Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) (7 page)

“He’s probably stealing scrap from Master Belmont’s shop,” another boy said.

“What are you stealing you dirty tree hugger?” Fat boy said.

“I’m not stealing anything. Leave me alone,” the Ayralen boy said.

“Not until we’ve searched you for stolen goods. You come to our city and rob us blind. You and the rest of you dirty tree people,” fat boy said.

Ronan remained motionless hidden behind a pile of broken crates. He wanted to help the Ayralen boy, but he couldn’t miss his meeting with Tyrell.

Fat boy lunged at the Ayralen. But, his size and bulk made his movements slow and predictable, and the Ayralen boy sidestepped with ease.

Fat boy’s faced twisted with rage. “Grab him!”

Three of fat boy’s crew stepped toward the Ayralen, and he jumped back another step. Behind the Ayralen, a skinny rat-faced boy crept closer and squatted a few feet away.

“I’ve done nothing to you. Leave me alone,” the Ayralen said.

The three boys stepped closer and flanked the Ayralen boy.

The Ayralen looked right and left as if deciding his next move when a shove came from his back and sent him sprawling.

Fat boy stood over the Ayralen. His face contorted with contempt. He spat on the Ayralen boy. “We’ll show you what we do to your kind.” He kicked the Ayralen boy in the ribs.

The Ayralen boy’s body jerked, and he grunted with pain.

Ronan couldn’t stand for this. His mother had taught him to defend those people that couldn’t defend themselves. Tyrell could wait a few minutes. He took a deep breath, stood, and joined the confrontation.

“That’s enough,” Ronan said.

As sprinkles fell from the darkening sky, fat boy’s head snapped toward Ronan his face a mask of shock.

Fat boy’s crew paused and turned to face Ronan.

Fat boy appraised Ronan like a fox caught in the hen house, and his expression morphed into one of disgust. “Are you some kind of hero?” He laughed, and his jowls quivered. “You wanna find a place on the ground next to this stinky tree sloth?”

Ronan’s stomach flip-flopped. Visions of Tyrell leaving him behind swirled through his thoughts. “I’m no hero, but six against one isn’t a fair fight.” He nodded toward the Ayralen boy sprawled in the mud. “Now there’s a witness.” He pointed to his own chest. “Me.” “Leave the boy alone before more witnesses show up and call the city guard.”

Fat boy laughed harder exposing rotten discolored teeth. “City guard? Where do you think you are boy? The merchant district? The city guard don’t care what happens here. We are the guard.”

Cold sweat prickled Ronan’s collar. He hadn’t imagined the confrontation taking such a wrong turn.

The rain fell harder as fat boy lumbered over to Ronan.

“You aren’t from here are you?” Fat boy said. He waddled forward until he stood only a few inches from Ronan.

The waves of body odor rolling off fat boy’s dirty clothes made the rotten food from the trash heap smell appealing, and the pouring rain only heightened the boy’s stench.

“I haven’t seen you before.” He cocked his head to the side. “You look a little bit like that forest freak. Are you his brother? Is that it?” He shoved Ronan’s chest.

Ronan’s neck hair stood on end as he jerked backward. The fat boy meant his skin color. Unlike the pale white skin of most Meranthians, Ronan’s skin tone was a shade toward golden, and his hair color dark and rich. He couldn’t afford to antagonize this boy, but he wouldn’t run either. “Leave now before someone gets hurt, and I won’t mention you were here.”

Rivulets of dirt flowed from fat boy’s scalp exposing blond hair unlike the dirty brown color as first appeared. Dark rage twisted his face into an inhuman mask.

Fat boy’s crew stood frozen watching the exchange and awaiting fat boy’s next move.

A body streaked behind fat boy, and a glint of shiny steel flashed reflecting a mix of morning sun and rain. The knife sank into fat boy’s side, and he howled in pain dropping to his knees.

Behind him the Ayralen boy held the bloody blade as fat boy raged. The knife looked too small to inflict any real damage especially against a person fat boy’s size.

