“May I offer you some advice before your audience with our esteemed monarch, Brak?”
“Of course.”
“Hablet is a very devout man in his own way, but he despises the Harshini. He has no wish to learn they still exist and no desire to welcome them back into his court. He finds he gets along very nicely without them.”
“Glenanaran and the others have been in Greenharbour for months. It's no longer a secret that the Harshini survive.”
“True, but neither is it common knowledge. Oh, people have heard the rumours, and some even believe them, but their belief is based on faith not fact. You won't get a very warm reception when Hablet realises who you are. He'll see your presence as the thin edge of the wedge. When you deliver your news about his daughter, he'll take it as a sign that the Harshini are already interfering in Fardohnya. Be very careful.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I've no doubt of that,” she said. “But it is better to be warned.”
“I appreciate your concern, my Lady.”
Teriahna leaned forward, studied him closely for a moment, then smiled. “Do you, Brak?”
There was something in the way she spoke; something in the shift of her body that set warning bells ringing in Brak's head. She placed her hand gently on his thigh. Then she abruptly shed any pretence of subtlety and the invitation in her eyes was so blatant she might as well have cried it aloud.
“Do you really appreciate me, Brak?” she asked softly.
Brak smiled ruefully and lifted her hand from his thigh, placing it quite deliberately on the arm of her chair.
“Yes, I really do appreciate the help you've given me, Teriahna,” he said.
“I see,” the Raven replied, nodding her head thoughtfully. “There's someone else, isn't there?”
“What do you mean?”
She laughed softly. “Do you know how I came to join the Assassins' Guild, Brak? I was a court'esa, and a damned good one, too. I was recruited by the Guild for a very special job. The rest, as they say, is history. But just because I've changed careers, it doesn't mean I've lost the skills I started out with.
“There is someone else. I can see it in your face, plain as day. Who is it? Some impossibly perfect Harshini back in Sanctuary? Some lucky farm girl in Medalon?”
Her assumption took Brak completely by surprise. He had taken no lovers since L'rin in the Grimfield, back when R'shiel was a prisoner there. Since then he had been so consumed by his task of protecting the demon child, he'd had no time to think of his own pleasure.
“There's no one else, Teriahna.”
“Perhaps you're not even aware of it yourself,” she shrugged.
Brak laughed at the very idea. “You think that after several hundred years I wouldn't notice if I'd fallen in love?”
“I think after several hundred years, you're so used to not being loved, you wouldn't know what it felt like if it ran up to you and hit you on the head.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, I do,” she chuckled. “But don't let it bother you. I'm sure it will work itself out. As for me? Well, I like to try new things. Sometimes I succeed, other times I don't.”
“New things?”
“I'm sorry. I've offended you, haven't I?”
“No. I just don't find myself referred to as a thing too often.”
Teriahna's smiled faded. “You should try a stint as a court'esa some time, Brak. Then you'd truly know the meaning of the word.” She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable that she had spoken so freely. Rising hastily to her feet, she pushed the chair back along the polished floor with a scrape of wood against wood. “I really should be going. I've spent far too much time away from my other duties. I'll bring your audience clothes around in the morning.”
Brak remained seated, guessing that she would prefer it that way. Teriahna walked to the door, stopping with her hand on the latch.
“There was one other thing I meant to tell you,” she said, turning back to look at him. Her manner had reverted to its usual professional mien. “I had a message from Starros, the head of the Thieves' Guild in Krakandar. He said there was an old man there who was stirring up the population against the demon child. I don't know if it's important, but I thought you'd like to know.”
“Why would Starros send you a message about some old man in Krakandar?”
“He thought it might have been one of our people on a contracted hit. It's not inconceivable that someone might want the demon child eliminated and that they would be prepared to pay handsomely for the job. And it wasn't a message so much as a reprimand. He was rather put out that I might have sent someone into his city without advising him first out of professional courtesy.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“No. Just that the old man had been preaching on street corners, subverting his people and making a general nuisance of himself. Starros thought our plan was to incite a riot of some sort and for the demon child to be killed in the ensuing chaos.”
“That doesn't sound like your style.”
“It's not. Crowds are much too hard to control. Particularly when you've worked them up into a brainless mob. Whoever the old man was, he certainly isn't one of ours.”
“It's probably nothing to be concerned about.”
“I agree, but I thought I should let you be the judge. I'll see you later, then?” She turned her back to him and opened the door.
“Teriahna? Just out of curiosity, if someone did contract you to kill the demon child, would you take the job?”
She closed the door again and turned to him with a sly smile. “That would depend on how much they offered me.”
“What price would you set on the demon child's life, my Lady Raven?”
“What would you pay for it?” she retorted.
He laughed humourlessly. “The ultimate price.”
“You'd pay with your life?”
“I already have.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Then I have the answer to my question, Brak. There is someone else. It is the demon child.”
CHAPTER 18
Tarja knew exactly how he planned to strike his first blow against Medalon's new masters, a plan as simple as it was fraught with danger. He also knew it would meet considerable opposition, so he kept silent until they were ready to leave Roan Vale, hugging his idea to himself as he pulled his cloak against the chill wind.
They waited in the small village for the remainder of their troops and the rest of the rebels to catch up with them. His meeting in Testra had gone well, and although Antwon could not bring himself to desert, he gave any Defender under his command who wished to flee the advancing Kariens leave to follow Tarja. Consequently, the force Tarja now had gathered to cross the border into Hythria numbered over two thousand. It still wasn't enough to take on the Kariens, but it was a start.
“We should be ready to move at first light,” Denjon reported that evening, as Tarja stood poring over the map in the cellar. It was a singular waste of time. He had studied the map so often these past few days that every line and contour was burned into his brain.
“Now if only this damnable rain would stop, so we could get through to Hythria.”
“Aye. My scouts tell me there's not a navigable road for miles. They're either flooded or so boggy we're going to have to walk most of the way.”
“And every day the Kariens are getting closer to the Citadel.”