“SO WHY haven’t we seen them?” Kherin’s question was loud enough to say he was speaking to his brother and the blacksmith, but the musing tone he had used said it was most likely a question to himself. The map Jarak had brought him that morning was spread across his lap, and he was forced to hunch over the faded ink marking the parchment to make out the lines that separated the north from the south, and pick out the indicated features of the land it depicted. His position on the bed didn’t allow others to examine the work as closely as he could, but none offered arguments as Kherin continued to study the markings.
Adrien was seated in the chair opposite him, leaving Kherin to sit alone on the bed, while Jarak stood at the elder prince’s shoulder, content to offer nothing unless asked. The healer was thankfully absent, and he had even more thankfully taken Elli with him once she had delivered his morning meal.
True to her words, Elli had returned the evening before bearing food from the Silver Fish, though Kherin’s sleep under the healer’s potion had spared him that particular visit. This morning, however, there were no potions to save him from the admittance of the serving girl and the meal she brought, though the plate of roasted ham and steaming oats remained untouched on the bedside table. Kherin had been gracious when she claimed it had been no bother to go the inn earlier than usual to ensure she could get the freshest portions for the prince, but he had graciously refused when she had offered to join him for the early morning meal.
Because he hadn’t missed the hopefulness in her voice when she had made the offer, or the fact her eyes had found what the thinly spun hospice clothes barely hid. The flush of arousal from his interrupted fantasy of Derek had still colored his skin when she had stepped into the sickroom.
He felt his skin heat again even now, remembering how achingly hard his cock had been when he had first roused from sleep, and how his thoughts had still been caught in the sleep-induced reenactment of both the way-stop and the Harper’s Den while the shift of the blankets provided enough friction to make him moan. Gods, he had wanted Derek, and had wanted him badly, and only the pull of stitches as he moved to roll over had stopped him from rubbing himself to release against the mattress as the last of his fantasy played out.
And only the sounds of the healer and the serving girl in the hall outside his door had stopped his hands from doing what his body could not. Willum had entered without knocking with Elli on his heels, and Kherin had barely had enough time to ensure his erection was covered before the girl’s gaze had centered on the bulge in the blankets. The widening of her eyes effectively squashed the arousal in his blood. Fortunately, his irritation at her gawking had been clear enough for Willum to ensure she didn’t linger. For that, he offered sincere thanks to the healer. Derek’s eyes were welcome on his body, and the trader’s hands even more so, but the attentions of a moonstruck serving girl were not.
“What would Derek say, learning that women were sneaking into your room at inappropriate hours of the morning?” Adrien had asked him amid laughter when Kherin had explained the untouched breakfast the moment his brother finally joined him.
“Derek wouldn’t need an explanation, and he’d probably be laughing harder than you,” Kherin had muttered, though he had felt his skin heat anyway simply because he knew it was true.
“There are no cities marked on the northern side of the river, and nothing to say there are even settlements anywhere on the plains,” Kherin muttered now, breaking the silence that was again beginning to fall. “So how the hell do they get to the river unseen, and where do they go when they leave?”
Adrien did answer the questions this time.
“Most likely whoever drew that map hadn’t actually been to the northern plains, or hadn’t been in them long enough to get more detail than what we see here. We don’t trade with the north, so there is no reason to know what their lands hold.”
That made sense, and was obvious once it had been spoken, but still….
The map Jarak had brought was drawn on a large sheet of parchment, though one too small to be meant to be displayed on a wall, and it detailed the whole of the kingdom and the location of its cities, though there was little to indicate actual measurements of the distance in between. The locations of the northerner camp that had been found between Gravlorn and Lorn had been marked as well, and someone—most likely Jarak, though the prince hadn’t asked and the blacksmith hadn’t volunteered—had estimated the distances and travel time to reach it from both the Defender cities, as well as provided estimations of the distances from the camps—theirs and the northerners’—to the river, the Defender road, and each other, along with any other landmarks worth being noted. The map was also marked with outlines of the areas assigned for searches, and the handful of parchment slips the blacksmith carried contained a partial list of the names of those Defenders assigned to each area.
A very thorough job of it, Kherin had to admit, with little left for him to do other than begin a list of his own of the names he recognized, and a separate list of the ones he didn’t.
