Wolfblade (9 page)

Without waiting for Tesha to reply, Glenadal led Marla away, holding her arm. He escorted her from the tables, through the crush, towards the balcony doors at the far end of the hall.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Rescuing me from Lady Tesha.”

“Did you need rescuing?” the Warlord asked curiously.

Marla sighed heavily. “You have
no
idea.”

“Actually, I think I do. You’ve heard the news about the Fardohnyan offer, I take it?”

She nodded mutely, afraid that if she said anything she might start to cry. Nash had been swallowed by the crowd. She couldn’t even see him in the crush.

“It’s a tempting offer, lass.”

She forced herself to stop searching the sea of faces for another glimpse of Nash and concentrated on what Glenadal was saying. “What? Of course.”

“Your brother’s going to find it hard to refuse.”

“Can’t
you
speak to him?”

“And tell him what, child? They’re murdering his friends in broad daylight now. Hablet’s offer is just what he needs to hold off Barnardo’s push for the throne. You don’t think he’s going to turn his back on an opportunity like that for the sake of his sister’s feelings, do you?”

“It’s cruel,” Marla insisted. “And inhuman.”

“It’s politics,” Glenadal shrugged.

“But . . . what if I love someone else?”

The Warlord laughed. “Love’s got nothing to do with it, child. You’re a princess of the blood royal. You don’t have that luxury. If it’s romance you want, buy yourself a handsome young
court’esa
to keep you amused.” When he noticed Marla’s scowl he smiled. “Come, lass, it’s not that bad. By the time you’ve been married five years, Hablet will have a score of wives, anyway. You probably won’t even need to visit his bed once you’ve given him a son.”

“I’m not going to give him a son. I hope he never has a son. I hate him.”

The Warlord glanced around nervously. “Be careful what you wish for, Marla. Careless curses can come true.”

“Good.”

He shook his head sadly. “It’s a hard thing, Marla, when you learn who it is that you have to marry. I remember wanting to kill myself when I was presented to my first wife.”

“Why?”

Glenadal chuckled. “Because she was so damned self-righteous. And ugly.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Kill myself? I had a duty, lass. A duty to my family. To my province. My vassals. To my people.”

“I hate duty. I hate being a princess. I wish I was like Lady Jeryma. At least she got a choice.”

“You think so? Shows how much you know! When I married Laran’s mother, I was forced to keep her away from anything sharp for quite some time after the wedding.”

Marla was shocked. “You did not!”

“I swear it on my only daughter’s head.”

“I always thought you and Lady Jeryma were really happy together.”

“We are now,” he agreed. “But it took time. And sometimes it never happens at all. I hated my first wife right up until the day she died giving birth to my only legitimate son who lived for about three breaths longer than she did. I hated her for that, too.”

Marla smiled thinly. “Are you telling me this to make me feel better, Lord Ravenspear? Or worse?”

“I’m telling you this to remind you how futile it is for you to fight this, lass. Lernen needs you married to someone who can prop up his very shaky position. You might as well accept that and move on. There is no other choice for you.”

“Lord Palenovar promised me he’d try to find a way out of it.”

The Warlord shook his head. “That was a foolish promise Kagan knows he can’t keep.”

“But he’s the High Arrion.”

“Aye. But he’s a sorcerer, not a miracle worker. Still, he’s a Royalist at heart, and I suppose he doesn’t want you married to a Fardohnyan any more than I do. I suspect if there was some other way, Kagan would have found it by now. Don’t cling to false hope, Marla. It’ll just hurt more in the end.”

“Can’t the two of you get together and do something? I mean, he’s your brother-in-law, isn’t he? Surely, with the most important Royalists supporting the High Arrion, if you spoke to Lernen—”

“Marla, there’s no point,” he said, with a squeeze of her hand, dashing her hopes with his sympathetic smile. “Unless a miracle on the scale of the Harshini suddenly returning from exile after a hundred and fifty years happens in the next week or so, you’ll be married to Hablet of Fardohnya by the end of the year, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

T
he ballroom of the High Prince’s palace in Greenharbour could comfortably accommodate two or three thousand people. It did not make it a large room. It just meant the inevitable meeting between Alija Eaglespike and Laran Krakenshield took a little longer than either of them expected.

