The Lyre Thief

by Jennifer Fallon

  He saluted her smartly as she approached. “Your highness.”

  “Good morning, Captain,” she said, acknowledging his salute with a slight nod of her head. She liked Cade, but she didn’t trust the reason he was here, or why he’d be in this part of the palace, which was restricted to members of the family, their trusted servants, and the guards who watched over them. “Are you looking for something?”

  “Your husband sent me to find you, ma’am,” he informed her.

  Adrina raised a brow at that. “Really? We’re using the Medalonian Defenders to run personal errands for us now?”

  Cade smiled. “Actually, I think he was looking for a polite way to get rid of me for a while. But he does have a message, I believe. Something about word on your sister’s arrival?”

  “Why are you asking me? You’re the one delivering the message.” She didn’t mean to sound so prickly, but she’d been on edge since Caden arrived. To have the Lord Defender of Medalon’s personal aide arrive unexpectedly in order to invite the High Prince of Hythria north to a meeting made her uneasy for no reason she could readily explain.

  Cade’s smile vanished. He seemed quite taken aback. “I’m sorry, your highness . . .”

  Adrina sighed. “No . . . I’m sorry, Captain. I don’t mean to bite your head off. Do you know what the message said?”

  “No, your highness, only that it came from a town somewhere north of here named Warrinhaven.”

  “I’ll go see Damin, then. What are you up to for the rest of the day?”

  “I’ve been ordered to visit the Sorcerers’ Collective.”

  Knowing Cade was an atheist, his announcement made Adrina smile. “Will you be praying to the gods while you’re there?”

  “I doubt it, your highness.”

  “Still clinging to the notion they don’t exist?”

  “More wishing they didn’t at this point,” he said.

  Adrina frowned. “So you think Shananara is right? That the gods are behind this stolen icon?”

  Cade shrugged. “I really couldn’t say, your highness,” he said. “I only know the Lord Defender asked me to speak with the High Arrion about it while I’m here.”

  “Really? What light can Kalan shed on this that the queen of the Harshini cannot?”

  “Tarja isn’t looking for her guidance on the gods,” Cade told her. “He wants the High Arrion’s help.”

  “With what?”

  “With finding R’shiel,” Cade said, glancing over his shoulder to see if they could be overheard. The wide, tiled corridor was deserted. He seemed uncomfortable, but Adrina couldn’t tell if that was because he feared they would be overheard or just that he didn’t like anything to do with magic, the Harshini, or the Lord Defender’s former lover—the only living being capable of destroying a god. He turned back to Adrina, adding in a low voice, “If there is a problem with the gods, your highness, Tarja doesn’t think the Harshini will be much help at all.”

  “Which is why he wants to find the demon child.”

  Cade nodded.

  “Nobody has laid eyes on R’shiel for a decade,” Adrina reminded him. “She disappeared from the Citadel before Jaz was born. What makes you think you could find her now, particularly if she doesn’t want to be found? Or that Kalan could help you locate her? I’m fairly certain if the High Prince’s sister knew where the demon child was, she’d have mentioned it in passing. We dine together quite often, you know.”

  “I’m just the messenger, your highness,” he told her with an apologetic shrug. “I’m to deliver Lord Tenragan’s message, that’s all. I’m sure the High Arrion will share that message with you, when next you dine, if she’s so inclined.”

  Cheeky sod, Adrina thought, but she admired any young man who refused to be intimidated by her. “Will you be dining with us this evening, Captain?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  “You are dismissed until then,” she decreed, and continued on her way without waiting for him to respond. After all, she was the High Princess of Hythria. Adrina always managed to have the last word.

  DAMIN WASN’T IN his office when she went looking for him. She found her husband in the palace forecourt, looking over several magnificent sorcerer-bred horses being paraded for his approval. Adrina frowned when she saw them. The beasts were stunning, but if Damin was planning to head north on sorcerer-bred mounts, that meant he was in a hurry. Tarja had invited Damin to a treaty negotiation—so he claimed. In fact, it wasn’t even that. It was a renegotiation of a perfectly functional treaty that nobody appeared anxious to meddle with.

