Treason Keep (24 page)

“What time is it, Tam?”

The slave looked up at the heavy, overcast sky and shrugged. “Breakfast time.”

Adrina’s tummy rumbled in agreement. She was rather disgusted that she had not thought to ask Filip to pack any food. Adrina had never had to worry about where her next meal was coming from. It had not occurred to her to think of such mundane things when she planned her desperate flight from Karien. Perhaps when they reached the tents of the camp followers, there would be a stall or a tavern where they could purchase a meal. And supplies for the journey south. As she rode, Adrina tried to calculate what they might need and what it would cost, but she really had no idea. She had never had to buy her own food, either.

They had made little progress since leaving the battlefield, hemmed in as they were by the other travellers on the makeshift road. Adrina fretted at the delay, but knew the crowd was her best protection. Among these peasants she was just another looter returning home from a long night robbing the dead.
Once they reached the followers’ camp and had equipped themselves for their journey, they could make up for lost time.

She wondered if Cratyn had discovered her missing yet. Even if he had, she realised with some relief that she was safe from him now. He couldn’t follow her into Medalon, and would not suspect it had been her destination, in any case. More likely he would send troops searching the road back toward Yarnarrow. By the time he realised where she was, she would be in Cauthside, perhaps even on a boat, sailing the Glass River south for home. The knowledge invigorated her and some of her exhaustion fell away.

She was free of Karien.

Nothing
would ever entice her to go back.

Adrina glanced at Tamylan and smiled encouragingly. Mikel slept in her arms and Adrina led his riderless horse. The poor child was exhausted and Tamylan had offered to hold him while he slept, for fear he would fall from his saddle.

Adrina was not certain what to do with the child. He was a sweet boy, but he was so fanatically devoted to his damned Overlord, he was liable to do anything. She felt a twinge of guilt over her plans to abandon him. Perhaps she could find some Medalonian peasant who would take him in. She could pay for his keep—she had enough jewellery on her to buy him a commission in the Defenders, for that matter.

The thunder of hooves brought her out of her musing and she glanced over her shoulder as a dozen Hythrun Raiders rode by them with a red-coated Defender in the lead.

Probably off to celebrate their victory
, she thought sourly.

A little further on the riders slowed and then wheeled their mounts around, heading back the way they came. With a stab of apprehension, Adrina stared steadfastly forward, as if by refusing to look at them they wouldn’t notice her.

At a sharp command the Raiders reined in beside her, expertly cutting her and Tamylan out of the crowd. With no choice but to do as they indicated, she turned her mount off the road to confront the Defender and a grubby, unshaven Raider who wore nothing to indicate his rank.

“Ladies,” the Hythrun said as they approached. “What a pleasure to find members of your profession out here.”

Adrina glared at him with all the withering scorn she could muster, which was considerable. “Don’t even
presume
to think I would entertain the likes of you!”

The man seemed more amused than offended by her answer. “Why not? We have plenty of money. And that
is
what you’re doing out here, isn’t it? Looking for financial advancement? There’s a dozen of us here, and at, say ten rivets a turn, you could make quite a tidy sum.”

Adrina flushed angrily, not certain what insulted her most—that this barbarian would dare proposition her, or that he would offer a measly ten rivets for the privilege.

“How dare you!”

“
Adrina
,” Tamylan hissed beside her, warningly. Mikel stirred sleepily.

“My deepest apologies, madam. Fifteen rivets, then, although for that price, you’d better be good.” The dark-haired Defender who rode at the Hythrun’s side seemed to find the exchange highly entertaining.

Adrina forced her temper down. She had to talk her way out of this. Adopting an air of extreme disdain, she looked down her nose at the Hythrun and the Defender, both of whom would have benefited considerably from a bath.

“Fifteen, or fifty rivets, it makes no difference, sir. I am a bound
court’esa
. I am not at liberty to accommodate you. As you can see, I wear a collar.”

“So you do,” the Hythrun said, as if noticing it for the first time. “A wolf collar, at that. Am I to understand that you’re the property of House Wolfblade?”

“Naturally,” Adrina agreed, with a bad feeling it was a mistake to admit such a thing. These mercenaries worked for House Wolfblade. They might take such an admission as proof that they were entitled to her services.

“I don’t recall Lord Wolfblade bringing any
court’esa
to the front, do you, Captain?”

“I’m sure I would have noticed,” the Defender agreed laconically. “Perhaps we should take them to him?”

Adrina blanched at the thought. She didn’t want anything to do with Lernen Wolfblade’s degenerate nephew. “No thank you. We can find our own way.”