But what the map included that held his interest the most were markings on the northern side of the river, apparently made by the original mapmaker, though how he had known the geography of the northern plains, no one in this room knew.
“How is it we don’t see campfires, if they stay close to the river? There’s not enough trees on their side to hide a fire, and not enough game on the plains to support the number of northerners we’ve seen, at least not for very long, not without us catching sight of their hunts at least some of the time.” Kherin looked at his brother as if waiting for an answer, but Adrien shook his head, adding a slight shrug before speaking.
“It’s not impossible to say they settle and hunt closer to the mountains, and the ones who come to the river rely on the nonperishable supplies they bring with them. Water could be found in any number of streams that aren’t on the map, and they may be acclimated to the weather enough that the lack of a fire is not deadly.” Adrien shrugged again. “It may be a harsher way to live than what we are used to, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”
“But we haven’t seen horses on their side either,” Kherin pointed out, glancing at Jarak to ensure he was included in the conversation. “If they are going to carry enough supplies to travel from the mountains to the river, they would need some way to carry them. And their weapons.” He found Adrien’s eyes again. “And they have apparently added bows to the swords and axes we’ve always known they carried.”
Adrien frowned as he considered Kherin’s words then looked to Jarak to ask a question of his own. “Has anyone examined the arrows they shot that night?”
There were plenty to be found in the camp after the battle was over, though most had been broken, and they were largely concentrated in the place where Kherin had been standing. Kherin looked to the blacksmith as well, but the shake of Jarak’s head said the answer wasn’t what they had wanted.
“We’ve examined the arrows, my lords, but they are what you would expect from the plainsmen. The tips were steel, but most of them were damaged from previous use, and the fletchings were tied with twine made from the grasses that grow in abundance there. The fletchings themselves seemed to be made of only what feathers they found or gathered.”
“Was there poison on any of them?”
Adrien’s question drew Kherin’s gaze sharply, but again the blacksmith shook his head. “None were poisoned that we are aware of, my lord.”
Kherin knew the reason his brother had asked that question, though Jarak may or may not have known its importance. The lack of poison on the arrowheads meant it was also unlikely to have been on the blade that had cut into Adrien’s shoulder. Kherin had already suspected as much, though with no other answer to Adrien’s seizures after that cut had been made, he kept his silence.
How the northerners moved, lived, and remained unseen was a more disturbing question at the moment, and Kherin instead let his gaze fall back to the map as he worked through the possibilities. Trying to learn anything about the northerners or their land when no one had been there in decades—if not centuries—was frustrating, and choosing the men he would send across the river in his place was difficult. While it hadn’t seemed so dangerous when he was to be included with those crossing, now that he would have to choose others, the risks were becoming more apparent. No map in the southern kingdom would tell them what they would find—and may have to fight—once they were on the other side.
But crossing was their only option, as the northerners weren’t likely to come to Llarien to teach them the northern tactics and strategies.
Except that one already had.
Kherin’s gaze drifted from the map to stare at nothing in the corner as he remembered they did have a true northerner in Llarien, and one who was kept fed and warm in the storage room of the Open Door. And he knew the Llarien tongue just as well as knew his own homeland. Kherin just needed to find a way to make him talk.
“Gain his trust.”
The thought—the remembered words—came to him so suddenly he nearly heard them aloud. That was what Derek had said to him in the attic room of the Harper’s Den, after his first visit with the northerner had proved fruitless.
“Win it, buy it, trade for it or bribe it away from him. Make him so angry he forgets his disguise, trick him into giving himself away, or spy on him until he makes a mistake.” Derek had smiled then. “It’s not so much figuring out what to do as it is making the decision about which to do.”
He dropped his gaze again to the map as the words echoed in his mind. The advice the trader had given him had been under circumstances different than this, but the answer he saw in the words was unmistakable.
“I want to visit the northerner,” he said suddenly, bringing his gaze up at last to look from Adrien to Jarak and back again. “He knows our language and he know the northern lands. And I think it’s about time we had a talk.”
Adrien raised an eyebrow as he regarded Kherin calmly. “That may be so, but how are you going to get him to speak? He hasn’t made a sound since we’ve had him—how do you plan to make him talk now?”
“Your options are there, my prince, so decide which one is the best option to take.”
