He laughed. “No. I suppose not.”
Adrina sat down on the small settee and curled her legs up under her to watch him finish dressing. Since their return from Dregian Castle, and their argument on the beach, she had been a different person. Or perhaps he was seeing a side of her that she had never shown him before. The change in her scared him, not because of what she had become, but because he was afraid it wouldn't last. The new Adrina was everything he could have wished for in a consort. She was intelligent, charming and determined to secure his throne, whatever the cost. How much of that was because she cared for him, and how much was simply her desire to see Cyrus Eaglespike brought down, he did not dare ask.
“Explain something to me, Damin. Why do you have an election for the High Prince? Isn't it a hereditary title?”
“Yes, but there's frequently been more than one contender. Twins are fairly common in my family, and the first born is not always the most suitable for the job.”
“Twins? Gods, you're not telling me I'm likely to have twins, are you?”
He smiled at her alarmed expression. “Kalan and Narvell are twins. Even Lernen was a twin, although his brother died in infancy.”
“But didn't Lernen name you as his heir? Surely, in that case, there would be no need for an election?”
“The Convocation is a formality, more often than not,” he agreed. “It makes the Warlords feel they have a say in things. In this case, however, there are two contenders.”
“How can Cyrus seriously think he's a contender if Lernen named you his heir? I can understand him jumping in when he thought you'd vanished into Medalon, but now that you're back, you'd think he'd just bow out gracefully.”
“Cyrus doesn't do anything gracefully, least of all admitting he was wrong. No, he will fight this to the bitter end. He's come too far to give up now.”
“I wish I could come with you. There are a few things I'd like to say to Lord Eaglespike.”
“Which is why it's a good thing you're
She smiled. The old Adrina probably would have thrown something at him. “Just be careful what
“I won't let him get to me.”
“I don't care if he gets to you. Just don't let him win.”
He reached for her and pulled her gently to her feet. She did not resist. He drew her close and kissed her, still amazed how good it felt to be able to do that without fear of having her slide a knife between his ribs. She laid her head on his chest and he held her for a moment.
“You'd better come back in one piece,” she warned, looking up at him. Her emerald eyes were glistening with unshed tears.
“I'll do my best, Your Highness.” He kissed her again and put his arm around her shoulder as they walked back out into the main chamber of his apartments. Or rather
“Almodavar! Aren't you ready yet?”
“He's not coming with me,” Damin explained. “I'm leaving him here to protect the palace.”
“But you need a Guard of Honour!”
“And I have one. But if things don't go his way, Cyrus may make his move before we leave the Sorcerers' Collective. I don't intend to make the same mistake I made the last time. Almodavar is staying here to ensure your safety.”
“You need him more than I do,” she insisted.
“The matter isn't open for negotiation, Adrina.” He kissed the top of her head and let her go. “I'll see you later. When it's all over.”
She nodded but did not answer him. Almodavar opened the door for him and he stepped into the hall without looking back.
“Damin!”
He stopped and turned to her. “Yes?”
She hesitated for a moment, opened her mouth to say something, closed it again, then shrugged helplessly. “Be careful.”
He wondered what she had really wanted to say. Whatever it was, she had obviously changed her mind. He smiled mockingly and bowed to her with all the flair of a court dandy. “As her Highness commands.”
She frowned at him then turned to his captain. “Get him out of here, Almodavar. That coronet is obviously stopping the blood flow to his brain.”
Even Almodavar grinned, which had the unfortunate effect of making him look fiercer than normal. “This way, my Lord.”
Damin straightened up and met her eye. She smiled at him. It was a genuine smile, without guile or artifice. Suddenly it didn't seem to matter what else the day might bring.
The Hall of Convocation in the Sorcerers' Palace was a room used for the election of the High Prince and the confirmation of Warlords. It was a windowless, nine-sided room, not particularly large, but lavishly decorated. Seven of the wall panels depicted the crests of the Warlords of Hythria in mosaic tiles of gold, silver and semiprecious stones. The doors broke the eighth panel, but when closed, they formed the diamond symbol of the Sorcerers' Collective. The panel opposite the door was fashioned from a sheet of solid gold and was embossed with the snarling wolf's head of the Wolfblade House. A massive candelabra suspended from the ceiling, which took two acolytes almost an hour to light, provided the only illumination.
In the centre of the room was a nine-sided table, with nine gilt stools arranged around it. Like the walls, the table was split into panels that were inlaid with the colours of the seven provinces, the Royal House and the Collective. Marla had brought him here for the first time on his tenth birthday to impress upon him the importance of his heritage.
Damin took his seat - not under the Wolfblade crest, but under Krakandar Province, represented by the rampant kraken of his late father, Laran Krakenshield. Although he had never known his father, Damin still mourned his loss at times. By all accounts Laran had been a strong and ruthless man. He could do with such an ally today. He realised that he would need to find a suitable replacement for himself in Krakandar. If he secured the title of High Prince, the province would need a new Warlord.
The other Warlords took their places, all dressed in finery to rival Damin's. In fact, next to Toren Foxtalon's gem-encrusted armour, Damin felt quite ordinary. Cyrus, who was also dressed in white, avoided meeting his eye, as did Conin Falconlance. Rogan simply nodded in his direction. Tejay smiled at him and Narvell didn't look at him at all, too busy scanning the faces of the other Warlords with a threatening scowl. Damin felt a rush of affection for his younger half-brother. It was odd to think that Narvell was feeling protective of him, rather than the other way around.
Kalan was the last to arrive. She was dressed in a simple black robe, her only adornment the diamond- shaped pendant of her office. As soon as she entered, the doors swung shut behind her without any visible effort on her part. Wordlessly, the Warlords took their places. The High Arrion placed her hands on the table in front of her and closed her eyes.
“We meet to elect a new High Prince. May the gods grant us wisdom.”
“May the gods grant us wisdom,” the Warlords echoed with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Kalan opened her eyes and sat down, then studied the gathering for a moment before continuing. “According to the will of the late High Prince, Damin Wolfblade is his legal heir, by right of blood. Are there any other candidates?”
Although the statement was one of tradition, all eyes turned expectantly to Cyrus. He nodded slowly and rose to his feet.
“Lord Eaglespike?”
“I offer myself as a candidate, my Lady.”
