Royal Exile (20 page)

Gavriel slipped his fingers through the grate to see about unhooking it. Just then he heard a light humming sound — a woman’s voice. He pulled his hands back as if burned.

Lo’s balls!
he swore silently. It would have been a catastrophe if he’d been caught hanging out of the opening. He watched the woman move around the kitchen and realised she was Genrie. Her hair was not pinned up today. It made her look younger, less stern, and the wavy auburn tresses shone as the light hit them. It mattered not that her face was bruised from Stracker’s battering; she was still delicious to him. Lost in her activity, she began to hum softly and Gavriel found her voice suddenly sweet and comforting. She awkwardly set about pulling out a haunch of cold meat from storage, then a round of cheese from the larder. She sniffed a pail of milk from the cool room for freshness and poured some into a small covered flask spilling only a little. After she set some oats on to cook in a pot over the embers, she brought out a pouch of nuts along with some apples. Gavriel imagined she was up before the birds to either break her own fast or she had been asked to prepare something for one of the barbarians. Either way she didn’t look practised and he could understand why. This was not her domain. Cook would be furious to see the haphazard manner in which everything was being pulled out and left to clutter the freshly scrubbed working table. There was no order to what she was doing — which was odd because Genrie seemed so very tidy and controlled.

He flinched when she called out. ‘Tatie … are you there? Lo save me, is anyone up this morning?’

There was no reply. He watched Genrie give an exaggerated huff of disgust before she flounced off, muttering aloud, ‘Well, I’ll just have to drag the ale barrel up myself though why they’d need that at this time is beyond me.’ She disappeared down a corridor leading from the kitchen toward the main palace cellar.

Gavriel couldn’t believe his luck. Without waiting a moment longer, he unhooked the grate and lightly lowered himself to the ground. Hurrying to the food scattered over the bench, he hacked off some of the ham, pushing it into his pocket carelessly. He’d have to think about using a shirt to carry food another time. He stuffed apples into the other pocket with a couple of handfuls of nuts and seeds. Slicing off some cheese and bread, he threw those hunks into his shirt to scratch against his skin. He knew Leo wouldn’t care. Paupers can’t be fussy, Gavriel heard one of his tutor’s favourite adages in his mind, although his tutor certainly hadn’t meant for it to be applied to the King of Penraven. In his panic the notion nearly made him laugh aloud. He looked over his shoulder; there was no sign of Genrie, but it wouldn’t be long before she or someone else would turn up. As a last thought, he grabbed the flask of milk. She would be furious but he hoped she would forget about it, put it down to someone lazy passing through the kitchens and grabbing whatever was around. She’d never suspect it was the missing duo — she probably wasn’t even privy to their disappearance and the subsequent search underway. And even if she was, Gavriel reasoned as he hoisted himself back up to the grate’s opening, the ring on the flask’s lid dangling delicately from his clenched teeth, she hated Loethar and surely would not share her suspicions.

He heard her humming again down the corridor and winced at the soft clank the milk flask made as he accidentally put it down too hard in his rush to get onto the safe side of the grate. But she obviously didn’t hear it. With his heart pounding from the close call he slid the plate back across the opening just before Genrie returned, wiping dusty hands on her apron. He had been careful not to take much. Only the cannister of milk could be instantly noticed as missing. But Genrie did not seem to notice anything amiss and Gavriel was able to let out his breath slowly. Finally, when he was sure his heart had slowed enough for him to steal backwards on his belly, he blew Genrie a soft, silent kiss.

‘Pretty but dim,’ he said, intensely grateful that she had not lived up to the sharp intelligence he had always presumed she possessed. ‘Pity.’

And he was gone, relieved and also a tiny bit smug that he and Leo might survive another day — this time with full bellies.

11

Kirin blinked. He had no idea where he was.

‘There you are,’ a kind voice said. ‘You had us worried.’ Nausea suddenly rose in Kirin’s throat and he found he couldn’t respond.

‘Don’t speak,’ the man said. ‘Take your time. I can answer some questions I’m sure you have. You’re still at Brighthelm Palace and you’ve been brought to the infirmary. I’m Father Briar and I belong to Brighthelm’s church, which is essentially Penraven’s spiritual home. I also look after the private chapel in which the royals worship. You’ve been here for just over four hours. I imagine you’re thirsty, so I’m going to try and help you sit up and sip from this cup of water.’

Kirin felt an arm slip beneath his shoulders, smelled peppermint tea on the man’s breath.

