And So It Begins

by R. G. Green

  His smile faded to a bitter sneer. Who would have thought that, only a few weeks later, his time with the prince would so permanently come to an end? And without so much as a warning, let alone a kiss good-bye.

  But he was here for another reason. History. Or ancient symbols. Or anything else that might tell him about the people he had heard about, the people who they said would soon replace everyone living under the red-maned lion that currently symbolized the Royal House of Delfore.

  Or rather, the people who they said would teach them how to replace the royal house, through their own writings, or the writings of others about them.

  He wanted to know about them too, and he wanted to know about the power—the magic—the ancients were sworn to have used.

  The library master, whose name he hadn’t learned, had escorted him into this area of the library in utter silence, and had said little as he placed lit lamps on one of the tables. His only words at all before departing had been a promise to return from time to time to replace the lamps running low on oil. Then the master had left him in peace.

  While the monumental task sat before him.

  It would tedious work, but the possibility that something useful was on the next shelf, that the next title he read would be what he looked for, would keep him going. That, and the fear that if he didn’t read the next title, or look at the titles on the next shelf, the answer would have been right there, right next to him, and he wouldn’t have found it. But the Gods only knew how long it would take before he found something that finally—finally—piqued his interest.

  Something that would tell him about the Akhael. That was the name the ancient people were given in the market square yesterday.

  And something about their magic. That was what they would use to dethrone the royal house and initiate their own place in the royal city—and what had been banished from Llarien soil long before his birth.

  Tristan dropped his head as he rubbed his temples. He hadn’t heard of either of them—the Akhael or the magic—before he had come to the port city, which may be why the talk he had overheard following the speech given in the square the day before had made little sense.

  At least right now. But that would change once he had the answers in his hand.

  Leaning closer to the dusty shelves, Tristan steeled himself for endless hours of searching, if that’s what it took to learn what he could of this ancient race, to learn exactly what it was that had gained the attention of Dennor’s wealthiest sons.

  More importantly, learn exactly how they would use it to form their most recent answer to the royal house in Delfore.

  Chapter 7

  “HOW do you stop this?” Kherin demanded, looming over the stoic figure of the healer, although they were nearly matched in height. “His head injuries aren’t severe, you said so yourself, and no poison you know of would act in this manner. That’s what you said in your very own words just moments ago. So if it is not poison or injury, then what is it?”

  The first fingers of dawn were trailing across the sky outside the window, softened by the thick, heavy clouds that still dropped rain on the already sodden city, and providing only a modicum of light through the shadows of the sickroom. Shadows or not, Kherin’s glower was clear, and it could only be a credit to his father that he had learned the art of royal intimidation so well.

  Adrien was lying calm and subdued under the effects of another mixture of powders and herbs, though the strength he had shown in the midst of the seizure had nearly overwhelmed both the prince and the healer before it was over. Kherin’s muscles still trembled from the effort of keeping him still, though in the end, exhaustion had been as effective as the potion.

  The blood that flowed from the mark on his brother’s shoulder had been the most terrifying of all, though Willum had thrown Kherin aside before he’d seen more than the shreds of torn skin under the smear of red. The breath that came from Kherin’s lungs sounded harsher and more brittle than that of his brother at the moment.

  “I don’t know!” Willum repeated fiercely. The old man’s face was red with anger and frustration, and the color of it was deepening even now, but he stood his ground under the glower of his prince.

  “You are a healer,” Kherin said coldly. The healer assigned to the Defenders. The one responsible for the Defenders.

  “I am a healer of battle wounds,” Willum answered, his voice tight and controlled. “I clean and bandage sword cuts and arrow wounds, and set the occasional broken bones. I am not a healer of the unknown!”

  Kherin growled as his anger flared. He could clean and bandage wounds, and probably do a fair job of setting broken bones, and nobody had ever called him a healer. The Gods forbid his father actually assign a trained healer here, rather than issuing payment to an old man so he could do what every Defender, townsman, and street urchin could do for themselves. Uncharitable, he knew, but maybe the northerners taking Gravlorn would be a blessing, Kherin thought darkly. More than likely, the northerners had already heard about the city and didn’t want this curse of incompetence to plague them like it plagued the southern kingdom.

  Gods, judging by what he had seen last night, it was a wonder the city hadn’t already fallen.

  Derek may chastise him as completely as his father and his brother if he ever said those words aloud, but Kherin couldn’t believe he was the only one to see the disaster waiting to fall on this particular city.

  “I have done what I can for your brother,” Willum went on sternly. “The wound on his shoulder is as clean and treated as it has been since he arrived, and I won’t risk further damage with stitches until I am certain he will not tear them out. So, if you will not allow a stronger healing potion―”

  “It’s not a healing potion he needs!” Kherin spat out.

  “Then there is nothing more I can do.” With that, Willum turned and stalked out of the healer’s quarters, letting the door close loudly behind him.

  Kherin let out another growl when the healer had gone, and all but threw himself on the bed next to his brother’s. His eyes trailed from his brother to the rain-splattered window with full awareness of how undisturbed Adrien slept, how it seemed far too deep for Kherin’s comfort, how the potions could be worse than the seizures if subduing his brother was the healer’s only course of action. He closed his eyes as he fought back his fury. Taking matters into his own hands would risk a storm of complaints reaching his father’s ears, and even if he took the risk, there was still the reality of his choices being extremely limited here.

