“SO YOU finally returned to the living, I see.”
The rasping, nonchalant voice of the healer permeated his awareness even before his eyes could focus on the speaker. Kherin turned his head slightly as Willum shifted in his seat at his side, though the old man’s attention remained on the small bowl in which he was grinding powders in a constant, rhythmic motion.
“Hopefully you will have enough wits about you to know better than to try to move.”
Kherin blinked at the voice, and his gaze fell to the porcelain bowl and the twisting pestle Willum worked with a wrinkled, aged hand. His head felt thick, his senses slow as he allowed his awareness to expand. He was in a room, a small room, and there was hazy light falling around him that didn’t fade. Slowly Kherin realized it was daylight filtering in through white, filmy curtains falling over the window to the healer’s left. Daylight… though dim enough to be early morning or early evening judging by the grayness of it. Another breath, and he became aware of the sounds of people outside the window, too far away to say the sickroom directly overlooked the market square, but too loud for a day that was ending. This day was beginning.
It was warm in the room, and he smelled burning charcoal. Willum had lit a brazier, and no doubt placed a pot of water beside it, and that was where the heat was coming from. And with the heat came the feeling of needing a chamber pot. Despite the healer’s warning, Kherin shifted in an attempt to sit up and was rewarded with the gripping nausea of an empty stomach and the pull of too many stitches sending dull arcs of pain through every area of this body. And through it all was the sudden dizziness that said he had lain still for too long. He fell back onto the stiff mattress and gasped as sharp lances of pain shot through his leg and side. His gasp wasn’t loud enough to drown out the healer’s snort.
“Wits never were your strong point, and apparently they still aren’t.” The pestle never stopped its grinding in the bottom of the bowl.
Kherin looked at him sharply, then drew a deep breath and felt the bandages around his body tighten. He saw then that his arms were bandaged as well, and an experimental shift of his legs showed one was much stiffer than the other.
The memory of the attack came back in a rush.
“How long?” he whispered. His tongue seemed thick, and he had to force the words out. Even that effort scratched his throat and sent him into a fit of coughing. Willum stopped working long enough bring a cup of water to his lips.
“Not nearly as long as would be best,” Willum answered succinctly, his tone cool and direct. He returned the cup to the table under the window, and then sat back heavily to regard the young prince. “You were lucky the Defenders who brought you here didn’t pull those arrows out themselves. No vital organs were damaged, but you would have lost considerably more blood.”
Kherin’s breath hissed as he tried to speak again, but he managed to form a single, important phrase. “Chamber pot.” He was startled at the efficiency of the healer as he expertly assisted him with the business of relieving himself, though he was only vaguely aware of the pot being slid back under the bed as a new wave of dizziness swept over him. Pain erupted under the bandages as he was again laid back on the healer’s sickbed, but this time without the feel of burning knife blades. The wounds throbbed as the muscles beneath continued to mend, not as sharply as before, but growing stronger as his body awakened.
“Adrien?” he gasped out harshly between breaths.
“Sleeping better than you for a change,” Willum muttered, but added that his brother’s recovery was still progressing, and that the seizures that had been Kherin’s greatest worry still had yet to return. Kherin’s sigh of relief was heavy, and Willum let the silence settle for only a few moments before speaking again.
“The Defenders won, if your memory fails to recall the report,” Willum said, his voice lacking expression. He had resumed his grinding, and Kherin could hear clearly the sound of the pestle scrapping against the bowl. “Eight Defender deaths, three from Gravlorn, the rest from elsewhere, none from Delfore. Eleven northerners died. None were taken alive.”
Kherin listened as the healer named the dead, his mind trying to put faces with the names but failing to do so. None of the men were ones he knew well, let alone knew well enough to consider them friends. But they had died nonetheless. The silence stretched as the list ended, and the nausea in Kherin’s stomach wasn’t due solely to his injuries. Nowhere in recent memory had the border been so bloody; deaths at the hands of the northerners were a rare occurrence, at least as far as Kherin could remember. Token skirmishes, happening just often enough to keep the camps from being dismantled permanently….
Until recently.
“Seems those northerners wanted you dead,” the healer spoke again after another moment of silence. “From what I hear, those arrows were supposed to have killed you.”
“They were,” Kherin answered quietly, barely loud enough to be heard. He remembered the northerner across the river, the one in particular he had assumed had been their leader. Their eyes had met before the arrows had been launched. There was no doubt those arrows had been meant for a single target, though whether the northerners had known they were attacking their enemy’s Leader, no one could be certain. But assuming they had known they were attacking a member of the royal house….
“It would have been war if they had succeeded.”
Kherin snorted sharply at the healer’s words, then felt his blood turn hot with disgust. Not likely. Had he died, his father would have done little but rail against the stupidity of his second son and claim it was his own fault for not remaining at the castle. He would have put himself on the pedestal of I told you so and made an example out of him. But declare war? Never.
The grinding was finished, and Willum carefully poured the fine powder into the cup he retrieved from the bedside table, then added water from the pitcher that had been set beside it. He swirled the cup with one hand before extending it to the prince, using his free arm to aid Kherin in sitting up.
“Drink.”
Kherin didn’t resist, but stared at the cup for a moment before raising his hand to take it. Willum didn’t release it, and so kept it from spilling onto the bed, and he didn’t remove it until the cup was empty. The sharp, bitter taste made Kherin grimace, and his nauseated stomach threatened to rebel, but a few deep breaths convinced him the potion would stay down. At last the healer let Kherin lie back then stood as he returned the cup to the table.
“Now I need to find someone to take a message to the camp,” the healer announced. “Defender Jarak asked to be notified once you had awakened.”
Kherin nodded mutely, a small, almost imperceptible movement. Jarak himself hadn’t been injured in the battle, but Ronel had. Kherin remembered seeing him fall.
