Warrior

by Jennifer Fallon

  Wrayan had smiled at the look of wonder on the child’s face. He’d be just as enchanted to wake up one morning and discover he could wield his magic so skillfully, he thought. Unfortunately, Wrayan was introduced to the Harshini when he was much older than Rory, so his education had been far more painstaking and, apparently, not nearly as much fun.

  “What will happen when we get to Krakandar?” Rory asked.

  They had taken shelter this rainy evening in an abandoned farmhouse several miles north of the Elasapine border. They’d been on the road for about three weeks now and had crossed into Krakandar Province the day before. The weather, which had until now been quite pleasant, had deteriorated rapidly in the past day, and they’d finally decided to wait out the rain when it began to drop hailstones the size of marbles on their unprotected heads. The hail had stopped about an hour before, with the light rapidly fading, but the rain still pelted down and Wrayan thought it unlikely they’d get much further today.

  He turned to study Rory, wondering if he should tell him the truth or spin some story that would make him feel more secure. He settled on the truth. The boy was remarkably accepting of his strange plight, a fact that made Wrayan wonder, if along with filling his head with knowledge, Shananara had done something to dampen the child’s emotional turmoil at the same time. In the past few months, Rory had accidentally killed a man, been torn from his home, pursued across hundreds of miles of Fardohnya, arrested as a Hythrun spy, drugged, kidnapped, sprung from a Fardohnyan jail and finally confronted with the lost race of the Harshini, yet he acted as if these were perfectly normal, everyday events. There had to be some magic involved. Wrayan couldn’t detect that his mind had been tampered with, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t, of course. Just as Alija couldn’t see Wrayan’s hand in the mind shields that protected Marla and her family, Shananara’s skill was so far above Wrayan’s ability that she could have done any number of things to the child and he wouldn’t have been able to detect it.

  “I’ll take you to meet Princess Marla,” Wrayan told him, shifting his saddle so he could use it as a pillow. “If you’re going to join the Sorcerers’ Collective, you’ll need her patronage.”

  “Why do I have to join the Sorcerers’ Collective?” Rory was squatting beside the fireplace, eating the remains of the stew Wrayan had prepared for their dinner directly from the pot. It was his third helping. There didn’t seem to be enough food in Hythria to fill the child up.

  “Because you’re a sorcerer?” Wrayan suggested, shaking out his blanket.

  “I know that. I mean, what’s the point, though? Isn’t the idea of joining the Sorcerers’ Collective to learn how to wield magic?”

  “You’d think so.”

  “But I already know more than anyone in the Sorcerers’ Collective could teach me,” Rory pointed out through a mouthful of stew. “What else is there to learn?”

  Wrayan smiled. “I’m sure there’s something Shananara forgot to tell you.”

  “They probably won’t let me in,” the boy shrugged.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m Fardohnyan.”

  “That shouldn’t matter. There was a time when people from all over the world studied in Greenharbour.” He glanced at the boy’s fair hair and blue eyes as he sat on the floor. “Besides, you don’t look it.”

  “My grandfather was Hythrun,” Rory explained. “He always called me Rorin. That’s my Hythrun name, he used to tell me. He said it meant ‘one whose future would unfold in unexpected directions.’ ”

  “He got that much right,” Wrayan chuckled, pulling the blanket over himself. “And he taught you well. You speak Hythrun like a native.”

  “My grandpa was a sailor. He lived in Talabar most of his grown-up life, but he had the worst accent,” Rory said, smiling in remembrance. “It was just easier to talk to him in Hythrun. At least that way you had some hope of understanding him.”

  “Lucky for us you did. Do you think you could pass for a Hythrun?”

  “I suppose. Why?”

  “Fewer questions, for one thing. We can say you come from Krakandar, which would explain why Princess Marla is sponsoring your application to the Collective. If we give you a Hythrun surname, nobody need ever know you came from Talabar.”

  “Do you think I’ll be able to find my cousin when I get to Greenharbour?”