“I’ll figure out something,” he answered quietly, echoing the rest of the words Derek had told him that night in the inn. He then looked at Jarak with a small, brittle smile. “Have Willum bring me my clothes.”
KHERIN blinked as he stepped from the gray, slushy streets of Gravlorn into the heat of the common room of the Open Door. Willum hadn’t let him leave the hospice easily and had done so only after the day had warmed—such as it was—and then only in the company of Jarak and Teren, a second Defender called to serve as guard for the second prince of Llarien. Adrien he had refused to release, at least not for this, and for that Kherin was grateful. Though Adrien could move without assistance and spent time out of doors each day, this meeting with the northerner was more than Willum or Kherin was willing to risk—and one prince was far more easily protected than two should things turn badly. Ronel was left in charge of the continuing searches in Jarak’s absence.
The innkeeper looked up with a scowl as the three entered, but quickly returned to his work when he recognized the leather armor the Defenders wore, if not the prince himself positioned between them. The day was still early enough not to interrupt the majority of his business, but Kherin wouldn’t have cared if they had. He gave a short nod of approval at finding the two Defenders assigned to guard outside the storeroom in place, though he didn’t miss the brief look of surprise that filled their faces as he moved carefully toward them.
The walk to the tavern had been slow and painful, and he had relied on the discreet support of both Jarak and Teren as they had made their way through the streets. However, in the presence of the prisoner appearance would be important, and so he made his way to the storeroom door unassisted.
The Defenders on guard weren’t from Delfore, which meant the one assigned to watch from inside the storeroom would be, and the opening of the door showed Kherin it was an Arms Trainer named Jaden who had pulled the duty at this particular time. Jaden issued a salute before stepping aside to let Kherin enter, and he took his position just to the right of Kherin as Jarak and Teren moved to the left. None of them stood behind the prince, as none were willing to allow the northerner an unhindered path to reach Kherin. All of them kept their hands ready on their swords.
The northerner had stood as well when his visitors arrived, raising to his full height and meeting the prince’s eyes through the shaggy fall of his hair. He was cleaner now than when they had caught him, the dirt from his skin and hair gone, and the clothes he wore were Llarien-made, though not the finest cuts that could be found in the city. The storeroom was even cleaner than the innkeeper likely kept it, but whether that was his own doing or the demands of the Defenders, Kherin didn’t care. What he did care about was that while the northerner didn’t appear threatening, he was far from intimidated. Patient, if Kherin had to truly name his attitude.
And patience was the one thing that he didn’t have. Thanks to Willum and the slow walk because of his injuries, he had had time to think about what Derek had said and what his actions would be. But while Derek had provided plenty of options to choose from, the one he would choose would be his decision alone. And so he made it.
“Tell me about the Akhael.”
The reaction was exactly what he had hoped for. Mention of a word that had been used solely by northerners sparked a flash of surprise in this northerner’s eyes, and a tensing of his body that was defensive, rather than in preparation for an attack. Kherin had caught him off guard, and he felt the smile curling his lips as the northerner watched him warily now. Whether the Defenders around him were surprised at the unfamiliar term, Kherin didn’t bother to look, though he was aware of the stiffening of their postures.
“I know you know my language, and now you know that I know about the Akhael. That should be enough to begin our conversation.”
The northerner’s eyes narrowed, but he made no other move.
“You’re a prisoner here, but you know we won’t kill you unless you give us a reason to. I know you don’t want to spend the remainder of your days under guard in this storeroom, but rest assured that you will be moved to someplace less comfortable unless we come to an understanding. You want your freedom. I want information. I think a conversation is in order.”
Trade for it. That was the option Kherin had decided to try first. His father, his brother, and every Defender in the kingdom would likely call him a traitor if he were to set the northerner free, but the truth was that this northerner had learned nothing of Llarien that his tribesmen on the other side of the river didn’t already know, not if northerners had been in Llarien for as long as he suspected they had, not when a Defender in Lorn had already betrayed the kingdom by passing information that day in the middle of the river. Derek had said that they had been at a disadvantage on this front against the northerners for far longer than any of them realized. If setting one northerner free would change that, so be it.
“Tell me about the Akhael.”
“You lie.”
The voice was deep, but Kherin was almost stunned at how clear—how Llarien-born—the sound was. Where he learned the Llarien tongue—how he had learned it—Kherin couldn’t begin to grasp, but what mattered most was what he heard: the northerner spoke.