“He has returned to camp, as has Defender Ronel, despite what I told him to do. Seems a shortage of wits isn’t exclusively your own.” With that the healer turned, and he offered only the typical instruction to rest before he vanished through the door. Kherin wasn’t sure he could argue even had he felt up to it; the powders were already dulling his senses.
Less than a day had passed since the battle over the river, but it was still hours that had been lost to him, and maybe lost to Llarien. The familiar heat of frustration rose through him, burning away the effects of the potion as his mind sharpened. He was missing something. Somehow he was missing something. How was it that after all this time there was still no sign, no indication, nothing to tell them why the northerners were so intent on Llarien lands now? How?
His mind continued to ramble as one thought led to another.
What of their so-called magic? Was if real? And if it was, why not just kill them all and be done with it? Did they really fear war with Llarien that much?
Or were they intent on invasion?
Lorn had flushed out one man, a northerner, a man who had been seen speaking in the northern tongue to a Defender named Korlon. Or a northerner named Korlon. A northerner who had, or so Gresham had claimed, managed to hide within the ranks of the true Lorn Defenders.
“There is no telling what those animals look like under all their fur.”
Those had been Gresham’s chilling words, and for once Kherin would have no argument with them. Was it true that Llarien was already under invasion, with no awareness of that fact whatsoever? Gods, he wished he knew the name of the Defender who had witnessed that meeting.
He hissed a curse as he shoved himself up from the bed, then cried out as the world spun and the bandages scraped over his wounds. He fell roughly back a second time as his cry turned to gasps. His hands clenched on the rough-spun linen as he fought to gather his thoughts into a coherent act of reasoning.
He and Derek had talked of this, but had they taken the possibility as seriously as they should have? If the northerners were here, and if the Defenders had not yet found them—was it because they knew the Llarien tongue, and knew the Llarien habits, knew exactly how the Llarien Defenders would act following any battle at the border? Did they already know the Llarien lands that well?
Kherin closed his eyes and breathed deeply, certain of the answer even as his stomach twisted with the truth.
If the northerners were here, there was little doubt they were being assigned to the very searches that were intended to reveal their brethren, thus ensuring they would never be found.
Jarak. The blacksmith’s name snapped instantly to Kherin’s thoughts. Jarak had been the one who had organized the searches. He would know the men assigned to each area. And Jarak was from Delfore.
And there was Ronel. Ronel would know from where each man hailed, or he would find out; Kherin would make sure of that. And, Kherin decided then, any areas searched by Defenders he didn’t know would be searched again by ones he did.
And if the northerners had been right there, right in front of them all along….
Then what?
He remembered his conversation with Derek when news of the northerner found in Lorn had been brought to the hospice. The conversation, and the plan to trick the northerner into revealing himself. The plan that hadn’t been given more than a few words in the attic room of the Harper’s Den.
“We would be better off being ourselves and pretending we have turned.”
Those had been Kherin’s words.
“If we could give them a convincing reason for turning,” Derek had cautioned.
“And do that without making it seem like the trap it is.”
It was a plan they had never followed through, but… Gods, he wished Derek were here.
His thoughts were broken as the door opened, and he watched in silence as Willum came back into the room. The healer frowned at finding Kherin still awake, and his frown deepened at the sight of the tussled blankets, proof the prince had tried yet again to move. But he said nothing as he moved to retrieve the bowl and pestle from the table.
His words came as he straightened with the instruments in his hands. “If you don’t allow that potion to work, I’ll just make something stronger. But since you are still awake, Defender Jarak should be here shortly.” He paused, studying the prince. “I will also tell you that there is a young lady here who wishes to speak with you, though I advised her that you were likely to be ill-prepared for company.” Willum’s face darkened as curiosity filled the prince’s eyes, making it clear that though he disapproved of the prospect of allowing visitors, he would nevertheless do his duty in informing the prince that a visitor was waiting. And now that he had done so….
“Who is she?” Kherin managed the words, though they were harsh and scratchy. Women didn’t serve in the Defender camps, and so he had met few of the women of city in any way other than in passing. He certainly hadn’t inhabited the taverns long enough to become familiar with any of the servers or whores.
“Her name is Elliandra,” Willum explained, giving the words grudgingly. “A serving girl from one of our city’s overflowing taverns. It seems she received a nice bump and some broken fingers from a brawl taking place last night, though nothing permanent or disfiguring. Only the talk of the Defenders arriving to seek information on your condition alerted her to your presence.”
Kherin struggled to sit again, this time moving slowly, carefully, and at last he managed to prop one elbow under him. Willum watched him without speaking or aiding, but Kherin’s curiosity let the sharp displeasure emanating from the healer pass. “What happened?”
Willum continued to study the prince in silence, though his expression had stiffened at Kherin’s blunt question. “So it seems you are unaware of the brawl at the Silver Fish Inn last night. The Defender Leader and his closest… friends visited the inn, drunk and belligerent, and apparently raised the ire of other Defenders there. The girl, Elliandra, was injured in the commotion that followed.”
“Gresham was there?” Kherin repeated dumbly. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. And the sudden twist of his stomach made it clear why hearing this news now seemed so strange. It was because it was coming from the healer instead of Derek. Had Derek still been in Gravlorn, Kherin would have likely already heard about the brawl and what caused it, and would already know what it was the serving girl wanted to say.
But Derek wasn’t here, and so the reason for the girl’s requested visit would have to come from her, with no warning from the trader as to what to expect. He eased himself back onto the bed as the unexpected effects of Derek’s absence settled uncomfortably around him.
The healer paid no heed past the stiffness of his movements.
“For as long as it took to start the brawl,” Willum confirmed with a measure of disgust. “He’s been returned to the camp and is being held under guard, at least from what the Defenders say. Those who sided with him are being held as well.”