  He could send a message to his father and ask him to send a castle healer. Unfair as it was, he would trust no other healer in this Defender city after this. But even if the request were granted, it would take over a week for the healer to arrive. More than likely, the king would demand that Adrien return to the castle, which Adrien couldn’t do, and order Kherin back, brought in chains, if necessary. Maybe Oxlan or Lorn….

  Lorn was only two days’ journey to the east by horseback, less than that for a single rider if his memory of the geography of the cities was correct. It was doubtful Lorn could send a healer to Gravlorn, however, as any healers in that city would have their own work to perform. And Adrien couldn’t travel far. The threat of a seizure would make even that short journey too dangerous. And Kherin would be outright forbidden to travel to make the demand in person. If Willum proved unable to stop him, Derek would never allow it. Not when his lingering fever still heated his skin as much as his anger, and not when his strength was sure to fade with the cooling of his emotions. The incessant rain would be nearly a moot point.

  The door to the sickroom swung open before he had given more than a passing thought to defying them both and seeking a healer in Lorn regardless of their wishes, and the dark figure that swept into the shrouded sickroom sent a surge of relief through Kherin that had him rising from the bed without thought. Derek’s face was hardened with worry as he looked to Adrien, and Kherin didn’t resist as Derek pulled him into a strong embrace. Th
e coolness of the trader’s chilled, rain-dampened skin felt good against Kherin’s heated body, and Kherin closed his eyes as the familiar smells of wet wool and leather brought a soothing comfort to his stressed and fraying nerves.

  Willum had obviously summoned him, so it was little surprise Derek had already learned about the seizure that had taken Adrien again and the confrontation Kherin had initiated after. But even less surprising was Kherin’s reluctance to let go of the fierce and unwavering arms that supported him. What Kherin had witnessed was terrifying, but with Derek here, it felt somehow less devastating. A deep breath full of the trader’s scent filled his lungs before Derek eased him back, and the stark concern Kherin had seen the trader cast at his brother now focused him. Dark eyes studied him closely as an ungloved hand reached up to stroke his cheek.

  “Your fever is not yet gone, my prince,” Derek said softly. “You need to be dry and back in bed.” A quick but gentle hand catching Kherin’s chin stopped the protest Kherin would have made. “I know that Adrien is ill, but worsening your own illness will do nothing to ease his, and that is exactly what will happen if you continue to stand here and grow chilled.”

  An abrupt laugh erupted as Kherin realized just how much Derek had sounded like the nurses he had had as a child, but he resisted the urge to utter any remarks about it as Derek led him back to his bed. The cool sweep of fingers slipping through his hair was the only parting Derek offered before he vanished through the door.

  No more than a few moments passed before he returned with a dry set of nightclothes obtained from the healer, which were tossed lightly on the bed before his dark cloak was shed and draped over the chair. A hint of gentle amusement had made it to Derek’s eyes by the time he returned to lean over the prince, easing Kherin’s heart even more by the simple familiarity of it.

  “I seem to be undressing you quite often these days, my prince,” Derek mused as he pulled the nightshirt over Kherin’s head. “If I didn’t know better, I would think I have been relegated to body servant in tending to your highness.”

  “You’re lucky I’m not demanding you run a hot bath and fetch my breakfast,” Kherin muttered, drawing a quiet laugh from the trader as Derek pulled him to his feet.

  “You would demand that from a castle servant, not a body servant, my prince,” Derek told him with a touch of mild teasing. “You would do better to demand pampering with scented oils and silk powders while I trim your finger and toenails, and order I select clothing from your wardrobe that accentuates your striking features and brings out the color of your eyes.”

  Kherin only grunted as the cool air of the sickroom brushed against his skin, though he was fully aware of Derek’s hands on his waist as he urged the prince to stand still. More noticeable was the warmth of his palm against his hip as the trader leaned down to retrieve the dry clothing. It was only the chill in the room and the sluggish flow of blood through his still-recovering body that saved him from the embarrassment of responding to the way Derek’s hand slid on his clammy skin, though a sudden draft sent a wave of ice through him that had him shivering under the trader’s touch and pressing into his warmth nonetheless. Kherin heard the trader chuckle as his arms slipped around him to stroke the chill from his skin.

  The gentleness of the trader’s eyes when Kherin looked up brought a prickling that made him realize he was sweating.

  “It seems your fever has broken after all,” Derek told him musingly, and the lingering strokes of the trader’s hands threatened to undo the hold the chill had kept on his body. “A bath may not be out of order soon, provided the healer agrees to let you into the city for a short while. But we should get you dressed before the fever returns.”

  Kherin felt the loss when Derek let him go in favor of presenting the dry clothes, though he offered no protests when Derek helped him dress in a nightshirt identical to what had been discarded, and the pants identical to what the trader had offered in the Crossroads. The welcome feel of the trader’s hands for once subdued any resistance against the trader’s mothering, and he instead moved unresistingly as Derek eased him back to his sickbed. He forced himself to relax as he angled his legs to the side to make room for Derek on the edge.

