Harshini by Jennifer Fallon Page B

silver-backed hairbrush. She turned her back to him and began brushing out her long dark hair.
    He had been dismissed.
    Damin let himself out of Adrina’s rooms, thinking on what she had said about his mother and sister. She wasn’t far off the mark. Marla did nothing without thinking it through. As for Kalan, Adrina was right about her too. The High Arrion wouldn’t leave Greenharbour without a very good reason. His unease at finding his palace steps lined with silver-uniformed soldiers from the Sorcerers’ Collective still lingered.
    “My Lord?”
    Damin turned to find Orleon coming towards him at his usual, unhurried pace. The old man was as much a part of Krakandar Palace as the stones in the walls. He never aged noticeably that Damin could see. He still seemed the same, grey-haired, eagle-eyed watchdog that he’d been when Damin was a child.
    “Yes, Orleon?”
    “You have a visitor, my Lord.”
    From the slight tone of reproach, Damin could guess who it was. “Where is he?”
    “In the Morning Room, my Lord. I suggest you go there now, while we still have the silverware.”
    Damin grinned at Orleon’s expression and changed the direction he was headed. The Morning Room was on the ground floor, and he took the broad marble steps two at a time, anxious to see his visitor. When he threw open the door, the man in question was holding up a small statue to the light, examining it with the critical eye of an expert.
    “It’s not worth your attention,” Damin told him, as he closed the door behind him. “You’d get more for the candelabra.”
    The fair-haired man slowly replaced the statue on the mantle before he turned to Damin.
    “Perhaps. But that’s inscribed with the Krakenshield crest. Too easy to trace it back to its source.”
    “When has that ever bothered you?”
    The man smiled and crossed the room, catching Damin in a crushing bear hug, before holding him at arm’s length to look at him closely. Older by two years, but of a much slighter build, his clothes were expertly cut of expensive silk and he wore them with the cavalier air of a nobleman. His blue eyes were bright with intelligence and a level of animal cunning that Damin had often envied as a child. He looked prosperous and happy. Business must be good , Damin thought, not altogether pleased by the thought.
    “Welcome home, Damin. It’s good to see you.”
    “It’s good to see you too, Starros. How’s business?”
    “It’ll be better now that you’re home.”
    Damin moved to the sidetable, shaking his head. “I’m sure you mean it as a compliment, old friend, but telling me that my return is going to favour Krakandar’s criminal element, really doesn’t thrill me.”
    He pulled the stopper from the decanter and poured two cups of wine, handing one to Starros with a smile. The thief frowned as he accepted the wine.
    “You know what I mean, Damin. All these troops from the Sorcerers’ Collective and Elasapine filling up our streets is no good for my people.”
    “Maybe I should invite them to stay.”
    “Maybe you should invite them to leave,” Starros corrected.
    Damin looked at him curiously. “Perhaps you’d better fill me in.”
    They settled into the heavily padded chairs on either side of the hearth. The fire burned low—more glowing coals than flame—but it gave off enough heat to take the chill out of the air. Damin carried the decanter with him, certain he would need another drink before Starros was through.
    “The Collective troops arrived about a month ago. Kalan made quite an impressive entrance, and then declared the city under the Collective’s protection. Your mother arrived before her by a few days, and Narvell and his henchmen got here last week.”
    “Why did Kalan place the city under the Collective’s protection? That only happens when a Warlord dies without an heir.”
    “You’ll have to ask Kalan, I’m afraid. I tried to get in to see her, but she doesn’t entertain the likes of me since she