And So It Begins

by R. G. Green

  Derek nodded. “Riders should be leaving shortly to do just that. The immediate concern is that there are no more northerners hiding on this side of the river, and after that, to ensure that no more arrive.”

  “They should be trying to find out why they are attacking to begin with,” Kherin groused irritably.

  Derek let out a sigh. “And that is where their tactics fall short. The ‘why’ is something they don’t seem particularly concerned with at the moment.”

  Kherin eyed the trader warily. “It’s part of keeping the kingdom secure.”

  “Granted,” Derek agreed. “But since it was your orders that put the one northerner we have under guard, it is assumed to be your task to learn what you can from him, and therefore the ‘why’ is your concern and not theirs.”

  Kherin snorted, but in truth he had all but expected this to happen. Even Adrien would have been disgusted, had he been awake to hear it.

  “You will still need to find a way to talk to him,” Derek went on cautiously.

  “I know,” Kherin muttered. “I wasn’t thinking about how much that was going to be a problem.”

  Derek chuckled softly, pulling Kherin to his feet and then into a sudden hug that was gentle yet consuming, and one Kherin moved into willingly. “You’ll think of something, my prince. Now that you have him, the hardest part should be past you.” The trader released him and moved to the chair that held his cloak and began to pull his gloves on. Kherin nearly started when he realized what Derek was doing.

  “You’re leaving?” he asked quickly, drawing the trader’s gaze to his face. He closed his lips at the eyebrow the trader raised, but didn’t miss the smile Derek wore as he turned his attention back to his hands. Derek flexed his fingers to adjust the gloves.

  “Yes, my prince. You may have spent your day in idle leisure playing hide-and-seek with the northerners, but I didn’t have that luxury.” He gave the prince an amused wink. “I am only going to retrieve food. You could no doubt do with more than Willum’s medicinal stew, and that is all you are likely to get from the healer at this hour.”

  Kherin breathed out, feeling the heat in his cheeks, though he tried to cover it with a shake of his head. “In that case, thank you. Willum’s stew is good for a meal or two, but after that….”

  Derek laughed. “Real food coming up, your highness. And maybe a bottle of wine, if one can be found. Or perhaps you would prefer whiskey?”

  “As long as it wasn’t made inside these walls, I don’t care.” Kherin told him fervently, but he couldn’t hold his severity as Derek paused long enough to give his arm a gentle squeeze.

  “I won’t be gone long,” Derek assured him with a wink, and he raised his hand to Kherin’s cheek for only an instant before slipping away and vanishing through the door, leaving Kherin alone with the unmoving form of his brother.

  Kherin sighed, forcing one measure of tension out of his body only to have another slip effortlessly into its place. It was true Adrien was healing, and the answer to so many of the questions he had was waiting for him in an inn bearing the name the Open Door. But this was his last night to spend with Derek, and he didn’t want to think about what it would be like at this time tomorrow.

  He didn’t want Derek to leave. That part was simple, and he flushed at the realization he had said that out loud. But leaving was how Derek made his living, he reminded himself firmly. Even if the northerners weren’t attacking, Derek would have to go sometime. His father relied on his information, and Derek relied on his payments. It was what he did, and it was his choice.

  Besides, Kherin went on silently, sinking to the edge of his brother’s bed with a forced air of resolve, traveling suits him. Kherin knew Derek wouldn’t enjoy being a shopkeeper or running a tavern, or anything else that would keep him in one place too long. In fact, he doubted Derek would be content doing anything other than what it was he did, even if he had been hoping….

  He let out his breath heavily. He had been hoping Derek would stay in Gravlorn, to help him figure out what was happening with the northerners, and to give them time to figure out where they stood with their feelings for each other and how they could move forward with them. He was hoping Derek would want that, would be willing to try for something more than an intermittent presence in his life. He no longer questioned that what either of them felt was real.

  But Derek would be back, he reminded himself, here and in Delfore. No matter where he went or how long he was gone, Derek would always come back.

