Adrina met the priest’s gaze evenly. “Can’t your religion stand a bit of scrutiny, Vonulus? You wish me to believe in your god, yet you resent me questioning anything I do not understand. My gods may be numerous, but at least they have a sense of humour.”
“Your Highness, a sense of humour will be of little help to you, should you be out of grace when you die. The Primal gods you worship are nothing more than natural events to which the unenlightened have attached divinity. You should be thankful that by marrying Prince Cratyn, you have an opportunity to embrace the one true god.”
Adrina smiled apologetically, realising that she had pushed the priest far enough for one day. It did not particularly matter to her that they expected her to worship their god. She wasn’t a fool and had every intention of acting as if she had converted. But her own beliefs ran too deep to be overturned by a priest, no matter how clever or articulate.
“I appreciate your advice, sir,” she demurred. “I hope the Overlord will forgive my pagan ignorance.”
Vonulus looked a little suspicious, but he nodded. “The Overlord can see into your heart, your Highness. He will judge you accordingly.”
“Well, I don’t have anything to worry about then, do I?” she asked brightly.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Vonulus agreed warily.
Two days later, they docked at Setenton, the first real city Adrina had seen since coming to Karien. The city boasted a sizeable wharf district and an impressive market, but it was as dirty and crowded as every other town she had sailed past these last few weeks. A bleak, thick-walled castle, built on a rise that gave it a commanding view of the river and the surrounding countryside, dominated the walled city. This was the home of Lord Terbolt, the Duke of Setenton, and coincidentally, Chastity’s father – so Lady Hope informed her. As they waited for the ship to dock, Adrina glanced at the young woman, but she showed no obvious pleasure to be home. Rather, she kept surreptitiously glancing at Cratyn, as if trying to catch his eye. To his credit, the young prince studiously ignored her.
The sight that greeted them as they docked brought a smile to Adrina’s lips. A full guard of honour awaited them – her own Guard, Fardohnyan one and all, in full ceremonial uniform.
Her father held to the notion that vast wealth was only fun when you got to flaunt it, and he had spared no expense equipping her Guard. Five hundred strong, every man was mounted on a sleek black steed stamped with the unmistakable breeding of the Jalanar Plains. The soldiers were dressed in silver and white, from their ornate silver helms and short white capes, trimmed with rare Medalonian snowfox fur, to their white, silver-trimmed, knee-high boots.
According to Fardohnyan legend, the custom of the royal guard wearing white had come about almost a thousand years ago, when King Waldon the Peaceful seized the throne from his cousin Blagdon the Butcher. His Guard wore white so that the people would know there was no innocent blood on the hands of his soldiers. Whatever the reason, the ceremonial uniforms were gorgeous, and Tristan wore his with the confidence of one born to show-off. He really was much too good-looking for his own good, Adrina decided. She had worried that Cassandra might cause trouble in Karien. It occurred to her that Tristan was just as likely to get into mischief. All that repressed emotion at court, mixed with her brother, was a recipe for disaster.
Impressed by the sight of her Guard, Cratyn offered her his hand as they walked down the treacherous gangplank, followed by their retinue. Tristan met them at the bottom and bowed ostentatiously.
“Your Serene Highness, your Royal Highness, the Fardohnyan Princess’s Guard awaits the honour of escorting you to Setenton Castle,” he announced, rather dramatically, in Fardohnyan. “Which, I might add, is as draughty and flea ridden as every other building in this godforsaken country and I would very much like to go home,” he added, without changing his smile or tone.
Adrina turned to Cratyn. “My brother welcomes us, and pledges his life to see us safely to the castle,” she translated calmly, grateful that Vonulus was still back on the ship. Tristan really should learn to be more careful.
Cratyn frowned. “Your brother?”
“Half-brother,” she amended. “Tristan is one of my father’s bastards.”
A shocked gasp escaped Pacifica’s lips at Adrina’s casual remark, a fact that was not lost on Tristan, who was not supposed to understand Karien. He bit back a grin as Cratyn, predictably, blushed crimson.
“Ah, please tell your... captain... that we are honoured,” Cratyn stammered. “Although I hardly think the ride from here to the castle will be life threatening.”
“His Highness appears to be having some difficulty coping with your baseborn status,” she translated.
“His Highness looks like he’s about to burst something. I’ll bet you can’t wait for the wedding. Shall we?” He offered Adrina his arm, which she accepted gracefully, with a smile over her shoulder for her fiancé.
They rode in an open carriage up the steep, cobbled streets of Setenton toward the castle. Crowds lined the route to catch a glimpse of the foreigner who would one day be their queen. Adrina smiled and waved. She was born to this, and the Kariens seemed to appreciate her acknowledgment of them. At least the townsfolk did.
After a while, Lady Madren leaned over with a frown. “You must not encourage them, your Highness.”
“Encourage them, my Lady? These are to be my people, are they not? I want them to like me.”
“It doesn’t matter that they like you, your Highness,” Madren said. “Only that they respect and obey you.”
“In Fardohnya we have a saying, my Lady: ‘A king who has the love of his people is harder to kill than one who has their enmity’. Being pleasant costs nothing.”
“It is unseemly, your Highness,” Madren insisted.
“And what of you, Prince Cretin? Don’t you care that the people love you?”
“The people love the Overlord, your Highness. It is His blessing that gives my family the right to rule. What they feel for me is irrelevant.”
“Well, you trust in the Overlord,” she told him. “I’ll just keep smiling and waving. I’m not actually a member of your divinely sanctioned family yet.”
Adrina turned back to the peasants, ignoring Madren’s frown and Cratyn’s despairing look. Tristan glanced back over his shoulder from his position at the head of the Guard and she rolled her eyes at him. He laughed and spurred his horse forward. Adrina had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.
Fardohnya was a nation ruled by a single line of monarchs for a millennium. A thousand years of Fardohnyan kings governed on the principal that a nation that prospered was a nation relatively free of internal unrest. It had proved a sound theory and consequently, little Fardohnyan architecture was designed with defence in mind. Aesthetics was the overriding concern. Besides, if one was wealthy enough, one could hire the best architects to construct fortifications that didn’t constantly remind one of their true purpose.
The Kariens did not subscribe to the Fardohnyan notion of beauty first, usefulness second. Setenton Castle was a fortress and pretended to be nothing else. The walls were thirty paces high and thicker than two men lying end to end, and the courtyard bustled with the panoply of war. Looking around her as she alighted from the carriage in a courtyard crowded with men, horses and the ringing of smiths’ hammers, she wondered if the Medalonian Defenders were as good as their reputation held them to be. She privately hoped they were. Karien was much larger than Medalon, and could overrun the smaller country through sheer weight of numbers, if nothing else.
Hablet needed a drawn-out conflict on the northern border of Medalon. He could not go over the Sunrise Mountains into Hythria with an invasion force, but once on the open plains of Medalon, he could turn south with ease. Of course, the Kariens thought he was planning to attack Medalon to aid their cause. It would not be until they discovered his true destination that his treachery would be revealed. Adrina was not in favour of the plan, mostly because she would be the focus for the Karien’s fury when they realised they had been duped. Her father had advised her to plan an escape route when the news came. He had seemed singularly unconcerned that his plan might cost Adrina her head.