Warrior (23 page)

Fyora pushed off the door and came to sit on the bed beside him as he began to pull on his trousers. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For doubting you.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” he assured her. “I suppose it is a little strange to think someone like me would get invited to the palace.”

“Do you really know the princess?”

“Yes.”

“Have you met her children?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve seen them. Just from a distance, mind you. At the races last spring. They were with Lord Damaran and Lord Bearbow in the stands.”

“I know. I saw them there, too.”

“He’s a good-looking boy.”

“Who?”

“The High Prince’s heir.”

“Damin?” Wrayan pulled on his shirt and stood up so he could tuck it in. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s he
really
like?” The question sounded more like a test than asking for his opinion.

Wrayan shrugged. “He’s smart enough, I suppose. And he can fight like a Raider. But then, anyone who’s had Geri Almodavar teaching them how to fight since before they could walk ought to be good. He can be a bit precocious at times, but he seems to be a good lad at heart.”

Fyora shook her head in wonder. “You really
do
know the royal family, don’t you?”

He smiled. It took a while for things to sink in with Fyora sometimes. “Yes, Fee. I really do know them.”

“Do you think . . .,” she began hesitantly. “Well, I mean, do you think there might come a time . .

. you know . . . when you could introduce
me
?”

Wrayan had to forcibly stop himself from laughing aloud at the thought of presenting Fyora to Princess Marla. Fortunately, he was pulling on his boots, so Fyora didn’t see the expression on his face.

“I don’t think so, Fee.”

“Oh.” She sounded so disappointed, Wrayan almost felt sorry for her.

“Tell you what, though,” he offered, to ease her disappointment, as he stamped his feet into his riding boots. “I know a Harshini lord who’d love to meet you.”

She sighed impatiently. “The Harshini are all gone, Wrayan. Everyone knows that.”

“I know one that’s still about,” he said, reaching for his jacket. It was dark blue, embroidered with silver knot-work on the cuffs, and the high collar was inlaid with velvet. The only place he’d be seen dead wearing it was at the palace. Strutting about in such finery around the Beggars’ Quarter was asking for trouble.

Fyora rolled her eyes at him sceptically. “You really do think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

“I’m serious! He pops in here every now and then to visit me. Who do you think taught me that trick with the door, Fee?”

She thought about that for a moment and then a slow smile crept over her face. “A
real
Harshini lord?”

“He’s a
real
Harshini lord. And I promise the next time he visits Krakandar, I’ll arrange for you to meet him.”

She considered his offer for a time and then nodded. “You
really
promise?”

“On my honour as a thief.”

His oath was good enough for her. She picked up her other shoe from the bed, stood up, reached up on her toes and kissed him soundly and then let herself out of the room, her broken heart apparently mended, her fears allayed, by the prospect of meeting a real Harshini lord.

“Brak is gonna kill me,” Wrayan muttered to himself as he watched her leave.

Still, it was highly unlikely that he’d ever have to keep that promise. It was five years since he’d seen Brakandaran the Halfbreed and he thought it might be another ten before the Halfbreed felt the need to wander through Krakandar again.

Agroom hurried out to take Wrayan’s horse as he dismounted in the broad paved plaza in front of Krakandar Palace. It was a warm day, although a little cloudy. A crisp breeze sent scudding shadows over the plaza, making the pennons on the palace roof snap loudly. Not surprisingly, Princess Marla’s personal pennon stood out in the stiff breeze from the centre pole, indicating she was in residence. He’d only put one foot on the bottom step before Orleon appeared on the landing, as if by magic, with a faintly disapproving sneer.

“Master Lightfinger.”

“Orleon, my old friend!” Wrayan replied cheerfully. “You’re looking well.”

The chief steward frowned. “As are you, Master Lightfinger. Business must be thriving in the seedy underworld of the criminal element.”

“Never been better,” Wrayan agreed, climbing the steps until he was face to face with the old man. “Nice pendant, by the way,” he teased, eyeing the steward’s heavy silver chain with its jewelled kraken pendant that was his proud badge of office. “If you’re ever in need of a little extra cash, come and see me. I could fence that for quite a bit.”

