Wolfblade (22 page)

Marla paced the small sitting room of her chambers restlessly. There had been a blizzard raging for nearly three days now and she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Unlike the large airy atmosphere of the palace chambers in Greenharbour, Highcastle’s rooms were small and dingy, filled with dark heavy furniture. Thick tapestries hung on the wails in a vain attempt to lessen the heat loss through the cold stone. The dwarf
court’esa
sat on the floor near the blazing fire which was making the room almost bearable. Elezaar felt the cold much more than the heat. Lirena was gone for the afternoon, begging off with what she claimed was an unbearable headache. Marla thought it more likely the old nurse was just too cold and needed the excuse to climb under the covers of her bed and stay there until this damn blizzard had blown itself out.

“Just like that?” Elezaar chuckled, looking up from the book he was reading. “
Tell me more about men?
You would have me betray the secrets of my gender, your highness?”

“Your gender made you a slave, Elezaar. I would have you tell me their secrets because I am the one who is feeding you and clothing you and ensuring you have a roof over your head in a blizzard, in return for nothing more arduous than the pleasure of your company.”

“But I’m still a slave, your highness.”

“All the more reason to do as I command,” Marla reminded him.

“A valid point,” Elezaar agreed. He closed the book, placing a finger in between the pages to mark his place. His hands were strange, the size of a normal man’s hands and out of all proportion to the rest of his stunted body. “What would you have me tell you, then?”

“How do I make a man do what I want?”

“That very much depends on whether it’s something he also wants.”

“What if I want something and my husband doesn’t? How do I make him do what I want then?”

“That very much depends on your husband.”

“You’re not being very helpful, Elezaar.”

“You’re not asking the right questions, your highness.”

“What am I supposed to ask?”

“You could ask what drives a man. Or, more specifically, how to
tell
what drives a man. Only then can you decide the best way to manipulate him.”

“What drives you?”

The dwarf smiled. “The unending desire to remain in your good graces, of course.”

“What about Corin?”

He wondered if he should tell her again of his suspicions about Corin being Alija’s spy. In the end, he decided not to. He had no proof and, while Corin was keeping Ninane amused, he wasn’t bothering them. “The need for comfort. And security.”

“Then he’s the same as you.”

Elezaar shook his head. “No, your highness. We’re quite different. Corin seeks security by trying to make himself desirable. I am trying to make myself indispensable.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Most definitely.”

The princess walked to the window and looked out into the swirling white of the blizzard. “Well, Ninane seems to like him. She’s always coming up with reasons why she needs to ‘borrow’ him.”

“As I pointed out to you that day on the battlements several weeks ago, my lady, your cousin is now your creature. All you need do to secure her cooperation in any venture you desire is threaten to withdraw his services.”

Marla turned to him thoughtfully. “Is sex so enticing that one would willingly subjugate oneself simply to get more of it?”

He smiled at her. “I suggest, your highness, you answer that question for yourself. Once you’ve tried it.”

“I’m not sure I want to, after seeing what a fool Ninane has become. And all over a slave I could sell any time the mood took me. I don’t know I’d want anyone to have that sort of power over me.”

“Then you need protection, your highness.”

“Protection?”

“Knowledge.”

“What sort of knowledge?”

Seeing another opportunity to make himself useful, Elezaar answered her question with a question of his own. “What is doraphilia?”

She looked at him blankly. “I don’t know.”

“It is sexual arousal by the touch of leather. How about formicaphilia?”

“Formica-
what
?”

“It’s the act of sexual arousal by ants.”

“They actually have a
name
for that?”

“You’d be surprised what they have names for. What is dendrophilia?”

“Sexual arousal by . . .
dens
?” she suggested, and then threw her hands up in defeat. “How should I know what it means? And what does it matter, anyway? What am I supposed to do? Acquire an encyclopaedic knowledge of these . . . perversions of yours, so I’ll be able to say, ‘Look! He’s covered in ants. The man must be a formicaphile!’ I can see how
that’s
going to be a real big help in a Fardohnyan harem.”

Elezaar rolled his eyes impatiently. “For your information, dendrophilia is being aroused by trees. And you need to know these things, your highness, because the
knowledge
is the power. Suppose Hablet turns out to have a penchant for . . . I don’t know . . . say . . . feet.”

“
Feet?”

“You’d be surprised how common it is. If you want to manipulate him then you need to know what arouses him. If you know a man’s perversions you can rule the world while he’s sucking on your toes.”

“That’s revolting!”

“Only because it’s not a perversion you share.” He put the book aside, hoping to impress upon the young woman the importance of what he was trying to teach her. Marla was an intelligent girl, Elezaar had discovered, but she was a dreamer. And a romantic at heart. She still harboured futile hopes of escaping her fate. “But if you intend to do more than just survive when you get to Fardohnya, then it’s vitally important you understand these things. You must learn what makes a man want you. And, perhaps even more importantly, what kills his desire. Both are very useful skills, particularly given that when you get to Fardohnya you will be living in a harem surrounded by other women, many with the ability to spot a man’s weaknesses from across the room. You’ll have no hope of maintaining any sort of power if some
court’esa
manages to replace you in your husband’s favour.”

Marla frowned. “Do you remember Welenara?” she asked, turning to look at him. “She was at Venira’s the day I bought you and Corin.”

“Ah, the delightful Welenara,” Elezaar sighed. “A goddess made flesh and sent to walk among us.”

“I didn’t think she was that pretty.”

Elezaar tried not to smile. “Of course not, your highness. Now I come to think of it, she was as ugly as a wagonload of old boots.”

“Does she know all these . . . strange sexual practices you seem to know about?”

