Wolfblade (53 page)

The pallbearers emerged from the vault, signalling the end of the ceremony. Kagan noted, without surprise, that there was not a dry eye among the young men who had performed the heartbreaking duty of laying Riika Ravenspear to rest.

But what happens now?
he wondered. They were due to leave Cabradell in a few days to perform the same ceremony for Darilyn in Krakandar Province, where both her father and her husband were interred. She was to be laid beside her husband, Jaris, in the Taranger family vault in Walsark, the northernmost borough in Krakandar on the border between Medalon and Hythria.

Another funeral procession. Another young life snuffed out prematurely
. Kagan was uneasy with the manner of Darilyn’s death. He hadn’t thought her the suicidal type. Selfish, certainly. Shallow even. But not suicidal. Her wound disturbed him, too. Her throat was sliced to the bone. He couldn’t imagine how she had inflicted such injuries upon herself unaided.

“My lord?”

“Yes?” he replied, putting aside his disturbing train of thought. He turned to Marla, thinking she had coped better than all of them with this tragedy. But then she wasn’t as close to it as they were. To Marla, Riika Ravenspear and Darilyn Taranger were simply names—the sisters of the husband she barely knew. She had never met them and, while she understood the grief of those around her, she remained untouched by it.

“Would you see Lady Jeryma back to the palace?” Marla asked.

“Of course,” he replied, chiding himself silently for having to be asked.
Jeryma had taken the loss of her daughters so close on the death of her husband very hard. “Will you keep an eye on the boys, your highness?”

“They’ll be fine with me,” she assured him. She was still holding each of Darilyn’s sons by the hand and they seemed content with her company. Xanda clutched at the porcelain horse Jeryma had sent him. It was broken now, shattered as Darilyn kicked the table over when she hanged herself. Mahkas had apparently retrieved all the pieces but one, and glued them together for the child before they left Winternest, a remarkably generous act given the circumstances. The horse and its knightly rider were complete, except for the tip of his lance. There had been no chance of finding a piece so small in the chaos Darilyn left in her wake. Jeryma had tried to relieve Xanda of the horse before the funeral, but he’d refused to relinquish it and a mighty tantrum had ensued. Marla restored the peace in the end by promising to let him keep it—perhaps the first time in her life Jeryma had been overruled by another woman in her own home. But Marla was probably the only member of the family who wasn’t so wrapped up in her own grief that she couldn’t take the time to understand the distress of two young children who had just lost their mother.

“Thank you,” Kagan said, pleased with the way Marla was dealing with all of this. The potential for her to grow into nothing more than a spoiled, profligate wastrel had been high, particularly given the family she came from. Perhaps the isolation of a childhood at Highcastle, away from the corruption of her brother’s court, had done her good. She was certainly dealing with the current situation with a dignity the High Prince seemed incapable of.

Grateful that at least one part of this increasingly costly plan appeared to be successful, Kagan laid his hand on her shoulder in a silent gesture of appreciation. Marla nodded in acknowledgement of his thanks then turned and led Travin and Xanda down the slope towards the palace.

It was several days before Kagan began to fully appreciate the potential of Marla Wolfblade. Like every other person involved in this scheme, he had thought of Marla as little more than the instrument of their hopes. She was the vessel who would carry their Hythrun heir and he’d really not given her much consideration beyond that.

Kagan and Laran were in Glenadal’s old office, going over the arrangements for the management of Sunrise after Laran returned to Krakandar, when Marla knocked on the door and admitted herself without waiting for permission to enter. They both looked up at her approach, Laran with a hint of impatience.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she assured him. “I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Can’t it wait, Marla?” Laran asked. “I’m very busy. There’s a great deal to be done before we leave tomorrow.”

“Well, it’s sort of about that.”

“What about it?”

“Can I suggest something, Laran? About Sunrise Province?”

“If you’re quick about it.”

“I know it’s not really any of my business . . . but I think you should make Chaine Tollin the Governor of Sunrise, and let him run the province for you.”

Kagan wasn’t sure what startled him most: the suggestion that Chaine be given Sunrise or the fact that Marla had proposed it. The young woman who stood before them now was nothing like the dramatic and emotional girl who had wailed so pitifully about her cruel lot in life at the ball in Greenharbour less than a year ago.

Laran didn’t seem nearly so surprised by the change in her. He simply leaned back in his seat and studied her curiously. “Why?”

“Because this is his home, Laran. He knows the people of Cabradell, the people of Sunrise, and they know him. More importantly, they respect him. And he backed you to the hilt after Glenadal died at a time when he might just as easily have challenged you, with an excellent chance that—with the army behind him—he could have got away with it. He’s capable, he’s loyal and he’s done the right thing by you. It’s time to do the right thing by him.”

Kagan was astonished. “Who’s been whispering in your ear, Marla?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did Chaine ask you to speak to Laran on his behalf?”

Marla looked a little hurt by the notion that without someone else pushing her, she had no care or understanding about what happened in the halls of power. “Don’t you think I’m capable of thinking about something like this on my own?”

“I’m really not sure what you’re capable of, Marla,” he told her, quite honestly. “And Laran has already arranged for Mahkas to look after things here in Cabradell.”

Marla shook her head and turned to Laran. “You mustn’t. And it’s not because I don’t think Mahkas capable of administering Sunrise as well as any man. I like Mahkas. But he’s
your
brother, not Glenadal Ravenspear’s son.”

