She turned her attention to the Warlord then and tried to study him without being obvious. He was a typical Hythrun: tall, blond and well muscled from hours spent in the saddle. But that was the limit of her favourable impressions. He had the distinctive Wolfblade profile and an air about him that reeked of arrogance.
He looked up finally and frowned. He apparently had as low an opinion of her, as she had of him. “Your Highness.”
“My Lord.”
He put down his quill and stood up. “I’m sorry. Is it raining? Please, give me that cloak. You must be freezing.”
Is it raining? She could barely hear herself think over the downpour pounding on the taut, oiled canopy. She shed the cloak, dropping it on the floor behind her, hoping it ruined his damned carpet, and stepped closer to the brazier. Adrina found herself looking up at him. That was disconcerting. She had been able to look Cratyn in the eye.
“Don’t take me for a fool, my Lord. You probably waited until it was pouring before you sent for me! You might find such mindless games amusing, but I merely find them a sign of your inability to grasp the finer points of courtesy regarding the treatment of prisoners of rank.”
Damin looked her up and down, making her very aware of the flimsy, sodden outfit, then shrugged. “I suppose it won’t serve my purpose if you catch pneumonia and die.” He pushed back the tapestry dividing the tent and pulled a woollen shirt and trousers from a trunk. “Get out of that ridiculous costume. It ill suits a woman of your rank, in any case. You can get changed in there.”
Adrina snatched the clothes from him and walked behind the tapestry. She peeled off her wet skirts, deliberately dropping them on the centre of the bed before emerging into the main part of the tent. Her shivering stopped once she was wrapped in the warm shirt, and although it was clean, the faint smell of him lingered on it. The golden collar was icy around her throat.
“Please, sit down.”
Adrina did as he suggested, taking the cushion closest to the fire. Steam rose off her hair as the brazier warmed her. Damin offered her a cup of mulled wine, which she stared at warily.
“It’s not poisoned. We’ve already established that it won’t serve my cause for you to die.”
She took the cup and sipped the wine, the welcome warmth flooding through her. “Your gallantry is overwhelming, sir.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Adrina. I’m being practical, not gallant.”
“You will address me in a manner befitting my station, my Lord. I did not give you leave to address me so informally.”
Damin lowered himself onto the cushions opposite with surprising grace for one so tall. “I’ll address you any way I please, madam. You’ll find few in this camp who care about your station. Your only value at present is your worth as a hostage. That requires that I keep you alive. It does not require me to bow and scrape and cater to your every idiotic whim.”
“In Fardohnya, good manners are not considered an ‘idiotic whim’,” she pointed out frostily.
“I’ll bear that in mind when I next visit Fardohnya. In the meantime, I suggest your curb your tendency to think every person you meet is beneath you. The Medalonians have little patience with nobility. They judge people by their actions, not an accident of birth.”
“Ah! And that’s what you’re doing here, I suppose? You so impressed these atheist peasants with your heroic actions that they could not wait to welcome you into the fold?”
“What I’m doing here is not the issue. The question is, what are you doing here, your Highness.”
“I was going home.”
“You were betraying the Kariens?”
“Don’t be absurd. It is simply that... there are a number of conditions of the Karien-Fardohnyan Treaty that have not been met to my satisfaction.”
“Call it what you like, your Highness, I imagine Cratyn will consider it treason.” Damin drank his wine thoughtfully. “That’s what they call this place you know – Treason Keep. Rather appropriate, don’t you think?”
Nice, Adrina reminded herself. I have to be nice. He’ll send me back to Karien in a heartbeat unless I can convince him to protect me.
“I... I cannot return to Karien, my Lord.” She lowered her eyes as she spoke and made sure she added a touching catch to her voice.
“Why not?”
“My life there was intolerable.”
“So you fled to Medalon dressed as a court’esa, accompanied by nothing more than a slave and a child?”
“I just wanted to escape. I didn’t really stop to think.” Now that was the truest thing she’d ever said. If she’d stopped to think, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.
He obviously didn’t believe a word she said. “There are those who think this alliance is merely a ruse, that your father is simply aiding the Kariens so he can cross into Medalon and then turn south into Hythria.”
“Well, if he is, it’s news to me.” Adrina sipped her wine to hide her alarm. Was Hablet’s treacherous nature so famous that a Hythrun could read him so easily? She composed her features before continuing. “The Defenders don’t have the troops to fight a war on two fronts. If you release me immediately, when I reach Talabar, I will speak to my father. I should be able to stay his hand.”
“Perhaps,” Damin said doubtfully.
Adrina wasn’t sure what else she could do to convince him. “I’ve no love for Karien, my Lord. I just want to go home.”
“Does Cratyn know you were planning to leave him?”
“No. After I discovered what had happened to my troops I made some rather foolish threats. It was then that I decided I should leave.”
“Are you with child?”
“Of course not! What a stupid question!”
“Oh? If you were with child, and Cratyn has his eye on your father’s throne, you might simply be taking the shortest route home, to ensure the child is born on Fardohnyan soil.”
Damn him! Where had he gotten that idea? How could some ill-bred warlord from a thousand leagues away see things so clearly?
“Cratyn had some... difficulty... in fulfilling his conjugal duties.”
To her surprise, he laughed with genuine humour. “Poor Cratyn. An inexperienced Karien princeling is no match for a court’esa-trained Fardohnyan princess.”
“No match at all, I fear.”
For a fraction of a second, they were not enemies, but conspirators, sharing laughter at the expense of a hated adversary. The moment lasted just long enough for an uncomfortable silence to descend between them.
“I don’t trust you, Adrina. You’re trying to play both ends against the middle. You claim to be running home, yet a week ago you were standing at Cratyn’s side, throwing your troops into battle for him. You are allied in marriage with Karien on one hand, while offering to hold back your father’s troops with the other. You expect me to believe Cratyn doesn’t know where you are. I know he’s inexperienced, but nobody is that stupid. Your story is so full of holes I could use it as a fishing net.”
“Perhaps the intricacies of politics are beyond you, my Lord,” she suggested with saccharine sweetness, forcibly hiding her annoyance. Her tale had sounded quite reasonable when she’d tried it out on Tamylan. She never expected a Hythrun to have even a basic grasp of politics.
“I understand you better than you think. You’re Hablet’s daughter. Treachery has been bred into you.”
“Don’t make the mistake of judging me by my father.”
“I’m not likely to. I have a feeling you are far more dangerous.”