, he would have a sway over the boy that might come in very helpful.
“There will be no change in the shrines,” Hunter said in a forceful tone that made her shiver.
“Why should the priests take the order of a man who is known to associate with magic?” Valguard snapped back and Nerinna was shocked at the open hostility, the sneer on his face.
Then what he’d said caught up with her. Magic? Surely not. It was forbidden! The first, most sacred law since the three peoples had fled the Mage Wars all those centuries ago. No magic. Except for Ilfayne, though he was only tolerated because of his temper, and what he did when he lost it. Hadn’t Hunter travelled with him and Regin? Yes, Valguard was right. An associate of magic. The skin on her back prickled and she had to work hard to keep her face set.
Hunter’s hand slid down to the hilt of his sword. “And without it, all of Ganheim would have succumbed. Drop the matter. Now isn’t the time.”
Valguard grimaced at that but dipped his head slightly, his lips white with anger.
Nerinna favoured them with a forced smile that she hoped would lighten the atmosphere, though secretly she was delighted—maybe she’d found something she could use to help in the negotiations. But who to side with? Who could give her more? And could she deal with a man who associated with magic? “I think maybe I’ve kept you all from your rest for long enough. If it’s acceptable, my Lord Hunter, the formal discussions will start tomorrow, a bell after sunrise while it is still cool. In the meantime I wish you a pleasant rest.”
She smiled at Aran and rejoiced inwardly at his puppy-dog face. He would do a lot, give more than he should, for her. Good, though she doubted Hunter would allow it. She might have to make it worth his while. Now that was a pleasing thought. She might hate the pledges, might hate having to bed a man, but to bed one she wished to? That would delight her.
She rose gracefully from the table and the men stood and bowed as she left. Hunter was still glaring at Valguard. Oh yes, this grudge would bear thinking about.
And so would Hunter.
***
Nerinna couldn’t sleep for the flutterings in her stomach. Negotiations tomorrow would be tricky at best, especially now. While the marriage had been agreed in principle, enough that the Gan believed it cast in steel, much could still go wrong. Arashin for instance.
After much muttering and tossing and turning, she got up. Staying in bed was useless. She made sure she looked at least halfway presentable and called for one of her guards, who escorted her to her gardens. Not completely private, but close enough. The g
uard took up his station by the main entrance to the palace and she wandered through the flowers before she sat on a bench to contemplate. The warm night air and heavy scents helped her think.
Arashin and some of the other tribal chiefs might well be a problem, one reason she’d taken pains to ensure they were on the eastern border while this alliance was arranged. Arashin’s sudden arrival this afternoon had been a shock. How had he heard of the marriage?
The fixed and inflexible customs of the Gan regarding marriage were her hope and salvation. Arashin had plans in that regard, she was sure. Before he died, her father, damn his blighted soul to the Dark, had insinuated that Arashin would have her hand. And Arashin wasn’t the only one who didn’t like the idea of alliance with their oldest enemies. No matter that they had so few men that they could never hope to defend themselves should the Gan and the Armandians decide they would take the Reethan. At least half the tribal chiefs wanted none of this. She had “persuaded” the rest these last few weeks, the way she did best. Used them as they used her. The only way she knew how, the Reethan way. If she’d been a man she would have used her wife, or sister or daughter, as her father had done to her. As it was, she used herself.
But Arashin was not so easily swayed, even if she would take him into her bed, and she hadn’t done that since her father died—something which humiliated him. Maybe she would have to, as she had promised, though the thought of it made her sick to her stomach. Of all of them he was the cruellest. The others, well, some were gentlemen about it; one or two even had her enjoying herself. Some were casually cruel, and some not so casually. But Arashin…
Yet she might have to offer him that, offer him something. Because the thought of losing the chance at a loyalty pledge, of her in his bed, had had him perilously close to lashing out at dinner.
As if her thought had conjured him, Arashin appeared through the shrubs from the larger garden, avoiding her guard. She wished now that she’d stayed closer to the palace and protection. He was not a man to take lightly and while alone…she had enough experience of him alone to last a lifetime.
He came forward with a half-smile and a barely polite bow. Not nearly as deep as it should have been. As though he thought he had control of her already. But that was what this alliance was partly about, at least for her. With the Reethan, any man who married her would have her under his control. She would still be chieftain, but he would rule behind her. She feared that Arashin would stop at nothing to gain that power. Arashin’s wife had died just before her father, and Nerinna had her suspicions as to why, and how. Now Arashin was the only unmarried chief with enough support behind him to even suggest such a marriage. The only one who might be able to band together the tribes against her and keep them together. If he had her to offer as a bargaining chip.
The thought of being married to such a disgusting man turned Nerinna’s stomach. Aran was a Gan and ugly to her eyes, with strange ways that seemed barbaric in many respects. But he had a good soul, she could see. She wouldn’t have to force herself to bed him. He would try and please her there and everywhere. More important, he had men, many men, to help her enforce her rule. And she would still be chieftain, still rule her own country, if negotiations tomorrow went as planned.
Nerinna braced herself against the stench of cloves as Arashin straightened up and moved closer. He held out his hand to touch hers and she slid away on the bench, out of his reach, and stood up.
“You still insist on this show then?” Arashin asked in Reethan. “You won’t give me the marriage your father promised me? Or is this all a trick to get what you can from them? If so, you’re playing it very subtly. I commend you.”
