“Your Highness?” Mikel ventured, holding out her cloak. She took it from him and swept it over her shoulders.
“See to it that Tam gets some hot tea, Mikel. She was very fond of the captain.”
At the sound of her name, Tam looked up. She wiped her eyes and looked at Adrina suspiciously. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere you need to concern yourself with.”
“Adrina!”
Tam’s anxious cry followed her as she strode through the camp to the command tent. Her grief was so overwhelming that she could not breathe, could not think. She pushed her way into the tent, ignoring the startled looks of Lord Roache and Lord Palen. The ice shattered as her rage flared. She marched straight up to Cratyn, pulled him out of his chair and delivered a stinging backhanded slap across his face.
“You unbelievable, despicable bastard!” she screamed as he picked himself up from the table, gingerly fingering a small trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “What did you do to my Guard? What evil-spawned spell did your perverted priests cast on my men? You knew what would happen to them! You and your pathetic, craven knights sat back and waited in their damned tin suits while my brother and his men were slaughtered like cattle!”
Cratyn barely managed not to cower under her rage. He glanced at the two shocked dukes, taking a step back from her before he spoke.
“The princess is distraught at the news of her captain’s death,” he explained warily.
Adrina’s anger turned white hot. “I’m distraught? You disgusting, impotent, little moron, don’t you realise what you’ve done?”
“In war, hard decisions are necessary, your Highness,” Lord Roache said. “When you’ve had time to consider...”
“Forget your stupid war! You’ve killed one of Hablet’s sons! He was planning to legitimise his eldest baseborn son and name him heir. You just murdered the heir to the Fardohnyan throne!”
Oddly, her news seemed to strengthen, rather than frighten Cratyn. “Then it is as the Overlord wills. The heir to the Fardohnyan throne will be of Karien blood. A true believer.”
“Heir! What heir? That limp dick of yours hasn’t got the lead to produce an heir, has it, Cretin? Is that why you want to go to war so badly? Because a banner is the only thing you’re capable of raising?”
They must have heard the rumours, but both Roache and Palen looked startled by the news. Cratyn, she was viciously pleased to note, was mortified that she had exposed his impotence so brutally. She would have severed his useless organ and marched through the camp with it mounted on a pike at that moment, had someone given her a knife.
“Your Highness! This is not an appropriate place to discuss...”
“Your precious prince’s manhood? Or rather, his lack of it. Don’t worry, Lord Palen, the prince’s impotence is no longer an issue because I am going home to Fardohnya, where I plan to inform my father that his son was murdered by a boy prince who defied every law the gods hold sacred by coercing his men in battle. You can forget this damned alliance. There will be no aid, no cannon, no invasion of southern Medalon. You’ll be lucky if Hablet doesn’t invade Karien!”
“Attempting to return to Fardohnya would be extremely foolish, your Highness,” Roache told her, his voice dangerous.
“Don’t you dare think you can threaten me, Lord Roache,” she warned. “I will do as I please. I will escort my brother’s body home where he will be laid to rest on Fardohnyan soil and my father can mourn his loss.”
“Guards!” Roache called. Cratyn looked afraid to take his eyes from her. She could not tell if her threats scared him. Did not care.
“Escort her Highness to her tent,” the Duke ordered as soon as the guards appeared. “She is beside herself with grief and not aware of what she is saying. She is not to leave her quarters unless Prince Cratyn or I expressly order it. Is that clear?”
The guard saluted smartly and waited for Adrina. A small worm of sanity tunnelled through her grief reminding her of where she was. It was only then that she realised the enormity of her error. Roache was a very dangerous man. She had forgotten that in her anger.
“Have a care, your Highness,” he advised. “It would be most unfortunate if we had to advise your father that he had lost a daughter, as well as a son.”
Chapter 29
As she was escorted back to her tent, Adrina cursed her temper. With a few careless words she had destroyed months of hard work convincing the Kariens she had converted to their cause. Roache’s threat was very real. Would they tell her father she had died of grief for her lost brother? Killed herself in despair? Blame a disease caught in the camp?
Whatever the reason, Adrina knew she had to leave this place, and the only hope of escape was across the border into Medalon and the waiting army of Defenders.
Adrina stopped before she entered her tent and took a deep breath. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself down and sob uncontrollably for the loss of her brother. The tragedy of his death staggered her. That such a bright light could be extinguished so easily for the sake of Karien ambition was more than she could bear. But there would be time to grieve for Tristan later. Now was a time for clear thinking. She took another deep breath and entered the tent, a plan half-formulated over the last few weeks slowly taking on a firmer shape in her mind.
Tam and Mikel both leapt to their feet as she stepped inside. Tam’s eyes were red and swollen. Mikel looked very uncomfortable. He did not know how to deal with grieving grown-ups. For a moment, Adrina wondered if he knew how lucky he was that his brother was still a prisoner with the Hythrun. He would not grieve tonight as she would.
“Your Highness?” he said expectantly.
Adrina looked over her shoulder rather dramatically and waved the two of them closer. “I have just met with Prince Cratyn,” she said in a low, conspiratorial voice. “I have grave news.”
“About the battle?”
“Worse! There is a spy in the camp.”
Tam looked at Adrina suspiciously, but Mikel’s young face was a portrait of shock.
“A spy!”
“Sshh!” Adrina urged. “No one must know!” She moved further into the tent, to ensure they were out of hearing of the guards outside. “It is the reason for the massacre today. The Medalonians knew we were coming!” As she watched Mikel lap up every word she uttered, she had time to think that the Medalonians would need to be blind, deaf and completely witless not to notice an army the size of the Karien advancing on them. “Prince Cratyn needs my help. Our help.”
Mikel straightened his shoulders manfully. “What does he want us to do, your Highness?”
She glanced up at Tam, who was looking at her doubtfully. There would be time to explain things later. “I have to deliver a message to my father, the King of Fardohnya. Prince Cratyn needs my father’s cannon to help him defeat the Medalonians.”
Mikel took her at her word. “But how?”
“We must go to Fardohnya,” she explained in a whisper. “We must leave tonight, while both sides are still in confusion after the battle. We will cross into Medalon and make for the Glass River. We should be able to secure a Fardohnyan trader to see us safely back to Talabar from there.”
“Shall I tell the guards to fetch your horse, your Highness?”
“No! Nobody must know about this, Mikel. As I said, there is a spy in the camp. If they learn of this mission, our lives would be in danger!”