Trigger Warning! So as not to be all spoilery, there is character death and other stuffs in this post. Proceed with caution.

Ververe 29th, 1513 – Riding grounds, outside River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

It seemed strangely quiet this morning. She couldn’t remember the last time that she had been riding all by herself. As it was officially Hybel break as of yesterday afternoon–despite it not yet being Hybel–there were no lessons, including riding lessons. Then Vivi had something that she was doing with her father and brothers, Elizabet had known that for a good couple of weeks. Then this morning her father told her that the FitzChivalries had sent over a servant, Marianne had sent her regrets but she wasn’t going to make it either. Still, Elizabet would be damned if she was going to spend the first day of her break sitting around the estate doing nothing.

It was, in fact, a perfect day for finding some of those trails that Marianne was too chicken to ride and Vivi preferred to avoid as well, she said she always felt like she was going to tip off. Well, of course she felt that way, that’s why Elizabet rode astride rather than side saddle when she was going on trails like that.

But what should have been a good day of riding, just her and Honey and practically the whole riding park was actually setting up to be a not so good day after all. It felt like someone was taking a pin and pricking her up and down her spine. Every branch that creaked in the faint breeze, every dry leaf that crackled seemed like an executioner’s drum. Like something horrible was ahead.

Once Honey had picked her way down out of the trees into a meadow, Elizabet climbed out of the saddle, her nervousness was obviously translating itself to the horse because it felt like she was about to bolt. And Elizabet was nowhere near big enough and strong enough to wrench the horse’s head if the mare spooked.

If she had taken half a dozen steps before she realized that she had made a mistake, she’d have been surprised, that single pin was suddenly dozens, every instinct telling her to get out of that clearing and do it yesterday.

She’d just started to move toward the stirrup when the rustling of grass and something internal told her it might already be too late. She looked up at the easiest way out of the meadow.

“Lord Rance.” Elizabet’s heart sunk. Her father had many acquaintances who were just fine, but Rance–he gave off the same vibe that Cox did, one that said that he was not… safe?

Outwardly, he was just another man, a counsel member, one that her father had been trying to court around to an alliance for a while now. So far as Elizabet knew though, he’d never found anything that Rance had wanted. Rance had a son who would be starting at the Academy at the start of the next year–so it wasn’t entirely–weird that he would be in River Sulis, or even that he’d be riding in the park.

But she knew, in that way that she could never say how, that this was not right.

He slid out of his saddle and Elizabet bit her lip, hard.

“Ah, Lady Elizabet, just the lass I was hoping to see.” Elizabet’s throat went dry. Why would he want to see her?

“I guess the luck is more with you than me, Lord Rance.” Elizabet said.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Rance stalked toward her at a ground eating lope that was as intimidating in it’s purposefulness as having Rance suddenly looming over her was. “Some people would count this as their lucky day.” He swept up one of the plaits hanging over her shoulders, twining the blonde strands around his fingers for a moment.

“Somehow, I seriously doubt that I’m going to be one of them.” Elizabet said, grabbing her plait and pulling it out of his hands, repressing an urge to shudder.

“Well, what you think is hardly relevant.” Rance told her with a matter of fact tone that Elizabet didn’t like at all. “I’m just taking what I am owed.”

“Owed? What are you going on about.”

“Your father has tried for years to find something that could sway me ’round to an alliance with him. He’s got a block, you know, on this edge of the country. Only Firth and Rance don’t vote en block with your father. The Earl of Firth hates your father’s guts and I truly think he’s given up on it as the earl’s heir feels much the same way. He’s figured out ways to work around Firth.” Lord Rance smiled, it wasn’t a pleasant thing. “However, I have been on occasion both a help and a hindrance. I’ve never found any reason to make it easy for him. He’s never had anything I’ve wanted–until recently.”

“However, one evening–at a quaint little tavern that I sometimes frequent–your father’s steward, Masen, happened to catch up with me–and it so happened that your father had come into something I was interested in.” Rance was moving closer to Elizabet with the same purposefulness that he had crossed the meadow with. She had a sneaking suspicion that she knew what he was interested in.

“You see, Lady Elizabet, it is so hard to find such things–They’re very easily broken.” He said in a musing tone.

“Well, I’m not that easily broken.” Elizabet snarled, refusing to be cowed by this jackass.

“All the better.” Rance almost purred in a thoroughly disturbing tone.

“I don’t care what you think you’re owed–or what my father agreed to, you’ve got about two seconds to stop touching me or you’re going to regret it.” She slapped his hand away from her hair. Rance just laughed. He caught her shoulders and forced her back toward Honey’s side, pinning her more or less against the horse. Honey whuffled in surprise, but otherwise stood firm, trapping Elizabet.

She shoved at his chest when he let go of her arms enough that she could. Rance’s chuckle was just fuel for the fire that was suddenly racing up Elizabet’s spine. She was not going to be another one of Rance’s “broken toys”. He was just enough off balance from her shoving that when she kicked him in the knee, he took a step back. She used the newly won space to get one good gut punch in.

He gasped a moment for breath, but when he caught it–and her–he was smiling. He liked this.

Catching her hands up in his left, he belted her across the face. A few moments of struggle later–his nose slightly crooked and bleeding profusely from her elbow slamming repeatedly into it. Her cheeks on fire from where his slaps had split them. Her nose was dripping blood too, but she didn’t think her nose was broken as his surely was. He hit her hard enough to send her reeling.

She didn’t think she passed out–exactly, but everything had gone all fuzzy and when it cleared, her riding habit was tossed off into the grass on one side and he was drooling against her neck–actually drooling–like a dog. The feeling of that sliding down her neck forced a reaction out of her. She lashed out with a foot and caught him hard in the gut. He made a surprised wumph and crossed his arms across his torso.

Elizabet squirmed up into something of a sitting position, the two of them staring at each other for a long moment, then he leaned forward, his lips stirring her hair as he spoke. “I love it when you fight. So many of them just cry and squall. It’s so much better when you fight, bitch.”

As if something in the core of her had been embers that were suddenly fed paper and stirred, fire raced along every nerve ending in her body. She snarled something–some words that didn’t make any sense–except they did. Rance had about enough time to look uncertain and back up a few feet before a bolt of lightning screamed through the tortured air and wrapped around him.

Two more bolts, in quick succession, hit him square, the third knocked her to the side and she collapsed, face down, into the meadow’s soft green grass as rain began to fall as if the very sky were crying for her.

—

Darin and Brandon had about enough time to scramble after Josh who took off as if he knew exactly where he was going–but nowhere near enough time to ask if he by any chance knew were he was going. He cut through some of the thickest trees seeming like a shadow except his bright flag of hair.

A few minutes, enough time for a couple other rumbles of thunder to crash down somewhere ahead, they broke through the trees into a meadow. Two horses, one a butterscotch colored mare, the other a very ordinary seeming chestnut gelding were grazing on the ground, seemingly unconcerned about what had happened in the meadow.

Given what Darin knew about horses, they should have been bolted for the four winds by now, not grazing calmly.

On the other side of the butterscotch horse who whuffled at Josh as he passed and he patted the mare’s nose absently–it sorta seemed like all hell had broken loose. A blonde girl was flung to one side, a scarlet riding habit balled up and tossed off to the other. It was obviously the girl’s because she was only wearing underwear.

“Bet.” Josh sobbed, kneeling by her side and reaching out to stroke her hair. Feeling very much the outsider as Brandon knelt by the girl as well. He had little sisters–he probably had a better idea than Darin did what to do with–all this.

But if he wasn’t going to look at Elizabet, his eyes were drawn to the–other person in the meadow. Electricity crackled over the man’s skin still. Sparking and shooting little miniature bolts of lighting out into the muggy air.

He was groaning–the occasional tortured sounding breath escaping from his mouth which was twisted and split. He was obviously dying and even had that best doctor been on sight, nothing they did would have changed that. A gasp behind him dropped his stomach as even seeing Elizabet’s crumpled riding habit and the dying man hadn’t.

Stupid, Darin! Stupid! He maybe had remembered to tell the kids to stay with the horses–but of course they weren’t going to. They were kids–curious enough for six cats. He should have been smart enough to stay with them. To wait where he was. Now he was going to die, probably painfully, when his sister and Raven realized that the kids had seen someone die because he was an idiot.

And that fate would be reserved for if the kids didn’t figure out what had happened to Elizabet. If they had any inclination of what Elizabet in her unmentionables meant, Sara-Beth would go hunt up the bonephone itself and bring him back so she could keep killing him.

He heard some stirring behind him and took his attention off Anna-Marie and the other kids for just a second to see Elizabet climbing disorientedly to her feet. Josh caught her when she stumbled and her breath hissed between her teeth half in pain, half in reaction before she buried her face in her brother’s coat.

The man on the ground flopped for a moment like a fish, flipping onto his back, before blood spewed out of his mouth in a miniature fountain, eyes half-open.

“Is he–?” Brandon asked. Darin, much as he didn’t want to, but feeling probably the most qualified to make the call, went over to where the man lay, now still a hand under his nose indicated no breath, a touch to the neck, wrist, and chest indicated no flutter of heartbeat. He was dead.

“Aye.” Darin said. “My sister’s a nurse, she taught me–y’know?” Brandon looked puzzled, but seemingly more by the idea that Darin would think that he’d question him than by the pronouncement.

“He’s, he’s, he’s…?” Bronx gasped. Shit!

“We’ve got more trouble than that.” Josh said finally. “That’s Rance. And Rance doesn’t go to the pot without at least a couple of guards around. He wouldn’t want them that close, if–well.” Josh trailed off. “And they probably don’t know exactly where he is–was?” Josh looked at the body like he wished it would stir again so he could tear it to bits as he pulled his sister a little closer to his shoulder.

“But they’ll be coming.” Brandon agreed. “I’m not sure why that’s more trouble, though. He got struck by lightning.”

“He just happened to get struck by lightning while attacking my sister? You really think anyone will buy that was a coincidence given our family history?” Josh asked.

“But can’t your father do something about it? I mean no offense, Josh, but nothing goes in or out of River Sulis without your father’s saying it can.” Brandon pointed out.

“Father told him he could.” Elizabet’s voice shook and sounded more like an echo than like the vivacious girl that Darin was coming to know. “He wanted an alliance with Rance–and I was–the payment they…” Josh drew in his breath and muttered something into Elizabet’s hair.

“Like I said. We’ve got trouble.” Josh closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Okay, Brandon–get Bet out of here. We can force father’s publicity machine to cover our asses, but only if those guards can’t connect Bet being attacked with Rance’s death. Darin–will the kids talk?”

“Only to their parents, probably–and then more about,” He jerked his head toward the body. They didn’t even seem aware–as of yet–of Elizabet. Maybe that was because between the horse and the fact that she was clinging to Josh like ivy to an old stone wall, they just couldn’t see that she was more naked than dressed. Maybe. “I’ll–um–see what I can do.” Darin said. Not certain what he would do, but needing–somehow–to make some sort of promise given the look in the other boy’s eyes.

“Okay, get the kids out of here too.” Josh said. “I’ll bullshit the guards, I’m good at that, and can pull rank if worse comes to worse.”

“Anna-Marie.” Darin called the girl over. She and her friends came to where Darin stood, giving wide birth to the dead man in the grass. “I need you to go back to the pond, go back to the horses, we’ll get you there. And take care of Bronx for me–and Starla, okay? Can you do that for me?” Anna-Marie’s hands shook but she nodded. Her head had barely completed one full nod before the other kids were taking off for the pond at a run. He voiced a silent prayer to the Lord Wright that he would keep those kids at least sort of sane.

“I should–I should go with them, shouldn’t I?” Darin asked as Anna-Marie’s yellow dress disappeared at last into the ring of trees.

“No–please–I–please?” Josh asked. Darin had about enough time to nod before the sound of horses making their way up the incline hit his ears.

Josh squared his shoulders, pulling around him an aura of Lord Joshua, son of the baron of River Sulis as thick as Darin had ever seen it and he strode over to where Rance’s horse stood at the mouth of the path. He heard the jingle and thump of two men dismounting and braced himself.

“What’s going on here?” One of the two guardsmen in the emerald green of the Gwynedd family demanded.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Josh’s voice was haughty. “Shouldn’t you have been here attending to your lord rather than leaving him to die alone like some common rabble in the grass?”

“Die?” The other one asked.

“Who are you to ask me anything?” The first sneered.

“Lord Joshua, son of the Baron,” his eyes flickered over the man’s plain surcote. “Unless your father has very messed up priorities, guardsman, I would say that alone gives me every right to question your actions.” The guardsman flushed.

“Begging your pardon, my lord.” He said dropping his eyes.

“I’ll consider it.” Joshua shook his hair back from his face, how he managed to do it, given the water that was currently dragging Darin’s hair into his eyes, Darin would never know. “As to what happened here, Lord Rance was struck by lightning.”

“Just his lordship?” The guardsman asked shrewdly.

“We heard a lass scream.” The second guardsman added.

“My sister, the lady Elizabet was nearby, I believe she was thrown when her horse was spooked by the lightning striking so near. I had one of my companions accompany her back to our estate.” Josh said calmly.

“But.” The first guardsman’s eyes narrowed.

“But? Is there something else that I should know, guardsman?” Josh demanded. The guardsman obviously knew that Rance was going to be with Elizabet, it was clear on his face–but the only people who would be able to back up that version of events were either dead or damned unlikely to admit he set his own daughter up to be raped, which is the only way the baron would have foreknowledge.

