“How did you get in here?” Laran asked. “I thought this ball was restricted to civilised people?”
The big Warlord laughed. “They let Hablet of Fardohnya in, didn’t they?”
“I heard a rumour he’s made an offer for the High Prince’s sister,” Laran said.
Nash’s smile faded. “It’s no rumour. And her son will be heir to Hythria, some day.”
“Not if Lernen has a son.”
Nash shook his head unhappily at the thought. “Since I can’t recall the last time a young male slave gave birth, that’s not very likely, is it?”
Laran looked at his two companions hopefully. “Look, I know what he fancies—gods, the whole country knows it—and I agree it’s not very healthy, but surely he realises he has a duty? They only have to find him a wife with the right bloodline. After he gets her with child, who cares what he does? Or who he does it with?”
“A sound plan if you could get him to cooperate,” Glenadal agreed. He lowered his voice and glanced around before adding, “The problem is—Lernen isn’t interested. If what I hear rumoured is true, Hablet is offering him a fortune and the chance to get an heir without having to sully his hands by laying them on a woman. I don’t think he cares what happens beyond that.”
“It won’t happen,” Laran said, shaking his head. “The Convocation of Warlords will never countenance a Fardohnyan-born heir to the High Prince of Hythria’s throne.”
“Hence the Patriots’ seemingly acceptable suggestion that we abandon the current bloodline,” Glenadal pointed out. “To those who don’t want to be ruled some day by Hablet’s get, Barnardo Eaglespike is an eminently reasonable alternative.”
“He’d strip the country bare in five years,” Laran said.
“But he’s Hythrun,” Glenadal reminded them. “A lot of people would rather be raped by one of their own than a foreigner.”
“Raped is still raped, Glenadal.”
“Why can’t we just marry the High Prince’s sister to a Hythrun then?” Nash asked.
“Who?” Laran scoffed. “Any man foolish enough to make an offer for Marla Wolfblade needs an army the size of Medalon’s to back him up and more wealth than any one province owns. That’s what makes Hablet’s offer so attractive to Lernen. The Fardohnyan king is richer than a god and has access to a standing army bigger than the population of Greenharbour.”
“Besides, the only unmarried Warlord in Hythria is you, Laran,” Glenadal reminded them. “And you’re not even sure they’re going to let you have Krakandar yet.”
“Perhaps I should make an offer for her?” Nash laughed. “I’ll be a Warlord soon. And she’s really quite stunning, you know.”
“Don’t you think your father might have something to say about that?” Laran suggested. “He was looking pretty hale and hearty earlier this evening. I’m not sure he’d be too pleased to hear you announcing that you’re soon to replace him.”
“Well, maybe soon is a bit of an exaggeration,” Nash conceded. “But it’s kind of tempting for a patriotic Hythrun, don’t you think? The chance to father the next High Prince? Particularly if all it requires is a brave man willing to take a beautiful, well-trained princess to his bed.”
“A sacrifice a noble and selfless Royalist such as you would be more than willing to make, I suppose?” Laran asked with a wry smile.
“Of course,” Nash agreed. “I’m renowned for my selfless devotion to the cause.”
Glenadal smiled. “I’d not joke about it too loudly, if I were you, Nashan Hawksword. Nobody has much of a sense of humour when it comes to the succession.”
“It’s probably a foolish notion,” Nash sighed. “Besides, I’m waiting for Riika to grow up.”
“You’ll be waiting a long time before I let you near my daughter,” Glenadal chuckled, slapping the young man on the back. “Anyway, she hates you.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“No. I decided it for her.”
“Help me, Laran!” Nash begged, turning to his friend for support. “He’s not being fair!”
“Help you get your hands on my innocent little sister?” Laran asked with a wink at his stepfather. “Are you forgetting how well I know you, Nash?”
“I would treat her like a queen!” Nash promised.
“Isn’t that what you told that court’esa last night?”
“Laran!”