Kherin closed his eyes, his thoughts going over what he knew and what he didn’t. He couldn’t pick out the Silver Fish Inn from any of the other taverns in Gravlorn, though he suspected there would be little difference between them even if he could. But the brawl that had taken place in this one…. Willum said it had been between the Defenders themselves? And for the serving girl to be injured during it… drunk or not, he had little belief that Gresham would have attacked the girl, and even less that the Defenders who had taken issue with him would have done so without reason. Kherin knew he would need to learn who the Defenders on both sides of the fight were, but he knew just as well he would have to rely on himself instead of the trader to learn their names.
But for now… he couldn’t deal with Gresham right now, though he would have to at some point, but what he could do was speak to the serving girl—Elliandra?—and hear exactly what happened last night from someone who was there.
“Bring her,” Kherin said quietly.
“Very well,” Willum said reluctantly after a moment, turning to leave. “You will not allow the potion to work otherwise, so it seems, and I have more duties than yourself to tend to. I would advise you to keep your meeting short, though I doubt you would listen. I will advise you to allow those herbs to do their work afterwards, however, if you plan to return to your duty before your tenure ends.”
Willum had started moving as he spoke, and the last of his words were spoken just before he opened the door to leave. Left alone again, Kherin thought of Derek and how he would handle the meeting with the serving girl. Probably better than Kherin was likely to, given that speaking to people was required for Derek to gather the information he did. And neither status nor class seemed to affect his inquiries, as he could speak as easily to whores and innkeepers as he could the king. It had been a whore, he remembered suddenly, who Derek had intended to visit the night he had dragged Kherin, drugged and drunk, from the dirty table in the Dancing Mouse.
The opening of the door so soon after Willum left startled him from his thoughts, and Kherin’s gaze fell to a young girl holding lightly to the healer’s arm as they stepped inside, though her steady steps made it seem the healer’s assistance was for show rather than necessity. She was pretty, though not overly so, with her light yellow hair hanging in long strands over the shoulders of her thick sleeping gown. She certainly wouldn’t have been considered beautiful—Kherin was certain of that—even without the fresh bandage wrapping her head. A similar bandage covered her hand, and a closer look showed that her skin was paler than was likely normal. But she was whole, and her wide smile said Willum had determined correctly that her injuries were not serious.
All of them remained silent until the girl was seated in the room’s single chair, identical to the one found in the room Kherin had shared with Adrien and which the healer himself had brought close enough to eliminate the need for shouting. Blue eyes sparkled in the fading light through the window, though the silence didn’t last as Willum cleared his throat.
“I’ll leave you two alone for a few moments,” the healer said as he moved. “But not too long. Those wounds will be wanting treatment and the dressings changed.” He probably considered it thoughtfulness that he closed the door on his way out.
Then Kherin and the girl were alone, and Kherin studied her openly as he pushed himself up to sit fully on the bed. She was young, though he had seen both servers and whores even younger in the seedier taverns in Delfore, and she wasn’t destitute, given that employment as a serving girl would at least keep her fed and housed, even if the pay likely didn’t cover luxuries.
And she was apparently either too polite or too nervous at finding herself alone with the second prince of Llarien to risk the rudeness of speaking, since she seemed to be waiting for the prince to speak first. Kherin certainly wouldn’t attribute her silence to court-learned manners—not while she was living here, in the Defender city of Gravlorn. Yet her expression changed little from the smile she held as the silence continued, and Kherin at last said the only words he could think of to break it.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Now that the girl was sitting nearer, he could also see the darkening of the skin under one blue eye and recognized it as the beginnings of the bruise that would surely follow.
Her nervous laugh caught him by surprise, though the blush that followed didn’t, and her hands seemed to clench tighter in her lap as she spoke.
“My apologies, my lord. My name is Elliandra, though most people call me Elli. I’m a server at the Silver Fish Inn….” Her expression did change then, and her gaze dipped to the bandages visible over the blankets covering Kherin’s body.
And her hurried glance back to Kherin’s face showed her skin had darkened even more.
Kherin felt his own skin warm, but there was little he could do to amend his current state of undress at the moment. He wasn’t used to dealing with strangers coming to him under the guise of a formal visit, but he did recognize the look beginning to settle on Elli’s face. He was just thankful that while Willum had apparently ordered the forgoing of a nightshirt given the range of his injuries, the healer had at least granted the use of sleeping pants to cover him below the waist. He nevertheless moved to pull the blankets more securely across his lap as Elli let her gaze fall again.
“I heard about the fight that took place at the Silver Fish last night,” he ventured at last, sounding more clipped than he would have preferred, but at least drawing Elli’s gaze back up to meet his face. “If Defenders were involved, you can petition for reimbursement of the damages—”
“No, no, my lord,” Elli broke in, flushing even more, though whether at the rudeness of her interruption or the blatant reminder of why she was her, Kherin wouldn’t begin to guess. “My master, Master Jorim, is familiar with the procedures, and he will… it is not the first drunken fight in the inn, my lord, but… when I heard you were brought here as well….”
Kherin tried to smile, but the effort was forced. Gods, he hoped this wasn’t simply a poor attempt at a social call. “Apparently the northerners need to work on their aim, since Willum has deemed none of my injuries serious. I’ll be fine in a few days, though I am grateful for your concern.”
“Oh, I… I wasn’t questioning the healer, my lord,” Elli cut in again, her hands twisting now as her eyes widened… in fear? “I just thought that perhaps… you weren’t aware that the Defender Leader was among those brawling at the inn….”
Kherin resisted cutting her off, despite the fact he was already “aware” of what she was telling him. He hadn’t learned of the brawl as quickly as he would have had Derek still been in the city, but had learned of it nonetheless, and the sudden uncharitable thought of what she intended to gain by bringing the news to the prince crossed his mind.
