Wolfblade (23 page)

With the introduction of Corin to the household, however, the balance of power had subtly shifted in Marla’s direction. Ninane was now forced to remain in Marla’s good graces in order to ensure the continuing use of her
court’esa
. The change delighted Marla. And taught her a valuable lesson. She
decided to let Ninane have all the access to Corin she wanted, because the ability to withdraw his services was hers and Ninane knew it. After a lifetime of torments and teasing, Marla found herself Ninane’s new best friend and she delighted in the control she now had over her cousin.

“Don’t smirk.”

Marla looked over her shoulder at the dwarf. She was tying on her veil in preparation for the ride into Dakin’s Rest. Lirena was sitting by the fire, her needles clack-clacking softly as she knitted. Elezaar had been watching his mistress get ready and had caught her smiling to herself in the mirror.

“Whatever are you on about, Fool?”

“You’re smirking, my lady.”

“I’m doing no such thing!”

“It never works if you smirk.”

“What never works?”

“Victory,” the dwarf said.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“If you climb into that carriage this morning,” Lirena remarked, without looking up from her knitting, “smirking like that, Ninane is going to start to wonder
why
you’re smirking.”

Elezaar nodded in agreement. “It won’t take her long to figure it out. As soon as she does, you will have lost any power you have over her.”

“I wasn’t smirking,” Marla insisted.

“If you say so, your highness.”

She turned to glare at him, but was disturbed by the door opening. Corin stepped into the room with a low bow. The dwarf forgotten for the moment, she turned to her other
court’esa
. “Where have you been all night?”

“With the Lady Ninane, your highness,” Corin informed her, a little defensively. “You instructed me to spend as much time with your cousin as she wished.”

That was true. “What sort of a lover is she?”

“My
lady?”

“Ninane. My cousin. What sort of a lover is she?” Marla asked curiously. She couldn’t imagine Ninane in the heated throes of passion. Come to think of it, there was something inherently wrong with the idea of Ninane in the heated throes of anything.

“Athletic,” Corin told her tactfully. “And rather unimaginative.” Marla smiled. “That figures.”

“At least she makes the effort,” Lirena remarked crossly from her chair by the fire.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Marla demanded, wounded by the accusation in the nurse’s voice.

“What I mean, girl, is that you’re a bare three months away from getting
married and all your
court’esa
has done since we got back from Greenharbour is amuse your cousin.”

Marla winked at the dwarf before she answered the nurse. “I’m simply applying one of Elezaar’s rules of Gaining and Wielding Power, Lirena.”

“Didn’t realise he had one that says ‘If you want to get into trouble with your future husband, ignore all the good advice you’re given’,” the old nurse grumbled.

“Don’t be snide,” Marla scolded. “Anyway, I’m simply making use of Rule Number Eight: ‘Use your enemy’s weaknesses against them.’ Corin is Ninane’s weakness. So I’m using him.”

“But Rule Number Twenty-Seven states you may think as you like, but should behave decorously, your highness,” Elezaar reminded her. “Refusing to learn what is required of you is hardly the way to apply that rule.”

“Isn’t Rule Number Twenty-Three, ‘Know when to ignore your advisors’?”

“No, my lady, that’s Rule Twenty-Two. And now is not the time to apply that rule. You run a grave risk by playing this game.”

Lirena nodded in agreement with the Fool. “Ignorance is a very bad look for a new bride.”

“I’m not ignorant!” Marla objected. “And I’m not playing games. I just haven’t been . . . in the mood.”

“There’s a luxury you’ll not have once you’re married.”

“You know, in Karien a woman prizes her virginity,” she informed them, turning back to the mirror to pin the veil in place. “It’s considered a sin to make love before you’re married.”

“And a sin even after you’re married for any other reason than procreation,” the dwarf informed her. “But this isn’t Karien, my lady, and Lirena has a point. If you’re not being deliberately recalcitrant, then you’re cutting it awfully fine if you plan to learn anything useful in the time you have left before the wedding.”