  Why the need to travel at speed with the aid of sorcerer-bred horses?

  And worse, why would Damin risk Jazrian and Marlie, thinking they could handle such creatures?

  A black-robed figure stood beside Damin, watching the horses, along with a white-robed Harshini woman. Adrina recognized them both. The Harshini was Yananara, their Harshini horse master. The black-robed sorcerer was Rorin Mariner, cousin to Damin’s stepsister, Luciena, and the Lower Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective.

  “Really?” she asked as she strode up behind them. “You’re going to travel on sorcerer-bred mounts?”

  Damin looked up and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Adrina! So nice of you to join us. I was just telling Rory how it was your idea he come with us.”

  “Something about me being able to smite on command?” Rory said, grinning at her.

  Adrina wasn’t amused. “Why the horses?”

  “They’re pretty,” Damin said.

  “They’re dangerous,” Adrina replied. “And your traveling party includes two children and a woman who’s already walking with a cane because she hasn’t fully recovered from the last time she tried to prove she could manage one of these beasts, and is too stubborn to have it mended by the Harshini.”

  “I would never allow any harm to come to your children, your highness,” Yananara said, her black-on-black eyes filled with despair at the very thought. “And I would never allow the horses to think of harming them, either.”

  “I know that, Yannie,” Adrina said, smiling at the young woman. At least, Adrina always thought of her as young. She might be five hundred years old. There was just no way to tell with the Harshini. “I did not mean to imply you would be in any way to blame. It’s my husband’s complete lack of common sense or responsibility I’m concerned about.”

  Yannie smiled. “Oh . . . well . . . I understand now.”

  Even Damin bit back a smile at that. “Yannie, why don’t you and Rory finish selecting the mounts?”

  Yananara shook her head, stroking the proud muzzle of the golden stallion she was holding. “It is not up to me to select them, your highness. They must want to undertake the journey with us. We cannot force a sorcerer-bred mount to aid us.”

  “We’ll ask them,” Rory offered, with a wink at Damin, and then turned to the horse master. “The High Prince has princely things to take care of. You and I can take care of this.”

  That seemed to placate the Harshini. She began to lead the horses away, and the other dozen or so mounts turned to follow, obviously in response to some silent mental command Yananara had given them.

  Rorin leaned across, gave Adrina a quick kiss on the cheek, whispering, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the children safe and I’m an old hand at watching Damin’s back,” and then turned to follow the Harshini and her horses.

  Damin watched them departing for a moment and then turned to Adrina. “What was Rory whispering to you about me?”

  “Just that he agrees with me about your complete lack of common sense or responsibility. Are you really going to take Jaz and Marlie all that way on sorcerer-bred mounts?”

  “Not on their own. They’ll have an experienced Raider doubling with them and Yannie will be controlling the horses. They’ll be safer than if they were on ordinary mounts. You’re not worried about Marla?”

  “Would your mother be worried about me?”

  With a grin, Dami
n slipped his arm through hers as they headed back to the palace. “You know, my mother is right. You really are a terrible wife. I may have to put you aside for someone younger. Prettier. More respectful.”

  “I have a younger sister on the way,” she offered. “Perhaps you’ll find her more to your liking.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “She’s bound to be a better prospect, darling. You know my father . . . he never tries to rid himself of his troublesome daughters.”

  They’d reached the doors to the main entrance. The guards hurried forward to open the high double doors at the approach of their High Prince and Princess. Damin laughed, barely glancing at them. “Just what I need. Another conniving Fardohnyan princess for my mother to obsess over.”

  “Speaking of conniving Fardohnyan princesses, Cade said you’d received word about Rakaia’s arrival.”

  He nodded as they stepped inside to the relative coolness of the palace lobby. The humidity was only marginally less in here, but out of the sun it was cooler, at least. “Ky sent a rather odd message, actually.”