“No, I don’t,” he answered evenly. “My father rules this kingdom, and therefore I am a prince of Llarien. The men who guard you will let you go free and unharmed on my word, or answer for their crime in the court of the king if they do not. And you know enough about our lands to know it’s the truth.” He paused while the words sank in. “Tell me about the Akhael.”
The northerner stared through long moments of silence before his lips curled up, and Kherin saw the teeth, though it was anything but a smile. He spoke without blinking.
“They will destroy you, the same as they destroyed the northern tribes. Flee, as we should have.”
Kherin stared in return now. Flee… as they should have?
The lips curled higher. “You think it is mere tribesmen you fight, Llarien-born? The Akhael have taken the plains, and what tribesmen you see fight for their lives, against you and against them. Flee, or face the same fate.”
Kherin waited, but so did the northerner. If what he was hearing were true, the northerners who they had believed for years inhabited the northern plains were not the northerners who now threatened the southern kingdom. And threatened them—the true northerners—as well. So why did they join the Akhael? Why not fight them instead?
The northerner laughed when Kherin voiced the question, but it was a cold and bitter sound. “We didn’t, prince of the kingdom. They joined us. Joined us, and then destroyed us.”
“With magic?” Kherin asked the question before he could think better of it, but the sudden rearing up of the northerner said it had been the right question nonetheless. It had taken the raising of his own hand to keep the Defender steel from being drawn.
“Yes, Prince Kherin of Delfore, the Bloodborn magic.”
Kherin couldn’t stop the swords from being drawn this time, but he did manage to keep the Defenders from advancing. So this northerner knew full well who he was; he could likely thank every northerner crawling through the Llarien lands for that.
“The blood of the tribes has fed them thus far, but our numbers are growing thin. The Akhael now look to increase their livestock. Flee, prince of Delfore.”
“Why did they attack Adrien?” Kherin didn’t bother to explain who Adrien was; if this northerner knew him, then he knew his brother.
“Why do they attack any with southern blood?”
“How do they remain unseen?”
The northerner laughed again.
The tension of the Defenders was close to breaking.
Kherin’s voice was strained. “How do they remain unseen?”
“Look to the ground, Llarien-born. Their paths are not where you can see them.”
Kherin gritted his teeth. “How do you stop their magic?”
The pressure of the Defenders moving close said this meeting was nearly over, but Kherin wanted the answer before Jarak and the others dragged him from the room.
“How do you stop their magic?” he hissed.
The northerner bared his teeth. “You don’t, Llarien-born.”
Jarak and Teren moved in that instant, almost shoving Kherin through the door as Jaden stepped between the prince and the northerner. The Defenders outside the door joined Jaden as the northerner’s cries became ones demanding freedom, and the sound was barely muted as the door slammed closed behind them.
Stares from the innkeeper and his few patrons met Kherin’s eyes when he looked up, and Kherin looked at each one of them in turn then tightened his lips as he moved slowly toward the door to the street. Jarak and Teren remained close, though neither touched him until they stood on the icy and slush-covered street. That was when Kherin stopped, and that was when his gaze swept the area around them to ensure he couldn’t be overheard. Then he faced his Defenders with a long, heavy breath.
“Let the northerner go.”
Jarak and Teren remained still, though they didn’t counter the order, and Kherin let out another sigh as he turned again to sweep his gaze over the streets. “I promised him his freedom if he gave us information, and he did. I’m not going to go back on my word.” He looked at Jarak and Teren in turn. “When he calms, escort him to the river and let him cross. I’ll answer to my father and my brother.” And Derek, he added silently, wondering suddenly what the trader would think of his actions.
His first slow step away from the Open Door was stopped by a hand on his arm.
“We will escort you back to the hospice first, my lord, and then return to remove the northerner,” Jarak said plainly.
Teren moved to Kherin’s other side without waiting for orders, and this time Kherin was grateful for the hands that supported his steps.
“SO YOU freed him?” Adrien asked quietly, though the question wasn’t really a question.
