Wolfblade (84 page)

Brakandaran was not looking pleased, however. “I don’t like people who hurt my friends.”

“He hurt my slave.”

“You tried to
kill
him. I’m not sure if that lesson escaped you at all during your long apprenticeship, my lady, but the Harshini frown upon that sort of thing.”

“The Harshini are gone.”

“
Are
they?” he asked pointedly.

“Is that why you’re here? To kill me?”

Brakandaran smiled. “Despite what you may have heard about me, Alija, I actually don’t go around killing people without a good reason. As it is, Wrayan survived your attempt to cauterise the inside of his skull, and he’s none the worse for it, so I’m going to let you off with a warning—this time.”

“Wrayan is
alive
? Where is he?”

“Closer than you think. But entirely out of your reach,” the Halfbreed replied cryptically. “He’s no concern of yours any longer. Wrayan won’t be back to bother your ambitions. The gods have another fate in mind for him.”

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“Not a thing,” Brakandaran said. “Provided you behave yourself and I don’t catch you using any more Harshini enhancement spells.”

Her eyes strayed to the cabinet in dismay. Just a smoking pile of ashes.

“And I don’t think that’s going to be a problem any more, is it, Alija?” he asked confidently, seeing the direction of her gaze.

Alija wanted to weep at the loss of the contents of that cabinet. “Those scrolls were irreplaceable!”

“For you, perhaps,” he shrugged. “I can get copies any time I want.”

He swung his feet to the floor and stood up. He was very tall. Dressed in his dark leathers, he really was as impressive as the legends claimed. For a fleeting moment, Alija’s fear waned and she thought of the possibilities.

What could I achieve with a man like Brakandaran at my side
?

She began to get an idea when he held out his arm and she found herself walking towards him, even though she desperately tried to resist him. He moved around the desk to meet her, forcing her across the room until they were standing toe to toe.

The Halfbreed leaned forward until his lips hovered beside her ear and she could feel his hot breath on her skin. “Now, I’m going to tell you this just once, Alija,” he said softly, silkily, in a voice that sent a shiver of fear down her spine, “so listen, and listen well. If I
ever
have to come back here and scold you again for misusing the gift the gods have given you, trust me, you
will
regret it.” He leaned back and smiled at her then and Alija thought her life was about to end. Brakandaran’s smile wasn’t the warm smile of a benign Harshini. It was the cold-blooded smile of a killer. “Do we understand each other?”

Alija nodded dumbly, too frightened to speak. This close, she could feel the power he commanded, like the heat from a forge. It was more than she believed possible. More than she had drawn to herself with the enhancement spell. More than the raw power she had felt in Wrayan. It was more than she had imagined one person could wield. It was terrifying.

And then he let her go with a careless flick of his wrist and she collapsed onto the rug, sobbing with fear. It took her a few minutes before she was able to think again, to get the surge of terror under control. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, only to discover she was alone in the ruined study.

Brakandaran the Halfbreed was gone.

S
everal days later, long after civilised people were abed, Marla received a visitor. The man was in early middle age, dark-haired and nondescript, except for his eyes which seemed to take in everything at once. On his left hand he wore the raven ring of the Assassins’ Guild. He didn’t offer her a name, but she knew who he was and was expecting him. She opened the door to him herself, having dismissed the guards and the slaves in preparation for this appointment.

Marla hardened her heart as the man bowed to her, his features shadowed by the single candle she had lit in the main reception room.

“Well?” she asked, surprised her voice wasn’t trembling.

“It is done, your highness.”

“How?”

“Are you certain you want the details, your highness?”

Marla squared her shoulders grimly. “If I have the courage to order this thing, sir, I believe I should have the courage to hear how it was done.”

The man nodded his agreement. “As you wish.”

“Will it look like an accident?”

“A tragic accident, your highness.”

“Where did it happen?”

“In the slave quarter. Your husband frequented some of the brothels there with his friends on a fairly regular basis.”

Marla wasn’t surprised. Not all households kept
court’esa
. Those lords and ladies who liked a bit of variety often preferred to visit Greenharbour’s countless brothels rather than go to the expense of purchasing their own
court’esa
and then having to buy a new one when they tired of them. “How did you know that?”

“It’s our job to know these things, your highness.”

“What happened?” she asked, determined to hear this through. Marla wasn’t being morbid. She had to know she had the stomach for what lay
ahead, and if she couldn’t bear the details of her first unpalatable act, then she was never going to be able to make the everyday decisions necessary to rule Hythria the way it needed to be ruled—ruthlessly and without fear.

“He spent some time with a
court’esa
named Lora. She’s serviced him before. During the evening, she offered him wine, which he drank. It was laced with a soporific.”

“You drugged him?”

“He would have struggled otherwise, your highness, and you specifically requested we leave no marks of violence upon his body.”

“I also told you I didn’t want him poisoned.”

“And he wasn’t, your highness. The wine merely made him sleepy. After he was finished with the
court’esa
, she suggested he bathe before coming home, an offer he accepted. Whilst in the tub, it appears Lord Hawksword fell asleep and tragically slid beneath the water. The
court’esa
will raise the alarm in an hour or so.”

I feel nothing
, Marla thought, a little surprised.
No guilt. No grief. Not even relief
. “You’ve done well.”

“We aim to please, your highness.”

“How many people know of this transaction?”

“Only you, me and the
court’esa
who performed the task, your highness. Only I know that it was you who arranged the contract.”