  At least for a little while.

  Kherin let out his breath. And that was the part he had no answer to. Derek would always be a part of his life, he knew that. Just not the part he wanted him to be. Not a part Derek was willing to be. He thought of the way-stop, of the finally acknowledged feelings he held for the trader, but even knowing those feelings were returned….

  He shook his head again, almost hearing the words Derek would tell him, what Adrien would, if he was able. Words designed to be comforting, but reluctant to be anything but the truth. Derek would leave, and in doing so, he would leave Kherin behind. And Kherin would have no choice but to let him go.

  He was stopped from following his thoughts any further by the arrival of the healer, his gnarled hands bearing a tray of the stew he was so fond of serving. It was a meal that Kherin wouldn't eat, though he welcomed the distraction, and he took the tray from him without comment. He set it aside as the healer began tending to Adrien, and didn’t interfere as Willum made his examination with short, terse motions. He felt a measure of satisfaction at the lack of powders, either on the tray or on his person, and at last the healer nodded his approval of the scar. The instructions of rest and food were the same as always, with a nod at the stew making it clear they pertained to both princes under his care. And when the healer left, Kherin moved the tray to the far side of the room and left it untouched as he waited for Derek to return.

  To his relief, he didn’t have to wait long, and he couldn’t suppress his groan of pleasure at the food-laden tray he brought.

  Roasted chicken, steamed potatoes, and soft bread were spread under heavy napkins, with a bottle of red wine, cooled by the winter air, hanging from the fingers of one hand. Kherin sighed appreciatively as the tray was presented, claiming a heavy wooden plate with very real gratitude and rescuing the wine with an added measure of thanks. Forks were the only utensils the trader brought, and the bottle would have to be shared without cups, though it was a practice they had indulged in before. Kherin took his plate to his bed while Derek retrieved the chair, and the bottle was passed between them before their first bites were taken.

  Derek drew him easily into talk of the city and the northerners, adding his own comments concerning the poor condition of Gravlorn as a Defender city and listening to the changes Kherin would make, given the time and a royal decree. The food, however, was some of the best the prince had had in Gravlorn, and was solid enough that Kherin was tempted to scarf it down as he had done as a child.

  But the lighter mood didn’t last, even with the trader present, not when the end of the meal signaled they were yet another step closer to the moment the trader would leave. Kherin took a deep breath as Derek moved the empty dishes to join the untouched stew, and he made an effort to quell the dread of the coming morning as the trader moved the remains to the hall outside the door. He was so lost in his thoughts that he started slightly when he felt a hand on the small of his back, and he couldn’t quite mask his surprise at finding Derek sinking down on the bed next to him. The look on the trader’s face was curious, and Kherin flushed as he sought to cover the awkwardness of the moment.

  “I’ll need to question the northerner soon,” he said quickly, taking the obvious track to explaining his distraction. He cleared his throat as he looked over at Adrien’s sleeping form. “I’m still afraid to hope it will last.”

  Derek nodded, stroking lightly along his spine. If he noticed anything odd in Kherin’s behavior, he let it pass. “Every moment
he’s at peace is encouraging, and sometimes there’s nothing you can do but hope.” The touch of his hand changed as he changed the conversation. “I’ll want to check with the camp again and see how their search is progressing. I doubt they have found anything, though, or we would have heard by now.”

  “Any northerners who weren’t in the attack most likely crossed back the way they came,” Kherin added with a quiet snort. He met the trader’s eyes but spoke from more than his reluctance to let the trader go. “Should we meet later to see if either of us has learned anything new?”

  Derek smiled, resting his hand on the prince’s shoulder, then slipping his fingers lightly through the ends of his hair. “Come to the Harper’s Den. That way we won’t risk interruption during our talk.”

