Treason Keep (34 page)

“Behold, Sisters! Let me present the author of this treasonous plot. I give you the reason for the Purge. I give you the result of relaxing our vigilance. I give you a Harshini sorcerer! I give you the fabled demon child!”

Consciousness returned slowly. It crept up on her like a thief in the night, so slowly that it took time for her to realise she was awake. It took even longer for her to realise where she was.

R’shiel lay on the floor, her head throbbing from the shallow cut she received when she had hit the marble steps leading to the dais. Cold morning light from the highset windows chequered the expensive rug where she lay. Her neck ached as if it had been burned; the icy collar that circled her throat a grim reminder of the foolishness of trying to reach for her power. Her mouth tasted like the floor of a pigsty. Her hands were tied behind her back, the ropes so tight that her fingers were numb. She was in a bedchamber, rather than a cell, but she couldn’t recall how she got there. Her last clear memory was Joyhinia staring at her with savage, lucid eyes as she destroyed everything R’shiel had been working toward.

“You’re awake, I see.”

R’shiel turned her head in the direction of the voice. The man who spoke was a Karien.

“Can I have some water?” she croaked.

The Karien nodded and R’shiel felt other hands pulling her up into a sitting position. A cool tankard touched her lips and she swallowed the water gratefully. The man who held her head was Karien too, with the tonsured head and fanatical expression of a priest. Fear stabbed at her like a knife. She had been the victim of a Karien priest before. It was not an experience she wished to repeat.

“You failed in your attempt to subvert the Sisterhood. You realise that, don’t you?”

“Who are you?”

“I am Lord Terbolt, the Duke of Setenton, Personal Envoy of King Jasnoff III and the anointed representative of Xaphista the Overlord.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” she said, pushing away the tankard. Too late now to wonder if it had been drugged.

The Karien frowned. “You would do well to show some respect, demon child. I can have you put to death with a word.”

R’shiel stared at him, trying to gather her wits. She ignored the pain with an effort. Now was not the time to give into something so distracting. “I’d be dead already if you were planning to kill me.”

Lord Setenton nodded slowly, as if reluctant to admit the truth of her statement. “You live because the Overlord wishes it, demon child. He is liable to change his mind quite rapidly, should you fail to do as you’re told.”

“Then kill me now,” she suggested. “I’d rather die than do anything Xaphista demanded of me.”

The Karien frowned at her blasphemy. The priest actually gasped.

“No, Garanus!” Terbolt ordered. He was standing behind her, so R’shiel couldn’t see what the priest intended.

“She blasphemes, my Lord!”

“She doesn’t know any better.”

“But, my Lord…”

“No Garanus, his Majesty was quite specific. She is not to be harmed. The Overlord has plans for the demon child.”

R’shiel struggled to sit up and glared at the Karien. “Look, I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m the demon child, but you’re gloating over the wrong catch. The Harshini are extinct. I am human.”

“You are a liar,” Garanus countered.

“Let her be, Garanus. Her denials are meaningless. Go find Gawn and see if there is any word on the half-breed.”

So they hadn’t caught Brak. The news gave her hope. The priest followed the Duke’s orders with some reluctance, closing the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Lord Terbolt rose from his chair and crossed the room. He untied the ropes holding her then helped her to her feet. R’shiel winced as the blood returned to her numb fingers.

“Thank you.”

“I am not a vicious man, R’shiel. I have no wish to see you harmed. I have orders to deliver you to King Jasnoff in one piece. I would appreciate it if you gave Garanus and his ilk no reason to harm you.”

“You mean, if I cooperate, I’ll be safe until you hand me over to Xaphista so he can kill me himself? What a tempting offer.”

“As I understand it, the Overlord wants your
cooperation, not your death, demon child. I believe he seeks an alliance, not your destruction.”

“An alliance? With me? Now I really
have
heard everything.”

Before Terbolt could answer, the door opened and R’shiel felt the room sway momentarily as Joyhinia stepped into the room. It was impossible, she knew, for Joyhinia to have regained her wits. Dacendaran had stolen them and Tarja had destroyed them. How could she be standing there? So sure of herself? So obviously aware?

“Did you want something, Captain?” the Duke asked, addressing the First Sister with ill-disguised impatience.

R’shiel stared at him in confusion.
Captain?