Orleon was not amused. The old man disapproved mightily of Wrayan’s friendship with Princess Marla, but was forced to tolerate it for her sake. “I must inform you, sir, that on hearing you were invited to lunch today, I arranged a full inventory of the palace valuables. I’ll know if anything goes missing.”

“I promise to be on my best behaviour then.”

“I’m serious, Master Lightfinger.”

“I know you are, Orleon. That’s what makes you so much fun.”

“Wrayan!”

The thief turned in the direction of the shout before the chief steward could respond. Damin and Starros burst out of the palace doors and raced to the head of the steps to greet him. Wrayan was stunned by how much the boys had grown in the year since he’d seen them last, although nothing much else seemed changed about them.

“Hello, Damin. Starros.”

“Is he causing trouble already, Orleon?” Damin asked with a grin.

The old man muttered something rude under his breath and then bowed slightly in Damin’s direction. “Perhaps you and Starros would prefer to escort Master Lightfinger to lunch, your highness?”

“We’d be happy to,” the young prince replied.

“Then I will leave you in the care of the
children
, Master Lightfinger,” Orleon told him, and turned on his heel. He strode back into the palace, his back stiff.

“What did you say to make Orleon so mad?” Starros asked, falling in beside them as they followed the chief steward into the palace. Wrayan liked Starros. The fosterling had the quick wit of a truly intelligent mind and the sort of nature that seemed capable of handling any crisis.
Pity he’s
destined for a life in the Palace Guard
, Wrayan mused.
Starros would have made an excellent thief
.

“How do you know Orleon is mad at me?”

Starros smiled. “He only ever calls Damin ‘your highness’ when he’s cranky about something.”

“I offered to pawn his pendant for him.”

Damin laughed delightedly. “I wish you’d visit more often, Wrayan. If only for the effect you have on Orleon.”

“According to Orleon, I shouldn’t be visiting at all,” Wrayan replied as they stepped into the cool dimness of the main foyer. “How’s your mother?”

“Same as always.” Damin shrugged as they crossed the polished granite tiles and headed up the grand staircase to the dining room on the second floor. “She brought Luciena Mariner back with her this time. She’s going to be officially adopted into the family.”

“Is she now?”

The news interested Wrayan greatly. He understood why the princess had married Ruxton Tirstone. Wrayan once joked to Marla that he would have married Ruxton himself to get access to the vast intelligence network the spice trader owned. But on many an occasion he’d wondered why Marla had married a man so far beneath her as Jarvan Mariner. And why she’d done nothing about his baseborn daughter all these years. Apparently, she’d simply been biding her time. The daughter would be a marriageable age by now, he guessed. As usual, Marla had her eye on the long-term future.

“I’m going to Izcomdar at the end of summer,” Damin announced, as they reached the head of the stairs and turned left along the carpeted hall. Tall paintings of generations of Krakenshield Warlords loomed over them as they walked, as if they were running a gauntlet haunted by the dead. Wrayan hated this hallway and was sure the painting hanging over the door to the library followed him with his eyes each time he came here.

“Is that where you’re being fostered?” Wrayan asked, forcing himself to ignore the dead eyes of the portraits.
I should send someone in here to steal them. Then I wouldn’t have to look at them
whenever I come to visit
. “That’s not so far away.”

It was common practice among the highborn to foster their children in another province between the ages of thirteen and eighteen, and Wrayan knew how politically fraught the decision about Damin’s fosterage must have been for Princess Marla. He’d expected her to send him somewhere safe, among people she trusted, like Elasapine or Sunrise. Izcomdar, the province that bordered Krakandar to the south, seemed an odd choice.

“I know. Old Rogan’s a bit of a bore, too. And nothing exciting ever happens there.”

“Damin was hoping they’d send him to Sunrise, so he could have a chance at killing some Fardohnyans,” Starros explained.

“I wish! The worst thing I’m likely to confront in Izcomdar is horse thieves.”

Wrayan smiled at the young prince’s obvious disappointment. “Maybe they’ll be really scary horse thieves, Damin.”