Fat boy’s crew stood in shock watching their leader cry out in agony.

“Get him!” Fat boy said, and his crew descended on the Ayralen.

The Ayralen boy’s blue hat shadowed his face as he backed away from the group.

“Run!” Ronan said.

The Ayralen spun and streaked along the alley as two of fat boy’s friends gave chase.

Rain poured from black thunderheads and lightning crackled somewhere over Old Town. A moment later booming thunder rolled across the city marking the beginning of a summer deluge.

A fist descended on Ronan’s eye and dropped him to his knees.

His vision flashed, and his ears rang. A blur of motion and a hard fist connected with his soft stomach.

Air rushed from Ronan’s lungs as he fell to the ground curling into a tight ball. Sharp pain lit his back as the teenagers kicked and punched without mercy.

Numbness spread across Ronan as his body shutdown. His mind disconnected the pain offering the only protection available.

Ronan’s thoughts drifted toward the disasters that had amassed like a midwinter snow over the past twenty-four hours. His tainted tournament victory, Pride’s lies, the fire, the beating, and the soul-wrenching murder of his beloved mother. He couldn’t bear the weight. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as his mind drifted away.

“Whoa! Look at the coin he’s got,” a voice said from a million miles away.

He’d never meet Tyrell now. His former life gone forever. His identity now a secret. Any hope of resuming Prince Ronan Latimer’s life washed away with the summer storm.

***

Consciousness slammed into Ronan, and he jerked his body upright. He gasped, as a torrent of pain burned through every nerve ending in his body.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a strange voice said.

Exquisite pain throbbed in Ronan’s neck when he followed the voice. “I’ve seen you before.” His own voice sounded throaty and alien as if he hadn’t spoken in months. He eased himself higher until he sat up straight.

Ronan lay in a simple small bed with fresh white sheets tucked in at the corners, and a thick red blanket covered him to the waist. His shirtless body showed a patchwork of purple and yellow bruises. Dozens of scrapes and shallow cuts adorned his chest and stomach. He looked every bit as beaten as he felt.

His memory rushed back, and his stomach sank. The tournament, the house fire, and his mother. He remembered his missed meeting with Tyrell and the fat boy that had beaten him near death. And, he remembered the Ayralen boy who sat perched on a worn wooden chair near Ronan. The teenage boy from the alley he’d told to run.

The boy’s room suggested the same simple practicality as the clean white linens. A long oaken table sat in the room’s center where the boy sat carving a small piece of wood. A few cabinets and a simple iron stove sat against the far wall. On a small table next to the bed sat Ronan’s silver necklace and gold ring.

Ronan tipped his head forward. “Thank you for keeping this safe.” He scooped up the necklace and eased it over his head letting the ring rest against his chest.

The Ayralen reclined on a wooden side chair wearing the same blue hat. With his face shadowed, he had his leather boots propped up on the table’s edge.

Resting on the table, a candle’s warm glow cast soft yellow light across the room. The boy whittled at a wood carving using the blade that had punctured fat boy. Beneath him, a fresh pile of wood shavings sat heaped on the smooth floorboards.

Atop a clean iron stove, steam curled from a pot unleashing the tantalizing aroma of beef and vegetables into the cozy room’s warm air.

Ronan’s stomach roared in protest. The aroma of the stew set his mouth watering, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

The boy spoke without turning his head. “It’s about time you woke up. I was beginning to think those boys had beaten you so bad you never would again.”

“I need to be on my way. What time is it?” Ronan moved his legs, but a wave of pain flashed through them causing him to pause.

“It’s dinnertime. Why don’t you stay there and rest. At least have a meal first. You’ve been unconscious for three days. You need to eat.”

Ronan’s chest tightened. He couldn’t afford to sleep for three days. He’d never find Tyrell and Sir Alcott now.

“You are hungry. Right?” The lilt of the boy’s voice sounded feminine. Maybe Ayralen boys sounded feminine.

“I’m starving, but I don’t have any coin.”

