The need to prove to herself that she was unafraid of Marla Wolfblade prompted Alija’s decision to hold the first social gathering Greenharbour had seen in months. A cautious optimism was infecting the city as the plague faltered, losing its grip with the same inexplicable speed with which it had spread. The Lower Arrion, Bruno Sanval, was being hailed as the author of Greenharbour’s redemption, and while it annoyed Alija no end to have the gratitude of the city’s citizens directed at her underling, rather than her, at least it was directed at the Sorcerers’ Collective, and not Marla. Or the High Prince, Alija corrected. That was much more Marla’s style.
And the reason she’d been so successful.
Marla had a remarkable lack of ego that for years had allowed her to stay in the background and let others take the credit for her work. It explained how Lernen Wolfblade had kept the throne for the better part of thirty years. When he’d first ascended to the throne, most of Hythria were predicting the length of his reign in months, not decades. To realise he’d lasted as long as this was quite a shock. To take a step back and contemplate that not only had his reign been one of remarkable length, it was also one of the most prosperous in recent history and the most stable, was quite astonishing—until it became clear who was the true power behind the throne. When one realised that, Alija mused, it all began to make sense.
“My lady?”
Alija turned from the window. She had been staring sightlessly out into the humid darkness as she pondered the dilemma that was Marla Wolfblade.
“Yes, Tressa?”
“The first of the guests have arrived, my lady.”
“So early?” she sighed, already regretting her decision to host this evening’s gathering, and it hadn’t even begun yet. But she had to maintain the illusion that everything was as it had always been. She couldn’t afford to tip her hand yet. Not until she was ready to implement her plan to destroy Marla, which she intended to do as soon as she actually had a plan.
“It’s Master Miar,” Tressa explained.
Alija smiled with relief. “Then show him in, Tressa. Don’t leave him standing in the hall.”
Tressa curtseyed and hurried away to admit Alija’s guest. A few moments later, Galon Miar strode into the room. As usual, he acted as if he owned it, but this was her palace, and he was here at her invitation. Galon had an irritating habit of forgetting that.
The assassin stopped before her and raised her hand to his lips. “You’re looking lovely as always, Alija.”
“You’re early.”
“I thought it upset you when I … what did you call it? Oh, I remember … when I tried to make an entrance.”
She eyed him sceptically. “And you think that arriving early so you can greet my guests as if you live here will annoy me less?”
He kissed her palm. “If I displease you, Alija, you only have to say so and I’ll leave.”
He would too, Alija knew. That was the problem with a man like Galon Miar. He knew his value to her. The support of the Assassins’ Guild was something even Marla Wolfblade’s money couldn’t buy and no matter how much he claimed he had no need to openly trade on his relationship with the High Arrion, she couldn’t afford to offend him—a
minor but important detail she hadn’t taken into consideration before allowing herself to become entangled with such a dangerous man.
But she wasn’t entirely without resources of her own. Her hand still resting in his, she briefly scanned his mind … and then broke the mental contact, snatching her hand away as if she’d been burned.
“You’ve been to visit Marla Wolfblade!” she accused.
Galon studied her curiously. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you know,” he teased, “oh, great and omnipotent sorceress?”
Alija scowled at him. “The only thing in your mind that I can clearly sense about your visit to Princess Marla, Galon, is that you’re lusting after her.”
Galon made no attempt to deny the accusation. “She is one of the great beauties of our time, my lady.”
“I suppose,” Alija conceded with ill grace. “If you go in for that pale, blond, washed-out sort of look.”
Galon laughed. Now she’d let go of his arm, Alija was robbed of the opportunity to investigate his thoughts further. She would have to invite him to stay the night, she realised, although she hadn’t been planning to. She needed to know the real reason behind his visit to Marla and didn’t trust him to tell her the truth.
“You’re jealous,” Galon noted, highly amused by the idea.
“Not jealous,” Alija corrected. “Just curious about what business the second most important man in the Assassins’ Guild could possibly have with the only sister of Hythria’s High Prince.”