‘Help me if you can, Master Kirin,’ the priest said gently.

Kirin didn’t want to move. He liked the soft voice and all of its reassurance but he was sure moving meant throwing up. He knew this feeling, had hoped he’d never experience it again. As expected, as Father Briar hauled him up, Kirin retched.

‘Oops, here we go,’ the clergyman said, getting a bowl in front of Kirin just in time. ‘Go ahead, don’t be embarrassed. I’m a man of Lo but I also think I’m a frustrated physician.’ Kirin could hear the smile in the man’s voice.

‘Water,’ he croaked and the man immediately reached for the cup.

It was cool and sweet. Kirin felt his body relax. He wouldn’t be retching again — a small blessing. ‘Thank you,’ he managed to say, before leaning back helplessly onto the pillows.

‘Let me go clean this up,’ the clergyman said and Kirin was suddenly alone. It was not unpleasant. He could hear birds twittering outside somewhere and the air inside was moving gently so he assumed a window was nearby. The light in the room was bright — it must be midday or so, if he’d been unconscious for the time the priest mentioned. With the gentle sounds around him he could almost believe that he had dreamed the invasion of the barbarian horde but the surprise that he was no longer dressed and the arrival of the stranger called Freath told him he was not in any dream.

‘Awake? Good. We must talk.’

Kirin checked he was fully covered by the sheet. ‘Where are the others?’ he croaked, finding his scowl. He cast an eye around for his clothes and especially his boots.

‘Dead, probably. Our new masters have, in their wisdom, chosen to kill the few empowered people who likely could have been of help in whatever cause they chose them for.’

Kirin felt the shock of this news ripple through him as though a bolt of thunder was passing via his body. He couldn’t speak for a moment.

‘All dead?’ he finally uttered, his numb lips hardly moving.

Freath shifted uncomfortably. ‘No. Your friend Master Clovis is safe, as well as the woman Reuth. I rather hoped the old man, older woman and the boy might survive.’

In equal measure and with similar force as the numbness, relief now flooded Kirin. ‘Clovis is safe?’ he repeated.

‘You and he now work for me.’

Kirin wasn’t sure he understood but he pressed on, his voice finding its timbre and volume at last. ‘And what is it exactly that Clovis and I are supposed to do?’ he said, risking sitting up.

Giving a groan, he put a hand to his head. ‘Where are my things? Can you see my boots?’

‘Is it wise to sit up?’

‘It will pass,’ Kirin said gruffly. ‘My stuff?’

‘We’ll find it. What is wrong with you — do we know yet?’

‘I know.’

‘Are you going to enlighten me?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘I despise you.’

Freath took a seat next to the bed. ‘I know.’

Kirin stood and turned away, in a deliberate snub. ‘You and your savage employer have let talented people go to their death.’

‘Were they really talented?’

‘Did it matter?’

‘To me it did.’

‘Why?’ Kirin said, rounding on Freath.

‘I needed to know that I had genuinely skilled practitioners of magic. Now I do.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘I’m sure, Master Kirin,’ Freath replied calmly.

‘And they were all talented in their own way,’ Kirin added, his voice becoming more ragged. ‘Anyone who can make plants grow in spite of disease or poor rains is a wizard. Anyone who can heal using only touch and herbs is surely a living marvel. Even the mere conjuror possessed the skill of being a magician. Surely these people were innocent enough to be saved! Loethar’s already conquered the Set — he’s got nothing to lose by letting people live, letting people try and get on now.’

‘Does he not?’ Freath asked, dropping his piercing blue stare as the priest re-emerged.

‘Ah, you’re up, Master Kirin. Do you feel a little steadier?’

‘Er yes, thank you, Father …?’

‘Briar,’ the man repeated.

‘That’s right.’ Kirin shook his head slightly, embarrassed. ‘Thank you, Father Briar. Er, where are my boots…my clothes?’

‘Perhaps Master Kirin could remain here a little longer, Master Freath?’

‘I think not. He looks fine.’

‘He’s hardly hale, Master Freath,’ the priest protested.

‘No, but I think it’s best if he comes along with me now. Otherwise we all risk Emperor Loethar’s wrath.’

‘Emperor?’ Kirin growled even though Freath’s grave expression did not change.

‘It’s the title he accords himself.’

‘And you, you treacherous bastard, go along with it to save your own neck.’

Father Briar frowned, clearly uncomfortable, as Freath straightened and stood. ‘I saved yours too and that of your friend. You should be grateful to me. Now I shall not ask you politely again. Please follow me.’