“What sort of host would I be if I charged my guests for meals?” He kicked his feet off the table. “It’s the least I can do. You saved my life after all. Let me clean up a bit, and I’ll fix us some stew.”

The slender boy stood and glided to a plain oak cabinet near the iron stove. As he removed his hat, a jumble of shiny raven hair spilled over his shoulders. He moved his hands through his thick lustrous locks spreading it wide over his shoulders and back.

Ronan’s throat constricted, and the room felt warmer than a moment ago. He licked his dry lips, and his jaw slackened. The clean tucked-in sheets, the home cooked meal, and the warm cozy room. All signs pointed to a woman’s loving touch.

The girl stood over the hot stove and grabbed a steaming tea kettle simmering behind the stew pot. She poured clear hot water from the kettle into a basin next to the cabinet and rolled up her sleeves. Next to the basin, she picked up a bar of soap and washed her hands.

She dried her hands, opened the cabinet, and bent searching for something on the bottom shelf. As she sat on her knees, her trousers tightened accentuating the perfect curves of her firm rear end where it met the tight lean muscle of her hamstring.

Heat spread through Ronan’s face, and he forced his eyes away. She’d let him into her home, nursed him back to health, and he had the raw nerve to ogle her like a barmaid.

A serving tray appeared in the Ayralen girl’s smooth hands as she stood and placed it on the long wooden table.

Ronan’s eyes flickered to her face, but she moved back to the cabinet before he could see her.

The girl knelt before the dish cabinet and gathered bowls, napkins, and utensils. As she stood, she curled a few loose strands of hair behind her ear revealing smooth skin, high cheekbones, and long dark eyelashes.

She ladled beef stew into a polished clay bowl and placed it on a serving tray. After arranging the utensils and napkins, she lifted the tray and faced Ronan.

Ronan’s suppressed a gasp as he took his first good look at her face. He’d never seen any Meranthian girl whose face conveyed such exquisite perfection. Her every movement exuded femininity and confidence. He felt foolish for thinking her high-pitched voice had something to do with her Ayralen heritage.

Her full lush lips curled upward teetering on the edge of a smile, and her gray eyes sparkled in the candlelight’s dreamy haze. A high pert nose, clear soft skin, and a complexion the color of fresh honey rounded out the rest of her flawless features.

As she approached, his mouth hung open, and his breaths came in short ragged pulls.

She hovered over the bed, and amusement danced in her eyes. “Have you never seen a girl before?”

Ronan’s face flushed. “You’re not a boy. I mean you’re a girl. I…”

Her eyes flickered to his bare chest. “How observant of you.”

Heat spread from his cheeks through his neck and ears. He ran his hand under the sheets and felt the soft cotton of his underclothing. With a sigh of relief, he tugged the sheets upward covering part of his stomach.

“I grew up with a brother. Do you think you have parts I haven’t already seen?” A wide smile crossed her face revealing a set of perfect pure white teeth.

Ronan’s heart nearly stopped. He needed to regain his balance and think. He couldn’t spend his time fawning over a girl.

She set the tray in his lap. “How does this look?”

“Excuse me?”

“The stew. Is it okay? I can get you something else.”

Despite his hunger, he’d forgotten the stew. “Oh…yes. It looks delicious. Thank you.”

The girl returned to the wooden table, eased into her seat, and placed a napkin in her lap. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Ronan’s ears turned red. “Yes. I didn’t want to be rude.”

Her eyes never left him as her lips curled into a small circle, and she blew on a spoonful of stew. “Don’t wait on my account.”

The rich aroma drifting from the beef stew eroded his infatuation, and he fingered a spoon nestled on the serving tray. With his mouth watering, he scooped up a spoonful of broth laden with thick chunks of beef, green beans, squash, barley, and peas. When he took a bite, flavor burst inside his mouth. His headache faded, and new energy flowed through his body. He devoured the soup like a prisoner eating his last meal. Bite after bite entered his mouth and disappeared at record speed.

She paused mid-bite as a look of astonishment settled on her face. “I’ll take it you like my mother’s recipe?”