“Garanus wishes to speak with you, my Lord. In
private
.” Joyhinia turned her frighteningly lucid eyes on R’shiel and smiled unpleasantly. “I’ll watch the prisoner for you.”

“She is not to be harmed,” the Duke warned.

“As you wish.”

Joyhinia closed the door behind the Duke then leaned against it, studying R’shiel with contempt.

“Your sorcerer’s tricks didn’t help you much this time, did they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yes you do! You may have fooled everyone else, but these Kariens know what you are. And I’ve seen your evil first hand. Only this time Tarja’s not around to save you, is he?”

It slowly dawned on R’shiel that this was not Joyhinia. The body was hers, certainly, but the words were not. She knew the aura surrounding
Joyhinia, and this didn’t belong to her foster-mother. Neither did the memories. Joyhinia had never seen her use anything remotely resembling magic. Nobody in Medalon had, with the exception of her friends still on the northern border and the Fardohnyan crew of the
Maera’s Daughter
. The only other person was…

“
Loclon!
”

The name evoked a flood of memories she had thought long forgotten. Nightmares she hoped she would never revisit suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. R’shiel’s mouth went dry and she took an involuntary step backwards, wishing Korandellan had never removed the block on her emotions. For a brief, sickening moment the pain, the humiliation she had suffered in this man’s hands tried to swamp her. She fought a wave of nausea as bad as the one that had almost crippled her when she tried to coerce the Gathering.

“In the flesh,” Joyhinia agreed. “Well, in the First Sister’s flesh actually. Ironic, don’t you think?”

“How?” she managed to ask, her head reeling from the implications of such a dreadful combination.

Joyhinia shrugged. “I’m not sure how. The priests did it. They called on their Overlord, or something. I wasn’t too thrilled to begin with, until it occurred to me what I could do as First Sister. By the look on your face, I’d say it’s occurred to you, too.”

Actually, R’shiel was still struggling to come to grips with the dreadful spectre of the man she loathed and feared most in this world controlling the body of the woman she hated almost as much. Her mind had
not had time to deal with the wider implications of all that sadistic megalomania trapped inside the woman who ruled Medalon.

“You won’t get away with this, Loclon. You can’t make people believe you’re the First Sister.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, demon child. I
am
the First Sister.”

“Where’s Mahina?”

“The usurper? Safely under lock and key. She’ll be tried and hanged for treason, along with the Lord Defender and Tarja, when I get my hands on them. I may even keep you alive long enough to watch them swing.”

“You’ve no say over what happens to me, you deluded fool. You’re a Karien puppet. You’re dancing to their tune.”

“Only while it suits me.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” she warned. “They’ll only keep you alive long enough to do what they want. And you won’t be able to deny them. Where’s your own body, Loclon? Somewhere safe? Being tended by Karien priests? Did they promise to watch over you while your mind inhabits Joyhinia’s body? How long do you think you’ll last if they slit your unresisting throat?” R’shiel had no idea if her prediction was accurate, but Loclon didn’t know that.

Joyhinia’s face paled a little, small satisfaction though it was. It was obvious the Kariens had not explained much about the mechanics of transferring his mind into Joyhinia’s body. That could work in her favour. Loclon was many things, but first and foremost, he was a coward.

“You console yourself anyway you want, R’shiel,” the First Sister retorted. “Just remember, I’m the one in control now.”

R’shiel had to keep reminding herself that this was Loclon, not Joyhinia, and that she needed to deal with
him
, not her. “You’re not in control of anything, Loclon, least of all me. I don’t care whose face you wear, you’re still nothing but a craven, petty, insignificant, little man. The only difference is that now you’re wearing a skirt.”

Loclon took a step toward her, reacting as he always did to her taunts. R’shiel tentatively reached inside herself and tried to touch her power, but even that delicate probe caused the collar to burn. She understood why the Duke had untied her, why Loclon didn’t fear her. They had cut her off from the source of the Harshini magic.

“I intend to make you suffer until you beg for mercy!” Joyhinia’s voice hissed, but it was Loclon’s vengeful mind that supplied the words.

“You’ll be doing nothing of the sort,” the Duke of Setenton corrected.

Joyhinia spun around in annoyance to find the Karien standing by the open door wearing a look of intense displeasure.

“R’shiel is a wanted criminal, my Lord. She belongs to Medalon.”