“I gave my word,” Kherin told him flatly. “It’s not what I intended when I went to the inn, but I made the promise, and I kept it.” The pull of his healing thigh and the stitches that still closed the wound in his side kept him from pacing, but sitting still was nearly as torturous. Willum had already treated him with both potions and his frown of displeasure, but neither had much effect given Kherin’s current mood. Adrien had listened patiently from his seat on the chair as Kherin sat stiffly on the bed, but Kherin had yet to hear if his brother thought him an idiot for freeing the first northern prisoner Llarien had ever held.
He didn’t have to wait long to learn his answer.
“I don’t think you were wrong in believing there is little he can tell the northerners—or the Akhael, if his words were true—that they don’t already know or suspect,” Adrien began, his voice even and void of emotion. “Just the fact that he knew the Llarien tongue says he knows more about us than we would like.”
Kherin nodded, massaging the stitches on his side as the wound throbbed from his walk to the inn. Derek had said the same that night in the Harper’s Den, or something very close to it, and he had faith in Derek’s words, if not his brother’s.
“The Defenders are not going to be happy that you set him free, though,” Adrien went on. “Especially if one of them dies at his hand if he joins the attacks later.”
“I know,” Kherin bit out. If that happened, he would be named a murderer as well as a traitor and coward. That was the one bit of shortsightedness he had had in the rendering of his decision.
“So I guess it’s up to the Defenders themselves to keep that from happening,” Adrien added then, giving Kherin a smile he hadn’t expected. “If the Defenders are as well-trained as they should be, they shouldn’t fear death at the hands of a single freed northerner.”
Kherin huffed out a laugh, welcoming the reprieve his brother had given him and hoping he would receive the same from Derek once the trader learned of what he had done. He looked out the window at the gray winter streets as he realized another day was ending without word from the trader, and he couldn’t help wondering again where he was, whether he had learned what he had gone to Dennor to learn, whether he would hear from the trader before Kherin was forced to return to the castle with the Defender company, or whether it would be in Delfore that they crossed paths again, as Derek had said it would be the day he left.
Gods, he had gone much longer than this between Derek’s visits to the castle in Delfore, but he couldn’t be sure he had ever missed the trader this badly. Or at least if he had ever admitted that he had.
The opening of the door jarred his thoughts back to the hospice and Gravlorn, and both he and Adrien looked up as Jarak strode into the room. The blacksmith offered salutes even before he stopped, though his words were directed more at Kherin than the elder prince.
“The northerner is gone, my lord,” he said simply. “No one raised a hand to stop him, and we watched until he reached the northern bank.”
“Did you see where he went once he got there?” Kherin asked, and he was rewarded with the crinkling around the blacksmith’s eyes.
“Aye, my lord,” Jarak answered, including Adrien in his smile. “The northerner actually made sure that we did. There is an entrance in a dip in the land not far from the bank of the river.”
Tunnels. That was what the northerner had meant when he had said their paths were not where they could be seen. The plains were flat enough to give a clear view of the mountains far north of the river, but they were not flat enough to eliminate the occasional rise and fall of the land in between. That was how the northerners had appeared so suddenly, and that was how they had vanished so quickly. Had no one ever watched them long enough after an attack to learn that?
Given what Kherin had seen of the Gravlorn camp, he knew the answer without hearing it. Adrien and Jarak had too, which was why it had taken them a relatively short time to come up with the possibility of tunnels after Kherin’s return to the hospice. There was little they could do with the answer without knowing the extent of the tunnels on the northern side, but they had at least gotten an answer to one of their questions, and that was more than they had had yesterday.
Then the opening of the door prevented any more from being said on the subject for the moment, and all three watched the newest visitors enter Kherin’s small sickroom. Willum was one, and the serving girl Elli was the other. Kherin nearly groaned at being forced into a second visit with the girl today, but stopped himself when he saw the look on her face. Elli was pale, and the light in her eyes was from more than the thought of an intimate visit with the second prince of Llarien.
Adrien’s presence was apparently unexpected, however, as was Jarak’s, and her skin seemed to pale even more when she saw three curious stares watching her.
“My lords… sir Defender,” she began hesitantly, her gaze flitting between the three of them. “I—there’s trouble at the Silver Fish, my lords. Defenders are there—” Her voice dropped as she looked worriedly at Jarak in his Defender armor before settling back on Kherin. “They’re drinking and shouting, my lord, and they’re saying—s-saying….”
