It wasn’t that Hablet didn’t love his baseborn sons. On the contrary, he adored them. But naming one his heir would cause problems. The throne needed a clear line of succession, and the law was clear, although not well known: either he sired a son himself, or the crown would go to Hythria, thanks to an almost forgotten twelve hundred-year-old agreement that Hablet had been trying to find a way around for thirty years. As he would rather fall on a rusty blade than see that happen, the only solution, if he did not have a legitimate son of his own, was to name one of his bastards heir. But he could not do that until he had removed the threat of any Hythrun heirs to his throne, a situation he planned to see to personally once he was across the border into Hythria. Then, if Laryssa failed to whelp a boy, he could legitimise one of his baseborn sons, probably Tristan, and not just because he was the eldest. Tristan was the brightest, the most personable, and the least likely to allow Adrina to control him. Although, given last night’s disastrous escapade, Hablet was beginning to wonder about that. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to send him north with Adrina...
Hablet sighed. It was a moot point. Laryssa would give him a son. Adrina would be off his hands, out of sight and out of mind in Karien. Let her play Queen of the Realm in the north. He had their timber, their gold and their iron. In return they were getting his most troublesome daughter and a promise he had no intention of keeping.
All in all, Hablet decided, looking down at the pile of debts Adrina had accumulated last night, it was a good bargain.
“So how are our Karien guests this morning?” he asked, pushing the pile to one side of the gilded desk. “Have they calmed down?”
“The prince was somewhat mollified by your generous offer.”
“So he damned well should be!”
“I noted,” Lecter continued, mopping his brow, “that the Kariens showed an unnatural interest in your offer to send a regiment with Adrina as her personal guard.”
“I trust Adrina to keep them out of harm’s way. She was right about one thing. I’d never have risked sending them with Cassandra.”
“If I may be so bold as to offer my opinion, your Majesty, one wonders if it is a good idea to send any troops north at all.”
“What do you mean? If I don’t send her to Karien in a manner befitting her station, they’ll know something is going on.”
“I agree, your Majesty, but I have received more than one report that the Harshini have returned. There have been sightings in Greenharbour, at the Sorcerer’s Collective, and even as far away as Testra, in Medalon.”
“So? What has that got to do with us?”
“The Kariens are dedicated to the destruction of the Harshini, your Majesty. Marrying your daughter to their Crown Prince, and sending her north with your soldiers might be... misconstrued.”
“You mean I might offend the Harshini?” Hablet scratched his beard as he sank down into his chair. “If the Harshini have returned, Lecter, and I seriously doubt they have, then why are they not here? I am the King of Fardohnya! If they were back the first thing they would do is send an Emissary to my court. Instead, all you can offer me are unfounded rumours about Harshini in Hythria. I have served the gods faithfully. Why would they send their people to that degenerate in Greenharbour, when they could come here?”
“High Prince Lernen has always supported the Sorcerer’s Collective and the temples most generously.”
“Lernen doesn’t support anyone but himself,” Hablet scoffed. “If the Harshini had returned, I would know about it. They are dead and gone, Lecter, so we will just have to stumble on without them as we have done for the past two hundred years.”
“Of course, your Majesty.”
Lecter mopped his brow again, looking rather uncomfortable. On days like this he annoyed Hablet. His grovelling manner was intolerable at times, but he had a sharp political mind and no scruples at all, that Hablet could discern. It made him an excellent chamberlain, if a tiresome one.
“What else, Lecter? I can tell there’s something bothering you.”
“It’s a small matter, your Majesty. One that hardly needs your attention.”
“Out with it, Lecter! I don’t have time for your games this morning. Cratyn will be here at any moment.”
“There have been other rumours, Sire, particularly in Medalon. About the demon child.”
“Lorandranek’s legendary half-human child? Those rumours have been around ever since the Harshini disappeared. Surely you don’t believe them?”
“I don’t believe anything, your Majesty, until I have proof. However, I feel they might be worthy of investigation. I could send...”
“No,” Hablet declared bluntly. “I’ll not have you wasting time and money chasing fairytales. The Harshini are extinct and there is no fabled demon child. I would much rather you spent your time fruitfully. Like finding out why the High Prince of Hythria sent his nephew to Medalon to fight with the Defenders.”
“My sources tell me Lernen has little or no control over his nephew. I doubt he sent him anywhere.”
“Then find out why young Wolfblade went north. I want a free path into Hythria, Lecter. I don’t want a battalion of Defenders on my back, and Wolfblade needs to die.”
“The Kariens will keep the Defenders off your back, Sire, and I am sure they can be prevailed upon to dispose of the Hythrun Prince. Why else would we support their coming war with Medalon?”
“I hope you’re right, Lecter, because I’ll be very put out if this doesn’t work.”
Before Lecter could offer another obsequious reply, the doors opened and the Karien Prince strode in, accompanied by his retinue. Hablet greeted them expansively and ordered the guards to bring chairs for the new arrivals.
Lecter bowed low, mopped his brow and backed out of the room, leaving the King to his guests.
Chapter 4
Everyone’s eyes were on Adrina as she strode down the long hall. As if to mock her, at the end of the hall, the princeling in question was heading toward her, with his gaggle of priests in tow.
Except for the ball held in his honour the day of his arrival a week ago, Adrina had not seen the young Prince, and counted herself lucky. He had spent the entire ball blushing an interesting shade of pink every time he caught sight of a Fardohnyan woman’s bare midriff. As every one of the two hundred or so women present had been dressed in a similar fashion, he was damned near apoplectic by the end of the evening. For a fleeting moment, she debated doing something truly outrageous, right here in the Hall, which would ensure the Kariens would reject her as a potential bride. But she had caught the expectant look on Lecter Turon’s smug, fat face as he slipped through the door to attend the King, and thought better of it. He would keep.
She stopped and waited as the young prince approached. Tall, serious and boring did not particularly appeal to Adrina, but he was civilised enough, she supposed. He was a little taller than her, with unremarkable brown hair, and eyes the colour of dried mud. At least he knew how to chew with his mouth closed.
“Prince Cretin,” she said, offering him her hand. The older man on Cratyn’s right looked a little put out that she had greeted his prince as an equal, but Cratyn did not appear to notice. He was too busy staring at the pearl in her navel. “My father has just informed me that we are to be married.”
Cratyn dropped her hand, jerked his head up and met her eye. He looked at her black eye curiously for a moment, but made no comment about it. Instead, he nodded – rather miserably, she noted with interest.