The Phoenix Prince

by Kristen Gupton

  How easy it would have been to catch them out like this and kill the prince that night, he thought, feeling a spike of anger. If only he’d known they were going to pull that, plans could have been made. Peirte couldn’t see the future, however, and he would have hoped Jerris possessed the good sense to keep Keiran on his leash, and in the castle this close to the coronation.

  The fact he hadn’t, though, was no great surprise. How Jerris had ended up the primary guard over the prince at all was mind boggling. The boy was an irresponsible, womanizing lush in Peirte’s opinion. The only reason he had a job at all was because his father was the head of the royal guard.

  Though he was sorely tempted to double back and see if he could get an opportunity to do what needed to be done, he resisted. He wouldn’t have an alibi if he did, should anyone actually notice that he wasn’t in the castle at the time of the assassination. Besides, there was always the small chance that Jerris was actually competent as a guard and cost the councillor his own life if he tried. Peirte wasn’t the type to generally get his hands dirty, anyway.

  Jerris looked back over his shoulder a few times as the other rider moved away. “Any idea whom that was? Did you send anyone to town?”

  Waving it off, Keiran shrugged, not bothering to turn and look. He couldn’t see the man’s face from the back, anyway. “I don’t know, but there are plenty of people going back and forth right now. Could just be another planner going to get an opinion, not that he’s going to get it tonight if that’s the case. Corina and the others will hopefully just assume that you and I are tucked away for the night.”

  “Listen to you. No wonder you have such weird rumors going around, Keir,” Jerris snickered, shaking his head. “I just had a weird feeling about it. I’m being paranoid, I suppose.”

  “It’s not like he even really looked at us,” the prince replied.

  “True. Let’s get into town. Sitting next to the fire in the tavern and nursing a few ales will probably do us both some good.” The guard signalled his horse to go faster, his head turning left and right as he scanned around them nervously.

  Keiran looked over at Jerris and quirked a brow under his hood. He wasn’t used to seeing Jerris even remotely vigilant, and it wasn’t particularly comforting. Maybe things really were dangerous if the redhead was showing concern. “You’re jumpy. Not usually your style, Jerris.”

  “I know, but believe it or not, I’m pretty stressed out right now in my own right lately. You have the whole country coming down into your hands,” Jerris said quietly, “but I have the life of the man who is getting the country’s throne in mine.”

  Keiran prodded his horse forward a little quicker to match Jerris’ pace. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’re worried? Over me? That it?”

  The guard instantly felt embarrassed and shrugged. “Sure, I suppose. You are my best friend. There is the issue, though, that if anything happens to you, I’d probably be held accountable. I would face some pretty heavy consequences for it. Not only the death of the closest one I’ve got to a brother, but potentially my own execution for failure of duty. Those are the sorts of little details that tend to get me down. Perhaps you can’t relate, but I’m sure you can empathize.”

  Keiran pressed his lips together and turned his sights forward, bent out of shape that Jerris had turned his own words around on him. The guard’s point was valid, however. “Touché, Jerris. I promise to live through tonight, okay? We’ll just stay in the tavern for a while then head back up to the castle. Fair enough?”

  Jerris smiled, knowing that he’d just gotten Keiran annoyed. “Fair enough. No one knows you’re outside of the castle anyway, so surely no traps can be set up. If you do get yourself in trouble or assassinated, though, I’ll kill you. Nothing personal, of course, but since you have that vampire thing going for you and all, I might actually get the joy of it. You know, that whole rising from the dead routine.”

  Keiran grunted and shook his head, now frowning outright. Though he’d studied vampirism to the best of his ability in the castle’s limited library, he’d come to the conclusion that much of what was believed was legend and nothing more. “There is no rising from the dead. You wouldn’t get the pleasure at all, because I’d be dead. Dead, dead. Not ‘come back under the cover of darkness to accost maidens in their beds’ dead. You’d have nothing to worry about but your own execution. I honestly hate it when you go mixing myths into it like that. I’m not a joke. This is real and, unfortunately, not all that spectacular.”