Alija would have preferred to speak to Laran alone, but she couldn’t risk letting Barnardo out of her sight. A conversation with Laran was long overdue. She’d not spoken to him alone since the day she’d accepted Barnardo’s proposal of marriage. In five years she had never once had an opportunity to explain her actions to him. It was probably too late now. And even if she had the opportunity, would Laran understand? He was a staunch Royalist; one of those people who believed you supported the High Prince, even when it was wrong. If Lernen Wolfblade was the legal successor, then Laran Krakenshield would support him, even if he knew the man was a perverted fool with no interest in ruling his country.

Of course, there were others who supported Lernen Wolfblade because they quite
liked
the idea of a High Prince who was a perverted fool with no interest in ruling his country. Alija despised them for it, although she well understood the reason. The High Prince’s inaction left the Warlords with a free hand to do as they pleased.

“Lord Krakenshield!” Barnardo bellowed when he spied Laran, making Alija wince. Barnardo had no inkling about her previous relationship with Laran. He’d been too blinded by the idea that a beautiful young sorcerer was interested in him to enquire too closely about any rivals for her affection.

“Lord Eaglespike. Lady Alija.” Laran’s tone was polite and neutral.

“All ready to become a Warlord, then?” Barnardo chuckled, slapping the taller man on the back. “I should threaten not to support you at the Convocation and make you offer me a bribe, eh?”

Alija closed her eyes for a moment, wishing the ground would open up
and swallow her. Or better yet, swallow Barnardo. She knew he was joking. Laran probably knew it, too. But he was talking loud enough to be heard halfway across the ballroom. Alija had spent months trying to sell Barnardo to the other Warlords as an honest man; a man with a much higher level of personal integrity than the incumbent High Prince. Jokes like that did nothing to aid her cause.

Laran smiled politely. “It’s a good thing I know you’re only teasing, Lord Eaglespike. I’m not sure what I could offer as a bribe to a man who has everything.” He looked at Alija pointedly, daring her to react.

She didn’t flinch from his gaze. “I’m sure my husband would be mightily offended by the mere suggestion of a bribe,” she replied, also loud enough to be overheard. “He will support you, Lord Krakenshield, because you are the legal heir and, more importantly, the best man for the job. To support you for any other reason would be unconscionable.”

Before Laran or Barnardo could reply, they were disturbed by the arrival of Nashan Hawksword, who barrelled into their midst with no inkling of the discussion he was interrupting. On his arm was a fair-haired girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen, her face flushed from dancing, her blue eyes aglow with excitement every time she glanced at her companion.

“Come on, Laran!” he laughed. “Find a partner! They’re about to start the
Novera!”

The
Novera
was a peasant dance that had recently become popular among the young nobility of Greenharbour. It involved a great deal of foot stamping, hand clapping, partner swapping and laughter. Alija had seen it performed at a number of functions this year and been rather amused by the scandalised matrons who considered the whole thing raucous and unseemly.

“Oh! Hello, Alija!” Nash said, suddenly noticing Laran was not alone. “And Barnardo! This is Marla.”

He pulled the young woman forward as he introduced her. The girl curtsied, a little awkwardly, and giggled. She appeared to have consumed rather a lot of wine. Alija stared at her in shock. “Marla
Wolfblade?”

“That’s right,” Nash declared. “I forgot, she’s your cousin, isn’t she, Barnardo? There you go, your highness! You said you wanted to meet them, and here they are! Lord and Lady Eaglespike!”

“You’re not what I expected, Lady Alija,” Marla said with another giggle, clinging to Nash’s arm possessively.

