“I’m inside the castle at the south entrance. I’m on my way to the produce kitchen.”
“What? Wait for me. I’ll be there in a sec.” Ellard abruptly disconnected.
“Which way is the kitchen?” Jarlath felt stupid asking. He hadn’t even known there was more than one kitchen. Another thing for him to remedy. He couldn’t fulfill his duty to the people if he was woefully ignorant of the most basic facts.
“I do not know.” The girl dithered and stepped from one foot to the other, her reddened fingers clasping and unclasping. “I always use servants’ entrance.”
“Never fear. I’m sure Ellard will know.”
The girl squeaked. “Mr. Ellard—t-the man who eats people?”
Jarlath barked out a laugh until he saw she was serious and terrified. “Ellard is my best friend. We grew up together and I have never seen him eat a person. His favorite food is pie.” Jarlath’s thoughts leaped to Keira. Pie was his favorite now too.
“Grata, thank the gods you are safe,” Ellard said. “I commed you as soon as I heard, but the stories were so exaggerated. Hopefully Father can give me a full report.”
“Ellard, do you know the way to the produce kitchen?”
“What?” He seemed to notice the girl for the first time.
She let out another squeak and hid behind Jarlath.
“The produce kitchen. I’m escorting this young lady in order to speak to the person in charge. She mustn’t receive punishment for losing her shopping. What is your name, sweetheart?”
“Gertrude,” she whispered.
Ellard frowned. “I think I can guide us there.”
“Good. We’ll follow,” Jarlath said. “I need to learn the castle floor plan and get out into the city, see what is occurring with the people. I have much to tell you.”
“Did you see what happened?” Ellard asked.
“Yes. I’ll tell you everything once we escort Gertrude to the kitchen and I speak to her supervisor. Did you know I beat the staff if they don’t carry out my orders?”
Ellard chuckled.
“This isn’t a joke, Ellard. Gertrude, tell him. Has Prince Jarlath ordered you beaten?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her face parchment white.
“Why did you get beaten?” Jarlath asked.
“Because I didn’t peel the vegetables fast enough, and I cut my finger and bled all over the pot-carrots.”
“Fukk,” Ellard muttered, shooting him an appalled look.
“Did you know slavers make regular sweeps of the lower city and carry away anyone they think they can sell?”
“I’d heard rumors but I didn’t think—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t show any interest,” Ellard blurted. “You seemed happy to continue in the same way. And whenever Lynx told us about stuff happening in the city you told him he was drunk and raving.”
And that would not happen again. Lynx would make a far better king. He wondered where his brother was and what he was doing and made a mental note to make contact.
“Ah, I was right. This way,” Ellard said, fingering his onyx pendant.
“No,” Gertrude said in a small voice. The girl still shook like the forest treetops during a storm. “That’s the way to the pastry kitchen. It’s this way.” She darted past them to lead the way, but Jarlath could see the act of bravery cost. Small white teeth dug into her bottom lip and her eyes held a watery sheen.
“She knows the way, Jarlath. We have more important things to do.”
“She will not get a beating in my name this night,” Jarlath snapped.
Gertrude turned a corner and disappeared from sight. A feminine roar sounded and they heard a terrified squeak.
Jarlath strode around the corner with Ellard at his side. A skinny female with straight black hair held Gertrude by the upper arm and was shaking her.
“Cease,” Jarlath snarled.
The woman froze. “Who be you to—” She caught sight of Jarlath’s face and paled, seconds later sketching a curtsey. Her hand shot out and slapped Gertrude. “Show some respect. It be the prince.”
“Gertrude, you can go now,” Jarlath said. “If anyone beats you tonight or in the future, you are to let me know. I will come to the kitchens and make sure no one is ill-treating you or any others who work here.”
“Thank you, Prince Jarlath,” Gertrude said, and after bobbing a curtsey, she disappeared into the depths of the kitchen.