“No, no, sir, m’lord. Haynes.” He obviously knew he was trapped, instead turning to the second guardsman. “Go see to his lordship.”

“Yes, sir!” When the first guardsman had his back to Josh to go back toward the horses and the second had his back to Josh walking toward the dead nobleman, Josh turned and met Darin’s eyes. He mimed wiping sweat off his forehead and Darin shot him a grin.

Ververe 29th, 1513 – Outskirts of River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

Eric stood up as he heard the unfamiliar clatter of horse hooves stopping outside. He was used to hearing them continue on down the street toward Sara-Beth’s by now, but he wasn’t used to hearing the sound of a horse being tied up to his post box. His mouth was a little dry. Johnny might have been a bit more troublesome at home, but Anna-Marie was all spit and spark like her mother without her mother’s natural sense of when to cut it back.

She was absolutely fearless when she thought she was on the right track–and he worried for her so much. His heart leapt a bit higher into his throat when he heard the familiar clatter of slippers running across the front enterway, followed by a slower yet equally familiar gait–Darin’s–following.

About half a heartbeat later, he was sure it was a half, he was paying very close attention, Anna-Marie burst through the door and without even acknowledging him, tore off in the direction of her bedroom, the door shutting with a slam he hadn’t expected to hear for another five years yet.

Darin paused for a moment to shut the front door, but then turned toward Anna-Marie’s room. He glanced down at his hands, obviously avoiding Eric’s eyes, and muttered something that sounded like “Sorry, Mr. Osmont.”

Eric took a moment to remind himself to breath and hurried immediately to Anna-Marie’s door. He hesitated for a moment before knocking. Anna-Marie didn’t say anything, he looked over his shoulder at Darin who shrugged. Eric had always wanted to be a parent who could allow his children as much privacy as he could. But sometimes it was more important to be papa than to be polite.

If his baby-girl was in there crying, then obviously Papa was needed more than the manners his gram had beat into him one ruler across the knuckles at a time. He opened the door. Anna-Marie had flung herself across the bed, her hair like a black waterfall trickling over the edges and falling down toward the floor.

“Little bear?” Eric asked softly. It took about as much time as two blinks for her to push up off the bed and launch herself into his midsection with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. She clung for about an exhale before leaning her head against his torso. His daughter was shivering with reaction and if he was any judge just about to–

She covered her face with hands that shook like dry leaves in a windstorm and sobbed.

“Oh, baby. My little bear, my poor little bear.” He murmured into her soft hair as he squatted down to hold her. “Papa’s here.” He told her. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

“He’s dead, Papa! He’s dead!” Anna-Marie sobbed out.

—

Earlier that day.

“Anna-Marie, we can’t just ask!” Elias said tugging on her sleeve, pulling her around to face him. It was the first morning of Hybel break at school and it had dawned hot, muggy, sticky, and a general slice of something that just lacked a few cow demons to make it Hell. And everyone knew that the best way to spend hot, muggy, sticky summer days was fishin’–and everyone equally knew that the best fishin’ was at the pond in the big park that the nobles rode their horse ’round.

Only problem was they weren’t actually supposed to go fish there. It was the nobles park and that was just like the nobles, they didn’t even fish at that pond, but it was theirs and so nobody else was supposed to use it. But she knew–mostly because Sara-Beth had been griping to her mother as they’d done their washing–that Darry was supposed to be going riding at that very park with his friends today.

“What does it hurt to ask?” Anna-Marie asked, looking at Starla and Bronx for confirmation. Starla shrugged. She would, she was terribly wishy-washy, whatever way the tide goes, that was what her mama said. Bronx just looked sad–and scared–and like he was about to cry. She’d mostly invited him along because he looked like was going to cry. And Starla’s bleeding heart started bleeding all over the place as Anna-Marie’s mama liked to put it and she had insisted that they had to make him feel better.

Well, given that he wouldn’t talk about what was wrong–beyond the fact that he was Romeo’s brother–she’d probably be pretty sad if she were related to Romeo too.

“Who is that?” Starla whispered, pointing toward the blonde man who had his back toward them at the moment.

“I think that’s Darin’s friend, Joshua.”

“The baron’s son?” Elias squeaked.

“Don’t. Be. A. Chicken.” Anna-Marie said. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“Huh?” All three of the others looked at her in puzzlement.

“I think it means if you don’t try, you won’t get anything.” Anna-Marie said after a long moment.

“Where did you hear it said that way though?” Bronx asked. Anna-Marie thought for a moment. Where did she hear that said? She just remembered hearing it somewhere and she thought some lady had said it.

“Dunno. Look, they’re done talking, now let’s ask before they leave. The worst that can happen is they say no. And ‘sides, Elias, the only way to get permission to go fish in the nobles’ pond is to ask a noble, and I dunno about you, but I don’t know that many nobles.” Elias didn’t look convinced, then again he usually didn’t look convinced by Anna-Marie’s logic, but they moved up toward where Darry and the blonde man that Anna-Marie thought was Lord Joshua stood.

“Hey, guys.” Darry said with a smile.

“So, um, are you gonna go ride horses?” Anna-Marie asked looking over at the two saddled horses picketed by the street.

“I believe that was the plan.” Darry told her. “Why?” Darry was probably one of those people that her mama would say knew her too well–whatever that meant.

“Cause I was wonderin’–we wanna go fishin’.” Anna-Marie offered.

“Uh-huh.” The corner of Darry’s lips was poking up as if he were starting to smile a little.

“An’ you know that the best fishin’ is at that pond on the riding grounds.” She added in a hurry.

“It is?” Lord Joshua asked, his voice bewildered. Darry nodded with a smirk. “And you know this how?”

“A holdover of a misspent youth.” Darry shrugged with a grin. “Anyway, your point?”

“Mama says we’re not ‘posed to go without permission of a noble–and Mister Lord Joshua is a nobleman, right?” Anna-Marie shot a look at Lord Joshua who–rather like Darry–looked like he was trying to keep from laughing.

“So what you want is permission to go fish there?” Darry asked, his eyebrow arched upward. Anna-Marie nodded so fast her hair bounced and made weird little noises when it hit the back of her dress.

“I don’t see why not.” Lord Joshua drawled. “Seems like you are the only people fishing that pond anyway.” He winked at Anna-Marie who blushed for some silly reason. “I’ll let the caretaker know that you and your friends have permission and not to run you off if they see you there.”

A whole summer of the best fishing in the whole town and even Anna-Marie’s mama couldn’t argue with it. Anna-Marie threw her arms around Lord Joshua’s middle and gave him a tight hug. It sorta felt like he had several rocks shoved into the front of his shirt, it was that firm.

“Anna-Marie!” Elias hissed. “You’re hugging the baron’s son!” Anna-Marie blushed again and quickly withdrew. Lord Joshua just laughed.

“Seeing as we’re all going the same direction.” Lord Joshua said after ruffling Anna-Marie’s hair. “Why don’t we all just go together.”

“I can’t walk as fast as a horse.” Elias muttered toward his shoes.

“We’ll walk the horses and you guys can ride.” Lord Joshua said as their eyes all lit up.

—

Anna-Marie grinned as she grabbed a worm and skewered the squirmy thing on her hook. Darry’s friend, Brandon shook his head. “What?” Lord Joshua asked from where he letting his horse drink out of the pond by where Anna-Marie stood.

“Just I have a little sister about Miss Anna-Marie’s age and I could never imagine her–ever–under any circumstances touching a worm, let alone skimming it onto a hook.”

“How does she fish?” Bronx asked.

“She’s a lady, I think my mother would have apoplexy and die if her daughters–any of them–ever fished.” Brandon said as Darry and Josh laughed.

“Well then, tell Marianne she needs to take up fishing, maybe between the poker and the fishing your mother will have that fit. Not that I wish her dead–but Sara-Beth says that sometimes apoplexy can cause people to be struck dumb–which I might wish on your mother–it would keep her from constantly calling me “the scholarship boy” like it’s my name.” Darin leaned against the black horse that Starla and Bronx had ridden up on.

“Somehow I don’t see it.” Brandon said. “But speaking of Marianne. She wanted me to tell you that she hoped Elizabet was feeling better.” Lord Joshua blinked and stared at Brandon.

“Feeling better?” Lord Joshua asked, sounding bewildered.

“Aye, your father sent over a servant that said that Elizabet was feeling under the weather and so they’d have to cancel their ride this morning.” Brandon told him.

“Bet was feeling fine, in fact she left at the same time I did.” Lord Joshua said.

“I saw the boy myself and heard the message. It was the little dark-haired boy your mother usually uses as a page.” Brandon said.

Obviously paying more attention to the conversation behind him than his fishing pole, Elias managed to hook his shirt collar with the hook and yank himself over. “Do not tell your brother about this.” He said, brushing off his butt and glaring at Bronx, who dropped his eyes to his shoes, looking about like he was going to cry again.

“I don’t tell my brother nothin’.” He muttered. “And I certainly wouldn’t tell him nothin’ that’d let him make fun of me or nobody else.” Elias glanced down at his own shoes and muttered something like “sorry” to them.

Starla, who actually was making the best accounting of herself–even if Anna-Marie would almost have pegged her the kind of lady that Brandon said his sister was–reached out and patted Bronx’s shoulder.

“Why would my father send a servant over to your house that Bet was sick, though, if she’s not?” Lord Joshua had about enough time to wonder before he heard it–they all heard it. The sound of a girl’s terrified scream and just the time to take a breath later, a sharp crack of thunder close, very, very close.

“Elizabet!” Lord Joshua screamed, a look of horror shot across his face as rain seemed to be ripped from the sky.

—

Later

“Who is dead?” Eric asked, stroking Anna-Marie’s hair and rubbing her shaking shoulders. One of her friends? Someone Darin knew? Who?

“The–the man from church.” Anna-Marie said. “On Sunday. The man who was with the Baron at church.”

Seryl 10th, 1513 – Carico Estate, Lothianshire, Albion

“If you don’t mind my saying… you are an idiot, brother dear. I love you. But you’re an idiot.” A voice whispered in Josh’s ear, causing him to jump and almost slam the library door.

Being a year older certainly hadn’t softened his sister any. Well, with Bet, he supposed that was only to be expected. He was a thin cover of fragile marble laid over a marshmallow center, Elizabet was diamond from the core out, only her physical appearance usually granted her any softness at all.

Tonight, however, even the usual softness granted to her by her hair and the clothing she wore had been traded for something else. Her costume, that of Lady Morgan le Fay, added an extra physical hardness to her. She certainly was shades of a legend in it, but if there was something that the Lady Morgan of legend and Elizabet shared, it was a distinct lack of the appellation “soft”.

“How,” his voice cracked slightly. He coughed into his hand and tried again. “How do you mean?”

“This is just like you, Josh. Just go in and talk to him.” Elizabet shoved at his shoulder. “I promise nothing’s changed.”

“That’s what you think.” Josh muttered. Elizabet rolled her eyes.

“Okay, let me rephrase that, except what’s going on in here.” She paused to tap the side of Josh’s head with a long finger. “Nothing has changed with him. You’re a better host than that.” Josh was starting to feel like Benoit, that was to say lost, in what should be a simple conversation to follow. He’d been doing okay until that sharp left turn at the end there. “Darin came to my party because you asked, in fact I’m pretty sure, given how much he protested whenever the party came up in conversation, that you insisted that he come.”

She sighed. “So he came and his date is in the ballroom chatting up other people and he’s hiding in the library with Ri, only she at least is pretending that she is interested in that book of poetry she’s holding, and he’s staring at the Orkney crest on the wall.” Elizabet shook her head one of the flowers woven into the dark strands of her hair threatening to slide out. “It is your duty as host of this event–and as the person who invited him–to make sure that Darin has a good time. So.” She poked him hard through the sleeve of his doublet. “Oww.” She complained. “What do you keep under that thing, Josh? Rocks?” She wandered off still muttering about how nothing good could come from a birthday where she hurt her finger on her brother’s bicep.

“You have better manners than that, Joshua Piers!” She called from the dining room door, waggling a finger in his direction. She was right, of course, damn her. He did have better manners than that. But she didn’t understand.

It had all started in the reception line. He’d caught sight of Darin in his costume as Florian Carey, the later years steward of Earl Pellinore, a rather ironic choice, as Florian was said to have a very peculiar sense of humor and a distinct sense of whimsy. Darin, so far as Josh had ever seen, had no sense of humor and wouldn’t know whimsy if it bit him in the arse. He could never imagine Darin holding a record for being kicked out of the most taverns in his time in Albion, managing to even beat Captain Jessiah Andavri for the record!

The blonde wig didn’t suit him. Josh had decided as he nodded in response to whatever Lord Henry had just muttered to him, briefly losing sight of Darin to the huge puffed shoulders of Lady Henry’s costume. It made his face look sallow and drawn, contrasting badly with the dusky tone of his skin and reinforcing the hollow hopelessness that was almost always lurking in Darin’s blue eyes.

He needed–he needed… His mind was pulled back onto what he was supposed to be paying attention to, which was the receiving line, by the sound of Lady Henry simpering to his mother.

“Oh, Lady Marisol, I was so grieved to hear that Lord Jayson would be missing this. I know that Henry wouldn’t have missed our girls debuts for anything. I would half expect him to crawl out of the grave to be at Julia’s. Such a shame that he couldn’t make it back from Camelot in time.”

Josh’s mother was obviously trying to wrangle whatever sharp thing that had been building behind her teeth into something appropriate to say at a party when the tension was defused by an unlady-like snort from the woman behind Lady Henry in the receiving line.

