Not surprisingly, Adrina’s first appearance at the war council caused a stir, even more than Tristan’s inclusion. Tristan was a man, after all, and a warrior, for all that he was foreign. It was not considered seemly for a woman to involve herself in such manly pursuits as war, even in the unlikely event that she would have anything constructive to offer. Adrina bore the insults stoically, letting Cratyn defend his decision to his vassals. If he was going to lead these men, he needed the practice, anyway.
The war council was made up of the eight Dukes of Karien. The loudest was a heavy-set man with a thick neck and an even thicker intellect – Laetho, the Duke of Kirkland. Adrina marked him as a dangerous fool. He had apparently lost two of his servants a few months back, having sent the children over the border to spy on the Medalonians. It was safely assumed they were both dead. Only an idiot would, quite literally, send boys out to do a man’s job.
The man next to Laetho was as tall, but only half his girth. Lord Roache, the Duke of Morrus. He said little and gave the impression that he wasn’t listening, more often than not, but when he did comment, it was obvious he had not missed a word of the discussion. Adrina regarded him with caution.
Next to Roache, she was delighted to discover Cratyn’s cousin Drendyn, the Earl of Tiler’s Pass. His father was too infirm to make the journey to the border and had sent his son in his place. Drendyn was young and enthusiastic, but dangerously inexperienced. He had never faced a man in battle, never had his life seriously threatened. Adrina thought it likely he would die, sooner rather than later, no doubt doing something exceptionally foolish, which he considered exceptionally brave. It was a pity really, because she quite liked the young Earl.
The fourth member of the council was even younger and more inexperienced than Drendyn. Jannis, the Earl of Menthall, was also here in the place of his father, although Tam had heard it rumoured that the reason the old Duke was absent had something to do with the “wages of sin”. Adrina wondered if it meant he’d caught the pox, but it was hardly a question she could put to any of her Karien companions, and the reason hardly mattered anyway. Dark and slender, Jannis was barely more than a child and agreed with everyone, even when they disagreed with each other.
On the other side of the long trestle table set up in the large command tent was Palen, the Duke of Lake Isony. He was a lot smarter than he looked. He had the ruddy face of a peasant and the mind of a general, Adrina decided. If Cratyn listened to his advice, he might even win this war. On Palen’s right sat Ervin, the Duke of Windhaven. His purpose seemed entirely decorative. He was dressed in blue velvet with snowy lace collar and cuffs, and spent more time fiddling with his moustaches than he did taking part in the conversation. When he did speak up it was usually on a point that had been passed over ten minutes before.
Next to Ervin was a stout, middle-aged man with a patch over one eye. The Duke of Nerlin, Wherland had the unfortunate nickname of Whirlin’ Nerlin, but he was an experienced fighter, having spent time in the gulf fighting Fardohnyan pirates. His advice was always preceded with the comment, “When I was in the navy...”. But he wasn’t a fool, and when he finally figured out how to fight on dry land, he would be a dangerous opponent.
The last of the Dukes should have been Chastity’s father Terbolt, the Duke of Setenton; however, he had sent his brother, Lord Ciril, in his place. A heavier version of his older brother, Ciril did not look surprised at her inclusion. He had already suffered through her unwelcome presence when she visited his brother’s castle on the way to Yarnarrow. Adrina wondered why Terbolt had stayed at home, hoping there was nothing sinister in his unexplained absence. As for Ciril, she marked him as a stolid, if unimaginative knight, who would advise caution, but would see any battle plan through to the bitter end.
She said nothing during the first meeting of the council and had, via Tamylan, advised Tristan to do the same. If they asked him a direct question, she translated it for him and then dutifully repeated his answers to the Dukes. To his credit, Tristan gave no sign that he understood a word of the discussion going on around him, even when the Kariens suggested things that, under normal circumstances, would have made him laugh out loud. By the time the meeting broke up, nothing had been decided, and there were eight dukes with eight different ideas as to how the battle should be engaged, well, seven in reality – Jannis agreed with everyone – and one very confused young prince.
When the tent finally emptied, leaving Cratyn and Adrina alone, she turned to him with a hopeful smile.
“It is the right time in my cycle, your Highness. Can I expect you tonight?”
“I’ll see. I have a lot to do.”
“Of course, however, it’s been several months now and we still haven’t consummated our union. Perhaps here, on the battlefield, you might find the... fortitude... to get the job done.”
Cratyn glared at her, his expression a mixture of hatred and despair. “Don’t push me, Adrina.”
“Push you, husband? I doubt pushing you would achieve any more than pulling your limp sword has so far.”
“You taunt me at your peril, Adrina.”
She laughed. “Peril? What peril? What are you going to do, Cretin? Hit me again?”
“I’m warning you...”
“Does your sword get hard when you think of Chastity, my dear?”
Cratyn flew out his chair and turned to face her. He was red faced with shame and shaking with fury. “Don’t you even mention her name, you pagan whore! I’m not fooled by this act you are putting on! If I cannot lay with you, it is because the Overlord does not wish me to sully myself in your filth!”
Adrina took a step backwards, her hand on Tiler’s collar. The dog took exception to Cratyn’s tone and he was growling softly, warningly.
“Perhaps you’re right, Cretin. Perhaps you are cast in the image of your god. He’s undoubtedly an emasculated idiot, too.”
Cratyn snatched up a map from the table and made a show of studying it. His hands were shaking with suppressed rage. “Return to your tent, Adrina, and take that damned beast with you. I will come to you when the Overlord assures me the time is right, not to satisfy your crude heathen lust.”
“Lust? Now there’s a word I never thought to associate with you. Are you sure you know what it means?”
“Get out.”
“Get out, your Highness,” she corrected.
He slammed the map onto the table. “Get out! Go back to your tent and stay there! I will not tolerate your pagan disrespect a moment longer!”
His shout had Tiler lunging against her hold. He bared his teeth at the prince defiantly.
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me, you impotent fool! I am a Princess of Fardohnya!”
“You are a heathen slut,” he cried angrily.
She could not hold Tiler any longer. He slipped her hold and lunged for the prince. Cratyn threw his hand up to protect his face as the dog flew at him. His cry brought the guards running from outside the tent.
It almost happened too quickly for Adrina to see. Tiler had Cratyn pinned against the table. The guards saw nothing but their prince under attack. Adrina saw the blade in the hand of the guard and screamed as she realised what they intended. She threw herself at the dog, but the guards were quicker. Tiler squealed with agony as the guard ran him through.