Jarlath fixed his ire on the woman. “I do not beat children, and if I hear of you telling your staff I have ordered them to receive a beating, I will make sure you lose your position. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yes, I understand,” the woman said, her shoulders hunched now and an expression of fear dancing across her features. “But this is the way it has always been done.”
“Pardon?” Jarlath’s tone was icy.
“The…the…the other two kitchens work in the same man-manner.”
“You’re kiddin’ me,” Ellard said.
Jarlath took a moment to tighten the leash on his temper. Gertrude wasn’t much more than a child, and he’d wager she did her best to please. She hadn’t displayed an attitude—not like Cristop.
“Things will change,” he said.
“The queen is happy with the way we run things.”
“I am not happy and will discuss changes with the queen,” Jarlath said. “I will be back to question the staff, so don’t think you can ignore my order. Let’s go,” he said to Ellard.
On the way to their quarters, Jarlath told Ellard what had happened in the square and the resulting riot. “If it wasn’t for Keira thrusting protection spells at us, I might have joined the people saluting the crow.”
“I owe her a debt,” Ellard said in patent unhappiness. “Did you know she would be there? Did you arrange the meeting?”
“No, it was a happy circumstance. Ellard, the kingdom has problems, and I didn’t have a clue. What sort of heir apparent doesn’t know what is happening in their kingdom? We need to make clandestine visits to public places and gauge the mood of the people.”
Ellard grunted—the kind that said way more than displeasure. “I can see you’re determined and I won’t dissuade you, but we have to act smart about this. I have a contact on Gramite. I’ll get in touch with him and ask him if the attack came from the Cawdor.”
“Good idea.”
Ellard’s com buzzed and he answered it, listening for a time. “Prince Jarlath is with me. We are in the castle and heading to our quarters.” He paused. “Yes, sir.”
“Your father?”
“Yes, you are in lock down and we are ordered not to leave the castle for the foreseeable future.”
“I am going to visit Keira in the morn,” Jarlath said.
Ellard scowled. “If we’re under attack, it’s important to keep you and the rest of the royal family safe. Lynx will need to come home.”
“I’m not sheltering behind my rank,” Jarlath snapped, suddenly incensed and determined to stand his ground. “I intend to visit Keira. She knows more about those who live in the city than us, and she will tell me what I wish to know without hiding unsavory truths.” Cristop would also help in this area—the slavery for one.
“This is a bad plan. Grata, Jarlath. I thought I had the easiest job, looking after you rather than Lynx.”
Jarlath barred his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Think again.”
Chapter Six
“The castle requires new security measures.” Jarlath strode down a dusty passage, clearing cobwebs at face level. Prior to perusing the castle floor plans, he hadn’t known this passage existed. “If we can get out without anyone seeing us, others can enter.”
“Aye,” Ellard said, his demeanor grim as he glanced back at their footprints delineated on the dirty floor. “We require modernization. An alarm system. Maybe guards with dragoncubs to sniff out danger. And the council must rescind the order to expel skilled wizards. The symbiotic
relationship must be renewed to combat the House of Cawdor.”
“Lynx suggested improvements to your father.”
“Aye. Hard not to recall the fallout.”
Jarlath had stayed out of the argument, thought his brother’s stand ludicrous. Guilt and shame stung at the memory. His arrogance. Next time he saw his brother he’d make a point of apologizing. Lynx would snigger, ask him if he’d hit his head. Inquire who’d yanked the stick from his arse, and he’d deserve each insult.
Jarlath padded at Ellard’s side through the scantily lit gardens and exited the castle grounds not far from the stable. No hiding from reality. He was now awake to the problems. It was the solutions that eluded him.
“There’s a guard at the stable. We can’t take the cambeests.”
“Father,” Ellard said with a frown.
“A flymo.” Jarlath scowled, his mind shuffling through alternatives. “We can hire one. No one will think anything of a nondescript vehicle zipping overhead.”
“Let’s go.”
They backtracked and headed into the city. Despite the early hour, stalls were doing a brisk trade in fruit and vegetables. Ellard muscled through the crowd, parting them like the Lapsang Moon sea and leaving their path clear.