“What?” Lady Henry turned, affronted.

“Oh, nothing, I am sure you are terribly grieved,” Madame Cox smiled as she gave Elizabet a hug. “I, unfortunately, have mixed feelings on the whole thing. It certainly is a shame that the baron will miss this.” She winked at Elizabet. “But it does mean that Masen is still in Camelot too, which kind of dries any tears I might have over the whole thing.” Elizabet covered her mouth with her hand, probably covering a giggle as well. Josh’s mother was too well schooled to smirk, but he thought he detected a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips too.

“Surely you wouldn’t stand for Master Masen missing your own daughter’s debut!” Lady Henry asked, planting her hands on her hips. Lord Henry was looking like he was praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“It would honestly depend on why he was missing it.” Madame Cox said, ignoring Lady Henry’s stance to lean in and kiss Marisol’s cheek. “After all, the universe is the Lord Wright’s to control and not ours. And certainly should it be fire, flood, or act of Wright that was preventing him from being there, he’d be excused in my eyes!” She fluttered her lashes in Lady Henry’s direction.

Lady Henry stormed off to where Lord Henry stood waiting looking like he still wanted to be swallowed by the paving stones, forgetting to say anything to Josh at all. “What?” She hissed at him.

“I told you not to get into that with Lady Marisol, Katherine. It’s not like she’d miss that it was a jab at her.” Lord Henry muttered before heading off toward the house, their murmured conversation fading as they went. Madame Cox, then the Captain and Mrs. Cox followed through without further incident when Josh caught sight of Darin and his date as well.

“You might as well come up, Darin, we’ve already spotted you.” Elizabet called to the pair at the bottom of the stairs. “And you’ll have to forgive me for asking who this lovely young lady you’re escorting is.”

“This is Eve Rose.” Darin said. Marisol’s eyebrow shot up as she looked over her shoulder at Josh who shrugged. Actually he had known that Darin was planning on inviting Eve, but there was no way to gently break that bit of information to his mother, so he would just pretend that he hadn’t known. Whether it worked was anyone’s guess.

“Rose–any relation to Reginald? Or to Guardsman Colby?” Elizabet asked curiously.

“Aye.” Eve said with a smile. It was Elizabet’s turn to look at Josh, only her expression was puzzled. He shrugged again. “They’re my brothers.”

“Oh–I didn’t know that Colby was related to Reginald.” Elizabet said faintly.

“We don’t make much of a deal of it. There are people,” Eve looked at the back of Miguel’s gaudy tunic as it was disappearing into the distance. “who would make it into something it isn’t. Call Colby’s loyalty to the guard into question when there’s no need for it. He wouldn’t do that.” Elizabet nodded in seeming understanding, probably actual understanding, if Josh could follow it, then Elizabet could more than likely follow it that much easier. Not for the first time he thought that River Sulis would have a much brighter future if there were some way that he could step aside and let his sister take the barony when their father died. The last thing this town needed was an idiot like him in a position of rank.

As Eve, Josh’s mother, and sister fell into easy discussion of the various costumes, Josh was pinned in place by Darin’s blue eyes. A wave of something that he had been trying–for months–to ignore or mislabel swept over him. And like a sharp slap to the face it was impossible to mistake it for anything else, that wave of lust, woven tight with softer things; hope, comfort, security, (love?) all wrapped up in a pulse of “want, want, want”. When that one single, perfect moment passed, between one heartbeat and the next, a second wave of much more familiar emotion rolled in: hopelessness, cowardice, panic on the verge of physical pain. Still, he had been trained from the cradle to keep up appearances, and so he murmured out some mechanical formula to Darin and then to Eve. They too turned down the path toward the house. All Josh wanted to do was run. But he couldn’t. It was Elizabet’s debut party and he, despite what he wanted, had a job to do. He was the host.

Still, that was what had lead to him standing out in the hallway lurking outside the library. Knowing that Darin was miserable and that it was his duty, his responsibility to make him happier or at least more comfortable–but–being a coward and as Bet so gently reminded him, an idiot. Oh, he didn’t want to mess up everything he’d built with Darin with him being stupid. Darin had forgiven him a lot, including everything that had happened that night, but he’d never forgive him for this. And Josh would never forgive himself if he ever let on.

But Darin saw right to the quick on so many things, how could he hide this from him?

He had hated himself lots and lots of times, but never more than in the stasis he found himself in standing outside the door to the library. The question “why” pounding in his head in time to the pounding of his heart. Why me? Why him? Why now? Why this? Why-why-why?

He took a step back as a group of his father’s contemporaries headed for the library–or maybe the balcony outside of it where they could smoke their pipes and talk about things that sometime in the next ten years society dictated would become the very most important things.

A moment later, the door to the library opened and Josh caught sight of a green sleeve, hurriedly he turned toward an arrangement of roses on a side table and began fiddling with the positioning.

Darin hesitated for a moment, but apparently the ruse worked, for he turned and wandered off in the direction of the bulk of the party. Still caught up in self-loathing, still hating himself for doing it, Josh followed along silent as a shadow and just as insignificant.

Darin seated himself on one of the gold settes in the corner of the room. Josh’s mother had been threatening for years to recover them, firmly of the opinion that the gold didn’t go–but she hadn’t found a fabric that she liked in their place, so there they stayed.

“There’s a seat open, Darin.” Dell said jerking his chin at the empty seat at one of the card tables. “Oww. What was that for?” He reached down to rub his right shin.

“For being stupid.” Severus said. Josh sighed to himself. Being stupid indeed.

“Are you sure?” Jules asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Nah, I’m not much of a poker player.” Liar, Josh thought, Darin was a helluva card sharp, Josh knew he played a lot with his own friends. He just didn’t play with Josh’s friends. It was just a lot of tutoring sessions to put into stakes. They thought nothing of tossing in a few silvers to a “friendly” game. Darin had to think of it, he didn’t have the luxury of thinking that money was unimportant.

“Besides, I’m more fascinated by the schoolteacher hustling the nun at billiards.” Darin joked, jerking his head toward where the Mrs. Coxes were playing an absolutely cutthroat game. Madame Cox laughed before turning toward Josh, who was still lurking in the doorway, eyebrow arched. Josh hurried into the room, trying not to look like he was hurrying. Somehow he didn’t think it worked to fool her. He dropped, hopefully casually, into the seat next to Darin.

“I meant to ask, Madame Cox, who are you supposed to be?” Charlie asked, turning in his chair to look over his shoulder.

“See, that’s the trouble with attempting to be clever,” she said to the room at large. “You never know if you’re succeeding in being clever or if you’re missing the mark. Heloise.”

“Pardon?”

“Heloise–the elder daughter of the first branch of Wesleyans in Albion. She’s a distant ancestor of mine or so the family legend goes.”

“The one who published all those scandalous treatises?”

“Aye.” Madame Cox said. “We both share a talent for saying things that are–mildly–scandalous.” Mrs. Cox choked. “Oh, c’mon, those books weren’t so bad.” She nudged the woman dressed in the nun’s habit with her elbow.

“Yes, Annette, they were!”

“They’re educational at the very least.” Madame Cox said blandly.

“I could have gone my whole life without that kind of education.” Mrs. Cox said primly. “It’s your turn.”

“So,” Josh said almost freezing again when Darin turned those heart-of-the-ocean blue eyes on him. “How you are doing?” Darin’s brow rose sharply, though it was half obscured by the blonde strands falling in his face.

“Words fail me.” Darin said. Aye, I was afraid of that. Josh thought.

“Hmmm. Well would you say it’s on par with the historical epic–or is it more like that Reman poetry recital?” Josh asked.

“More like that one time I walked into the hall by the salle and saw Brother Loki with his tongue in Brother Dustin’s mouth.” Darin told him blandly.

“Yeesh.” Josh said.

“Wait, you saw Loki kissing Dustin–and you didn’t tell us?” Edouard asked, slurring just slightly. His head was going to kill him in the morning. It was a good thing that they had the week off of courses. Of course it was no real surprise that he’d hit the bottle at any occasion. Josh didn’t know what he was drinking to forget, but he’d lay a month’s pocket money that whatever it was… it was something serious.

“…Aye.” Darin said after a long moment.

“Why?”

“I guess cause they–um–like each other? Why do most people kiss?” Josh couldn’t see Darin’s expression, but could hear his eyes rolling in his voice.

“No, I mean why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I know what you’d likely do with the knowledge.” Darin asked. “C’mon, I’m the orphaned street rat, you’re the gentlemen. If I have the manners not to gossip and make fun of them, you should know better yourselves, but that’s never stopped you before. What business is it of any of ours if Loki and Dustin are–um–fond of each other?”

“Father Remi says that it’s a mortal sin.” Jules said rubbing the back of his neck.

Josh heard Darin’s sharp intake of breath and nudged him slightly. “Well, if  Father Remi said that the sky was blue, I would probably go stick my head outside and check that it hadn’t turned green with violet spots before I believed it.” Darin said folding his arms over his chest and slumping back into the settee.

Josh leaned toward him and murmured “Nicely said.” by his ear. Darin glanced and him and shrugged again. Josh nodded and stared at his boots for a long moment, trying to pull his heart back out of his throat and into his chest where it belonged, feeling the hammering of his pulse to the soles of his feet. What am I going to do?

Surrounded by strangers I thought were my friends, I found myself further and further from my home.

Tyves 1st, 1513 – Carico estate, River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

“Bet? What are you doing out here?” Josh asked as he walked down the stairs toward the stables where the two horses he asked to be saddled were waiting for him.

“Are you going somewhere?” Elizabet asked, without answering.

“Do you need me to stay?” He’d figure out some way to do it, if Elizabet were in trouble or having one of those feelings again. He didn’t quite know how, but he would. His “plans” for the evening could go hang, especially as he didn’t want to go at all.

“Nope. Just wondering why you have two horses saddled, there’s only one of you…” She turned toward him with a grin. “It’s a bit late for a ride isn’t it? I mean unless it’s supposed to be a moonlight ride with someone pretty.” She clasped her hands together under her chin and fluttered her lashes at him.

“No, I’m going to go throw myself on Darin’s mercy.” Josh rolled his eyes, stepping forward to smooth the saddle blanket hanging on Shade. “I’ve got–something I have to go do and I don’t want to go do it alone.” He added after a moment.

“Oh, well, it’s still with someone pretty.” Elizabet gave her best romance heroine sigh. He shook his head.

“Aren’t you too young to be noticing if my friends are pretty or not?” Josh asked. Elizabet stuck her tongue out at him.

“In case you didn’t notice, dear brother, I will be turning twelve next month. That would mean it’s time for father to step up the ol’ husband hunt. So, if society says I’m almost old enough to start looking for a future husband, I’m probably old enough to notice how your friends look.” Elizabet pointed out with that razor-sharp logic that never particularly failed to skewer him. “Besides, pretty is an aesthetic thing. I don’t think you have to necessarily want to bed someone to know if they’re pretty or not.”

“You are in an amazingly good mood tonight, Bet. Should I be afraid for snakes in my bed?” Josh teased, however it was true. Usually Elizabet was nowhere near this jocular.

“Apparently you haven’t heard then. Goody! Father is going to Camelot for a full month at court. He leaves Monday and won’t be back until my birthday, I think.” Elizabet rocked up onto her toes and did a pirouette.

“You’re not sure if he leaves Monday or if he’ll be back for your birthday?” Josh asked. Though that totally explained Elizabet’s mood. The whole household from their mother straight down to the lowest servant breathed just a little easier when Jayson was–elsewhere, especially for a long period of time, but no one more than he and Elizabet.

“He leaves Monday, I imagine he’ll be back for my birthday.” Elizabet said shaking her head. “Though if the Lord Wright were listening, a freak summer blizzard in Seryl that kept father away until after whatever Wright-awful extravaganza mother is planning to celebrate my birth would be the cream.”

“I think that’s asking a bit much, even for the Lord Wright, Bet.” Josh pointed out.

“Drat.” Elizabet sighed. “Well, maybe a rainstorm. Something that washes out a bridge or something.” Josh chuckled.

“But I’m keeping you from that something you don’t really want to do, aren’t I?” Elizabet asked. Josh nodded reluctantly. “Well, who knows, maybe it’ll go better than you expect.” She shrugged and grinned before hugging him around the waist and running off toward the house.

—

Outskirts of River Sulis

A hard knock on the door almost made Darin jump. He had been reading a book that Father Valen had lent him about the first Duchess of Orkney, Lady Morgause. It had been written by a contemporary of hers, but as it had been published under a pseudonym there was some controversy as to who had actually written it. The leading candidate in current analysis was Lady Guinevere. But Father Valen had told him that he thought that if the first duchess of Avilion were going to pen all about Morgause, she’d have put her name right at the front of it.

Others believed that it might have been St. Galahad, but again that was suspect, he also would have written under his own name more than likely, considering the heretical nature of some of his treatises. Plus, most of Galahad’s writings were written in such an enthusiastic, bright tone, as if there were just this wealth of knowledge inside his head that he had to share. Even as he had grown older and perhaps more jaded, certainly more world-weary, that tone hadn’t changed.

Valen had suggested, and Darin, after a few chapters, tended to agree, that it might well have been written by Lady Dindrane. It lined up rather well with some of the lady’s other writings in tone and personality, plus there were certain references that indicated that the author had had a true and honest fear of the woman. The fear that might have come from actually having lived with the woman? That was what Father Valen had thought.