“Of course. She’s a
court’esa
. Princess or not, without training, you’ll have no hope competing against a woman like that. The difference between you
and Welenara, however, is that you might learn about them, but there are many practices you would balk at, some that would sicken you, and others you would die before taking part in. Being a free woman, you have the right of refusal. A
court’esa
doesn’t have that luxury. If our master or mistress wants to smother themselves in cream and have us lick it off them, we are required to perform the task with the same dedication and enthusiasm as we would if they choose to whip us with the branch of a thorn bush or dip us in hot wax because they are aroused by our screams. And I use that example deliberately. I know someone it happened to.”

Marla flopped into the chair by the fire, puzzled. “Dipping slaves in hot wax? Seems an awful lot of trouble to go to for a few moments happiness.”

Elezaar smiled at her. “Ah, your highness. You have a wonderful streak of pragmatism that will make you an awesome adversary when you’re older.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that when you decide what you want out of life, Princess Marla, there’ll be no stopping you.”

“You keep saying that like I have any control at all over my fate, Elezaar.”

“You have more than you realise, your highness, but not as much as you’d like, I suspect.”

A blast of cold air from the hall outside suddenly swept through the room. Marla turned to see who dared disturb her without knocking. Elezaar scrambled to his feet when he realised it was Marla’s Aunt Lydia.

“Marla, what are you doing up here all alone? I insist you come down to the hall and make an effort to be part of the family.”

“I’m not all alone, Aunt Lydia. I have Elezaar for company.”

Lydia was a gaunt, long-faced woman, a more wrinkled version of her daughter Ninane, both of whom bore an unfortunate resemblance to Marla’s brother, Lernen. She glanced over to the slave then turned back to Marla as if he didn’t exist. Marla’s aunt was uncomfortable around Elezaar. His deformities made her cringe. Lydia didn’t object to Corin, though. In fact, she seemed quite pleased that her daughter, Ninane, was making use of Marla’s handsome young
court’esa
. A Loronged
court’esa
of Corin’s quality was beyond the means of her husband, Lord Branador. This way, her daughter was getting the benefit of a
court’esa
education with none of the expense involved in providing it.

“Marla, you are being a bore. I insist you come down and join us. It’s not natural for a young woman to be so secluded.”

“I’m not secluded. I just don’t feel like . . . being sociable.”

Elezaar didn’t blame the princess for avoiding her cousins. Ninane was no longer a problem since Marla had begun loaning her Corin, but Braun and Kaul were quite a bit older than Marla and seemed to derive most of their amusement from teasing her. With a blizzard raging for days and everyone cooped up inside, the boys (rather the young men—Kaul was twenty-two
and his brother, Braun, almost twenty) would be feeling particularly fractious, hence the reason Marla had chosen to stay in her room today. Lydia never seemed to notice her sons tormenting her niece, and on the few occasions Marla had complained, her aunt claimed it was simply the affectionate banter of two young men who looked on Marla like a beloved little sister. Elezaar suspected it was more like jealousy. Marla was the daughter of Garel Wolfblade, after all. Kaul and Braun were the sons of his youngest half-sister, and the relationship continued through the distaff line. They were not descended from the Wolfblade family. Braun or Kaul would never have a chance at the High Prince’s crown.

“Truly, my lady, I would rather stay and continue my lessons with Elezaar.”

“What could the Fool possibly be teaching you that is so absorbing you’re willing to forgo normal human companionship, Marla?”

With a wink at Elezaar, Marla smiled brightly. “We’ve been working on sexual perversions,” she announced. “We’re up to ‘D’. We’ve finished learning about doraphilia, which is all about leather, and Elezaar was just explaining to me about dendrophilia, which is all about trees. Would you like to stay and listen, Aunt Lydia? Or do you know all about this stuff already?”

Lydia threw her hands up in defeat, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a rather crude curse under her breath, and closed the door, leaving Marla alone with her slave.

“You know, I think you may be right, Elezaar,” Marla mused.

“Your highness?”

She turned to him with a mischievous grin. “Knowing about these things
can
be very useful.”

Elezaar smiled, remembering what he’d told the other slaves in the cells behind Venira’s Emporium the night of Ronan Dell’s murder.
Any
court’esa
worth his collar knows how to make a man or a woman want them. It’s what they train us for. But to be safe, really safe, you need to be indispensable
.

Looking at Marla’s conspiratorial smile, Elezaar was well pleased with the progress he was making. He wasn’t indispensable yet, but Marla had just chosen his company over that of her family.

That was definitely a step in the right direction.

O
nce the blizzard had blown itself out, the weather improved so dramatically around Highcastle Marla wondered if the tempest had really been just the God of Storms warning them of the harsh months to come, rather than the true onset of winter. Within a week the skies had cleared and a small thaw had set in, giving the false impression that spring was on the way.

Although the actual pass was some miles north of the fortress, Highcastle was a busy place. Deriving most of his income from taxes imposed on travellers through the pass, Marla’s uncle, Lord Frederak Branador, spent much of the day dealing with irate merchants, disgruntled travellers and the large staff of customs men in his employ, most of whom lived in the town of Dakin’s Rest, some eight miles east of the castle, on the other side of the Loquilarill River. The town was quite large, boasting a garrison of troops in addition to the bureaucrats and their families who lived there. Trade was so brisk these days that in recent times the population of Dakin’s Rest had swelled to well over five thousand people.

Lydia decided to take advantage of the break in the weather to visit the town to do some much-needed shopping. Her daughter and her niece were to accompany her on the trip. Ninane was older than Marla by two years, a tall, gangly young woman with a long face and a ponderous intellect. Marla had despised Ninane for as long as she could remember, although there was no single incident that stood out in her mind which made her dislike her cousin so intensely. It just seemed as if she had always hated Ninane and Ninane had always hated her. That was the way life was, and nothing much was ever going to change it.