And though he could claim it as a result of living with the politics inside the royal castle, he could already hear Derek chastising him for his callousness. He felt the heat in his own skin deepen as he was suddenly glad Derek wasn’t here to reprimand him in person.
“He… the Defender Leader claimed that you ran from battle—”
The sharp jerk of Kherin’s head startled Elli, but she hurriedly continued after swallowing once, seemingly unable to stop now that she had started. “I know that it’s not true, my lord! I—we at the inn—we would never question your bravery, and the Leader was drunk—he called you a coward—”
“He claimed cowardice as my reason for leaving?” Kherin repeated sharply, the incredulous disbelief he couldn’t quite restrain ringing clear in his voice. He was well aware of Gresham’s increasing resentment toward his assuming command at the camp, but to actually call him a coward…. Whatever was visible on his face was seemingly enough to send the blood draining from Elli’s, and the sudden paleness brought out the starkness of the girl’s own bruises.
He could nearly hear Derek chastising him again, reminding him it wasn’t Elli’s fault Gresham had been too drunk to guard his words. Kherin could, however, temper his.
“Don’t worry,” he said, calming whatever expression had startled the girl and forcing his words to remain even, even if he couldn’t make them entirely soothing. “I’m not placing the blame on you or the inn for any rumors that begin there. I can imagine exactly what it was that Gresham said, and I will see that he is taken to task for it—”
“But everybody heard him!” Elli insisted suddenly, her fear vanishing in an instant and her eyes growing wide as she leaned forward in her chair. “And you know how rumors grow and spread. They’ll be talking about it and turning it into something it isn’t!”
“I know that, Elli,” Kherin told her carefully, using her shortened name on purpose in an effort to calm her, “and I can’t stop them from spreading rumors, but like I said, the matter isn’t yours—”
“But the Leader has no right, my lord! And I….” She paused to swallow again, then continued with a forced sense of confidence. “I don’t agree with what he said, and he isn’t the only one to say things they shouldn’t. I hear what people talk about when they drink there, especially since they don’t talk quietly once they’ve had too many mugs and not enough attention from the whores. I… I can help you there, my lord.”
Kherin felt a cold dread beginning as understanding dawned. Elli hadn’t come here for a simple flirtatious interlude, or at least not for that purpose alone, but though he appreciated the sentiment of what she was offering…. “Elli….”
“I can listen for you, my lord,” Elli went on relentlessly. “Then you will know what they are saying, and what they won’t say to your face. And you will know who believes them and who doesn’t. They don’t care what they say around me because I’m just a serving girl, and they wouldn’t even think I understood them, let alone told you….” Kherin stared as Elli drew a breath and forced the smile back onto her face. “Besides, Jorim—my master there—can handle anyone else who gets too drunk. He would have handled the Leader if he hadn’t been… well, the Defender Leader.”
Kherin felt his head shaking despite the fact that she had a valid point. Or points, with what she said about this Master Jorim not being the least of them. A large amount of any innkeeper’s success was in being able to handle things when they went badly, and knowing when not to handle things at all. But as for the talk that took place there… simply being a Defender might keep the townspeople from interfering, but not even a prince could keep people from talking. And there was no question that the more he knew, the better he would be prepared.
But what would essentially be seen as spying would also be considered a betrayal in the eyes of both the townspeople and the Defenders—and that would be dangerous for them both.
Kherin thought again as to why she was even making the offer to begin with. Surely she couldn’t think to raise her own status by being a snitch to the royal house. Not even his father knew who Derek’s informers were, including those in Delfore, so any thoughts of reaping the benefits of royal favor were a moot point. And if she thought to gain some favor directly from the second prince of the kingdom….
The inevitable way her gaze drifted again to his bandages and then past them to the parts of his body that remained covered in blankets answered that question, and he groaned inwardly. He had seen that same look from nearly every servant in the castle at one time or another—male and female—and had continued to be subjected to them from both sexes even after his desire for solely male company had become well known. Even so, not even the royal servants garnered special favor for warming the prince’s bed.
Or had warmed the prince’s bed in return for them.
“That would be prostitution, my prince.”
Kherin would have called it simple whoring, though he had little doubt his own actions without payment in Delfore could be called the same. But once Derek had taken him in the attic room of the Harper’s Den, Kherin had known that no other man in the castle or the city—any city—would find welcome in his bed any longer, regardless of whether they had lain tangled in his blankets before. Those in the capital city would learn of it soon enough….
Though a serving girl from the Silver Fish in Gravlorn may learn of it first.
Or at least she would if Kherin didn’t put a stop to her wandering eyes and apparently wandering thoughts. What Derek would think of the blunt announcement of his unofficial commitment to the trader should it come to that, however….
“I’ll see that a rotation at the Silver Fish is started,” he began, breaking off his thoughts before he wandered too far into that still unsettled territory. He nevertheless intended the offer of security as a buffer for his refusal to trade eavesdropping for more personal interactions between them, but he stopped short at the delight that lit Elli’s face. He nearly groaned aloud this time as he could almost see his words being twisted into an answer of acceptance.
“I can also bring you food here every night as well,” she said excitedly, and her eyes had grown brighter, though they seemed unable to stay focused on anything close to the prince’s face. “Though I will have to wait until after the kitchen closes, so it might be late….”
Kherin began shaking his head before he even realized he was doing so, and caught the action only when Elli’s voice trailed away again. The confusion that began to show on her face turned quickly to poorly hid humiliation as she seemed to understand the rejection, though clearly misunderstood the reason behind it. Her appearance or her lower-class status—or likely both, given the particularities of some of the nobles he had seen in court—would undoubtedly be considered the obvious reasons for Kherin’s refusal, while something as simple as her sex would have been the actual reason as recently as a few months ago. Derek alone was the reason now, though Kherin hated how naming him now would make the trader sound like little more than an excuse.