He set the book on the table, unable restrain a shiver as he did it, even though he was fairly certain that it wasn’t Lady Morgause at his door.

“Josh?” Darin’s eyebrow crept up toward his hairline. “What are you doing here?” Josh turned around and offered him a smile.

“Throwing myself on your mercy.” Josh pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and grimaced.

“Oh, Wright, what now?” Darin asked. If this is another pubcrawl, I’m staying home.

“I have to–I’m supposed to meet someone at this–pub over in Reme and–I just don’t know that I can handle meeting this person and going there on my own.” Josh said to his knuckles, which Darin noticed, even in the faint light of the moon, were whiter than usual.

There were all sorts of questions that were running through his head–questions and jibes at Josh’s sanity–but somehow he couldn’t seem to make himself ask them. “It’s not–like Marcinak–is it?”

“You wouldn’t say so,” Josh told him, something flashing through his eyes to quick for Darin to read.

“Um, okay.” Darin shrugged.

“That blue suit you got, could you wear it?” Well, obviously, as the suit was by far the nicest thing in Darin’s wardrobe, even including his Academy uniform, this was no run of the mill sort of pub.

—

Cats – Ignisward, Santa Bella, Reme

Darin could count how many times he’d been over the border into Reme on one hand and still have a few fingers left over. If you’d asked him, going over the border in the middle of the night with a nobleman who was getting twitchier the further they went wouldn’t have been the way he’d have chosen to do it again.

Joshua had been very quiet as they rode, which, they weren’t like Severus who always had to have conversation going, but they usually weren’t this quiet. And the quiet hadn’t helped Darin any either, because it left him a good hour and a half to brood over what the hell he was doing going to a pub–in Reme–to meet with a guy that Darin wouldn’t classify as a thug, but the way Joshua said it sort of implied that he thought that whomever they were meeting probably was one–in the middle of the night.

Hopefully it they got murdered, Joshua had told someone, maybe his sister? that he was going and that he was taking Darin with him. Elizabet would probably remember to tell Sara-Beth that Darin was dead and buried in some town over the border. He hoped.

Joshua reined in his horse in front of a building that wasn’t much different than any of the other buildings on the block, light poured out from the two open archway doors on either side of an impressive wooden gate and started to dismount. Darin did the same, sliding awkwardly out of the saddle with care for the suit.

“Do you know where we are?” Joshua asked Darin, who looked back at him like he was insane.

“Reme?” Darin asked. He wasn’t so good with linking geography from a map up with physical geography and all of the towns along the border seemed to be Santa something-or-others. Josh gestured over his shoulder at the building.

“I meant what this place is.” Joshua said, crossing his arms and leaning them on his saddle.

“Nope.” Darin shook his head.

“If I told you we were at Cats would that mean anything to you?” Darin thought for a moment. It sounded familiar but he couldn’t have said where he’d heard it before or in what context, so he shook his head again. “Okay.” Joshua said before freezing like he was a mouse who’d just spotted a cat. Darin swung his head in the direction Joshua was looking in, but all he saw was a man who’d walked out of one of those archways that seemed to lead into some sort of shop.

“Isn’t that your father’s steward?” Darin asked in a low voice. Joshua nodded before dropping Shade’s reins into the hand of a young boy who skittered up. There was something odd about the boy’s face, but Darin couldn’t make out what it was in the dim light. The blonde boy obviously steeled himself with a couple deep breaths as Darin turned Reaper over to the boy as well. “Are we here to meet up with him?” Darin asked. Joshua nodded again.

“Okay.” Darin said as the stableboy lead the horses away.

“Joshua.” Masen Cox’s eyes flickered over Darin, eyebrow quirking upward.

“After you.” Joshua said, saying nothing about Darin or offering no introductions. Cox pushed open the gate into a richly appointed courtyard. There were several couches in the curved style favored by the Remans, snowy marble covered in rich red striped cushions. Seated on one of them, there were two girls, both an identical shade of blonde, but if their brows were any indications, the color wasn’t natural.

The one in red was probably ten, the other, in blue, maybe six. She turned to look up at the three men, showing that her face was as fully painted as a Gaulish belle for a fete. The red, red lips obviously not natural and the rouge on her cheeks heavy. There was fear in her eyes, he could see it, even as she coquettishly kicked her feet out.

Both girls were dressed in short dresses with what looked like ruffled breeches underneath, there was nothing wrong with the style, but there was something wrong with the whole thing, especially paired with the hair and cosmetics. He wished he could ask Joshua about it, but there was no time to for Cox was leading them toward a second gate.

In this courtyard there were more marble benches, one occupied by a woman dressed a green satin corset, chemise and petticoats. Darin shot Joshua an alarmed look as the blue haired woman stood up and greeted Cox with a kiss on each cheek. “Lord Masen.” She smiled sunnily. “Lord Joshua and–er” She stumbled to a stop when she saw Darin, to cover it she simply turned.

“Calico is waiting for you as you requested, Lord Masen, follow me, please.” Her Albionese was accented heavily and he’d have laid money that her Reman wasn’t spoken with the local accent. There was an older lady he’d done odd jobs for for pocket money who was from somewhere on the western coast of Reme that had the same sort of accent.

“Thank you, Miss Tabby.” Cox said. They passed through an arch and into a brightly lit public room that was scattered with well dressed men, drinking wine and munching exotic fruit while dicing or playing cards.

A young girl with hair the color of poppies–didn’t anyone in this place have a natural hair color?–greeted Cox the same way Miss Tabby had. She turned to lead him up the stairs in the corner of the room.

Miss Tabby turned to Joshua. “Lord Joshua, please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you–or your guest.”

“A glass of wine perhaps.” Joshua said. “But that’s all at this time, thank you.” Joshua indicated with his head the nearest table to the door and Darin sat down. Josh following suit a moment later as Tabby went off, probably in search of that wine.

“Joshua, is–is this place what I think it is?” Darin asked, watching the brightly haired employees hurrying through the public room, a young woman or young man would come to the bottom of the stairs and one of the richly dressed men around would follow them up the stairs.

It wasn’t that they were in a brothel that set the hair on the back of Darin’s neck on end. He’d been in a few brothels before, though never outside the public rooms, it was everything else about the place…

Joshua nodded and glanced away at the table top. As before, he felt about five billion questions piling up, but he couldn’t voice any of them.

Then the boy–the one that Darin had thought was just a stableboy, came running into the room–in the bright light he could see that like the girls in the atrium–the boy’s hair was bleached blonde and his face was painted. He headed up the stairs at a run and a moment later, a stick thin man dressed in the black robes of a judge stood up and headed for the stairs.

At first, Darin thought maybe the man was going to “meet” the young man who’d just come down, hair dyed a brilliant teal, but the judge walked past him and went up the stairs in the wake of boy.

Darin was going to be sick in about half a second. “I am so sorry, Darin.” Joshua said from across the table, though it was quiet enough that probably only Darin heard him.

“How–,” Joshua looked around at the other men, the ones who didn’t seem to respond at all to the idea of a graybeard and judge going upstairs with a boy that age, and Darin’s question fell off.

“I didn’t–I thought, look, we’ll–talk about it later. I–I promise, later.” Joshua’s hands shook and Darin could only nod. Then Josh started talking about a lecture that was supposed to happen the next week at school and Darin fell into the pantomime that everything was all right as if it had all been rehearsed ahead of time.

—

Shrine of St. Betsy, River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

After they’d left the brothel, they’d ridden back to Albion in silence, but given that Cox had been just ahead of them on the road, Darin guessed there wasn’t a lot that Joshua would be willing to say. It was only after they’d parted company–if you wanted to call it that–Joshua hadn’t said more than two words to the steward the entire time–with Cox that Joshua thawed any at all.

“I couldn’t handle going there by myself again.” Joshua said after they settled onto one of the secluded benches near the back wall of the shrine.

“Do you go there often?” Darin asked.

“More often than I’d like.” Joshua admitted. “It’s one of Cox’s preferred places of recreation–they don’t offer the right sort of services here in Albion.”

“Okay, but you’re the nobleman, he’s the steward, why do you have to go with him to some place you don’t even want to go?” Darin asked. “Can you just tell him no?”

“If he were an ordinary steward, probably. If he didn’t work for my father, maybe. But he is my father’s steward and that means I’m stuck.”

“Wait, your father knows about that place? He knows that Cox takes you to it?” Darin said, his brain feeling broken at the thought.

“I wouldn’t be surprised that he knows where Cox takes me and that he knows exactly what happens there.” Joshua clenched his fists. Darin stared at him as he flexed his fingers.

“And your father, he just lets him?” Darin gaped.

“I’m keeping Cox out of trouble.” Joshua leaned back into the bench.

“…How?”

“If I’m with Cox then if we somehow get caught there, it looks like he’s there with me, not me there with him. It’d all get laughed off if I’m there fucking some whore. Cox is a grown man and married, it’d be a terrible scandal.”

“Good.” Darin crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “And those kids–they work there? How in Wright’s name is that not illegal as hell?”

“There aren’t any laws in Reme about children working in brothels.” Joshua told him. “It’s generally assumed that everyone disapproves of making whores out of children. But as far as the constables are concerned, the boys and girls who work there aren’t whores, they’re runners and work the stables and turn the spit in the kitchen.”

“Joshua,” Darin paused. “That kid-the one with the teal hair? He couldn’t be as old as we are. How is that legal? They weren’t even pretending that that boy was a stableboy! And I’m pretty sure that the girl that Cox went upstairs with is probably the same age as Vivianne Finessa.”

“If you’re buying slaves–and most of the workers there are slaves–they’re the kids of conquered territories or people who have relatives who in some way did something treasonous, it’s not that hard to convince the slavers to put seventeen on the slave bills than thirteen or fifteen for a little extra compensation.” Joshua looked as disgusted as Darin felt with a whole bunch of added bitter.

“But seventeen is still underage.”

“Here in Albion, it’s different in Reme.” Joshua sighed. “There you only have to be seventeen to work a brothel. I know.” Joshua put a hand on Darin’s arm and sighed. “I know. If it were here in Albion, I’d go picket outside the counsel chamber until the place was closed down. I would. But things are different in Reme, I’ve heard it too many times to doubt it.”

Darin sighed.

“And worst of all my father just looks the other way. Maybe–someday–when I’m Baron of River Sulis, I can put the right kind of pressure on them, get the place closed down. It won’t make it up to those kids–but–maybe…”

Clatan 18th, 1513 – Outskirts of River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

Of all of the things that Darin had expected to be doing on St. Skip’s day, introducing the son and heir of the local baron to a crime lord was not one of them. However, as Darin watched Reggie and Joshua shake hands, that seemed to be exactly what he was doing. Of course if you’d asked him six weeks ago what he planned on doing on St. Skip’s day, he would have had to pause for a second to remember what day it even was, and told you that he expected to spend it either at home studying or at one of his friends’ with maybe a jaunt over to the Boar.

What he wouldn’t have told you was that he was going to be going out for a night on town with several of the wealthiest, most influential boys under the age of eighteen in the entire town.

When he’d seen Joshua off that morning just a month ago, confused, bewildered, and–just generally wondering if maybe someone had gone a few rounds on him, he had expected to see Joshua in class on Monday morning. Then he hadn’t, he didn’t see him again until the following Saturday. And it involved another rescue, though from nothing more serious than Darin’s friends and the catcalls that they gave the “pretty boy” who had rode down their street on a white horse. And that rescue was admittedly safe enough for Darin, all he had to do was point out that the young man on the white horse was the son and heir of the local baron and even Neal’s trap had slammed shut.

After he’d gotten Joshua away from Neal and them, Joshua had offered Darin the most peculiar not-an-explanation explanation that Darin had ever gotten for what had happened the previous weekend. From that had come an inquiry about tutoring and if Darin would be willing to take on another student for tutoring.

And as if some sort of magical portal had opened up with that conversation, Darin had gone from being an outsider on the outside looking in to being an outsider on the inside looking forlornly out. Instead of going from his tutoring sessions home to the empty cottage where he would spend his evening studying, he was now fielding invitations to go out drinking in some of the best taverns in the city, to go riding or hawking or hunting or attend entertainment.

Except, of course, that Darin didn’t have a horse or a hawk, he didn’t know how to hunt, he could barely afford a cup of the cheapest beer in those taverns and the masques and entertainment was all high brow, classical stuff. And whenever Darin offered one of those protests, Joshua just shrugged it off. Darin could ride his other horse. That one didn’t actually need a hawk to go out hawking. That they weren’t really “hunting” anything, it was the wrong season for it, mostly it was just an excuse to get out of the city and out from under the eyes of their parents. Joshua always picked up Darin’s drink at the tavern.

As for the masques–well, all Joshua would say on that subject was that it was culture and good for him. (That one rather sounded like Raven trying to coax peas into Johnny, in all honesty.)

Darin sort of wondered why Joshua was bothering, he could spend the next two years being Joshua’s shadow and what would it prove? But you couldn’t say that to Joshua, he was incredibly good at somehow not hearing any protest that Darin could offer.

“So that’s Reginald Rose?” Joshua asked after they had shaken hands and politely mouthed formulas of things they didn’t really mean at each other. “I thought he’d be–um.”

“Oh, he can be. That’s Reggie on his day off.” Darin smiled.

“And he makes my father cry himself to sleep.” Joshua said wonderingly but with a laugh. Darin shot him a look. “Joke. It’s a joke.” A strange one. But then again, Darin had never met the baron and if he had his way, he wouldn’t, ever. Maybe it was one of those jokes that made more sense if you knew the person involved.

