“Adrina? That traitorous little ingrate? Why should I do anything to aid her? She betrayed me and married my worst enemy!”
“She married the heir to your throne.”
“I'll die before I let Damin Wolfblade inherit my crown!”
“That's the whole idea, isn't it?”
Hablet glared at her. “What do I get out of it?”
“You leave this room alive, for a start,” R'shiel warned him in a voice so dangerous that even Brak looked at her askance.
“You can't kill me,” he scoffed. “You're Harshini.”
“I am the demon child, Hablet. I'm only half-Harshini, and believe me, the human part of me has no qualms about removing people who stand in my way.”
Hablet rubbed his beard thoughtfully then his eyes narrowed. “If I send my fleet to relieve this siege of Adrina's, I want something in return.”
“You're hardly in a position to negotiate, Your Majesty.”
“You think so? Try getting my fleet to move past the end of the docks without my help.”
Reluctantly, R'shiel had to concede that he had a point. “What do you want?”
“I want a son. I want a legitimate son.”
“I can't grant you that.”
“Oh, so there are limits to what you can do? Well, in that case, Adrina and her damned barbarian can rot in Greenharbour and you can kill me now. It won't make much difference either way. If I'm dead, Wolfblade gets my throne, but he won't be in a position to claim it, will he?” Hablet chuckled nastily, daring her to do her worst.
R'shiel considered the matter. If she acceded to his demand - assuming Jelanna agreed to cooperate - then she would lose her ability to unite Fardohnya and Hythria on Hablet's death. On the other hand, all she really wanted to do was get to the Citadel. It didn't really matter who ruled Fardohnya, just so long as they weren't at war with Damin. He couldn't spare any troops to aid Tarja in ridding Medalon of the Kariens if he was embroiled in a war with either his cousin or his father-in-law. Time was of the essence and she didn't have any spare to waste arguing with Hablet.
“Very well. I will speak to Jelanna. That's the best I can do. But the first hint that you are exceeding your mandate, Your Majesty, and I will personally see to it that your son withers and dies in the womb.”
Hablet nodded. If he believed her threat, he did not appear bothered by it. All he wanted was finally getting the heir he craved. He beamed at her happily. “I find myself suddenly warming to you, demon child. I shall issue the orders today and we shall set sail for Greenharbour by week's end. I shall place Gaffen in command. He was always fond of Adrina.”
“Gaffen?”
“The second eldest of my baseborn sons. He and Tristan were always finding trouble with Adrina. Speaking of which, you've not mentioned him. I cannot believe he stood idly by while Adrina ran off with a Hythrun Warlord.”
R'shiel glanced at Brak warily before she answered the King.
“Tristan is dead, Your Majesty, as is most of the Guard you sent north with Adrina. They were killed fighting the Medalonians.”
The King paled. His voice was like ice when he finally spoke. “What were they doing fighting the Medalonians?”
“I believe it was on Prince Cratyn's orders. It was following their death that Adrina fled Karien.”
Hablet was silent for a long time. His anger was a palpable thing. “Once the situation in Hythria is resolved, you will be confronting the Kariens, yes?”
“They need to be pushed out of Medalon, certainly.”
“Then you have found yourself an ally, demon child. No child of mine, baseborn or otherwise, dies in such a manner without a reckoning.”
CHAPTER 31
The Convocation of the Warlords to elect the High Prince of Hythria finally took place four days after Damin and Adrina returned to Greenharbour. Tejay Lionsclaw had arrived, bearing news that she had met the demon child, and that when last heard of, R'shiel was heading for Fardohnya to speak with King Hablet.
The news did little to ease Damin's mind. It was bad enough that she had vanished without warning, but to learn that she was heading for Fardohnya made things even worse. He knew as well as anyone what was likely to happen should he win the election. Inviting Hablet to come to his rescue, the man who had spent the past thirty years trying to figure out how to invade his country, the man who had tried to hire assassins to have him killed, did not strike Damin as a particularly prudent move.
“You look very...”
“What?” he snapped as Adrina walked into his dressing room. “Foolish?”
“I was going to say dashing, but foolish will do, if you prefer.”
Actually, he felt like an idiot. One of the reasons he had spent as little time at court as possible was his dislike of dressing in such cumbersome finery. He wore white, the traditional colour reserved for the High Prince, from his knee-high calf leather boots to his gloriously embroidered jacket and short cape that was heavy and uncomfortable and totally unsuited to Greenharbour's humid climate. The gold coronet around his forehead was uncomfortably tight and the ceremonial sword he wore owed more of its weight to its gem-encrusted scabbard than it did to its blade. In a fight it would be as useful as a knitting needle. It was Adrina who insisted he dress the part of High Prince for the Convocation, and she had found a surprising ally in Princess Marla.
She smiled and stepped forward to adjust the coronet, which eased the pressure a little, then she smoothed his fair hair down. “You look every bit the High Prince.”
“Looking the part won't win me the title.”
“You'd be surprised.”
“Gods, how I hate all this pomp and ceremony!”
“Well, you'd better get used to it, my love.”
The endearment caught him by surprise. “My love?”
“Well, I can't go on calling you the Evil Barbarian Bastard forever, can I?”
He laughed. “No. I suppose not.”
Adrina sat down on the small settee and curled her legs up under her to watch him finish dressing. Since their return from Dregian Castle, and their argument on the beach, she had been a different person. Or perhaps he was seeing a side of her that she had never shown him before. The change in her scared him, not because of what she had become, but because he was afraid it wouldn't last. The new Adrina was everything he could have wished for in a consort. She was intelligent, charming and determined to secure his throne, whatever the cost. How much of that was because she cared for him, and how much was simply her desire to see Cyrus Eaglespike brought down, he did not dare ask.
“Explain something to me, Damin. Why do you have an election for the High Prince? Isn't it a hereditary title?”
“Yes, but there's frequently been more than one contender. Twins are fairly common in my family, and the first born is not always the most suitable for the job.”
“Twins? Gods, you're not telling me I'm likely to have twins, are you?”
He smiled at her alarmed expression. “Kalan and Narvell are twins. Even Lernen was a twin, although his brother died in infancy.”
“But didn't Lernen name you as his heir? Surely, in that case, there would be no need for an election?”
“The Convocation is a formality, more often than not,” he agreed. “It makes the Warlords feel they have a say in things. In this case, however, there are two contenders.”
“How can Cyrus seriously think he's a contender if Lernen named you his heir? I can understand him jumping in when he thought you'd vanished into Medalon, but now that you're back, you'd think he'd just bow out gracefully.”