“She can stay with me.”
“Warhaft’s going to
love
that idea. I can’t wait to hear what Charel has to say about it, too. And what of Kendra’s children? Is she prepared to abandon them for you?”
“They’re not here. They’re in the north with Kendra’s parents. The children were visiting their grandparents when the plague struck and everyone agreed it would be safer to leave them there.”
Damin was unconvinced. “Still, even if Lernen grants her an annulment, a man has a right to claim his heir. Staying with you might cost your lover her children, Narvell. You might want to make certain she’s prepared to pay that price before I go back in there and announce that far from giving her husband the satisfaction he’s expecting, I’m going to allow you to ride off into the sunset with his wife.”
“You make it sound like I’m in the wrong!” Narvell objected, jumping to his feet.
“That’s because legally, you are.”
Narvell studied his older brother sceptically. “When did you become such a paragon of virtue?”
“I’m not being virtuous. I need you, Narvell, and every man Charel can muster. I don’t have time for you to get caught up in a dispute over some woman.”
“She’s not just some woman …”
“I’m sure she’s Kalianah made flesh,” Damin agreed impatiently. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that she’s another man’s wife.”
“You claim you need me, Damin,” Narvell pointed out, crossing his arms defensively. “Order Kendra back to her husband and you can go to hell, for all I care.”
Damin stared at him in shock, Tejay’s words earlier about Narvell turning on him suddenly coming back to haunt him. “You can’t be serious!”
“Try me.”
“Hablet is massing for an invasion, for the gods’ sake!”
Narvell shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “He’ll be after Greenharbour first, not Byamor. He’ll come through Highcastle, or the Widowmaker, and head straight for the coast. Chances are, Hablet won’t care about what’s north of him until he’s secured the capital. We’ve got enough troops left to defend Elasapine if need be.”
“Charel Hawksword would never agree to sit back and do nothing while Hythria was being invaded,” Damin declared, certain Narvell couldn’t mean what he said.
“You think I can’t convince him?” Narvell dared. “You might have the High Prince’s ear, brother, but the Warlord of Elasapine is
my
grandfather and he’ll listen to me before he’ll follow you. Hell, all I have to do is tell him what you did to Mahkas to make him start to wonder about you.”
Damin was flabbergasted. “You’d really do that? Choose some girl over your own family, your own country?”
“I think he’s asking you not to make him choose at all.”
Damin turned to find Tejay had let herself out into the yard. She was wiping her hands on a small towel and had obviously overheard enough of their conversation to glean the gist of it.
“Just exactly whose side are you on?” he asked the Warlord’s wife impatiently.
“The side of a terrified young woman who faces a fate far worse than any death you could devise, Damin Wolfblade, if you send her back to that animal.”
Damin threw his hands up impatiently. “Look, I’m not happy about this either, but—”
“Then don’t do it,” Tejay cut in. “Whether you’ve officially come of age or not, you outrank everybody here, Damin, so you’re the only one who can make a decree about the fate of Kendra Warhaft and have any hope of making it stick.”
“I’m actually more concerned about the fate of Hythria, at the moment,” he snapped, annoyed at her for siding with Narvell. “The fate of one errant wife, even if she’s in love with my brother, is hardly the point.”
Tejay shook her head. “She’s exactly the point. Hythria isn’t just a geographical location, Damin. Hythria is its people. If you can’t spare a thought for even one of your people, what’s the point in trying to protect your nation from someone else who wants to possess it? You might as well let Hablet have the whole damned country. You obviously don’t care about it that much.”
Narvell smiled at Tejay. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
Wounded by her accusation, Damin looked at the pair of them, shaking his head in disbelief. “He takes another man’s wife and suddenly
I’m
the one in the wrong?”
“Life is very unfair like that sometimes, Damin,” Tejay replied.
“What am I supposed to tell Stefan Warhaft?”
Tejay smiled. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. But do it quickly, would you? Poor Kendra’s exhausted but she’s not going to rest while the threat of being returned to Zadenka is hanging over her head.”
Realising he could only win this argument at the risk of losing the whole damned war, Damin glared at his brother. “You’re going to owe me for this, Narvell.”
His brother reached out and placed his hand on Damin’s shoulder reassuringly. “Do this for me, Damin, and I swear you’ll never have any need to doubt my loyalty to you or your throne again.”