  Wrayan settled his back against the wall of the farmhouse, and stretched his legs out and closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t get too excited about it, lad. Greenharbour’s a pretty big city. Do you know his name?”

  “Her name,” Rory corrected. “It’s Luciena Mariner. My father and her father were brothers.”

  Wrayan opened his eyes and stared at the boy. “You are Luciena Mariner’s cousin?”

  Rory nodded warily. “Is this a bad thing?”

  “Not really,” Wrayan replied with a sigh, as a whole swathe of remarkable coincidences suddenly became clear. “It just explains a few things Brak never bothered to mention.”

  “Do you think we’ll ever see him again?”

  “Who? Brak?” Wrayan shrugged. “I couldn’t say. He has a habit of turning up when you least expect him. Are you really Luciena’s cousin?”

  “You keep saying that like you know her.”

  “I’ve met her,” Wrayan said. The same day Brak turned up without warning, after a five-year absence. “She’s in Krakandar with Princess Marla,” he added, shaking his head, wishing, for once, Brak wasn’t so damned fond of being cryptic. Why couldn’t he just come straight out and say: Wrayan, there’s a child in trouble and I need you to help me rescue him, oh, and by the way, that girl you met today in the palace? You might want to introduce the two of them when you get him home. He’s her cousin.

  “Does that mean my grandpa was right? I really am related to the Hythrun royal family?”

  Wrayan smiled. Now he understood Rory’s fascination with the Wolf-blades. “I suppose, if you’re really Luciena’s cousin, then you are. In a roundabout sort of way.”

  “Do you think I’ll get to meet Luciena when we get to Krakandar?”

  Wrayan closed his eyes again. “Yes, Rory, you’ll get to meet her.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “I don’t know her well enough to say.”

  “Do you think she’ll like me?”

  Wrayan opened one eye and glared balefully at the boy. “If you don’t shut up and let me get some sleep, Rory, I’ll throttle you and you’ll never find out.”

  Rory didn’t seem to take his threat very seriously. “It’s kind of a funny coincidence, isn’t it? You knowing my cousin?”

  Coincidence, my arse, Wrayan replied silently. But aloud he said, “You wouldn’t read about it.”

  “Do you think the Harshini had something to do with it?” When the boy received no reply, he hesitated for a moment. “Wrayan?”

  Feigning sleep, the thief pretended not to hear Rory’s question about the Harshini and the remarkable coincidence that had sent Wrayan into Fardohnya with Brak to find him. After a while he heard Rory settling down on the other side of the fire, and not long after that the slow, even breathing that indicated the child was asleep.

  But he lay awake listening to the rain for a long time, thinking about Rory’s question. Do you think the Harshini had something to do with it? the child had asked.

  You can count on it, Wrayan replied silently, only now beginning to realise just how expertly he’d been manipulated into doing what the Harshini wanted. You can count on it.

  Chapter 36

  Luciena lost count of the days she spent locked in the cells waiting for something to happen.

  Waiting for some hint about her eventual fate; some announcement or decree about whether she lived or died. Sometimes it felt like she’d been here for a lifetime; other times, it seemed like only yesterday that she was sprawled across the silk coverlet on Rielle’s bed, helping her new stepsister decide what to wear to the ball, while she and Tejay wondered about their future husbands.


  It was hot and airless in the cells. Luciena had long since shed her ruined ballgown in favour of a simple linen undershift that, while hardly elegant, at least made her confinement bearable. Once a day she was allowed out into the yard to stretch her legs, while slaves changed the bucket and cleaned the cell.

  She got to know the names of her jailers after a while; she had been incarcerated long enough to learn the names of their wives and even some of their children, too. She knew the fat corporal on the night shift had been banned from taking part in raids over the Medalon border until he lost some weight because his horse couldn’t carry his bulk over the dangerous Bardarlen Gorge, and that the young lad who delivered her food each morning was hoping to be promoted to corporal on the Feast of Zegarnald when all the mercenaries’ contracts came up for renewal. She learned that Arkin, the dark-haired Raider in charge of the afternoon detail, had lost his arm to gangrene following a poorly treated arrow wound, and that Corporal Nyar’s limp was due to a badly fractured ankle that had never healed properly.

