Warrior

by Jennifer Fallon

  “But I don’t want to marry Damin!” she cried defiantly. “I hate him!”

  Mahkas shook her again, even harder. “Don’t say that! Don’t even think it!”

  “But it’s true,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to marry him. And he doesn’t want to marry me, either.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I asked him.”

  Mahkas let her go with a shove, afraid he might really harm his daughter if he allowed his anger to get out of control. “You asked him?”

  Leila nodded, sniffing inelegantly as she backed away from him, not stopping until she bumped into her mother. Once she felt she had Bylinda’s protection, the child stared up at her father rebelliously. “Damin said he’d rather marry a Fardohnyan than marry me. So I told him I’d rather marry a snake.”

  Mahkas was speechless. He looked at Bylinda in despair, certain this was somehow her fault. His wife shrugged as she pulled Leila a little closer. “They’re children, Mahkas. Damin’s at that stage where all girls are annoying. And Leila’s only eleven. All boys are disgusting when you’re eleven.”

  “I notice she doesn’t seem to mind the bastard fosterling,” he noted sourly. “It’s just her future High Prince and husband she seems to have a problem with.”

  “Starros was just sticking up for her,” Bylinda pointed out calmly. “He’s like that with all the children. You know that. I’ve seen you compliment him on it. And Damin can be a little inconsiderate when he wants his own way and doesn’t get it.”

  “But don’t you see what this looks like?” he demanded of his wife. “Don’t you understand how it undermines us? I’ve been pressing the idea of Damin and Leila’s marriage since the night she was born.

  It’s what we’ve always dreamed of. Our daughter—High Princess of Hythria! And you know it’s the only way I’ll ever truly be Krakandar’s Warlord. Not Regent of Krakandar, but Warlord.” He forced a smile and looked down at his daughter. “Isn’t that want you want, sweetheart?” he asked, reaching out to caress her face. The child jerked back from his touch. I shouldn’t have yelled at her, he thought despairingly.

  Now she hates me, too.

  “Damin is not even thirteen, Mahkas,” Bylinda reminded him. “There’s no need to worry about this now. And no need to shout at Leila about it, either.”

  “But I have to protect what’s hers,” he insisted. “Don’t you see that?”

  “It will be years before Marla allows Damin to marry, and his bride will be whoever offers Hythria the best alliance,” she warned. “That may not be Leila.”

  “Leila can give him Krakandar.”

  “He owns Krakandar now, my love,” Bylinda reminded him gently. “He doesn’t need Leila to gain possession of something he already has.”

  “You’re missing the point. I almost have Marla convinced there is no more suitable consort in all of Hythria. And then she comes home to find Damin and Starros fighting over the girl? What must she think?”

  “She’s probably thinking that they’re only children,” Bylinda answered reasonably. “This doesn’t alter anything, Mahkas. Leila isn’t to blame and you’re frightening her with your yelling. You’re frightening me, too.”

  Mahkas took a deep breath to calm his rage. Bylinda was probably right; there was nothing to worry about. Marla wouldn’t let a childish argument stand in the way of a sound political decision.

  Damin was going to be High Prince some day and he needed a consort he could trust. Who better than his own cousin, raised with him from birth, educated with no other function in mind than being the wife of a High Prince? Marla understood that.

  And when Damin was finally crowned High Prince, he would have to relinquish Krakandar. There was no more logical contender for the position of Warlord when that happened than the beloved uncle who had administered his province so effectively all these years . . .

  “I’m sorry,” he conceded. “It’s just I’ve worked so hard for this.”

  “I understand,” Bylinda said. She bent over, kissed Leila on the top of her head and told her to run along. Still wiping away her tears, Leila bolted from the room, glaring at her father as she fled.

  Instinctively Mahkas rubbed at the sore spot on his forearm, as he always did when he was stressed. The tiny scar that bothered him was so small he couldn’t even recall how he came by it. Some minor nick in the training yards, no doubt. But it itched abominably, for no apparent reason, particularly when he was worried about something.

