The Phoenix Prince

by Kristen Gupton

  It wasn’t a long ride to the cottage, and soon they pulled their horses into the small stone-walled garden that surrounded it. The house had been given to Jerris by his father once the older man had decided to move completely into the guard barracks at the castle. Jerris had grown up in the house, and maintained it solely as a small sanctuary for when he wanted to get out of the castle or simply avoid work.

  They removed the saddles and bridles from the horses and entered the house, dropping the tack inside the door. The interior was modestly furnished, with two small beds behind a short partition. The center of the one-room affair was taken up by a table and chairs. There was a counter along one wall for food preparation, with a pump head sitting above a basin. The cottage was far away from the main water lines in the town, so there was no other indoor plumbing. Opposite to the front door was a back door that led to the outhouse. The only source of heat was a small iron stove that sat in one corner.

  Jerris lit a few oil lamps and put one on the middle of the table, setting their ales out. He opted not to light a fire in the stove. They weren’t going to stay all night, and he didn’t want to leave it burning after they left.

  Keiran pulled a chair out from the table and turned it sideways before sitting, stretching his legs out. He shrugged off his cloak and let it slump around him in the chair. His left hand took up a bottle from the table, and he uncorked it with his teeth.

  “You dare to drop that cork on my floor, Keir, I’ll kill you,” Jerris said, looking completely serious. He pulled the cork from his own bottle and chucked it over his shoulder, giving no heed to where it fell.

  The prince rolled his eyes and cocked his head to the side, dropping the cork on the floor where it joined plenty of others. He turned to look back at Jerris, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, I know how fastidious you are about the upkeep. God forbid I sully the place.”

  “Big words, Keir, we’ve talked about this before. Stop it.” Jerris gave him a smirk and then laughed outright. Soon, however, his laughing stopped and he silently stared at Keiran, taking several drinks, letting the lukewarm ale slide down his throat.

  Keiran felt his stare and turned his head to the side slowly. “What?”

  Jerris set down his bottle and sighed. “I hate to admit it, but I am going to miss this, you know.”

  “After all the complaining and foot dragging you did tonight?” he asked, thumping the side of his bottle against the edge of the table.

  “Afraid so,” Jerris replied quietly, dropping his gaze down to the bottle in his hands. One corner of his mouth pulled down into a frown. “I’m relieved that King Turis Lee is gone, I think everyone is, but it does sort of mean that we’ve finally grown up. I know we’re both what, twenty-three? Something like that, anyway, but this makes it real. Before, we were just two boys growing up together. You just happened to be destined to become king someday and I… Well, I’m pretty much all I will ever be already. Things are changing.”

  The prince’s eyes narrowed in thought before he turned to face Jerris square on, setting his bottle aside and folding his arms on the table’s surface. When he and Jerris were out like this, it was generally all about joking around and levity, so when one of them dared to turn the conversation serious, it was because something was really bothering one of them. He could see the fear stirring behind the guard’s eyes.

  Drawing a long breath, Keiran shook his head. “Jerris, you’re my guard, and you always will be. You were my best friend first, though. You didn’t change the way you treated me after you became officially charged with protecting me. So why would I change the way I treat you after I get my job? I don’t have any reason to push you away because of it. You’ve always liked me. Now, everyone will want to act like they’re my friend, but only because they want things from me. Not you. You’ve never asked anything of me other than just my company. You’ve never taken advantage of the situation. It’s not something I’m going to forget, you know.”

  Jerris nodded quickly and leaned back, putting his bottle to his lips and having a long drink. He’d be damned if he was going to show some mushy, emotional response to that, even if there was a lump in his throat. When he set the drink down again, he met Keiran’s gaze and nodded a second time. He wasn’t sure why he was having so many worries and doubts all the sudden. It really wasn’t his style, and it bothered him badly. “Aye, all right. I know I’m being foolish. Something is just gnawing at me. I suppose it’s paranoia.”