“Perhaps she wants me to kill someone for her.”
“Anybody I know?”Alija asked, with a raised brow. Is that sly little bitch thinking of hiring the guild to get rid of me?
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Nor would I ask you to betray her confidence,” Alija assured him, afraid that if she pushed the matter, Galon might realise how much his visit to Marla disturbed her. “Did you know she’s coming this evening?”
“Actually, I didn’t know.”
“Will she be surprised to see you?”
“To be honest, Alija, I don’t think she’ll care one way or the other. Despite my famously irresistible personality, your cousin remained quite immune to my charms.”
She probably knows who you’re sleeping with, Alija answered silently, and is too smart to let you rattle her. Still, it was something of a relief to realise that even though Galon obviously found Marla attractive, she had not returned the sentiment.
“Marla may be a great beauty, Galon, but she’s as cold as a blue-finned arlen. I wouldn’t let the fact that she didn’t melt in a puddle at your feet, as most women seem to, upset you too much.”
“Ah, but how I do enjoy the challenge,” Galon chuckled.
Before Alija could reply, Tressa entered the hall again and announced that Lord Marsh and his new wife, Lady Acora, had arrived, effectively ending any chance for private conversation for the rest of the evening. Galon turned to greet the new arrivals, leaving Alija with the uneasy feeling she was going to be sorry she ever mentioned the subject of Marla Wolfblade to her lover.
Marla arrived—fashionably late—several hours later, dressed in a dark red gown that clung to her well-formed body like a second skin from shoulder to hip, and then flared out in a wide skirt that swept the floor in her wake. It was the sort of outfit Alija would have worn ten years ago, before her waist had thickened just enough with the onset of middle age to make such a style look embarrassing, rather than alluring.
“Please forgive my late arrival,” Marla begged, when she greeted her hostess, kissing the air beside Alija’s cheeks. “I’m down so many slaves with this damned plague, I had to fix my own hair.”
“How awful for you, my dear.”
“You seem to be managing, though,” Marla remarked, looking around the room at the several healthy-looking
slaves offering platters of food and drink to the dozen or so guests. “You haven’t lost anybody important, I hope?”
“Only a few minor staff,” Alija replied. “What about you?”
“Oh, it’s been awful,” Marla exclaimed. “Besides a husband, I’ve lost three kitchen slaves, a doorman and now even Elezaar’s gone missing.”
Alija had been playing this game a long time, so nothing of her feelings reflected on her face, but she was shocked that Marla would mention the dwarf so carelessly. Not after what he’d done.
“The Fool is missing?”
Marla swirled the wine in her glass, staring at the deep red liquid as if it fascinated her. “I sent him out for wine and he never came back. That was two, no … nearly three weeks ago, now. I’ve almost given him up for dead. I can’t imagine he’d be out there and not come home unless something terrible had happened to him.”
“No, I’m sure you’re right.”
“I miss him so much, too,” the princess admitted with a sigh.
“It must be a devastating loss for you.”
“It is,” Marla agreed. “I hope you never lose Tarkyn Lye, Alija, and find out how painful it can be.”
“I’ll make sure he stays safe,” Alija agreed warily. Is she playing with me? Does she know what happened or did the dwarf really disappear after Tarkyn spoke with him? It made sense that the Fool had vanished, when she thought about it. He’d betrayed his mistress. In his place, Alija wouldn’t have gone home, either. “Can I get you some refreshment, Marla?”
“More wine would be lovely, thank you,” Marla replied, looking around the room at the other guests. “Surely this isn’t everyone you invited?”
“I thought it prudent to keep the numbers down,” Alija explained, signalling a slave forward with a tray of wine served in fine crystal goblets. “We’re not out of the woods yet with this damned disease.”
“True,” Marla agreed, selecting a new glass from the tray.
“Still, it looks to be on the wane. I must encourage Lernen to reward Bruno Sanval for his discovery of how to control the outbreak, once we’re in a position to hold such a public ceremony again. I admit, I seem to have been quite wrong about him. Thank the gods you didn’t listen to me all those years ago, when I asked you to block his promotion to Lower Arrion.”