  Bylinda placed her hand over his to stop him scratching at it. “Leave it alone, Mahkas. You’ve rubbed it raw.”

  “I’ve worked so hard,” he repeated, as much to himself as to his wife. “I’ve been a good regent, haven’t I? Krakandar has never been more prosperous. I love Damin like a son. The gods know, you’re more a mother to him than his own mother has been. I just can’t bear the thought of losing it all, Bylinda. Not now. Not after all this time.”

  Before his wife could reassure him, a knock sounded at the door Leila had left open in her haste to escape her father’s wrath. Orleon stood in the doorway, his expression giving away nothing. Mahkas wasn’t sure how much he’d overheard, or if, indeed, he’d overheard anything at all.

  “What?” he demanded of the chief steward.

  “Princess Marla requests your presence, my lord.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “No, my lord.”

  Bylinda smiled at him encouragingly. “Go to her. I’ll see you at dinner.” Mahkas nodded, wondering if Bylinda’s faith in him was simply blind love or a genuine belief in the righteousness of his cause. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he agreed, and then he turned and followed Orleon, still rubbing at the sore spot on his arm.

  Marla was in the study Mahkas normally called his own, sitting behind his carved wooden desk, reading a small scroll, the type easily concealed and carried on the person of a courier. Marla’s most recent husband, Ruxton Tirstone, stood behind her, reading over her shoulder.

  They both looked up as he entered. Marla smiled briefly and pointed to the scroll. “We’re in the wrong business, Mahkas. We should be traders. You wouldn’t believe the information Ruxton manages to get hold of in the guise of selling spices.”

  “Really? How fortunate for us.”

  Mahkas didn’t like Ruxton Tirstone. He was far too sure of himself for a common-born merchant. With growing concern, Mahkas had watched Marla become more and more at ease in his company over the past five years. She respected the trader’s opinion and listened to it more often than Mahkas thought prudent. His distrust of the spice trader was prompted by jealousy as much as dislike.

  Marla didn’t seem to notice his sarcasm, though. “Look at this,” she chuckled, holding up a list of some kind. “Would you like to know the goings-on in the Sisterhood? This is a complete list of Sisters of the Blade’s postings throughout Medalon this year.” She glanced over her shoulder at Ruxton, shaking her head in amazement. “How did you get this?”

  “Ah, now that would be telling.”

  “I don’t see how the goings-on in the Sisterhood concern us in the slightest,” Mahkas remarked, a little annoyed that Ruxton was providing Marla with something so worthless and she didn’t seem to know it. Didn’t she understand the most valuable ally she had was her own brother-in-law, her son’s regent, his own flesh and blood? Not some common-born trader with no breeding and just enough money to buy himself a bit of respectability. It was almost obscene.

  “It pays to keep an eye on them,” Ruxton suggested. “Particularly the ambitious ones. Trayla won’t always be First Sister, you know.”

  “And you know who the ambitious ones are, I suppose?” Mahkas asked with a vaguely condescending smile.

  “I’d watch out for that one, for starters,” Ruxton said, pointing to a name on the list.

  “Who?” Mahkas couldn’t see the name and he was sorry now that he’d pursued the subject. All he needed was Ruxton showing off his knowledge of the inner
workings of every other government on the continent to convince Marla that her husband was indispensable.

  “Joyhinia Tenragan,” Marla read. “Who is she?”

  “Someone worth watching. Very smart. Very ambitious. And as ruthless as Hablet, by all accounts. She already has a son supposedly fathered by the Lord Defender. She’ll be on the Quorum some day, you mark my words.”

  “It says here she’s been posted to Testra since last winter.”

  This conversation was starting to exclude Mahkas completely. It was time to put an end to it.

  Time to prove that he had his own sources of intelligence, every bit as good as Ruxton’s.

  “Hablet of Fardohnya has another daughter,” he announced.

  The spice trader nodded his confirmation of the news. “He’s sired half a dozen bastard sons on his court’esa now, and another three or four baseborn daughters,” he added, proving yet again that his intelligence was better than anybody else’s in the country. “This latest one takes the legitimate daughters to seven, I think.”