Mikel woke and wiggled around in Tamylan’s arms to stare open-mouthed at the Hythrun surrounding them. Adrina threw him a warning glance, hoping the child would have the sense to remain silent.

“But we insist,” the Hythrun said, with a dangerous smile. “Lord Wolfblade will be most anxious to see you. He’s been a long time out here in the field and these Medalonian women are all dogs.”

“My Lady…” Mikel whispered urgently. She ignored him.

“Thank you, but no. Now get away with you! I’m sure Lord Wolfblade didn’t send you out here to harass innocent people going about their business. I will be speaking to him about this, I can assure you!”

“
Your Highness
!” Mikel’s whisper was verging on panic-stricken.

“You know his lordship then?” the captain asked.

“Of course, you fool! Now get out of my way or Lord Wolfblade will have you whipped!” Adrina didn’t know if that was the case, but it seemed a fair assumption, based on what she knew of the family.

“Your Highness! That
is
Lord Wolfblade!” Mikel cried.

Adrina suddenly felt faint.

Her mouth went dry as Damin Wolfblade rode up beside her, so close his stirrup touched hers. He was nothing like the powdered courtier she imagined. He was big and dirty and unshaven and looked meaner than King Jasnoff’s most vicious hunting hound.

For a fleeting moment, she wished she had never left Karien.

Damin Wolfblade looked at her closely. He didn’t look surprised to discover her identity. She realised with despair that they had suspected all along who she was. That nonsense about ten rivets a turn was obviously his misguided idea of a joke.

“Your Highness.” He bowed with surprising grace, but it was the short bow of an equal, not a mere Warlord greeting a royal princess.

“Lord Wolfblade.” Adrina marvelled at how steady she sounded.

“Tarja, allow me to introduce Her Serene Highness, Princess Adrina of Fardohnya, or is it Her Royal Highness, Princess Adrina of Karien, these days? It’s so hard to keep track of these things.”

“Move away from me, sir,” she said in a voice that was colder than the Fourth Hell.

Wolfblade smiled. “What do you think, Tarja? Will we get more by selling her back to the Kariens or her father?”

“I’ll kill you if you touch her!” Mikel screamed.

“
You
!” The Defender glared at the child and Mikel cowered under his scrutiny. “Founders, how did you get here, boy? I thought we’d seen the last of you!”

“You coward! How dare you pick on a helpless child! As for you,” she added witheringly to the Warlord, “I refuse to be your hostage!”

“You
refuse
to be my hostage? I don’t recall asking your permission, your Highness.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, sir. I am a Fardohnyan princess of royal blood!”

“Quite a step up from a
court’esa
,” the Defender remarked, not in the least impressed by her declaration.

This was not going well at all. She could not afford to be a hostage. The first thing they would do was send a message to Cratyn demanding the gods alone knew what in return for her release. At that
moment, Adrina didn’t care if the war raged on for another hundred years.

She was not going back to Karien.

“I refuse to be your hostage, my Lord, because I am seeking asylum,” she announced, the plan formulating in her mind as she spoke.

The Warlord made no effort to hide his astonishment, or his disbelief. “
Asylum
?”

“But, your
Highness…
” Mikel began with a horrified gasp.

“Be quiet, child!”

“You expect me to believe you’re running away?”

“I am not
running away
, my Lord, I am altering the terms of the Karien-Fardohnyan Treaty. The Kariens have not kept their side of the bargain, therefore I do not feel compelled to keep mine.”

“I’d call that running away,” Tarja chuckled.

Damin Wolfblade shook his head, clearly not believing a word she said. “And what is it you want in return for asylum, your Highness?”

“Safe passage to Fardohnya in a manner befitting my station.”

“Is
that
all?” Tarja asked with a sceptical laugh.

“Safe passage to Fardohnya? So you can get together with your father and stir up even more trouble? I don’t think so, your Highness. Do we look that foolish?”

“You question my word, sir? How dare you! I am a princess!”

“You’re Hablet’s daughter,” he corrected. “That makes every word you utter suspect.”

She was going to have to put this man in his place, sooner rather than later. “I will not sit here and be
insulted by a barbarian! I insist you take me to the Lord Defender this minute, so that I may present my case to someone with a better understanding of protocol than a savage, such as yourself!”

Damin Wolfblade laughed at her. Adrina loftily ignored him and turned to Tarja Tenragan.

“The boy is under my protection and so is my slave. They will remain with me, so that I may have some basic level of service. You will agree to consult me regarding any offer of ransom made on my behalf. And under no circumstances, will I agree to return to Karien. Is that
quite
clear?”

Her list of demands seemed to startle him. Wolfblade exchanged a glance with the Medalonian before turning to her. “You may keep your slave, your Highness. As for the boy, his fate will be up to Captain Tenragan.”

