CHAPTER
6
“WE WAIT HERE?” ATIRA
WHISPERED.
“Yes,” Heath
whispered back from the depths of his hood. Atira couldn’t see his
face in the shadows, but she caught a sparkle of laughter in his
eyes.
“By the privy,” Atira
said.
“Yes,” Heath
whispered again, but this time she felt his body shake with
repressed laughter. “Hush now. We are waiting.”
Atira
hushed.
They’d left their
horses close to the walls, under some thick pines. Heath had gotten
them past the walls and into the city by going ways Atira had never
dreamed of. It seemed every walled city had large ways and small
ways of going to and fro that weren’t obvious to an invader, but
were easily accessed by a local. Heath had guided her down alleys,
and through posterns and other words she’d never heard before until
her head rang with it all.
In the end, she had
just followed close, keeping her hood up and her mouth shut. This
was Heath’s world. She’d been in the city at Eln’s while healing.
But her knowledge didn’t go much further than that.
He’d brought them to
a large building with the sign of an overflowing tankard over the
door. The building brimmed with the glow of lanterns, the smell of
food and beer, and the sound of voices. Laughter seemed to spill
out of every window, with even more singing and talking. So many
bodies crowded into such a small place . . . yet it seemed warm and
welcoming.
But Heath had pulled
her around to the back and pushed her into the shadows of the small
house, pressing close to her so that they were hidden from
view.
“Is this really
necessary?” she whispered, pressing herself back against the
wall.
“I think so.” Heath’s
breath was warm on her ear as he leaned into her. “Besides, you
smell good.”
“That’s the privy,”
she growled.
“I doubt it,” Heath
chuckled.
A burst of laughter
came from the building. “Where are we?” she whispered.
“This is the
Everflowing Tankard. It’s owned by Broar the Bold, an old and
crafty fighter. It’s a favorite of the Castle Guard when we . . .
they . . . are off duty.”
“So we wait for this
Broar?”
“Hell, no. The old
bastard would sell me out in a heartbeat. No, I’m waiting
for—”
The door of the
tavern flew open and light streamed into the yard. A figure
stumbled out, clearly headed for where he thought the privy
was.
Heath moved further
into the shadows, squeezing Atira against the wall. “Not him,” he
breathed quietly.
Atira licked her dry
lips and closed her eyes. Heath’s body seemed to press against all
the right places, and her heat was rising, even here. Next to a
privy. Skies above, he could set her afire—
The drunken man
finally found his way into the privy, fumbling with the door. His
boots clattered as he threw open the door and started his
business.
After a few minutes,
Atira’s eyes grew wide. It seemed he’d never come to the
end.
Heath’s body began to
shake against her as the hiss of the stream continued. Horrified,
Atira reached up and placed her fingertips over his lips, trying to
shush his laughter.
Heath nodded, his
eyes bright. Then his tongue darted out, and licked her skin. Atira
jerked her hand back as if burned.
Heath’s eyes weren’t
laughing anymore. They were white hot, piercing her, filled
with—
The drunk banged out
of the privy and swayed back against the yard and into the
tavern.
Atira pushed at
Heath, and he eased back. “We can’t stay here all night,” she
growled.
“It does seem an odd
place for a seduction, I admit,” Heath said softly. “But it was
working, wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t,” Atira
snapped.
“It was,” Heath
laughed softly.
The door to the
tavern opened once again. “I’ll be back, lads,” a voice roared out.
“I’m just off to make room for more.”
A roar of laughter
greeted his words, only to be cut off when he closed the door and
strode toward the privy. Atira could hear a faint humming, but the
steps heading their way sounded odd.
“That’s him,” Heath
whispered.
Atira risked a quick
glance around him to see a portly man with a bald head stumping in
their direction.
Heath said nothing,
but pressed her back into the shadows as the man eased into the
privy, still humming to himself. Atira heard him fuss with his
trous and then settle himself over the hole.
She blinked as he let
rip a mighty fart.
“Ah, that’s better
now,” the man sighed, and continued humming.
“Detros?” Heath said,
his voice cracking with laughter. “Detros, can you hear
me?”
The humming stopped.
“Eh? Who’s out there? Best be upwind, whoever you
are.”
