The Shadow Soul (A Dance of Dragons) Page 8

  Ugh, he sighed, leaning back in the wooden booth. According to the rumors, he had ruined many a girl along the path of the Great Road. If he even spoke to a woman, the gossip began and a mere conversation would be turned into an affair before the sun fell. It was one reason Cal kept his very proper sister very far away from Rhen.

  But there was no better way to sneak around castles and the town at night, no better cover than the story other people would create. If he was caught wandering the streets, it was brushed off as Rhen going after another conquest—not Rhen, looking for information, spying on other lords, working under the cover of darkness. That was a weapon he couldn't afford to lose.

  And he knew it.

  It was also a weapon he would deploy tonight, he knew, hugging Reana closer to his body, feeling her limbs buzz with excitement as she cast a sidelong glance in his direction, a coy smile plastered on her lips.

  He'd chosen her.

  Just not for the reason she thought.

  The noise around them had grown, Rhen realized, casting a glance around the filling tavern. Night must have fallen. The more stars in the sky, the more men in the tavern—it was just how these things worked. More girls had come out of the woodwork, serving drinks and providing some much needed companionship.

  He looked to Jin, whose face was brighter, full of life and laughter. What conversation had he missed while his mind wandered?

  Tuning back in, Rhen caught the word snore roll from Martha's lips as she clasped a hand over her mirthful mouth.

  "Snore?" Rhen echoed, rejoining his group, but all three of his companions burst into fits of laughter, leaving him the odd one out once again. "What?" he asked, looking at each of their faces, but none of them could pause long enough to breathe let alone clue him in.

  "I must say," Reana finally spoke, sputtering between gasping breaths, "I've heard many rumors about what our prince can do in the bedroom, but that was never one of them!"

  Rhen's eyes widened, turning on Jin in surprise. That rascal! The boy looked quite proud of himself, and the smirk playing on his lips spoke of payback.

  Of course, the fact that Rhen probably deserved a little payback was of no consequence. A rumor like that could ruin his reputation, the reputation he had spent a lifetime building, the cover he needed to continue his work uncovering other people's secrets.

  Rhen reached for his ale, downing the rest of his second glass in one large swig. He knew just what to do.

  "You want to know if the rumors are true, do you?" He asked, a blush now rolling up Reana's pearly white cheeks, mixing with her rouge.

  She smiled, bit her lip, and nodded just ever so slightly, curiosity lighting her gaze.

  "Then, my lady, I'm more than happy to oblige," he said, smirking, and in one motion he stood, throwing the weight of Reana's petite body over his shoulder. She laughed and screamed playfully, thumping at his back with her delicate fists. The rest of the tavern turned at the commotion, and the men erupted into drunken cheers, most only just realizing they were in the midst of a prince of the realm.

  His plan was working perfectly.

  "Martha, you'll take care of Jin, won't you? Make sure he finds a place to sleep," he asked, then added, "alone?" Jin was not ready for a night with Martha, of that Rhen was completely certain. And the boy had been through more than enough for one day.

  "Of course, your Highness," she said, using his formal title, sealing the deal with a nod. She understood that the command was not a jest—Jin would have a place to sleep uninterrupted by the unfamiliar city he'd been forced into.

  For good measure, Rhen flipped a gold coin from his pocket and into her palm. Her eyes brightened, and she stuffed the money between her breasts.

  He shook his head. The greedy woman—if only all people were so honest.

  "Barkeep?" He yelled aimlessly across the room, pretending to be drunker than he was.

  "Yes, sir?" A meek voice called back from somewhere in the crowd.

  "Two glasses and your best house wine delivered to the usual room," he shifted Reana on his shoulder, earning another shriek. As always, he felt more like an actor on a stage than a real man, but it was necessary.

  "Yes, sir," the voice responded, firmer this time.

  And then Rhen turned, climbing the stairs at the back of the tavern while catcalls still rang in his ears. He walked sturdily down the hall to the last room on the right, the largest room, and also one of the few rooms with a window.

