Treason Keep

“Welcome to Karien, your Highness,” she said with a deep curtsy.

“Princess, may I present the Lady Madren,” Cratyn announced, sounding surer now that he was on familiar ground among his own people. “Lady Madren, this is Her Serene Highness, Adrina of Fardohnya.”

The woman glanced at Cratyn questioningly. “Adrina? We were expecting the Princess Cassandra.”

“Princess Cassandra proved unsuitable,” Cratyn informed the woman uncomfortably, although he managed not to blush this time. “Adrina is the eldest daughter of King Hablet, and as such, is an eminently qualified consort.”

“Of course, your Highness.” Adrina could tell she was burning with curiosity over the sudden change in brides. She wondered if Cratyn would admit to the real reason, or if it would prove too embarrassing for him. “You are most welcome, Princess.”

“Thank you, my Lady.”

“Please allow me to introduce your ladies-in-waiting.”

Adrina was tempted to ask if it could wait until they were inside. The wind was bitingly cold, and the idea of standing out here on the bleak steps of the monastery while she was introduced to everybody was distinctly unappealing.

“This is Lady Grace, Lady Pacifica, Lady Hope and Lady Chastity,” Madren announced as the young women in question stepped forward. Adrina glanced at the pale young women for a moment in astonishment.

“Are those really their names?”

Madren stiffened at the insult. “In Karien, it is the custom to name one’s daughters after the virtue they hope the child will emulate, your Highness.”

“Poor Chastity,” Adrina murmured, then she smiled apologetically at the older woman. “I’m sorry, I should not have been surprised. We have a similar custom in Fardohnya. My own name means ‘she whose beauty will tempt men to insane acts of bravery for the chance to spend the night with her’.”

Adrina’s name meant no such thing, but it was too tempting an opportunity to pass up. The looks on the Kariens’ faces alone made the lie worthwhile. Cratyn looked as if he wished the ground would open and swallow him whole, and the ladies Grace, Pacifica, Hope and Chastity were on the verge of swooning.

“What virtue does ‘Madren’ represent?”

“I was named for my mother’s home province, your Highness,” Madren replied haughtily. “The naming after virtues is a relatively new custom.”

“Well, with luck, it will prove a passing fad,” Adrina announced airily. “Shall we continue the introductions inside? I’ve no wish to keep you all out here in this wind on my account.”

She smiled sweetly at Cratyn and Madren as she swept up her cloak. There was little they could do but follow her inside.

Everything on Slarn was damp and the monastery was no exception. The black stone walls wept moisture and the rushes scattered on the stone floor of the main hall squelched faintly underfoot. There was no noticeable difference between the temperature inside or out. Two huge pits, evenly spaced in the floor of the lofty hall, hosted blazing fires that did little to warm the cavernous room. Adrina looked about with a frown. Xaphista must be one of those gods who thinks suffering and misery is good for you, she thought, rather depressed at the prospect of spending the rest of her life among his worshippers. She hoped the castle at Yarnarrow was better appointed than this miserable place.

An acolyte stepped forward to take her wrap, but she waved him away. It was too cold to shed the warmth of her cloak, and underneath she wore a Fardohnyan costume ill-suited to the bitter cold. She had been planning to make an issue of that too, knowing her mode of dress would appall the straight-laced Kariens. Now she was not so certain. The concealing, drab woollen dresses of her ladies-in-waiting looked decidedly warmer than her gloriously provocative gown.

The introductions continued once they were inside. Adrina smiled and nodded as Madren introduced her to an endless stream of priests and knights. Without exception, they greeted her solemnly; their eyes wide as they studied the exotic Fardohnyan bride Cratyn had brought home. Each priest ceremoniously laid his elaborate star- and-lightning-bolt-tipped staff on her shoulder, to satisfy himself that she was not an evil spirit – or worse, a Harshini, in the guise of a mortal. As for her future husband, he was nowhere to be found. He had vanished in the company of a young sandy-haired knight almost as soon as they crossed the threshold of the monastery.

“And this, your Highness, is Vonulus,” Madren announced, as the last of the supplicants stepped forward. “He will be your Confessor and will instruct you in the doctrine of the Overlord, as well as advising you on pastoral matters.”

Vonulus laid his staff on her shoulder gently, then bowed, his tonsured head shining in the damp morning light. Adrina studied him with interest. He was a little older than she, with intelligent brown eyes, and a serene expression that came from an inner peace Adrina doubted she would be able to disrupt easily.

“Your Serene Highness,” Vonulus said in fluent Fardohnyan. “I am honoured to serve you.”

First mistake, Adrina thought. He should not have let me know he spoke Fardohnyan. “Vonulus. I look forward to receiving your wisdom.”

“I claim no wisdom, your Highness. I am a simple man, but moderately well read.”

“Finding anyone who can read at all in Karien is a surprise,” she remarked, watching for his reaction. The Kariens she had met so far were a universally dour and humourless lot. And they were insulted by the slightest hint of criticism. But not Vonulus. He met her eye unblinkingly, accepting her unspoken challenge.

“Your Highness, I hope you receive many surprises in your new home.”

“I’m sure I will, sir.”

“My first official duty will be to prepare you to accept the Karien wedding vows,” he told her. “The ceremony will take place in Xaphista’s Temple, as soon as we reach Yarnarrow. Lady Madren will advise you on matters of dress and protocol. I will, if the Overlord wills it, assist you to steer an easy course through the many intricacies of our religion.”

“Tell me, Vonulus,” she asked. “Hypothetically speaking, what would happen if I chose not to embrace your god?”

Madren hissed, shocked at the mere suggestion. Vonulus was less easily roused. “You will be the Crown Princess of Karien, your Highness. To worship another god would be considered treason. I imagine Fardohnya treats traitors much the same as we do.”

She patted Madren’s hand comfortingly. “I was simply asking out of curiosity, my Lady. Never fear.”

“Of course, your Highness,” Madren agreed. “I knew that.”

“And will you be joining us for lunch, Vonulus? It is a pleasure to hear my native tongue spoken so fluently.”

“I would be honoured, your Highness.”

“Perhaps you would be more comfortable dressed in something more... appropriate?” Madren suggested, waving the silent ladies-in-waiting to her. “I shall have your ladies escort you to the chamber put aside for you.”

Hoping that the chamber would be warmer than the draughty, cavernous hall, Adrina acquiesced graciously to the suggestion. Surrounded by the Ladies Grace, Hope, Pacifica and Chastity, she walked the length of the hall to the entrance where, not surprisingly, the five-pointed star and lightning bolt was carved into the large wooden doors. They opened as she approached to reveal Cratyn and a young knight entering the hall. The men stopped as they neared them. Cratyn’s eyes flickered over Adrina then fixed on the Lady Chastity, who walked on her right. The look he gave the young woman was filled with remorse. Adrina glanced at Chastity, startled to see her soft brown eyes misted with unshed tears and unmistakable longing.

“Prince Cretin, I thought you were lost,” she said brightly. Was the pale and insipid Chastity the reason Cratyn was so unhappy about being forced to take a Fardohnyan bride?

“It’s Cratyn, your Highness,” Lady Pacifica corrected her, rather crossly.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Adrina asked innocently. “Cretin.” It was an unfortunate, if rather delightful, result of her accent, that she mispronounced his name. It was also quite deliberate. Adrina spoke Karien fluently. Much more fluently than her somewhat contrived accent led her hosts to believe. Her first court’esa had been a linguist of some note and he had taught Adrina to speak a number of languages fluently. Another thing better kept from the Kariens. She had not thought of the court’esa in years – a slender, gentle young man with dark eyes and long, graceful