“Maybe they’ll just have to delay the wedding if I’m not properly trained,” she suggested, her hopeful tone betraying the real reason for her reluctance to make use of either of the
court’esa
she had been given for that specific purpose.

“Unlikely, my lady,” Elezaar told her. “The only likely outcome of such a proposal would be the death of both Corin and me for being negligent in our duties.”

“But it’s not your fault.”

“That matters little, your highness,” Corin warned.

Marla was a little surprised to hear from him. He rarely spoke up. He was always listening though. When he’d first come back to Highcastle with her, Marla had thought Corin’s gifts were physical rather than intellectual. But
lately she was beginning to wonder about that. He didn’t miss much and, for some vague and unsettling reason, it made her nervous.

“Corin and I are slaves,” Elezaar added. “Therefore, we are, by definition, responsible for any fault in our mistress.”

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“But it’s the reality of the situation,” Lirena agreed, putting down her knitting to look at her mistress. “You might like to dwell on that before you send Corin away the next time.”

Marla glared at the three slaves with the distinct impression they were ganging up on her. It was just so hard to explain to anyone. Marla’s resistance to learning anything about the arts of seduction and love from her
court’esa
was a form of unspoken defiance. To accept that she must learn anything from Corin or Elezaar was to accept the inevitability of her fate and she wasn’t ready to do that just yet. She still harboured a hope that the High Arrion had meant what he said about trying to find a way out of it. She still went to sleep at night dreaming of being in love. Of being wooed and courted; of being swept off her feet . . .

Her fantasies even had a face. Lord Nashan Hawksword of Elasapine.

When Marla closed her eyes and wished for a better future, Nash was the man who would make it happen. When she fell asleep thinking of being in love, it was Nash who walked through her dreams.

Unfortunately, when Marla opened her eyes there was nothing there but Elezaar and Corin and the harsh reality that in a mere three months she was destined to marry the King of Fardohnya and nothing short of a miracle could save her.

W
e’ll all be murdered in our beds,” Laran’s sister Darilyn announced petulantly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the High Arrion told her, taking a sip of wine.

They were sitting in the small family courtyard in Jeryma’s chambers, enjoying the mild winter sunlight. A small fountain bubbled happily in the corner of the vine-encrusted, high-walled enclosure. The delighted squeals of Darilyn’s two young sons, Travin and Xanda, who were trying to catch the goldfish in the pool with their bare hands, formed an odd counterpoint to the discussion the adults were having.

Darilyn turned on the old sorcerer. “It’s all right for you! You’re the High Arrion! Nobody would dare interfere with the Sorcerers’ Collective. But what about my children and me? We’re not above the law.”

“No one has broken any laws,” Kagan pointed out reasonably. “The custom of appointing new Warlords, rather than increasing the power of the existing ones when there is no clear heir, is tradition not law.”

“I’m sure that will be a great comfort to my children as their throats are being slit!”

“Darilyn, your brother will not let any harm come to you or your children,” Jeryma told her soothingly. “I am surprised that you would even consider such a thought.”

Darilyn turned her attention to her mother. “He is my
half
-brother,” she pointed out coldly. “Had my father lived, this situation would never have arisen.”

“If your father had lived, a lot of things would be different,” Jeryma replied, just as coldly. “You are quite safe under Laran’s protection.”

“So was my husband, I recall,” she noted bitterly.

“Your husband probably threw himself on a Medalonian blade to escape your whining,” Kagan muttered impatiently.

Laran suspected Kagan hadn’t meant the comment to be overheard, but it carried alarmingly in the still morning air. His brother Mahkas, sitting next to Jeryma, smothered a grin as Darilyn turned on Kagan.

“You unfeeling monster! How could you say such a thing?
Mother?”

“That was uncalled for, Kagan,” Jeryma scolded. “But I do think you are being overly dramatic about all this, Darilyn. Your sons will not be a target in the coming conflict.”

