“You won’t get away with this, Loclon. You can’t make people believe you’re the First Sister.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, demon child. I am the First Sister.”
“Where’s Mahina?”
“The usurper? Safely under lock and key. She’ll be tried and hanged for treason, along with the Lord Defender and Tarja, when I get my hands on them. I may even keep you alive long enough to watch them swing.”
“You’ve no say over what happens to me, you deluded fool. You’re a Karien puppet. You’re dancing to their tune.”
“Only while it suits me.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” she warned. “They’ll only keep you alive long enough to do what they want. And you won’t be able to deny them. Where’s your own body, Loclon? Somewhere safe? Being tended by Karien priests? Did they promise to watch over you while your mind inhabits Joyhinia’s body? How long do you think you’ll last if they slit your unresisting throat?” R’shiel had no idea if her prediction was accurate, but Loclon didn’t know that.
Joyhinia’s face paled a little, small satisfaction though it was. It was obvious the Kariens had not explained much about the mechanics of transferring his mind into Joyhinia’s body. That could work in her favour. Loclon was many things, but first and foremost, he was a coward.
“You console yourself anyway you want, R’shiel,” the First Sister retorted. “Just remember, I’m the one in control now.”
R’shiel had to keep reminding herself that this was Loclon, not Joyhinia, and that she needed to deal with him, not her. “You’re not in control of anything, Loclon, least of all me. I don’t care whose face you wear, you’re still nothing but a craven, petty, insignificant, little man. The only difference is that now you’re wearing a skirt.”
Loclon took a step toward her, reacting as he always did to her taunts. R’shiel tentatively reached inside herself and tried to touch her power, but even that delicate probe caused the collar to burn. She understood why the Duke had untied her, why Loclon did not fear her. They had cut her off from the source of the Harshini magic.
“I intend to make you suffer until you beg for mercy!” Joyhinia’s voice hissed, but it was Loclon’s vengeful mind that supplied the words.
“You’ll be doing nothing of the sort,” the Duke of Setenton corrected.
Joyhinia spun around in annoyance to find the Karien standing by the open door wearing a look of intense displeasure.
“R’shiel is a wanted criminal, my Lord. She belongs to Medalon.”
“She belongs to the Overlord, Captain, and if I see any evidence that you intend to interfere with the Overlord’s wishes, you may find the penalty life-threatening. Your usefulness is limited. There are other, more cooperative minds who could serve our needs just as easily.”
Loclon’s eyes burned with anger in Joyhinia’s face. She strode from the room, pushing past Setenton. The duke watched her leave and then turned to R’shiel.
“You will be confined here until we leave. There are a number of things that need to be taken care of first. But we should be able to leave in a few days. If all goes well, we should be in Karien by the end of the month.”
“Then you plan to travel overland? A bit risky, don’t you think, in the middle of a war?”
Lord Setenton smiled coldly. “War? What war? Of course, you left the Gathering early, didn’t you? Your nation is no longer at war with Karien, my dear. The First Sister has already dispatched the order to your forces on the border. Medalon has surrendered.”
Chapter 48
“Surrender?” Damin leapt forward and snatched the note from Tarja’s hand. “The hell we will! This is a trick!”
Tarja looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept for days. “The note carries the correct authentication seal from the Citadel. It’s genuine.”
“Who sent it?”
“The First Sister,” Jenga told him grimly.
“But which First Sister?”
“Mahina would not betray us,” the Lord Defender objected.
“Well, somebody did! Probably your precious Garet Warner. I told you he wasn’t to be trusted.”
Tarja sagged against the edge of the long table near the hearth. “You’re both missing the point here. This message means that R’shiel failed. Their demon meld didn’t work.”
Damin glanced at the Medalonian captain sympathetically. “I’m sure she’s fine, Tarja. Perhaps they didn’t arrive in time.”
“If they hadn’t arrived in time, then things would have simply gone on as they have for months. Something went wrong.” He stood up and squared his shoulders determinedly. “I’m going to the Citadel.”
“No you’re not, Captain. I need you here.”
“R’shiel needs me.”
“There is nothing you can do for her, Tarja,” Jenga reminded him with cold practicality. “It would take you weeks to reach the Citadel and for all you know she’s already dead.”
Tarja’s eyes blazed defiantly, but he could not deny Jenga’s logic. “That’s it then? We just roll over and die? Shall we send an emissary to the Kariens with our surrender, or were you planning to do the honours yourself, my Lord?”
“I don’t think we should do anything just yet,” Damin advised. “Who else knows about this?”
“Just the three of us at present.”
“Then let’s keep it that way for a little bit longer. I want to have a word with Her Serene Highness, first.”
“What can she tell you that we don’t already know?” Jenga asked. He did not baulk at holding off carrying out his orders, Damin noticed with relief.
“I’m not sure. I just have a funny feeling about this. I’ll tell you after I’ve spoken with her. Can you have her brought to my tent?”
“She’s right up those stairs, Damin,” Tarja pointed out. “Why not just go up and ask her now?”
“I want this discussion to take place on my territory, not hers.”
It was a measure of his distress that Tarja didn’t even smile.
An hour or so later, two Defenders arrived in the Hythrun camp escorting Adrina. Damin had spent the intervening time mentally rehearsing what he was going to say.
He had not quite recovered from their last encounter. Adrina had caught him unawares, and that irked him no end. What really annoyed him was that he had been expecting her to try something like that ever since he first laid eyes on her and had steeled himself against it. He knew her background too well. Knew that if she couldn’t get her own way by demanding it, she would eventually resort to using her body. But she took him by surprise and he’d reacted exactly as she’d wanted him to. His only comfort was that she seemed to have been as unnerved by the incident as he was.
When she arrived, Adrina was dressed for warmth, rather than effect, wrapped in the woollen shirt he had given her and a warm Defender’s cloak. Her skin was flushed from the walk, her dark hair piled loosely on top of her head. Gods, she was stunning. He wondered why he’d never noticed how green her eyes were. Dark lashes almost too long to be real framed eyes the colour of cut emeralds. Damin mentally berated himself for a fool as she shook off the cloak and stepped up to the brazier to warm her outstretched hands.
“You wanted to see me, my Lord?”
“I thought we might continue our discussion from the other night.”
“Which one?” she asked calmly. “The one about Cratyn’s intentions, or the one about us?”
“There is no us, your Highness, so I guess that leaves Cratyn.”