The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

“Please, Karel.” Yasma tucked her hand into his. “Come with us.”

Karel hesitated. “No,” he said, firming his voice. “It’s too risky.”

Yasma’s brow creased in distress, but the princess merely gave him a sharp glance and said, “We’ll discuss this later. Yasma, let’s eat. Will you join us? No?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

T
HE WITCHES GATHERED
around a table in the corner of the taproom. Hew was in dog shape, sitting on the floor, ears pricked, alert. All three women wore ankle-length skirts. In trews and carrying swords, the female witches were noteworthy. They looked capable, skilled, even a little dangerous. In skirts, they were ordinary. Harkeld glanced around, looking for Petrus. Perhaps he was an insect hiding in a cranny somewhere?

The taproom was empty but for themselves and a man seated in the opposite corner; a merchant, by his garb. His girth was far too large for him to be an assassin.

A plump, pretty serving maid brought platters of food to their table—roasted vegetables, a haunch of venison, gravy, fresh bread and cheese—and tankards of ale.

Harkeld ate, half-listening to the witches talk. Their conversation was sporadic but relaxed, not glum, not edgy. He wasn’t the only person whose mood had lifted.

The maid flirted with them as she cleared their plates, giggling and sending pert glances to him and Justen, to Ebril, to Frane. He could have told her it was pointless trying to seduce Justen; the armsman had sworn fidelity to his betrothed back in Groot.

The maid brought more ale and lingered to flirt. Harkeld eyed her. She had generous breasts and hips. She’d make a warm armful. And she was clearly bold, experienced, willing—all things he liked in a woman.

He glanced at Ebril and Frane. Frane’s mouth was prudishly tight, but Ebril looked... not precisely neutral. Harkeld interpreted it as
If I wasn’t on duty, I’d bed you
.

Harkeld gave a mental shrug. If no one else was going to take advantage of what was on offer, he would.

P
ETRUS LISTENED, HIS
face carefully expressionless, as the prince ascertained that the maid was more than happy to accompany him upstairs for some bedsport and that she wouldn’t get in trouble if she deserted her duties for half an hour.

“Excuse us, Justen,” the prince said. He departed the taproom, his hand on the maid’s waist, Hew padding at their heels. Petrus glanced down the table and caught the expression on Ebril’s face—rueful, envious, reluctantly impressed. He suspected his own expression was similar.

Innis’s expression was
not
impressed. Petrus bit the tip of his tongue to stop himself laughing at the indignation on her face.

“Ebril,” Cora said, her voice dry. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Must I? I doubt she’s planning on killing him.”

“It’s not the bounty on his head she’s interested in,” Petrus said. “It’s the bounty in his trews.”

Rand snorted with laughter. Ebril grinned.

“Even so,” Cora said, with a wave of her hand at the stairs.

Ebril lost his grin. He pulled a face and obeyed.

Petrus looked down the table again. Rand looked amused and Gerit, alongside him, sour. But whatever Gerit’s opinion of the prince’s tomcatting, he kept it to himself. Katlen wasn’t so circumspect. “I wonder you allow him to carry on like that,” she said tartly to Cora.

“Allow? He’s an adult.”

Rand looked even more amused. He covered his mouth with a hand.

“He’s an untrained fire mage. He shouldn’t have sex until he can control his magic. The risk is too great.”

“Do you wish to tell him that?”

Katlen thinned her lips.

Rand lowered his hand. “I’d say he’s been having sex for years. If he hasn’t burned anyone yet, he’s not going to tonight.”

“And that’s another thing,” Katlen said. “I really think it should be me who teaches him, Cora. I’ve had twenty years’ experience at the Academy.”

“I asked him if he’d like you to instruct him, and he said no.” Cora’s tone took the sting out of the words. “I’d consider yourself lucky, if I were you, Katlen. Our Flin is... prickly.”

Petrus snorted at this understatement.

“But—”

“I will certainly involve you in the lessons when we reach more dangerous practices.”

Petrus slid down the bench to sit beside Innis. The indignation was gone from her face; she looked wan, unhappy. “Tired?” he asked, touching his knuckles lightly to the back of her hand.

“Oh...” She glanced at him, shrugged. “Can you teach me how to shave? I faked it today, but he almost noticed.”

“I will,” Petrus said. “But not now. You look tired. Why don’t you sleep as yourself tonight? I’ll be Justen.”

Innis shook her head. “Thanks, but it’s not necessary.”