“Your offer is appreciated,” he said instead, letting her take the words as she would, “but personal services won’t be necessary. The Defenders will be reporting to me every day, and they can bring me what I need. And if you hear anything you think I should know, just tell it to them, and they can bring the news to me as well.”
“But the Defenders are the ones who begin the rumors—” Elli blurted out. “If I tell them what I heard—”
“Not the Defenders I will assign,” Kherin cut in, and then he softened his tone when he saw the girl pale. “Besides, it would be better if you’re not seen coming here, given the number of Defenders that will be coming here as well. If anyone sees you visiting me, the rumors of your visits would spread as fast as those concerning me, and it might make your patrons guard their words a little closer.”
Elli opened her mouth to continue arguing on her own behalf, but closed it again as the realization that she had no other road to take with this apparently struck home. She had been outmaneuvered, and by reasons as equally valid as her own, and Kherin couldn’t help feeling a little pride in that fact. There was no arguing that her work at the inn could be valuable, but it would be acceptable only if the boundaries were set from the beginning. He wondered suddenly if this was a tactic Derek used to gain his informers, and whether he had been forced to set boundaries of his own since he had claimed never to have used sex as a bargaining chip.
Derek’s chuckle floated warmly over him even as he noticed Elli adopting a slightly cooler demeanor as she adjusted her position on the chair. He wasn’t surprised when she abruptly cleared her throat and stood, nor when she made a show of smoothing the wrinkles in her clothes.
“As you will, my lord,” she said simply. “I need to get back to my room to await the healer, and then do what I can to help Master Jorim once I’m released. Jorim is willing to put me up if I at least make some kind of effort, but he wouldn’t take too kindly to my expecting charity.”
Kherin nodded, accepting her offense as justified, and he gave her a small smile in an attempt to smooth at least some of the ruffled feathers. “If Jorim demands payment, tell the Defenders and they will see that he is reimbursed. And thank you for what you are doing.”
Elli’s smile was frosty in return. “You’re welcome, my lord. Though I’ll still come by this evening to see if you need anything the Defenders haven’t provided.” She curtseyed properly before turning to leave, but Kherin withheld telling her that proper etiquette required waiting for his dismissal before leaving, rather than assuming it as given.
He nevertheless breathed a sigh of relief as she vanished through the door, and eased himself back down to the bed as the unexpectedness of the visit and the offer replayed in his mind. The attitude in Gravlorn as a whole could easily explain why Elli would think he would welcome a pleasant diversion in return for rumors that were likely to be nothing more than gossip, and the chance of her gaining the courage to make a second effort wasn’t out of the question, despite the offense she had taken at his first rejection. And it would be a poor reflection on the royal house to include rudeness should his refusal be required again, but he would be blunt if it became necessary, that was a certainty, and he would leave how she took the news up to her.
Adrien, the northerners, and Derek were his foremost concerns, and while the first was ill and the second remained a mystery, the absence of the third pulled his thoughts away from the sickroom and unwanted attention of the serving girl.
Kherin held no uncertainty about his own feelings, but now that he was no longer feeding the silent threat of blurting out what he felt for the trader to the unsuspecting serving girl, the sudden fear reemerged that Derek would again resort to the safety of distance now that he had left Gravlorn behind. Derek had promised him they wouldn’t go back to mere friendship, and though it had only been days since Derek had left, Kherin knew that time and distance could make even the most solemn promise less certain. And Derek now had both to reconsider the promise he had made in the shadows of the Defender stables.
“Ah, Kherin….”
Those simple words were only in Kherin’s mind, but he still heard them clearly, and the warmth of them soothed his heart as the potion finally found the strength to close his eyes. The memory of Derek and the promises he made—and the kiss they had shared outside the Defender stables, the last one they had shared in this city—filled his thoughts and followed him into sleep.
WHEN his eyes opened again, he was surprised to find the room filled with shadows dark enough to say it was well into the night. A candle had been lit on the table next to him, though he could see little in the soft orange light. The candle hadn’t been there before, and the sudden loss of time startled him into wakefulness. He moved to sit up and gasped and then snarled as his movements made his wounds protest yet again. The voice that spoke near him startled him even more.
“Easy, Kherin. The healer says that you need to lie still and let your injuries heal.”
Kherin turned his head sharply to find Adrien seated next to him, in the same chair the healer had occupied, though on the opposite side of the sickbed. His brother leaned forward into the dim glow of the candle, which only accentuated the dark shadows under his eyes and the scraggly growth on his unshaved chin. Still, Adrien grinned, and the hand that brushed the hair from Kherin’s face was warm and gentle.
“Welcome back.”
Understanding of what he was seeing hit him sharply, and he breathed his brother’s name as he struggled to sit, only to be stopped again by Adrien’s hand and his own pulling wounds. He fell back to the bed gently as Adrien caught his arms before he could land too heavily on the torn flesh of his back, and his brother followed the movement to seat himself cautiously on the edge near his legs. Kherin could only stare through the moments it took to force his body to relax.
“How long have you been here?” he managed at last, his voice scratchy to his own ears, and the effort of speaking constricting his lungs enough to threaten what would be a painful round of coughing. Adrien retrieved the cup from the bedside table before Kherin could exhale more than a few labored breaths, and he encouraged Kherin to drink the tepid water it held. Only after the threat had passed did Adrien give his soft answer to the question.
“For a few hours. I came as soon as Willum bothered to tell me what happened.” The resentment in those last words was clear no matter how quietly they were spoken, though his hands were still gentle as he adjusted the blankets over his brother. “You’ve slept through the day, though I would blame that on Willum’s potions rather than your injuries.” He offered a slight smile as Kherin’s scowl began to form. “Willum seems to think sleep is the best form of healing, no matter the illness or injury.”