“Aye to that, you old
dog,” Heath said.
Detros’s voice
dropped, becoming serious. “Heath, lad . . . Is that
you?”
“It is, Detros,”
Heath said. “I’ve come for answers and information.”
“It’s good to hear
your voice, but you’ve picked a poor time. The cooking up at the
castle has been a bit . . . heavy of late.” Another fart rumbled
through the night air.
Atira laughed in
spite of herself.
Heath pressed his
hand over her mouth, his own body shaking.
“Gods, don’t tell me
that’s Lara with you,” Detros pleaded.
“No,” Heath
whispered. “It’s Atira.”
“Your lady friend?
Well, there’s a nice thing, to introduce me in such
state.”
“No choice,” Heath
whispered.
“Aye to that, lad,”
Detros said sadly. “’Tis a terrible thing, what with your da taking
ill and all.”
“What can you tell
me?” Heath said.
“Not much. I wasn’t
in the throne room when the ruckus started during the
Justice.”
“When my father
collapsed?”
“Nay, the ruckus
before that one,” Detros explained. “The room full of angry nobles
and Plains warriors—we could hear the shouting going on something
fierce. Then your da up and sprawls on the floor. I know Eln was
called, but most of the Guard has been pulled from the castle.
We’re on the walls and doing patrols.”
Atira felt Heath go
rigid against her. “What?” Heath asked. “When did that happen? Did
Lord Warren—”
“Warren left the city
about five days ago, taking a small force. Seems bandits have been
hitting some of the villages, and he and that Plains warrior Lord
Simus left here to ride out and track ’em,” Detros
said.
“So? How does
that—”
“After your da
collapsed, the Council started throwing its weight around, ordering
their own men into the castle and us to the outside,” Detros
growled. “I’ve no word of what’s happening within.”
“I have to get in
there,” Heath said. “Who is on the garden gate duty?”
The door of the
tavern opened, with the light pouring out. “Detros, get a move on.
I need to piss,” came a voice.
“Piss up a rope,”
Detros shouted back. “I’m sittin’ for a time.”
The voice muttered a
curse, and the door slammed shut.
“Dustin and Tec are
on the garden gate,” Detros continued. “But don’t be going to see
your ma. They’re watchin’ her.”
Heath
cursed.
“There’s a rumor
about, that Lara’s about to return, and she’s bearing. Any truth to
that?” Detros asked.
Heath frowned,
glancing at Atira. “Tomorrow, Detros. She will be at the gates
tomorrow, as pregnant as any could hope.” He paused. “There’s been
no announcement?”
“Well, that’s fine,”
Detros said. “There’s been no word, only wonderin’. I’ll be placing
a few wagers before this night’s done.” Something rumbled within
the privy. “You might be wantin’ to get a move on,
lad.”
“Aye to that,” Heath
said. “For fear of dying here and now.”
“At my age, the
pleasures are few, boy,” Detros said as he let loose with more gas.
“Have some respect.”
“HALT! WHO GOES
THERE?” CAME THE CHALLENGE.
Heath stepped into
the light, throwing back his hood.
“Heath!” Tec lowered
his spear. “Praise the gods.”
“Have you come to
step in for your father, Heath?” Dustin asked eagerly. “Sure could
use your skills now.”
“Someone needs to,”
Tec said. “Someone besides the Council and a few lords I could
name. They’s up to no good.”
“Come to check on my
father,” Heath said quietly. “On the quiet for now.”
“And the Queen?” Tec
asked.
Heath gave him a
narrow look. “You’ve had no word?”
“None,” Dustin said,
holding open the gate for him and Atira. “Rumors, but not much more
than that.”
“Xylara will be at
the gates tomorrow, returning with her Warlord and pregnant with an
heir. Spread the word.” Heath paused. “Do me a favor, eh? Have a
contingent ready at the gates. She’ll need an escort.”
“And a cart,” Tec
said. “My Bessa swelled up before she popped with our babe. A cart
with a nice cushion. Maybe some ribbons, what with her being Queen
and all.”
“Well,” Heath flashed
a grin at Atira. “It can’t hurt to have one ready.”
Atira rolled her
eyes.