Jarlath’s skin sizzled from the inquisitive glances, although Ellard received most of the attention. They recognized him but not their prince.
“We’re not blending.” Jarlath perused the bags of fruit on the nearest stall. Lychee-apps. The juicy white-fleshed fruits with the sweet nectar flavor rated among his favorites. “How much for one bag?”
“Four credits.” The stallholder named a reasonable price.
“Two credits,” Ellard barked.
The wrinkled, gap-toothed man pursed his lips and considered. “Three.”
“Done,” Ellard said and produced coins from his pocket.
Jarlath wandered to the next stall but didn’t stop since the scent of cinnamonbark lured him onward. “How much for one dozen cinnamonbark rolls?”
“Two credits.”
Ellard handed over coins without bargaining this time.
With their purchases in hand, they ambled down a muddy path, dodging debris and a man zoned out on some type of drug, until they reached the outskirts of the retail area.
“From memory there is a flymo dealer in the lane to the left,” Ellard said.
“I’ve never shopped in the market before,” Jarlath said. “The last days have made me realize how insulated I am at the castle. I have no idea how the city functions or if our people are happy. That’s not right.” He halted at an out-of-the-way stall with displays of hair bows and scarves, his mind going to Keira. His gaze lit on a silky scarf that shimmered with blue and green. Perfect match for the hat he’d purchased the previous eve. “How much for this one?”
“Very good quality,” the young alien said with a crafty smile. Her striped brown-and-white hair marked her as Tigrus. “Your lady like. How much you pay?”
Jarlath glanced at Ellard, hoping for a clue, and his friend didn’t disappoint, lifting his fingers in a surreptitious signal. “Five credits,” he said, knocking one off the amount Ellard had signaled.
“Seven,” the Tigrus woman countered.
His gaze narrowed and his pulse raced while he made a decision. Yes or no? Who knew shopping held entertainment value. His gaze drifted across the scarves and bows, and he came to a decision. “I’ll pay seven if you throw in a matching hair bow.”
“Done,” she said with a grin.
Jarlath handed over coins. “Can you wrap it for me?”
“I have a decorative box out the back. Won’t be a mo.”
“Presents aren’t a good idea,” Ellard said. “You’re due to announce your betrothal. Don’t complicate your life.”
“Don’t you think I’ve told myself that?” Jarlath challenged his friend’s gaze. “It’s too late. I want her, and if she’s agreeable, I’ll spend time with her.”
“What if she uses your attraction to leverage a position?”
A wave of fury hurled through him at the insult to Keira. His feline echoed his anger with a ferocious roar, and he shoved him back with difficulty, forcing himself to speak with maturity. “Keira isn’t like that. She has integrity. Once you get to know her you’ll see it too.”
“Your mind is made up.”
“All my life I’ve done the right thing.” Feelings spewed from him in a gush. “I’ve listened to my parents, carried out their wishes. I’ve taken advice from your father, followed his security and weapon instructions. Just once, I’d like to do something for me. I’m not marrying the woman. All I’m doing is enjoying her company.”
Ellard shrugged and tucked his pendant beneath his tunic. “Make her your mistress. That would cushion the disadvantages of a marriage of convenience. You do still intend to marry as your parents’ desire?”
“Of course.” He yanked at his collar and unfastened the top button to relieve the surge of heat to his upper torso. He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s tradition.”
The woman returned with a red box and packed the scarf and ribbon.
“Thank you,” Jarlath said.
She winked in return. “Thank you for your custom. Please visit again.”
Even hiring the flymo was fun, and Jarlath realized the dull edge of boredom and dissatisfaction from his pre-Keira days had faded.
“Remember, a late return will accrue extra charges,” the male dealer said, his head jerking in the direction of the round gray flymo.
“Yes, sir,” Jarlath said, his tone gruff, not that anyone they’d spoken with had glanced at him twice. “We will return your vehicle as arranged.”