Kirin looked at the priest, who gave a sad, sympathetic smile. ‘Lo keep you safe, Master Kirin. I’ll fetch your things.’

‘I’ll just be outside,’ Freath said. ‘It’s a lovely morning.’

Kirin ignored him. The priest returned with his clothes. ‘Would you like some help getting dressed?’

‘No, I can manage. Er, who undressed me?’

‘I did. I took the liberty of having one of your socks darned.’ He shrugged, smiled sadly. ‘A small kindness among all the fear and bloodshed goes a long way, I’m sure.’

Kirin felt dizzy again. ‘I’m sure,’ he muttered.

‘Master Kirin, do you —’

‘I’ll be all right. Just give me a few moments to dress. I’ll do it slowly.’ He forced a brighter tone. ‘Take lots of deep breaths.’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘I am. Thank you for everything.’

The priest nodded. ‘Be well, Master Kirin. I’ll leave you to Master Freath.’

Kirin dressed slowly, gingerly. He did begin to feel slightly better and finally pulled on his boots, his most precious belongings. He’d spent almost a moon’s wages on having them crafted by Cremond’s cobbler to the nobles, and he felt reassured to have them back on his feet. He stepped out of the infirmary and into the sunlit morning where Freath awaited him. The aide was right. It was a day to lift anyone’s spirits. The fragrance of roses was on the air, not a cloud could be seen, joyous birdsong combined with the sound of bees buzzing excitedly around the wild darrasha bushes that grew in a haphazard fashion around these outbuildings.

‘It’s criminal that a day could dawn so bright when the world itself is so very dark,’ Kirin said, for the first time feeling the complete helplessness of their situation. Of all the Vested, he’d been the one that kept everyone’s spirits up, had determined to personally stay strong and optimistic. And now almost all of those innocent people had been slaughtered. He hated Loethar for that but he hated Freath, a man of the Set, so much more. ‘It feels as though there is no reason to breathe,’ he added, the despair that he had kept at bay since Loethar had first entered the Set spilling over.

‘You’re alive, Master Kirin,’ Freath said. ‘I hope I don’t need to remind you again.’

‘For whatever good that will do me,’ Kirin muttered.

Gavriel’s and Leo’s mouths were stuffed full of ham and bread.
Amazing what feeding a starved belly can do for the spirit
, Gavriel thought. Leo was grinning, chewing hungrily.

Gavriel swallowed. ‘Mmm, even the plainest food tastes like a feast when you’re hungry, doesn’t it?’

Leo nodded enthusiastically. He took a gulp from the milk flask but still couldn’t speak for his full mouth.

Gavriel pushed the last of his bread and cheese into his mouth and wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘Right!’ he said, giving a soft belch that amused Leo. ‘It’s time to make some plans,’ he continued.

Leo had finally swallowed his last mouthful too. He mimicked Gavriel with a quick but suppressed burp and a final swig of the milk. ‘It’s time to go,’ he said.

‘Pardon?’ Gavriel had not expected this reaction. If anything he had thought Leo would be frightened about leaving the security of his home and the ingress.

Leo shrugged. ‘We can’t stay here much longer. You got lucky with the food, Gav, but what about later this evening when we’re hungry again, or tomorrow morning when we’re cranky because of it or tomorrow night when we feel starved? It may be impossible to get food again.’

‘Water’s our real problem,’ Gavriel added gloomily. ‘I guess King Cormoron didn’t plan such a hasty retreat into the ingress, or he would have made provision.’

Leo shrugged. ‘He probably believed he would stock it with necessities if he ever needed to use it to hide from enemies. Anyway, we have to leave. My father is dead, my mother looks like she’s given up, Piven is lost. There’s nothing to stay for.’

‘We can learn everything that Loethar’s up to.’

‘But why? We’re helpless here. It’s not like we can do anything with that knowledge.’

Gavriel nodded. ‘You’re right.’ But he had no plan.

‘Gav, I’ve been thinking.’

‘Dangerous,’ Gavriel joked.

Leo grinned sadly. ‘I was thinking about what it is to be Penraven’s king.’

Gavriel sighed. ‘Leo, you’re suddenly so much more. From what we’ve heard, seen and can work out, all of the Set Kings have fallen. In every other realm’s palace so have the families. Everyone is either dead or incarcerated. It might be that you are the only heir who is currently alive … but more importantly, the only one who is potentially free.’