Chapter 84

Silas

Every time we were forced to come to Fallspire, I saw another part of Arik die.

He was good at hiding it. The lordlings didn't notice the way my brother gripped his wine glass tight or the fact he barely took a sip from it. They were too caught up in their own thoughts, their own visions of victory, but Arik had been here before. I looked around the room and wondered at what he saw. The same bannermen who fought on the field with the duke during the first civil war in recent memory or… their tragic defeat? Men forget such things so easily, as was evident in the lords jocularity. They called for more wine when Roan showed them the devices he'd bought from Weasel, discussing excitedly how they would deploy each one.

But Arik didn't.

He watched them question Roan, then me on their use. He caught the moment when these high born men asked us, those usually dismissed as street scum, for advice. He listened to their plans get wilder and wilder, but it wasn't that which held his attention. My eyes followed his gaze, noting who he stared at most and for longest.

Or what.

I knew my country's history. My father had little use for book learning, but when it was clear to him a nobleman's son would have at least a passing acquaintance with the key moment of the past, a tutor was found for me. I was forced to endure the dronings of Brother Gerard from one of the local churches, reciting with him a list of all of the kings of Khean, right back to the first. Ragnar the Bold, who wore not a golden crown, but one made of deer antlers.

Just like the one sitting on the sideboard, along with the port and cheese.

Arik stared so fixedly at it that I was forced to inspect it more closely. Rust coloured stains on the bones themselves were probably blood, but whose? The antlers had started to brown, the smoke coming from the fireplace obviously building up on the surface, creating a faint patina. The ends had been cut long ago, the porous inner structure revealed, but none of this gave me any clues to work with, but he did. Lord Gelden, one of the duke's bannermen from a small estate close to the border, he noted the attention Arik paid the crown and grinned broadly.

"You'll be wearing that soon," the man said, seemingly oblivious to my brother's mood. He walked over and picked it up, carrying it with the same kind of formality the high priest might if Arik was kneeling in the grand nave, as was intended. "The true king of Khean."

"The true king of Khean!" the others shouted, half gone to drink. If the duke was serious about planning Magnus' demise, he should've done more to water the wine.

Gelden approached Arik, ready to put the crown on my brother's head, when Roan turned around, just in time to catch the moment Arik snatched it from his hands.

"I am no king." His voice was like ashes, but that was nothing compared to his expression. "You all know this. You were with me… We did not win the day. The gods did not grant us victory."

"We might've had a chance if bloody Lord Vatarion and his allies didn't decamp to the usurper's side the moment the battle began," one of the lords grumbled. "My father always said to never trust—"

"King's rule through divine right, do they not?" Arik asked. "They are the ones that ensure the gods will is enacted. Well, the gods were never kind to me. A true-born son born a bastard." Arik's lips twisted as he snatched the crown from Gelden's hands, leaving the other man's face to fall. "I didn't hunt the golden stag. It was a mercy killing."

He marched over to the roaring fire, the apple wood logs filling the room with its smoky fragrance. It wasn't the scent that drew him nearer, but the weight of the crown. Arik considered it for a moment, then tossed it into the fire, stopping to watch the flames lick the antlers as others made sounds of protest.

"I brought you news of the stag," he told those assembled. "I brought you the devices that will best assist you in your plans, but I fear I must leave the rest in your capable hands. We must return to the capital."

"Not yet, surely." The duke's tone was conciliatory. "You've ridden hard for a day and a night. Your horses need a rest if you don't."

"Lend me fresh ones," Arik ordered, not realising only a prince would dare to make such a direct request of a duke. "The gods know we've made worse journeys under more difficult conditions. I need to be back in the capital. Every hour I spend away is another where my brother might make a move against the princess."

"Sweet on her, are you?" Lord Frederick was a big, blowsy man with the reddened nose of a frequent drinker. "A nice thing, if the marriage is to be a love match. Haven't seen you all aflutter about a girl…"

Gods, no, don't fucking mention Ariel, I thought, jerking to my feet.