“She belongs to the Overlord, Captain, and if I see any evidence that you intend to interfere with the Overlord’s wishes, you may find the penalty life-threatening. Your usefulness is limited. There are other, more cooperative minds who could serve our needs just as easily.”

Loclon’s eyes burned with anger in Joyhinia’s face. She strode from the room, pushing past Setenton. The duke watched her leave and then turned to R’shiel.

“You will be confined here until we leave. There are a number of things that need to be taken care of first. But we should be able to leave in a few days. If all goes well, we should be in Karien by the end of the month.”

“Then you plan to travel overland? A bit risky, don’t you think, in the middle of a war?”

Lord Setenton smiled coldly. “War? What war? Of course, you left the Gathering early, didn’t you? Your nation is no longer at war with Karien, my dear. The First Sister has already dispatched the order to your forces on the border. Medalon has surrendered.”

“Surrender?” Damin leapt forward and snatched the note from Tarja’s hand. “The hell we will! This is a trick!”

Tarja looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept for days. “The note carries the correct authentication seal from the Citadel. It’s genuine.”

“Who sent it?”

“The First Sister,” Jenga told him grimly.

“But
which
First Sister?”

“Mahina wouldn’t betray us,” the Lord Defender objected.

“Well, somebody did! Probably your precious Garet Warner. I told you he wasn’t to be trusted.”

Tarja sagged against the edge of the long table near the hearth. “You’re both missing the point here. This message means that R’shiel failed. Their demon meld didn’t work.”

Damin glanced at the Medalonian captain sympathetically. “I’m sure she’s fine, Tarja. Perhaps they didn’t arrive in time.”

“If they hadn’t arrived in time, then things would have simply gone on as they have for months.
Something went wrong.” He stood up and squared his shoulders determinedly. “I’m going to the Citadel.”

“No you’re not, Captain. I need you here.”

“R’shiel needs me.”

“There is nothing you can do for her, Tarja,” Jenga reminded him with cold practicality. “It would take you weeks to reach the Citadel and for all you know she’s already dead.”

Tarja’s eyes blazed defiantly, but he could not deny Jenga’s logic. “That’s it then? We just roll over and die? Shall we send an emissary to the Kariens with our surrender, or were you planning to do the honours yourself, my Lord?”

“I don’t think we should do anything just yet,” Damin advised. “Who else knows about this?”

“Just the three of us at present.”

“Then let’s keep it that way for a little bit longer. I want to have a word with Her Serene Highness, first.”

“What can she tell you that we don’t already know?” Jenga asked. He didn’t baulk at holding off carrying out his orders, Damin noticed with relief.

“I’m not sure. I just have a funny feeling about this. I’ll tell you after I’ve spoken with her. Can you have her brought to my tent?”

“She’s right up those stairs, Damin,” Tarja pointed out. “Why not just go up and ask her now?”

“I want this discussion to take place on my territory, not hers.”

It was a measure of his distress that Tarja didn’t even smile.
An hour or so later, two Defenders arrived in the Hythrun camp escorting Adrina. Damin had spent the intervening time mentally rehearsing what he was going to say.

He had not quite recovered from their last encounter. Adrina had caught him unawares, and that irked him no end. What really annoyed him was that he had been expecting her to try something like that ever since he first laid eyes on her and had steeled himself against it. He knew her background too well. Knew that if she couldn’t get her own way by demanding it, she would eventually resort to using her body. But she took him by surprise and he’d reacted exactly as she’d wanted him to. His only comfort was that she seemed to have been as unnerved by the incident as he was.

When she arrived, Adrina was dressed for warmth, rather than effect, wrapped in the woollen shirt he had given her and a warm Defender’s cloak. Her skin was flushed from the walk, her dark hair piled loosely on top of her head. Gods, she was stunning. He wondered why he’d never noticed how green her eyes were. Dark lashes almost too long to be real framed eyes the colour of cut emeralds. Damin mentally berated himself for a fool as she shook off the cloak and stepped up to the brazier to warm her outstretched hands.

“You wanted to see me, my Lord?”

“I thought we might continue our discussion from the other night.”

“Which one?” she asked calmly. “The one about Cratyn’s intentions, or the one about us?”

“There is no
us
, your Highness, so I guess that leaves Cratyn.”

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Then tell me again.”

“I don’t see the point.”

“You don’t have to.”

