And So It Begins (5 page)

R
AUCOUS
laughter cut through the heavy atmosphere of the common room, the sudden loudness carrying easily to the isolated table set far from the center, occupied solely by the youngest prince of Llarien. His alcohol-dulled senses nevertheless had no trouble picking out the group of men responsible for the noise. They were the ones seated closest to the blazing hearth, separated from the prince by nearly the length of the room, and far enough into their cups to accept the exaggerated price of the tavern whores who clustered around their tables.

Two such whores—one male and one female—had already approached Kherin to ply their trade, though the viciousness of his rebuffs had sent them quickly away, and no doubt with slurs against his manhood as well as rumors of an empty purse. None had approached since, but Kherin had swallowed more than enough of the cheap ale they served here to push him far beyond caring. So much, in fact, that his mood was turning dangerously close to hostile. A scowl twisted his features as he raised his mug again.

It was his third night spent inhabiting the taverns of Delfore, though his first night spent here, with his days spent nursing the hangovers that followed the nights he spent drinking and whoring—thus achieving two out of three of the accusations his father had spent years throwing at his feet. He had not spoken a word to his father since their confrontation three days ago, nor had he invited anyone inside the castle to share his bed since Tristan’s dismissal. There was no longer a question of what would happen if he did, and it wasn’t fair to put anyone in the position of choosing between their prince and their employment.

It wasn’t fair to demand he be chaste and proper to suit the grand reputation his father insisted on courting either, and so he had simply and stubbornly moved his attempts at gratification to the rented rooms of the city’s inns. He may have only vague memories of the debauchery he had engaged in inside the cheapest inns in the city, but at least he had not yet been reduced to paying his companions for his pleasure. Not on the streets of the city, and certainly not in the common room of the Dancing Mouse. His status as prince had at last proved good for something. Another round of laughter brought a hissed curse to Kherin’s lips, though he drowned it in another swallow of the bitter ale.

The Dancing Mouse was one of the most disreputable taverns in Delfore, if not
the
most disreputable. It was cheap and dirty and dangerous for the unwary, and Kherin usually avoided it. But it suited his mood tonight. He had all but driven the previous customers from this table when he had arrived, and though the men who had occupied it had done their share of drinking, most of the mugs on the table were his. He sneered as his gaze swept the room.

“But I’m a Defender! That should count for something!”

Kherin’s hand tightened on his mug, and his sneer deepened as he sought out the man behind the shouted plea. He found the oily-skinned face of a city merchant leering at his whore of choice, and watched his beefy hands paw at the teasing show of cleavage. Kherin wanted to spit. He was a Defender as well, but it turned his stomach to be placed in the same group as that slobbering man, even if it had been himself and not the merchant who had been forbidden to go to the border. He raised his mug as a new wave of anger shot through him, but the matter faded from his mind as the bitter ale burned down his throat, and his eyes closed as he leaned his head against the stained and greasy wall behind him.

Until the sound of a new voice snapped his eyes open, a voice low, though excruciatingly clear as it carried across the room over the sounds pounding around him. He peered through the gloomy shadows to pick out the tall, dark-haired man who had entered, and who wound his way effortlessly toward the bar lining the back wall, brushing through the countless hands reaching for him from every direction. The growth of stubble shadowing his cheeks made his teeth brilliant in the dim light, and the black hair trailing in a tail over his shoulders was nearly lost in the darkness of his cloak. The clip that held it back, however, glinted as he turned his head. The hands that sought him found purchase more than once, but Kherin knew the man seldom left his purse where it could be so easily taken, and he had spent many years pressing that same precaution on both him and Adrien. Derek Resh was perfectly at ease, even here.

Kherin couldn’t stop the bitter resentment from growing in the pit of his stomach. Derek could go where he pleased, with no lingering gossip and no repercussions for his actions. He didn’t need permission to go to Gravlorn, and wasn’t even obligated as a Defender, as Llarien’s reliance on traders made them the one faction that was exempted from that duty. And no one, not even his father, would bat an eye no matter whom he took to his bed—male, female, nobility, or prostitute. Derek had complete independence, and Kherin seethed with jealousy.

