Treason Keep (27 page)

“Who do you believe? The boy or the princess?” Jenga paced the hearth, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Gray daylight flooded the hall but the air was crisp, even this close to the fire.

Damin shrugged. “She’s lying. She’s heading for Talabar to bring her father’s cannon into the war. She’s not running away.”

Tarja nodded his agreement. “I believe the boy is telling the truth, but it’s the truth your princess fed him. She could hardly
announce
her intention to run away.” He was sitting in front of the inadequate blaze, warming the soles of his boots, obviously pleased that the decision about what to do with Adrina was not his to make.

“Will you stop calling her
my
princess!”

Tarja grinned. “We’ll she’s your problem. And you’re always telling me how much better you understand the Fardohnyan nobility than us poor peasants here in Medalon…”

“Very funny.”

“I was merely trying to point out that—”

“Enough, Tarja,” Jenga cut in wearily. “Lord
Wolfblade, would it be fair to say that you really have no idea what she is doing here?”

Damin nodded. “That would be fair.”

“And we’ve had no emissaries from the Kariens seeking her out.”

“I’d be surprised if we did,” Tarja said. “If she’s on the run, the last place Cratyn would look for her is Medalon.”

“And if she’s telling the truth, then he needs to pretend that nothing is amiss,” Jenga agreed.

“You know, we’d get a lot more out of Her Serene Highness if she thought we believed her.”

“The rack and a red hot poker would do me just as well,” Damin muttered. Jenga threw him an annoyed look before turning to Tarja.

“Explain.”

“Perhaps, if her status was one of honoured guest rather than prisoner, she might let something slip.”

“She won’t let anything slip. She’s too smart for that.” Damin glared at Tarja, not liking the direction this conversation was heading.

“Maybe,” Jenga mused. “What are you suggesting exactly?”

“Release her. Give her the freedom of the camp. We should ask for something to prove her story, of course. Some piece of intelligence we can easily verify, as a gesture of good will. And we’d have to put a guard on her—there’s no telling what she’d get up to on her own, but we can claim it’s for her protection. We can’t let her get her hands on her jewels, either, but there is no reason why she shouldn’t think we believe her.”

“If we believed her, we’d send her back to Fardohnya,” Damin pointed out. “She won’t fall for it.”

“Oh, yes, she will. Because you, my Lord, are going to start acting as if she’s an ally, not your sworn enemy.”

“The hell I will!”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Tarja?” Jenga said. “How would that help?”

Tarja sighed patiently. “As Damin keeps reminding us, she’s a very smart girl. But she never got the message from her brother and she knows nothing of the Hythrun Raiders stationed in Bordertown. If we release her, at least conditionally, and our Warlord here can keep a civil tongue in his head, she’ll come to believe we need her help in holding back her father’s troops. I’m not saying she’ll believe us right away, but if we act as if we think she’s on our side, even if she’s lying, she has to play along with it.”

“So you think she may end up betraying herself, simply to maintain the illusion of cooperation?”

“Relax your vigilance for more than a heartbeat, and she’ll slip a knife between your ribs,” Damin warned.

“Ah, but she’s
your
princess, remember?” Tarja said with a grin. “I don’t plan on getting that close.”

Damin glared at Tarja. “Nice plan, my friend, but in case you hadn’t noticed there’s a war going on out there. I have too much to do to waste time playing games of intrigue with a Fardohnyan princess. The Kariens could attack again at any moment.”

Jenga shook his head confidently. “Not likely. They’ve still not recovered from the last battle and it will snow any day.”

“Besides, your troops seem to get along very nicely without you,” Tarja added, taking far too much pleasure in Damin’s misery. “Almodavar coped quite well while you were off consulting your god for nearly a month.”

Damin considered that an entirely unfair argument. “It’s not the same thing. My men knew I was gone to consult with the gods. They’re not likely to be nearly as understanding if they think I’m neglecting them for a woman.”

“I disagree,” Jenga remarked with a rare smile. “From what I’ve seen of your men, Damin, they’d give that just as much credence.”

Damin chose to ignore that one. “It won’t work.”

“Of course it’ll work,” Tarja assured him. “Just pray to one of your gods.”

Damin gave the captain a withering glare. “We don’t actually have a God of Bloody Stupid Ideas, Tarja.”

Damin didn’t bother knocking. He ordered the guards to open the door to Adrina’s chamber and marched in unannounced. He was a little disappointed to discover Adrina and her slave sitting on the pallet that served as a bed, apparently engaged in nothing more sinister than idle chatter, their legs covered by a blanket to ward off the cold. Adrina still wore the shirt he had given her in his tent, and someone had given the slave something warmer to wear as well. The women looked up as he entered.