“Are you ready to go?” Joshua asked. Darin shrugged but followed as Joshua lead the way back up the street.

—

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is the sixth tavern we’ve been kicked out of tonight.” Darin pointed out to Josh after the disgruntled tavern keeper took his broom and turned to head back inside.

“And the night is still young.” Someone from the front of the group declared drunkenly.

“What’s wrong, Princess,” Constantin slurred. “You turn into a turnip or somethin’ at midnight?”

“You moron, it was a cabbage.” Edouard protested.

“I’m pretty sure it was a pum’kin.” Charlie countered.

“If you think it was a pum’kin, you need another drink.” Edouard told him.

“Now all we need is a tavern that lessus in.” Constantin thrust his fist into the air and pointed vaguely forward. “For-red marsh!”

“So when’s this end?” Darin asked, glancing up at the narrow sliver of moon in the sky.

“It’s a pub crawl. It ends when we pass out, run out of taverns, or the guard gets called.” Joshua told him cheerfully. What in Wright’s name have I gotten myself into.

“And it looks like it’s the third option.” A completely sober voice that caused Darin’s stomach to sink somewhere down in the vicinity of his shoes. He didn’t even have to turn to see the black and red guard uniform to know who it was walking out of the shadows behind the tavern.

Of all the bad stinkin’ luck…

“Let’s go, you two. Looks like your friends will have to catch up.” Colby told them gesturing toward the front gate of the square.

—

Joshua slumped in the wooden chair in a nicely appointed office in the guard’s station. A frozen expression of vague pleasantness was plastered on his face. He hadn’t said anything since the guardsman had opened the door to the building, any genuine good humor long since vanished.

“What’s the matter?” Darin asked.

“We know most of the guards, there are ones that you can negotiate with–there are ones you can’t. He’s firmly in the ones you can’t.” Joshua told him. “We’ll have to stay here until our parents come get us.”

“That may be a while.” Darin muttered. Joshua looked up at him. “My parents are dead. I hope Sara-Beth’ll work as substitute.”

“I wish my sister would work.” Joshua crossed his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately I don’t think they let eleven year olds come bail you out of gaol.” Darin looked at him for a moment before Joshua sighed and slumped further. “You–don’t know my father.”

Darin flashed back to what Josh had said in the alley behind the Boar. “They’ll tell my father.” memory whispered.

“Well, isn’t there anyone else you can ask? A servant, your father’s steward?” Darin asked.

“Cox would be worse.” Joshua whispered, before Darin could ask why, the door to the office opened and a man not dressed in a uniform came through and made his way around the desk. Passing close enough to Darin for him to easily smell the miasma of wine lingering around him.

“M’lord,” He bowed his head to Joshua. The captain ignored Darin entirely. “I understand the urge to get rowdy sometimes but must you boys leave a swath of destruction behind you every time you do?”

Joshua said nothing.  “What would your lord grandfather think?”

“The same Lord-grandfather who helped burn down a tavern at Camford?” Joshua sneered coldly. The guard captain blinked slowly, apparently being saved from wringing another soggy thought from his obviously underused brain, by a tap on the door.

“Captain, sir, the boys’ sisters are here.” Colby told him.

“I asked for parents, Guardsman Rose!” He thundered, the wine smell around him seeming to billow out with the word.

“Mr. Capshaw is an orphan, sir, if you insist upon making him wait until his parents arrive, you may never use your office again. As for Lord Joshua, well, perhaps you should talk to her yourself.” The captain grumbled and got to his feet.

“Not you!” He exclaimed from the doorway.

“Why not me?” A strange female voice inquired cheerfully. “Whoa, boy, what’d you do, drink a wineshop outta business, Miguel?”

“You are not Lord Joshua’s parents.”

“Obviously.” Though Darin couldn’t see the speaker’s face, a smirk was obvious in her voice.

“Cousin Miguel, mother and father are at the Finessas for their Saint Skip’s day dinner, I thought it would be just as easy, when the boy arrived, just bring Madame Cox and come myself.” A younger female voice interjected. “And I know that father has on record his permission for my brother and I to be released into the custody of any of our upper servants.” That must be Elizabet, Joshua’s sister, Darin decided.

“But she isn’t a servant.” The captain said triumphantly.

“Please don’t lean toward me when you yell, Miguel, I’m getting tipsy off the fumes.” The woman, Madame Cox? said.

“This evening, Madame Cox is serving as my companion, that makes her technically a servant.” Elizabet told him sunnily.

“She’s got you, old boy. You couldn’t think your way outta this one sober, and it’s painfully obvious you’re not that. Just release the kid, then you can go back to drinking yourself flat.” Madame Cox told him.

“Fine! Rose! Get the Wright-be-damned papers and get these–women–out of my guard station.”

“See you on Sunday for brunch, Miguel.” Madame Cox called after him as he stormed off.

Darid 20th, 1513 – Outskirts of River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

The fire was almost embers and it seemed like every creak-pop-fizzle that came from it was specifically designed to make it all that much harder for Darin to get to sleep. The bench wasn’t uncomfortable, sure he couldn’t stretch out, but he tended to sleep curled up on one side anyway. The cushion was burlap, but worn soft by at least a decade of sitters and stuffed with wool. Even the temperature of the room without shirt, vest or coat was fairly comfortable and Darin had no inclination to go hunt up a spare blanket.

Nope, if Darin had to guess, he would say that it was the presence of Joshua in Sara-Beth’s room that was keeping him awake. Having the son of a baron under your roof was certainly unnerving enough to keep anyone awake. And that comment of Sara-Beth’s–that Josh had asked to stay. Given that his bed at home was surely, surely better than Sara-Beth’s, why would he ask to stay here? Maybe it had something to do with the fear in his voice when he said that he couldn’t go to the hospital because they’d tell his father.

Unlike his mother, who had died giving birth to him, Darin remembered Cookie just fine, a tall, broad shouldered man with a crooked smile and skin the color of the cocoa that would sometimes get served during the long winter at the Academy. He had had a long, evil looking scar running across his face, but there hadn’t been an evil bone in his body according to anyone Darin had ever talked to.

But one night, when Cookie had been coming back from his job, fighting had broken out in the streets, and when the dust had cleared, Darin’s father was among the injured. He’d been taken to the hospital, but being only a poor gardener and not anyone important, he was seen to too late to save him.

It was why Sara-Beth had become a nurse, so that she could keep someone else’s father from bleeding to death when he could have been saved, no matter how much money he had in his purse.

Cookie would have died to save Darin, no matter how much of a bear he had looked to be, Darin knew that. It was one of the memories he held deep inside of him and brought out when things seemed their bleakest. He supposed you couldn’t count on a baron for that, he probably expected other people to do their dying for his family. But what must the Baron be like that Joshua would rather bleed than go where they might tell his father?

And, really, passing all this stuff through his mind like a miner panning for gold was not going to help him get to sleep any faster. He turned his mind to one of Brother Loki’s boring-ass history lessons, the one they were to have a test on next week, and that seemed to do the trick, leadening his eyes and letting his thoughts drift far enough for him to fall asleep.

It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, but something roused Darin out of a peculiar dream about climbing along an aqueduct in some old city he was looking for something. What it was left him as what had woken him sunk into his consciousness.

“No, I don’t–I don’t. No!” It was a masculine voice calling out, seeping through every crack in the plaster and woodwork, creeping under the door. The voice ebbed to a bare whisper as Darin pushed himself off the bench, a series of pops running down his vertebrae with the movement. Joshua, it must have been one of the nightmares that Sara-Beth had warned him about.

He went to the door to Sara-Beth’s room and pushed it open. Josh was tossing on the bed, thrashing as if he were fighting against something, his voice smeared to nothingness by fear.

“M’lord?” Darin asked, his hand shook as he reached out for the shoulder under the coverlet. “My Lord, Joshua?” He shook the shoulder, lightly, then harder. Nothing–then suddenly with a shuddering gasp, the young man’s eyes flew wide. Joshua gulped down air as if something had been smothering him in his sleep, his entire demeanor disoriented and confused.

Darin started to snatch his hand back when Joshua caught it in a grip that easily could have ground the bones in his wrist, but didn’t. They both stared at each other for a long moment. “My lord?” Darin whispered.

“Darin?” Joshua whispered hoarsely.

“Aye.” Darin said, tugging his arm at the grip that Joshua still had on his wrist.

“Oh, Wright.” The other boy swallowed hard and panted. “I-uh…”

“Do you have nightmares a lot?” Darin asked, then he could have hit himself because that was a good way to piss the blonde boy off. But whatever finding Darin standing there instead of–um–whatever it was he’d been dreaming about–seemed to throw the other boy off.

“Often enough.” Joshua pushed a hand through his blonde hair that even stringy with sweat and tousled by rough sleep was still neater and better kept than Darin’s was when he’d just combed it.

“Um, can I get you anything? A glass of water? Some tea?”

“… Can you stay with me?” Darin blinked.

“I–uh–,” Darin stammered.

“Please?” It was a word that Darin had so not been expecting to hear out of a man who constantly reminded everyone around him that he was above such things as courtesy, that he found himself nodding and then clambering onto the bed beside Joshua. It was a little–okay–a lot awkward, especially the brief moment he found himself straddling Joshua’s legs to get onto the other side of the bed.

Joshua watched him until he settled down before collapsing back against the pillow like a puppy who’d played too long and hard. He curled up wondering what the hell he was thinking, before sleep came up behind him and bashed him hard in the head too.

—

Once again, Josh woke up disoriented and confused. His head throbbed, his face and torso covered in tight hot flares that indicated a bruise. His lip stung as did his cheeks where they’d been split or abraded by the impact of that thug’s fist. The things he did for friends. Philipa would owe him for the next two centuries at least. Not that he counted on living that long. Hell, if mother had provided father with a spare, Josh wouldn’t have counted on living to see eighteen.

And even that wouldn’t save him. The Orkneys might not be as egalitarian as the du Lacs, what with their policy of first born inherits regardless of gender, but they’d had female heirs in the past and it hadn’t bothered anyone who mattered. Although who knew if Grandfather Bertram would count as someone who mattered. And he’d never stand for a daughter who wouldn’t do her duty. And that duty included boys for heir and preferably spare.

But that didn’t solve the answer of where he was, other than in someone else’s bed, or the disorienting feeling of being–safe. The latter was far more worrisome than the first. It certainly wasn’t the first time he found himself in a strange bed, in fact it was only that his mother had at least tried to make sure he was raised a gentleman that didn’t find him in strange beds more often.

Safe, however, that wasn’t something he was even passingly used to being. When your father was the local lord and almost no one cared to piss him off there weren’t too many places where you were safe. He certainly never felt that way at home. But here, wherever that was, he did feel it and he had to lever himself away from the complacent feeling that wanted him to stay here, to cling to that feeling of safety and protection to try and wrap his pounding head around the puzzle of just where the fuck he was.

His hand lifted to rub at his temple, dragging across bare skin in it’s wake, which, he realized with a blink was what was under his cheek as well, a taut torso, almost bony and sprinkled lightly with coarse hair.

“Hmmm?” A male voice rumbled, the intake of breath to make the sound causing the lungs under his ear to expand. “Holy fuck!” Darin! Josh registered about the time his head thumped against the pillow as the other boy scrambled out of the bed. The sudden movement set off a cacophony in his head and it was with a muttered “ow-ow-ow.” He followed Darin out the door into the main room of the cottage.

It wasn’t hard. There wasn’t that far to go and even had there been a lot more space to go the steady stream of saints names punctuated with profanity would have been a tip off as to where he was.

“Darin?” Josh asked. “Darin.” It was like it didn’t even register. In his best “My father is the Baron, you will listen” voice he tried again. “Darin, stop!”

“My lord, I am sorry, I didn’t–I wasn’t–what the hell was that?” Darin asked. Josh wasn’t sure he knew, but the shouting set his head off again. This was worse than getting drunk, at least getting drunk was fun to get into.

“I don’t…” That was about as far as he got before Darin was off again. Josh stepped around him, maybe if he were between the other boy and the door he’d stop with the pacing and preferably the swearing. Darin crossed his arms and looked away.

“Sorry, m’lord.” He dropped his eyes to the floor. There was just something wrong with a contrite Darin. He couldn’t say that he knew the other boy well, but his defiance had always identified him, marked him. According the law of the land, of society, he was inferior. It was a tenet his maternal grandfather was always quick to remind them of. They were noble. Well, theoretically.

As far as Josh was concerned, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot that was noble about his grandfather, and quite honestly the lowest street rat probably had more nobility than his father did. But almost everyone was willing to play along with that division. Not the nouveau riche merchants, but that was more like they were looking to hop over the fence from not-noble to noble not denying that the noble class existed.

Usually one look in Darin’s eyes told Josh that the other boy saw right through him. That he had seen that there was no difference between the two of them and that he wouldn’t play along with the farce that said there was.

So to see him staring at the rough wood floor of the cottage, eyes veiled by his thick lashes, skin pulled too tight over the prominent cheekbones catching the firelight, here, now, seeing him fall back into the trap that Josh so admired him–even if he wouldn’t have said it–for avoiding, it twisted something inside Josh’s chest.

His hand shot out, fingers curling under the other boy’s chin, forcing it up, forcing Darin to look him in the eyes. Those same fingers skated easily along the soft skin prickled by stubble in need of a shave to tangle in Darin’s mahogany hair. His other hand snaked around Darin’s waist, pulling Darin and his too thin ribcage closer.