A thunderous explosion, high in the sky, stopped the fussy dealer’s response. Trading in the lane ceased as everyone stared skyward.
“All hail the leader,” the flymo dealer shouted.
Around them, other voices shouted the same sentiment.
“All hail the leader.” Jarlath kicked Ellard, glaring at his friend’s slow reaction as he lifted his right hand in salute.
“All hail the leader.” Ellard added his voice to the chant.
A bright yellow shape formed in the sky. Within the yellow, a black dot grew, seeming to grow bigger as the chanting increased in sound and velocity. The black split into three, one large circle and two others. The black circles shaped and reshaped, until the forms of three crows glowed in the sky. The head of the largest cocked, it let out a victorious caw-caw then flew northward. As the giant wings flapped, the bright yellow light emphasizing the three birds dissipated until nothing remained.
The chanting ceased the instant the crows blinked from sight.
“Let’s go,” Jarlath whispered.
Ellard piloted, guiding the flymo over the market and the city trade center.
“Why did you chant with the others?” he asked once they were clear of the city.
“Because we would’ve stood out if we hadn’t,” Jarlath said with a touch of impatience. “Everyone else saluted the crows. Better to blend and collect information rather than stand out as unusual.”
“True that. But what does it mean?”
“I think it’s a declaration of war—a form of gloating to let us know the House of Cawdor can strike whenever they feel the urge.”
“And the chanting?” Ellard asked.
“It’s the Cawdor way of giving us the finger.”
Ellard shot him a frown. “That was my thinking too, but I have no idea how we should fight the Cawdor when they’re launching their attack from afar.”
“Any idea where Lynx and Shiloh are at present? I haven’t heard from Lynx for ages.”
Ellard landed the flymo outside Keira’s farmhouse and shot Jarlath a scowl. “Your brother is a troublemaker who leads my younger brother straight into conflict with Father. Because of him our father refuses to acknowledge Shiloh.”
“Both Lynx and Shiloh would be assets. They have experience and knowledge of th
e city and if we’re lucky, they might have info on the House of Cawdor. We should contact them.”
Ellard gave an irritable sigh. “You’re right. Best to put petty differences aside and fight the foe together.”
Keira and Cristop came to greet them, Cristop continuing on to the storage shed.
“There was another incident this morning,” Jarlath said before they could speak. “Did you see anything, hear anything?”
Keira paled and Jarlath had her wrapped in an embrace before the idea cemented, before commonsense kick-started his brain, before Ellard let loose his growl of displeasure. She quivered, resting against his chest for a sec before struggling for release.
Her gaze sliced and diced, concern furrowing her brow. “What happened? Is it the House of Cawdor? Or someone else trying to cast blame?”
“She’s right,” Ellard said. “We assumed it was the House of Cawdor with a declaration of might, but it could be a third party wanting to stir trouble between us and our old enemy.”
“Let’s com Lynx and Shiloh. Ask if they’ve heard any rumors,” Jarlath said.
“I’ll do that now.” Ellard pulled out his communicator and stepped behind the flymo, giving them the illusion of privacy. “I’ll make the other call too.”
“Did you have trouble getting home last night?” Jarlath asked, keeping part of his attention on his friend. Ellard paced back and forth. He plugged in another number, waited, then grinned, his manner animated as he spoke. “I worried about you.”
“No one paid us any mind. Everyone wanted the safety of their homes.”
Jarlath studied the dark rings beneath her eyes, which attested to a poor night of sleep. His gaze dropped to her lips and the temptation to kiss her left him reeling and his feline snarling in demand. He fought briefly and gave up the struggle. This time when he gathered her in his arms, he placed a finger under her chin to lift her head.
She gasped, her lips parting, her warm breath feathering across his mouth and detonating explosions of hunger. Desire. He wanted, needed her and…and now wasn’t the time. Nonetheless, he swooped, covering her lips with his. At the first gossamer contact, his feline started to purr. Lazy rumbles of contentment echoed through Jarlath’s mind while he explored the honeyed taste of her mouth.
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