The Warlord laughed. “Keep trying, Nashan. I like you. One day I may even let you stand in the same room as Riika without an armed escort. But don’t hold your breath.”
Nash opened his mouth to object but the words never came. Over his shoulder, a door to one of the anterooms opened. The movement caught his eye and they all turned to see what was happening. A young girl dressed in a swirl of lavender silk emerged from the room followed by an elegant, black-robed sorcerer.
“Ye gods,” Laran breathed in awe. “Who is that?”
“That,” Nashan replied, “is Marla Wolfblade.”
“You weren’t joking when you said she was stunning.”
“I know, I think I’m in love,” Nash declared, clutching his hand dramatically over his heart.
Laran shook his head and looked at his stepfather, rolling his eyes. “He said that to a court’esa last night, too.”
chapter 9
T
he first thing Marla saw when she emerged from the anteroom was Nashan Hawksword staring at her with open admiration, his hand on his heart. Behind him were two older men. One she recognised as the Warlord of Sunrise Province. The other man, she didn’t know. Nash took his hand from his heart, picked up his wine and raised his glass in her direction.
She thought her heart might shatter into a million fragments at the sight of him.
“That’s Nashan Hawksword,” Lady Tesha explained. “The son of Lord Hawksword, the Warlord of Elasapine. It would be rude not to acknowledge his greeting.”
“It’s rude to farm me out like a prize brood mare,” Marla retorted petulantly. “That doesn’t seem to bother anyone.”
Tesha ignored her comment, taking her arm to lead her forward to greet the Warlords.
“Lady Tesha,” the Warlord of Sunrise said with a gracious bow as they approached. “How lovely to see you again. And with such a charming companion.”
“Allow me to introduce her royal highness, Marla Wolfblade,” Tesha said. “Marla, I believe you already know Glenadal Ravenspear. This is Nashan Hawksword, son of the Warlord of Elasapine, and Lord Laran Krakenshield, the Warlord of Krakandar.”
“I had the honour of meeting her highness earlier,” Nash said, taking her hand. He kissed her palm, sending a shiver down her spine, then handed her over to Laran Krakenshield.
Laran bowed politely, taking Marla’s hand, kissing her palm also, although far more properly than Nash had done. He was very tall, with dark hair, blue eyes and features too stern to be called handsome. “Lady Tesha exaggerates, your highness. I’m not actually the Warlord of anything yet.”
Marla smiled, trying to give the impression she cared. She had no interest in Laran Krakenshield.
“Surely your appointment as Warlord of Krakandar is a mere formality, my lord?” Tesha asked.
“Nothing in Hythria is a mere formality,” Laran replied. “As you should know, my lady.”
The comment caught Marla’s attention. “What do you mean?”
“Just that nothing is ever certain until it’s done, your highness. Not in this country, at any rate.”
“But Krakandar is your birthright, is it not? What could go wrong?”
Nash laughed, amused by her innocent question. “Any number of things could go awry, your highness. It’s the nature of life to be uncertain. That’s what makes it so interesting.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe nothing was certain, after all. Maybe there was some hope for a future that didn’t involve a loveless, lonely existence in a foreign country, far from everything she knew and loved.
“If uncertainty is your guiding pr
inciple, Nash,” Lord Ravenspear chuckled, “I wonder how you manage to get anything done.”
“Well, mostly it’s just luck, I think.”
“You’re a follower of Jondalup, Lord Hawksword?” Marla asked, hoping she didn’t sound like she was simply fishing for any pathetic excuse to stand here and talk to him. “The God of Chance?”
“Actually, I’ve always fancied myself a follower of Kalianah first, your highness,” Nash told her with a mischievous smile. “I tend to pray to the other gods as the need arises.”
“Which would account for why they seem to ignore you so regularly,” Glenadal remarked. “Pay no attention to him, Marla. Nashan Hawksword is a rogue and I’ll not let him or my stepson corrupt you any further. Come!” he ordered, offering her his arm. “Walk with me. My wife is back home in Cabradell so we’ll get all the gossips talking about what you’re doing hanging off the arm of an old beast like me.”