Before his mind caught up to why the hell he just pulled Darin into his arms, his lips were crashing into Darin’s with a complete lack of finesse he’d have felt embarrassed about if he weren’t just a little more caught up in why the hell he was kissing another man in the first place.

Darin made a yelping sound and pulled back against the arm braced behind him back. Josh released him as quickly as he’d caught him up. Then they were back to staring at each other, Darin’s eyes were wide, pupils flared seemingly with more than just the low light, his fists were flexing, but oddly not as if Darin were ready to hit him.

That put Darin a couple of steps over where Josh was, because he really did sort of want to hit himself. What was he thinking? Was he thinking? I’m not mature enough for this! but that had really never mattered to the situations he found himself in. All he could do was muddle along.

Darin licked his lips and Josh felt his eyes shoot to the movement, brain still two or three steps behind his body. If nothing else he needed to bring those two things back into line.

“I don’t know where my head is.” Josh admitted to Darin.

“We’ll blame it on the fact that some mentula used you as a punching bag a few hours ago.” Darin offered, his eyes once more on the floor. Josh wasn’t sure if it was because of him kissing Darin, because of the fight, because of the noble vs. commoner thing, or because he’d just used Reman crudity in front of a nobleman.

Of course, Bertram would have pointed out that this was where the greatest difference between noble and not-noble lay. A nobleman might use profanity amongst his close male friends, there was little wrong with the occasional swear or off color joke, however he would never be so crass as to use such language in front of his betters. For a peasant to call some man a prick in front of a nobleman would be like a nobleman using that language in front of St. Robert!

And of course, no nobleman would be that base. Gutter rat breeding always showed. Blah, blah, blah.

“Right.” Josh agreed softly, wondering why that just felt–wrong.

“My Lord, I…” Josh’s eyes jumped up from where they were studying a crack in the floor to Darin’s face. “Is something wrong?” It was the wrong thing to ask. Really. Because Darin seemed honestly concerned and his brain was still half a step behind the rest of him.

What he would say or do this time, Josh didn’t know, however it seemed he wasn’t going to say anything. Instead he took a step back and started to turn away so maybe the other man wouldn’t see him burst into tears.

It didn’t work, of course, because the first drop slid down Josh’s cheek before he even had the chance to pull his hands up to shield it. He found himself letting out a wail, a thin, out of place sound in the thick air of the cottage.

Darin tentatively reached an arm out, spanning across his shoulders as Josh balled his hands into fists hoping that the pain from nails digging into his palms would slow the stream of tears down his face.

But it didn’t and all Josh could do was stand there and sob and try so hard not to lean into Darin as he murmured things into Josh’s hair, though he could feel the breath stirring the hair, tickling his ear, he couldn’t have told you, even if you held a knife to his throat, what the other boy was saying.

That feeling of safety and protection was back. Like nothing could hurt him, here and now, that somehow Darin, unlike all of Josh’s nobly born friends and relatives, could–would stand in the way of whatever was out there in the dark, whatever was lurking in the shadows and the corners, even from all of the secrets that roamed the halls of the old Orkney keep, the one his ancestors had built when they first came to Albion, when there first was an Albion, the one that had burned so furiously that even the stone had melted leaving pillars of glass in their wake.

As if he could somehow protect Josh from being a Carico, a de Ganis, an Orkney.

And perversely that just made Josh sob more because he couldn’t, obviously he couldn’t. Nothing could. But Darin let him cry. And Josh just rode the storm out–it was really all he could do. And finally, when his head felt like it was one teardrop away from exploding entirely, Darin stepped away and looked at him.

He should have explained, he should have said something. Done something. But when he opened his mouth all that came out was a muttered “I should get home.” And he should, he didn’t know what time it was, but something in him sensed that dawn was nearer than farther. And he didn’t dare let the sun catch him anywhere but in his own bed at home.

Darin nodded, seemingly content with out any answers at all, and went to hunt up his clothing and Josh’s shoes. In silence, a rather creepy silence as if there really were ghosts floating all around them, Darin walked Josh to the stable where his horse was and stood on the street corner under an oil lamp, to watch him ride off.

—

It was still dark when he put his horse in the stable and crept into the house using the servants’ stairs. Maybe he would be able to get in, get laid down, and miss everyone who might possible inquire as to why he was beat all the fuck and where he’d been all night by sleeping the morning til his mother dragged Bet off to whatever nonsense they surely had planned for the day.

The door didn’t even squeak when he opened it and slipped inside, but the room wasn’t empty. Just a flash of bright hair in the darkness set his heart racing.

“Don’t worry, mother didn’t even notice you were gone. And I covered for you with Father.” Elizabet sat cross-legged on the bed, dressed in a white linen shift but her hair showing that she hadn’t slept at all.

“You didn’t–”

“Well, given the way you look, I’m even more glad I did.” Her eyes were on his back as he settled onto the bed. “You know how that layered bruise look distresses the gentler hearts in my life.” Josh snorted.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t have to wait up just to tell me you covered for me.” She could have told him the morning. Or left him a note, or hell woken him up.

“You know, we are related to people with peculiar blindspots, brother.” Elizabet smiled cynically. “Nobody ever thinks to look for me in your room. Ever.”

“You’re hiding out?” Josh asked. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just know that something seemed to say I didn’t want someone to find me tonight.” Elizabet hesitated between each of the words as if trying to work out how to say it. One of her feelings, his mother would dismiss. Josh, however, remembered that some of the most powerful witches and wizards in Albion’s history were descended from the same line that spawned him and Bet. Sometimes a feeling was a feeling, sometimes a feeling was premonition.

“Well, if no one looks for you here, you’re welcome to be here whenever you want to be here.” Josh looked at his baby sister, wishing there were more he could do, but she was a locked book even to him and he couldn’t dream at having the key.

“Thanks. You–don’t mind if I catch a nap, here?” Elizabet asked, something in her eyes that felt like the same only partially caged fear that his own held.

“It’s the least I can do.” And it was, he’d have given his arm to be able to do more.

I am nothing more than a little boy inside that cries out for attention yet I always try to hide

Darid 20, 1513 – The Black Boar Tavern, River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

Darin sighed as he rounded the corner, these tutoring sessions were almost more of a pain than they were worth. But it was something that Sara-Beth couldn’t object to as a way for him to earn pocket money, though she still glared something fierce if he so much as put a clipped copper in the cookie jar that they kept their savings in. She could immediately tell, no matter how full it was, just by looking in the jar. Even if he buried his two coppers in the bottom she seemed to be able to tell.

But some of the dunces he was trying to tutor had more bone than brain matter in their heads. However, they were wealthy dunces and paid very well for his pain. And if he could continue to tutor some of the kids and pay for all of his expenses, that would ultimately save Sara-Beth some money. And as Reggie had pointed out, when Darin had talked with him about it, these were the men whose fathers would be looking for people to hire when he graduated. If he ingratiated himself to them by helping their sons graduate or even get into Camford, he might find that translating into employment later, if not as a scribe or even steward, maybe just as a private tutor.

Still, trying to pound old Reman into Benoit Coudray was like trying to pound gruel into a brick. It was all just sliding off the side. And his mother was a high ranking Reman noblewoman, one who still spoke with a Reman accent! Surely this couldn’t have been Benoit’s first exposure to the language.

He’d never be quite sure what alerted him to the man in the  pass-through, nor for that matter why he instinctively knew to duck behind the stables as the man crested the mouth of the alley. But he was very glad for whatever it was otherwise he might have run smack into Jan Leekbee. Leekbee’s boss, Marcinak, was one of Reggie’s chief rivals with a long and bloody history to mark his rise to the top.

Darin knew from listening to his friends that nothing good would bring Leekbee down here to the Boar. He preferred to do is drinking in the Reman wine bars up in the merchant’s district. No, if he was here at the Boar, it was for business. And Leekbee’s business was blood, the spilling of it usually. Sometimes just a little like beating the shit out of someone, sometimes a lot of it, like a murder.

Biting his lip to the point of pain, he pressed himself closer to the rough brick of the stable, feeling it catch in his coat and pull at his hair. A peek around the corner of the building showed him just standing there, looking first one way then as his head swung back to reveal the point of that absolutely ridiculous handlebar mustache, Darin pulled back around the corner with a whispered Hail St. Brandi hoping the man hadn’t seen him. But nothing indicated that he had.

Why is he just standing there, there was no indication that he had turned back down the pass-through, it was almost as if he was standing guard. Darin’s blood turned to ice in his veins. There was only one person that Leekbee would stand guard for and that was even worse.

If it was rare for Leekbee to be at the Boar, for Marcinak to be at the Boar was almost unheard of. He had lackeys for that, like Darin’s buddy Neal. Besides, given that the Boar was just a little way down the street from Reggie’s house, he could see the second story walkway from where he stood, it was really taking his life–or at least his hide–into his own hands to come here. Reggie guarded his territory with careful ruthlessness and would not take kindly to Marcinak’s presence.

No, this could not be good at all. Darin took a deep breath and listened for the clatter of wooden shoe heels on the cobblestone, thankfully Leekbee was the sort of muscle who thought the world ought to tremble with his footsteps rather than the sort who crept through it on assassin’s feet. He did hear it after a turn, but it seemed to be getting further away and somewhat echo-y as if the other man had turned down the pass way. Darin edged down the wall, ready to bolt like a rabbit back to the dubious safety of the alley if he heard the sound of shoes coming his direction.

Instead he heard hushed, but heated voices punctuated by the soft thud of a fist hitting meat. The likelihood that Marcinak was down in this alley beating a side of beef or something was laughable, even if there was an eerie lack of reaction to the beating.

He reached the other edge of the stable wall and peered around it. Through the cobweb seemingly undisturbed by Leekbee walking through it, he could see Leekbee’s dove-gray coat and a sea green one in the ornate style currently favored by the nobles. The very identifiable hair told him that he was right on one of the pass-through’s occupants, it was Marcinak.

The other, however, Darin couldn’t make out, only being able to catch a glimpse of ash blonde hair and white shirt that could belong to anyone. Or anyone blonde at least.

Even a quick dart across the mouth to trade rough stone against his back for rough plaster, told him nothing more. Even though his instincts were screaming at him to run for home, for Reggie’s, for the still crowded market across the street where one boy could easily lose himself in the press, wherever they were clamoring for him to go, they were all clamoring for him to go as fast and far as he could.

But as if his feet had somehow taken to root, he couldn’t pick his feet up and move. He knew too much already, but he didn’t know enough, pulling his coat tighter around him as the first heavy drop that the sky had been threatening for hours, plinked down square on the top of his head, he stayed.

He ducked back for the stable once more, it was a shorter dash to get to the alley that way, none too soon as Leekbee turned once more in his direction, though his attention seemed fixed on the man that Marcinak was dealing with. Certainly the blonde muscle didn’t show any indication of coming toward Darin.

His heart kicking at his ribs like a caged animal, so loud the ones he was watching would surely hear it pounding soon, Darin watched as the man–no, boy, he was  turned on his heel and walked away from him, his hands dropped to fists before crossing over his chest. Darin’s mouth went as dry as the Dousa Desert as his stomach sank like a stone. It can’t be! Not…

Marcinak said something in a croon that Darin just couldn’t quite make out–giving credence to Reggie’s theory that he was half bigfoot–but he could definitely make out the malice and danger in the sound. Still the blonde boy was turning in this direction. But before Darin could confirm what he half suspected and half dreaded, Leekbee started back toward the mouth of the pass through and Darin was forced to bolt back for the safety of the alley mouthing prayers that he hadn’t been spotted.

Silently hyperventilating, he pressed himself against the stable wall and held himself still. But when the footfalls reached the mouth of the alley, they seemed to turn the other way without so much as a hesitation his direction. He peeked out from behind the wall once more to see the backs of the two men heading away from him down the street, toward where their horses were probably tied up at the market.

As soon as they were far enough away that they wouldn’t likely hear him over themselves, he gave himself a quick sign of the plumbbob and ducked out of hiding and into the pass through. Face down on the cobbles lay the blonde boy. He didn’t seem to register Darin’s presence until Darin kicked a loose rock out of the cobbling and it clattered loudly as if some sort of spell had been holding all the sound in while Marcinak had been there and now that it was gone, everything was amplified.

The blonde pushed himself, painfully, to his knees and then clambered to his feet without so much as a groan of pain, something that Darin wasn’t sure he would have been able to manage in his place. Pushing the thick blonde hair back from his face, the other boy suddenly pressed his palms to his temples and started to crumple forward. Darin darted to one side, catching him, barely, by the arms, but the blonde jerked back at the touch and stumbled back, starting to fall backward.

Darin caught his arms and slowed his descent so that he only sat down hard, rather than falling backward and potentially doing himself even more harm. “My lord, it’s me, Darin.” Joshua, for that was who it was just as Darin had suspected, blinked once-twice-three times slowly as if trying to clear his vision.

“C’mon, m’lord, we need to get you to the hospital, it’s just a short way.” And it was, just the length of the dormitory wing of the Boar and across the street.

“No!” Joshua yelped. “No, I can’t–I can’t go there, they’ll tell–they’ll tell…” He pressed his palm into his ribcage.

“Tell who?” Darin asked peering into Josh’s strange mercurial eyes.