“And the rest of my demands?”

The Warlord laughed. “
Demands
? You are our prisoner, your Highness. You’re not at liberty to make demands. But I’ll promise you one thing. Give us any trouble at all, and I will see that you learn what it is to wear the collar of a bound
court’esa
. Is
that
quite clear?” He turned his horse away from her before she could frame a suitable retort. “Put the boy on his own horse. He’s old enough to ride without a nursemaid.”

A Raider rode forward and snatched Mikel from Tamylan’s arms. Other hands took the reins of her mount, leaving her nothing to do but cling to the pommel as, surrounded by the Hythrun, she rode toward a crumbling ruin that must be their command post.

Adrina chewed on her bottom lip and wondered if she’d done the right thing, admitting she was trying to get home. Damin Wolfblade clearly did not believe her, but Tarja Tenragan was hard to read. Perhaps he would champion her cause? Surely the Medalonians would see the benefit in letting her go? Her arrival in Talabar was bound to destroy the treaty.

On the other hand, returning her to Karien would be almost as effective. They could demand any number of concessions from Cratyn. She stared at the backs of the two men in whose hands her fate now rested, and realised her only protection lay in making them
want
to shield her from Cratyn’s wrath.

Adrina realised that she was going to have to change her tune.

She was going to have to be
nice
.

She wondered, for a moment, if she remembered how.

“What in the name of the Founders are we supposed to do with her?”

Jenga paced the hall, hands clasped behind his back, his brow furrowed with concern. He had hoped for sleep on his return to the Keep. He had not planned on the discovery that Tarja and Damin had captured a
court’esa
who turned out to be the Crown Princess of Karien.

“My suggestion is that whatever you do, you do it quickly. You don’t want her around causing trouble, my Lord, and believe me, she
will
cause trouble.” Damin spoke from the heart, never more certain of anything.

“She’s well guarded,” Tarja pointed out.

Damin laughed sceptically. “Then make sure you change them often. In a week, she’ll have every man she comes in contact with eating out of her hand. A week after that they’ll be helping her escape. It’s a good thing we searched her saddlebags. There’s enough here to buy more than a few men’s souls.” He glanced at the fortune in jewellery scattered on the rough wooden table. The blue diamond alone would feed a small village for a year.

“You claimed she was a shrew,” Jenga said, stopping his pacing for a moment to glance at the gems. The torches painted dark shadows over his lined face.

“She is,” Damin agreed. “But she’s also as sharp as a new sword. Now we’ve deprived her of her purchasing power, she’ll resort to more direct methods. She’s
court’esa
trained. That may not mean much here in Medalon, but trust me, it makes her more dangerous than you can possibly imagine.”

“What do you mean,
court’esa
trained?” Tarja asked. “She’s a princess.”

“Your definition of a
court’esa
and ours is very different, Tarja. What you call
court’esa
in Medalon are merely common whores. In Fardohnya and Hythria, they are highly trained specialists, worth a small fortune to those who can afford them. Adrina was probably given her first one around the age of sixteen. He would have been a skilled musician, an artist maybe or a linguist. But first and foremost, his job would have been to make Adrina more valuable as a wife by teaching her the art of giving pleasure in the marriage bed.”

“So our princess is a whore?” Tarja asked with a grin.

Damin shook his head impatiently. “You’re missing the point. She’s Hablet’s daughter. She’s been trained by the very best and if she thinks it will help her cause, she’ll use every skill at her disposal to get her own way. And in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s not exactly hard to look at. If you don’t believe me, go up there now and spend an hour in her company.”

“No thanks, I’ve seen all of Her Serene Highness I want to.”

“You two can argue the lady’s finer points some other time,” Jenga snapped. “Right now, I have to decide what to do with her.”

“We could ransom her back to Cratyn,” Tarja suggested. “Surely he will sue for peace if it means the return of his wife.”

“I’m not so sure,” Damin said with a shake of his head. “She seemed very determined not to go back to Karien. And if that Fardohnyan you killed was to be believed, then the Kariens have betrayed them.”

“But Adrina never got the message. There has to be another reason she left.”

“What of Hablet?” Jenga asked. “Perhaps knowing his daughter is our hostage will stay his hand?”

Damin shrugged. “He’s a treacherous bastard. He could just as easily abandon her to her fate as try to get her back.” He smiled sourly. “We’ve more chance of trading the jewellery, I fear.”

“Maybe we should consult her Highness on the matter?” Tarja suggested. “She did, after all, demand to be informed of any negotiations regarding her ransom.”

“You jest, surely,” Jenga said.