“If you’re so worried about your precious skin,” Laran said, unable to bear Darilyn’s whining any longer, “I’ll move you to the castle at Winternest. It’s the most fortified place in all of Sunrise Province. You and the boys will be perfectly safe there. Riika can go with you for company.”

“You were named by my father as his heir, Laran,” Riika said. “I’ll stay with you here in Cabradell. I have no quarrel with his choice.” She was looking tired, Laran thought, and wondered if Riika had slept much since Glenadal’s death.

“Thank you, Riika,” he said, genuinely touched. “But you, of all people, may be in the most danger. There is many an aspiring young warrior who thinks he could claim your father’s province if he took you to wife. I’d prefer not to have that worry.”

“You don’t mind protecting
her;
do you?” Darilyn snapped, leaping to her feet. “What about me? Aren’t you worried someone will kidnap me for the same reason?”

“If I could find some man fool enough to kidnap and marry you, Darilyn, I would have arranged it months ago,” Laran said, finally losing his patience with her. “For pity’s sake, stop thinking about yourself!”

Darilyn immediately sat down. Laran rarely lost his temper and even she was not fool enough to push him too far. “Very well then, I’ll go to Winternest if you order it.”

“I do,” Laran announced. “And what’s more, you will damn well stay there with Riika until I give you permission to leave. Understood?”

“Mother?” she asked pleadingly. “Is it your wish also that I be confined to the gloom of Winternest until this is over?”

Jeryma’s expression was determinedly neutral. “It would be for the best, I think. And the boys have been living in Greenharbour so they’ve never seen snow. They’ll have a marvellous time. Think of it as a holiday.”

“And if the Fardohnyans attack?” Darilyn asked. “For all you know, Laran, you’re not removing us to a place of safety, you’re putting us in harm’s way.”

“Even if the Fardohnyans did attack,” he replied, “you’d still be safer in Winternest than anywhere else. It’s a fortress, Darilyn, and it’s never been breached in recorded history.” That wasn’t strictly true. The fortress had been breached once, about half a century ago, when the Fardohnyans started a
plague in the fort, but they had withdrawn inexplicably before they could press their advantage. “I wouldn’t send you there if I thought it was a risk.”

“You wouldn’t send
Riika
there if you thought it was a risk is what you really mean.” She stood up and smoothed down the billowing folds of her white pants. “I suppose, if I’m to be banished, I should make arrangements to pack.”

Laran watched her walk towards the pool and breathed a sigh of relief when she disappeared inside with the boys in tow, protesting loudly at being taken from their game.

“I almost wish . . . no, I don’t,” he muttered wearily. “Mahkas, can you arrange a troop of Raiders to escort them? I meant what I said about Riika. She’s in more danger than I am.”

“I’ll speak to Chaine.”

“No!” Riika objected. “Anybody but him.”

Laran and Mahkas exchanged a curious glance. “You’ll be quite safe with Chaine, Riika.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want Chaine Tollin anywhere near me. He makes me . . . uncomfortable.”

“You could send some Krakandar troops with them,” Jeryma suggested to Laran. “That new fellow, Almodavar, seems competent enough.”

“New fellow?” Mahkas chuckled. “He’s been with us since he was fourteen, mother.”

“Is it that long?” Jeryma asked. “I get to Krakandar so rarely these days. It seems like only yesterday that he signed on as a Raider.”

“I suppose I could send Almodavar temporarily,” Laran shrugged, sympathetic to his young sister’s feelings but a little annoyed she simply couldn’t get over her problem with Chaine. The man couldn’t help who he was and had never, in Laran’s experience, treated Riika or her mother with anything less than the greatest respect. Laran wondered how much of Riika’s angst towards Chaine was because she really didn’t like him, and how much was just simple resentment. Chaine Tollin was living proof that Glenadal wasn’t the saint his daughter liked to imagine he was.