Warlord (24 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Fallon

BOOK: Warlord
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“He doesn’t know,” Tejay replied. “He thinks your mother bought Kraig and the girls at the slave markets in Greenharbour just before they closed, as a gift to Chaine. He believes Kraig is a Loronged
court’esa
and that Lyrian and Barlaina are simply a passing fad his father was going through.”
Damin admired the two statuesque young women, thinking he could easily indulge in a passing fad like that given slightly different circumstances. Then he cursed himself for a damned fool, and turned to Tejay.
“Then why do you need my help? You seem to have everything under control.”
“Chaine is dead, Damin, and sooner or later it’s going to occur to Terin that his father’s
court’esa
are still in the slave quarters and that they’re not earning their keep. He’ll either decide to sell them for a profit or worse, decide to make use of them.”
“Neither scenario is particularly desirable,” Kraig remarked.
Damin sympathised with their plight, but wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about it. “And just exactly what do you expect
me
to do with your Denikan visitors?”
Tejay glanced at Kraig before she spoke. “I want you to take Kraig with you, Damin, and Lyrian and Barlaina, too. The only way to get them home now is to take them back through Greenharbour.”
“But I’m going to war, Tejay, not Greenharbour.”
“I know, but you will get back to the city eventually and when you do, you can arrange for Kraig to get home on one of Luciena’s ships. In the meantime, Kraig and the women can provide you with the cover you need by pretending to be your
court’esa.
”
“They can, can they?”
She looked a little annoyed he hadn’t immediately fallen in with her clever plan. “It all works perfectly, don’t you see? I’ll tell Terin you spied the Denikans in the
court’esa
quarters and expressed your curiosity, so I gifted them to you to keep you happy. He’d never dare ask for them back because of the huge insult to ask the High Prince’s heir to return a gift. Their identity remains a secret. Better yet, word will get back to Hablet that you have
court’esa
in the battle camp with you,
court’esa
of
both
sexes, which means the Fardohnyans will quickly jump to the conclusion you’re just as wanton as your uncle, and therefore just as foolish. They’ll fall for whatever trap you devise, you will defeat the Fardohnyans, and then after the war is done, you can get Kraig back home without him being stoned to death on the streets of Greenharbour for bringing the plague down on us.”
“You make it sound far too easy, Tejay.” Damin studied the Denikan prince doubtfully. “And what do you think of this, your highness? Are you really willing to pretend to be my slaves … my
sex
slaves … on the off-chance I can get you home?”
For the first time, the Denikan prince cracked the faintest hint of a smile, folding his perfectly sculpted arms across his massive chest. “
Pretend
is the operative word here, Prince Damin.”
Damin grinned. “I’m glad you feel that way, your highness, because I have to say, you’re really not my inclination.”
Kraig stared at Damin in silence.
“That was a joke.”
“I know,” the Denikan prince replied unsmilingly.
“Good thing you’ll be posing as my
court’esa,
” Damin remarked. “You’d have a hard job convincing anyone I’d taken you on as my court jester.”
“Damin, behave,” Tejay warned. She turned to the Denikan prince apologetically. “You’ll have to forgive my foster-brother, Kraig. He’s got a bad habit of not taking anything seriously.”
“I can see that.”
There was a hint of condescension in the Denikan’s tone that Damin didn’t much care for, but he had no chance to respond to it. The door opened without warning and Rorin burst into the room, breathing heavily, as if he’d run all the way here.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I just snatched this out of the hands of that nosy little Karien friend of Terin’s.” He crossed the room and handed a crumpled letter to Damin that bore the Hythrun royal seal. “A messenger just arrived from Greenharbour. Renulus got to him first and was apparently planning to read the royal dispatches before passing them on, so I took the liberty of delivering them myself.”
Damin was less concerned about Renulus than about what the letter might contain. He tore it open expectantly. Hopefully, it was the commission he’d been waiting for, awarding him command of Hythria’s combined army. And news Lernen had agreed to lower the age of majority.
