She did not have to wait long. Less than an hour after Mhergon had fled her chambers, Lecter Turon arrived. Adrina, draped over the chaise in her morning room, graciously granted him an audience.
“Where is Japinel?”
“He is unavailable, your Highness. Your father, his Majesty the King —”
“I know who my father is, Turon. Get to the point.”
“Mhergon is eminently qualified as a master tailor, your Highness.”
“Mhergon couldn’t make a sack out of homespun,” Adrina scoffed. “My father said the tailor of my choice. I want Japinel.”
“Japinel dabbles, your Highness, in tailoring as he does in everything else. The last I heard he was calling himself an alchemist. I cannot see why —”
“You don’t have to, Turon. Get me Japinel or I will come to dinner tonight naked. We’ll see what his Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Karien thinks of that!”
Lecter Turon waddled off in a foul mood, but Adrina knew she had won. Just on sunset a very pale and confused-looking Japinel was ushered into her chambers. He seemed stunned that the Princess Adrina had even heard of him, let alone wanted him to design her trousseau. Adrina ordered her slaves out and waited until they were alone, before she allowed him to speak.
“Your Serene Highness!” Japinel cried as he prostrated himself at her feet.
“Oh, do get up! I don’t have time for that!”
Japinel was a weedy little man with eyes set too close together. He scrambled to his feet, managing to bow at least half a dozen times on the way up.
“I am honoured, your Highness. I will design you a trousseau that the gods will envy. I will create —”
“Shut up, fool! I wouldn’t wear something designed by you if my life depended on it.”
“But your Highness! Chamberlain Turon said —”
“I have gowns enough to sink my father’s flagship,” she told him. It was a poor analogy under the circumstances. “I want something else from you, Japinel. If you do as I say, you’ll be rewarded as if you really did create my trousseau. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.”
Japinel might have been a scoundrel, but he wasn’t stupid. His eyes narrowed greedily.
“What is it you want, your Highness?”
“I want to know how to make gunpowder,”
Japinel’s eyes widened. “But I’m a tailor, your Highness. What would I know about such things?”
“My father is currently holding you in custody because you claimed you did know.”
Japinel wrung his hands and shrugged helplessly. “A mistake, your Highness. I had thought to try a different career... I boasted unwisely...”
Adrina could have strangled the little worm. “Where are they holding you and the others?”
“In the slave quarters, your Highness.”
“Then that’s where you will return. I will see you again tomorrow. I suggest you get the formula from one of your cell mates. I leave Talabar in three days, Japinel. If I don’t have what I want by then, I will have you sent to the salt mines in Parkinoor and you won’t see Talabar until your grandsons are old men.”
After he left, Adrina cursed for a full ten minutes. She was still cursing when Tamylan arrived to help her dress for dinner.
Chapter 5
Captain Wain Loclon was forced to wait for almost an hour outside the Lord Defender’s office before Garet Warner arrived. In that hour he had rehearsed, over and over again, what he planned to say. It sounded reasonable and logical and he was certain of success – right up until the moment the commandant appeared.
The commandant glanced at him briefly as he opened the door, his expression more put-upon than welcoming. Loclon followed him into the office, taking a deep breath. Although of lesser rank than the Lord Defender, Loclon wished it were Jenga, not Garet Warner, that he was forced to confront. The Lord Defender was predictable, and much easier to read than the enigmatic commander of Defender Intelligence.
“I see you’ve recovered,” Garet remarked as Loclon closed the door behind them.
Garet lit the lantern on the Lord Defender’s desk and studied the younger man in the flickering light for a moment, before seating himself in the padded leather chair behind the heavy wooden desk.
“I was released from the infirmary this morning,” Loclon confirmed.
Garet nodded. “And you are ready to return to your duties?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Report to Commandant Arkin. He’ll find you something useful to do. Sergeant Jocan will arrange for you to be accommodated in the Officers’ Barracks, unless you prefer to make your own arrangements.”
“I have rooms near the main gate, sir. I was planning to return there.”
“As you wish. Was there anything else?”
Loclon swallowed before answering. “Actually, I was hoping I could request an assignment, sir.”
Garet looked up curiously. “Request away, Captain, although I’ve no guarantee you’ll get what you ask for.”
“I want to be part of the detail assigned to hunting down Tarja Tenragan.”
Garet Warner smiled briefly. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Captain, but there are no details hunting Tarja down. The First Sister has pardoned him.”
“Sir?” Loclon thought he was hearing things. He had been out of touch for the past few months as he recovered from the wounds inflicted on him by R’shiel and Tarja, but he could not imagine any circumstance that could have arisen in that time that would give the First Sister reason to pardon her wayward son.
“You heard correctly, Captain. Tarja has been pardoned and restored to the Defenders.”
“But after all that he’s done...”
“All of which has been forgiven. Was there anything else?”
“Sir, I cannot believe that the First Sister would simply pardon him! What of the Defenders he killed? The heathen rebellion he led? What of his desertion? And what of his sister?”
“R’shiel? She has also been the recipient of the First Sister’s mercy.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Believe what you will, Captain. The fact is they have been pardoned. While I can understand your distress, considering the circumstances, there is nothing you or I can do about it.”
Loclon refused to accept Garet Warner’s calm assurances. “Sir, I believe I have the right to insist that charges be pressed. After what they did to me...”
“Ah, yes, I read your report. You allege R’shiel used heathen magic on you.”
“I do not allege, sir, I know she did. It was she who gave me this.” Loclon pulled down the collar of his high-necked red Defender’s jacket to reveal a savage pink scar that ran from one side of his throat to the other. It made an interesting counterpoint to the puckered scar that ran from the corner of his left eye to his mouth. His misshapen nose was the final touch on his ruined – but once handsome – face.
“Quite an impressive collection of scars,” Garet noted. “But hardly proof that R’shiel is a heathen.”
“I know what I saw, sir,” he insisted. They can’t do this to me, not now. Not when he was finally ready to seek revenge.
“Just exactly what were you doing when R’shiel revealed this unexpected talent for wielding heathen magic, Captain? Your report was rather vague on that point.”
Loclon hesitated as images filled his mind of R’shiel, naked to the waist, her pale breasts stark in the jagged lightning, her eyes glittering and totally black, filled with forbidden heathen power. He could still taste her lips and the raindrops on her skin. He could still feel the blade she had used to cut his throat. Hatred burned through his veins like acid.