“If I do this for you, Narvell, the chances are good I’ll never see any damned throne. If Warhaft doesn’t kill me, Charel Hawksword probably will. Or Marla. Or Lernen …”
Tejay punched his shoulder impatiently. “Don’t be such a coward, Damin. Go in there and strike a blow for Hythrun womanhood! Make a stand! If you won’t do it for Kendra, then do it for Leila’s memory. Let the men of this nation learn they can’t treat their women worse than slaves and expect to get away with it any longer.”
“You’ve seen that damned list Marla’s got, haven’t you?” he accused, peering at her closely in the darkness.
“What list?”
“My brother is of the opinion our mother has a secret list of things she expects him to change when he becomes High Prince,” Narvell explained. “The plight of highborn Hythrun women seems to be relatively high on her agenda.”
“As it should be,” Tejay agreed. “I have a list like that, myself.”
Damin ran his hands through his hair and glared at the pair of them. “This is going to cause a stink you’ll be able to smell back in Greenharbour.”
Tejay shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Damin. Nobody’s going to smell anything over the reek of that cesspit. And you might be surprised by the people who back you in this. Not every man in Hythria is a brutal pig who thinks women don’t deserve respect.”
“No,” Damin agreed. “Just the one you want me to tell he can’t have his wife back.”
“It’s the right thing to do, Damin,” Narvell assured him.
“So was not killing Mahkas Damaran,” Damin replied heavily. “But that doesn’t mean it felt any better than this does.”
Neither Tejay nor Narvell had an answer to that so Damin left them in the tavern’s yard and went to look for Almodavar and Adham, in the vain hope the logistics of settling more than five thousand men around a village of a few hundred people would provide a welcome distraction to the other problems plaguing him this night.
B
y pushing their horses for as long as they dared each day, Kalan and Wrayan made excellent time. By the end of their first week on the road, they’d covered the better part of three hundred miles and were close to the border of Pentamor. Kalan was saddle sore, weary and had never been happier.
She and Wrayan travelled well together. Wrayan seemed to have forgotten she was anything other than his equal. That was an important milestone for Kalan. She had worshipped Wrayan Lightfinger for as long as she could remember, but she knew the fact that he’d known her since she was a baby might prove an impediment to their relationship. It was a foolish concern on his part, Kalan had decided for him. Wrayan Lightfinger was part Harshini, so the normal rules simply didn’t apply to him. The thief was, Kalan knew, close to fifty years old, but at an inn a few days ago, the tavern keeper had assumed he was her brother. He looked to be in his late twenties, perhaps thirty at the most. But neither Wrayan’s age, appearance, nor his profession concerned Kalan Hawksword.
True love, she was quite certain, could rise above all these minor impediments.
“We should stop soon,” Wrayan advised, jerking Kalan out of her daydream.
“What?”
“I said we should probably stop soon. We’re only about three miles from the village of Tallant Moor. It’s a pretty rough place so I’d rather avoid it, if we can.”
“If you want,” she agreed absently.
He looked at her curiously. “Is something wrong?”
“No, of course not. I was just lost in thought.”
He smiled. “Anything you’d care to share?”
“Can’t you read my mind?”
“Your mind is shielded.”
“You put the shield there, Wrayan. You can take it away, can’t you?”
“I could,” he agreed, “but that rather defeats the purpose of putting it there in the first place.”
“It must be strange, being able to read people’s innermost thoughts at will.”
“I try not to, most of the time.”
She glanced at him in surprise. “Why not? If I could read minds I wouldn’t be able to resist it.”
He frowned at her ignorance. “Believe me, Kalan, most people’s innermost thoughts are pretty murky. I’ll probe someone’s mind out of necessity. I certainly don’t do it for a bit of light entertainment.”
“You’re so frustrating, sometimes, Wrayan,” she complained. “I mean, here you are, about the most powerful sorcerer alive, and yet you barely even use your power. And here
I
am, a full member of the Sorcerers’ Collective, and I can’t even light a fire without a flint.”
Wrayan shook his head. “For one thing, I’m not the most powerful sorcerer alive by any stretch of the imagination, Kalan. Even if you discount the Harshini still living in Sanctuary, next to the Halfbreed, I’m almost powerless.”
“Yes, but—”
“As for
you
being powerless,” he cut in before she could add anything further, “your mother effectively runs the whole damn country, your twin brother is going to be a Warlord and your half-brother will eventually be High Prince of Hythria. Your stepsister owns half of Hythria’s shipping fleet and your stepbrothers control the most comprehensive intelligence network in four nations, alongside a goodly portion of the spice trade. And let’s not forget your uncle is the current High Prince. On your family connections alone, you’ll wind up High Arrion someday, Kalan. Talk to Alija Eaglespike if you don’t think that isn’t power to burn.”