“If only he
was
joking,” Damin sighed.

“Well, I’ll leave it up to you, Lord Wolfblade. You captured her, so I’m making her your responsibility. You may use whatever men you need to keep her guarded, but I don’t have time for this distraction. Give me your recommendation when you’ve decided what to do. And put those gems somewhere safe.
Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

Damin watched the Lord Defender leave with an unfamiliar feeling of despair. He turned to Tarja, who seemed more amused than concerned. The captain wrapped the jewels in their velvet cover and tucked them into his belt.

“You’ve a fortune there, you know.” Damin finished his wine with a grimace and then glared at Tarja. “Don’t look at me like that, you have no idea what she’s like.”

“Oh, I got an inkling today. You’re welcome to her.”

Damin rose from his seat by the fireplace and poured himself another cup of wine. He drank it in a gulp.

“She tried to kill my uncle, you know.”

“Adrina?”

Damin nodded. “Hablet sent her to Greenharbour for Lernen’s birthday a couple of years ago—the same year you were recalled to the Citadel, as I remember. Adrina had obviously been well briefed about my uncle’s various weaknesses before she arrived and she pandered to them very effectively. She dragged him along to the slave auction and coaxed him into buying a pair of twin boys. The cunning little bitch even made the boys ride back to the palace in his carriage, no doubt hoping to whet his appetite. That night they slit their wrists in my uncle’s bed and bled to death while he slept. The blade they used was Adrina’s table knife. She must have slipped it to them in the carriage. I wonder how she sleeps knowing they killed themselves rather than do as she demanded.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go to war with Fardohnya over an attempt on the High Prince’s life.”

Damin shrugged and poured another cup of wine. “Nothing definite could be proved. I was out hunting that day, and didn’t return until late, but I was told Adrina claimed at dinner that she had lost her knife. We could never connect the boys to her afterwards, and we tried every avenue of investigation. In the end, we had no choice but to let the matter drop.” He swallowed the wine and thumped the cup down on the table. “You know what really irks me?”

“What?”

“That bitch and her slave are wearing the collars Lernen gave those two dead boys. I’d recognise them anywhere. Lernen and I had quite an argument over their cost. It’s how my mother met her gem merchant, incidentally. Adrina no doubt kept them as a souvenir.”

Tarja frowned, as if he could not conceive of anything so callous. “So take them back.”

“No, I think I’ll leave them right where they are for now. Another thing you may not understand about Fardohnyans and Hythrun, Tarja, is that for a noblewoman to be collared like a slave is the worst kind of insult. Her Serene Highness could well do with a little humiliation. Anyway, she thinks I need a key to open them. I can keep her collared for quite some time, while I’m waiting for the keys to arrive from Hythria.”

“Have you sent for them?”

“No need. There’s a concealed clasp. But the idea that her good behaviour will earn her release might keep her tractable for a time.”

“I could always offer to dismember her slave,” Tarja suggested with a grin. “It worked on the Karien boy.”

“Adrina would probably tell you to go right ahead and then ask if she could watch,” he predicted sourly. “Speaking of the boy, he is your responsibility. I don’t want him anywhere near her. He’d probably run one of us through if she asked him.”

Tarja nodded, his expression suddenly glum. “I miss R’shiel already. She seemed to be able to get through to the child. And I’d be happier if Mahina were here to deal with Adrina.”

“So would I,” Damin agreed. He poured a cup of wine then poured another for Tarja and pushed it across the table to him. “Here. If I’m going to get drunk, then you’d better join me. It has been a thoroughly unsatisfactory day. That battle was as glorious as a cattle cull.”

Tarja took the wine and sipped it as Damin downed his in a gulp. They were silent for a while, only the crackling fire and the hissing torches disturbing the silence. Damin filled his cup again.

Tarja glanced at him curiously. “You said it was common practice among Hythrun and Fardohnyan nobility to have their sons and daughters trained by
court’esa
. Does that mean you were?”

“Absolutely!” Damin could feel the wine making his head spin. It was a rough blend, too young to be drunk with such determination. He drank it anyway. “Her name was Reyna. I was fifteen when she came to Krakandar.”

“It beats fumbling around in the stables with a nervous Probate, I suppose.”

“Having never fumbled around in a stable with a nervous Probate, I’m not in a position to comment on the comparison, but I imagine you’re correct. Drink up, Captain. I’m getting very drunk here and you haven’t finished your first cup.”

“Perhaps you should get some sleep, Damin. It’s been a long day.”

“Yes, mother.”

“I only meant—”

“I know what you meant.” He studied the bottom of his cup for a moment. “You know, we call rough wine like this ‘Fardohnyan courage’ in Hythria.”

