Treason Keep (32 page)

“Careful, your Highness, you might actually get me believing there’s a heart hidden beneath that rather impressive bosom.”

She snatched her hand from his angrily. “You are an intolerable bastard! I was trying to be gracious!”

“Gracious?” he laughed softly. “That wide-eyed look? Those slightly parted lips? That eloquent sigh? What’s next? ‘Oh Damin, won’t you
please
let me go’? Gods Adrina! I’ve been around
court’esa
-trained noblewomen all my life. You’ll have to do better than that.”

“You flatter yourself, my Lord,” Adrina said, her voice colder than the rapidly darkening night. “In the unlikely event I ever turn my skills on
you
, you won’t even know what hit you, until you lay whimpering at my feet, begging for more!”

“Don’t try playing that game with me, Adrina. You might find the rules a little different this far from Fardohnya.”

“Rules?” she laughed softly, savagely. “In this game, my Lord, there
are
no rules.”

Adrina vanished from Mikel’s sight as she descended the stairs, followed closely by Damin. Mikel’s breath came out in a rush and he discovered he was trembling. He wished he could make sense of even half of what he had seen and heard. The princess must be very upset to lie about Prince Cratyn like that. What were they doing to her?

“Psst!”

Mikel glanced in the direction of the thief who sat squashed in the dark cavern.

“What?”

“You have to steal the eggs!”

Annoyed, Mikel reached in and snatched the fragile speckled eggs from the nest.

“There! Satisfied?”

Dace nodded, grinning broadly. “You have honoured the God of Thieves.”

“If you say so,” he agreed distractedly. It was a measure of his distress that he didn’t bother to correct the youth. Normally such a statement received a sharp denial of the existence of any other god.

“Your soul belongs to me now, Mikel,” Dace said, sounding enormously satisfied with himself.

“My soul belongs to the Overlord,” he replied mechanically.

“That’s what you think,” the God of Thieves smirked.

The Medalonians celebrated Founder’s Day with a degree of abandonment that Adrina considered rather inappropriate for men in the middle of a war. Admittedly, there wasn’t much of a war going on at present, so they might as well take this opportunity to enjoy themselves. Even the Hythrun Raiders joined in as if it were a festival of the gods. They didn’t care much for Founder’s Day, she suspected, but they weren’t going to ignore an excuse for a party. There was precious little else to do. One senseless battle and now Cratyn was sitting on the other side of the border with his vast army doing precisely nothing.

The hall was filled with people, as Jenga had declared an open house and many of the officers whose wives and lovers were in the followers’ camp had brought their women to the party. Someone had managed to find a quantity of blue linen and had made a hopeful attempt to decorate the crumbling walls, but there had not been enough to go around. The decorations had a forlorn, unfinished look. The only source of heat was the abundant torches and the huge fireplace near the far end, but the heat of so
many bodies pressed together seemed to take the chill off the air.

There were quite a few
court’esa
present as well, although Adrina thought the term a rather misguided one, when applied to these ill-bred, uneducated whores, whose only feature in common with real
court’esa
was their willingness to trade sexual favours for coin. A small band of musicians was playing in the corner, enlisted men mostly, whose skill with an instrument had got them invited to the officers’ party. They weren’t bad either, considering their first calling was killing people and musicianship was merely a secondary talent.

With his hand on her elbow, Damin guided Adrina through the crush towards Lord Jenga, who stood by the stairs that led up to her quarters, talking to Tarja Tenragan.

Adrina studied him curiously. She had never been able to crack that calm certitude, even when he admitted to killing her brother. And it was not for lack of trying. The captain showed no interest in her—or any other woman present, she noted, slightly mollified. Perhaps Damin was right. Perhaps there was nothing any woman here could offer him that compared with what he already had.

“I’m so glad you could join us, your Highness,” Lord Jenga said as they approached.

“I wasn’t aware that I was given a choice in the matter, my Lord. Good evening, Captain.”

“Your Highness. Damin.”

“I thought you’d be taking part in the festivities, Captain. I’m sure there are any number of young ladies here who would be delighted to keep you company.”

Tarja shook his head with a faint smile. “I’m sure there are, your Highness, if I was willing to spend the coin and didn’t mind what diseases I caught. May I get you some wine?”

“Thank you,” Adrina replied, a little startled by his blunt answer.

Damin caught her look and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You deserved that.”

She glared at him for a moment then turned to Lord Jenga. “So what is this party in honour of, my Lord?”

“Founder’s Day, your Highness. It’s the day we celebrate the foundation of the Sisterhood’s rule over Medalon.”

“And you find that worthy of celebration?”

“It’s tradition, your Highness,” Jenga replied. “I’m sure you have many such traditions in Fardohnya.”

