Warrior (72 page)

“You must let me see her, Mahkas!” Bylinda cried, falling to her knees, clutching at the hem of his cloak. “She hasn’t been allowed food, even warmth, for over a week! You’re killing her!”

“If your daughter is dying, it is by her own choice, my lady,” Mahkas replied, shaking his wife off disdainfully. “Now please, get a hold of yourself before the servants see you in such a state! Remember who you are!”

“Perhaps if I spoke to her, Uncle Mahkas? As her cousin and her friend, I might be able to point out the error of her ways, you know . . . woman to woman? Explain to her that life must move on.”

Mahkas shook his head sadly. “If only it was that simple, Kalan. But Leila refuses to admit the truth. Until she does, she will suffer as she chooses.”

Not wishing to discuss the matter further, Mahkas pushed past his wife and niece and headed into the palace. He left the two women standing on the top step, staring at him in despair, but paid them no further mind. And then he stopped abruptly. In a sudden flash of inspiration, Mahkas knew what he must do to bring Leila around. Kalan had just given him the clue.

It was so simple; he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. He turned and beckoned his niece to him.

“Uncle Mahkas?”

“Perhaps your cousin does need your help, after all, Kalan.”

“Anything,” the young woman promised.

“Come with me then,” he said. “And we shall set this matter to rights, once and for all.”

“The Bastard Fosterling is dead,” Mahkas announced, standing at the door to Leila’s bedroom.

Kalan stood beside him. She knew his declaration was a lie. However, in keeping with the promise she had made on the way up here, Kalan did not contradict him.

Leila didn’t react immediately. She was curled up on the mattress, the thin bloodstained sheet he’d left on the bed her only protection against the cold. And it was icy in here. The room had been without a fire for six days now and the weather was still cold enough outside that she would be feeling it acutely. Her back was scabbed over, the worst of the bruises already starting to yellow at the edges. He pitied her now, his anger more about her ongoing stubbornness than her original crime.

“Did you hear me, Leila? The Bastard Fosterling is dead. Even if you still imagine you feel something for him, there’s no point now. He’s nothing more than a soon-to-be-forgotten memory.”

“I would know if Starros was dead,” she muttered after a time, so softly that Mahkas thought he might have imagined she spoke. They were the first words he had heard from her in days.

“Did you want proof?”

That got her attention. She raised her head to stare at him. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, red-rimmed from crying. Always a slender girl, she was thin to the point of being haggard. He’d allowed her no food, but she was able to drink from the stopcock in her bathroom, Mahkas supposed.

“What proof?”

Mahkas hesitated, then turned to Kalan. “Your cousin Kalan is here to swear that what I tell you is true. You’ll believe her, won’t you, even if you won’t take my word for it?”

Kalan glared at him, making no effort to hide her disgust at the lie he was telling his daughter.

Mahkas shook his head warningly. He’d explained to his niece—in quite explicit detail—what would happen if she uttered so much as a sound that threw his word into question.
If you want your aunt to be
allowed to visit Leila, you will do as I say
, he’d told her.
If you want your cousin to be clothed and warm
and fed, then you’ll make her believe what I wish her to believe
.

Kalan treated him to a hateful glower and then pushed past him, kneeling beside the bed to comfort her cousin. She took Leila’s hand in hers and squeezed it gently. “I’m so sorry, Leila.”

Not exactly the ringing endorsement he was asking for, but perhaps it was better than an outright declaration. It certainly got a reaction from his daughter. She began to cry, shaking her head in denial.

“It can’t be true . . .”

“You have to hold on, Lee,” Kalan told her. “You have to be strong.”

“Please, Kalan . . . tell me it’s not . . .” She was sobbing too hard to finish the sentence.

“My lord,” Orleon said behind him in the outer room, after coughing politely to make Mahkas aware of his presence.

The regent turned impatiently, wondering how the old man had got past the guards. “What?”

“You asked to be advised as soon as the raiding party returned from Medalon.”

“Yes?”

“We’ve just had word that Prince Damin, Captain Almodavar and the rest of the troops have entered the city, sire. And they appear to have some additional refugees with them.”

“Thank you, Orleon. That will be all.”