“I’m for the
backstairs, then?” Heath asked softly as Tec secured the
gate.
“Aye, keep to the
servants ways and none of the Council will see ya,” Dustin snorted.
“But keep clear of the kitchen. Their men always seem to be in
there, drinking the kavage and keeping an eye on your ma. The
food’s not been right for a week.”
Heath gave him a nod.
“Thanks, Dustin. I’ll use my old way in, then.”
Dustin chuckled.
“We’ll be on duty until third watch. We’ll pass the word that
you’ll need out if you’re later than that.”
Heath took Atira’s
hand and drew her down a dark path. Once out of the light of the
gate torches, the night was thick within the garden. “Follow me,”
Heath whispered.
He led her down the
paths around the rose briar and through the wide lawns. He knew
these paths by heart, every turn and hedge. He and Lara had played
here for years under his mother’s watchful eye.
Atira was following
as quiet as he could wish. Heath wasted no time; the Castle Guard
was known to him, and he to them, but there might be others out
this night that were not quite so friendly.
He reached the edge
of the kitchen gardens and paused for just a moment.
There was smoke
rising from the kitchen chimneys, which was not unusual. The ovens
and hearths were busy night and day, feeding the denizens of the
castle. That was his mother’s kingdom, and she ruled it with an
iron hand.
He could hear her
voice, shouting some orders at the undercooks, no doubt. Out of
nowhere, a wave of homesickness hit him. It wasn’t just that he
wanted to be able to enter the kitchen and hug his mother. He
wanted to be sure of his welcome there.
Atira stepped to his
side, clearly puzzled at his delay. He hadn’t introduced her to his
mother, hadn’t dared.
But they needed to
keep moving.
HEATH TUGGED AT HER
HAND AND ATIRA ALLOWED him to lead her around the kitchen gardens
to the back wall where the gardeners kept their tools. He pointed
at the tree that grew there, its thick trunk at an angle to the
ground. “Up there,” he said.
Atira peered up
through the branches. All she saw were leaves. She’d never climbed
a tree before.
“I’ll lead the way,”
Heath said, grabbing a branch and hauling himself up.
Atira
hesitated.
“What’s wrong?” The
whisper floated down. “Are you scared?”
With a glare, Atira
reached out and heaved herself into the tree. She concentrated on
not looking down. Instead, she watched where Heath placed his hands
and feet and copied his every move. Faster than she thought
possible, she was up the tree and on a slanted roof.
Heath led the way
again and she followed, having a care at this angle. The last thing
she wanted was a fall.
One roof led to
another, then another still, until Heath leaped for an open window.
He gestured for her to follow. Atira didn’t let herself think about
it. She just jumped. Heath helped her in and over the
windowsill.
“My old room,” he
breathed in her ear.
She stood there,
breathing hard, as Heath padded across the room, and she watched as
he eased the door open. He looked back, a shadow in the darkness.
“Make sure you keep up.”
Atira growled softly,
but Heath just slid out the door.
She followed him
through a bewildering array of rooms, halls, and doors. She caught
glimpses of wide corridors lit with torches and hung with colorful
tapestries. But Heath always chose the smaller ways, dark and
narrow.
Atira had never been
in a building this large, and it seemed to her that the walls were
never ending, closing in on her, getting closer and closer all the
time. But she reminded herself that she’d felt this way at Eln’s as
well and had managed to survive that.
She focused on
Heath’s back, and on breathing. The rest was in the hands of the
elements.
Heath stopped,
finally, in front of two large double doors. He knocked twice and
waited.
Inside, a bolt was
drawn, and a slice of light grew as Eln appeared in the doorway,
looking as calm as he always did. But his eyes went wide as he saw
the two of them. “Heath? Atira?”
Heath pushed through
gently. Atira followed as Eln moved back into the room, then shut
the door and bolted it. “My father,” Heath asked.
“How—”
A groan issued from
beyond.
Heath’s face went
white. Eln shook his head. “Heath, he’s—”
Heath ignored the
man, crossing the wide room for another door on the other side.
Atira saw a large lump of a man under blankets, one pale hand on
that broad chest. Another moan filled the air.
Heath walked to the
bedside, his face etched with pain. “Papa?”