“Neither are you,” Alija replied, still shocked to meet Lernen’s sister like this. She was a pretty little thing, all doe-eyed innocence and come-ravishme charm. Alija guessed Marla had yet to be trained by a
court’esa
. No young woman with the benefit of a
court’esa
education would act so foolishly in public. And certainly not with a young man who could be considered a serious contender for her hand when there were negotiations well underway to marry her to a foreign king. Where were her minders? Where were the people
who should be watching over her, making sure something like this wouldn’t—
couldn‘t
—happen?

“We shall have to get together soon, Marla,” Alija suggested with a friendly smile. “We are cousins, after all, if only by marriage. I suppose you don’t have many female friends in Greenharbour.”

“Hardly any,” Marla admitted. “Well, none . . . actually.”

“Then I shall see your brother and arrange for us to go shopping, perhaps? You really shouldn’t miss out on all the fun of the city just because you don’t know anyone here.”

“That would be . . . nice.” Marla seemed a little uncertain. Lernen had probably convinced the poor girl that Alija was the demon child, or something equally frightening. It amused Alija to make friends with the princess. And it would irritate the hell out of Lernen and Kagan Palenovar.

“Well, you two can plan shopping trips later,” Nash announced. “Right now, you need to find a partner for the
Novera
, Laran. What about you, Alija?”

Nash was smiling at her, fully aware of what he was suggesting. Barnardo might not know of her relationship with Laran, but Nash certainly did and he was enjoying the opportunity to work a bit of mischief.

Alija sighed regretfully. “I couldn’t possibly, Nash—”

“Yes, you can, dearest,” Barnardo assured her loudly. “It’s all the rage, I hear, but far too boisterous for me. Here, Laran, dance with her!”

“I’ve no wish to force the Lady Alija into anything she doesn’t want,” Laran said gallantly as Barnardo thrust her into his arms.

“Nonsense!” Barnardo laughed. “She’s just saying that so I won’t feel bad.”

He smiled cheerily at his wife, delighted he was able to arrange this opportunity for her to let her hair down.

Idiot
.

“Off you go, my dear. Have a little fun. I’m sure your reputation will be safe with Laran.”

In the end, there seemed little point in objecting. With some reluctance, Alija allowed Laran to lead her onto the dance floor in Nash and Marla’s wake. As they took their places, the princess was staring up at Nash as if there was no other person in the whole world.
Interesting
.

“I never thought I’d find you in my arms again,” Laran remarked as they found room among the lines of dancers.

Alija turned from Marla and Nash and looked up at Laran. He had his arm around her waist and she could feel the lean strength of him through the itchy black robes she wore.

“Don’t get too used it, Laran. My husband might object.”

Laran smiled briefly, but it never reached his eyes. “Ah, your husband . . . I hear you recently bore him another son.”

“Serrin,” Alija confirmed, thinking her children a safe topic. “He’s nearly six months old.”

“You’ve really outdone yourself, Alija. A respected member of the Sorcerers’ Collective. A Warlord’s wife. Mother of two healthy boys. Now what? Are you planning to be the next High Arrion? Ah, but that’s right! You’re planning to be the next High
Princess
, aren’t you?”

“At least we’d
have
a High Princess,” she retorted, a little hurt but not really surprised by his scathing tone. “That will never happen while Lernen sits on the throne.”

“And you think that gives you the right to unseat him?”

“Is that what you think?” she asked curiously. “I’m doing this because I want to be High Princess of Hythria?”

“Is there another reason? It surely can’t be because you think Barnardo is a better man than Lernen.”

“Your average beggar on the streets is a better man than Lernen Wolfblade, Laran. Don’t insult me by pretending you don’t know it.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to replace him, Alija. Lernen Wolfblade is the legally anointed High Prince. To take any action to change that, either by assassinating him or replacing him with his cousin, would be wrong.”