Kherin closed his eyes as he exhaled sharply at that. He had seen the healer’s fondness for potions and sleep during Adrien’s illness, and the sudden reminder of his brother’s health made him open his eyes again. Adrien still wore the nightshirt and sleeping pants given to every hospice patient, and though his skin was pale, his hair was clean, and his eyes… they were more alert than Kherin had seen them since coming to this city, less exhausted, less filled with frustration and pain.
But worry was there, and every cut Kherin had endured from the arrows seemed to flash in pain at the reminder of why their positions were reversed, and he shifted tentatively to test the depth of the injuries and the healer’s treatments. Bandages and stitches pulled, but the lancing pain he expected didn’t happen, as least if he moved slowly.
“I’m still alive,” Kherin said finally, his voice clearer though still all but a whisper. He pushed himself up slowly this time, and with Adrien’s help he managed a sitting position next to his brother on the edge of the bed. He took a long, heavy breath as Adrien let him settle into place, then brought up the most devastating memory of the attack. “Willum told me about the men who died.”
Adrien nodded as his hand rested gently on Kherin’s back. “The bodies will leave tomorrow to go back to their homes, and a message has been sent to Father. Replacements should arrive within a week.”
Practical, Kherin thought silently. And he could almost swear that the efficiency was Jarak’s doing rather than the Leader’s, as he had little doubt the blacksmith would see to the things that needed to be done and put off mourning, grief, or any other emotions until later, when there was time. Kherin wondered suddenly if that ability to distance oneself was an acquired condition—if they would all grow to be “practical” after so many years of duty on the border.
Or maybe they already were, as Adrien had spoken of only the official handling of the deaths and none of his own grief in the matter.
“What of Gresham?”
Adrien’s expression hardened at the mention of the Defender Leader, and even in the dim light the flash in his eyes was clear. He let out a brief sigh and averted his gaze before answering, though his hand had begun a warm stroking pattern on Kherin’s back. When he did speak, Kherin was watching carefully.
“Held in an empty building in the camp, but not sitting quietly,” Adrien answered after a moment. “Decidedly unhappy about being kept prisoner, and making no bones about his feelings. You’ve heard that he is being kept under guard following the fight in the inn last night?”
It wasn’t really a question, though Kherin nodded tiredly in answer. “Willum said he was drunk last night, and started the fight in the Silver Fish.”
Adrien nodded himself now, though his smile was grim. “Teren and Geoff took him and those with him down, but not before a serving girl was hurt. Both of them are among the guards set to keep watch on Gresham and his henchmen.”
Kherin let out a bark of sharp laughter at the description his brother had given to Defenders siding with Gresham, but he would admit it was an accurate term, if a harsh one. And he knew both of the named Defenders from the castle, Teren being among the members of his Father’s own guard, while Geoff performed his duties in the royal armory. However, the mention of the girl, Elliandra, was surprising, and he couldn’t be sure that the mention of her injuries was a deliberate announcement from either Willum or the Defenders or was simply mentioned in the rumors that had made their way into his brother’s sickroom. What he did understand was the carefulness of his brother’s answers, and he knew Adrien was waiting to see how much Kherin knew of what had happened the night before. Not volunteering the information was telling in itself.
“Gresham called me a coward.”
Neither blinked as their gazes locked, and when Adrien answered his voice was steady and calm.
“That’s what they’re saying on the streets. Gresham is saying that you ran from the battle.”
Adrien’s voice lacked question or accusation, though Kherin hissed out a curse as he dropped his gaze to the floor. He knew the fact he had all but usurped the position of Defender Leader after the first battle was bound to set him at odds with Gresham, and while the charge of cowardice was far less damaging against him as the second Llarien prince than it would have been had it been spoken against Adrien, it didn’t mean that the charge itself wasn’t serious.
“Nobody who knows you believes it’s true,” Adrien continued quietly, though neither of them had to mention that those who did know the second prince were limited almost solely to those from Delfore. “They know your reasons for leaving, and for what it’s worth, a number of Defenders from outside Delfore agree it was the wisest choice.”
“Yet Gresham’s words will hold more weight than anything I can say,” Kherin muttered quietly.
Adrien shrugged. “When you’re in a Defender camp, that’s generally how it goes. But people can believe what they want—”
“And it’s the people who will hold the most credibility once word gets sent to Father.” Kherin tilted his head back to loosen the stiffness in his neck, and felt the pull on the skin beneath his chin. He raised his hand to test the injury he had received, but the bandages tightened over his arm as he moved. His hand dropped at the same time as his head. He found Adrien still watching him when he managed to look at his brother again.
“Father didn’t want me to come here, and causing this kind of trouble is only going to fuel his temper even more.” The words were emotionless, but the weight they carried was felt by them both nonetheless.
Adrien shook his head. “That won’t happen. The Defenders from the castle won’t allow the rumors to grow out of control, and Jarak will stop any messages detailing anything but news of the northerners from being sent. Those who want to press the charges of cowardice won’t be returning to Delfore, so I don’t think you have to worry about the things being said here making it back to Father.”
“Jarak won’t be able to stop them all,” Kherin reminded him, his voice bitter and tired. “And he’s not going to lie to Father either.” He sighed again as his eyes drifted closed. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Adrien’s quiet laugh was so much like Derek’s it was nearly startling, and the surprise of the unexpected reminder of the trader left heat warming his cheeks. Derek would likely tell him the same things as Adrien had the trader been sitting here in Adrien’s place, though Kherin felt a trickle of warmth seep through him as he wagered that the trader would also likely urge him to accept the possibility of the rumors reaching his father, and accept as well that there was little either of them could do to stop or change that fact. A small smile curled his lips at the sudden thought that maybe that was the secret to Derek’s even temper and endless reserves of soothing calmness: he didn’t waste his time or energy railing against the things he couldn’t change.