  Xanda visited her every day. They had settled into an uneasy friendship, full of strange, unspoken promises and silent assurances that Luciena often thought she might be imagining. His visits were filled with long, uncomfortable silences that sufficed for all the things they were too afraid to speak aloud. They were both acutely aware that, at any moment, Luciena might be declared a traitor and hanged for her crime. She might—just as probably—be acquitted, if Princess Marla determined the attack had not been her fault and she did not represent a continuing danger to Damin or anyone else in the family.

  But time is running out, Luciena thought, standing on her toes to see if she could determine the position of the sun through the small barred window. It was hard to keep track of the time here, and she was beginning to suspect that Xanda was late, which could mean he wasn’t coming today.

  The patch of blue she could see through the window told her nothing. With a sigh, Luciena turned and leaned against the wall, the undressed granite rough but cool through the thin linen of her shift. Summer is almost over, she realised. And when it is, I’m done for. Marla’s not going to leave me to rot here while she returns to Greenharbour.

  Proved innocent, or dead. They were Luciena’s only options.

  The lock on the door rattled. Luciena smiled with relief and stood a little straighter, glad that Xanda had finally arrived. She wanted to ask him if Princess Marla had set her departure date yet. If there’d been any news at all, actually, about her fate.

  But when the door opened, it wasn’t Xanda who stepped into her cell. It was Captain Almodavar. She stared at him, feeling her knees go weak.

  This is it, she concluded with despair. They’ve come for me.

  “Miss Mariner.”

  Oh, Xanda! Wouldn’t they even let you say good-bye?

  “Captain.”

  “Would you come with me, please?”

  Luciena was surprised by how politely the captain addressed her. And a little annoyed by it. Did he think she was going to let him lead her quietly to her own execution?

  “No.”

  Almodavar stared at her in surprise. “Pardon?”

  “If you want to hang me, Captain, I’m afraid you’re going to have to drag me out of here. Kicking and screaming.”

  “Gladly, Miss Mariner,” he said. The faintest glimmer of a smile flickered across the captain’s battle-weary face. “But as I came to escort you to the palace and not the gallows, I was hoping you’d be a little more cooperative.”

  “Princess Marla wants to see me?” Not once had Marla made any attempt to speak with Luciena the whole time she’d been incarcerated. “Why?”

  “I’m not in the habit of interrogating her highness about her business.”

  Luciena squared her shoulders with determination, relieved that, one way or another, her ordeal would soon be over. “Then take me to her,” she said. “And let’s be done with this.”

  Marla was waiting for Luciena in the solar. It seemed an odd place to meet. There were no guards inside, either, although Luciena didn’t doubt Almodavar was merely a shout away. She wasn’t sure if the absence of guards meant she was no longer in imminent danger of being hanged, or if it simply meant Marla wasn’t afraid of her.

  The princess was standing by the glass wall that looked out over the gardens, wearing a dark green robe that complemented her perfectly groomed blonde hair. As usual, she looked in complete command of her surroundings. It was rather disheartening, however, when Marla turned to face her.

  The look on the princess’s face did not augur well for Luciena’s future.

  Luciena curtseyed with all the dignity she could manage in her grubby undershift. “Your highness.”

  “Luciena.”

  “Captain Almodavar said you wanted to see me.”

  “I’m leaving in a few days,” the princess announced. “To escort Damin to Natalandar for his fosterage on my way back to Greenharbour. You remember Damin, don’t you, Luciena? The boy you tried to kill?”

  “Your highness—”

  “I don’t know what disgusts me more,” Princess Marla continued, as if Luciena hadn’t spoken,

  “your brazen gall, or the way you insinuated yourself into my family for the sole purpose of killing my son.”

  “You invited me into your family, your highness,” Luciena felt compelled to remind the princess.

  “I didn’t insinuate myself into anything.”

