Warrior (49 page)

“Is Starros unwell?” Mahkas enquired of his wife, puzzled by the young man’s absence. Despite his baseborn status, Starros had counted himself one of Damin’s closest friends in childhood. He couldn’t imagine any circumstance short of unconsciousness that would have kept him away from this event.

“I don’t think so,” Bylinda replied, just as puzzled by his absence.

“He had some business in the city,” Leila told them. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Starros wouldn’t miss this day for anything.”

Mahkas nodded. “I know. Which reminds me, Leila, of something I’ve been meaning to mention for a few days now, but with all the fuss of Damin’s arrival, it kept slipping my mind.”

“What’s that, Papa?”

“Now that Damin is home, it might pay to be a little more . . .
circumspect
in your dealings with Starros.”

Leila stared at him in shock. “
What
?”

“Now, now, don’t get upset. I know Starros is a friend. But you’re not children in the nursery any longer, Leila. You need to start keeping company with friends of your own class. Starros is a bastard fosterling promoted to assistant chief steward. I don’t want your fiancé to think there is anything untoward in your dealings with the servants.”

“Damin is
not
my fiancé, Papa,” Leila insisted in a low, irritated voice, aware that their conversation might easily be overheard. “And Starros isn’t just a servant.”

Mahkas was starting to get truly annoyed by his daughter’s constant refusal to acknowledge the truth of her situation. “Just because it hasn’t been formally announced doesn’t mean your betrothal to Damin is not going to happen, Leila. And the sooner you start to acknowledge the truth about Starros’s station in life, the better.” Before Leila could argue the point with him, he took her hand and squeezed it with an encouraging smile. “Now, don’t be mad at me. Smile for your papa, eh? Anybody would think you’re not happy to welcome Damin home.”

Leila refused to answer, but she did manage a thin smile, which relieved Mahkas a great deal.

She was just being waspish, he told himself. Maybe it was her moon-time. Women were notoriously fickle and moody at times like that. There was no more time to worry about it, however. Another horn sounded and finally the guard of honour pushed their way through the crowd outside the wall and rode under the large arched gateway into the courtyard.

Two outriders carrying the banners bearing the wolf’s-head escutcheon of the Wolfblade House and the rampant kraken of Krakandar led the parade into the inner courtyard, followed by another two men on horseback. Behind them rode the captain of the guard, Almodavar, and with him a young man and woman whom Mahkas guessed were Kalan and her companion, Rorin. Not seeing Damin immediately, he looked again at the two riders at the head of the column and frowned. The one on the left, Mahkas suddenly realised with concern, was his nephew, Damin Wolfblade, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, far too casual for such an important entrance into the city.
What is he thinking?

And then Mahkas’s blood ran cold as he realised the man riding next to Damin, in the position of honour at the prince’s right hand—in the most appalling breach of protocol Mahkas could ever recall—

was his assistant chief steward, the bastard fosterling, Starros.

Mahkas and Bylinda stepped forward to greet him, as Damin dismounted at the foot of the steps. The prince took them two at a time, halting just below the landing where they waited, and bowed respectfully to his uncle.

“Welcome home, Damin!” Mahkas announced loudly, stepping forward to embrace his nephew and forcing a smile he certainly didn’t feel. “You’ve been sorely missed here in your true home.”

Damin seemed genuinely delighted to be back. “I’ve sorely missed it, too, Uncle. Hello, Aunt Bylinda.”

Bylinda curtseyed politely and offered Damin her hand. “It’s good to see you again, Damin.”

Damin kissed her palm and smiled warmly. “It’s always a pleasure to see my favourite aunt, my lady. You’re truly the only reason I wanted to come home.”

Bylinda blushed at Damin’s flattery, not immune to his charm even though she’d helped raise the boy. Mahkas turned to discover Leila, against his explicit instructions, had not rushed forward to greet her cousin. She hung back as if is she wanted no part of the celebrations. “Leila, don’t be shy.

Come! Welcome Damin home!”

With some reluctance, Leila stepped forward, but she didn’t try to embrace Damin. She coolly offered him her hand. Mahkas could have slapped her for being so intransigent, but Damin didn’t seem to mind. He accepted her hand and kissed her palm with the same grace he had her mother’s hand and smiled at her.

