“Oh, well that should reassure the population,” Garet remarked sourly. “A few hundred dragons landing in the Citadel loaded with a race we've spent two centuries convincing them we've eradicated.”
“Tarja, please,” R'shiel asked, ignoring Garet's sarcasm. She needed him to agree. She needed the Harshini safe. Her conscience would not permit anything else.
“I don't suppose there is any way you can do this discreetly?” he asked.
“You mean try to avoid a few hundred dragons landing in the Citadel loaded with a race that you've spent two centuries convincing your people you eradicated?” Brak asked drily.
“That would be a good start.”
R'shiel glanced at Brak, who thought for a moment then shook her head. “Not with the Kariens blocking their path.”
“Even if you can get them here in one piece,” Garet pointed out, “chances are they'll be attacked on sight, once our people see them.”
“Then you'd best make sure they're protected,” R'shiel warned. “You claim you want a different world from the one the Sisterhood left you. Learning to live with the original inhabitants of Medalon seems like a good place to start. You never know, Garet, you may even learn something from them.”
“I'm learning where your loyalties lie pretty quickly,” he accused.
“My loyalty is to Medalon.”
“You've an interesting way of showing it.”
“Enough, Garet,” Tarja sighed. “Arguing will get us nowhere. The Harshini can return, R'shiel, but only if you can promise me that they will not try to reclaim the Citadel or cause any more trouble than they have to.”
“Interesting that you suspect the Harshini of trying to reclaim the Citadel,” Brak said with a smile. “Have you considered what will happen if the Citadel tries to reclaim the Harshini?”
“What do you mean by that?” Garet asked suspiciously.
“He doesn't mean anything,” R'shiel cut in, before Brak could say anything further. “Do I have your word on this, Tarja?”
He nodded, but he did not seem very pleased with the decision.
“Then I'll summon Dranymire and the demons.”
“Will you send the Divine Ones a message?” Mandah asked. Her eyes were alight at the prospect of seeing a real demon and of meeting the fabled race that she so admired.
“No. I'm going to have to return to Sanctuary myself to convince the Harshini that any asylum they are offered in the Citadel is genuine.”
“Can't Brak go alone?” Tarja asked.
He shook his head. “I'm not the one who brought this on, nor I am going to be the one to convince Korandellan and his people that you have opened up the Citadel to the Harshini. It will have to come from R'shiel.”
She nodded and looked at Brak. “Will you come with me?”
“Don't I always?” he said.
“R'shiel!”
She stopped and turned, waiting for Mandah to catch up with her. The young rebel closed the door of the First Sister's office and hurried towards them along the carpeted hall.
“What is it, Mandah?”
“Could I speak with you?”
R'shiel shrugged. “I suppose.”
“About Tarja.”
“What about him?”
Mandah stopped before her, taking a deep breath, as if preparing herself mentally for what she planned to say. Brak walked on ahead, leaving them some semblance of privacy. “You know what happened, don't you? About the geas?”
“Yes, but how did you know about it?”
“You forget that I'm a pagan, R'shiel. I know more about the gods and the Harshini than you do.”
“That's not difficult,” she agreed with a wan smile.
“It's just... well, I wanted to know...”
“What? If I still have some claim on him?”
“I didn't mean it like that.”
“No, but I've seen the way you look at him. You've done it since we first met. Remember that night in the stables in Reddingdale, when you helped us escape the Defenders? You could have found a dozen other ways to hide Tarja, but you had to throw yourself down on top of him and start kissing him.” R'shiel smiled suddenly. “He's yours if you want him, Mandah. He certainly doesn't want me any more.”
“R'shiel, I don't want you to think that... well, that I'm benefiting from your misfortune.”
“Don't worry, Mandah. Tarja is yours if you can hold him. He's not mine. He never really was.”
Mandah studied her for a moment, as if trying to detect some glimmer of falsehood in R'shiel's assurance.
“You've changed, R'shiel. There was a time when you would have denied me out of spite.”
“There was a time I would have done a lot of things, Mandah,” she said. “But I know when I'm beaten. I won't stand in your way.”
“Then I have your blessing?”
“I wouldn't go that far.”
Mandah impulsively hugged R'shiel and then ran back towards the First Sister's office. And Tarja. R'shiel watched her disappear inside and turned to find Brak leaning on the banister at the top of the stairs, staring at her thoughtfully.
“What?”
“That was very noble of you.”
“You shouldn't have been listening.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed that for the world.”
She stalked past him in annoyance. “Are you coming?”
“Of course, demon child,” he replied mockingly, as he followed her down the stairs. “Although, I have to say, you were wrong about one thing.”
R'shiel stopped and glared over her shoulder at him. “What was I wrong about?”
“You do not know when you're beaten, R'shiel.”
PART 4
DESTINY
CHAPTER 47
Damin's coronation as High Prince was a subdued affair, for which he was grateful. He had no wish to indulge in the orgy of excess that normally accompanied such an event. Greenharbour was still getting over the siege and the battle that had raged through the city streets. There were thousands of homeless and some foods were still being rationed. It would have been asking for trouble if he had sanctioned such indiscriminate waste. Adrina had agreed with him, although Marla had been rather put out. She had spent her life imagining the day when her son would finally be crowned High Prince and was rather annoyed that her grandiose dreams were to be so easily dismissed.
Kalan had placed the crown on Damin's head with a wink that only he could see, then placed the High Princess' crown on Adrina's dark hair with only the faintest hint of reluctance. There had not been a High Princess in Hythria for more than fifty years and the last one had been a small, timid girl who had struggled through two pregnancies and then finally given up on life when she delivered a healthy girl. She had not lived long enough to learn that the baby had been named Marla. In fact, since the death of one of her twin boys she had delivered the year before, she had not paid much attention to anything. Damin glanced at Marla and wondered what she was thinking as her mother's crown was placed on his Fardohnyan wife's head. Her expression was unreadable.
Following the coronation, they retired to the banquet hall for a moderately extravagant feast, at which all the Warlords of Hythria lined up to pay their respects and renew their allegiance to the House of Wolfblade.
The four Warlords who had supported him during the civil war approached the high table one by one, and repeated their oaths without hesitation. Tejay Lionsclaw was jovial, Rogan Bearbow grave and respectful. Narvell could barely contain his glee. Only Toren Foxtalon appeared a little wary, no doubt still thanking the gods that he had changed sides before it was too late.