“Out!” he ordered the slave. She responded to the authority in his voice without thinking and scurried from the room, leaving them alone. Adrina didn’t move. He was quite impressed with the way she managed to look down on him, even though she was sitting and he was standing.

“You have the manners of a barbarian.”

“You seem to bring out the worst in me, your Highness.”

Surprisingly, Adrina smiled. “I have a feeling I’ve not seen anything closely resembling your worst, Lord Wolfblade. What do you have there?”

She pointed at the sack he carried which he placed on the bed beside her.

“Jenga ordered your things returned to you. He thought you might be more comfortable in your own clothes.”

“That was considerate of him,” she remarked as she felt around inside the bag. “However, my jewellery seems to be missing.”

“The Lord Defender was concerned about such valuable property laying about unguarded. He will keep your jewels for now. For safe keeping, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed sceptically. “Am I to assume this sudden desire to see to my welfare means you have come to a decision about me?”

“In a manner of speaking. Although I, for one, don’t believe a word of your unlikely tale.” It wouldn’t do to completely change his tune. She would see through that in an instant. “The Medalonians, unfortunately, are much more naive. Jenga believes your story and has ordered that you be treated as an honoured guest from now on.”

“Then I am to be released?” Damin could detect the glimmer of hope in her voice.

“I said they were naive, your Highness, not stupid. The Lord Defender wants proof. Once he is convinced, then he will endeavour to have you returned to Fardohnya. In return for an assurance from King Hablet that he won’t step foot outside his own borders, naturally.”

“And if my father refuses such an assurance?”

“Then you’d best learn to like Medalonian cooking, your Highness, because you won’t be going anywhere without it.”

Adrina thought for a moment, but Damin couldn’t tell what was going on behind that lovely face. She was like some exotic piece of coral that grew on the reefs south of Greenharbour—glorious to look at, deadly to touch.

“What sort of proof does he require?” she asked eventually.

“Information. Something he can corroborate from another source.”

Adrina nodded. “I’m not certain I know anything of strategic value, my Lord, but I will try to think of something.”

“Just let the guards outside know, when you think of it. They’ll see the message gets to the Lord Defender.”

He gave her a short bow, out of politeness rather than respect, and turned to leave, a little surprised that he had managed to remain so calm.

“My Lord?”

He turned back. “Was there something else?”

“May I leave this chamber, now that I’m a
guest
, as opposed to a prisoner?”

“Only under escort, I’m afraid. You’re in the middle of a war camp, your Highness. The Lord Defender would not wish any harm to come to you.”

“You wouldn’t mind a bit, though, would you?” She met his eye evenly, her gaze a blatant challenge. Damin almost let his desire to strangle this woman get the better of him, before he swallowed his annoyance and forced himself to smile.

“I am also a guest here, Adrina, and I’m compelled to abide by the wishes of my hosts. The Lord Defender wishes to see you treated well, and I will see that you are. But don’t mistake my cooperation for weakness. If I can prove you are lying, I will cheerfully slit your throat myself.”

If his declaration frightened her, she gave no sign. Her gaze never wavered; her expression did not change. “I find your honesty a refreshing change in a Wolfblade, my Lord. Perhaps there is hope for your family yet.”

“Unlike the Fardohnyan Royal Family, we Wolfblades strive for quality, not quantity.” Damin almost enjoyed her refusal to cower in the face of his unveiled threat.

Adrina’s eyes glittered; they were quite a remarkable shade of green. “Ah, quality. Is that what you call it? One can only hope your striving for
quality
has been more successful in your case than it has been in your uncle’s.”

Damin was far too aware of his uncle’s peculiarities for her barb to have much impact, but he
admired her courage. You didn’t trade insults with a Hythrun Warlord, or impugn the character of the High Prince, unless you were very, very sure of yourself. Then she unconsciously touched her hand to the glittering wolf collar, reminding him sharply of her true nature. His momentary admiration withered and died in an instant.

“Perhaps, if you live long enough you’ll find out, your Highness.” He turned from her again, unsure how much longer he could keep his temper.

“I’d like to get out of here. Out of this keep. I want to go riding.”

Damin stopped with his hand on the latch. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“And I want this collar off.”

He shrugged. “It will take time, your Highness. I don’t make a habit of carrying court collars and their keys to war.”

“Not even for your own
court’esa
?”

“I don’t make a habit of bringing
court’esa
to war, either.”

She smiled maliciously. “I suppose you hardly need them, with all these big handsome soldiers around.”

He was across the room, his hands around her throat, before he realised what he was doing. The collar was warm to the touch, and ironically, was the only thing stopping him from squeezing the life out of her, there and then.