  “Odd how?”

  “It seems Rakaia sent her entourage back at the border and is heading here with an escort of less than a dozen men, no servants, no slaves, no handmaids, no court’esa, and no tantrums.”

  Adrina stopped and stared at Damin in surprise. “No. Surely not.”

  “That’s what the messenger says. Ky sent him on ahead to warn us. Apparently our young Rakaia is quite an accommodating little soul.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  “Why not?”

  Adrina couldn’t believe that after more than a decade living with her, Damin would need something like that explained. “Rakaia is Hablet’s daughter. She wouldn’t know the meaning of the word ‘accommodating.’ Besides, I remember her. She was a holy terror as a child.”

  Her admission seemed to amuse her husband greatly. “Can I quote you on that the next time you’re accusing me of being inflexible, darling?”

  She slapped his shoulder in annoyance. “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I,” Damin laughed.

  “Your highness?”

  Damin was still laughing as he turned toward the guard who’d hailed him. Adrina glanced at the young man, thinking it odd he would address the High Prince so directly.

  Time seemed to slow down as she turned. She saw the Raider’s unshaven face. She saw him raise the knife, saw the look in his eye, the hatred, the sheer malice in his expression, and she heard a scream, although it took a moment to realize it was her own voice.

  Damin saw the threat, too, perhaps even a split second before Adrina did. He’d been trained all his life to expect an assassin’s blade, after all, but he was off-guard and not quite quick enough to avoid the unexpected attack.

  Adrina watched in horror as the knife slashed down. Damin had his back to her, so she couldn’t see where the blade connected, just heard him grunt in pain as it pierced him, and then there were Raiders everywhere and the assassin was beaten down. Adrina didn’t know if Damin was dead, but it was certain his assassin soon would be.

  “Don’t kill him!” she cried out, as she dropped to her knees beside Damin. “We need to question him!”

  Somebody, Adrina had no idea who, repeated her order, but she paid no further attention to the fate of the young man. She had Damin in her arms, saw the blood on his shirt . . .

  He looked up at her, his eyes filled with pain. “Gods . . . that really hurt . . . ,” he said, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp in her arms.

  Adrina held him close, her vision blurred by tears as she swore a silent oath to every god she could name that she would invoke mort’eda—the ancient art of Fardohnyan revenge—to seek out those responsible for Damin’s death and destroy every single one of them.

  Chapter

  19

  CADEN FLETCHER’S MISSION to Greenharbour was ostensibly to invite the High Prince to the treaty renewal negotiations.

  It was only a part of what the Lord Defender had tasked him with in the southern capital. On the heels of a young apprentice sorcerer escorting him up a seemingly endless staircase, Cade was well on his way to fulfilling the second, and perhaps most important part of his mission.

  So far, everything was going according to plan. Damin Wolfblade appeared to take the invitation to the treaty renewal negotiations at face value. The Princess Adrina was suspicious, but Cade couldn’t tell if that was because she suspected he had an ulterior motive, or simply because she was Fardohnyan and suspected everyone of having ulterior motives.

  The second task—and perhaps the most important one—Tarja had ordered him to undertake was to meet with the High Arrion and Wrayan Lightfinger, head of the Greenharbour Thieves’ Guild, without raising any suspicion, to discuss the theft of the tiny golden lyre missing from the Temple of the Gods and not alert the High Prince before they learned if there really was a problem.

  It had seemed a simple task until he realized the High Arrion was Damin Wolfblade’s younger sister. Wrayan Lightfinger, in addition to being part-Harshini—which cast doubt in Cade’s mind about where his loyalties lay—was so closely tied to the Hythrun royal family he was almost a de facto member of it.

  His thighs burning from the four flights of steep stairs, Cade was admitted into the High Arrion’s office by a pretty young apprentice. She was about sixteen, he guessed, with thick brown hair braided loosely down her back, as if she’d tied it back because it annoyed her, rather than any desire to enhance her appearance. She made no secret of the fact that she was not pleased to be escorting him anywhere. The pace she set was grueling. He tried to make conversation with her when they started the climb. By the fourth set of stairs, he didn’t have the breath left to ask her anything.