The old steward bowed and left the room with no further comment. Mahkas turned back to Leila and Kalan and smiled at them. “There! You see! Didn’t I tell you everything is going to be all right?

Damin is home. The Bastard Fosterling is dead. All this terrible nonsense can be put behind us! There’s nothing for you to worry about, dearest, not any more.”

“I hate you,” Leila sobbed, in too much pain even to raise her head again.

“Leila, you have to hold on a little longer,” Kalan urged gently. “Starros would want you to do that. He’d
want
you to hang on until Damin gets here.” Kalan was sounding quite desperate. She leaned a little closer to her cousin’s ear and added in a low, urgent voice, “Damin will make things right, Lee, don’t you see that?”

Mahkas unconsciously nodded his approval. That was good, reminding her of who she really loved. Knowing her fiancé was due home any time should encourage Leila to pull herself together.

And it seemed as if it worked. At the mention of Damin’s name, Leila lifted her head from her pillow and slowly turned to look at Mahkas; the first time she had willingly looked him in the eye since the day he’d beaten her. He didn’t flinch from her accusing stare. He had nothing to feel guilty about.

“Damin will be home soon,” she said. Her voice was ethereal, yet determined. She appeared to have suddenly made a decision about something.

Kalan stood up and looked down at Leila with concern. “Yes, he will.”

Leila smiled distantly and swung her legs around until she was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Mahkas was filled with relief. This obvious sign that Leila was emerging from her listless, defiant depression was most encouraging. He should have thought about telling her The Bastard Fosterling was dead days ago.

“I should get ready for him,” Leila said, rising to her feet. She stumbled and fell against Kalan, seemingly unaware of her nakedness.

Mahkas smiled with relief. “There you go! I knew things would be better as soon as you realised where your priorities lay! I’ll have someone sent in to re-lay the fire. And run a bath for you. And clothes. You’ll need something nice to wear to greet your fiancé.”

Leila struggled to hold herself upright against Kalan, who looked far from pleased at this inexplicable change in her cousin’s demeanour. “Just a bath will do for now,” she said, with a wan, remote smile. “A nice, warm bath. Damin’s barely at the outer gate, Father. I have time yet to make myself ready for him.”

“Did you want me to stay and help, Lee?” Kalan asked worriedly.

She shook her head. “Just send someone in to run the bath. I’d like to soak in peace for a while.”

Mahkas yelled for a slave, beaming with relief. This was far better than he could have hoped for and vindicated his belief that the only way to deal with his errant daughter was to force Leila to see the truth. Now that she believed The Bastard Fosterling was dead, there was obviously nothing standing in the way of her recognising where her true duty lay.

At his summons, several slaves hurried into the room to arrange Leila’s bath. Another he sent to retrieve her wardrobe and another to light a fire and take the chill off the air. It would take Damin some time to get through the city to the inner ring and the palace. As Leila said, she had time.

One of the slaves helped Leila towards the bathroom, leaving Kalan staring after them, clearly unhappy. Mahkas thought he understood why, and smiled as he approached his niece to thank her for her assistance. Kalan was obviously uneasy with her part in the deception about Starros’s death, despite his assurances.

“You did the right thing, Kalan.”

“You made me lie to her, Uncle.”

“Good lies that make her see the truth can never be a bad thing.”

He watched Leila stumble into the bathroom and heard the rush of water coming from the stopcock. It would take a while to heat the water, Mahkas guessed, and fill the huge tiled pool. Time enough for all of them to get ready for Damin’s return.

“Are you going to let Aunt Bylinda in to see her now?” Kalan demanded of him suddenly.

“Later, perhaps,” he conceded. “When I’ve had time to explain things to her.”

“In that case, would you excuse me, please, Uncle Mahkas? I’d like to get ready to greet my brother, also.”

“Of course. You may go.”

“Thank you, sire,” she said politely with a small curtsey and left the room. Mahkas smiled, thinking that perhaps twelve years in the Sorcerers’ Collective had taught Kalan some dignity along with whatever else they taught there these days. She had handled herself very well indeed.