  Smart-arse, Mahkas said silently. “Hablet won’t be happy with another daughter,” he noted, trying to keep the conversation going in the direction he wanted.

  Marla smiled thinly. “No. I don’t imagine he will. Speaking of daughters, did you have a word with Leila about this afternoon’s little fracas in the fens?”

  Mahkas swallowed hard before answering. “Marla, I’m sure she didn’t mean to be the cause of so much trouble . . .”

  “I’m sure of it, too, Mahkas,” the princess replied. “I hope you made it clear to her that she’s not to feel responsible for the infantile behaviour of her cousins. I don’t want the child feeling guilty because Damin and Starros were looking for an excuse to let off a bit of steam.”

  His relief was palpable. “Of course. I knew that. I told her not to worry about it.”

  “Too much idle time on their hands,” Ruxton laughed. “That’s the problem with those boys. Still, I suppose once Elezaar starts to whip them into shape, they’ll have more to do with their time than fight each other.”

  “What’s the dwarf got to do with it?” Mahkas asked with concern. He loathed Marla’s deformed little pet and resented every moment he was forced to allow the court’esa under his roof.

  “He’s taking on the role of tutor until Damin leaves for his fosterage at the end of summer,”

  Marla explained. “In the meantime, Ruxton’s going to see if he can find a suitable replacement. I wouldn’t mind getting hold of a Medalonian tutor, actually. Their women are better educated than any other tutors—male or female—on the continent. Particularly in the areas of government and economics.”

  Mahkas smiled condescendingly. “Surely you’d not consider allowing your sons to be taught by a woman, Marla?”

  The princess leaned back in her chair and studied him curiously for a moment without saying anything.

  Immediately, Mahkas realised his mistake. “Of course, I don’t mean to imply that a woman couldn’t . . . I mean, it’s not that I think . . .”

  Ruxton laughed at Mahkas’s stammering efforts to extricate himself from his blunder. “You’re going to have to work a lot harder to get out of that one, I fear, brother-in-law.” He touched Marla’s shoulder in a gesture of familiarity that Mahkas found more than a little disturbing. She looked up at him with a smile. “I’ll leave that with you,” he told her. “There’s a paragraph a bit further down detailing how much Hablet’s spending on the Temple of Jelanna in Talabar that might interest you. Particularly as he’s planning to import the marble to reface the temple.” Ruxton straightened up then and walked around the desk, bowing politely to Mahkas on his way out. “I trust you’ll excuse me, Mahkas. I need to spend some time with my own children or they’ll start thinking I really have abandoned them. We’ll see you at dinner, I hope?”

  “Of course,” Mahkas replied.

  We’ll see you at dinner, I hope? he repeated sarcastically to himself. This is my home. Who does this damn trader think he is?

  Mahkas turned his attention back to Marla as Ruxton let himself out, closing the door behind him. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Marla.”

  “I know you didn’t. And I know you’re not that fond of Elezaar. But he’s a very good teacher. I can vouch for that myself. And he knows the children. They won’t be able to cause mischief with him the way they have with everyone else.”

  “Perhaps you should think about getting rid of Starros,” he suggested.

  “Why?”

  “Well, he’s obviously the ringleader. He is the eldest, after all. Perhaps without his disruptive influence—”

  “I would have thought the situation quite the opposite. My spies tell me it’s Starros who often curbs the excesses of the others. Even Damin bows to his foster-brother’s wisdom on occasion. That’s not a gift to throw away lightly.”

  “You have spies in the palace?” Mahkas asked with alarm.

  Marla laughed. “It’s a figure of speech, silly. And don’t worry about Starros. I have plans for him.”

  “You do?”

  “Don’t looked so worried, Mahkas. I just want him to continue his education while Damin’s away. I may have need of that boy some time in the future.”

  “I see,” he said carefully, wondering if now was a good time to broach the subject again about Damin and Leila. Marla seemed in a surprisingly good mood, given the circumstances of her arrival. “And what of the others? Do you have plans for them?”