"Since he was mooning after your daughter, Fallspire."

With the habitual lateness of a fool, Frederick realising what he was saying. His eyes flicked around as he saw that every person had fallen silent. Ariel's death was horrendous. Even my own father had tut tutted about the wastefulness of it. He'd planned on using Queen Ariel's position as a pressure point to try and bring her to our way of thinking, but instead she'd been beaten almost beyond recognition before being left dead.

"Perhaps its time for bed," the Duke said, trying to smooth over the terrible awkwardness inside the room, but he didn't manage it. "I thank the three of you for bringing me these devices and such welcome news. The least I can do is give you somewhere to rest and recover."

"In the stables." Didn't they see how far they pushed him? Arik's eyes were like burning holes in his skull. "We'll doss down in the hay—"

"You'll do no such thing." The duke went to place a hand on Arik's shoulder, but my brother jerked away without thought, chest heaving. "Arik. Arik." He peered into the other man's face. "A room for each of you."

"Just the one with three beds will do." Every one turned at the sound of my voice and I forced myself to smile. "We are but simple soldiers. I'm not sure I could ever get to sleep without the sound of Roan's snores in my ears."

"Snores?" Roan snorted. "Better than you're little kittenish cries all night." He made an almost lewd sound, like a woman reaching her peak as he writhed dramatically.

"You see how it is, Your Grace. The army forged a bond between us, one we are doomed to preserve until the end of our days."

I was making light of things, as if my feet weren't dancing as fast as they could to distract the lot of them, because at least one or two lords looked into the fire. They watched the antlers blacken, then stared at the three of us. News of what we were to Arik filtered through some circles, further demonstrating my brother's lack of suitability as king in noble circles. A prince might form a pack with other lordlings, but not the son of a thief and the son of a blacksmith.

"Of course," the duke said before tugging on a velvet rope. "I'll have the maids prepare a room for the three of you."

"Gods…" Roan sank down onto a soft bed once we were led deeper into the estate by a chamber maid. "I could sleep for a week."

"A few hours," Arik corrected. "We need to get back to the capital as fast as we can. Gods know what my brother is doing."

"To Jessalyn." I loved the way her name rolled off my tongue. It was as close as I could get to kissing her. "You worry about what he will do to Jessalyn."

"Of course I worry." Arik bit that off as his fingers sank into his hair, raking across his scalp. "I have since the moment I met her. No, before that. My brother is a sadistic bastard and those pricks…" He jerked his thumb at the door. "Think they know exactly how this is going to go, just like last time." He crossed the room in quick strides, turning to walk back. "Arrogant, coddled, oblivious—"

"So tell us, brother."

He stopped at the title I gave him, searching my eyes and I caught the moment he broke, if only for a second, then mastered himself.

"Magnus is a monster. He always has been, but this country has stood back as he commits act after act of cruelty. They didn't try to stop him when he killed any one of the other princesses. Not when he killed any number of the prostitutes your father sent him. Not when he visited casual cruelties on his playmates…"

Arik's blue eyes went wide and staring, not seeing us or the room, because right now he wasn't in Fallspire. He was back at the palace, a young boy elevated beyond all expectations by his royal father. The king introduced Arik to Magnus thinking that was all it took, not realising it was like leaving a lamb in a pen with a rabid pup.

"And definitely not when he hurt me as a child." Arik's focus snapped back to us and he stared into each of our eyes in challenge, waiting for us to make comment. I shot Roan a warning look, but a tiny nod made clear he understood. "No one has bothered to stand up against Magnus before now." Arik shook his head. "Not even me."

"But that ends now." There was a gentleness in Roan's voice I didn't expect as he moved closer. "Doesn't it, Arik? He's just one spoiled psychotic little monster. Remember when we managed to rescue the border lord's daughter that the Lanzenians had taken. They were going to pass her around the entire garrison when the ransom money came in, return her to her father broken, but we got her out."

Arik snorted as he stared at the floor.