He shifted his gaze angrily as he raised his mug again, and so he missed the moment that Derek’s eyes found him. Leaning back as he relished the burn in his throat, he didn’t see how the trader froze, or how the dark eyes narrowed in an expression grown wary with surprise. He wasn’t watching as Derek changed his direction, and he wasn’t aware the trader had pushed his way to his table until he loomed suddenly in front of him. Then Kherin smirked as he met the trader’s eyes and raised his mug in mock salute.

Derek’s gaze fell to the mugs on the table.

“Good to see you, Derek,” Kherin rasped, his voice thick and cold, even to his own ears. He turned away—and snatched frantically at the table’s edge when the room twisted violently around him. He heard the sound of mugs hitting the floor as hands snatched his clothes, stopping his tumble from the chair. A rough curse hissed as he was pushed back, and he blinked at the dark-haired man leaning over him

“Kherin,” Derek began tightly, “what are you doing here?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere out east?” Kherin interrupted bluntly, a trace of spittle running from the corner of his mouth. He wiped clumsily at it with his sleeve, then scowled as he returned to the mug he had managed to keep in his hand. It was empty, and he shoved it away as he reached for another. Both fell to the floor. Only Derek’s hand kept a third from joining them.

“It seems this has been going on for some time,” Derek muttered darkly. The wickedness of the Mouse’s ale was that, despite being cheap, it was far stronger than what could be bought elsewhere, and often drugged to enhance the effects. Customers both drunk and drugged were far looser with their coins, and when they awoke, it was with few memories of what they had done, or with whom. Kherin scowled as he wondered if drugs had been in his drink last night, given how little he remembered of it.

Derek grunted softly as he shifted Kherin more securely in the chair, then released one hand to lay it flat on the table. “Kherin, why are you here?”

Kherin’s scowl deepened as his eyes swept the common room, sliding over the writhing crowd of bodies until his view was blocked by the trader’s leaning figure. He snarled as he gave up his survey and reached again, grasping a handle after nearly batting it away. He drank the remains rather than answer the question.

“I see,” Derek murmured quietly. His mouth formed a tight line as his stance changed, his grip shifting to take the prince’s arm. “Come, you’ve had enough of this poison. Far too much, in fact. You need air.”

“I’m fine,” Kherin bit out fiercely, shrugging out of the trader’s hold. He bumped the table with his movement, shaking the remaining mugs in his effort, and his lips curled as he raised the mug still in his grip to drink again. He gave an almost feral growl at finding it empty now as well. It was snatched from his fingers before he could throw it, and he glared blearily up as Derek returned it to the table.

Hands reappeared on his arms. “Come, Kherin. We’re leaving,” Derek repeated, louder and more sternly, and pulled the prince with him as he stepped back. He was forced to adjust quickly when Kherin staggered.

Kherin swayed listlessly for only the space of a heartbeat, then the fire returned, and he twisted against the hands that trapped him. Derek’s grip was tight, and it was the only thing that kept him on his feet.

“Let me go!” he spat at the trader.

Derek pulled again, forcing the prince to step forward, and jarring him enough to make him meet his eyes. “We’re leaving. Now,” he stated evenly.

“Oh, let him stay,” a voice called from behind them, the sound loud in a room grown quiet as the scene in the corner gained attention. “He’s pretty enough for these whores! He’s even pretty enough for me, come to think of it!”

Derek ignored the snickers and taunts that followed, but he tensed as his grip became iron. His voice was low and threatening as he leaned close to the prince. “I don’t want to drag you out of here, but I will if I have to.”

Kherin snarled incoherently, and he lifted his hand to push the trader away.

“Kherin!” Derek growled, forcing him to stand still. “Kherin, look at me! We. Are. Leaving.”

“No!”
Kherin jerked away so violently the trader’s grip slipped, and the wild momentum threw him against the table. Mugs crashed as the table was knocked back, and Kherin felt a surge of panic as he reached frantically to stop his fall. Hands caught in his clothes before he reached the floor, startling him for just an instant before he was thrown back into his chair.