“Of course, my Lord. I apologise if you took offence.”

“Don’t listen to her, Jenga,” Damin warned. “She’s not in the least bit sorry.” He ignored the look Adrina gave him, and gave her no chance to defend herself. “Her Serene Highness did tell me something though, that she’s conveniently neglected to mention until now. The Duke of Setenton isn’t with Cratyn.”

Jenga’s weathered brow furrowed. “That would explain their tactical stupidity. Is he out of favour with Jasnoff?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Adrina told him.

“Why did you wait until now to tell us?”

“I didn’t realise you would consider it so important, my Lord.”

“Tell us what?” Tarja asked, returning with a cup of wine for both Damin and Adrina. She took the tankard and swallowed the wine with a gulp. How was she supposed to know Lord Terbolt’s absence was such a big issue?

“The Duke of Setenton isn’t in the Karien war camp.”

“Then where is he?”

“That’s a question I’d like answered,” Damin replied, looking pointedly at Adrina.

“I told you! I don’t where he is.”

“You’ve told us a great deal, your Highness, half of which is probably outright lies, and the rest of which is doubtful.”

“If we were in Fardohnya, sir, you would be put to death for insulting me so.”

“If we were in Hythria, your Highness,
you’d
have been flogged for being—”

“Damin!” Tarja warned.

Fortunately, the Warlord didn’t finish the threat. Adrina smiled at Tarja gratefully, but it was time to escape the company of such an intolerable man.

“Do you dance, Captain?”

“Only when I can’t avoid it,” Tarja replied with a grimace.

“Consider this one of those times. I feel the need for some entertainment and I find the company in this part of the hall quite dull.”

Much to her annoyance, Damin laughed aloud at her comment. She thrust her wine cup at Lord Jenga and all but dragged Tarja to the centre of the Hall where a lively jig was in progress. She had no idea of the steps involved, and didn’t particularly care. She
took her place in the line and followed the steps of the girl beside her, a young thing of about sixteen with a pretty face that was ruined by a missing tooth she displayed when she smiled. The dance was fairly simple and repetitive so it didn’t take long before she got the hang of it. She glanced across the hall and saw Damin watching her. She quite deliberately turned her head away and smiled winningly at Tarja.

“You don’t have to keep looking at him,” Tarja told her when the dance brought them together for a turn.

“Looking at whom?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“You know who I mean. Are you trying to make him jealous?”

“Don’t be absurd! That would imply I care what he thinks.”

“And you don’t, of course.”

“Of course not.”

They parted then and broke into two lines, men on the right, women on the left. The steps changed and Adrina found herself having to follow the toothless peasant girl for a time. When she looked up, she couldn’t see the Warlord, but she could feel his eyes on her. The dance took her back to her partner and she found herself confronting Tarja’s infuriatingly calm expression.

Was he really immune to her charms, she wondered?
Is R’shiel so enticing that even when she is hundreds of leagues away, he can resist what is right under his nose?

The lines of dancers moved together. When Tarja took her in his arms for the next part she leaned into
him and smiled, meeting his eyes with an open invitation. There weren’t many men who could deny her when she chose to be irresistible. Cratyn and Damin Wolfblade being rather notable exceptions, she recalled sourly.

Tarja’s reaction was not at all what she expected. His expression grew serious. “Damin wasn’t kidding when he said you were dangerous, was he?”

“Do
you
think I’m dangerous?” she teased.

“I think you’re a spoilt brat, actually,” he replied pleasantly. “I think that’s why you really left your husband. You’re so used to getting your own way that you ran away, rather than be denied.”

“And what would you know about it?”

“I’m something of an expert on spoilt brats, your Highness. R’shiel is fairly famous for it in some circles.”

Adrina’s anger evaporated in the face of such a startling admission. She had never heard Tarja speak of R’shiel before. She was more curious about the demon child than she cared to admit.

“Is she very beautiful?”

“Very.”

“More beautiful than me?”

Tarja laughed. “I’m afraid I’ll have to say yes, but I’m hardly what you’d call objective. Damin could probably give you a more accurate answer.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather not ask him anything. Tell me more about R’shiel. Is she truly the demon child?”

“So the Harshini claim.”

“Don’t you believe them?”

“I’m an atheist. I’m supposed to devote my life to eradicating the Harshini.”

“Yet you have a Harshini lover? A curious way of carrying out your orders, Captain.”

“I have a talent for complicating my life far more than is necessary, your Highness. And you are a complication I don’t want or need, so quit rubbing up against me like that, or I’ll end up doing something we’ll both regret, and when R’shiel gets back she’ll turn you into a toad and me into something that looks like a smudge on the road.”

Adrina smiled. “I like you, Captain. I’ve even forgiven you. Is the demon child really so fearsome?”