“You look thrilled to see me, cousin.”

There was a touch of irony in Damin’s tone that Mahkas thought rather concerning.

“You have no idea, Damin,” she replied unsmilingly.

“We’ll talk soon,” he promised, and then kissed her palm again. “In private.”

Leila smiled at her cousin then, and slipped her arm through his as Damin stepped up to the landing. Vastly relieved by this obvious sign of affection by his daughter, Mahkas turned to greet his niece and her companion from the Sorcerers’ Collective.

Kalan was polite enough when she greeted him and introduced him to Rorin, as the rest of the welcoming delegation formed two lines leading to the palace doors. Mahkas had always thought Kalan a bad influence on Leila and had been rather relieved when Marla had taken her from the palace to be apprenticed to the Collective, along with Rorin Mariner, this cousin of Luciena’s who seemed to have appeared from nowhere and been adopted into the family with no explanation at all. On the landing, Damin, with Leila still holding his arm, was working his way down the lines, greeting each person by name.

And then he stopped abruptly and turned to Mahkas. “Oh, while I think of it—Starros tells me you had something planned for the parade this afternoon, Uncle.”

“That’s right,” Mahkas said, wondering what had been said. If Starros had spoiled his surprise in any way, Mahkas silently promised himself he would kill the too-smart-for-his-own-good little bastard with his bare hands.

“And he tells me I’m supposed to be the main attraction.”

“We must honour Kaelarn, Damin, and I thought—”

Damin laughed. “We’re miles from the ocean, Uncle. I’m quite sure Kaelarn’s wrath won’t reach us here if I don’t take part in your little parade. It’s been a long ride from the crossroads this morning and I’ve already greeted half the city in person. You won’t mind if I settle for watching the parade from the wall-walk over the gate, will you?”

Damin turned back to greeting the servants without waiting for Mahkas to answer. The look Leila gave her father was quietly triumphant.

Furious, Mahkas grabbed Starros by the arm as he made to follow them and pulled him aside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

Starros looked at him with a puzzled expression. “I wasn’t aware that I was doing anything.”

“You ride in here at the right hand of Krakandar’s prince, acting as if you deserve some special consideration. You ruin my parade. Who do you think you are?”

“Damin asked me to ride with him, my lord. We’re friends.”

“Then perhaps my nephew needs to rethink who his friends are,” Mahkas told him in a low, angry voice, conscious that people were wondering what he was saying to the young man. “Now get back to Orleon, boy. And I don’t want to see you again unless you’re serving your betters, not trying to pretend you’re one of them.”

Mahkas let Starros go with a shove and hurried to catch up with his nephew and his daughter, thinking that as soon as he had Damin and Leila safely married, it might be time to start thinking of a way to remove Starros from the palace completely.

From the moment they arrived in Talabar, Luciena knew something was amiss.

It was more than the unexpected and unasked-for escort of Fardohnyan troops waiting for them on the wharves when they docked. It was more than the uneasy cooperation of the stevedores who helped tie up the ship, or the sly glances of the merchants who stared suspiciously at their Hythrun vessel from the decks of their own magnificent Fardohnyan ships. It was a gut feeling Luciena had come to trust; a feeling she couldn’t explain, but knew—beyond doubt—that she should listen to.

Xanda, normally the most optimistic of men, was down on the wharf talking to the soldiers.

Even from here, Luciena could see the worried expression her husband wore as he listened to the captain of the Fardohnyan guard. Watching from the deck of the trader she had commandeered for the voyage to Talabar, Luciena didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what bothered her husband.

There was more than just Xanda or Luciena in danger here.

Believing they would be safer on the open sea than trapped in a plague-ridden city, Luciena had made the difficult decision to bring their three children with them on this journey, the eldest of whom, Emilie, was only ten years old. Their two sons, Jarvan and Geris, were eight and six. The children were still belowdecks, anxiously awaiting permission to go ashore. Chewing nervously on her bottom lip as she watched Xanda talking to the Fardohnyan captain, Luciena fought down the urge to order Captain Grayden to untie the ship and push off while they still had a chance of getting her children away from this place.