  Kherin nodded, though the grin he gave the trader was bittersweet. He couldn’t stop Derek from leaving, but he wasn’t alone in the city just yet. That would be tomorrow. “If I get there before you, I’ll wait. Maybe get the innkeeper to let me in your room, as long as he doesn’t think I’m out to rob you.”

  “Oh, I think he’ll assume you’re too well-established to rob a simple trader,” Derek acknowledged with a wink. “You’re far from unrecognizable, my prince, even in the streets of Gravlorn.” He laughed softly at Kherin’s quiet snort. Then the affectionate hug he pulled Kherin into ended in a kiss to his temple before he stood to retrieve his cloak. He was still pulling the gloves over his hands as he slipped quietly from the room.

  Kherin bent to watch him through the window, the dread of Derek’s impending departure returning as he followed the trader’s form until he vanished around a corner. His breath clouded the glass as he continued to stare at the empty street moments after, and then a low, sudden sound from Adrien jerked his attention back to his brother. But it was nothing more than a sleepy mumble, and with a shift of his body, Adrien was again still and peaceful.

  Kherin let relief creep slowly back over him. Then he drew a breath deep into his lungs. He had to go question the northerner, and hopefully find the answers he so desperately needed. With a final glance at the empty streets outside the window, he turned his mind to the task at hand, reached for his cloak, and then followed the trader out of the sickroom.

  The Open Door was near the market square, and the northerner was waiting.

  Chapter 14

  THE streets were empty, but the noise from the taverns gave clear indication the city hadn’t settled down to rest. Rain fell steadily, if not particularly hard, and Kherin couldn’t keep his teeth from clenching as he watched his breath form and vanish with each step he took away from the Open Door Inn. The questioning session had been a farce, plain and simple.

  Jarak had been waiting outside the tiny storage room behind the inn’s bar, a space serving now as the city’s only cell. The northerner had been waiting inside. Even amid the crates and barrels, surrounded by dust and the stray odds and ends that made running a tavern possible, the northerner appeared calm, every outward sign showing him controlled and patient, his posture straight and proud. As if he wasn’t a prisoner in enemy lands, and the skins covering his body weren’t ruined by blood, Kherin thought with grudging admiration. As if the Defenders around him hadn’t been the ones to draw it. His guard nevertheless went up with his first step into the room.

  Water splashed over his boot as he stepped in a puddle, scattering heavy drops to gather in tiny rivulets that snaked back to refill the small depression. He had donned his leather armor again before the questioning, though his sword remained sheathed at his hip, and his hand flexed with the urge to draw it.

  The cursory questions had been asked and ignored within minutes, nothing more than Kherin had expected, and nothing less. His goal had been to learn what he could, and what he had learned first was that the northerner was not intimidated, either by his surroundings or by the Defenders, and he wasn’t cowed by the presence of the second prince of Llarien, even if he knew who Kherin was. Giving away nothing to indicate the interview would be anything but a waste a time was the long-held tactic of any prisoner, anywhere and under any circumstances. It was what Kherin would have done had their situations been reversed, and he didn’t begrudge the northerner that, at least.

  Breath hissed between his teeth. A heavy drop fell from his hair, and he blinked it from his lashes, grinding his jaw as the locked muscles began to strain. The streets were becoming darker and more desolate as he ventured deeper into the city, the lamps either guttering or gone out completely.

  The sheer calmness of the northerner had made them edgy, prince and Defenders, and Kherin had been prepared for whatever the northerner would try. He had expected the northerner to try something—he would have, if for no other reason than to keep his jailors off guard. But he had never expected the northerner to turn the tables on them.

  After Kherin's questions had been run through and left unanswered, after he had given up learning anything useful during this first round of questioning, he had seen it. The slight twitch in the hair covering the northerner’s mouth, the crinkling of the skin of his cheek. The glint of teeth, visible for only for a second through his tangled beard. The look in the dark eyes above. The northerner had said nothing, but in that one single moment, with a gesture so small it was almost invisible, the message had been clear.

  The northerner had understood him—every single word. And he had kept his silence by choice.

