The King's Blood (15 page)

It was only the apple screw machine she remained mum on. "Where did you find this?" Aldrin asked.

"Din't, been in my mum's for I dunno. Cider-er's all around these parts have one, though they rent them out to the pie makers for Soulday," she popped another bottle open with her teeth and dumped something that could kill an entire army into the vat.

Ciara approached, watching the boy prince ecstatically peel apples as if it were the best thing in the world, "I have some dangerous news."

"Ah, you're back," Aldrin's head snapped up at her voice, his face beaming, "Look! You jam an apple onto this spike, and then turn the crank. It both cores the fruit and slices off the peel. Fascinating. I've never seen anything like it in the kitchens before."

"Yeah, a real...you've spent time in kitchens before?"

Aldrin mumbled something under his breath that she couldn't make out and pulled a freshly nude apple off the spike. "Did you find a cart to take us on?"

At the avalanche news, she'd been tempted to tell the kid he was on his own, then try and hitch a ride back to...and that was where her plan fell apart. Where could she go now? More than likely her father traveled with Albrant's men, who had a good two weeks march ahead of them. And, she prayed, made it through the pass before the avalanche.
 

Despite everything, she still had a promise to keep. "No, and we won't find one. The pass is blocked."

The apple stopped turning, "Blocked? By what?"

"Marshmallows. Big, fluffy marshmallows."

He glared at her, just as exhausted as her and perhaps twice as hungry as his body continued to try to heal. "Now what?"

This set her off. She smashed her hands onto the bench, rattling the small apple in the middle of a strip tease off the spike and onto the ground, "How in the entire pantheon should I know? I've been making every step up as we go, all while you sit beside me droning 'Now what?' 'Now what?' like a mindless parrot."

Aldrin piped up at her, hunger and exhaustion a good fuel for a rage he was rarely capable of, "And in that time you've managed to get us lost, get me stabbed, and ruined whatever chance we had of catching up with my father's army."

"If it weren't for me, you'd be a royal stain on the castle walls."

"That would be preferable to this!"

"Hey!" the cider woman clapped her hands together, "yous kids don't be fightin' like that. 'Ere, have an apple. It'll set ya right." She handed them both one of the redder ones, and folded her hands until petulant teeth began to bite down. Ciara and Aldrin munched silently, still glaring at each other across their vanishing fruit.

"There. Doesn't an apple make everythin' better? Now shake 'ands and make peace." Teenage anger couldn't overcome the patronizing calm of the grandmother and the two shook hands, looking away. Just then, the cider lady spotted a potential customer and dashed after him, spilling a bit on the ground as she gave chase. For being in her seventies, the woman could outrun most marathoners if the promise of two chickpeas and some hambones were involved.
 

Ciara nudged the dirt with her shoe, "So, now what?"

Aldrin smiled, despite himself and said, "I guess we try the road again. Maybe the next town will offer better options."

"Like someone who can move mountains of snow?" she muttered, but at this point it was a better idea than anything she could think of.

Leaving town was less of an endeavor. Sure, the guard, who now had on a tricorner hat and was sipping his own mug of cider, tried to make it difficult for them. He called for them to take off their shoes and wait until the ground had come to a complete stop, but they walked past him and headed east.

East led deeper into recently claimed Empire territory while the sun hugged the horizon behind them. Ciara suggested they try off the road until the darkness of full night forced them out of the black forest full of ankle breaking branches. Aldrin wanted to argue, point out they hadn't seen anything but sheep since Dawning, but he didn't want to begin another fight. Supplies were even lower now; only a few jars of tomatoes, some okra and, as a last resort, bread & butter pickles. Lady winter's icy grip seemed to follow them, her prickly fingers touching upon their exposed noses and fingers. Aldrin stuck his hands deep inside his pockets while Ciara broke out the mittens, a strange pink and red zigzag pattern on them. The pom poms caught on her dagger's sheathe and she ripped the right one off.

"You really ought to learn how to use that thing," her voice broke the frosted silence as she brandished her dagger about at anything that wasn't a tree and then a few trees just to be safe.

"What thing?" Aldrin asked, on the defensive.
 

"What's dangling between your legs," she said without thinking.

He paused, their little torch casting Ciara's retreating shadow deeper into the forest when she realized what she said. Stopping ahead of him, she was thankful he couldn't see her blush in the dark, "I mean that sword Marna gave you."

"I thought you were Marna," he said. She could hear the wide grin in his words, horrifying her even more.

"Very funny. You're a regular infiltrator," she turned to look back at him and, despite it all, smiled briefly.

He turned strangely red at that, or perhaps it was the orange glow of the fire blazing at the end of his hands, "What makes you think I don't know how to use it?"

"For starters, not a lot of men let their blade slide around upon their hip like it was part of some 'capture the sword' game for Soulday."

He tried to slide it back to his side, where it refused to remain upon his bony hips. "So I never got a real belt clip sword thing."

"Belt clip sword thing?"

"If I'm not getting too technical," his non-torch fingers wandered to the hilt, jiggling it up and down as he talked.

"Oh no, of course not. And two, men who know how to use a sword aren't bloody terrified of one unless it's comin' at their heads."

