Wolfblade (40 page)

Or maybe she’s just desperate for the princess to produce the heir everyone is so anxiously awaiting
, he thought cynically,
and is being so solicitous of her daughter-in-law’s comfort to make certain she’s there the moment it’s confirmed Marla is pregnant
.

Nobody was sure when that might happen, but they were all expecting it sooner rather than later. Following some delicate enquiries (Kagan had interrogated the slaves who tended the princess), he had been able to establish that Laran and Marla were sharing a bed. That was all he’d been able to establish,
however, and for all he knew they sat up all night arguing high literature and had not even consummated the marriage yet.

On the balance of probability, that was unlikely. Laran was a
court’esa
-trained nobleman married to a very desirable,
court’esa
-trained princess who was under no illusions whatsoever about what was expected of her.

Kagan knocked on Jeryma’s door and opened it without waiting for an answer. He was in a hurry this morning. Now he had made the decision to return to Greenharbour, he could see no point in delaying his departure for a moment longer than necessary.

“Kagan!”

Jeryma was in her small private courtyard, enjoying her breakfast in the sheltered sunlight.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

She put down her tea and rose to her feet. “I thought you might be heading off soon. You’ve still no word from Wrayan, then?”

The High Arrion shook his head. “Not a whisper. Gods, I hope nothing has happened to him.”

“But you fear it has,” Jeryma remarked. It was a statement, not a question.

“Wrayan challenged Alija Eaglespike, Jeryma. One would think that if he survived the ordeal, he might at least have the decency to let me know about it.”

“Did Alija say nothing about the incident when she visited Warrinhaven?”

“Not a word.”

“Do you think he’s dead?”

“Oddly enough, no. I think even Alija Eaglespike would have trouble covering up the death of another sorcerer. I’m more worried something has happened to his mind. For all I know, he’s wandering the streets of Green-harbour with no idea who he is. Or where he is. Or what he is.”

“It will seem so quiet once you’re gone. Laran’s heading up to Winternest in a few days to visit Mahkas and the girls. It’s going to be so quiet around here.”

“You’ll have Marla for company.”

His sister smiled. “I’m sure Marla would be quite happy to forgo my companionship. I’m not really the most diverting attendant for a sixteen-year-old girl.”

“She seems to be doing well, though.”

“Much better than I expected. I quite like her, actually. I was expecting just a younger, more pliable version of Lernen, but I think there was a very uneven distribution of wealth in the Wolfblade family. Lernen got all the bad things. Marla seems to have inherited mostly the good.”

“Only mostly?” Kagan asked with a raised brow.

“Well, she does have a rather unhealthy attachment to that dwarf.”

“Take my advice, Jeryma—leave the dwarf alone. He’s doing more good than harm.”

“Are you certain?” she asked doubtfully.

“Not completely,” Kagan admitted. “But from what I’ve seen so far, he’s taught her more about science than sex and more about history than histrionics. I think you’d do well to simply accept the situation and worry about more important things.”

“If he’s teaching her more about science than sex, one wonders what’s the use of him? And who is teaching Marla the things she needs to know, if her
court’esa
isn’t? Last week she sent her other
court’esa
back to her cousin, Ninane, in Highcastle.”

“Which proves my point, sister dear. Her other
court’esa
was a gift from Alija Eaglespike. Sending him away from Laran’s household was probably the smartest thing Marla could have done with him.”

“But a dwarf, Kagan.”

“I’m sure Laran can cope.”

“I know, but it’s just not right . . .”

“Well, until either one of them starts to complain about it, I suggest you find something else to agonise over. I’m surprised that’s all you’re worried about. It’s been nearly two months since the wedding. I thought you’d be panicking because there’s no baby on the way.”

“Two months is hardly reason to panic, Kagan.” She smiled suddenly and linked her arm through his. “I’m sure I’ll let the matter go for at least another month before I decide the poor child is barren.”

“Well, whatever you do, don’t make it too hard for Marla. She’s a nice girl at heart. It’s not her fault she’s Lernen’s only sister, you know.”

“I promise I’ll look after her.”

Kagan leaned over and kissed Jeryma’s cheek. “I know you will.”

“Good luck finding Wrayan. I hope he’s come to no harm. I thought he was quite charming.”

“You would.”

She squeezed his arm with a smile. “Did you want an escort? I can arrange for Chaine and some of his Raiders to see you to the border.”

“He’s still fine with all this?” Kagan asked curiously.

“Laran spoke to him after the funeral. I’m not sure what he promised Chaine, but he’s been the soul of cooperation and loyalty since Glenadal died. He certainly gets along well with Marla. The two of them have become very friendly.”

“That’s a pretty smart move for a bastard with no formal recognition of his status.”

“Chaine’s friendship with Marla is hardly likely to do her any favours, Kagan.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it can’t hurt
his
cause to be counted as a friend to the High Prince’s sister.”

Jeryma shook her head. “You’re imagining things. Marla has no power and I’m quite certain Chaine Tollin has no ulterior motives. He is simply doing what he has to, to keep his position here secure. Now did you want an escort or not?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll travel faster alone.”

She nodded, her smile fading. “Did we do the right thing, Kagan?”

“
Now
you’re having second thoughts?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Kagan replied after a moment’s thought. “As to whether we did the right thing? Well, only history can tell us that.”

Jeryma looked at him thoughtfully. “I just had a dreadful thought.”

“What?”

“Suppose Marla does have a son, and we make him High Prince, and he turns out to be worse than what we have now?”

“Please don’t even joke about it.”

“I’m going to ask Laran and Marla to call their son Damin.”

“After the first Damin Wolfblade? Damin the Wise? That’s a lot to ask of a child who’s not even born yet. Or probably not even conceived yet, if you want to get picky about it.”