Damin read the letter and then read it again in growing disbelief, his eyes widening in horror as he realised the disaster they were suddenly facing.
“What’s wrong?” Tejay asked in concern.
He read the letter twice more, not sure he believed his own eyes.
“Damin?”
Finally, he looked up. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Has something happened to your uncle?”
“Apparently he’s lost his mind.”
“What’s it say?” Rorin asked.
“It says we have our general.”
“He’s given you command?” Tejay asked.
Damin handed her the letter, certain she wouldn’t believe it either until she’d read it herself. “No, he hasn’t, Lady Lionsclaw. My uncle has decided to lead us into the fray himself. The new commander of Hythria’s combined armies is the High Prince of Hythria, Lernen Wolfblade.”
 
M
aria was at the palace going through the day’s correspondence when Corian Burl announced she had a visitor. She’d been burying herself in mundane tasks in the hope that if she didn’t think about it consciously, her distraction would magically produce a solution to the problem of her brother’s intention to lead their troops to war.
It hadn’t happened yet, but she did get a lot of work done this way.
She looked up curiously, glad of the new distraction. “Who is it?”
“He refuses to give his name, your highness.”
Marla sighed. “Show him in.”
“But your highness …”
“It’s all right, Corian. I know who it is.”
Unhappily, the slave bowed and did as she bid. A moment later Galon Miar stepped into the room. The assassin bowed politely and looked around at the erotic murals with interest.
“Fascinating taste you have in art, your highness,” he remarked, tilting his head to the side to study one couple engaged in a particularly optimistic position. “How ever do you get any work done in here?”
“By ignoring them,” she replied. “What are you doing at the palace?”
“I brought you a gift.” He reached into his vest and produced a flat, silk-wrapped parcel. The pale blue silk was stained with blood.
“What’s this?”
“Tarkyn Lye’s slave collar. I tossed up the idea of bringing you his head as a token of my loyal service, but decapitations are so damned messy and one tends to get odd looks from passersby when one walks the streets of Greenharbour carrying a disembodied head.”
“You mock me at your peril, Master Miar.”
“I think if I was worried about peril, your highness, I might have chosen another line of work.”
Marla studied him curiously, wondering if it was a personality trait that allowed men like Galon Miar to kill so easily, or simply the training he’d received as a boy. Maybe it was a little bit of both.
“Does it bother you?”
“That I just killed someone?” He shrugged. “It’s my job.”
“You seem so … unaffected.”
“You
ordered the killing, your highness,” he reminded her. “I’m just the tool you used to do the job. In the eyes of the law, I’m no more guilty than the blade I used to slit his throat. I don’t see
you
falling apart with remorse and guilt.”
“You think I have no conscience?”
“Not a shred,” he replied. “It’s probably what I find most alluring about you.”
She didn’t like it when he smiled at her like that. A change of subject was definitely in order. “So, does Alija suspect you of Tarkyn Lye’s assassination?”
“I don’t know. She probably doesn’t even know he’s dead yet. I’m not all that inclined to be around when she finds out, either.”
“I’m sorry,” Marla said insincerely. “Has my involvement in this affair cost you a lover? Imagine how devastated I must be at the very idea.”
Galon didn’t rise to the bait. “What did Alija Eaglespike do to you, Marla Wolfblade, to make you hate her so much?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Actually, it is,” Galon corrected. “You made it my business when you asked the Raven to tell me who commissioned the kill on Tarkyn Lye.”
“Then content yourself with the knowledge that her crimes against me and those I care for are numerous and heinous and leave it at that.”
“It can’t be just because she’s a Patriot,” he speculated, as if she hadn’t spoken. He was moving around the room slowly, studying the murals as he went. “If you were in the habit of assassinating people just because they’re Patriot sympathisers, a good third of the highborn families in Hythria would have been wiped out by now and I’d be a very rich man. I suspect it’s personal.”