“And what will it cost to ensure your silence?”

“One of your sons, your highness.”

Marla stared at him in shock. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m sorry,” the man replied, “that came out all wrong. I don’t mean the sons you have now, my lady. Both your sons are heirs to empires that far outweigh the benefits of my profession. But you’re young and have just become a widow. You’ll marry again. You’ll have more children, step-children perhaps, even fosterlings. I want one of them. To train as an apprentice, nothing more sinister.”

“Why?”

“Because I like the idea of having someone in the Guild with the ear of the High Prince, your highness.”

Marla thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “Very well,” she agreed, thinking it was a deal she could delay indefinitely. For that matter, she may never even have another son.

The assassin bowed and smiled at her. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, your highness.”

Marla showed him out herself, locked the door and then climbed the stairs slowly. She didn’t go straight to her room. Instead, she walked down the hall a little way, nodded a greeting to the guards standing outside the children’s room as she let herself in. There were guards inside, too, silent and alert, watching over her sleeping children. She checked on each one of them
herself, guided by nothing more than the starlight coming in from the open window where yet another silent guard stood to attention.

Damin slept on his back, sprawled across his bed as if trying to claim as much of it as possible. He looked like an angel when he was asleep, a fair-haired vision of sweetness and innocence that was at complete odds with the noisy mischief-maker he could be when he was awake. In the next cot lay Kalan, sleeping on her stomach with her thumb in her mouth, so serene and secure. So unafraid of life she could sleep peacefully in a world where assassins lurked in every corner.
In a world where her mother had arranged to have her father killed
. . .

Marla pushed the thought away. Thinking like that would drive her crazy. Beside Kalan in the cot was Narvell, lying in almost the same position as his sister—a mirror image of his twin. A murmur from the last bed in the room caught her attention. She glanced over at Starros, who was curled into a tight ball as if he was cold. Marla moved to his side and gently pulled the light cover over him with a smile and he unconsciously relaxed a little.

What have I done to you, my darlings
? she wondered, glancing at the twins again.
Will you be better or worse for never having known your father? Should I have killed him? Or should I have stood by and waited for him to kill your brother
?

When she thought about it like that, there was really no question that she’d done the right thing. Nash was old enough to make his own choices and he’d made the choices that led to death.

Funny thing is, Nashan, my love, I would have given everything to you had you asked. You never needed to take anything from me
. . .

And Alija? How much of this was her doing? And how would she react to the news her lover was dead? She certainly couldn’t accuse Marla of anything. Not without betraying herself. But that was a problem to be faced tomorrow. And the day after.

And the day after that.

From this moment on, nothing would ever be the same for Marla Wolfblade.

Marla sighed and turned away from her children. They were safe now. Safer than they’d been for a very long time. Nobody would ever be allowed to threaten them again like that, she silently vowed.

And Marla intended to make certain of it, even if it meant taking the throne of Hythria herself.

As she stepped into the candlelit hall, Marla wished Elezaar was here, thinking the dwarf would know what to do. But then, she’d done all this without him. Perhaps she’d finally reached the point where she no longer needed his counsel. Marla smiled at the thought, imagining the panicked look on Elezaar’s face if she even hinted that she might no longer have a use for him. She wasn’t blind to the dwarf’s desperate need to stay at her side. It puzzled her at times and she was determined to get to the bottom of his inexplicable
devotion to her some day, but for now it was time she retired to her room.

It was very late and she was going to need a good night’s sleep, because tomorrow morning the city guard would be banging on the doors at some ungodly hour to inform her that, tragically, her husband was dead.

F
rom the balcony overlooking the great staircase of the Greenharbour Palace, you could see tomorrow
. . .

Marla remembered thinking that the last time she stood here in her dressing gown, waiting for the ball to start. Memories of that innocent and foolish child seemed to belong to someone else. The ruthless young woman who stood here now found it hard to credit that she had ever been so innocent, so naive.

She looked down at the preparations for the Feast of Kaelarn Ball with a wistful smile.
You couldn’t see as far as tomorrow, but you could see right across the hall, and get a very nice view of the handsome and smartly dressed young men who had come for the ball this evening
.

In a way, she missed that girl; the one whose most pressing chore was to decide which of those handsome and smartly dressed young men would be her husband. Marla was thinking along the same lines again, but she was no longer content to choose a young man for his looks or his smile. She’d fallen for that once and the cost had proved more than she was willing to pay. No, the next time Marla got married it would be for far more tangible things in life. Money. Power. Influence.

The sixteen glorious cut-crystal candelabra showered their warm yellow light over the guests. The musicians in the corner were tuning their instruments discordantly and barefooted slaves hurried back and forth from the kitchens, piling the long tables with exotically displayed foods and countless flagons of the fine imported Medalonian wines for which the palace was so famous. The thirty-two fluted marble columns no longer looked as if they could support the weight of the entire world in Marla’s eyes. These days they were just another unique architectural feature in a palace that was full of unique architectural features.

Marla pushed her long fair hair off her face, remembering the gesture as if she had somehow stepped back in time. As she had that evening so long
ago, she knew that somewhere down there, amid the sea of faces, polished boots and slicked-down hair, was her future husband. She had no idea who he was, but he was sure to present himself at some stage this evening. These days, she didn’t care if he was handsome, but he
would
be wealthy, probably old. She had promised Lernen she would marry whoever he wanted the next time and she meant to keep her word.