"Balkar of Taranipor, I suppose," she replied with a sigh.

"I was expecting to announce your engagement this morning, Adrina."

She laughed. "Don't be absurd, father! I wouldn't marry that fool if he was the last man in Fardohnya."

"At the rate you're turning them down, my petal," the king pointed out peevishly, "you may very well end up marrying the last man in Fardohnya. When I said you could choose a suitable consort, I didn't mean you could take your pick of every eligible bachelor in the country."

"If only you'd offer me every eligible bachelor in the country," she shot back. "Instead of just the poor, idiot, backwater ones."

"How can you tell? You've rejected every man I've offered!" he accused. "Half of them before you even laid eyes on them."

"Bring me a man with wealth, power and ambition, Daddy," she suggested with a mischievous grin. "Just watch how fast I agree to marry him then."

Wealth, power and ambition. Hablet shuddered at the mere notion of Adrina married to a man like that.

"You can't just keep rejecting suitors, Adrina. People are starting to talk; you're getting a reputation for being a shrew."

"Good. Maybe then the weak-spined ones will stay away."

"Do you want to be an old maid?"

"If the alternative means taking a husband like Balkar of Taranipor, then I don't mind at all."

He shook his head in despair. "What am I supposed to do now? You offended the entire Taranipor family."

"You probably care less about that than I do," she laughed.

"Won't you reconsider? He's quite well off, you know."

"I know slaves who are richer," she declared. "Your chamberlain among them."

Hablet sighed. "Lecter only has your best interests at heart, petal."

"And I'm the demon child," she scoffed.

Hablet looked down at her and shook his head. "You cost him a great deal, you know. The bribe he accepted to promote Balkar as a suitor was substantial. Now he'll have to return it."

"I'm heartbroken," Adrina replied, clearly delighted by the prospect.

Hablet smiled. As a spectator sport, very little rivalled watching the sly eunuch and his equally devious daughter trying to outsmart each other. The animosity between them was legendary and, by comparison, most of the other political shenanigans that went on at court were mere skirmishes. If he was honest with himself, he knew that for fear of being robbed of his main source of entertainment, Hablet let Adrina get away with just about anything. He let her reject husbands; he let her aggravate Lecter Turon; let her dictate far more about her own fate than was proper for a well-bred Fardohnyan lady. It drove Lecter Turon mad. And that seemed only fair, too, because if the king had been cursed by Jelanna after Lecter killed Riika Ravenspear, then it wasn't mischief he was creating, so much as justice.

But even if it wasn't justice, it was fun. The look on Lecter's face whenever Adrina turned away another suitor was priceless.

Sadly, when they finally found her a husband, Adrina would have to leave the palace and the games would be over. Hablet would be lucky if he saw her again. Which, Hablet had to admit, is why I indulge Adrina as much as I do. By Hablet's estimation, his chamberlain had taken close to a quarter of a million in bribes on this one matter alone since Adrina had turned sixteen. And he'd had to give the vast majority of it back, because bribes of that significance were usually dependent on a successful outcome.

Hablet had no objection in principle to his chamberlain using his position to enrich himself. But it was useful to remind Lecter Turon occasionally that he was a slave and that nobody was invincible-or indispensable. The eunuch was clever, conniving and manipulative (which was why Hablet kept him around). A man like that could be just as much a liability as an asset. Adrina kept him in check by being just as clever, conniving and manipulative. It was why he kept Adrina around, too.

And for that reason, he walked arm in arm with his daughter along the gravelled paths of the harem gardens in the warm winter sunlight, scolding her rather than punishing her.

Adrina had her uses, after all.

"What am I going to do with you?" he moaned.

"Let me marry someone of my own choosing."

"All seven hells will freeze over before that happens, petal."

"Then give me something useful to do."

"Like what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Some official position at court, maybe?"

"But you're a woman."

"What's that got to do with it?"

He thought about it for a moment and then nodded, as one useful task came to him. "Very well.

If you promise to behave yourself, you may be my hostess occasionally for dinner when my guests arrive later in the week."