“My father.” Joshua whispered. “They’ll tell my father.” His eyes dropped away from Darin’s and he wiped the blood still leaking from his nose with the back of his hand. Darin didn’t ask if that was bad or why it might be. He liked to think he knew genuine fear when he heard it, if Joshua didn’t want his father to know then Darin would just have to figure out some way to get him the help he obviously needed without going to the hospital where they might tell his father.

Darin bit his lip and dropped his head before it came back up hard. “C’mon, can you walk?”

“I told you, I can’t go to the hospital.” Joshua said, not moving from where he was.

“I’m not taking you to the hospital, my sister’s a nurse. I’ll take you to her.” She could patch Joshua up, for Darin couldn’t leave him here. That just wasn’t something you could do with your Lord’s son, leave him bleeding in an alley behind a shitty tavern. And the baron was hardly going to come down to this part of town and ask every nurse, wisewoman, and old granny who knew how to put a salve on some wounds and bandage ribs if they had patched up his son.

Though how did Joshua really expect that his father wouldn’t notice that his face was completely worked over? Sara-Beth was good, but she wasn’t exactly Morgan le Fay and he wasn’t even sure that Morgan could heal wounds wholesale in just a few hours.

Darin offered the other boy a hand, which he took reluctantly, but once on his feet again he was steadier and seemed to prefer to walk unaided.

“Is it far?” Joshua whispered as Darin lead them out of the pass-through and into the back courtyard of the inn. “Your sister’s house?”

“Nope, not a whole lot further than the hospital is and less stairs.” Darin said. And it wasn’t, after cutting through the courtyard and down the small gap between Clayton’s house and the Boar, it was just diagonal across the street. Joshua looked curiously at the chickens scratching at the grass for seeds, the cracked umber plaster of the houses but strangely not disdainfully.

“Here we are.” Darin said as cheerfully as he could manage. Darin pushed the door to the house open and stepped back so that Joshua could proceed him into the gloomy interior. Sara-Beth had been sitting on the bench with a mending project in her hand and got to her feet with a welcoming smile at least until she saw Joshua. Then she winced and shot Darin a look. “My Lord, this is my sister, Sara-Beth–Sara-Beth, this is Joshua.”

Her head once more swung toward Darin and mouthed “The baron’s son, Joshua?” Darin nodded. “He didn’t want to go to the hospital, I was hoping–um…” Darin shrugged.

“That I would patch him up?” Sara-Beth asked. Darin shrugged again. “My lord.” She turned to Joshua who simply rubbed at the blood still leaking from his nose. “May I ask how this happened–and if I am likely to get in trouble for helping you?”

“No, I give you my word that I will not tell my father how I came to be patched up, not that I truly believe that my father would think to inquire after it.” Joshua said. “And…” He trailed off, eyes turning to where Darin stood.

“I’m gonna go over t’Neal’s, SB.” Sara-Beth nodded.

“Please have a seat, my Lord.” She gestured at the bench she’d recently occupied and hurried off toward the pantry where he knew she kept her medical kit. Darin shot one last look at Joshua and then left without a word.

He hadn’t really expected Sara-Beth to still be awake when he got back long after dark. He hadn’t been able to find out anything about what interest Marcinak had with the Baron’s son and heir, even pumping half the coppers he had in his purse into ales for Neal over at the Boar. Still, maybe it was for the better, he wasn’t exactly in any position to be meddling in the affairs of criminal bosses or noblemen. All he could do with both was hope he was standing far enough away from them when they inevitably fell that he didn’t get hit.

“You were out late.” Sara-Beth said.

“Aye.” Darin agreed. “It was always one more toast afore you go, Darry.” He shrugged, it had been like that, only it was him suggesting one more round every time something got promising. He didn’t have to tell her that. “So, what’d you do with his lordship. I assume not drown him in the river.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Sara-Beth said. Darin nodded, somebody notice he was missing. “Beside, he’s a sweet kid, I wouldn’t want to.” Now that stopped Darin short and he blinked at her.

“Sweet? M’lord? He’s a bully and a jerk.” Darin said.

“How much of that might be a defense though, Darry?” Sara-Beth asked. “His lord-father probably doesn’t have a whole helluvalot of use for a sweet son. An’ his lady-mother is one of those de Ganises. Those gotta prove they’re man ‘nough to spit in Grimmy’s eye and have bigger balls than any man alive de Ganises.” Darin blinked and thought for a second …well, maybe… Nah I still don’t buy it.

“So what did you do with him?” Darin asked after a long moment of them both staring at the dying fire.

“He’s asleep in my room.” She was just trying to bewilder him tonight. First calling Joshua sweet, then telling him that he was asleep in her room. Sure it was probably better than putting his lordship in Darin’s cubby, but why had he even agreed to sleep here? Which when he had stopped his head from spinning long enough to take a breath he asked with the very next one.

“I didn’t. He asked if he could. And I would like to keep an eye on him, he got–hit pretty hard.” Sara-Beth told him after a moment’s hesitation.

“I guessed as much.” She didn’t have to tell him everything he knew, but that went both ways. She gave him a sharp look and he looked right back at her.

“Darry…” She sighed. “Look, I hate to put you out for the night, but I have to be up early for my shift and you don’t have class, so…” She trailed off.

“Nah, go ahead and take my bed. I’ll take the sofa, don’t sweat it.” He smiled at her.

“Okay, could you keep an ear out for Josh, I heard him having a nightmare earlier. I think it was just a general nightmare and not related to an injury, but just to be safe, if you hear him, wake him up and make sure he gets a cup of water or something.” Sara-Beth levered herself up off the couch and headed toward his cubby, pulling the curtain closed.

Darid 1, 1513 – River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

“Mama!” Raven tried to ignore her daughter for a moment as she juggled two bottles of hard cider and a plate of rarebit around the chair and onto the table. “Mama, he’s doing it again!”

“Is he still wearing clothes?” Raven asked cracking the cap off the bottle on the table.

“…Aye.” Anna-Marie said from her place somewhere behind Raven’s left shoulder.

“Unless he’s naked or the house is on fire, mama isn’t home right now, baby.” She handed the bottle to her companion with a sigh.

“Don’t chew on my dolls, Johnny.” Anna-Marie scolded. Johnny made a petulant whimper.

“Share your toys, Anna-Marie.” Raven told her without looking as she cracked open the second cider.

“Mama’s not home right now so I can be mean to my brother.” Anna-Marie told her smartly, before giving a little humph. “Here, take this one, you already chewed on it.” Raven shook her head and looked at Sara-Beth who was leaning back in her chair as if her back hurt. It probably did, if Sara-Beth was anything like her, her feet hurt, her back hurt, her shoulders and arms hurt. The nuns had run them both since before dawn that morning.

“Little brothers.” Sara-Beth took a long draw off the cider and sighed.

“Yours driving you nuts again?” Raven asked, taking a drink herself before settling the bottle between her knees and squirming down a little further into the chair.

“He told me last night that it’s better for him to quit school and start bringing in money before I work myself into an early grave than for him to keep on with his schooling.” Sara-Beth shook her head, a few more strands escaping her crown braids and falling into her face.

“Well, not to side with Darin, but you do sorta look like shit warmed over, SB.” Raven shrugged. Sara-Beth looked past her shoulder at the kids on the floor. “Don’t worry about it, they’re my kids. Nobody can yell at me.”

“Except your husband.” Sara-Beth pointed out.

“Okay, Eric can yell at me. But he won’t. I yell back and I’m louder.” Raven grinned at her friend. Sara-Beth’s smile was tired. She was only a couple of years older than Raven was, but right now the gap seemed larger. It only made sense though. Raven was lucky, while her mum and dad were up in Avilion, they were still both alive, she had sibs and so did Eric they could ship Anna-Marie and Johnny off to when they got to be too much or they just needed a holiday. With what Eric’s carpentry shop brought in, she could afford to take less hours at the hospital.

Sara-Beth’s parents and her step-father were all dead and she only had Darin, who pitched in as much as she would let him, but if Sara-Beth was anything, it was pig-headedly stubborn, and so as much as she would let him was not nearly as much as he was willing to do. Raven snuck a glance at Sara-Beth’s profile.

“I want him to get that education. Why doesn’t he understand that?” Sara-Beth sighed and drew another long swallow.

“Because he’s a boy.” Raven offered. “Even Anna-Marie knows at her age that boys can be dumb as rocks sometimes.” Anna-Marie giggled. “Seriously, though, Sara-Beth, you raised a good kid there. Good kids are not likely to sit on their thumbs when they can be doing more to help. And he wants to help you.”

“Well, he can help me more sticking it out one more year, getting his education finished, and getting a job doing something that pays well.” Sara-Beth picked up a toast corner and nibbling it.

“I don’t blame him for wanting out of there. He has to put up with Brother Loki every morning, I’d rather be stuck on morgue duty in high summer during a plague than have to face him very often.” Raven shrugged and reached for a toast corner herself.

“I could understand if his reasons were something like that.” Sara-Beth told her. “I wouldn’t let him quit, but I could understand. No, he wants to quit because of me. I am giving him a chance that not a lot of people get and he’s trying to throw it back in my face.”

“Oh, woe is you. You have a brother who cares about you. Who doesn’t want your gift of education, room, board and et cetera at the expense of your health. Whatever shall you do?” Sara-Beth looked at her sourly. “Most people can’t do it all on their own.”

“Well, I don’t have anyone to fall back on.” Sara-Beth said.

“You could.”

“Oh, do not.” Sara-Beth scowled. “Raven, I do not need the hassle of a love-affair on top of everything else.”

“What hassle, Sara-Beth?” Raven asked.

“Besides I don’t have enough time to sleep where would I find enough time for a romance?” Sara-Beth leaned back in her chair with a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

“And you wonder why your brother wants to quit school.” Raven pointed out ruthlessly.

“Besides, guys aren’t exactly lining up around the block with roses for me. As you, yourself, pointed out, I look like shit warmed over.” Sara-Beth was perfectly capable of being equally ruthless back.

“I know somebody who’d love a chance with you, as long as you’re still breathing he’d take you back.”

“Raven, no, no. No.” The other woman folded her lips. “And a couple more nos for good measure.”

“Sara-Beth,” Raven began.

“No. What’s between Reggie and me is in the past. It’s history. And as the priests like to quote Father Hugh as having said “those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.” I like to think I’m smarter than that.”

“Sara-Beth, he loves you. He still loves you. He’ll love you when you’re both old and gray and crippled up on canes. No matter how many busty, beautiful women come in the intervening time.” Raven bit her lip. If Raven had been in possession of a magic wand that she could wave and suddenly fix all the things that she thought needed fixing, which would probably take more power than was possessed by the Emerys and even Morgan le Fay, she would start with fixing that.

“Except neither of us will live anywhere near that long. I’ll work myself to death and his ‘work’ will catch up with him.” Sara-Beth told her bluntly. Now it was Raven’s turn to make a sour face and glare across the distance between the two chairs.

“You wouldn’t have to work so hard if you had someone to fall back on, and maybe he could get out of the business if he had you.” Raven offered.

“The only way you get out of the business is by dying, besides, in case you’ve forgotten, he “had” me once.” Sara-Beth rubbed at her hand staring straight ahead of her.

“Yeah, but he was young and dumb then.” Raven offered.

“And he’s older and still dumb now.” Sara-Beth snapped. Sometimes watching Sara-Beth was like watching someone bricking themselves into a cellar. All of those walls weren’t going to protect her, they were just going to keep people out. And maybe those were people who she would miss or people that she would never get to know, but her life would have been so much richer for having known them. Shutting everyone out shut you in. How could she not see that?

The clock over her shoulder chimed, echoed a moment later by church bells from somewhere in town, signaling that her lazy time was more or less over and she needed to put the finishing touches on dinner.

“Where’s your brother?” Raven asked, noticing that Anna-Marie was alone at the dollhouse that Eric had carved for them.

“He went to his room.” Anna-Marie told her, disinterestedly.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Raven asked looking at the door, hoping for the wood piercing gaze that her mother always seemed to have.

“You didn’t tell me you were home.” Anna-Marie smiled up at her mother. “Besides, he wasn’t naked when he went and the house wasn’t on fire.” Smart-ass. Raven thought. Of course she’d take after my side of the family.

“Why don’t you go set the table and then keep Sara-Beth company.” Anna-Marie bounced to her feet after setting the dolls away inside the dollhouse without complaint. Well, that was different than she had been, especially at Anna-Marie’s age. Raven and her sibs might have done everything that her mum had told her to do, but it was delivered with a healthy dose of whining and more than a bit of back talk.

“So how is school for you,” Sara-Beth asked.

“Kinda boring. I learned you don’t want to wear plaits to class.” Raven noted, her eyebrow quirking upward. Why would she have learned that?

“And why’s that?” Sara-Beth asked.

“Cause Romeo tied the ribbons from Gretchen and Latisha’s plaits together during religions class then dipped the end of Serena’s plait in the ink well all through penmanship.” Anna-Marie said shaking her head. “Although I don’t think Romeo would do that to me.” Sara-Beth made an interested noise.

“He pulled my hair during recess last week and you can still see the Sminese burn I gave ‘im.” Anna-Marie grinned impishly. “He might be dumb, even for a boy, but I think mama’s right and pain teaches what mamas can’t.”

“You really shouldn’t be giving boys Sminese burns.” Sara-Beth scolded.

“He really shouldn’t tie girls plaits together or dip ‘em in the ink well or pull my hair.” Anna-Marie said with perfect eight-year-old’s logic. “If some stinky boy hurts me, why shouldn’t I hurt ‘im back?” Her bright green eyes were sparked with the same light that Raven had always been told her own sparked with when she was digging her heels in for a fight.