“Defenders should be there to stop any trouble from anyone,” Kherin cut in sharply, and his own gaze went to Jarak in time to see the blacksmith nod.
“Aye, my lord. Karlton and Bellam are assigned to the Fish tonight.”
Karlton and Bellam—guards, both from Delfore. Both capable of handling drunkards found in a city tavern, both capable of handling drunk Defenders in any city tavern….
“It’s not them, my lords,” Elli blurted out quickly. “It’s other Defenders who are causing the trouble! They’re saying—saying that you freed the northern prisoner, and that you must be in league with them, and—and that you—”
“Part of it’s the truth,” Kherin cut in again, sharp enough now to draw Adrien’s hand to his arm. “And the rest is—”
“But they’re saying—they’re saying you did so only be-because he sucked your—”
“They’re saying what?” Pulling stitches or not, Kherin was on his feet, and Elli fell back with a terrified cry as Adrien and Jarak stopped him cold.
“Back up, Kherin!” Adrien said, one hand on Kherin’s chest, the other clenched tightly around his arm.
“Stop terrifying the girl and sit back down before you rip out those stitches!” Willum had stepped forward, blocking Elli from Kherin’s view, though she still peered around him, as if more afraid of not being able to see the prince than facing his anger openly.
Jarak said nothing, moving only so as to be ready if Kherin lunged.
Kherin ignored them all, and his stare bore into Elli with little regard for her terrified state. “Who?” he demanded coldly. “Tell me their names.”
“I-I don’t know, my lord,” Elli answered, her voice high and quivering. “They’re Defenders, but other Defenders are trying to stop them—I don’t know them either! Except Nestev—I recognize him! And Derrin—”
Her voice faltered again, but what she said had been enough. Those she mentioned were from Delfore, as were Karlton and Bellam—the two who were supposed to have been there. The others—
“Take me there,” he said evenly, cutting Elli off as he attempted to push past his brother and Jarak. But Jarak didn’t move, and Adrien didn’t let go. Kherin snapped his eyes to the face of his brother as Adrien stopped him a second time.
“Wait while I get dressed,” Adrien told him flatly, and he didn’t flinch from the fury he saw simmering in brother’s eyes. “Whatever is happening at the tavern, you’re not going there alone. Jarak will wait with you, but you will wait for me.”
“Adrien!” Kherin hissed furiously, but Adrien had already turned his gaze to the blacksmith, and Jarak’s solemn nod said exactly whose orders he would follow. Adrien’s hand fell away at the same time Jarak moved to stand fully in front the younger prince, and though he didn’t touch him, Kherin knew the blacksmith wouldn’t budge.
Adrien met his eyes once more before turning to the door, and the warning in them was as clear as the shadows under his eyes. Kherin bit back a curse.
Adrien had no business going to a tavern when breaking up a fight was almost inevitable, but he was the elder prince, and he had the authority to overrule any of Kherin’s decisions. And he had made it clear he would overrule this one. The curse Kherin had held back once made it through his lips this time, and he had no choice but to watch as Adrien moved to the door, and no choice but to wait as Adrien bid him. Kherin’s gaze had turned flat by the time his brother paused in front of the girl to ask Elli to wait as well, and his lips had pressed into a tight line by the time Adrien vanished from sight. Jarak’s eyes were steady and unyielding when Kherin finally looked back to him.
Willum, however, was enraged. Once the girl was safely out of the room, his diatribe about the stupidity of princes was mixed with declarations of the unlucky state of the kingdom in being cursed with idiots destined for the throne. His demands that Kherin sit and remain still long enough for him to ensure that no stitches pulled loose weren’t any less vehement, and his hands weren’t gentle, even when he checked the sewn cut on Kherin’s chin. But he at last was satisfied that Kherin hadn’t harmed himself further. His parting words to Jarak had encompassed a warning concerning the princes’ health and a request he do his best to ensure both returned without further injuries. The door slammed closed behind him as he left.
Kherin let out an angry breath as he settled his clothes back into place, and he chose to ignore the amusement Jarak did little to try to hide. Whatever waited for them at the Silver Fish Inn squashed any humor he could have raised at being dressed down by a man old enough to be his grandfather. Gresham had already slandered him once, and that had ended with the Leader held prisoner alongside those who had sided with him. Kherin had never imagined the slander would end with the seizing of Gresham then, and he hadn’t expected the anger at his freeing of the northerner to reach this extent this soon.