Marla liked Glenadal Ravenspear. He had always been kind to her and was one of the few who ever bothered to visit her at Highcastle. Her cousins’ estate was located within the borders of Sunrise; her Aunt Lydia was married to Frederak Branador, one of the vassals of the Ravenspear family. Marla took the Warlord’s arm and smiled hopefully at Tesha.
“Is that all right with you, Lady Tesha?”
“I suppose you’re as safe with the Warlord of Sunrise as any other man in this hall,” the sorcerer remarked. “You will keep her safe, won’t you, Glenadal?”
“Like she was my own child,” the Warlord promised.
“I notice you didn’t actually bring your own child to Greenharbour for the Convocation,” Tesha pointed out—a little annoyed, Marla thought.
“Riika will make her debut into society when I deem her ready, Lady Tesha. Never fear. In the meantime, I have a princess to escort and a great number of dirty old men to turn green with envy.”
Without waiting for Tesha to reply, Glenadal led Marla away, holding her arm. He escorted her from the tables, through the crush, towards the balcony doors at the far end of the hall.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Rescuing me from Lady Tesha.”
“Did you need rescuing?” the Warlord asked curiously.
Marla sighed heavily. “You have no idea.”
“Actually, I think I do. You’ve heard the news about the Fardohnyan offer, I take it?”
She nodded mutely, afraid that if she said anything she might start to cry. Nash had been swallowed by the crowd. She couldn’t even see him in the crush.
“It’s a tempting offer, lass.”
She forced herself to stop searching the sea of faces for another glimpse of Nash and concentrated on what Glenadal was saying. “What? Of course.”
“Your brother’s going to find it hard to refuse.”
“Can’t you speak to him?”
“And tell him what, child? They’re murdering his friends in broad daylight now. Hablet’s offer is just what he needs to hold off Barnardo’s push for the throne. You don’t think he’s going to turn his back on an opportunity like that for the sake of his sister’s feelings, do you?”
“It’s cruel,” Marla insisted. “And inhuman.”
“It’s politics,” Glenadal shrugged.
“But . . . what if I love someone else?”
The Warlord laughed. “Love’s got nothing to do with it, child. You’re a princess of the blood royal. You don’t have that luxury. If it’s romance you want, buy yourself a handsome young court’esa to keep you amused.” When he noticed Marla’s scowl he smiled. “Come, lass, it’s not that bad. By the time you’ve been married five years, Hablet will have a score of wives, anyway. You probably won’t even need to visit his bed once you’ve given him a son.”
“I’m not going to give him a son. I hope he never has a son. I hate him.”
The Warlord glanced around nervously. “Be careful what you wish for, Marla. Careless curses can come true.”
“Good.”
He shook his head sadly. “It’s a hard thing, Marla, when you learn who it is that you have to marry. I remember wanting to kill myself when I was presented to my first wife.”
“Why?”
Glenadal chuckled. “Because she was so damned self-righteous. And ugly.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Kill myself? I had a duty, lass. A duty to my family. To my province. My vassals. To my people.”
“I hate duty. I hate being a princess. I wish I was like Lady Jeryma. At least she got a choice.”
“You think so? Shows how much you know! When I married Laran’s mother, I was forced to keep her away from anything sharp for quite some time after the wedding.”
Marla was shocked. “You did not!”
“I swear it on my only daughter’s head.”
“I always thought you and Lady Jeryma were really happy together.”
“We are now,” he agreed. “But it took time. And sometimes it never happens at all. I hated my first wife right up until the day she died giving birth to my only legitimate son who lived for about three breaths longer than she did. I hated her for that, too.”
Marla smiled thinly. “Are you telling me this to make me feel better, Lord Ravenspear? Or worse?”