  “And that excuses your actions, I suppose? Because it’s my fault?” Marla looked at her curiously.

  “We never even met until a few months ago. How could you despise me so deeply you would willingly aid Hythria’s enemies?”

  “I’m not a spy.”

  “Then you’re a Patriot.”

  “I’m not a Patriot, either.”

  Marla seemed quite surprised by her denials. “Then you were motivated by simple hate. What did the Wolfblades ever do to you?”

  “You promised me a family,” Luciena accused, figuring she couldn’t get into any worse trouble than she was already in, so she might as well have her say. “I remember when my father came home and told us he was going to marry you. I might have only been nine, but I still remember. He was so happy. Not for himself, but for me. He was a commoner and I was his only child, and baseborn at that.

  This marriage was for me, he said. Princess Marla was supposed to make it all wonderful for us. Instead of a slave’s brat, I was going to be a princess. I’d have brothers and sisters and—” She stopped abruptly, realising the only thing she was doing was exposing her own pain. Marla appeared unmoved. “It turned out to be a lie, didn’t it? There was no invitation to the palace. I remained an outcast until it suited your purposes to bring me into the fold once my slave-born mother was dead and you didn’t have to confront the idea that your stepdaughter was the get of a commoner and a court’esa.”

  Marla shook her head. “The fairy-tale family you so hungered for came at a cost your father wasn’t willing to pay, Luciena. It was at his request that I left you with your mother after we married.”

  “Easy to say now, when he’s not here to disagree with you.”

  Marla walked a little closer to her. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Luciena. Or justify anything I’ve done. What I must do, however, is make a decision about what to do with you, and right now you’re making it very easy for me.”

  “Let me guess. You’re going to have me killed? What a shock! I’m surprised you’ve waited this long.”

  “You’ve Xanda Taranger to thank for the delay. I was all for killing you the night you attacked Damin.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Marla smiled faintly, the first time Luciena had seen even a hint of softening in the princess.

  “Because I’m very fond of my nephew and he’s convinced you’re innocent. I’d hate to give him cause to feel about me the way you do.”

  “That can’t be the only reason.”

  �
��It’s not,” Marla agreed. “But it’s the only one that matters at the moment.”

  Luciena stared at the princess in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m giving you one last chance, Luciena, to prove your tale is the truth. Convince me, and I will let you live. Fail to convince me, and you won’t be going back to your cell, I can promise you that.”

  “Xanda said you were waiting until Wrayan Lightfinger returned. He can prove I’m innocent.”

  “Unfortunately for you, Wrayan isn’t here and I don’t have time to wait for him any longer. So convince me, or tell me what you’d like engraved on your headstone. I’m fine with it, either way.”

  Luciena stared at Marla, wishing she could tell if the princess was bluffing. “I don’t know how to prove my innocence, your highness.”

  “What of this letter from your uncle you claim to have? The one who was trying to extort you?

  Can you produce that?”

  “I left it in Greenharbour.”

  “Can anyone confirm your story?”

  “My slave, Aleesha—”

  “Your slave hardly counts as a reliable witness. Isn’t there somebody else?”

  “The High Arrion—”

  “Is the last person you should use as a character witness in my house. Did you discuss the matter with Farlian Kell?”

  “No.”

  “With any body?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not doing much to help yourself, Luciena.”

  “If I’d known I was going to be accused of treason and attempted murder, your highness, I would have been a bit more careful to establish my alibi before I left Greenharbour.”

  The princess frowned at her tone. “Your attitude isn’t helping you, either.”

  “I’m sorry, your highness, if I’m not showing you the correct amount of respect while you pass a death sentence on me!”

  The thought occurred to Luciena, even as she uttered the words, that she was probably passing a death sentence on herself by being so insolent. But she couldn’t help it. This was so unfair. All her dreams had been so close to coming true. Everything had been on the cusp of being so perfect. And then, for reasons she couldn’t understand, or even remember, it had been snatched from her grasp and the only one she had to rail at was Princess Marla.