But it had.
A scowl tightened his face as he stared at the wall. It had, and this time it was going to be worse, because if what Elli had said was happening at the tavern were true, this time it could end in bloodshed.
“STAY here until this is settled,” Adrien said quietly, directing his words at Elli and moving her gently away from the door to the Silver Fish Inn. The door was closed, but Kherin could hear the shouts from inside clearly, though at least there wasn’t the sound of steel on steel coming from inside as well. Whatever trouble was brewing inside the inn, it hadn’t yet resulted in blades being drawn.
Or it had, and they would only be in time to greet the winners.
Kherin remained tense where he stood behind Adrien, taking his place as second prince without comment, and ignoring the presence of Jarak and Arick at his shoulders. The second Defender had met them outside the hospice just as he arrived with the intention to report to the princes, although words from both Adrien and Kherin had changed his duty to one of guarding them instead. And though neither of the princes was armed, the Defenders were, and they drew their swords in unison once Elli had been moved and they faced the door to the tavern.
When the door was flung open, it was Adrien who entered first.
KHERIN was seething by the time he stalked back into the privacy of the tiny room in the hospice. Adrien followed behind him, although Jarak and Ronel, as well as the two other Delfore Defenders pulled into serving as escorts from the tavern, had stopped at the main door, none of them being required for the conversation that would take place now. What they had found at the Silver Fish was everything Elli had told them it would be, and the sides that had been drawn had been dangerously close to breaking.
But they hadn’t, and that had been solely due to Adrien’s presence. Most of the Defenders in the Fish had not seen the elder prince since the night he was attacked, and those who had, had only seen him in the moments he spent just outside the hospice, as Adrien never ventured farther than the market square under the strict instructions of the healer. To have Adrien stride into their midst in the middle of a poorer-section tavern….
That had stilled them to near silence almost instantly.
Delfore Defenders were the first to act after that, with those present moving to take their positions around both princes. Defenders from elsewhere in the kingdom stared warily, their gazes intense as they followed Adrien to where he stopped at the center of the side wall, well enough inside to allow the others to follow, yet with a wall to his back to keep himself from being surrounded. And Adrien’s voice hadn’t been anything other than that of the heir to the throne when he demanded an explanation.
And that was when all eyes had turned to Kherin. One shout was quickly overridden by others accusing Kherin of betrayal in his release of the northern prisoner, and they quickly turned to vile descriptions concerning the sexual favors Kherin was believed to have demanded in return for the granting of freedom. The words “whore” and “cocksucker” had been thrown as easily as the claims Kherin would extort the same favors from them under threat of the crown, and the resurgence of the accusation of cowardice had nearly led to swords being drawn for blood. Defenders on both sides had shown steel before Adrien had pressed them to silence, and he had done that only by seizing the nearest Defender’s sword for himself and pressing it to the throat of the closest accuser. The Delfore swords that surrounded the eldest prince were the only things that stopped the retaliation.
Adrien’s voice had been clear and strong in the silence that followed, and he minced no words in stating that Kherin’s actions in freeing the northerner were done legally and with royal sanction, and it had not involved favors, sexual or otherwise, on either side of the agreement. Furthermore, the claim Kherin had or would coerce similar favors from any of the Defenders he served with was officially named as slander, and anyone repeating the offense would be arrested and held until trial, which would take place in front of the king himself. The claim of cowardice would draw a similar charge, and any threats made against the prince would be viewed as treason and handled accordingly.
And when his points had been made, Adrien had let the Defender he held go and waited for the reaction to his announcements.
The reaction was all the Defenders save those from Delfore turning their backs and marching out of the tavern, and though that in itself was mark of success, the demonstration as a whole left Kherin with a hollow feeling in his gut.
The emptiness had turned to anger on the way back to the hospice.
He had said nothing throughout his brother’s laying down the law in the common room of the Silver Fish. It wasn’t his place to say anything, not as a second prince of the kingdom, not when the first prince wielded the authority. It didn’t matter that the accusations were aimed at him. It didn’t matter that he was prepared to answer the charges against him personally, or that he would have given the same answers and made the same demands. It didn’t matter, because Adrien had returned to his place as the representative of the royal house, and Kherin was again pushed aside.