  Keiran nodded his ascent, before finishing off his second ale for the night. Jerris not acting right wasn’t setting well with him and made him worry for his friend. He wasn’t sure he liked the current, serious mood he’d been in, though he completely understood it.

  “We’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. This will all be over before you know it. Aside from the hunt, you and I just have to stay out of the way, and I think we’re doing a right fine job of that so far. Once I’m crowned, you and I will be all right. I might have to be in the throne room holding court all day, but at night I’m still my own man, and we can do what we like. We might not be able to get out of the castle like this, but hell, you and I can hang out and have an ale together anywhere.”

  “So far out of the way that we’re not even in the castle,” Jerris replied quietly, eyes wandering off toward one of the darkened windows.

  The storm was moving in closer, the first rolls of thunder making their way through the walls. The sky was brightening with each of the flashes of lightning, light taps of rain starting to hit the glass panes.

  The guard looked back toward Keiran. “Hurry up with your drinking. Storm’s here. If we get stuck here overnight, the game will be up and my father and Corina will both kill us.”

  “Aye,” Keiran grunted, picking up another bottle and uncorking it. Though he wouldn’t admit it, after the two ales he’d already had, he was feeling sloppy already. A third would seriously compromise him, and he hoped he wasn’t going to end up so drunk that he couldn’t get back on his horse. If he gave it up after just two bottles, though, Jerris would know how he was feeling. If the guard didn’t take it as something to worry over in regards to his physical condition, he’d take it personally that Keiran didn’t want to drink with him. Well, maybe he wouldn’t under the circumstances. Keiran wasn’t really sure. His mind wasn’t working all that well for him by then, and he’d be damned if he was even close to understanding Jerris’ mental state at that point.

  Jerris cracked into his last ale as well, getting up from his seat and wandering over toward one of the front windows, looking out at the horses as they munched on the weeds. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and nursed on the bottle, growing quiet again.

  The prince turned in his seat and watched him. Usually, the problems they had to discuss weren’t about their own relationship but of their interactions with others. Like a lot of males, when Jerris and Keiran had a big disagreement, they generally fought it out and then were over it a day later. There had been a few times when drinking that they’d gotten into drunken, physical altercations, but they rarely turned out serious. In fact, before they got far, it usually ended up with them in a heap, laughing hysterically.

  …which was good, because up until two years ago, Keiran had always been able to completely trounce the guard when they did end up in a fight.

  Jerris never took losing well, but it was good for him to get knocked back a few pegs now and then. Most of the fights originated from Jerris running his mouth and pushing his teasing of the prince a little too far, anyway.

  The day the guard had actually knocked the prince out in one of their fights, however, was the first time that Jerris understood that Keiran was going downhill physically. It had scared the guard badly enough that ever afterward, he watched what he said a little bit better and refused to fight Keiran at all. As much as he hated losing, the one time he’d won terrified him. Jerris rationalized it by saying that he’d just matured beyond fighting, instead of admitting his concern for Keiran’s health.


  As the awkward silence grew between them, they both continued to try emptying their bottles. Keiran’s mind started to swim in the alcohol, stomach roiling with the threat of nausea. When he was legitimately drunk, he tended to either get overly goofy or profoundly emotional. With the last of the ale out of his bottle, he stood up, looking unsteady on his feet for a moment. It took him a few starts before he made it across the room and over to Jerris.

  Once at his guard’s side, he stooped down and put his head on Jerris’ shoulder. “Jerris, you’re my best friend.”

  Jerris snickered and jostled his shoulder, shaking Keiran off of him, before he set his own empty bottle in the window sill. He turned around and shoved the prince away from him playfully, snorting. “You’re drunk, is what you are. And only after three ales. My God, Keir. Get your ass home.”

  Keiran gave him a sulking look, going over and grabbing his cloak from the chair. He threw it around his shoulders and nearly fell over in the process, giggling like an idiot throughout. That done, he shuffled over to where the saddles were and tried to lift his, only to end up dropping to his knees as he failed to get if off the floor.