“The first Damin Wolfblade is largely credited with stabilising Hythria and leading us into a period of peace and prosperity that has been unequalled since.”

Kagan shook his head at Jeryma’s hopeful expression. “Do you really think a mere name will make that much difference to how the child turns out?”

“Maybe not,” Jeryma said with a smile. “But it doesn’t hurt to take precautions.”

Kagan kissed her cheek again and let go of Jeryma’s hand. “Well, I’d be careful before I announced to Marla that I’d named her child and decided what sort of man he’s going to grow into, if I were you. She’s still coming to terms with being married.”

“Don’t worry about me
or
Marla. Go find your apprentice. We’ll be fine. Hythria will be fine.”

“If you say so,” Kagan said, thinking it would be good if he was even half as sure about Hythria’s future as his sister.

I
s he here yet?” Travin asked for the tenth time in as many minutes. Both he and his brother were cleaned and dressed in their Restday best, their hair slicked down, their boots polished to a shine. Riika thought it a bit silly really. It wasn’t as if Laran had never seen his nephews dirty.

“Oh, for the gods’ sake!” Darilyn muttered. “Stop asking me that! And Xanda! Get away from that table this instant!”

Slaves were laying out food on the long centre table in anticipation of their Warlord’s arrival. Xanda guiltily snatched his hands back from the tray of pastries he’d been about to sample. The cooks had been baking since dawn, making delicate glazed pastries, fruit pies and seasoned skewers of cubed meat and vegetables, arranged on deep platters and kept warm by small oil burners under the silver trays. The aroma of all that tempting food was proving too much for a small boy. Riika smiled at her nephews, taking pity on Xanda as his bottom lip began to quiver at his mother’s sharp rebuke.

“He’ll be here soon,” Riika promised. “The guards are probably opening the gates for Uncle Laran as we speak.”

“Can we eat when Uncle Laran gets here?” Xanda asked, looking wistfully at the table.

“Do you think he brought us presents?” Travin added.

“Well if he has, I won’t allow you to have them,” Darilyn snapped. “Neither of you have been good enough to deserve presents.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” Riika said. Travin looked heartbroken.

“Don’t question my decisions in front of the children, Riika,” Darilyn commanded. “They’re unruly enough without you undermining my discipline at every turn.”

“I wasn’t—” Riika began, but before she could say anything else, the doors at the end of the hall opened and Mahkas entered with Laran at his side. The boys broke away and ran toward their uncles, their customary cautiousness
around Laran tempered somewhat by the idea that he might have brought presents.

“Uncle Laran!”

“Did you bring us something?”

Laran squatted down and hugged the two boys, then reached into his pocket. He produced two small porcelain mounted knights with long blue-glazed lances and matching glazed armour with the rampant kraken of Krakandar painted on their shields.

“Look, mama!” Travin shouted with delight. “Aunt Riika! Look what Uncle Laran brought us!” He ran back to show his mother and his aunt the present. They were beautiful pieces, probably from Walsark in Krakandar Province, the boys’ own borough. It was renowned for its porcelain.

“I said they weren’t to have presents,” Darilyn announced, unimpressed. She glared at Mahkas. “Didn’t you tell him I didn’t want him coming here handing out presents? It makes them impossible to control.”

“The presents aren’t from me, Darilyn, they’re from mother.” Laran stood up, ruffling Xanda’s head. Travin retreated rapidly from his mother, figuring he was better off with his uncles. “Now you two scat. And stop giving your mother so much trouble.”

“Can we have something to eat?” Xanda asked hopefully.

“Help yourself,” Laran invited with a smile.

Xanda and Travin snatched a handful of the small pastries from the nearest plate and with their new toys and the sticky treats clutched to their chests, bolted before Darilyn had a chance to order them otherwise, a fact which seemed to amuse both Laran and Mahkas greatly.

Darilyn didn’t think it was very funny at all.

“You can wipe that smug expression off your faces,” she warned. “Both of you. I’m the one who has to suffer the consequences after you’ve made me look powerless in front of my own children.”

“Your boys are fine, Darilyn,” Laran said, pulling off his riding gloves as he walked towards them. “And I hardly think two toy knights and a plate of pastries are going to cause them to fall into a life of crime and depravity.” He reached the hearth where the women waited and put his arm around Riika. He kissed her forehead. “You’re looking much better.”

“I’m feeling better,” Riika assured him with a smile. Laran’s arrival at Winternest marked a turning point for Riika. She knew he wouldn’t have come unless they were in dire need of reinforcements on the border or things had worked out the way he planned. As there had been nothing from Fardohnya other than an increase in trade since the southern pass at Highcastle was blocked, Laran’s visit could only mean the latter.

“And you, Darilyn? How are you surviving?”

Although she was unlikely to admit it, Darilyn was just as keen to see her elder brother as Riika was. The novelty of being hidden away in a fortress under
guard for her own protection had quickly worn off. Now she was just feeling trapped, Riika thought, bored witless confined here in Winternest and desperate to return to her social life in Greenharbour. As she had foolishly agreed not to leave Winternest without Laran’s permission, she was anxious for him to arrive so that he could grant it. Darilyn was fed up with the cold, the snow, the lack of civilised conversation, the cold weather that was ruining her (yet to be repaired) harp—so she informed Riika on an almost daily basis—and was afraid that with nobody but Raiders and merchants’ children as playmates, her boys were turning into barbarians.

Riika was more than happy to champion her sister’s cause. Although she would miss her nephews, if she didn’t see Darilyn again for another year, she wouldn’t mind at all.

“I’m going mad,” Darilyn snapped, surprising Riika with her bluntness. “I want to go home.”