“Don’t push me too far, Adrina! I could
kill
you for even having possession of this collar!”

“Get…your…hands…off…me!” Her voice was fury coated in ice.

He let her go with a shove and strode from the room, shaking with anger, slamming the door behind him.

Tarja was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “How did it go?”

“Wonderful!” he growled as he walked past without stopping.

“So you didn’t try to kill her, then?” Tarja called after him with a laugh.

“Only once.”

It took Tarja a few moments to realise he wasn’t joking.

The next time Mikel met Dace, he had a little girl with him. She was a pretty little thing and looked to be about five or six. She had bare feet and wore nothing but a flimsy, sleeveless shift, despite the cold, although she hardly seemed to notice the weather. The child examined him with a slight frown then looked up at the older boy.

“He’s so
sad
!”

“What do you expect?”

Mikel glared at the pair, annoyed that they spoke as if he wasn’t there. “What are you doing here? Have you come to steal something?”

Dace grinned. “In a manner of speaking. This is Kali. She’s my sister.”

The little girl smiled up at him. “Do you love me?”

“I don’t even know you!” Mikel retorted, a little taken aback by the odd question.

She sighed. “Oh well, once you get to know me, you’ll love me then. Everybody does.”

Mikel frowned and wondered what sort of home this odd brother and sister came from, that Dace
would proudly claim to be a thief and Kali would expect everyone to love her on sight. He glanced around, expecting Monthay to yell at him, but the sergeant was talking to another Defender and seemed oblivious to the fact that Mikel had stopped to talk to the children.

Dace noticed the direction of his gaze and grinned. “Don’t worry about him.”

“Easy enough for you to say,” Mikel grumbled.

“Did you want to come and play with us?” Kali asked.

“I can’t. I’m a prisoner.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I’m a prisoner of war.”

“But you’re just a little boy!” Kali sounded quite upset. She turned to Dace and tugged on his sleeve. “Go and make that man in the red coat let him go. For the afternoon at least. Then we can have some fun.”

Dace pulled a face at her. “I don’t do that sort of stuff.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Think of it as
stealing
him away, Dace.”

“Oh, well if you put it like that,” the older boy said with a grin. “That’s easy.”

Almost as soon as he spoke, Monthay suddenly turned to Mikel.

“Hey! Boy! Take the afternoon off. I don’t want to see you until dinner time!”

Startled, Mikel looked at the children with wide eyes. “How did you do that?”

“Magic,” Dace replied. “Come on!” The boy began to walk away, his sister at his side. “What shall we do, Kali?”

Mikel hesitated for a moment, then ran to catch up.

“I don’t know. Did you want to visit with your friends?”

“I have no friends here,” Mikel told her glumly as he fell into step beside them.

“What about your brother?” Dace asked. “Isn’t he with the Hythrun, or something?”

“How did you know…” he began, then he remembered what Jaymes had become and shook his head. “I have no brother.”

Kali looked up at him curiously. “Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are!” she insisted. “We should have brought Jakerlon,” she added to her brother.

“Well, if I’d known he was a liar, I would have,” Dace replied.

“Who is Jakerlon?”

“The God of Liars,” Kali explained, giving him an odd look. “He doesn’t know much, does he?”

“That’s Xaphista for you,” Dace shrugged. “He pretends the rest of us don’t even exist.”

“What do you know about Xaphista?”

“We know lots about Xaphista,” Kali announced stiffly. “We know he’s a bully.”

“And arrogant.”

“And rude! You wouldn’t believe how rude he can be!”

“Stop it! You mustn’t say such things! The Overlord will strike you down!”

“Not likely,” Dace laughed. Then he glanced at Mikel and noticed his distress. “I’m sorry. You don’t
have to get so upset, you know. He really isn’t listening to us. He’s got far too many problems to care what we’re saying about him.”

“Serves him right,” Kali said. “If he wasn’t so busy trying to rule the world he’d have time to listen to his believers instead of ignoring them.”

Mikel stopped walking, unable to tolerate their blasphemy any longer. “Stop it! You have no idea what you’re talking about! The Overlord loves us. He listens to every prayer!”

“Ah, but does he answer them?” Dace asked.

“Of course, He does!”

“Very well, prove it,” Kali said.

“How?

The little girl thought for a moment. “I’ve a better idea. I’ll prove he doesn’t listen. Did you pray to the Overlord to watch over you during the war?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Mikel couldn’t immediately think of an answer to that one.

Kali laughed at his hesitation. “There! What did I tell you?”

“The Overlord works in mysterious ways,” he retorted, falling back on a favourite saying of the priests. “He has a reason for everything He does!”