  Only after Kherin was positioned comfortably, and after Derek had raised the blankets to cover him to the hips, did Derek assume his own position of leaning with an arm over the prince’s legs. Then the trader’s quiet question of, “What happened?” stole what comfort Derek’s touch had given him, and brought instead the chill of horror as Kherin heard his own words recount exactly what he had witnessed.

  Derek listened without interruption, though he moved to Adrien’s bed as Kherin told him what little his brother had said, and he leaned to examine the mark on Adrien’s shoulder when Kherin mentioned the blood and torn skin. The frown was evident in his features when he returned to his seat by Kherin’s legs, and his eyes had grown dark and worried by the time the tale came to an end.

  Still, the gentleness of Derek’s hand against Kherin’s cheek as the words trailed off reminded him that whatever it was he had now witnessed twice, it was over for the moment. Adrien yet lived, and he was at peace, and for now, that was enough. It was both surprising and not that Derek pulled him into the embrace he so needed once the telling was over, and though neither of them spoke, the strength of Derek’s arms said what Kherin needed to hear. He closed his eyes as Derek threaded his fingers lightly through his hair, breathing in the familiar and welcoming scent of Derek’s skin.

  “You will still need to rest, my prince, and Willum should have no argument with you remaining here while Adrien recovers,” Derek murmured softly, his breath warm against Kherin’s ear, his fingers stroking lightly against his scalp, his arm steady and sure as he kept Kherin close.

  The mention of his brother’s name should have broken the spell of the trader’s touch, but it didn’t, and instead Kherin flushed against the smooth skin of the trader’s neck, tightening his arms as the feel of the trader against him soothed in a way that nothing else could. The reality was slow to sink in, but somehow the truth made it into this calm and intimate moment. Derek’s warmth, his touch, his presence….

  The blooming of warm emotion inside him as he acknowledged what his heart seemed to have known all along.

  Gods, he had loved Derek forever, but how long had he been in love with Derek without ever realizing it? And would he have ever been willing to admit it had Derek’s actions in the way-stop not proven what he truly wanted wasn’t out of his reach? There was no certainty in that, but there was no changing the certainty of what he now knew, either. What had happened in the way-stop hadn’t simply been a matter of being claimed by Derek, it had been the result of his wanting to be claimed by Derek.

  A heavy breath released by his brother shattered his thoughts before they could wander further down that road, and the sudden awareness of incense and herbs as Derek released him made it clear now was not the time to work through those particular emotions.

  He shifted more comfortably against the pillows as the trader’s hands fell away, and tried to school his features before he met the trader’s eyes, though he wondered how much Derek truly saw. While he had told Derek what had happened inside the sickroom, he had yet to hear what the trader had been doing since he had left Kherin under the healer’s care. Believing he had simply taken lodging and rested would have been laughable had the circumstances been different, but since they were not, Kherin forced a small smile across his lips and spoke his first words since his recital of the previous night had ended.

  “So what were you doing last night?”

  Derek’s answering laugh was both quiet and amused. “Ah, my prince, it seems you may learn the ways of a trader yet. I have actually been spending some time with the Defenders, and with the Defender Leader,” Derek told him simply, and his smile grew just a little tighter. “It seems Gresham hasn’t changed from his time as a mere Defender.”

  Kherin grunted. He had yet to meet the Defender Le
ader named Gresham, but it was obvious from Derek’s words it was a meeting that he should not be looking forward to. The touch of Derek’s hand to his cheek drove any thoughts of the Leader from his mind, though the words he said brought chills instead of comfort.

  “I did, however, learn more about the attack that left your brother in this state.”

  Derek’s tale was far darker and much more brutal than Kherin’s, though it was told in the same calm, quiet tones that had been used by the prince. The sudden surge of northern activity, it seemed, had started just after Adrien’s company arrived at Gravlorn, with the northerners seemingly crossing wherever the trees could hide them, and remaining hidden until they had the numbers for an attack. And those attacks came from the east and west, surprising the Defenders who only looked north.

  Kherin’s frustrated demand of how the Defenders had allowed themselves to be surprised more than once brought a warning to Derek’s eyes, but not even that could stop Kherin from snapping, “The camp should have been prepared for them. They should never have been able to get near Adrien!”

  One dark eyebrow lifted, though there was gentleness in the touch that swept through the prince’s hair. “Adrien is a Defender, my prince, and so getting near the northerners is a requirement during battle. Your brother wouldn’t remain outside the fighting any more than you would, had your positions been reversed.”

  Kherin flushed as the words struck home, and Derek’s expression softened into something resembling a gentle smile, though it was fainter and more brittle. “The attack that injured your brother happened at night, during a time in which Gresham, your current Defender Leader, saw no harm in allowing visits to the city for morale purposes, and so the camp was nearly empty—”

  “How the hell could he let the Defenders leave the camp empty with attacks happening so often?” The anger in Kherin’s voice sharpened it to a rasp, but Derek only sighed as his hand dropped to the prince’s knee.