Adrina’s eyes narrowed cannily. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, I’m being very remiss as a host. Can I offer you some wine?” He turned his back, reaching for the jug on his writing desk.

“Don’t avoid the question, Damin. What’s happened?”

He poured the wine and turned back to her. “The Medalonians have been ordered to surrender.”

Now
why
had he told her
that
?

Her face was a portrait of shock. He doubted even Adrina could fake such a genuine reaction. “In the name of Zegarnald,
why
? They’re
winning
!”

“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call this stalemate winning,” he said as he handed her the wine. “But they certainly aren’t in danger of imminent defeat.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“Neither do I. That’s what I wanted to see you about. Could this have anything to do with Setenton’s absence from the front?”

“It might,” she nodded thoughtfully. “I thought it a little odd that Jasnoff sent Cratyn to the border without Terbolt. But the Kariens are very big on honour and distinguishing themselves in battle. I always supposed he wanted to give Cratyn a chance to prove himself to the Dukes.”

“If he’s behind this sudden turnabout, that would explain it. What about the treaty with your father?”

Adrina hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “What I told you before was the truth, or most of it. Father agreed to invade Medalon from the south come summer, and to supply the Kariens with cannon.”

“Cannon? Are they really as devastating as they claim?”

She nodded grimly. “The truth? They’re proving more trouble than they’re worth. They blow up when you least expect it, only work sometimes and we still haven’t found the right sort of alloy that won’t split after a few shots and kill the men manning the guns. My father’s cannon are as much the result of clever rumours as they are fact.”

“I see. And what does Hablet get in return for all this?”

“Gold and timber. Lots and lots of it.”

“I know your father’s greedy, Adrina, but there has to be more to it than that.”

“The prize is Hythria, Damin,” she said softly. “I thought you’d already worked that out for yourself.”

He stared at her for a moment, wondering why she had chosen this moment to reveal Hablet’s plans. “Hablet doesn’t need the Kariens to invade Hythria.”

“No, but he needs the Defenders occupied. You know as well as I do how futile it’s been, trying to attack Hythria over the Sunrise Mountains. There are only a few navigable passes and they can be defended by a handful of men against the entire Fardohnyan army. A naval invasion would be just as futile. Your ports are too well defended. Hythria’s only vulnerable point is the border with Medalon. If the Medalonians had territorial ambitions, you’d have been overrun a century ago.”

“So Hablet plans to turn south, once he reaches Medalon.”

“And you’ve made the job even easier for him. Your province borders Medalon. You’re supposed to be Hythria’s first line of defence.”

Damin really didn’t need Adrina pointing out his tactical error at that point. He was more than capable of punishing himself for being so arrogant.

“Did your father know anything about the Karien plans for Medalon?”

“If you mean, was he expecting them to surrender, of course not. His entire strategy is based on the Kariens keeping the Defenders off his back. Hablet doubts the Defenders would care if he invaded Hythria, one way or the other, but they’re likely to take a very dim view of him marching through Medalon to do it, particularly since they allied themselves with you, Damin.”

That was the second time today she had called him by name. He wondered if she realised that she was doing it.

“And if Medalon surrenders?”

“Jasnoff will have time to wonder what my father is up to. The Kariens are religious fanatics. It’s bad enough the entire southern half of the continent is devoted to pagan worship. They certainly don’t want it united under one crown. Hablet will invade Hythria and Karien will follow to stop him. Either way, Hythria will lose. Your only hope is to keep me safe from the Kariens.”

Damin smiled. It was amazing the way she could twist any situation to her advantage. “Exactly how would that make a difference?”

“Any child of mine by Cratyn would have a claim on Hablet’s throne. With Medalon defeated, if Hablet ruled Fardohnya and Hythria, the Kariens would own the entire continent on his death.”

“A death that would be sooner, rather than later, knowing the Kariens.” Damin shook his head at the vast scope of the Karien plans for world dominance. Or perhaps they were Xaphista’s plans.

And the demon child, the only one who could stop him, was probably dead.

“An heir and a spare—and I too become surplus to requirements,” she reminded him grimly.

He studied her for a moment, wondering if he was seeing the real Adrina for the first time. The woman whose life depended on staying one step ahead of the men who controlled her. Her father. Her husband. Even him. Every one of them was trying to use her to further their own ambitions.