“Nonsense!” Dace scoffed. “You’re here because Xaphista hasn’t the time to spare for one insignificant little boy. Your brother has the right of it, although he shows a distinct lack of sense by choosing to follow Zegarnald. Still, Zeggie never was that discerning—any soul who wants to pick up a sword will usually do for him.”

“Jaymes is now a follower of Zegarnald?” Mikel asked in horror.

Kali looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I thought you didn’t have a brother?”

“Leave him alone, Kali. Come on, we were going to find something to do. Did you want to learn how to be a thief?”

“No!”

“Why don’t we pay Tarja a visit?” Kali suggested. “He’s your friend, Dace, and he owes me a big favour, although he doesn’t know it yet.”

“I hate Tarja,” Mikel muttered. Kali and Dace both turned to stare at him.

“But why?” Kali asked. “He’s really nice. Well, for a non-believer, at any rate, even though he knows the gods exist. I think he just hasn’t decided who he should worship yet.”

“Well, it won’t be you,” Dace said. “Not when he finds out what you did.”

“Oh? And I suppose
you
think he’ll follow you? Just because you met him first?”

Mikel looked from brother to sister in complete confusion. “What are you
talking
about?”

They stopped arguing and smiled at him guilelessly.

“Nothing,” Dace shrugged.

“I know, let’s go visit Adrina!” Kali suggested brightly. “You like her don’t you, Mikel?”

“Of course I like her! She’s the most noble princess in the whole world!” The prospect of seeing the princess raised Mikel’s spirits considerably, although he could not imagine how these two could arrange to get anywhere near the closely guarded
keep. “And besides, she’s a true believer,” he added, just to remind these pagans who had the most worthy god.

“Adrina? Believe in the Overlord? What rubbish!” Kali laughed delightedly at the very idea. “She follows Kalianah, the Goddess of Love. She used to pray to the Goddess all the time.”

“
Used
to,” Mikel pointed out triumphantly. “Now she prays to Xaphista.”

“No,” Kali said with a sorrowful sigh. “I think she just gave up. It’s hard to find love when your father is so powerful. I always meant to find someone nice for her when she was old enough, but then she stopped asking. I wonder why?”

“What do you mean,
you
were going to find someone for her?” Mikel asked. “The princess is married! She’s in love with Prince Cratyn!”

“Don’t be silly! Of course she’s not in love with him.”

“How do you know?”

Kali pouted. “I just do, that’s all.”

“Why don’t you just ask her?” Dace said, pointing towards the corrals.

Their walk had taken them past the Medalonian corrals and closer to the enclosures where the beautiful Hythrun horses were mustered. Unlike the Medalonians, each Hythrun was responsible for his own mount and every morning the Raiders would come to the corrals to feed their mounts, groom them and talk to them as if the horses could understand every word. There were no ramshackle canvas-covered shelters here. The Hythrun had actually built stables, which were almost completed, on the other
side of the field. Mikel had heard Hadly complaining about the waste of precious timber, while staring wistfully in the direction of the sturdy Hythrun stalls.

Mikel followed Dace’s pointing finger and spied Adrina, mounted on a Hythrun steed, in the company of the Warlord. Damin Wolfblade was talking to the foreman in charge of the construction team, and Adrina sat patiently beside him, waiting for him to finish. She was dressed in her dark blue riding habit, her long fur cloak draped over her shoulders. She sat astride her horse, rather than sidesaddle, as was proper for a lady. She looked remarkably well, and when the Warlord turned and spoke to her, she nodded and replied with a faint smile. The foreman bowed to the princess and returned to his duties. Adrina and Damin wheeled their mounts around and headed south at a canter.

“He’d better not hurt her,” Mikel muttered, to himself as much as his companions.

“He won’t,” Kali assured him. “Pity he’s one of Zeggie’s favourites…”

“Don’t even think about it Kali,” Dace warned. “He’d be so mad at you if you did anything.”

“I know. But they do make a nice couple.”

“Kali…”

“Oh, don’t worry Dace, I’m not that silly.” She turned to Mikel and smiled brightly. “Your princess seems to be enjoying herself. You’d think she’d be a prisoner too, if she believed in the Overlord.”

Mikel had been thinking the same thing. He watched the riders as they dwindled into the distance, saw them pick up the pace until they were galloping across the plain. The faint sound of Adrina’s laughter
lingered on the breeze. His heart constricted as he watched her. She was his princess. She was married to Prince Cratyn. She shouldn’t be out riding alone with a man like Damin Wolfblade.

And she damned well shouldn’t act like she was enjoying it, either.