  “Bloody damn vampire,” he growled, turning his horse sharply to head them down the main road through town.

  Jerris glanced to the side for a moment, looking over at Keiran and sighing. He had never been, nor ever would be, tempted to get cursed, infected, or whatever it was with vampirism. Seeing how Keiran had felt like garbage for the last few years didn’t really seem all that appealing. So far, he’d never observed any sort of benefit being gained from vampirism in the least. Besides, even watching Keiran drink old blood out of a cup made him feel nauseated. Seeing him slit the throat of a fallen deer and drinking out on hunts was even worse. Jerris had thrown up a little the first time he’d seen it done. Luckily, Keiran had been too absorbed in the act to notice, otherwise, he never would have heard the end of it.

  The air down in the valley was laced with the scent of the wood fires most of the homes were burning to ward off the evening chill. Tordan Lea was longer than it was wide, and they rode north on the main road toward the city’s center. While the main street itself was cobbled, many of the side roads weren’t. Those were deeply rutted from the carriages and wagons that traversed them daily. The slightly wavy, primitive glass that was used in the windows of the buildings around them distorted the fire and candlelight as it escaped. Given that the sun was setting, the majority of people were inside for the night, finished with their daily work.

  Despite moving slowly and taking their time about it, eventually Keiran and Jerris arrived at the tavern, tucked just a short way down a side street from the town’s heart. They tied their horses up and walked in through the open front door.

  The interior wasn’t particularly full, and they were able to go right up to the crude bar along the back wall and sit. Two of the tables had patrons, for a total of about seven other people in the entire place. The décor was nothing particularly notable; a few old farm instruments hung from the plaster walls, the ceiling had exposed cedar beams running the length of the building, and the floor was simple, untreated wood planks. There were several oil lamps hanging down on chains, and those provided the flickering, dim light for the place. Behind the bar, half a dozen shelves ran the width of the wall and were crowded with assorted glass and earthenware bottles of varying sizes. Their contents ran the gamut of the ales, wines, and liquors that could be found in just about any of the taverns in the country.

  They’d been waiting for several minutes when Marcus, the tavern owner, walked in the front door. The two men looked at one another briefly, knowing it wasn’t like the barkeep to leave the place unattended.

  He came around the edge of the bar and stood before Keiran and Jerris. He knew them, of course, as this was their regular haunt when in town. Marcus knew exactly who Jerris was, and where he worked. Like everyone outside of the castle, though, he had been given the cover story of Keiran’s alterego, Saoirse. There was an initial flash of fear through him, thinking that Jerris was there on official business, somehow aware of his work to get Peirte an assassin.

  Jerris leaned forward on the bar, giving Marcus a grin. “We were about ready to go back there and help ourselves.”

  Marcus shrugged and calmed down, being reassured that Jerris was simply there to drink, not to arrest him. “I had an errand to take care of. What can I get for you two?”

  The guard sat up straight and gave Keiran a sidelong glance. “Two ales, the usual. Though, if you dropped a little something extra into my cousin’s here, he wouldn’t protest too much.”


  Marcus gave a lethargic nod and bent to reach under the counter a moment, before placing two brown bottles onto the bar. He spun and grabbed a clear bottle from a shelf along the wall. After pulling the corks from all three, he poured enough of the liquid from the clear bottle into one of the ales to top it off. It fizzed violently for a moment, a stream of foam running down the side of the bottle onto the counter, and then it was pushed in front of Keiran. The other was shoved to Jerris.

  Marcus stepped back a bit and crossed his meaty arms over his chest. “So, how long are you staying this time, Saoirse?”

  Keiran looked up quizzically from his bottle and met the bartender’s gaze. It took him a second to register his alias, but when the light finally went on in his head he jumped right into his act. He picked up the bottle and had a long pull from it, and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. The bottle was set back down with a thump, and he resisted the urge to shudder from the strength and taste of the additive within it. Whatever his ale had been laced with had remained on top and burned all the way down.