  Jerris’ smile faltered then faded. He shook his head and went over, putting a hand on Keiran’s shoulder. “Damn it, Keir, you shouldn’t be this jacked up after three drinks. Just sit there, I’ll get the horses ready.”

  There was a pounding starting between the prince’s ears that was beginning to cut through his drunken haze. He stayed where he was and put his hands up, gripping the sides of his head. The world suddenly seemed a whole lot less humorous. “Okay, that’s a plan. Remember, m’horse doesn’t like the cinch done, and he’ll turn and bite you if you get it too tight.”

  “I know. He’ll bite me right in the ass, thanks. That’s not the kind of thing I tend to forget,” Jerris snorted, picking up Keiran’s saddle and bridle. He pushed out the front door and got to the task of readying the horses.

  Mercifully, the rain was still light, and he was able to get both the animals done up in no time. Afterward, he went back into the house and killed the oil lamps. He grabbed his cloak and put it on, and then turned his attention to Keiran. He was still exactly where he’d been since falling to his knees several minutes before.

  Jerris went over to his friend and gripped him up under the arms, trying to hoist him back to his feet. Though he’d half-carried Keiran to the bed the other night, he still couldn’t get over how much lighter the prince was. Opting not to address it, he turned Keiran and put an arm around his waist, leading him out into the yard.

  Once outside, Keiran regained some animation and moved away from Jerris, going over to his horse and embracing the animal’s neck. “Porter, you know the way home? Aye?”

  Jerris sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Can you get up on the horse?”

  Keiran let his arms slip down from the horse’s neck and shuffled around to his side. He hesitated a moment, but did manage to pull himself up into the saddle in a painful display.

  Satisfied that he wasn’t going to have to drape Keiran across the back of his own saddle and carry him home like a bedroll, Jerris moved to his horse and got on without any trouble. The three ales he’d gotten down had not affected him to any great extent.

  They headed out and back toward the castle. Jerris couldn’t see Keiran’s face thanks to the cloak he wore, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the prince was sleeping for most of the ride. However, since the vampire never fell out of the saddle, Jerris figured it was good enough. The prince’s horse followed Jerris’ back to the castle without a misstep.

  When they neared the gates, the night sentries were out. They crossed their pikes before the gates, forcing Jerris to stop, and Keiran’s horse pulled to a halt next to him. The guards on duty already knew exactly who it was, since they’d done this before and recognized the horses.

  “Evening,” one of the two guards said.

  Jerris waited for Keiran to pull his hood back, as that was usually all it took to get them back inside. However, the prince did nothing, just wavering slightly in the saddle now that the horse wasn’t moving.

  “Keir,” Jerris whispered sharply, now aware that he was very much passed out in the saddle.

  The prince gave a snort and shifted, a hand coming up to shove the hood he wore back. He blinked over at Jerris, wondering how they’d gotten back to the castle, utterly lost in time. “Aye?”

  The sentries were satisfied and laughed to themselves, letting the two pass into the courtyard. Jerris handed them a few coins of his own as they rode in. A little ale money always helped keep those sorts of secrets under wraps.

  They went straight to the stables and put up their horses. That is to say, Keiran nearly fell off his own horse, which walked straight into his proper stall, taking the prince inside with him. Jerris took care of his horse and then went off to find Keiran.

  The prince was lying in a heap beside Porter. The horse was standing there next to him, eating with his bridle still on. Keiran’s snores made it readily obvious that he was all right and alive, so Jerris took care of the horse first.

  He went over and tugged the riding cloak off of the unconscious prince and hung it back in the tack room along with the one he’d been wearing. Returning to the stall, he hoisted Keiran up, the prince rousing once on his feet again.

  Jerris walked, supporting most of Keiran’s weight as they went. It was late enough that the corridors were relatively vacated, and no one saw them enter into the interior of the castle.

  The guard thought they were home free, until he pushed open the door to Keiran’s room. Corina was inside, standing before the fireplace. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her expression was somewhere between anger and worry.