  It had taken everything Kherin had not to launch himself at the man, shove the Defenders aside, and grasp the northerner by the throat, forcing the answers out of him or strangling him in the process. Only the hiss of drawn blades had held him back, Jarak being the first to show steel.

  The northerner didn’t even flinch.

  Kherin strode out of the inn without so much as a warning to the Defenders around him, and they had let him go. He would have to explain later, but not right now. The northerner had chosen a game Kherin wouldn’t have given him credit for even understanding, and he had proven beyond a doubt he knew how it was played.

  He spit an oath into the night. Water shot away from his feet as he stepped into another puddle, and his lips pulled away from his teeth as the cold wetness trailed inside his boot. By simply revealing he understood the language, the northerner had made sure the Defenders wouldn’t kill him—by ensuring Kherin wouldn’t allow them to. He had won the first round by merely securing his own safety.

  Another vicious curse split the night, and another heavy drop fell into his eyes. Kherin stopped abruptly to push the hair from his face, and he nearly punched the wall beside him in his frustration. It was all a game the northerner played, and one Kherin didn’t have time for. The wall bore the brunt of his glare for long moments while he fought the urge to react, and then surprise stalled his anger when he finally made out the words on the sign he’d nearly struck. Dark red paint showed wetly against the dirty white of the sign, dripping with enough rain to make it look almost like blood. A quick glance in either direction confirmed where his steps had brought him. He had been following the roads back to the hospice by habit, and hadn’t realized until now they also led past the Harper’s Den. Frowning, he stepped back and glanced up at the window near the roof, squinting as he craned his neck.

  Light glowed dimly in the tiny attic room window, a gold-tinted frost in the shadows under the eaves. He would have thought Derek would still be in the camp, or in the taverns if that was where the Defenders would be found, but the candles were lit, showing the room was occupied. Rain patted his face as he hesitated. He should go back to the hospice and check on Adrien, and be sure he still slept peacefully if he wasn’t awake to hear of his visit to the northerner. But Derek was here, and if he were forced to admit it, he really did want to talk to the trader, let him soothe his anger with his uncanny ability to put things into perspective. In the end, it took very little to make him reach for the door.

  A twist of the handle proved it had not yet been locked, and he wasn’t really surprised to find the common room emp
ty, not with enough activity near the camp to make the taverns there much more popular. He was familiar enough at the inn lately that his presence wouldn’t cause alarm, and the old, bored innkeeper only offered a polite nod from his place behind the bar as the prince moved to the stairs. The innkeeper had already returned to his chores by the time Kherin had reached the second floor. Two more flights would bring him to the door of the attic room.

  The stairs ended abruptly at the entrance to the attic, with no landing built to precede it, and one dim candle flickering in an iron lamp to indicate the room was rented. Kherin knocked softly, leaving faint trails of water on the rough surface, and he was startled when the door opened so quickly after. As if the trader had been expecting him. Derek was still dressed in the damp clothes he had worn earlier, and the fact that his hair was still bound at his nape was a sure sign he had not been in the room long.

  Kherin blew out his breath by way of greeting, and the tightening of the trader’s lips said the gesture had been understood. Derek stepped back to allow Kherin inside, and Kherin shook the water from his hands as the door closed with a quiet snap.

  “From the look on your face, I take it your interview didn’t go well,” the trader said cautiously. A touch landed on the prince’s shoulder as Derek moved around him, and Kherin followed the line of his back as he moved to the chest pushed against the wall. A pitcher was positioned on its top, along with two cups of beaten silver. Derek filled both cups as he listened for the answer.

  “I can’t talk to him,” Kherin muttered, shedding his dripping cloak in a shower of falling drops. “He understands me, but he refuses to say anything, even in his own language.”

  “That’s not surprising,” Derek answered matter-of-factly. “If I was captured in the northern lands, I would likely do the same.” Derek turned with both cups in his hands, and he stepped forward to present one of them to the prince.