"What's so special about them that you need a hostess?" she asked.

"They are from Hythria."

"Anyone I know?"

Hablet frowned. "I would hope you don't socialise with any Hythrun, Adrina."

"You've let me out of the palace about four times in my whole life, Father. Exactly when was I supposed to make the acquaintance of any soul not in your employ?"

"True enough," he conceded. Interesting how she had dropped the Daddy, now she realised she was no longer in trouble. "But I confine you for your own protection, petal, you understand that, don't you? There is plague out there. Hythria is rampant with it."

"That's just this year's excuse, father. Hythria hasn't been rampant with plague for the past eighteen years, just the past few months."

"I'm not concerned about the past eighteen years, Adrina. Only that I keep Fardohnya safe now."

"That's why you're massing troops near Qorinipor and Tambay's Seat, I suppose?" she asked with a raised brow. "To keep Fardohnya safe?"

"Naturally. And by the way, how do you know about that?"

She smiled innocently. "So who are your guests?"

"Xanda and Luciena Taranger."

Adrina was silent for a moment and then nodded. "Luciena Taranger. Adopted daughter of Marla Wolfblade, which makes her the adopted niece of Hythria's High Prince, the legendary pervert, Lernen Wolfblade. Her father was a commoner-Jarvan Mariner, Princess Marla's third husband. When Marla adopted her at the age of seventeen, she became the owner of near half the trading ships currently sailing out of Greenharbour, and rather a lot of those sailing from Fardohnyan ports, too.

About the same time she was adopted, she married Xanda Taranger, who is, if I remember correctly, the nephew of the late Laran Krakenshield, which makes him a cousin to Damin Wolfblade, the heir to the Hythrun throne. It was a commonly held belief at the time that Luciena's adoption was contingent on her marriage to Marla's nephew. What are they doing here in Talabar?"

Hablet frowned. This is why she's dangerous, he thought. The events she described happened nigh on twelve years ago. She was six years old at the time. His next eldest legitimate daughter, Cassandra, probably couldn't even name all her own siblings. "They're supposedly coming to Talabar to expand their operation in Fardohnya. Should I enquire more closely about how you know all this about the Wolfblades?"

"I live to learn, Father," she replied with a dramatic sigh. "Trapped here in the harem and denied a life with any meaning at all, the only joys I have are my music and my studies."

"What a load of horse shit!" the king snorted, scratching at his beard. "You can't play a note on that damned harp I bought you."

"But it did come with a very nice music teacher," she reminded him with a languid smile. "I got plenty of use out of him."

"So Lecter informs me," the king grumbled. "We have court'esa for that sort of thing, Adrina.

You've no need to take lovers."

"It's not about need, Father," she reminded him. "It's about want. Isn't that what you believe?

Take what you want?"

"I didn't mean for you to follow my advice quite so literally, girl."

She looked up at him with those wicked bedroom eyes and smiled. "But you love me for it anyway, don't you, Daddy?"

"There may come a time when I don't," he warned, annoyed that she thought he would fall for such blatant flattery. He wondered if Lecter was right, after all. Maybe he should insist she marry that fool from Taranipor. Maybe the safest thing to do was to banish Adrina from Talabar and send her somewhere she could do him no damage.

"I suppose, come that day, we'll find out who the clever one really is," she laughed, squeezing his arm affectionately.

As he looked into those remarkable emerald eyes, Hablet suddenly understood something about his eldest daughter. Adrina wasn't afraid of him.

And that made Hablet just a tiny bit afraid of Adrina.

Chapter 42.

Starros pushed his way through the crowded streets of Krakandar's Beggars' Quarter, wondering at the preparations for the Feast of Kaelarn. The streets were festooned with blue bunting and there were buckets of water outside almost every door as an offering. It was a bit of a joke, really. They were miles from the ocean here in Krakandar City, the nearest seaport being Port Sha'rin to the west, in the Gulf of Fardohnya, several hundred miles away. Still, the God of the Oceans was a powerful god, he supposed, and it probably didn't pay to antagonise him.

