And So It Begins (15 page)

Kherin frowned as he studied the trader. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Derek’s expression didn’t change as he dropped his hand to Kherin’s knee and began to slowly stroke the length of his thigh, an effort so idle Kherin wasn’t sure the trader was entirely aware of it. Regardless, Derek still waited the length of a heavy breath before answering.

“It may be wise to remember that what you know of Defender camps does not necessarily apply to this one, and assuming it does may be a mistake here.”

Kherin gave a slight shake of his head, but pressed on carefully. “You’ve already warned me every Defender here prefers the city over the camp—”

“And it’s a preference they would undoubtedly like to keep intact,” Derek cut him off again. “Your presence here is already known, and the appearance of another member of the royal house has many of our stout Defenders worried their freedom and leisure may be interrupted, and worried Defenders—”

“Are unhappy ones,” Kherin finished, not quite stifling his disgust.

“Which may also make them dangerous ones,” Derek added pointedly. Kherin’s sharp look was met squarely by Derek’s own. “In addition to the threat of losing the freedom of the taverns, your presence here also adds the risk of having news of their loose standards sent back to your father. And while the loss of reputation may result in little more than slander behind your back, the loss of pay may invite a more serious form of retaliation.”

Kherin didn’t bother to hide his disgust as he rolled his eyes this time. He should have expected this to be brought up, given everything else he had learned about Gravlorn in the mere hours he had been here. Deducting Defender pay for lack of adequate duty was a rule that applied to all Defender camps, and it was a policy fully backed by the king. And though it didn’t happen often, it was known to happen on occasion….

“Agreeing with your father’s policies is all well and good inside the royal city,” Derek went on, drawing Kherin back to the importance of his words. “But Gravlorn is far outside your father’s immediate attention, and distance has a way of weakening the threat of treason.”

“So I keep my mouth shut and let them get away with it the same way Gresham does?” His cheeks heated as anger pounded in his blood.

Derek shrugged slightly, though the tilt of his lips softened the bluntness of his words, and the hand that had stilled on Kherin's hip began to slowly stroke again. “Discretion may prove a wiser course when it comes to making your displeasure known,” he amended evenly. “The louder you are, the more the threat will be perceived, and the presence of royal blood in your veins may not protect you when it comes to their self-preservation.” He paused to make sure he held the prince’s eyes. “Given the recent attacks, it would be very easy to lay the blame on the northerners, and very dangerous to assume none would consider it. Dangerous as well to assume that those who feel most threatened will be patient enough to wait until the next attack.”

“You make it sound like they’re already planning their revenge,” Kherin muttered bitterly, though the warning the trader was offering rang clear in his words. Derek was rarely this straightforward when he spoke of caution or advice, although until now, those words had always been given inside the borders of Delfore—almost literally in the shadow of the king himself.

But with the castle and the king well out of earshot, the safety of the royal city far behind him, and the status of royal blood reduced to that of a common Defender… if Derek considered the threat serious enough to speak openly about it, then the threat had likely surpassed rumor to approach the possibility of reality. He had seen how closely the king and court listened to the trader’s rumors in Delfore, and he had heard the orders given to the king’s men based on nothing more than the trader’s words. Derek had never yet led the royal army on a fool’s chase. Exactly how the trader learned what he did on the streets of the kingdom’s cities, Kherin had no idea, but still, he had to admit the trader was rarely wrong.

A touch to his chin brought his eyes back to the trader’s face, and he was surprised to see Derek smiling now.

“I will let Willum know you may be up to solid food, and have him bring you something warm.”

The brush of his fingers along Kherin’s cheek could easily be ascribed to checking for fever, though Kherin couldn’t mistake the softness in the trader’s eyes, the same tenderness he had witnessed so very recently in this same hospice sickroom… but the moment slipped away in an instant, and Derek offered a gentle smile as he leaned forward to lay a kiss on his forehead.

“I will be back later, after you’ve slept a while longer. I may learn more about the northerners now that the Defenders aren’t drowning in their cups. Get some rest, my prince. Your days of idle leisure may be ending soon.”

“Have you slept at all since you’ve been here?” Kherin asked suddenly, and Derek’s genuine laugh threatened to renew the flush of his cheeks. He hadn’t meant it to sound like anything more than a simple question, but there was
no
question the trader had learned a lot when they had been in Gravlorn only hours.
Had
he slept at all?

“Traders by nature learn to function on very little sleep, my prince,” Derek answered with an indulgent smile, tucking the blankets closer to Kherin as efficiently as the healer himself. “Call it an acquired skill. Now rest.” Derek’s smile had turned teasing by the time he rose to leave, but Kherin stopped him again with a sudden touch to his arm, and amused curiosity flickered in the dark eyes when the trader turned back. There was another question Kherin wanted the answer to, and one that was more important than the reason for the trader’s lack of exhaustion.

“Where are you staying?”

Derek’s lips quirked into a smile. “The Harper’s Den,” he said simply. “One of Gravlorn’s many fine inns, and one that actually rents rooms for longer than an hour or two. I’ve stayed there before, and so I at least have the assurance their beds are clean.” He winked over his smile, clearly reading the next question in the prince’s face. “It’s not far, and will only require a short walk once the healer releases you.”

Kherin suddenly wanted to ask if he stayed there alone, but he bit back the words as Derek leaned to push him farther into the bed. What he remembered of the way-stop was enough to tell him Derek wasn’t a stranger to sex with men, and if what he remembered was entirely true, it was more than a little experience Derek had shown in those shadows. But Derek wouldn’t have had time to find someone to share his bed, he told himself, let alone been inclined to do so, given the previous day and evening. He couldn’t deny the bite of jealousy at the thought of it, however, or the jealousy that rose at wondering who—and where—the others were that Derek had found pleasure with in the past….