“Choose your battles wisely, my prince, or else you will lack the strength to fight those that are most important.”
Kherin wasn’t sure if he had actually heard Derek ever say those words, though he had certainly tried to teach him through his actions.
Still, this was exactly what it would take to make his father lose the last of his patience, and the thought of his father sending an army to drag him back to Delfore formed a cold knot that settled heavily in his stomach. Then he frowned as he followed that thought to something else. Derek had told him a message had been sent to his father the night they arrived in the city—hadn’t there been time enough for the message to have reached Delfore by now? Surely his father wouldn’t calmly accept Kherin’s—or Derek’s—breaking the promise Derek had made him.
“Have a little faith in the Defenders who know you better, and less in those who don’t know you at all,” Adrien said then, drawing him back to the present with a second stark reminder of the trader in the words he spoke. “Not everyone in the city is going to listen to some drunkard spouting his discontent. Believe or not, the majority of the Defenders are smarter than that.”
Kherin sighed, hoping his brother was right, but knowing better than to count on it. A trickle of amusement entered his thoughts as he realized that Derek’s advice cautioning him to that fact would be unnecessary for once. But the constant reminders of the trader made him ask the question he already knew the answer to, though he couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice when he did.
“Have you heard from Derek?”
Adrien’s smile warmed at the mention of the trader, though he shook his head slowly, just as Kherin had expected him to.
“No,” Adrien answered quietly. “And you should know better than to expect a message from him so soon. He’s not going to forget about his reason for going to Dennor, and he’s not going to delay sending any information about what he finds, when he finds it.”
“I know,” Kherin sighed, knowing it was true, but still wishing he could have something to confirm Derek’s well-being. “I was just wondering.”
“And you know you shouldn’t worry about him.” Adrien’s smile widened at the surprise that filled Kherin’s eyes. “Derek knows the cities, the roads, and the seasons better than almost anyone in the kingdom, and he’s been traveling through them alone for years. I would wager that he’s faring better than either one of us at the moment.”
He paused as Kherin looked away, though his voice was softer and kinder when he spoke again. “You know Derek will be back. And given what I’ve seen of you two lately, I would even say it’s more likely to be sooner rather than later.”
Kherin felt his flush deepen at being told nearly outright that his brother was fully aware that it was more than Derek’s well-being that he was thinking about. But that was his own fault. He hadn’t intended to tell Adrien about that night in the Harper’s Den, but with Adrien’s returning health and the trader’s absence from the city, he hadn’t been able to stop himself either. Adrien’s laughter sounded quietly as Kherin shifted just a little beside him.
“Who would have thought that a simple trader could tame the wild younger prince of the royal house of Delfore?” he teased gently. “But I guess Derek is the only person you ever truly listened to. The Gods know you didn’t listen to me when I told you not to throw rocks at the hornet’s nest growing behind the kitchen door.”
Kherin grunted instead of answering, but he remembered full well how the stings of the hornets had burned like fire that day when he was eleven and had thrown the rocks anyway, and how the welts had remained red and sore even after the castle healer had treated the stings with a poultice of garlic and salt. Adrien had acted as a typical fourteen-year-old would have, calling him on his own poor judgment while adding a healthy dose of “I told you so” once it was certain that the stings weren’t deadly. His father had made only a cursory visit to the healer’s quarters to determine the extent of the damage, though he hadn’t stayed longer than to reprimand those tasked with watching him for slacking in their duties.
Derek, however, had stayed with him, letting his own master handle the business they had with the king while he soothed Kherin’s tears with kind words and soft touches and made him laugh despite the pain with his gently given jokes about the smell of the poultice and the swelling that made Kherin look like a puffer fish. Gods, Kherin remembered being so glad Derek was there in the castle that day, though he had nearly cried again when Derek had to leave with his master so soon after.
“I bet you would have thrown the rocks again if it would have made Derek stay.”
Kherin felt his cheeks burn as Adrien followed his thoughts far too easily, and Adrien laughed outright as Kherin’s darkening color seemed to tell him more than words that he hadn’t been wrong. And the Gods only knew where the teasing would have gone from there if the door to the sickroom hadn’t opened at that moment. Kherin was almost relieved when Willum entered, though both he and Adrien were surprised to find Jarak following behind him. Adrien’s laughter faded to silence as they watched the healer and Defender stop just inside the doorway, and it lasted until Willum finally spoke.
“Jarak requested a few moments to speak to you both before you”—he looked squarely at Adrien—“return to your own room for the night, and you”—now he looked at Kherin—“eat a little before you return to your sleep. I only request that this doesn’t take long.” The last words were directed at Jarak, though the blacksmith only nodded as Willum retreated through the door.
Kherin couldn’t stop the thread of amusement at how not even the irritated healer was capable of ruffling Jarak’s feathers, though both he and Adrien watched Jarak curiously as he stepped farther into the room. The blacksmith’s words began only after he had issued the standard salutes.
“My lords,” he said, addressing them both, “searches have been conducted east and west of the camp, and in the areas between the Defender road and the Ford, but no other northerners have been found. The only sign of their presence is a campsite found east of the camp where they seem to have gathered on our side of the river, but nothing was left to say how many were there or for how long they were there, nor where they went when they left, or if any had stayed out of the attacks on Gravlorn. Messages have also been sent to Lorn and Oxlan warning them of the northern presence and advising that they send their own messages to the next cities. They should be organizing their men to conduct their own searches for northern campsites in the areas between here and there shortly.”
The report was brief and concise, given in the manner of a reporting Defender, but as Jarak fell silent, Kherin felt himself straightening his back on his seat on the bed. He had played with the possibility of what he was about to say before, but somehow, for some reason, right now the uncertainty was gone.