  “Oh, Corina,” Jerris said, trying to sound casual as he guided the stumbling prince over to the bed and eased him down.

  “Where, exactly, have you been? What’s wrong with him?” she asked, demanding an answer as she flew over to the side of the bed, shoving Jerris back. She sat on the edge and leaned over Keiran as he stared up at her in a daze, giving her a lax grin.

  “Uh, we just had a few ales, that’s all.” Jerris stepped back, knowing it was probably a good idea to stay out of Corina’s reach for a little while.

  “My stomach hurts,” Keiran managed.

  “Drunk? He’s drunk! Where were you that you got him drunk? I’ve been looking for the two of you for hours!” Corina stood up and turned to face Jerris, having smelled the alcohol on Keiran’s breath and growing outright furious.

  Jerris reached up and scratched the back of his head, suddenly feeling like he was six years old again. “Out in the guardhouse? By the gates?”

  “Seriously, guys, my stomach…”

  “You are a liar,” she snorted, scowling at him. “I went out there several times in the course of looking. I checked the stables. Your horses were gone. I know you’ve pulled this in the past, and I’ve let it slide, but now of all times? How utterly and completely irresponsible!”

  Jerris clasped his hands behind his back and sighed. Corina he could face, but if she’d told his father, that was another story all together. “Does my father know?”

  Her eyes darted to the side, giving up the fact she’d not told Kanan despite her anger. “No. The only reason I didn’t, though, is because Keiran is a grown man, and I’m sure it was just as much his idea as it was yours. I won’t cost you your hide over it since, ultimately, Keiran is to blame here.”

  Keiran rolled onto his side and started to claw his way to the edge of the bed, momentarily ignored as the other two minced words. It didn’t matter to him if he was being blamed or not, his body was well on its way to punishing him, regardless. He was downright nauseated, and the ale was on its way back up.

  “I actually tried to sway him out of it, for whatever it’s worth, Corina,” Jerris said quietly, averting his gaze. The relief of knowing his father hadn’t been told rushed in on him. “Keir is Keir, though, and he
does what he wants. We spent most of the time in my cottage alone, safe enough.”

  Corina parted her lips to say something back, torn. She wasn’t sure whether to believe Jerris or not. She was aware that the guard tended to be somewhat irresponsible and was more times than not the cause of trouble. There was sincerity in his words, however, and Keiran hadn’t been forced to go out. He’d done so of his own free will. As she started to respond, the quiet of the room was broken as Keiran vomited onto the floor.

  Jerris closed his eyes, suddenly feeling more than a little ill himself. Seeing others getting sick wasn’t something he was all that good at handling. “Oh God, Keir.”

  The prince ignored everything, heaving until his stomach was vacated. The screaming pain in his head and the cramp in his gut closed off his awareness of the outside world. When nothing else would come up, he flopped onto his back and groaned. He tugged the blankets up and over his head. “Everyone please shut up.”

  Corina rolled her eyes and looked at Jerris again, shaking her head. “Get out. I’ll take care of it. Mark my words though, Jerris. If you do this again, I will tell Kanan, consequences be damned.”

  Happy to have a reprieve, Jerris wasted no time in turning and heading for the door. He slipped down the corridor, fighting his own dry heaves for a moment.

  With the other gone, Corina got to the inglorious task of cleaning up the floor, muttering to herself in her displeasure. She felt bad for Keiran, but only to a point. His normal physical condition aside, he’d been the one to go out and drink with the guard. In that light, the extent of her pity was fairly limited.

  * * *

  By the time Keiran was in his quarters, feeling like he was on the verge of death from his small bender with Jerris, Peirte was locked back in his own room. The madman was scratching charcoal against the floor again, making the demon seal increasingly elaborate. Occasionally, his eyes drifted up from his task toward the window when the lightning was bright enough to draw his attention. The councillor would let these distractions last for just a few seconds, but soon he’d delve into his work once more. There was much to do before the next few days were up, but Peirte had an overwhelming sense of confidence that it would work. Something intangible told him that the prince would die.