  He put on his best country farmer’s accent and replied. “M’just staying for the week. I was going to pass through, but figured I might as well be around for this coronation nonsense. Damn royalty an’ their pageantry.”

  Marcus gave a bob of his head and sighed, picking up the clear bottle and drinking straight from it. His conversation with Peirte, and the meeting he’d just returned from since, were both playing in the back of his mind. A little alcoholic assistance with drowning out those thoughts for a while couldn’t hurt, he figured. Having the prince’s own guard sitting in front of him at a time like that was beyond awkward, and more nerve wracking than he was up for.

  He put the bottle back down without a flinch, locking gazes with Keiran. “Aye, they are a little self-serving with that. Nothing better to do with their money and time, I suppose. Like any of us lesser folks give one damn about their rituals. Must be nice living in their dream world.” He flashed a cautious glance over at Jerris. “No offense, of course. I’m sure you make more than a fair amount of gold watching after that spoilt prince.”

  Keiran’s eyes went wide, and he hastily put the bottle back to his lips to quell any reaction to his statement. He and Jerris had long since known that Marcus wasn’t a fan of the government or royalty, but hearing it so bluntly from him was unusual.

  Jerris broke into a large grin and reached over, smacking Keiran in the back hard enough to almost make him drop his drink. “Oh, of course, of course. Little brat. Over-glorified babysitter is all I am, you know? Poor Saoirse hears nothing but complaints from me about it, money or not.”

  Marcus scoffed. His distaste for the monarchy was making his hired task a little easier on his conscience, but he knew he couldn’t go too far out in front of the guard. Still, letting himself feel at least some of his resentment for the royal family helped. “M’sure. Damn royals, they think they’re better than everyone else. Not one of them could actually function outside of the castle, though. All those things they say about Keiran—I have to wonder. This country seems damned. We go from a tyrant like Turis Lee to this soulless blood drinker? You don’t let him bite you, do you, Jerris? You don’t seem like the type to be into something sick like that.”

  The prince couldn’t stop himself from switching his gaze from Jerris to Marcus and back again several times. He was more than a little interested in all of that, even if he was personally offended. Another long drink helped him cover up any response.

  Sweeping a hand through the air, Jerris laughed and snorted, shaking his head. “I’d no sooner let that bastard put his lips to my neck than I would put my lips to anything of his.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Marcus put both hands on the bar and leaned closer to Keiran, eyeing him.

  Though Marcus had met the supposed cousin several times, there was always something about the young man that bothered him. He was always awfully clean for a commoner, and his funds seemed limitless. He never thought twice about buying rounds for the whole house when he got a few ales into him. On Marcus’ way in, he’d spotted their two horses out front. He’d always admired Saoirse’s large horse, and he’d noticed that evening the tell-tale hint of a white brand under the animal’s mane. Only horses from the king’s stable had those brands, and it raised even more questions in the bartender’s mind.

  “So, Saoirse, I’ve never asked what it is you do, exactly? That horse of yours outside looks awfully expensive. You’re not a horse thief, are you? Some sort of criminal? Should Jerris here be arresting you?” he asked.

  Keiran flashed a glance over at Jerris, realizing that the guard wasn’t going to bail him out of that one. In fact, Jerris’ expression made it quite clear he was enjoying the moment a little. The fact that Marcus would even notice his horse had never crossed his mind. To be fair, though, he did ride a war horse, and that wasn’t like the riding horses used by most of the people on a day-to-day basis.

  Keiran looked up at the bartender and shrugged. “A horse thief? If I’d stolen the animal, would I be so brazen as to tie it up at a tavern in the middle of town like that? Nay… t’was my father’s mount. It was given to him at the end of his service to the court. A knight, he was. Sadly, he died right after retiring, and I inherited the thing. Eats twice as much as other horses, and it’s a longer way to the ground when I fall off. Still, it was his last wish that I keep him.”

  Marcus’ eyes narrowed and he gave another slow nod, then looking over at Jerris. It wasn’t unheard of for the castle to gift out horses now and then. The man had a point, too. Would someone really be foolish enough to ride a stolen king’s horse around town? It seemed unlikely for someone that came off as relatively sane. “Is that so?”