It never occurred to Alija, until that moment, just what a brilliant actress Marla was. She knew now, that the only reason Marla had ever mentioned Bruno to her—back before Tesha Zorell retired—was because he was the candidate she wanted promoted. Bruno Sanval wasn’t a Patriot sympathiser. The man barely cared what day of the week it was, let alone which faction his colleagues in the Sorcerers’ Collective belonged to. I thought I was being so clever, Alija recalled. And I wound up doing exactly what you wanted, didn’t I, Marla? The princess had played a stunning game of double-think and Alija had fallen for it because it didn’t seem possible that such treachery could lurk behind such a guileless façade.
“Well, I’m glad his promotion worked out so fortuitously for all of us,” Alija agreed, wishing she could find a polite way of excusing herself. She wanted to scream. She wanted to grab Marla by the hair and shake the devious little bitch until her ears bled, and it astonished Alija how much selfcontrol it was taking to prevent her doing just that. “Have you heard from your children?” she asked, looking for a safe subject.
“Narvell is in Byamor with his grandfather, and the rest of them are out of harm’s way with Mahkas in Krakandar,” Marla replied. “Thank the gods.”
“Indeed,” Alija agreed. “It would be most unfortunate if anything was to happen to our precious heir.”
Marla smiled. “Nothing will happen to him, my lady. Damin will be High Prince when the time comes.”
“Of course,” Alija agreed tonelessly.
“And your boys?”
“Safe in Dregian Castle. It’s set apart from the main
population centres in the province and can be resupplied by sea, so they’re quite comfortable.”
“That must be such a relief to you.”
“More than you know.” Alija forced a polite smile, wishing they weren’t in such a public place and that circumstances hadn’t conspired to make it so vital that she appear ignorant of Marla’s true nature. But it was time to get away from her. Alija wasn’t sure how much longer she could maintain this outward veneer of poise. “I don’t mean to be impolite, but would you excuse me, Marla?”
“Is something wrong?”
“Of course not,” she assured the princess. “But Lord Marsh’s wife is looking very lost and alone, and I did promise to introduce her around.”
Marla glanced across the room to where the young woman in question was standing by the window, fidgeting awkwardly, while her husband, Lord Marsh, Galon Miar and most of Alija’s other male guests stood in a group by the balcony doors, discussing horseracing.
“Go to her,” Marla urged, placing her hand on Alija’s arm, as if she wasn’t fully aware the contact meant Alija could scan her mind as soon as they touched.
Alija didn’t even waste her time trying. You know there’s nothing there for me to find, don’t you, Marla? Wrayan Lightfinger has shielded your mind.
“I can amuse myself,” Marla was saying. “And I remember what it was like to be sixteen and married to a complete stranger twice your age.”
“Maybe you should speak to her, then,” Alija suggested. Anything to get you out of my way for a while, Marla Wolfblade .
“Would you mind?”
“Be my guest.”
Marla handed her untouched wine to Alija. “It was nice of you to invite her tonight. What’s her name?”
“Acora. She’s from Pentamor, originally. The younger daughter of Lord Buckman.”
“I met him once. Quite a disagreeable man, as I recall.”
You mean he’s a Patriot, Alija corrected silently. But she smiled and stepped back to let the princess pass. “I’m sure Lady Acora will appreciate making the acquaintance of the High Prince’s sister. It will increase her social standing a great deal, if you single her out.”
Marla raised an eyebrow. “And get her invited to more gatherings like this? Lucky girl.”
The princess moved off towards Acora Marsh before Alija could respond. The High Arrion let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding and glanced around the room. The low hum of conversation and the generally convivial atmosphere of the small gathering was very encouraging.
In fact, the only sour note Alija could find all evening was the speculative look on Galon Miar’s face as he pretended interest in whatever Lord Marsh was saying while he followed Marla Wolfblade across the room with his eyes.