Nobody had to tell him the resentment he felt toward Adrien at that moment was uncalled for and unfair, and he didn’t have to see the wary understanding in his brother’s face to know Adrien knew what his temper railed against. The accusations made in the tavern were dangerously infuriating, but this… this wasn’t what he ever expected to face in his relationship with Adrien.
“Kherin,” Adrien said quietly, leaning back against the door as it closed behind him. “I know you’re angry, but it’s my place as heir to deal with these things when they become necessary.”
“And I stood aside while you did,” Kherin returned, his voice brittle, his eyes not meeting his brother’s. “Not even Father could find fault with me this time.” He shoved the blankets on his bed aside, leaving a place that showed nothing but bare linen. His lifted his hand to the stitches in his side as he lowered himself to sit.
“No, he couldn’t, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, does it?”
Kherin snorted in answer and dropped his hand to the wound that still pulled the muscles of his thigh. Now that his anger—at the Defenders, the northerners, and even at his brother, strange as that was—had lowered from boiling to simmering, there was little to block the pain from too much exertion after too little healing.
“Nobody in that room expected anything more of you than what you did,” Adrien went on calmly. “And nobody from Delfore wanted a fight that could have been avoided. As much as you wanted to take those accusing you to task for what they have said, that room in that tavern was not the time or place to do so. I did what I could—”
“And you want me to be grateful?” Kherin cut in sharply. The betrayal in his voice, his eyes, his whole being was clear, but Adrien only nodded and met the angry gaze evenly.
“I want you to let it go,” he amended carefully. “There is enough to worry about with the northerners crossing our border to waste the time avenging words that will mean nothing if this border falls. Nobody thinks less of you for allowing it to be handled as it should—”
Kherin snarled at that, pulling his gaze away to stare disbelievingly through the window. Derek had always taught him the exact opposite; that appearance was as important as actions, and that impressions were more remembered than words. Yes, he had handled the situation as his brother thought he should, as his father and the king’s court would have demanded. But these weren’t courtiers and this wasn’t an assembly in the throne room. This was Gravlorn, and these were men who had likely never visited the castle, who had likely never even set foot inside the capital city.
And what these men saw was the second prince hiding behind the sword of the first, letting Adrien defend him while he made no move to defend himself. Yes, it was proper protocol, but no, it would not raise him in the eyes of those Defenders, or gain him even a modicum of respect from any who had been present in that room. If anything, it would cost him what little he had gained.
And Adrien wanted him to let it go.
“Kherin,” Adrien said warningly, but he stopped there, seeming to recognize his brother’s expression if nothing else. Instead, he let the rest go in a sigh and pushed himself up to open the door. “I’ll send Willum to look at your stitches and have him bring you some food. And then you should rest. Jarak may be acting as Defender Leader right now, but not even he is going to let your duty slide indefinitely.” When Kherin said nothing, Adrien added only, “Sleep well,” before he slipped through the door.
In the quiet of the sickroom once he was alone, Kherin felt his defensiveness slip as the emotions he had kept at bay emerged in the solitude. Losing the respect of the Defenders was a solid and valid point to justify his anger, but it was the bruising of his own pride that stung the most. He had spent his life counting on Adrien’s support and his willingness to defend him to make life bearable in the castle of Delfore, and Adrien had spent much of their recent years standing with him and for him in the face of their father’s wrath.
But never had Adrien’s defense felt so suffocating as it did right now, and never had his willingness to allow Adrien to do as he had always done felt so much like the cowardice others claimed of him. He didn’t need Adrien to defend him, and he didn’t want his brother to, not when he was capable of defending himself. He had defended himself, in the months he was in Delfore while Adrien was assigned to the border, and the days he had spent in Gravlorn while Adrien battled the illness that had left him incapacitated. He hadn’t done it alone—Derek had been with him through much of what had happened in this city—but he hadn’t hid behind anyone’s skirts while others defended his actions.
Until he had done so tonight at the Silver Fish.
He let out his breath in a heavy gust as he let his eyes drift back to the window and the blustery streets of Gravlorn. Adrien may be willing to go back to the way things were before his illness and the attacks from across the river—may even be expecting it—but Kherin wasn’t.
It would be a change they would both have to get used to, but right or wrong, Kherin would answer for his own decisions, starting now.