what of your plans for unity between Fardohnya and Hythria?”
“That will be up to you. This child will be as much your brother as Gaffen is. If you manage to get along with him half as well as you do with your bastard siblings, there'll be no danger of war between us. For that matter, he'll only be a few months younger than our child. If we're smart about this, they'll grow up the best of friends.”
“And you'd do this? You'd renounce a throne for me?” She appeared to be putting a rather romantic slant on something he considered a coldly rational and practical course of action. But he didn't correct her.
“Yes. I'd renounce a throne for you, Adrina.”
With a sob, she ran to him, threw her arms around his neck and buried her head in his shoulder. He could feel the slight swell of her belly pressing against him.
“Gods, you're not crying, are you?”
Adrina sniffed and looked up at him with glistening eyes. “No.”
He gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “If I'd known this was going to reduce you to tears, I wouldn't have suggested it.”
“Nobody ever loved me enough to renounce a throne for me, Damin.”
“That probably has more to do with lack of opportunity, rather than you being unloved,” he told her with a smile.
“Can't you be serious? Even when I'm
“I'm sorry. You bring out the worst in me.”
She kissed him then leaned back in his arms with a sigh. “I don't like admitting it, but I suppose I must feel something for you, Damin Wolfblade.”
“Well, I won't tell if you don't,” Damin promised with a smile.
PART 3
HOMECOMING
CHAPTER 35
The high plains of Medalon were a riot of colour, caught in the burgeoning grip of spring. R'shiel reined in her horse and studied the scattered clouds that dotted the pale blue sky. Wildflowers carpeted the plains, and the day was so mild she had shed her cloak some leagues back. As the tall white towers of the Citadel appeared in the distance an odd feeling came over her and she found herself strangely reluctant to go on.
“What's the matter?”
She shrugged and leaned forward to pat the neck of her gelding. He was a sturdy, deep-chested grey they had purchased in Vanahiem. R'shiel missed the magnificent speed and stamina of the Hythrun horses she had grown accustomed to riding, but he had been a reliable mount, if more stolid than spirited.
“I'm scared, I think,” she admitted, thoughtfully. “I wasn't expecting that.”
“You're only half-Harshini, R'shiel,” Brak reminded her. “You'll find your human emotions have a nasty habit of jumping out and biting you at the most inopportune moments. What were you expecting to feel?”
“I'm not sure. Some overpowering sense of righteousness, I suppose.”
Brak laughed sourly. “You have a lot to learn, demon child.”
“I wish you'd stop calling me that. You know how much I hate it.”
“I thought you were growing quite enamoured of the title. You certainly threw it around enough in Fardohnya.”
“In Fardohnya I wasn't likely to be hanged for it.”
He nodded silently. They both knew the risk they ran by returning so openly to Medalon. In fact, even more than the mediocrity of their mounts, it was the need to travel through Medalon by conventional means that had taken them so long to reach their destination. Had they been willing to risk using their power, R'shiel and Brak could have been at the Citadel weeks ago, but they were too deep into Karien-occupied territory to tempt fate by openly using demons.
Hablet had provided them with a ship, which had delivered them to Bordertown. Then they had taken passage on a river boat as far as Vanahiem. With news that the Testa ferry had been destroyed and the river boat captains understandably nervous about approaching the Citadel, it proved quicker and easier to complete their journey on horseback.
R'shiel turned in her saddle at the sound of other horses approaching. Brak followed her gaze and muttered a curse. The road they travelled from Brodenvale was almost deserted this late in the afternoon. Earlier, it had been crowded with refugees fleeing the Citadel and the occasional Karien patrol.
“We'd best get off the road.”
“Founders! They're everywhere!”
Brak urged his horse into the long grass on the shoulder of the road. R'shiel followed him as the approaching patrol drew closer. She gripped the reins until her knuckles turned white as she watched them. The troop of Kariens passed by without sparing them a glance, pennons snapping from the tips of their lances, the armoured knights claiming the road with the arrogant assurance of conquerors who have nothing to fear from their vanquished foes. It was the third Karien troop they had seen in the last few hours. Southern Medalon was still relatively free of them, but the closer they got to the Citadel the more they saw.
“There are no priests with them.”
“They'll be at the Citadel. Mathen probably doesn't want to scare the population into thinking they're going to be forced to worship the Overlord,” Brak speculated.
“But isn't that exactly what they're planning?”
“Undoubtedly, but Squire Mathen is too smart to do it openly.”
“Squire Mathen?”
“Don't you remember him? Terbolt left him in charge of the Citadel.”
“I don't remember much of anything from the last time I was at the Citadel,” she admitted with a frown. “Except Loclon.”
“Mathen's not a nobleman,” Brak told her as the Kariens moved slowly past them. Behind the knights trundled several wagons carrying loot from some outlying village that had been the victim of their foray out of the Citadel. “That in itself is a bit odd for the Kariens. But he appears to be a very astute politician.”
“I think I'd prefer a good old fashioned noble-born moron,” she said, noticing the grain-filled wagons, but she decided against saying or doing anything that would bring them to the attention of the knights. She had learnt that much restraint over the past few months.
“One has to work with what one is given, I'm afraid. Still, we won't have to worry about him too much.”
“Why not?”
“As I said, Mathen's not a nobleman. Terbolt placed him in charge, but I can't see Lord Roache and his ilk tolerating a commoner calling the shots for very long, and unless he's advocating mass conversion, the priesthood won't like him much either. They have no care for Medalonian sensibilities.”
The last of the wagons rumbled by. They waited until the Kariens were some way up the road before they urged their horses back onto the road and followed them at a walk.
“Speaking of the priests,” Brak added. “You remember what I told you?”
“About them being able to detect us if we call on our power? Yes, Brak, I remember.”
“I mean it, R'shiel,” he warned. “Don't underestimate them.”
“I dealt with those priests in the Defenders' camp.”
“You faced three of them and caught them by surprise,” he reminded her. “Once we get to the Citadel, there