  “Well, Rielle is marrying young Darvad soon, and Ruxton expects his boys to follow him into the spice trade. Luciena and I will soon come to an agreement about her inheritance, and I’m rather hoping she and Xanda hit it off, because that will solve the problem of whom she should marry rather neatly.

  Travin is the heir to his father’s estate in Walsark and is doing quite well, according to your last letter.

  Narvell is the heir to Elasapine, so there’s not much doubt about his future. As for Kalan, well, she’s young yet. I haven’t really decided what to do with her. No doubt there’s a match out there that will suit us strategically, if nothing else.”

  “And Leila?”

  “Leila is your child, Mahkas. I wouldn’t presume to plan a future for her.”

  He nodded his agreement. “Of course. You know, however, that I believe she and Damin . . .”

  Marla sighed. “Yes, Mahkas, I know. And as I’ve told you before, even a betrothal is years away for Damin. He turns thirteen in a few weeks. I have to get him through the next two years after that first, before he even gets access to a court’esa. I’m not going to commit either Damin or Leila to a marriage they may not want when they get older.”

  “Leila adores Damin, Marla. She speaks of little else.”

  Marla smiled sympathetically. “Then let’s see how they feel about each other when they’re old enough to understand what marriage is all about, shall we?”

  “As you wish.”

  Marla rose to her feet and rolled up the scroll from Ruxton’s messenger. “It really is very rude of me to march in here and take over this way. Why don’t you take your seat, Mahkas? I’m sure you have lots to tell me about what’s been happening over the past year.”

  She obviously didn’t want to talk any further on the subject, so Mahkas had little choice but to bow to her wishes. He took the seat Marla offered him, thinking at least she hadn’t said no to the marriage and while ever that situation remained, there was hope that he would one day become Warlord of Krakandar in his own right and no longer be the regent for anybody.

  Chapter 16

  The family gathered for dinner that evening, as they always did on Marla’s first night home.

  Dispensing with a formal arrangement in the dining hall, Orleon had arranged the tables in a much smaller horseshoe shape so that everyone could see each other. With the princess and her husband, her brother-in-law, sister-in-law, and the various children belonging to all of them, the diners numbered more than a doz
en.

  Marla had deliberately seated Damin next to Luciena and had warned him—quite openly in Luciena’s hearing—to be on his best behaviour. The young prince smiled at Luciena when he arrived at the table. She wasn’t sure if it was because he had heeded his mother’s warning and decided to do his best to make his new stepsister feel at ease, or if it was simply in his nature to do so.

  “So, you’re the new one, eh?” Damin enquired cheerfully, as he took his seat. “Welcome to the lunatic asylum.”

  Luciena studied the boy curiously, trying to detect if he was genuine in his welcome or mocking her somehow. After a moment, she bowed her head politely. “Thank you, your highness.”

  “You don’t have to call me that. Nobody else does.”

  Luciena looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

  “Well, the slaves do,” he shrugged. “And some of the townsfolk. But nobody around here does.

  Mother says I’ll get enough of that when I’m older.”

  That was the last thing Luciena expected to hear. She glanced across the table to where Marla was talking to Mahkas as she took her place, smiled nervously and took a sip from her wineglass. Damin was also served wine, although his was watered down, as was the wine served to all the children. He was a good-looking boy, big for his age, with fair hair and blue eyes, as if the gods had conspired to grant Hythria a prince who looked the part, even if he’d yet to prove he could act it.

  “Have you met everyone yet?” Damin asked, looking around the table.

  Warm candlelight reflected off the silverware, and the low hum of conversation filled the room with a soft buzz as everyone was seated. Luciena looked around, shaking her head. “There’s so many of them.”

  “Then allow me to introduce them,” Damin offered, as the first course was served. He leaned back a little as a slave ladled the clear meaty soup into his bowl and then picked up his spoon and pointed it at the other arm of the table. “The one with the blond hair and the black eye at the very end over there is Starros,” he explained, as Luciena began to sip her soup. “He’s my foster-brother. Been in the palace since he was five. We all know he’s Almodavar’s bastard, but he’ll never admit to it.”