“No, just very certain about her territorial boundaries.”

“And I’m crossing them?”

“You’re getting close.”

Adrina stepped back a little, her ego somewhat appeased. She had been beginning to wonder if she was losing her touch. The dance ended with a round of applause and Tarja led her back to the stairs. The Lord Defender had moved on and was talking to the officer who had charge of the horses. The musicians struck up another tune and the hall echoed to the stamping feet of the dancers. Damin was sitting on the stairs sipping his wine. He didn’t bother to rise as she approached. His manners were appalling.

“I see her Highness dances with the same flair she spins fanciful stories,” Damin remarked. “You survived, Tarja. I’m proud of you.”

“Only just,” Tarja admitted with a smile. “Your Highness, it’s been a pleasure, but I have duties to attend to. I’m sure Lord Wolfblade would be delighted to keep you entertained.” He bowed and
walked away, leaving her standing there. His abrupt departure left her speechless.

“Don’t worry Adrina, you didn’t drive him off. He’s waiting for a bird from the Citadel. Tonight is more important to the Medalonians than you know.”

She turned to Damin curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Tonight is their annual Gathering at the Citadel. R’shiel is planning to make some changes in the Sisterhood and Tarja’s very nervous about it. Here, have a seat and drink up. I’m sure you’ll find me much more agreeable company if you’re drunk.”

Adrina accepted the cup and sat beside him on the stairs, drinking her wine thoughtfully. It was a surprisingly strong blend. “He told me about R’shiel.”

“I’m not surprised. You weren’t being very subtle, you know. I was half expecting you to start tearing his jacket off, right there on the dance floor.”

“Do you always have to be so crude?”

“I’m being suitable to the occasion, your Highness. If you act like a whore, you shouldn’t be surprised when you get treated like one.”

Adrina had taken just about all she intended to from this barbarian. He had done nothing but taunt her and torment her. It was time to put him in his place. Time to wipe that superior smirk off his face.

“You’re jealous.”

“Of
you
? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Of course, you are,” she laughed. “I’ve misjudged you badly, my Lord. All this time I thought you were a degenerate pervert like your uncle, when in fact, you fancy yourself Kalianah’s gift to women.
You don’t even like me, yet you can’t bear the thought that I might find Tarja attractive. How pathetic!”

“Your attempts to sleep your way to freedom are far more pathetic than anything I can come up with, Adrina.”

“If I’d been trying to ‘sleep my way to freedom’, as you so crudely put it, I would have been out of here weeks ago,” she assured him confidently.

“You’re that good, are you?”

She finished the wine in a swallow, surprised at how potent it was. She had heard that the drier the climate the stronger the wine, but she hadn’t realised until now the difference between the sweet blends of Fardohnya and the hardy Medalonian vintages.

“Well, that’s something
you’re
never likely to find out, is it?”

Damin refilled her cup from a jug he had on the step by his feet. “Ah, now that would imply that I would want to find out, Adrina. Thank you, but I prefer to sleep with women who aren’t likely to try slipping a knife between my ribs.”

“I imagine that’s all you
can
do, Damin.
Sleep
with women.” She downed the wine recklessly. She was enjoying this. To the Seven Hells with being
nice
.

“This from the woman who couldn’t even coax a virgin boy into her bed,” he said. “I wonder what Cratyn’s doing at the moment? Praying to the Overlord for the return of his beloved wife, or thanking him for getting rid of her?”

“You’re a pig, Damin Wolfblade!” She stood up—far too quickly, she discovered with alarm—and
gripped the rough stone wall. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to your drunken insults any longer.”

“Giving in so easily, your Highness? You disappoint me. I thought you’d be good for another hour at least.”

“You’re drunk!” she accused, turning to climb the stairs to her room. She misjudged them and stumbled, but Damin caught her before she fell.

“Actually, I’m disappointingly sober,” he corrected. “You, on the other hand, are well and truly under the weather. How much did you have?”

“Let me go!” she demanded, shaking free of him. “I am not drunk. I had two cups, that’s all.”

“They weren’t cups, they were tankards, and the wine you’re used to is like mother’s milk compared to this Medalonian stuff. Come on, let’s get you upstairs before you really do something to embarrass yourself.”

“Take your hands off me!” she hissed. Gripping the wall, Adrina took the steps carefully, grateful, but not willing to admit it, that Damin was behind her. Her head was starting to spin alarmingly.

By the time they reached the door to her room, Adrina felt a little better. She took a deep breath and turned to Damin, feeling almost gracious enough to thank him for his assistance. Until she saw the smirk on his face.

“You’re insufferable! How dare you laugh at me!”

“You really should learn not to take yourself so seriously. You’d be much more bearable, if you did.”