“Is there anything else you haven’t told me, Adrina?”

She sipped her wine, looking at him over the rim of her cup. “Haven’t I told you enough?”

“That depends on what critical piece of information you’re holding back.”

She lowered the cup and smiled. “You’re the most suspicious man I’ve ever met.”

“With just cause, around you.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint you, Damin, but you know just about everything I do.”

“It’s the ‘just about’ that concerns me.”

“I’ve nothing to gain by lying to you. If Medalon surrenders, I will be returned to Karien. I would rather die.”

Oddly, he believed her. If what she had told him was true, the Kariens would allow her to live long enough to produce the requisite heir—and not a moment longer. She had already betrayed them once. They wouldn’t be so lax in their vigilance a second time.

Then something else occurred to him, which changed his opinion of her rather radically.

“Cratyn’s impotence was all your fault, wasn’t it? You didn’t want to give him an heir to your father’s throne.”

The question startled her at first, then she smiled smugly. “As you pointed out the first time we spoke, my Lord, an inexperienced Karien princeling is no match for a
court’esa
-trained Fardohnyan princess.”

“It seems I’ve misjudged you, your Highness.”

“Something else I warned you about.”

He refused to acknowledge her reprimand. “More wine?”

“Thank you, no. I’ve learnt the folly of consuming too much Medalonian wine on an empty stomach.” She held out her empty cup. “I should be going. Was there anything else you wanted?”

He took the cup from her outstretched hand. “Untie your shirt.”

“
What
?”

Damin smiled. “Untie your shirt.”

“You have
got
to kidding.”

“I’ve never been more serious. Untie your shirt, or I’ll do it for you.”

She glared at him, but to her credit, she didn’t back away. “You lay one finger on me and I’ll—”

“What? Scream?” he finished with a laugh. “You’re in the middle of my camp, Adrina. Who’s going to come to your rescue?”

“I’ll gouge your eyes out if you touch me.”

He shrugged and turned his back on her, replacing the empty cups on the desk. “As you wish. I was under the impression you wanted that slave collar off. I must have been mistaken.”

He waited with his back to her. She was silent for a very long time.

“You could have said that’s what you were planning.”

“And miss seeing you squirm like that?” he asked with a grin as he turned back to her. “I don’t think so. So, shall we start again? Untie your shirt. I can’t get to the thing with you bundled up like that.”

“Just give me the keys and I’ll do it myself.”

“No. And for being so uncooperative now you’re going to have to say please.”

“You are the most unbelievable bastard.”

“I know.”

She stepped around the brazier and the cushions, unlacing the shirt as she went. By the time she reached him the shirt was open far enough to expose the collar and a tantalising glimpse of pale throat—and not a thing more.

“There! Just take the damned thing off!”

“Say please.”

“Please!” Her eyes burned with fury.

Getting that much out of her was something of an achievement, so Damin decided not to push his luck. She might still try to gouge his eyes out, just on principal.

He took her hand and pulled her closer, then slid his fingers under the collar. Lernen had only shown him once how the catch worked, and he wasn’t at all certain he could find it. The jeweller who had designed the collars was a craftsman and they were manufactured to prevent a clever slave finding the means for their emancipation. Adrina closed her eyes rather than meet his. It was very distracting, holding her so close. He could feel her hot breath on his face, smell the faint perfume of the soap she used to wash her hair.

He found the catch and heard it open with a faint snick. Adrina heard it too. She opened her eyes, a little surprised to find herself so close to him. She looked up, met his eyes.

Later, Damin couldn’t say who moved first. One moment she was staring at him with those impressive green eyes. The next he was kissing her and she was kissing him back. The collar tumbled forgotten to the floor. It was almost as if she wanted to devour him.

He cursed the layers of winter clothing they both wore as she tore at the lacing on his shirt. There was no logic to this, no rational thought.

“This is insane,” Adrina gasped between kisses, as she fumbled with the buckle on his sword belt. “I hate you.”

The sword belt dropped to the floor with a clatter. “I hate you too.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she added as she pulled the shirt over his head.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he promised as her shirt fell away, exposing her glorious pale breasts. They fell onto the scattered cushions beside the
brazier. Adrina landed astride him. Her hair had come loose and it fell about them in an ebony wave that cut off the rest of the tent so that it was only Adrina that he could see. It was only Adrina that he wanted to see, in any case.