“Good luck with that one!” came another loud and drunken voice behind them. “He’s as tight as a virgin’s ass, though not nearly as welcoming!”

The roar of laughter that followed this time shot Kherin into motion, and he cursed viciously as he flew from the chair in an attempt to get past the trader. The hands in his clothes became fists, and the direction of his movement changed with dizzying speed. His feet stumbled as he was dragged from the corner table, and he fought blindly against the trader’s hold as he was both pulled and shoved toward the tavern door. Derek never paused, even as he shouted something to the barmaid over the hoots and catcalls erupting in the room. Then Kherin’s teeth rattled as he was slammed into the wall next to the entrance without warning, and the solid weight of the fists pressed into the base of his throat nearly stilled his breathing as the trader leaned close.

“Gods, Kherin,” Derek hissed through clenched teeth. “What were you
thinking
, drinking here?” One hand shoved the door open, and the other was merciless as he thrust the prince through it.

It was full night in Delfore, and cold air slapped into them as they emerged from the Mouse. Delfore was lit by the soft glow of the covered lanterns lining the streets, and even more brutally by those hanging just outside the door. Kherin staggered as the lights blurred and wavered in nauseating patterns, though Derek managed to move him away from the door before his legs gave out completely. Strong hands eased his collapse at the mouth of a cobblestoned alley instead, and Kherin gulped the chilling air, and then doubled over as his stomach heaved, and heaved again.

It seemed an eternity before Kherin calmed, but at last his stomach stopped clenching, leaving him feverish and trembling, his breathing harsh and painful. A cool hand brushed the sweat-dampened hair from his face, and then moved to a gentle, soothing stroke down his back. Slowly, Derek forced him to his feet and held him still only long enough to throw out the edges of his cloak to encompass them both. Then holding him close with a steady arm, Derek led Kherin carefully into the street.

“Let’s find you a safer place, my prince.”

“Y
OU
should have known better,” Derek muttered quietly, the cool edge of anger still present in the weary statement, though Kherin was beyond hearing him. More unconscious than asleep, Kherin lay under layers of heavy blankets, for all appearances resting peacefully, though more importantly, resting safely. Derek studied him from his position on the edge of the bed, the anxious knot in his gut not yet undone.

It was one of the better rooms in the Crossroads, and one of only two that occupied the top floor of the three-story inn. Derek had rented this room only hours before, taking advantage of the boon of finding it vacant, though he had yet to do more than place his bags unobtrusively on the single chest in the room. Kherin hadn’t argued about coming here, had in fact lost the whole of his fight the moment the sounds of the Mouse had faded. He had merely followed where Derek led, even taking the stairs of the inn in unresisting calmness.

He had collapsed on the single bed in the room as soon as Derek led him to it, not needing the encouragement from the trader to burrow into the soft blankets, and passing out completely within the space of a few heartbeats. His only movement since had been the unconscious shifting of his position as Derek raised the blankets over him. Bringing him here had been remarkably easy compared to taking him from the Mouse.

Derek drew a deep breath as he watched the prince sleep, weighing the scene he had witnessed against what he knew of Kherin’s most recent years at the castle. The prince knew better than to become so drunk he lost his senses, and should have known to never—
never
—do so at the Mouse. Derek had little doubt of what could have happened, what
would
have happened had he not returned to Delfore this night, had not gone to the Mouse, hadn’t spotted Kherin nearly hidden in the shadows. The knot in his stomach twisted tight as the fear that had gripped him at that moment returned with cutting sharpness.

He breathed again, and let his gaze climb the walls to the ceiling, taking in the surfaces as if the answers could be found there. He had gotten nothing from Kherin about what had caused this, but he had an idea that was no doubt very close to the truth. Adrien had been hurt. Derek had learned that from the innkeeper, who also told of the funeral ceremonies for the slain Defenders taking place in three days time. Together or separately, they may have been what had caused the already tense relationship between Kherin and his father to boil over. Nothing else made sense. That alone worried Derek, and what he had seen tonight had frightened him. It still did.