  As soon as they entered, he tossed Reana onto the bed, still playing his role.

  Moments later, a young boy, the tavern owner's son, ran into the room, gently placing a tray with two glasses and a jug of wine onto the table. He bowed once before closing the door behind him.

  Rhen grabbed one of the glasses, turning his back on Reana while he poured the drinks. He heard her moving on the bed, probably rearranging herself into a more graceful position than the one he had dropped her in. Out of eyesight, he pulled a small vile from his pocket, untwisting the lid and slipping a few drops of a sleeping solution made by the palace apothecary into the second glass, before filling it with wine as well.

  He spun around slowly, meeting her eyes with a hungry stare, watching as hers sparked to match it.

  But unlike her, Rhen was pretending. There was no heat stirring in his veins, no passion building in his chest. This was business.

  He settled on the bed, handing her the laced wine and holding his own aloft. "Cheers," he said, and clinked her glass, trying to embolden his expression before downing the wine in one sip.

  As he expected, she followed suit, taking two large sips to finish her drink.

  In a few moments it would be done. But, Rhen mentally shrugged, he did have to give her something to dream about.

  And there was no harm in one kiss.

  Propping himself up on the bed, Rhen leaned over her, pressing Reana's body into the bed below them, loving the way her feminine curves cushioned his weight. He let their breaths mingle, let the stars in her eyes continue to dance, faster and faster. After a moment of hesitation, of letting her electric excitement build, he touched his lips to hers. A contented sigh swelled in his ears.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him closer, surprising him with her passion, and throwing him off balance. But just as Rhen reached to steady himself, her limbs fell free of their hold, landing with an oomph on the mattress.

  Wriggling from her embrace, Rhen stood.

  Another conquest down, he grinned, staring at the spread eagle limbs before him. With a laugh, he repositioned her legs, dragging her left side back over to her right, hoping her sleep was full of the wonderful dreams the apothecary assured Rhen the potion created. And it must do the trick, because there were women all over the kingdom convinced they had shared a night of passion with the prince, when in reality, Rhen was the best chastity belt a worried father could buy.

  He shrugged and walked back to the table, downing one more glass of wine before turning his attention to the window.

  It was time to see Cal.

  It was time to get a message to the king.

  Unlike most taverns in Roninhythe, the Staggering Vixen was three stories tall, a long way to carry a woman, but high enough that he could jump onto the next-door roof—a roof that just happened to sit next to the backside of the castle, directly under Cal's bedroom window.

  Opening the glass slowly, Rhen let the wind whip his face, let the salty smell ensnare his senses, and then he crouched onto the pane, balancing there. Slowly, he reached up for the loose brick above the window. A few tugs and it slipped into his hand.

  A rope fell before his eyes. Rhen smiled and pulled the rest of it free before returning the brick and jumping a few feet down onto the roof below him.

  He coiled the rope in his hand, feeling the points of the claw knotted tightly to the end. The metal was a little worse for wear, but it would do—as long as Cal had gotten word and had cleared the guards from the wall.

 
; Rhen looked up.

  No movement.

  The castle was divided into two levels, a wide base with platforms and walkways built for war, and a second narrower level where the family lived. As long as the first level was clear, no questions would be asked.

  And if there were questions, well, he was the prince—he'd think of something.

  Taking a deep breath, Rhen counted to three.

  One.

  Two.

  On three, he tossed the rope high up, aiming for an arrowslit in the wall.

  Bull's-eye.

  The sound of metal on stone rang in his ears, just loud enough to float on the wind but not so much that it was alarming.

  Waiting a moment, Rhen watched the edge of the wall, searching for a moving helmet or the swing of an arm.

  All was clear.

  He grinned.

  With one sturdy tug on the rope, it was time to climb.

  And climb.

  And climb.

  No matter how many times he made the long trek to the top, his arms always burned, his legs felt on fire. And it was no different this time, as he slipped his hands over the top stones and pulled himself fully onto castle grounds.