"And remember when they sent us on that mission to retrieve those secret plans from the general visiting the border," I said. "He had a whole damn platoon camped around him, but we managed to get past them. Had the papers and were galloping back to our side of the border before anyone even knew we were there." I moved until he was forced to meet my eyes and when I had his attention, I held it. "You're the Bastard Prince. We're your band. Together we've been able to survive for far longer than anyone intended. We can get through this, brother, you know we can."

Arik might have been a brutalised child, the bastard son of a common born woman, an unwanted, unloved presence in the palace, but his father had done one thing right. That same damn arrogance of princes was never kept down for long and I watched it rise now. His lips quirked, his eyes sparkled as he nodded.

"Those idiots are going to fuck up everything, aren't they?"

"Well, they did last time." I shrugged. "Trusting Lord Vatarion? Who does that. The house is notorious for being turncoats of the highest order."

"They have a huge number of men to bring to a battle," Arik replied wryly. "Its why everyone always seeks their favour."

"So lets avoid that," Roan said. "No bullshit wars with pricks who play both sides while soldiers die on the battlefield." His focus flicked my way. "No bloody Guild games. Lets keep all of them out of this, including those stupid lords." He nodded to the door where we could hear the muffled sounds of their carousing. "We'll get some sleep and then talk to the people that matter."

"The Duke's hunters." Arik nodded. "His grooms. Gods, I'll even talk to the stable boys and see if there's anything useful to be found there."

"But after a good night's sleep." I feared that I'd taken the wrong tact, because Arik's smile faded the moment I said that, but if I felt the weight of exhaustion crushing down on me, he must as well. "You'll be no good to the princess if you're falling out of the saddle."

"He'll be no good to her anyway." Roan shot me an outrageous wink. "Always ‘rushes' into things, does Arik." He slapped our brother on the arm. "Don't worry, lad. I've got all the stamina she needs. I'll make sure she never even notices the fact you go off too quick."

"One minute is what we're calling stamina now, is it?" I asked, pulling out a small belt knife to clean my nails. "Interesting."

"All she has to do is hurt you and you'll be coming in your pants like a lad," Roan shot back. He slapped his arms around himself, doing a reasonable approximation of a couple kissing before raking his nails down his own back. I admit I stiffened at that, well used to the joke, but never having visualised Jessalyn doing just that. If she dug her nails in just so—

"How about we focus on the mission?" Arik stood taller and despite the lines of exhaustion in his face, I could see the shadows disappearing from under his eyes. "You're right, Silas."

"I often am," I replied with a smirk.

"No one's lifted a finger to end my brother, but he's spent all of the years I've been in the army trying to get us killed and we've survived every attempt." That arrogant smile, I was glad to see it back. "Honing us into the kind of weapon that would be perfect to slide between his ribs. Get some sleep. We'll be up early in the morning to talk to the staff and check out the stables."

"And what about you?" I asked.

"I'll be in bed soon enough, Mother," he said, grabbing his cloak from the chair he'd tossed it over, wrapping it around himself before walking out the door. "Rest now."

"Why do I think he's about to do something stupid?" Roan asked me, the fears we'd both been nursing now allowed to come to the fore.

"We're talking about killing a king, brother," I replied. "Most would say that's pretty damn stupid." I kicked off my boots and then flopped down onto the bed. "So if we're going to do something stupid, lets do it with our wits about us."

Insomnia isn't a luxury a soldier can afford, so as soon as my eyes closed I started to drop off. The darkness there wasn't a friendly place but neither was it hostile. It was merely an oblivion I dove into, like a deep still lake and just before it swallowed me entirely, I had to wonder what would happen if we couldn't find a way through this. Would I face the scaffold, only to be plunged back into that darkness forever?

I saw then a golden hand, the fingers long and slender, the nails elegantly shaped plunged under the surface, reaching out for me. I wanted to take it so very badly, but I was sinking, sinking, deeper and deeper. Jessalyn, I said, over and over like the women do the names of the gods at church. Jessalyn.