“Neither is Chaine Tollin,” Laran pointed out.

“That’s just an excuse, Laran. Everyone knows he’s Glenadal’s son, even if it’s never been formally acknowledged. Lord Ravenspear never recognising the fact doesn’t stop the whole world knowing the truth. Gods! I knew about him and I’d never even been to Cabradell before I married you.”

“And you don’t think handing all that power to Glenadal’s unacknowledged bastard wouldn’t be flirting with danger?” Kagan asked.

“I think you’ve all been flirting with danger from the day you fixed it so that Laran would inherit Sunrise Province,” she countered, surprising Kagan with her willingness to argue the point. He was quite sure it was Elezaar who
made Marla pay attention to politics, but she spoke with real conviction. Marla wasn’t repeating something learned by rote. She had thought this through.

“Do you now?” Laran said, rather more tolerant of Marla’s interference than Kagan was. The High Arrion’s only thought at that moment was:
why couldn’t Lernen have even a fraction of the brains his sister apparently has?

“I think the only things keeping the population of this province from revolting against your rule,” she continued, “are that, firstly, you’ve a reputation for being a reasonable man, secondly, Chaine backed you after Glenadal died and, thirdly, you were Riika’s guardian. While that situation remained, there was always the chance you would either acknowledge Chaine or hand back Sunrise to Riika when she married. Either way, there was hope that Sunrise would stay within the ruling family. That’s all changed now. There’s no stability. The Ravenspear line is broken. Their Warlord’s only legitimate child is dead. You’re Glenadal’s
stepson
, Laran, and so is Mahkas. And to add insult to injury, you’re the Warlord of another province located at the opposite end of Hythria. You will never be able to convince the people of Sunrise that you’re prepared to put their welfare ahead of Krakandar’s. Placing Mahkas in charge will only exacerbate the feeling and give rise to charges of nepotism, regardless of how capable an administrator he proves to be. Chaine Tollin is the only man you can appoint as governor and return to Krakandar certain you won’t be back here in six months trying to put down an uprising.”

“Don’t you think Mahkas would be rather upset if I took Sunrise Province from him only hours after awarding it to him?”

“You’re a Warlord, Laran,” she reminded him bluntly. “Your job is to look after everyone in the province, not just your brother.”

Kagan stared at her in surprise, realising, for the first time, that Marla was probably the only Wolfblade born in several generations who actually had some inkling of what it meant to be a prince.

Laran turned to Kagan thoughtfully. “She does have a point, Kagan.”

“She does,” Kagan agreed cautiously.

“You’ll do it, then?” Marla asked.

“I’ll think about it,” Laran conceded.

“You’ll see I’m right.”

“Yes,” Laran said with a hint of a smile, “but gloating about it won’t help your cause.”

Marla smiled suddenly, which cost her the air of solemn dignity she had worn a moment ago and turned her back into a sixteen-year-old girl anxious for praise from someone whose good opinion she was obviously keen to foster.

“I should go then, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes,” Laran agreed, “you should.”

“But you
will
think about it?”

“I promised I would.”

“I’ll see you later then.” She dropped into a small curtsey in Kagan’s direction. “Lord Palenovar.”

“Your highness.”

When she had closed the door behind her, Kagan turned to Laran with a shake of his head. “Does your wife often drop by to tell you how you should rule your provinces?”

“Given that we haven’t been married more than four months, she’s not really had the time.” Laran seemed a little bemused by his young wife, but not upset by her audacity. He smiled humourlessly and added, “But I do detect a disturbing trend emerging. It’s my mother’s influence, I think. Between Jeryma and that damn dwarf . . . I swear, Kagan, Marla must own the only
court’esa
in all of Hythria whose main function seems to be teaching her about politics rather than sex.”

“Must make for some interesting pillow talk,” Kagan observed dryly.

“It does,” he agreed, without offering any further explanation. “Do you think she’s right about Chaine?”

“I fear she might he.”

“Mahkas won’t like it.”

“He’ll understand,” Kagan replied. “And even if he’s a little upset, the one thing you can rely on is Mahkas’s willingness to do the right thing by you. He’ll take it on the chin. Besides, he’s itching to get back to Krakandar and marry Bylinda. Once he gets over his initial disappointment, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Laran nodded. “I’m lucky to have a brother I can trust so well. I only wish—”

“That Riika was still alive so you didn’t have to even consider the problem?” Kagan finished for him.

“She was too young to die like that, Kagan. I’m still half-tempted to raise an army and lay waste to Fardohnya.”

“You did the right thing, Laran.”

“I know,” he sighed heavily. “But it would have felt so much better if I’d spilled some blood.”

“You cost Hablet money, Laran. For him, that probably hurt
more
than shedding blood. Anyway, enough lives have been spent in this ill-fated quest for a Hythrun heir. Let’s not drown your unborn son in a bloody legacy of eye-for-an-eye that has no end.”

“I know,” Laran agreed, turning back to the list of appointments they had been going over before Marla interrupted them. “I’m just saying that Riika is dead and vengeance for that unforgivable crime would have felt better if there’d been more blood spilled than gold.”

F
or a long time Wrayan Lightfinger knew nothing but blinding pain, as if his head had exploded and left his brains splattered all over the inside of his skull. He couldn’t move; might never be able to move again. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel his legs. Or his fingers.