  "Took you long enough, Prince Whylrhen," a voice said.

  "Cal!" Rhen turned, greeting his sullen friend with a wide smirk. Oh Cal. He was still dressed in court wear, a formal jewel-studded jacket with his best leather pants and boots. Sword still at his waist. His brown hair was tied back into the nape of his neck, and his brown eyes were glowing with worry as they darted wildly around his surroundings. The only still parts of his body were the arms crossed grumpily across his chest.

  Always adherent to the rules, Cal motioned for Rhen to follow and harshly whispered, "Come on, the guards will be back any minute. There are only so many emergencies I could think of to drag them away."

  "Did you set a pig loose in your father's room?"

  Cal rolled his eyes and stepped through a narrow door in the stone, tired of Rhen's jokes already. Little did he know that suggestion was serious—a dirty pig running around the lord's bedchambers, a lord as pristine and proper as his son? The entire castle would be in an uproar.

  On the other side of the door was a stone hallway, glowing with line after line of candlelight. Rhen flexed his fingers, fighting the pull of the fires. The heat tickled his skin, called for it. He clenched his fists, holding his hands behind his back, and followed Cal a few feet down into the next room on the right, Cal's bedchamber. It was draped with heavy tapestries depicting knights on horseback, the ancestors of Roninhythe. His walls sparkled with candlelight too, but it was easier to manage, especially with the cool wind blowing through the open windows, forcing the heat outdoors.

  Rhen sat down in one of Cal's leather chairs, sinking into the soft cushions, and let his head fall back. This was what the forest was missing. A nice comfortable spot to rest.

  "Rough journey? Why were you so late getting back? I was sure something had happened."

  "Something did happen," Rhen said, looking up. Cal sat in the chair opposite him and poured two glasses of wine, nodding along—a signal he wanted more information. "I picked up an Arpapajo, an oldworlder. He's a just a boy, but Cal, all of them are gone."

  His friend looked up sharply. "All of who, Rhen?" Cal had slipped back to using his nickname—a sure sign Rhen had been forgiven.

  "The oldworlders. Wiped out, dead, with their village burned to the ground. All except for one, a boy named Jin who I brought to Roninhythe with me."

  "But who would kill them? Who would bother?"

  "The Ourthuri."

  Cal rolled his eyes for a second time. "Rhen, with all due respect, you can't really think they would travel all the way from the Golden Isles just to kill some natives running around in animal skins waving around sticks."

  Rhen jerked back, offset by the harsh description. An ugly shudder ran down his arms. He had probably heard similar things before, he'd probably said them, but Jin's face popped into his mind—the lonely boy, the cunning boy, the curious boy—all different facets of the person he had come to know. No, the Arpapajo had been much more than oldworlders with sticks, of that Rhen was sure.

  "Calen," Rhen said, his voice low and harsh—too harsh, he realized as Cal flinched, looking wounded. Rhen took a deep breath, trying to pull back on the anger bubbling in his veins. It was not his friend's fault, not entirely. "Cal," he said, more gently but still with iron, "I saw them. I fought them. The Ourthuri are here."

  "Then we must notify the king immediately."

  "My thoughts exactly," Rhen said, drumming his fingers on the table, waiting. After a moment, he sat up. "Well, won't you get some paper? I just scaled a castle wall. I wasn't exactly carrying a scroll and quill in my breeches."

  "Right," Cal jumped up, moving into action. He placed the supplies in front of Rhen on the table, but Rhen just breathed heavily and pushed them across the table.

  "Save me from another lecture from the king, won't you? You of all people know I never paid attention during calligraphy classes, not when the training yard was right below the window."

  "Got some good welts on the back of your head for it too."

  They grinned at each other, jumping back in time for a moment, looking five years younger and far less responsible.

  "My dearest father," Cal said.

  Rhen choked on his wine, about to furiously correct Cal, when he saw the teasing glint in his eye.