All Mahkas had to do now was wait for Damin to come home and inform him of the changes that had taken place in the Krakandar Palace while he was gone. Mahkas was certain there was nothing now standing in the way of the fulfilment of all his ambitions for his daughter.

As soon as Kalan could escape her uncle, she fled Leila’s room, horrified by what she had done.

Telling Leila that Starros was dead was the cruellest blow she could have delivered to her cousin, short of physically beating her.

But what choice did I have?

How else could she explain to Leila, with Mahkas standing there watching and listening to every word, that there
was
hope? How could she tell her cousin that far from adding to her woes, Damin might be her only chance to restore some semblance of sanity to this madhouse into which the palace had been transformed in his absence? Not that Kalan really believed Damin could do much. But there was always the slim hope that Tejay and Rorin were right.

There had been no time to explain anything, however, and no chance to slip through the slaveways. Kalan could only hope that Leila understood what she was trying to say to her. That she had somehow given her cousin something to cling to.

Kalan paced the balcony near the staircase, tormented by the possibilities, waiting for some sign that Damin was through the inner ring of the city, hoping Tejay was right about his ability to end this nightmare. Kalan didn’t have quite as much faith in her brother as the Warlord of Sunrise’s wife. She had seen him infrequently in Greenharbour. She and Rorin had been busy with their studies and Damin had been in Natalandar in Izcomdar Province until six years ago, when he finished his fosterage and Marla had finally sent for him. Whenever she did see her brother, Damin wasn’t doing anything responsible, or noble, or even particularly important. Mostly, he seemed just to enjoy himself.

People scoffed at her brother, she knew, even dismissed him as shallow and not very bright. He had a reputation the length and breadth of Greenharbour for never taking anything seriously. Kalan hoped it was an act. The Damin that Tejay seemed to believe in was far more astute than Kalan had ever seen. Maybe he was just very good at applying Elezaar’s Thirteenth Rule—
never appear too bright or too
clever
. Maybe it was a survival tactic. A way of concealing who he really was from the many forces in Hythria who might not like what they saw, if the High Prince’s heir was ever foolish enough to reveal his true nature.

If it wasn’t, then both Leila and Starros were doomed.

A steady stream of people—slaves, free servants and a change of guard—passed Kalan as she waited. About ten minutes after she’d left Leila’s room, Mahkas appeared, walking along the hall deep in discussion with the slave responsible for his daughter’s wardrobe. He was telling her what he wanted Leila to wear: something elegant, yet alluring—something to let her fiancé know she was happy to have him home. He nodded absently to Kalan as he passed. Too intent on his plans for his daughter, he didn’t ask why she was still waiting around in the hall.

A few moments later Rorin appeared and hurried towards her. He was wearing his sorcerer’s robes, extremely conscious they were the only thing that protected him from Mahkas’s snobbish scorn.

“I heard Leila’s been let out,” he said, glancing past Kalan towards the room further along the hall that was still conspicuously guarded.

“It was awful, Rorin. He made me tell her Starros was dead.”

“What did she do?”

Kalan shrugged, at a loss to explain Leila’s odd reaction. “That was the worst part. It’s like she grieved for him for all of about two heartbeats and then put it all behind her and said she had to get up and get ready for Damin.”

Rorin seemed as puzzled as Kalan. “That doesn’t sound right. Do you think your aunt will be allowed in there now? I’ve just come from her room. She sent me along to find out what’s happening.”

“How is she?”

“She’s frantic. But Tejay’s with her.”

Kalan shook her head. “I don’t think Mahkas will let her in yet. Leila’s having a bath anyway.

Maybe he’ll let Bylinda see her when she’s dressed.”

“What if I get Tejay to tell her about the master key to the slaveways entrance?”

She looked down over the balcony into the hall, watched her uncle dismiss the wardrobe slave at the bottom of the grand staircase and stride across the hall out of sight along the corridor that led to his study. There was another slave lighting the candles downstairs against the approaching twilight, and when Kalan glanced out of the windows she noticed the sky was already fading into darkness.

“We can probably risk it now. The city guards have just sent word. Damin’s back. He should be here soon.”

Rorin took her trembling hands in his and smiled at her, no doubt in an effort to stop her wearing a hole in the carpet. “It’ll be all right, Kalan.”