Tarja smiled. “We call it Hythrun courage.”

“I shall ignore such a heinous insult, Captain, because I like you.” Suddenly, he hurled the cup at the fireplace where it shattered into thousands of clay shards. “Dammit! Why couldn’t she stay on her own side of the border?”

“You really should get to bed, Damin. You’re drunk and you’re not thinking straight.”

“I’ll grant you that I’m drunk, Tarja,” he conceded. “But as for thinking straight, I’ve never been surer. Shall we pay her Highness a visit?”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“All the more reason to wake her up. Her Royal Sereneness tried to kill my uncle and she allied herself with the Kariens. She sent her men to be slaughtered and then fled the scene of her crime like a cur in the night. I intend to rattle that bitch until her teeth come loose.”

Ignoring Tarja’s pleas for reason, Damin took the crumbling stairs to the chambers so recently vacated by Joyhinia, two at a time. Voices filtered up to him,
as someone entered the hall at a run. Damin ignored them, his eyes focused, (as much as they could focus in his present state), on the door at the end of the landing, guarded by two red-coated Defenders. He had no clear idea what he would say to Her Serene Highness, but he was going to say something, by the gods!

“Damin!”

Tarja’s voice held an edge of urgency that made him pause just before he reached the door. He leaned over the balustrade and looked down into the torchlit hall.

“Forget the princess! The Fardohnyans have surrendered!”

Sobriety returned quickly as the cold night air caught Damin unawares. The camp surrounding the Keep was surprisingly busy, considering the lateness of the hour. Men normally well abed by now were sitting in small groups discussing the battle, dissecting its every nuance with varying degrees of expertise, depending on how much ale they had consumed. Morale in the camp was high. Nobody had expected to weather the first attack with so few casualties. Laughter and the off-tune baritone of men singing victory songs filled the air. Fires blazed with little thought to the fuel they were consuming. Thunder rattled in the distance and a light rain had fallen while he was in the Keep, dampening the dusty ground. Soon enough, these men would be forced to take shelter. There would be no frost tonight with this cloud cover, but if it got much colder it would snow, which should slow the Kariens down somewhat.

This morning’s battle had been a desperate attempt to break the Medalonian defences before winter set in. Damin was rather proud of himself for working that out. Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as he thought.

The young man in command of the Fardohnyans was a Second Lanceman named Filip. He wore an expression of defeat along with his battle-stained uniform. His eyes were dull, and his exhaustion seemed to be warring with an emotion that it took Damin a little time to identify: self-loathing. The thirty or so Fardohnyans stood in a loose group, surrounded by Defenders, their torches hissing as the occasional tardy raindrop vanished into the flames.

“Lord Wolfblade.” The Fardohnyan bowed low, obviously relieved to see someone who might speak his language. The Defenders who had taken their surrender had disarmed the men behind him. A few were wounded and four lay on the wet ground, too seriously injured to stand. Tarja, who always seemed much better organised when it came to these things, ordered the wounded removed to the Infirmary Tent and the sleek Fardohnyan steeds moved to the corrals, leaving Damin to deal with the prisoners.

“I’ve seen many a strange sight in my time, Lanceman,” he said in the young man’s native tongue, “but Fardohnyans surrendering is not among them.”

The lad’s expression clouded. Surrender did not sit well with him. “We were ordered to surrender, my Lord.”

“What did he say?” Tarja asked, coming to stand beside him.

“He says they were ordered to surrender.”

“By whom?”

“Who ordered you to surrender?” he asked in Fardohnyan.

Filip hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the men behind him before answering, rather reluctantly. “Princess Adrina, my Lord.”

Tarja didn’t need that translated. “Ask him why.”

Damin turned to Tarja impatiently. “You don’t think I might have thought to ask that by myself?”

“Sorry.”

“Did her Highness give a reason?”

The Fardohnyan shrugged. “She was beside herself with grief, my Lord. She said she did not want any more Fardohnyan blood shed for Karien.”

“Pity she didn’t decide that
before
she sent her men to be slaughtered,” he muttered as he turned to Tarja and translated the young soldier’s words.

“Grief for whom?” Tarja asked, his sobriety allowing more clarity of thought than Damin was capable of.

“Captain Tristan, my Lord,” Filip replied when Damin translated the question. “The captain was the princess’s half-brother. They were very close.”

“And where is her Highness now?” He was curious to discover if this surrender was part of a plan, or if the young soldier was an innocent pawn in some devious game that Adrina was playing. Damin desperately wished his head was clearer.

“With her husband, of course!” Damin would have known he was lying, even if Adrina was not currently being held in the Keep behind them.