  He's spending too much time around me, Rhen thought, raising his eyebrows.

  Cal coughed. "My King."

  Rhen nodded, listening to the scratch of the quill on parchment. As a boy, he had nightmares about that noise, but knowing this letter would help save his family, the sound soothed him.

  Until it stopped.

  He sat up, watching Cal drop the quill back into the jar of ink.

  "What?"

  "I'm just thinking of the best way to tell the king that his youngest son snuck out against his orders to search the forest for enemies. On his own. Without a guard."

  Rhen chewed his lip.

  "I see…" He said slowly. "Why don't I just tell you the whole story, and you can think of what to write tomorrow, when I'm gone."

  "Where are you going?"

  Rhen waved his hand haphazardly through the air, pushing the question off until later, and started telling Cal everything that had happened. The fire. The Arpapajo village. Jin. The fight. And finally, the docks.

  "This sounds like war," Cal said, grim.

  Rhen just nodded. He had said as much to himself days earlier.

  "So, naturally, you're sailing across the sea to face the enemy alone once more."

  "Naturally," Rhen deadpanned without batting an eyelash.

  "I'm serious, Whylrhen," Cal responded, worry quivering in his voice. Formal again, Rhen sighed, sitting straighter.

  "Cal, enough worrying. I'll be sailing with Captain Pygott on the Old Maid—she's an old warship. We both know he pirated her from the royal fleet years ago when the new ships were built, a gift from the king to his retired captain. He's an honest merchant now. There won't be any trouble."

  "It's not him I'm worried about."

  "The Ourthuri? I’d like to see that old king try to kill a Son of Whyl, really, I would. My father and the other lords would crush him in an open battle."

  "But you're missing one point in that argument—by then, you'd be dead."

  "Most spies end up in the grave."

  "Most spies aren't princes."

  Rhen stood. They were back to where they always were—arguing like ten year olds again, like brothers. He loved it and hated it at the same time. Two brothers was quite enough, what Rhen needed was a friend who would jump into the action with him. Not another lecture.

  "Will you watch after Ember? I'll drop her off at the stables before I leave tomorrow." Cal nodded—he already expected this charge. "I'll send word when I've arrived safely back home, to Rayfort."

  "No
need, I'll see you soon enough," Cal answered. Rhen scrunched his brows, trying to think of why Cal would be traveling to Rayfort, the King's City.

  Seeing the confusion, Cal jumped into action, pulling a piece of parchment from the stack on the table. "I can't believe I forgot to tell you—Awenine gave birth. You're an uncle."

  "Awenine!" Rhen grabbed the paper, ripping it from his friend's hands to inspect the royal seal. It was true. After years of trying, years of heartbreak and stillborn babies, his sister-in-law, wife of his eldest brother Whyltarin and future Queen of Whylkin, had finally had a child.

  He was an uncle.

  To a baby boy.

  A new prince of Whylkin.

  Warmth sprouted in his chest, spreading like a bubble, filling him up, and bursting down his limbs. A child in the palace. It has been far too long, Rhen thought, pushing the small knot of dread out of his mind.

  This was a good thing. A happy thing. And nothing would ruin it—Rhen would make sure of that.

  He gripped Cal's arm, shaking it, needing some way to pour some of this happiness out of his body and into the world.

  Cal slapped his back. "Congratulations."

  "Thank you, dear friend." He held on for one moment longer. "I'll see you in Rayfort for the Naming."

  "For the Naming," Cal repeated.

  And then, as they had done a dozen times before, the two friends prepared for Rhen's escape. Cal pulled a second rope from the chest beside his bed and peeked into the hall.

  Empty.

  Rhen followed Cal down the corridor.

  Another check, this time to the door outside.

  Clear.

  Rhen moved past Cal, stepping over the wall and gripping the rope as he silently made his descent. Cal waited at the top, keeping watch for any guards.

  As soon as Rhen's feet touched straw, he tugged on the rope, and Cal pulled it back up toward him. When everything was done, they met eyes.