“If they find any northerners in Llarien, it’s only going to be by luck,” he stated flatly, not meeting the eyes of either his brother or the blacksmith. “They didn’t cross the river recently.” He glanced up at Jarak for confirmation that the camp was not new, and received it in the form of a brief nod. “Because they’re already in the kingdom. We haven’t found them because the northerners are among those doing the searching. Because the northerners are among the Defenders. Remember the man they caught in Lorn? He wasn’t the only one. Remember what we spoke of at the river?”
Adrien’s eyes narrowed in confusion at the mention of the river, but Jarak frowned in understanding, making the connection between that conversation and the attack that followed. The attack aimed specifically against Kherin.
Kherin let out a heavy breath. “No one knows all of the Defenders at any given time. So many people from so many different cities that any strange face is only assumed to be from some other city. But the northerners are here, they’re doing the searches, and they’re making sure we don’t find where they are gathering, either by leading us elsewhere or claiming they found nothing.”
It made so much sense to Kherin now that his confidence in the assumption grew with every word he said. Filling Adrien in on their talk about flushing the northerners into the open in the Gravlorn camp took only a few moments, and though Adrien held his tongue as he considered it, the blacksmith remained expressionless. But Jarak was from Delfore, so it was a given that any misgivings he would have felt would remain unsaid unless and until it became necessary to voice them. Still, Kherin had seen a little of what was behind the stoic Delfore exterior at the river, and he wondered suddenly if it was Adrien’s presence that pushed Jarak back to strict formality.
And on the heels of that came another sudden realization—his own status as prince may have made it possible to make the changes he had made so far inside the camp, but he was no longer the highest-ranking prince in Gravlorn. And now that Adrien seemed capable of assuming his higher rank….
Kherin’s uncertainty was quickly discounted, however, as Adrien seemed to read the question in his face and shook his head before Kherin could speak.
“You’ve seen more of what is happening with the northerners than I have, so you’re more prepared to deal with them. I’m not going to call rank to stop you.”
Kherin heard the “yet” Adrien hadn’t said aloud at end of his announcement, and didn’t doubt Adrien had chosen his last words deliberately, but he nevertheless felt his lips curl into a smile of both relief and gratitude. He still nodded his thanks before turning back to Jarak. “Bring me a map,” he said then. “I want to find out who is hiding the northerners.”
“Hiding them, my lord?”
“If they are here, then there is a good chance they are not acting alone,” Kherin went on firmly, “and if someone is helping them, then I want to know who, and why.” And we need to know now, while Llarien is still capable of stopping them, he added silently, though he knew that both Adrien and Jarak were aware of the sentiment.
Jarak drew a breath, but it wasn’t to argue. “I’m not sure what maps are available in the city, my lord, but I’ll bring what I can find.”
“Bring Ronel too,” Kherin added quietly. “He’s got sharp eyes and wits enough to recognize when something is out of place, so he might have noticed something that nobody else did.” Derek would have noticed anything odd, but the trader wasn’t here to be his eyes in the city.
“As you will, my lord,” Jarak said then, accepting his orders without complaint, and when no further instructions came, he saluted them both then slipped through the door. Kherin waited for Adrien’s words on the matter, but received only a gentle pat to his back instead.
“You need to get some sleep, and so do I,” the elder prince said quietly. “Willum will be back soon—”
His words cut off as his prediction came true nearly immediately, as the healer stepped into the room with a frown at each of them before he stepped to Adrien’s side. He would brook no arguments this late into the night when it came to seeing the princes to sleep, though Kherin managed to give his brother a brief hug before the healer urged Adrien to his feet. Adrien turned back once to offer Kherin a brief smile, and Kherin watched them until the door closed behind them. He slumped back onto the bed as he was again left alone in the dim light of the sickroom.
The surety that he was right—finally right—was enough to allow him to ignore the pain of his wounds being stretched again as he lay back, though the brutal reminder that they—he and Derek—may have been right all along made him slap his fist into the mattress. And why had it had taken so damned long to realize it?
Kherin raised a hand and massaged the bridge of his nose, a perfect imitation of his brother if anyone had been there to notice it. So like Adrien, as he had been told more than once when he was caught mimicking his brother’s habits. But he was so damned stupid. Because it wasn’t in truth a matter of taking too long to realize it—they had seen it, he and Derek both, Jarak and Ronel a short time later—it had just taken them all too long to do anything about it. And now it may be too late to do any good.
He drew a deep breath and forced his thoughts away from that path, his mind wandering to Derek and what he would think if he knew they had said the answer that night in the attic room, and yet they hadn’t acted on it simply because they hadn’t truly recognized it for what it was.
Or maybe Derek already knew, having learned it through his own methods and whatever else happened in the city of Dennor. Gods, how he wished Derek was here so he would know for sure, and know whether Derek saw the very real possibility of northerners in the city as the answer they needed or simply another piece of a puzzle that had yet to be finished. But Kherin couldn’t be sure he would even see Derek again before they both returned to Delfore….
And the twinge in his heart stopped the heat that inevitably grew to arousal nearly every time he thought of the trader and what they had started during their last night together in Gravlorn. No regrets, Derek had said, and no, they would not return to the simpler and safer existence where they shared food, wine, and stories, but never their bed or their bodies. Kherin’s own heart and mind were set, but would it matter if time and distance changed Derek’s?
And would it matter if their actions came too late to save Llarien from the bloodshed the northerners had apparently been preparing for decades?
He drew another breath as he closed his eyes. Jarak wouldn’t bring the maps until the next morning at the earliest, and the time that would be lost between now and then would only add to what had been lost today. The northerners were moving quickly while the Defenders were moving far too slowly, and while crossing the river may not be an option for him any longer, it didn’t mean others couldn’t go in his place. It wasn’t an option he liked or was comfortable with, but something had happened on the far side of the river to bring all of this to bear now.
And one way or the other, he was going to find out what it was.