Petrus caught Cora’s eye. “Why don’t I be Justen all night? Innis hasn’t slept as herself for a long time.”

Innis opened her mouth as if to protest.

“Good idea. Thank you, Petrus.”

“And that’s another thing.” Katlen’s eyebrows twitched into a frown. “Surely it should be the male shapeshifters who are Justen. Innis is a
girl
. Why break a Primary Law unnecessarily?”

“Innis is our strongest shapeshifter,” Cora said, her voice mild. “Dareus felt she was the best choice for this task.”

Katlen opened her mouth as if she’d like to argue further, and then shut it.

I’d not argue with Dareus’s judgment either
. Although, come to think of it, he had, when Dareus had first outlined his plan.

He examined Innis’s face. She’d changed in the last two months, become more confident, more assertive. Had Dareus anticipated that? Was that another reason for his choice?

Petrus picked up his tankard but didn’t drink. He stared down at the dark ale. An arrogant mage was a dangerous mage, and Innis had more reason to be arrogant than any mage he knew. She was the strongest shapeshifter in living memory. No one had found her physical limits yet; only her sanity and conscience kept her in check.
And
she was a powerful healer,
and
the youngest Sentinel ever to take the oath. She could easily have become cocky, reckless, dangerous.

Petrus swallowed a mouthful of warm ale and put down his tankard. But a timid Sentinel was also dangerous. And Innis had been... if not precisely timid, then diffident, lacking in confidence. Sentinels needed to be decisive, unafraid to act. And when Innis was Justen, she was.

He examined her face again, seeing the arch of her dark eyebrows, the scattering of freckles across her nose, the lines of cheekbone and jaw. His heart squeezed in his chest. He laced his fingers tightly together, repressing the urge to stroke back a strand of curling black hair and tuck it behind her ear.

Not now. Not while they were on this mission. But afterwards...

Afterwards, he’d tell her how he felt and ask if they could become bonded.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A
FTER SHE AND
Yasma had eaten, the princess emptied the leather pouch. Silver and gold coins spilled across the table. “How much will you need tomorrow?”

Karel counted the gold coins. “Do you have more?”

The princess shook her head. “I could ask Jaegar for some, but... I’d rather not.”

He nodded agreement. “It’ll cost more than this to hire a ship, but when you reach Lundegaard, I’m sure King Magnas will pay the rest.”

They settled on a dozen gold coins for his grace day, and a score of silver ones. Yasma tore up a piece of linen and they wrapped the coins in scraps of cloth. Karel slid them between his breastplate and his tunic. It was a tight fit; the coins pressed against his chest as he breathed.

“Well?” the princess asked.

Karel strode across the parlor and back. Nothing clinked, nothing fell out. “It’s fine.”

The princess gave him the list of herbs. Karel folded the parchment and tucked it inside one of his wrist greaves. The sound of a bell pealing came distantly. He counted the strokes. Only an hour until midnight. “You’d best retire.”

“About Yasma’s idea, don’t you think—?”

“No,” Karel said firmly.

Princess Brigitta tilted her head and examined his face. “We’ll discuss it after your grace day.” She scooped the remaining coins back into the leather pouch and stood for a moment, looking at him. Candlelight gilded her hair, made her eyes dark. “Be careful tomorrow.”

K
AREL WALKED TO
the barracks, alert to any shifting of the coins inside his breastplate. His bunkroom was empty, the armsmen on duty or in the mess hall. He crouched and pulled his trunk out from beneath the bunk, unfastened the lid. His few possessions lay inside: plain shirt and trews for his grace days, a cloak, a small pouch of copper coins. He hid the list under the clothes and quickly loosened his breastplate, fished out the coins, slid them into the pouch. He closed the trunk and pushed it back beneath the bunk.

Karel went to the mess hall and joined the line of men waiting for food.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

T
HEY ROSE EARLY
, loaded the packhorses, and were at the jetty as dawn lit the sky. A light drizzle fell. Innis stared at the Ptol. She’d never seen a river so wide before. It must be half a mile across. She had to squint to see the far shore.

The water was thick and brown, flowing past the jetty with a quiet hiss.

Prince Harkeld sat on his horse alongside her. He looked relaxed, well-rested, almost cheerful.

Innis gritted her teeth and looked away. It was irrational to be so furious with him.
I am Justen,
she reminded herself. And Justen wouldn’t be upset that the prince had bedded a tavern wench.

Hew maneuvered his horse alongside them. “See the cable? That’s how the ferry crosses.”

“They pull it by hand?” Prince Harkeld asked.