  Jerris figured it was time to save Keiran, so he reached over, slapping him on the back again. “He speaks the truth. I’m surprised someone hasn’t stolen it from him in all this time. Careless bastard, aren’t you?”

  Keiran quirked a brow and turned sideways, facing his guard. Luckily, the drinking was taking a little of the edge off. Despite having been insulted repeatedly, he kept his composure. “Aye, indeed I should be so lucky as to get a babysitter like the prince has in you, aye? I’m sure a guard like you would surely keep me from ever having a horse stolen, wouldn’t it?”

  Jerris tersed his lips for a moment and gave Keiran a mental touché, as the prince had, in fact, had a horse stolen a few years prior during an official outing; not a night time ale run like they were on. “Indeed.”

  Marcus’ left eye twitched as something failed to sit right in his gut. Reasonable explanation or not, he was still feeling ill at ease with Jerris’ cousin. He knew it was probably his heightened paranoia given the situation he was in, but he couldn’t let it go. Surely, Saoirse wasn’t the prince himself. If the prince was going to go into town incognito, even with a cover story, he’d travel with more than just one man. The royal family didn’t go out without proper protection. Jerris may have been a competent guard, but he was young and certainly not qualified to watch the prince alone. Undoubtedly, at least one other guard would be along for the trip, someone older and more experienced, like Jerris’ father. He tried to shake it off and stood tall, hitching up his pants. “Well, how long do you two plan on staying? I have some other business to attend to, and I was thinking about closing up early for the night. Supplies need to be brought in with all the coronation stuff going on. Got to make my arrangements.”

  Keiran and Jerris shot each other looks before turning to face him, Jerris speaking up. “Give us four more bottles to take, and we’ll get out of your hair.”

  The prince nodded in his agreement and quickly took a gold coin out of a pocket, placing it on the counter. He and Jerris could take the bottles either back with them to the castle, or they could go sit and drink in Jerris’ small, private home that he maintained in town.

  Marcus’ eyes fell on the large denomination gold coin, seeing the royal crest shining in the faint lamplight. It wasn’t an
ything special, as all of the coins in the realm had the crest of the king in power. Still, seeing the old king’s seal made a knot cinch up tighter in his stomach. “I’ve got no change for that. It’s enough for a few cases of ale, Saoirse.”

  Keiran gave a shrug and stood up, not really having much of a sense of what things cost, as it was rare he ever paid for anything for himself. However, he wasn’t particularly greedy, and if Marcus could use the money, more power to him. “Don’t worry on it. Let’s just have the four and we’ll be on our way.”

  This man was far too casual about dropping money, and Marcus reached slowly beneath the counter and pulled up the requested number of bottles. He set them before the two men and then stepped back again. “There you are. I thank you for your generosity. G’night, men.”

  Jerris picked up the bottles, he and Keiran’s first ones already being empty. He offered Marcus a nod and smile, then looking over at the prince. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  “G’night,” Keiran said to Marcus, as he and Jerris moved toward the door.

  The bartender said nothing else as they left, slapping a hand down over the coin on the counter and picking it up. If he’d not seen “Saoirse” give away these types of coins several times in the past, he would have suspected they were counterfeit. He let the crest on it glint in the light before shaking his head and grunting. He couldn’t help but hope it wasn’t all some elaborate set up.

  With another sigh, he set about evicting the other lingering patrons and locking up the tavern for the night. He had another meeting to make with the assassin.

  Chapter 4

  They put the bottles of ale into the saddlebags on Jerris’ horse and departed. The two moved down the street, having agreed to go to the little house Jerris had on the edge of town, about halfway back to the castle.

  The wind was starting to pick up, and the horizon was flashing with bursts of lightning. It was quiet out, the storm not yet close enough to bring the sound of thunder. The direction of the clouds above gave clear indication that the storm was inevitably headed in their direction. The two men knew they wouldn’t be able to stay out late, lest the weather prevent them from being able to get back home.