  The apprentice told him the High Arrion would be with him shortly and then left him alone in the office, closing the door softly behind her. Cade stepped into the office and glanced around. It was much less pretentious than he’d expected. There was the usual Hythrun geometric tiled flooring, a couple of straight-backed chairs, a cluster of cushions in the corner around a low table for informal meetings and a light-colored desk carved with doe-eyed demons facing the door. The desk was cluttered with formal scrolls and rather less formal stacks of papers, several large leather-bound books, and all the other paraphernalia of an overworked bureaucrat. The chair behind the desk was padded with sheepskin, but a serviceable seat, rather than the thronelike appliance Cade expected the head of the Sorcerers’ Collective to own.

  A gentle breeze stirred the beaded curtains hanging in front of the two open doors on either side of the desk leading to the balcony. Even through the curtains, Cade was impressed with the view. The Sorcerers’ Collective compound occupied the highest point in the city and the High Arrion’s office was on the top floor, which meant the entire white city of Greenharbour lay before her in all its glory. The harbor sparkled in the distance and this high above the noise and grime of massive wharves, one could appreciate the spectacle without having to smell it.

  “It’s a trap, this office,” a voice said behind him. “It’s very tempting to sit up here, look out that window, and believe the city is there for you to lord over at your whim.”

  Cade turned to find an attractive woman of indeterminate age standing in the doorway behind him, wearing a light green robe one might expect to find on a merchant’s wife, her long fair hair pulled back into a loose braid. The only way Cade would have known this was the High Arrion was the large silver diamond-shaped pendant she wore and her resemblance to her older brother.

  “Of course, the upside,” she added, with a smile, “is that nobody who really doesn’t have important business is prepared to tackle those stairs. It keeps the distractions at bay very effectively.”

  He bowed politely. Not just because she was the High Arrion. Kalan Hawksword was a princess in her own right. “Lady Kalan.”

  “You look surprised, Captain. Am I such a disapp
ointment?”

  “Ah . . . no . . . I was just . . .”

  “Expecting the robes?”

  He nodded a little sheepishly. “I suppose.”

  Kalan smiled. “Trust me, Captain, if you had to spend even a moment in those damned ceremonial sorcerer’s robes in Greenharbour’s heat, you’d understand why the Sorcerers’ Collective has so much trouble finding new recruits.” She walked to her desk and held out her arm to indicate one of the carved chairs opposite. “Please, have a seat. Much to the chagrin of the Collective’s old guard, we don’t stand on ceremony much around here unless we have to.”

  “Are you really having trouble finding new recruits for the Collective?” he asked as he took the offered seat. It really wasn’t important, he supposed, but it seemed an odd problem and Cade had been trained to gather intelligence by Garet Warner. Odd problems, the old man maintained, were often the symptoms of a much greater calamity nobody was aware of yet.

  Not unlike the problem that had brought him here today.

  “Once the Sorcerers’ Collective was the main center for humans and Harshini to share the study of magic,” she said. “Then your wretched Sisters of the Blade drove them into hiding and it became more a university than anything to do with magic, which is certainly what it was when I joined. I mean . . . look at me. I’m the head of the Sorcerers’ Collective and I couldn’t work a spell if my life depended on it. Now that the Harshini are back, though, and are happy to share their magic again, we’re no longer a simple university. Unfortunately, the number of people who can actually wield the magic the Harshini wish to share turns out to be rather low.”

  “Why is that, do you think?” Cade asked. The idea of a return to the past, when human magicians wielded enormous power—both political and magical—was one many in his country were unhappy with. It never occurred to him that there might be a problem finding anybody to wield that awesome power in the first place.

  She shrugged and sat down to face him. “There are quite a few suggestions kicking around. The most popular theory at present is that humans simply can’t wield magic at all.”