“I’m telling you this to remind you how futile it is for you to fight this, lass. Lernen needs you married to someone who can prop up his very shaky position. You might as well accept that and move on. There is no other choice for you.”
“Lord Palenovar promised me he’d try to find a way out of it.”
The Warlord shook his head. “That was a foolish promise Kagan knows he can’t keep.”
“But he’s the High Arrion.”
“Aye. But he’s a sorcerer, not a miracle worker. Still, he’s a Royalist at heart, and I suppose he doesn’t want you married to a Fardohnyan any more than I do. I suspect if there was some other way, Kagan would have found it by now. Don’t cling to false hope, Marla. It’ll just hurt more in the end.”
“Can’t the two of you get together and do something? I mean, he’s your brother-in-law, isn’t he? Surely, with the most important Royalists supporting the High Arrion, if you spoke to Lernen—”
“Marla, there’s no point,” he said, with a squeeze of her hand, dashing her hopes with his sympathetic smile. “Unless a miracle on the scale of the Harshini suddenly returning from exile after a hundred and fifty years happens in the next week or so, you’ll be married to Hablet of Fardohnya by the end of the year, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
chapter 10
T
he ballroom of the High Prince’s palace in Greenharbour could comfortably accommodate two or three thousand people. It did not make it a large room. It just meant the inevitable meeting between Alija Eaglespike and Laran Krakenshield took a little longer than either of them expected.
Alija would have preferred to speak to Laran alone, but she couldn’t risk letting Barnardo out of her sight. A conversation with Laran was long overdue. She’d not spoken to him alone since the day she’d accepted Barnardo’s proposal of marriage. In five years she had never once had an opportunity to explain her actions to him. It was probably too late now. And even if she had the opportunity, would Laran understand? He was a staunch Royalist; one of those people who believed you supported the High Prince, even when it was wrong. If Lernen Wolfblade was the legal successor, then Laran Krakenshield would support him, even if he knew the man was a perverted fool with no interest in ruling his country.
Of course, there were others who supported Lernen Wolfblade because they quite liked the idea of a High Prince who was a perverted fool with no interest in ruling his country. Alija despised them for it, although she well understood the reason. The High Prince’s inaction left the Warlords with a free hand to do as they pleased.
“Lord Krakenshield!” Barnardo bellowed when he spied Laran, making Alija wince. Barnardo had no inkling about her previous relationship with Laran. He
’d been too blinded by the idea that a beautiful young sorcerer was interested in him to enquire too closely about any rivals for her affection.
“Lord Eaglespike. Lady Alija.” Laran’s tone was polite and neutral.
“All ready to become a Warlord, then?” Barnardo chuckled, slapping the taller man on the back. “I should threaten not to support you at the Convocation and make you offer me a bribe, eh?”
Alija closed her eyes for a moment, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. Or better yet, swallow Barnardo. She knew he was joking. Laran probably knew it, too. But he was talking loud enough to be heard halfway across the ballroom. Alija had spent months trying to sell Barnardo to the other Warlords as an honest man; a man with a much higher level of personal integrity than the incumbent High Prince. Jokes like that did nothing to aid her cause.
Laran smiled politely. “It’s a good thing I know you’re only teasing, Lord Eaglespike. I’m not sure what I could offer as a bribe to a man who has everything.” He looked at Alija pointedly, daring her to react.
She didn’t flinch from his gaze. “I’m sure my husband would be mightily offended by the mere suggestion of a bribe,” she replied, also loud enough to be overheard. “He will support you, Lord Krakenshield, because you are the legal heir and, more importantly, the best man for the job. To support you for any other reason would be unconscionable.”
Before Laran or Barnardo could reply, they were disturbed by the arrival of Nashan Hawksword, who barrelled into their midst with no inkling of the discussion he was interrupting. On his arm was a fair-haired girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen, her face flushed from dancing, her blue eyes aglow with excitement every time she glanced at her companion.
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