She kept her voice sweet as honey, lowered her lashes and peeked out from under them, as she’d been taught when trying to persuade a man. But her words were not sweet. “I have promised no one but the Gan. And it’s no show. We need those men. Or six months from now your home will be underfoot from the lands to the east. Your men who die. Where will your power be then?”
Arashin lifted his lip in disdain. “And so you ask them, when you could have—should have asked me. Could have persuaded me to support your every move. If only you would honour your father’s promise. If only you would honour the right of my pledge.”
“My father’s promise, not mine.” She squashed her distaste, smiled languidly at him and raised a hand to his face. The promise of Aran, the fact that Gan guards were here, even if not in earshot, made her bold. “You don’t think very far ahead, Arashin. No further than your groin. Soon we’ll have a thousand cavalry, the best cavalry, with weapons such as we could never make. Fighting for us. In a few years we’ll have many more if I have my way, and I will. They’ll train our men, trade us their better weapons in the name of our friendship. And when our numbers have grown again, when we are well armed, we will be safe, secure. Even against them. We will need no one. That is my only concern.”
“Even if it means marrying their pale ghost of a king?”
“Even if it means that. Don’t you want us to be strong again, as we were?”
He stepped closer again and Nerinna found her back against a trellis. How had he manoeuvred her like that? Arashin drew out a silvered knife, one she recognised well from other times. One he had liked to terrorise her with, when her father had been alive and she had no choice but to take Arashin into her bed.
“But you’ll keep to our ways, my lady, will you not? The traditional ways? They are strange about marriage, about women, about everything. I will not have my right to you taken from me. Won’t you take a real man as your husband? One who knows our ways and won’t twist them? Who will keep the Reethan as your father intended?”
The traditional ways, the loyalty pledges in her bed were what she sought to end. She tried to wet her dry mouth and only thought her reply. A real man doesn’t need the threat of a knife and a lick of blood to get it up.
A shadow flickered behind Arashin as he raised the knife. The shadow of something red and black, and the silver of moonlight on blond hair.
“Is there a problem?” When Hunter spoke in the guttural language of the Gan, Arashin made the blade vanish like smoke.
***
It was too hot to sleep and when even a second dose of duria couldn’t dull the pain that shot through his arm at intervals, Hunter got up from his sweat-drenched bed and dressed again. The gardens would be cooler at least. He could do no more for the arm other than bear it.
He found his way back to the gardens and wandered awhile, the cool, scented breeze good on his skin. He tried not to think, just drift in the slightly addled fog of the drug. He found himself a secluded spot, leant up against a wall and watched the stars. And tried not to fret too much about alliances and sons and a woman who seemed to have drugged him just as easily as the duria.
He was not sure how long he’d been there, quite some time perhaps, when a door into the palace opened and Nerinna came out. He wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping then. He tussled inwardly at whether he should go and speak with her. He wanted to, badly. Sit and talk, just the two of them, though that would only be making a load for his own back. Another thing to be borne silently and without complaint. And for nothing; she hadn’t singled him out for special attention, had done nothing that might indicate she returned his interest. She was just herself, doing what she did. Doing it well. He almost admired her for it.
Then, just as he had decided that the prudent thing would be to go back to his rooms and at least attempt to sleep, the tribal chief who had so startled Nerinna at dinner came walking softly out of the bushes.
Nerinna jumped at Arashin’s approach, but almost instantly she took on that look he had seen at dinner. The artful one, all eyelashes and slow smiles. Dear gods, she was shameless. Betrothed to Aran and making up to this man. Hunter had to admit she was good at it. Every slow movement of her body was a subtle promise, every sensuous smile an invitation.
Arashin seemed agitated about something, but though Hunter c
ould hear their voices well enough, he couldn’t understand the language. Nerinna raised a hand to Arashin’s face and smiled at him, a smile Hunter might well have killed for if only it were aimed at him. He shook his head. Surely she’d drugged him. His thoughts and vision were blurred from the duria, and he was thinking thoughts he shouldn’t, not if he wanted to stay sane.
Before he left he looked back at Nerinna, and the sharp shine of metal brought him back to alertness. Arashin was twisting a knife close to Nerinna’s neck and smiling at her. Every pretence of playfulness had fled from her face and her skin was pale in the moonlight.
Hunter stepped forward. “Is there a problem?”
The knife disappeared as though it had never been. Arashin turned to face him with a sneer and fired off a volley of indignant-sounding Reethan words.
Nerinna looked at Hunter with a mixture of gratitude and offence. “No problem, my lord. Why would there be? I was just explaining the necessity of alliance to Arashin.”
Hunter looked down at the Reethan and allowed his lips to twitch in a semblance of a smile. “He didn’t seem to take it well. He doesn’t speak my language at all?”
“No.”
“Well then, maybe you could explain to him that the Gan, and myself above all, take the safety of our future queen extremely seriously. Queen’s Protector is part of my title, after all.”
“I don’t think—”
“Please tell him. Extremely seriously. I took an oath on it. Maybe he knows about the Gan and what an oath means to us.”
Nerinna pouted for a moment then turned to Arashin and began to talk. The Reethan scowled and spat in the dust. Hunter adjusted his stance slightly, made sure the man could see when he dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. With a few vicious final words, the man stalked off.
“You do that very well,” Hunter said.
Nerinna bit her lip for a moment and then turned that seductive gaze on him. “You catch more sugar-ants with honey than with lemons.”