“Fat chance,” the boy grumbled. Then he brightened and added, “On the other hand, the
reason
he is plagued by horse thieves is that old Rogan breeds some of the best stock in Hythria. Did you know he has a strain of sorcerer-bred horses that’s still as pure as it was when the Harshini were around?”

In the blink of an eye, the young prince’s disappointment had turned to excitement. Damin was like that. He was the sort of person who managed to find something positive in any situation. Wrayan hoped the trait followed him in adulthood.

“What about you, Starros?” Wrayan asked. “Now that Damin’s heading off, does that mean you’ll officially be joining the Raiders?”

“Princess Marla thinks I need more education. I’m staying in the palace for the time being.”

Which means she has you tagged for bigger and better things, my lad, than life as a simple
Raider
. It didn’t really surprise him. Marla would never let an asset like Starros go to waste in the Palace Guard.

“Well, if you ever get bored, come pay me a visit. I’d be happy to show you the other side of life.”

Starros seemed amused. “You mean if I ever get sick of living in the lap of luxury, having my every wish catered for, my own
court’esa
, and anything else I want provided for me?”

“I didn’t say it was necessarily a
good
idea, Starros,” Wrayan laughed.

They reached the dining room doors, which two slaves opened for them as they approached.

Princess Marla was already in the room; she was dressed in a simple green gown, standing near the window talking to an unfamiliar, dark-haired young woman whom Wrayan guessed must be Luciena Mariner.

The princess turned as they entered, her face breaking into a smile of genuine pleasure.

“Wrayan!”

“Your highness.”

He bowed low as she approached. Marla took both his hands in hers and examined him for a moment, then nodded with satisfaction. “You’re looking very well, Wrayan.”

“As are you, your highness,” he replied graciously. And she was looking well. Marla seemed to grow more beautiful every time he saw her.

“We didn’t wake you with our thoughtless demand that you attend us for lunch, did we?”

“I don’t mind missing a bit of sleep for you, your highness.” Wrayan had enough Harshini blood in him that he could go days without sleep and still function normally, but it was nice of her to ask.

The other children had noticed his arrival by now. Kalan came up beside her mother and smiled shyly at him. The little princess had a crush on Wrayan that he was quite flattered by—in fact, she was probably Wrayan’s favourite among all the children.

“Orleon says the only reason you come here is because you’re a thief and would never pass up a free meal.”

“He’s got a point, Kalan,” Wrayan agreed with a laugh as Kalan’s twin brother, Narvell, and the other children of the palace gathered around. As they clamoured for his attention, and Wrayan greeted them one by one, he glanced over their heads and caught Marla’s eye, understanding immediately what she wanted of him.

Make sure they’ve not had their minds tampered with
, she was telling him silently.
Do whatever
you have to, Wrayan, but keep my children safe
.

“Well?”

Marla closed the door of her office and turned to look at Wrayan questioningly. Lunch had finished and, as usual, Marla had invited Wrayan to share a parting cup of wine in private. It was a rare privilege that irked Orleon no end, because many people the chief steward considered worthy of such an honour were denied. He couldn’t understand why Marla never denied the thief.

Wrayan shook his head. “They’re all fine, your highness.”

“Are you certain?”

“Anybody able to tamper with the mind of someone in the palace would have to wield Harshini magic to do it. If nothing else, I’d feel
that
happening, no matter where I was in the city.”

“And the shield you placed on my mind? Is it still intact?”

“Yes,” he assured her, able to feel the delicate weave was undisturbed, even from where he stood. It gave him a great deal of satisfaction to think he’d woven a shield over Marla’s mind, and the minds of her children and her closet advisors, that his nemesis, Alija Eaglespike, couldn’t even detect, let alone figure out how to penetrate.

“What about Luciena? Were you able to detect her thoughts?”

Wrayan shrugged. “Only briefly. I didn’t get enough time to examine her mind closely. I doubt she’s planning to murder you all in your beds.”

“I’ll arrange to have Luciena spend some time with you in private. If she’s not an imminent threat, I suppose we can wait awhile. She’s still very uncertain about us. I don’t want to scare her off completely by announcing that I’m sending her off to the Thieves’ Guild to have her mind probed.”