He continued to work his way around the walls, examining Lernen’s explicit murals as if they were the most absorbing thing in the room. “Does your hatred of Alija have something to do with your missing dwarf?”
Marla looked up, instantly on the defensive, but he had his back to her and she couldn’t read his expression. “What do you know about Elezaar?”
“Only that he’s missing.” Galon shrugged. “And that Alija seems desperate to find him and you don’t—which would seem to imply
you
know where he is and she doesn’t.”
“Elezaar is dead.”
Galon glanced over his shoulder at her. “Did Alija kill him?”
“I did.” It wasn’t actually a lie. Elezaar’s fear of Marla’s reaction to his betrayal was the reason he took his own life. She was just as responsible for his death as Alija.
“And I thought you were merciless when it came to your
enemies.”
She glared at him. “Is there something you want, Galon Miar? Or did you just come here to aggravate me?”
“Ah, now that’s a little complicated,” he said.
His study of the murals had taken him around the room until he was on the same side of the long table as Marla. She debated standing up from her chair, to enable her to escape him more quickly if the need arose, but if she moved he would know she feared his proximity and she was in no mood to give this man any sort of power over her.
“It’s a simple enough question.”
“But a very complex answer.”
He moved even closer. Marla tensed, wondering if she was about to die. Perhaps she’d misjudged his affection for Alija. Perhaps the thought that he could never touch Alija again without the High Arrion discovering he was Tarkyn Lye’s murderer was enough to make him break the cardinal rule of his profession:
never undertake a kill not sanctioned by the guild.
Maybe Alija had actually ordered a kill on Marla and she’d just welcomed her own assassin into her private sanctum, thinking she was the clever one …
He was right behind her, so close her spine tingled. Before Marla could move, Galon leaned over her, placing a hand on either side of her on the table, effectively trapping Marla in her seat.
His lips were next to her ear. “I want what you have,” he breathed softly.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do.”
Marla was rigid but it wasn’t out of fear. Galon’s hot breath on her exposed neck disturbed her in a way that was both thrilling and alarming. The goosebumps that prickled her spine were caused by emotions dangerously out of place in a situation as fraught with peril as this.
“You see, Marla, I’m not the second most powerful man in the Assassins’ Guild just because of my good looks and winning personality,” he whispered. “Yet you managed to set me up, and you did it brilliantly. There aren’t many men in this world who’ve done that, so I actually admire you for it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about …”
“Oh, yes, you do, my sweet,” he purred softly. “You knew that by commissioning a kill on Tarkyn Lye and making sure I carried it out, I’d never be able to go near Alija again, unless my mind was shielded. But even more puzzling—you had the Raven tell me it was
you
who ordered the job. So I started to wonder why you weren’t afraid of Alija’s mindreading abilities yourself. Now, I’m no expert on Innate magicians, but she doesn’t need an embrace to read your thoughts, does she? Just a touch. It set me thinking. This trouble between you and her goes way back, I suspect, yet you’re not in the least bit worried about what she’ll take from your mind.”
“Maybe I’m just very careful about letting her touch me,” Marla suggested stiffly, wishing Galon Miar had found a less distracting way of confronting her. It was all part of his game, she knew; all part of his strategy to rattle her.
Unfortunately, it was working.
“Nonsense!” he breathed, as seductively as any lover, his lips burning the flesh of her earlobe. “I’ve seen you two embrace like old friends. No, Marla, my precious, you don’t care if Alija touches your mind because she
can’t
read it, can she? You’ve found a way to stop her and I’m guessing it’s a whole lot more effective than any assassin mind-trick. Not to mention a lot less effort to maintain.”
Marla was finding it hard to breathe. “Even if you’re right, why … should I share my discovery with you?”
“Because you need me.”