There was a street parade planned for later in the day and then the ball tonight at the palace, followed by fireworks and probably impromptu parties in every other street in the city as the night wore on. Krakandar's cattle raiders had liberated a goodly number of prime Medalonian beef cattle for the feast and everyone was looking forward to a night of gluttony and drunken revelry. Starros glanced up at the sky and picked up his pace as he realised he didn't have long. He had to get back to the palace before the guard of honour arrived and the start of the parade-although, unlike everyone else in Krakandar, that was what he was least looking forward to.

He turned into the next street and spied his destination. The Pickpocket's Retreat was a large establishment and quite well off, given its location in the Beggars' Quarter. The paltry exterior belied its comfortable interior, however. Starros had seen enough of the inner rooms to know the outer facade and taproom was more for show than anything else. This was the Beggars' Quarter, after all, and it didn't pay to flaunt one's wealth too loudly in these streets.

He pushed open the door and looked around, spying Wrayan Lightfinger at a table in the corner by the window, talking to his chief lieutenant, Luc North. The two men seemed deep in conversation about something quite serious and, for a moment, Starros debated the wisdom of disturbing them. He knew Wrayan well enough to know he was better off remaining ignorant about his business. While he was wondering about it, the thief glanced up, smiled when he saw Starros, and beckoned him over.

"Well, if it isn't the future chief steward of Krakandar Palace," Wrayan said with a grin. "Bring our esteemed guest a drink, Fee!"

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"We're finished," Luc told him, rising to his feet. "I'll come by later and tell you how it went," he added to Wrayan. Then he smiled at Starros. "Nice to see you again, Starros."

"You too, Luc," Starros replied.

The man tipped his hat and turned for the door. Starros watched him leave curiously, and then turned back to Wrayan. "I didn't interrupt something important, did I?"

"It's nothing Luc can't handle," Wrayan shrugged. "Just a territorial dispute. It won't get really nasty unless the . . . miscreant . . . fails to heed the Guild's warning."

"What do you define as 'really nasty'?"

Wrayan smiled. "You're better off not knowing, my friend. How's life up at the palace treating you? Been promoted yet?"

Starros slid onto the bench seat opposite Wrayan that Luc had just vacated, shaking his head.

"It'll never happen."

"What will never happen?"

"Me ever becoming chief steward of anything. Orleon's going to live forever."

Wrayan laughed as Fyora hurried over to the booth and placed a tankard of fresh ale in front of Starros. She smiled at him, but Wrayan sent her away. "Gods, Fee, he's just walked in the door. Give the poor man time to have at least one drink before you try to jump him."

"I wasn't jumping anyone, Wrayan Lightfinger," she snorted indignantly. "I was merely taking care of our most distinguished patron. Can I get you anything else, my lord?"

Starros smiled. "Thanks Fee, I'm fine. And truly, you don't have to call me that. I keep telling you that. I'm no more highborn than you are."

"But you're a gentleman, Starros," she told him while glaring pointedly at Wrayan. "Some people just don't know what that means." Fee flounced off in the direction of the kitchens, her head high, as if that alone would give her class.

"You two have a falling out?"

"No more than usual," Wrayan shrugged. "Although it might have something to do with a court'esa who's been visiting my rooms of late that Fee doesn't really approve of."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She has a pulse."

Starros laughed. "She's jealous?"

"I can't imagine why. Fee gave up on me a long time ago. These days, the lovely Fyora has her heart set on becoming mistress of this establishment."

"Shouldn't she have worked off her bond by now?" Starros asked curiously, thinking Fyora had been at the Pickpocket's Retreat for as long as he could remember. It was twelve years since the first time he had sneaked down here with Damin and Kalan.

Wrayan nodded. "She did. Years ago. I think she hangs around here because it's all she knows.

Either that, or she's waiting for old Fingle to marry her."

Hary Fingle was the owner of the Pickpocket's Retreat. He was the man who had originally purchased Fyora for the tavern and, just as she showed no inclination to leave, even though she was nominally free, he showed no inclination to be rid of her.

"Is Fingle likely to marry her?"