“That’s not what I meant …”
“I know,” he said, smiling at her paternally. “I just don’t want you to envy me for something you don’t understand.”
Having Wrayan look at her like that was the last thing Kalan wanted, so she decided to change the subject. “Didn’t you say we should find somewhere to stop for the night?”
“I was hoping we’d find shelter, actually,” he said, glancing up at the heavy clouds. “So we wouldn’t have to stop in the village. But I don’t like our chances.”
Kalan looked around, silently agreeing shelter was a very optimistic hope. The sun had almost set and in the chilly twilight the countryside around Tallant Moor seemed uniformly bleak. To their right, a small treeless hill fell away to a steep valley. In the distance, some way down the slope, Kalan spied a flickering light. “What about down there?”
Wrayan glanced in the direction of her pointing finger, frowning. “Looks like a farmhouse.”
Kalan smiled. “I can see why the Halfbreed accuses you of having a talent for stating the obvious, Wrayan Lightfinger.”
“I can see I’m going to have to stop telling you any more anecdotes about him,” he grumbled.
Kalan laughed. “Shall we check it out, do you think? Or is it too risky? There may be plague around.”
Wrayan shrugged. “I’ll scan the minds of the occupants from here. That should tell us if it’s safe.”
“I thought you didn’t like doing that?”
“I also said I’d probe someone’s mind out of necessity. This is a necessity, don’t you agree?”
“Shall we tell them who we are or make up a story?”
“Is who we are a secret?” he enquired curiously.
“The closer we get to Greenharbour, the more it should be,” she suggested. “Alija still thinks you’re dead. I don’t see any reason why we should disillusion her just yet.”
Wrayan considered her suggestion. “You might have a point. What shall we tell our hosts, then?”
“We could pose as husband and wife,” she said, glad her mind was shielded and Wrayan couldn’t read her enthusiasm for the idea.
“Why not brother and sister?” he asked. “Or cousins?”
“Because if there’s only shelter available in the barn,” she explained, as if he was just a little bit thick for not having worked this out for himself, “and they think we’re siblings, the chances are good you’ll wind up sleeping out in the hayloft with the husband, and I’ll end up being eaten alive by the bedbugs, sharing a pallet in the house with the wife. If we pose as a married couple, they’ll offer us shelter in the barn and we can be clean
and
warm and not have to worry about anything or any
body
else.”
“You really do think these things through, don’t you?”
“One of us has to.”
Wrayan didn’t answer her, his attention obviously elsewhere. When he looked at her his eyes were black, the whites of his eyes completely consumed by the darkness, a sure sign he was drawing on his power.
“What can you see?” she asked, a little in awe of seeing him like this.
“They’re a young couple,” he told her “No older than you, either of them. They’re still grieving a child lost to the plague, but it’s been safe here for some time now. They’re fighting, actually.”
“About what?”
“About whether or not to have another child. He wants to start a family again straight away. She’s still grieving her lost child and can’t bring herself to contemplate the idea.”
The thought of walking into such a fraught situation and interrupting it, just for the sake of a roof over their heads for the night, suddenly didn’t seem such an attractive idea. “Maybe we should push on, Wrayan.”
“There’s not much else out here. And it’s going to rain again soon.”
“I know, but these people don’t need us intruding on their grief.”
“Any more than you or I need pneumonia.”
“Can’t you make it better for them?”
“How?”
“You’re obviously inside their minds. Can’t you simply make one of them give in to the other one?”
“Which one? The randy husband or the grieving wife?”
Kalan had the decency to look away, feeling more than a little shamefaced. “All right, so that wasn’t such a brilliant idea.”
“Interfering in other people’s lives is never as simple as it seems, Kalan.”
“Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if this magic of yours has any practical purpose,” she complained. “I mean, if you can’t actually use it to do anything useful …”
“Define useful.”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Bending the world to your will, I suppose.”
Wrayan laughed. “You are
definitely
your mother’s daughter, Kalan Hawksword.”
Kalan wasn’t sure she liked the way Wrayan was laughing at her. She tossed her head indignantly and tugged on the packhorse’s lead rein, trotting on ahead until she spied a rutted wagon track further along, leading down to the faint light at the foot of the slope.
Without waiting to see if Wrayan was following, she turned onto the track and headed for the little farmhouse, wondering what was so wrong about wanting to bend the world to your will, anyway.