“Do I?” Marla managed a thin smile, her eyes fixed determinedly forward. “Give me one reason why I need you and I may not have you cut down where you stand for being so presumptuous.”
She could feel his lips against her skin. “Let’s start with your unfulfilled bargain with the Assassins’ Guild. Has the Raven explained to you yet exactly what happens when we decide you’ve reneged on our deal?”
Marla wished she could see his eyes, but he was still behind her, almost on top of her, and moving her head would place her lips much too close to his for comfort. “That is between me and the Raven.”
“Not if I’m the one who has to carry out the punishment.”
His empty threat made Marla smile. “You wouldn’t risk harming me, Galon Miar. And neither would the Raven.”
“But you promised the guild a son, your highness. We intend to get paid. If you can’t provide a live one, a dead son will do just as well.”
His threat broke the spell. She jumped to her feet angrily, pushing him away. “Don’t you dare threaten my family! I swear, if anything happens to one of my children …”
“You’ll what?” he asked. “Send an assassin after me?”
“Get out!”
“You haven’t heard my proposal yet.”
“I’m not interested in anything further you have to say to me, Galon Miar.”
He made no move to leave. “Did I mention the Raven has left it up to me to decide when to declare your debt to the Assassins’ Guild forfeit?”
Marla glared at him, wishing she had never made such a foolish bargain. It had seemed so distant, so harmless a promise back then …
And now this man held the lives of her family in his hands. She knew the Assassins’ Guild wouldn’t launch a bloodbath to satisfy their debt; nor would they dare hurt Damin or Narvell, both of whom were too important in their own right for the guild to risk harming them. It was her extended family who was in danger. Luciena and Xanda’s sons, who were up in Krakandar with no way to warn them of the threat. Rielle and Darvad’s children in Dylan Pass. Rodja and Selena’s precious newborn son. They were all close enough to Marla to discharge the debt, but unimportant enough not to raise comment.
With more courage than she thought she owned, Marla stood her ground as the assassin approached her. “What do you want?”
“I have a business proposition for you.”
“I don’t deal with blackmailers.”
“I must be far less scrupulous than you, your highness. I’m more than happy to do business with a bad debtor.”
“Just tell me what you’re proposing and be gone,” she demanded.
“Well … you see, that’s it … I’m proposing.”
Marla stared at him in stunned disbelief and then burst out laughing. She couldn’t help herself.
“What?”
“I think you should make me your next husband.”
“Are you
insane?”
“Quite the opposite. I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“And how exactly am I supposed to benefit from this …
opportunity?”
“Well, for a start, I have a son already apprenticed to the Assassins’ Guild. That would solve your biggest problem at the moment.”
She was breathless, marvelling at his conceit. “You have no concept of the problems I face at the moment, Galon Miar. Callous as it may sound, saving the lives of my stepchildren’s sons is actually the least of them.”
He didn’t seem perturbed by her scorn. “This proposal’s not as crazy as it sounds, Marla. What you said the other day about my involvement with Alija sending the wrong message to the Patriots is very true. You may not believe this, but I’m Royalist enough that such a thought disturbs me. Marry me and it would send the Patriots reeling.”
“I am the sister of the High Prince of Hythria and you’ll be the Raven of the Hythrun Assassins’ Guild in the not too distant future,” she pointed out. “Such a union would be unconscionable.”
“I’m happy to make it a condition of the agreement that we divorce the day I become Raven,” he said. “I’d rather not have to defend the guild from accusations that we’re answerable to the High Prince, in any case.” And then he eyed her up and down suggestively. “My reasons for this marriage aren’t all altruism and loyalty to the throne, you know.”
“Which brings up another pertinent question,” she said, refusing to be seduced by him. “What do you possibly think I could do for you?”
“Well, for one thing, you’ll promise to give me access to the protection against having my mind read that you have,” he told her. “And you’ll treat my children with the same generosity and favour you’ve shown Luciena Mariner and the Tirstone children.”

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