She was on the verge of issuing the order when Xanda turned and headed back up the gangway of the ship, nimbly jumping to the deck when he reached the top of the treacherous plank. For a man born and bred in landlocked Krakandar, he had taken to the sea like a fish suddenly reintroduced to water after a lengthy absence. Luciena had never seen him sea-sick, unsteady on his feet or even nervous during a storm. It grieved her a little sometimes to think that he was such a natural seaman, while the daughter of the legendary Jarvan Mariner had proved to be a fair-weather sailor, at best.

“What did he say?” she demanded of her husband as Captain Grayden met them at the head of the gangway.

“He welcomed us to Talabar,” Xanda informed her. “Very polite about it, he was.”

“And?” the captain prompted.

“And it seems that every accommodation house in the city is suddenly and unaccountably full.”

Luciena glanced down at the waiting troop before looking at Xanda with a puzzled expression.

“So . . . what? Are they saying we have to stay on board the ship?”

“No,” Xanda replied. “Apparently, in an act of extreme generosity, the king has made rooms available for us in the Summer Palace.”

Captain Grayden shook his head, clearly unhappy with the idea of them putting themselves directly under the power of Fardohnya’s notoriously unreliable king. “I say we pull up anchor and leave while we still can, my lady.”

“And go where?” Luciena asked, just as concerned, particularly for her children. “We can’t go home while the plague still ravages Greenharbour.”

“What about Medalon?” Xanda suggested. “We could sail upriver to Bordertown and wait out the plague there.”

“Not with the draught of this ship,” Grayden advised. “The Glass River’s not that deep.”

Luciena looked out over the city of Talabar, torn with indecision. The morning was typical of Talabar—a flawless sky resting on a calm, sapphire sea. Curving around the harbour and built from the pale pink stone of the neighbouring cliffs, the city glowed softly in the late winter sunshine. On the left, at the end of the wharf district, a series of carved stone steps led up to the paved road that circled the harbour. Flat-roofed villas belonging to the wealthy and the powerful were perched at random intervals across the distant terraced hills surrounding the bay. The city itself was interspersed with countless palm-shaded emerald parks and the tall edifices of the many temples that dotted it, the numerous spires aiming for the sky, as if each one was a finger pointing to the clouds—the home of the Primal Gods—trying to reach out and touch the divine realm to see if it was real.

Talabar was a deceptively beautiful city, Luciena thought. It appeared warm and friendly. On the flat roofs of the houses closest to the docks, a few people had even gathered to watch, probably wondering why there was a contingent of the King’s Guard waiting to meet a Hythrun ship. Further along, near the warehouses on their right, the wharves were crowded with cargo ships, irate-looking merchants and bare-chested, sweaty stevedores shouting at each other as they unloaded their wares.

She looked at Xanda and knew what he was thinking. Had it just been the two of them, he wouldn’t have hesitated to accept the King of Fardohnya’s highly suspicious offer, content they could handle him and his un-trustworthy hospitality. But with the children here . . . they could all too easily become pawns in a game that might turn deadly at any moment.

“What do you think?”

“I’m all for pulling up anchor and getting the hell out of here while we still can,” Xanda admitted,

“but as you said, where do we go?”

“With the supplies and water we have left on board,” Grayden informed them, “we’d be lucky to make it to the Isle of Slarn.”

Luciena shook her head at the impossible decision. “I think, that if it came to a choice between returning home to face the plague in Greenharbour or the colony of Malik’s Curse sufferers on Slarn, I’d rather face the plague.”

Xanda nodded in agreement. And then he smiled thinly. Luciena assumed he was trying to be encouraging. “The offer may be genuine, you know.”

Even Grayden nodded his agreement. “Your husband speaks the truth, my lady. I doubt Hablet of Fardohnya would be foolish enough to harm the niece and nephews of Hythria’s High Prince.”

She nodded reluctantly. “I suppose we don’t really have much choice.”

That was as close to saying yes to Hablet’s offer that she could bring herself to articulate. Xanda didn’t object to her decision, which meant he also acknowledged they had little choice in the matter.

“I’ll go down and inform the captain that we’ll be happy to accept his offer to escort us to the palace then.” He turned and headed for the gangway. Then he hesitated at the rail and suddenly laughed.