“The baths are also private,” Derek went on, giving the prince a smile full of teasing as he adjusted the blankets around him a second time, “which you could do well to visit sooner rather than later. Now rest. I will be back soon.” Derek then offered a soft brush of his fingers and another brief kiss to his forehead before turning to retrieve his cloak from the chair. He paused for a brief touch to Adrien before he vanished through the door.

Exhaustion wrapped around Kherin the moment he found himself alone save for his brother, and he lay back as the patter of rain on the window became a lulling beat that drew his thoughts away from the northerners, the seizures, and finally, the trader himself. The easing of his fever had also left him more aware of the chill the brazier couldn’t quite eliminate, and he pulled the blankets to his chin while the lingering memory of the trader’s fingers on his skin soothed him as much as the quietness, easing him into sleep.

The scream from his brother that sounded moments later threatened to shatter the rain-splattered glass.

C
OLD
, heavy wind bounced off the surrounding walls to buffet him even in the shelter of the alley, making him draw his legs tighter to his chest and pull his cloak closer around him. The market square his shelter overlooked remained empty in these early morning hours, as the clouded skies and cold winter air tended to delay even the merchants whose livelihoods depended upon their sales from beginning their day. It wouldn’t last, though, as the call of coin would draw out even the most reluctant of merchants on the harshest of days. He should know, as he had once been a part of that select group of money-driven people. Not a merchant, of course, but still one who preferred soft beds, warm fires, and hearty meals to the cold cobblestones and paltry scraps that made up his day now.

The stout leather boots he had purchased years before were still sufficient to protect him from the chill, and the thick woolen cloak he had been offered only days ago by a priest of one of the many churches kept the brittle cold from chafing the cuts and bruises that marked his skin. It hadn’t always been this way. As recently as a year ago, he’d maintained a hearth and home with his wife and children—three sons, all strong and bold and ready to make marks on the world—filling his life with warmth and laughter, his dog, Siberius, trotting at his heels with wonder in his eyes.

They were all gone now. Not dead, not even ill, as far as he knew, but far away, residing in a city on the western plains of the kingdom rather than in the simmering port city of Dennor. It was their choice, and his, for no amount of pleading on the part of his family could make him leave this cold and desolate alley he now made his home, just as no amount of insults, threats, and instances of violence could make him utter the words that would return him to the privileged life he’d once known. He’d lost his home, his family, and his position of prestige as a well-respected scholar by choice, and not even the sting of the wind or the loose debris it tossed around his feet could dim the certainty that he had done—and still did—what was right.

Because they didn’t know the horrors in the cauldron they were so determinedly stirring, those young fools who demanded he tell them of the ones who had long ago vanished. The ones he had studied, and learned, and knew better than anyone in Llarien.

The ones whose name they spoke when they gave their speeches in the square.

He didn’t tell them though, and not because he didn’t want them to know who they were. He was one of the few scholars who had taken the time and effort to learn of the ancient people known as the Akhael, and he had taught their history as part of his curriculum at the university in which he once worked.

But it wasn’t their history these fools wanted—it was knowledge of their magic they were after. Blood magic at that, and yes, he knew where the tomes could be found that spoke of it in detail, though he would never—never—include them in his teachings, let alone offer the words to the brash young idiots who sought their own rise to power on the coattails of these Akhael.

The Akhael had vanished hundreds of years ago and taken their gruesome magic with them, and sorcery of any kind had been absent from these lands ever since. And that was for the best—he knew that was for the best—just as he knew he would rather die alone, abandoned and desolate in this cold, bitter alley, than participate in—or even watch—the return of that blood-fueled horror to these lands. Let them scream and threaten and strike him at will. They would never learn the secrets of the magic they so desperately wanted.

And even if none thought to toss a few breadcrumbs into his alley today, he would still be content.

“I
T
’
S
no wonder the northerners think the camp is unoccupied,” Kherin muttered, squinting against the spit of rain slapping his face as he edged around the camp kitchen. “If no more Defenders than this are visible, it’s a wonder they don’t just walk into Llarien. I’m not sure anyone from anywhere other than Delfore would even notice, let alone try to stop them.”

Derek chuckled quietly at his side as the river again came into view. “Don’t condemn all of the Defenders from outside Delfore, my prince. Diligence may be less outside the capitol city, but not all of them deserve the same reputation.”

Kherin snorted softly but let any other answer pass. His first visit to the Defender camp had so far been unimpressive, although both the weather and the fading day could be contributing to its dismal appearance, and knowing Adrien was still all but captive in the hospice sickroom would have likely dimmed his view of the camp even had it been on the best of terms. The seizure from that morning was still vivid in his mind, and the helpless frustration Derek hadn’t been able to ease completely strained his ragged nerves.

Willum had summoned Derek back to the hospice after the healer had been unable to calm Kherin in the aftermath of yet another seizure, and it had taken the trader’s steady words and unyielding arms to finally silence Kherin’s demands for answers. Derek’s decision to take Kherin out of the hospice for a short time had nearly been met with a second round of angry words from the prince, though Kherin grudgingly admitted the assurance they would go only as far as the Harper’s Den had been more instrumental than anything concerning his health in gaining his agreement. The relief Kherin had felt was very real when he learned just how close the Harper’s Den was to the hospice, the chipped and weathered sign no more than half the distance between the healer’s quarters and the next city street. Derek may be unable to stay in the hospice, but he had stayed close, and for Kherin, that meant the world.