“Very well, I’ll take him back with me,” he agreed, speaking Karien so the boy could follow the conversation. “You keep his brother here. If the boy gives me any trouble, I’ll send word. You can send back a finger from his brother’s hand each time you hear from me. When we run out of fingers, start on his toes. Perhaps the prospect of seeing his brother dismembered bit by bit will teach him a little self-control. It’s obviously not a virtue the Overlord encourages.”
The boy’s blood-streaked face paled, tears of fear and horror welling up in his eyes. “You are a vicious, evil, barbarian bastard!” he cried.
“A fact you would do well to remember, boy,” Tarja warned. He dare not look at Almodavar. The Hythrun captain made a noise that sounded like a cough, but which Tarja suspected was a futile attempt to stifle a laugh. “Go and fetch your belongings. If you’re not back here in five minutes, you’ll find out what your brother looks like without his left ear.”
The boy fled as Almodavar burst out laughing. “Captain, I swear you’re turning into a Hythrun.”
“What did you expect from a vicious, evil, barbarian bastard?”
“Truly,” Almodavar agreed. “You’ve had a busy day. First you take on my Raiders, and then you subdue a Karien fanatic with a few words. What’s next?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Tarja said. “You’ve no word from Lord Wolfblade?”
“None. Don’t let it concern you, Captain. He’ll be back.”
Tarja sighed, not really expecting any other answer. He’ll be back. But before or after the war is over? he wondered.
Chapter 15
Yarnarrow was a huge city, rivalling Talabar in size, although it lacked the southern capital’s grace and aesthetic beauty. Steep pitched roofs of grey slate covered the more substantial buildings; while the poorer districts were simply hovels thrown together with whatever material their pitiful inhabitants could scrounge. The vast Yarnarrow Castle loomed over the city like a shadowed hand, and was even more forbidding than the city, which had grown up around its slanted walls. Adrina longed for the flat-roofed pink stone villas of Talabar, the broad balconies, the flower-laden trellises and the heavy scent of their perfume on the still air. She missed the wide, tree-lined streets and the gaily-dressed citizens. Everything was grey here – the city, the sky, even the people. Yarnarrow was depressing and dirty, and the most pervasive odour was stale wood-smoke that hung like a pall over the city as if it were constantly wrapped in fog.
She despaired at the thought of spending her life here.
The wedding took place with almost indecent haste, the day after Adrina arrived. Vonulus had instructed her in the Karien wedding vows, and Madren had ensured that she knew exactly what was expected of her. They had barely landed in Yarnarrow when she was whisked away to her large and rather draughty apartments to prepare herself for the ceremony the following day. She was not even accorded the honour of an introduction to King Jasnoff or Queen Aringard, a slight against her that had her fuming.
Tamylan, the only slave she had been allowed to keep, helped her dress on the morning of the wedding. Her ladies-in-waiting had other duties to attend to, it seemed, which did not bother Adrina at all. She defiantly ignored the stiff, grey silk dress that Madren had informed her was her wedding gown, and dressed instead in the traditional Fardohnyan bridal outfit she had brought with her. It had been made for Cassandra originally, but they were about the same size, so Adrina had appropriated the gown from her younger sister, rather than explain why Japinel had not designed a new one. It was a little tight, and she knew it would cause a commotion, but she was still smarting over Cratyn’s obvious distaste for his Fardohnyan bride.
Among the more interesting things she had learnt during her short stay at Setenton Castle was that prior to the treaty with her father, Cratyn had previously been betrothed to Chastity, and that he had broken the engagement to marry Adrina. It accounted for Cratyn’s reluctance, and Chastity’s pitiful demeanour whenever the prince was in the room. The girl was obviously hopelessly in love with him and Adrina suspected he reciprocated the young woman’s feelings. She had every intention of making him forget the silly cow ever lived, and if anything was going to advertise her matchless beauty, it was the traditional gown of a Fardohnyan bride.
The gown was in two pieces. The bodice was made of deep blue lace, threaded with diamonds, with long narrow sleeves and a low neckline that offered a tantalising view of her ample bosom and left her midriff bare. The skirt sat snugly on her hips, the same glorious blue as the bodice, made up of layer upon layer of transparent silk that flowed like a waterfall against her legs. The skirt was belted with a layer of silver mesh. In the mesh was sheathed the small jewelled dagger that had once belonged to her mother. Centuries ago, Fardohnyan brides had carried a sword, but it was tradition, rather than necessity, that required the Bride’s Blade these days, and the blade was more ornamental than practical. It was sharp, though. She had cut her finger testing its edge after Hablet had presented it to her the day she left Talabar.
The Fardohnyan bridal jewels completed her outfit. In her navel nested a blue diamond of immeasurable value, matched by the sapphire and diamond choker that encased her long neck. She wore her hair down, and it hung past her waist in an ebony fall of silken waves, as was the tradition for all Fardohnyan brides. Over it all, she wore a shimmering blue veil that covered her head and the lower half of her face. The veil trailed ten paces behind her, floating on the slight current of air created by her passage as she took the long walk down the aisle of the vast Temple of Xaphista to the shocked gasps of the gathered Karien nobility.
As she traversed the length of the vast temple, Adrina was quite overwhelmed by the opulence of the building. Having seen the bleak, austere monastery on the Isle of Slarn, the Temple of Xaphista seemed almost garish by comparison. Tall, fluted columns of gold-flecked marble were spaced evenly down the centre of the cathedral, supporting a vaulted ceiling that led to a dome over the altar. The dome was lined with thousands of tiny mother-of-pearl tiles, which reflected the sun onto the worshippers in a spray of rainbow light.
The temple was filled to capacity with every nobleman and noblewoman in Karien who had managed to get themselves invited to the royal wedding. Adrina heard their shocked whispers. There was no sign of warmth among the gathering. No familiar faces or encouraging smiles. Tristan had not been allowed to attend, nor had any of her Guard. They waited outside, not permitted to sully the sacred temple with their pagan presence. The only familiar face she saw during her interminable walk down the aisle was Vonulus, standing with the other priests at the front of the temple, dressed in his elaborate ceremonial robes and clutching his precious staff. The priest shook his head faintly as she caught his eye, as if scolding her for her defiance.
She turned her attention back to the altar and the somewhat aghast figure of Prince Cratyn. He wore black, from head to toe, the severity of his outfit relieved only by a thin golden coronet on his head and a gold and silver pendant in the shape of the star and lightning bolt of the Overlord. His expression was as close to anger as she had ever seen it, in her limited acquaintance with him. To the Seven Hells with him, she decided. To the Seven Hells with all of them.
The ceremony was blessedly short, requiring little more from her than her agreement to obey Cratyn in all things and be a good and upstanding Defender of the Faith. Almost before she knew it, she was married. The High Priest, who had spent the entire ceremony trying not to see the considerable amount of bare flesh she was displaying, declared them man and wife and then prostrated himself on the floor of the altar. Carefully instructed by Vonulus, Adrina knew this was coming, and with Cratyn at her side, followed suit. Biting back a gasp as her bare skin touched the icy marble floor of the temple, Adrina momentarily regretted her impulse to wear her own gown. She had forgotten about this part of the ceremony. Every person present was required to prostrate themselves before their god and by the sound of the muffled grunts and groans behind them, some were finding the task easier than others.