Aldrin looked to the blade strapped to his hip again, vividly aware of just what images the thought of it curled in his hand roused in his brain. For most boys they involved a heroic pri...knight slaying the dragon and rescuing a damsel...or rescuing a woman who politely led the hero through the forest and was in no way damseling. For Aldrin, all he saw was him slipping, falling, and stabbing himself repeatedly in the foot. Or worse. Behind his eyelids at night, he saw over and over the face of that nameless man as a dagger flew into his throat. First confusion, then terror as his eyes rolled up and he crumpled to the floor. Sometimes the man became his own father, screaming out for his sons in his last moments.

"You're right. I'm no good with swords. No one ever taught me. A waste."

Ciara nodded, as if it were a given she was right, "My father used to say a weapon in the hands of an amateur is doubly deadly, both for the man he is facing and the man holding it."

Aldrin felt the pain in her words, the fear that his words could be nothing more than a distant memory now and no longer a common aphorism spouted over the table. He was still coming to terms with the loss himself. He'd gotten as far as never seeing his father's old pile of socks, always wool grey with little red E's stitched into the sides, scattered about the castle. It drove the servants nuts, but if you followed the trail you were certain to find the king complaining about his cold feet.

"I, I'm sorry about...your father he, I'd be long dead if it weren't for him," Aldrin babbled, forgetting what he wanted to say as soon as he started.

Ciara looked to him, her dagger falling for the first time, "I'm sorry about your father too. I can't imagine..."

With a sudden whoosh, a stone flew through the air smacking into Aldrin's torch hand, sending their only light into the wet leaves and casting them into darkness.

All the pair heard was the quiet sound of boots running in their direction as they prepared to face a fresh enemy.
I suppose I get to see just how dangerous I am with this thing
, Aldrin thought glumly as he extracted his rusty sword out of his belt.

CHAPTER TEN

T
heir eyes bleached from the torchlight, Ciara's back smacked into Aldrin's as they blindly hunted for whatever came their way. She tried to brandish her dagger in a threatening way, but it meant little in the utter darkness of a cloudy night. Just as their retinas cooled and cones did what cones do best, a small light flared up deep in the trees as if someone lifted the blackout on a lantern.
 

"Who are you?!" Ciara shouted, scattering a few day owls off into the quieter night.

The one holding the lantern paused. The light, a fresh hell on their battered eyes, danced in the distance. Their ambusher whispered something to its friends. They still had no idea how many more tramped around them through the forest, but by the rapid pounding of feet it had to be a lot.
 

"Who are you?" one asked back. His voice was young, possibly younger even than hers, though it was hard to tell. Boys took so long to grow up.

"I asked you first," Ciara said, her rage distilling down to anger and confusion.

Again, the attackers put their heads together, whispering something. Ciara closed her eyes tight and opened them again, hoping to blink away the spots the lantern kicked up. Aldrin pushed deeper into her, his eyes never leaving the lantern.

Stepping forward, their attackers shrugged off the night's shroud. Surprisingly there were only two; both dressed in scarlet robes with indecipherable leather patches on the breast pocket. Lantern had shorter hair, cropped nearly to the skull, while the other -- holding a slingshot aimed at Aldrin -- let straggly hair grow nearly to his collar. Other than that, they were identical, right down to the crooked bump on the nose and the playfully curious look on their faces as they inspected their prey.

Lantern studied them up and down, his young face comical as he tried to mimic the endless calculating stare of the scholarly statues dotted across the old Empire. He looked like he needed to pass gas. Lantern gently touched Slingshot's arm, lowering the weapon, "Most call me Chance. This is my brother, Chase."

"Those are names?" Aldrin wondered aloud, getting his heel stepped on soundly by Ciara.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked Chance.

"She's stealing all our lines," Chase said, acting far more his age than his brother, as his weary arm momentarily relaxed the stone before he rolled his shoulder and pulled back. Chance was now stroking his chin in feigned contemplation. All he needed was a pipe and an oversized dressing gown to complete his transformation into "concerned academic number 5" in a play.
 

"Hm, you're right. We're supposed to be the ones asking the questions, not those out wandering the forest at night with swords and," Chance peered at her dagger, "baby swords."

"Should we dispose of them?" Chase asked, as if his slingshot stood a chance against two well armed, okay one sort of well armed and the other may luck out and fall on one of them and do damage, people.

Chance stroked his chin again, his eyes rolling skyward. Ciara's did as well but for a different reason. "No, I believe we must take them to the Chancellor."
 

Chase danced at that, his slingshot dropping down as he rose from his action hunch, "Yes yes, the Chancellor. He'll set them to talkin' good." He circled around the two, Ciara turning to track him with her blade.

"You best be following us, little forest creatures," Chance said, "You don't want to give my brother any ideas."

Silently, the two of them glanced at each other. Aldrin shrugged his fragile shoulders and attempted to return the sword to his gaping belt. Ciara watched the longer haired twin pick up a downed log, thicker than her leg, and weigh it in his hands. There wasn't much of a choice. Coming up with no easy escape, they followed the pair of twins deeper into the forest at log point.

It wasn't a long walk into the clearing, flanked by Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber. Ciara stood rigid, unused to being kidnapped as often as she had this past fortnight. It was getting rather embarrassing. Aldrin was curious though, he kept trying to get one of the twins, he forgot which was which, to tell him something.