“Well, because some boys have annoying mamas and they tattle.” Sara-Beth spread her hands.

“Romeo prob’ly would tattle.” Anna-Marie thought for a moment. “Is Romeo’s mama annoying?”

“Didn’t you set a place for Sara-Beth?” Raven interjected before Sara-Beth had to struggle through the morality of telling someone else’s daughter that yes, Romeo’s mama was annoying. In fact given what Raven would call her usually, annoying was damned near a compliment.

“Was I ‘posed to?” Anna-Marie looked back and forth between Sara-Beth and Raven.

“Of course. And don’t protest.” Raven said to the back of Sara-Beth’s head. “Your brother is perfectly capable of cooking up something–or at least reheating some stew. And if he doesn’t want to, he probably has the pocket money to go to the Boar and get something.”

“I’d point out that the food at the Boar comes with it’s hazards.”

“But I’d just point out that Darin has an iron stomach and is more than a match for it.” Raven told her.

“Mama! Johnny’s in ‘is braises ‘gain.” Raven sighed, why was it that Anna-Marie was perfectly capable of taking any boy on the playground to task, but at home, she just tattled to Mama. Then again, I probably don’t want my eight year old practicing her Sminese burn technique on my three year old.

“He’s fine, now go call Papa Bear, this is ready.” Anna-Marie hurried to the back door as Raven dished up the three plates on the table and dumped Johnny, who true to form was running around in his braises just as Anna-Marie had said into his chair with a bowl of mush.

“Did Darry ever put a girl’s plaits in an inkwell?” Anna-Marie asked Sara-Beth curiously. Sara-Beth shook her head with a laugh.

“No, Darin’s never been much of one for pranks.” Raven glanced at Sara-Beth as something slipped into her voice.

“He wouldn’t have anyway, Darry’s too nice.” Raven said.

“He did get into a couple of fights cause other boys were being mean to girls, though.” Sara-Beth pointed out.

“Aren’t you gonna ask Papa if he ever dipped girls plaits?” Eric teased, his deep voice rumbling.

“They had ink when you were in school, papa?” Anna-Marie asked her eyes wide and innocent.

“Your daughter.” Eric shot a mock glare at Raven who gave her best impression of Anna-Marie’s innocent expression.

“Of course they had ink when Papa was in school.” Raven said. “He was just tired all the time from having to chase down the deer and stuff to write on cause it was before paper.” Anna-Marie covered her mouth with her hand and giggled.

“Done, mama!” Johnny announced. His bowl was still half full, Raven could see it from where she was sitting.

“Are you sure? Cause I still see supper in there.” Johnny picked up the bowl and dumped the rest of the mush onto the floor.

“Done, mama! Down!” Johnny told her.

“You get down when Mama finishes her dinner, you know the rules.” Johnny kicked his feet and pounded his fists for about as long as it took for Raven’s eyebrow to quirk upward and then the boy fell silent, though if that glint in his eye was any indication, this wasn’t over.

If you came right down to it, neither of her kids were Eric’s kids in personality. Eric was hound friendly and so kind and sweet it was really a surprise he didn’t melt in the rain. Nope, if Raven wanted someone to blame for her twisted little children, she’d have to look in the mirror.

It was really best not to give Johnny too much time to think about whatever it was that he was planning, so Raven tucked into her dinner, leaving the conversation to Sara-Beth, Eric, and Anna-Marie.

“Say good-night to Sara-Beth, Johnny.” Raven instructed from where she was cleaning up the wooden bowl and spilled mush as the boy toddled off in the direction of the toys.

“Night-night!” The little boy looked up at Sara-Beth with a grin. It was always good to remind her that kids weren’t always nightmares, even hers. And once the bowl and plates were in the sink with Eric helping Anna-Marie was them, Raven walked outside into the soft summer night with her friend.

“I love having dinner with your family.” Sara-Beth commented. Raven looked at her. “No, really. Your kids make me giggle. Darin’s too serious by a half. It’s good to be around people who don’t take life too seriously.”

“Well, maybe your kids will be pranksters.” Raven shrugged. “You need more laughs in your life.”

“Your kids are charmers, but I need a far better reason than just that kids might make me laugh to have a few.” Raven probably had a retort to that, but just then the door cracked open.

“Mama?” Anna-Marie asked.

“What? I’m trying to say good night to Sara-Beth.”

“You said to tell you if Johnny was naked. Papa’s chasing him all over the living room an’ he’s running ’round naked as a jaybird.” Anna-Marie said. Sara-Beth held up a hand to forestall whatever Raven was about to say.

“I really do need to go, I have to work tomorrow.” The other woman told her. “You go chase your son.”

“Thanks.” Raven said, somewhat sourly, pulling Sara-Beth into a hug. After Johnny was cornered and captured and forced to endure a bath–might as well add insult to injury–Raven handed Johnny over to Eric to be put to bed. Which wasn’t ever an easy task, in fact she finished helping Anna-Marie with her copywork and into bed herself before Eric emerged from Johnny’s room with a more than slightly harried expression on his face.

“So,” she asked over her shoulder. “How long do you suppose we have?”

“With that kid, maybe five minutes, maybe an hour, maybe five hours.” Eric shrugged. “I don’t remember Anna-Marie being quite this troublesome.”

“She was–differently troublesome.” Raven got up, ignoring her protesting feet for the moment. “All kids are, so far as I know. Even the not troublesome ones are troublesome in their not-troublesomeness.”

“Darin?” Raven nodded. “Same old, same old?”

“Yep.” Eric nodded. “If it would help any, have Sara-Beth tell Darin that if he finishes school and can’t find anything but sweeping stables for an apprenticeship, I’ll give him one.” Raven noted that away, it probably would help. “I would, I mean he’s a good kid and works hard, not that he’ll need it, though.”

“Yeah, try and convince him of that.” Raven agreed. “But thank you, anyway.”

“So, because I’m such a generous soul, do I get a reward?” He asked leaning in close to kiss her.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame…”

Imsdyn 7th, 1513 – River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

The early morning light, thin and spiteful, barely scratched at the weathered parchment stretched over the small window. It would be so easy to ignore the light creeping in, to roll over and go back to sleep. Except now that the light had given it’s cue, there were a hundred other minor discomforts that would make pulling the gray fog back over his head like a blanket impossible. There was an errant piece of straw poking up from his mattress, jammed somewhere into his thigh near something he might eventually want to make use of. Something else was informing him it was time to go find the privy. His shoulders and neck were telling him they needed to move if he wanted to use them any time today they needed to be relieved of their own pressures.

Sixteen and already creaky. Wright damn it. And if he were going to sit up and take care of those inconveniences, he might as well get out of bed. The Lord Wright could damn that too. With the soft crinkle-crackle of displaced straw protesting, Darin shoved his way up into a sitting position and cataloged the world around him. Outside, the annoying wuh-kk wuh-kk of the chickens kept in the yard, the soft hiss-scrape of a tree branch against the house, slightly fainter than that, Goody Butcher calling for Frankie to come in for brekky.

Inside the house, however, was silent and still in an eerie sort of way. Memories floated to the surface, reminding him of why the silence was a ghostly hand at the back of his neck, trying to raise the hair there. He shoved them aside with the same motion that pushed him up out of the strawbox and propelled him out of his cubby and into the cottage’s main room.

Nothing stirred, except a few dustmotes kicked up by the curtain that separated his sleeping area from the rest of the house. The pervasive gloom, not at all bothered by the banked fires at either end of the main room, not, if he were to be completely honest bothered even when the room was lit with full fires and candles, was as much a part of the house as the scratched and patched and crumbling stucco that covered the soft brick of the walls. It was like, more or less, a third resident of the house, made up of ghosts and memories and sadness, an unpleasant house-guest, blessedly silent, but always aware.

After answering natures call and a quick, but thorough wash-up, he made his way back into his cubby and dug out the doublet and hosen that made up his school uniform. For a boy far more used to rough canvas and even rougher wool, the linen felt too light under his fingertips. He flipped his blankets up over the bed, scooting the pillow down so he could sit on it, a little more padding between the hosen and the prickly straw of his mattress, as he tied the garters ’round his legs. Loose at first, so he could tie the bow in front then work it around to the back as was the style.

Nevermind that the boys who set that style all had valets to tie their garters and didn’t need to worry about getting the bow straight on the leg. If he tried to make sense of everything his schoolmates did, well, the next thing he’d wear would also be linen–white and provided by the order of St. Betsy when they put him in the tower next to the old man who claimed he was St. Robert reborn and had tried, three times, to walk on the river to prove it.

I’d probably see Sara-Beth more often that way. The traitorous thought floated up before he could quash it. But he shoved it back down. He cocked his head and listened brushing the thick strands of his hair out of his face as if thinking of his step-sister would bring her to his door. Silence was all that greeted him, odd because if he was a cranky old crow in the morning, Sara-Beth was a lark, insisting that the best time was when the world was new and bright.

He walked to her door and tapped, but was only answered by the tap of that branch on the roof in the wind again.

“Sara-Beth?” He asked, pushing the door open to reveal an empty room. Though objectively nicer than his cubby, something about her room, worn rough at the edges contrasting with the brightness of the flowers she kept, that made Darin feel–guilty might be the best word? Like he was holding her back. Like she could be so much more if she just didn’t have to take care of him. It made his hand tug lightly at the hem of the school doublet.

Not for the first, fiftieth, or five-hundredth time he wished that he could just quit school. There was no reason to go to some fancy, rich noblemen’s school, sure, he’d get that education that Sara-Beth touted, but it wasn’t as if he’d go to Camford or do anything with it. What good would all that fancy learning do him when he was mucking out stables for Lord Carico or keeping watch out the back door of some counting house for the guard while his fellows stripped the place of every copper?

He shoved those traitorous thoughts down with their fellow and turned, the soft leather half boots seemed impossibly louder than his normal cat-silent footfalls as he strode across the room, if he didn’t go now–he’d be late for his first class. Out the door and into the morning sunlight, growing stronger with ever heartbeat.

“Mornin’, Darin.” A soft voice broke his reverie of all the things he’d rather do than walk in late to Brother Loki’s class, like crawl through broken glass, a far more pleasant thing to think about than all of the things he could be doing with this perfect early summer day besides being trapped in some dusty hall that smelled of incense, chalk dust, and cologne, pretending he were something other than a gutter rat there on sufferance.

“Eric, morning.”

“Glad you didn’t say good.” Eric chuckled, watering the young plants that lined the side of the house. The carpenter felt about mornings about the same way that Darin did.

“There ain’t such a thing.” Darin smirked at the old joke, then added. “They’re the cow-demons of the times of day.”

“Blasphemy and an ain’t, ’tis a good thing I won’t rat you out to your sister.” Eric grinned.

“Yep.” Darin said solemnly. Eric probably had some comment to add to that and Darin might’ve lingered,  but an exasperated voice broke in. “John! Johnny!” Raven–Eric’s wife and Sara-Beth’s best friend’s–called for her son from the other side of the house.

Raven rounded the corner, her hair falling out of it’s arrangement, giving her a harried look.

“C’mon, Johnny, come to mama.” She squatted down and held her hands out to the toddler who was watching her, a suspicious look and a pair of braises the only things the boy was wearing. “C’mon, Johnny, we need to put your clothes back on.”

“No! No clothes!” The little boy dashed between his mother’s outstretched hands, shedding the braises with the same ease he broke into a huge grin, flinging the cloth to the side, his naked ass bared for all the street to see.

“Your son!” Raven leveled an accusatory finger at Eric before diving for the little boy. Eric ducked his head to hide a smile as his wife swooped in front of the boy and grabbed him before he could reverse his course. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do with this boy.”

“No clothes!” John protested as Darin moved past the two. “Dary, tell mama no clothes.”

“Sorry, Johnny, smart men don’t argue with your mama.” He called over his shoulder as the boy protested.

Darin was still laughing to himself about Johnny when he rounded the corner and reached The Academy of St. Hugh. The other boys were arriving both in carriages and on horseback, turning the care of the latter over to boys like Darin had been. It was an easy way to make a copper and there was still plenty of time to lead the horses to the stable before they had to be in their seats at their own school. It was, Darin thought, how he’d caught the eye of the monks and been offered the scholarship that was now something of his bane.

He cut quickly around the corner to avoid the press of boys and horses, only to find his path blocked.

“No, I will not authorize you to take those books out of the library, Remi!” Father Valen, the headmaster and abbot of the brothers of St. Hugh snarled at a man in white and silver satin with the short tail that was favored by the religious orders.

“They’re dangerous books, Valen.” His voice reminded Darin of… damn! What was it?

“There is no such thing as a dangerous book, you can’t unmake something by pretending it never existed and you, of all the orders, should know it. I am in charge of that library and I will not let you decide what is fit for the consumption of those here and what is not.” Father Valen punctuated the words-spoken quietly enough that Darin could barely hear and the other boys, over their own noise, would not be able to hear at all-with firm thwacks of his fist into his palm.

“Men often think they’re more clever than they are, Valen. It’s better to take the temptation away before it can lead to harm.” Remi tossed the words over his shoulder, shooting Darin a smug smile that again tugged at some memory.

“Oh, I’ll buy that, Remi. I’ll certainly buy that you’d know all about men who are far less clever than they think they are.” Father Valen hissed, eyes so focused on Remi’s back that he didn’t even seem to register Darin’s presence at all. He turned and wrenched open the heavy, carved wooden door that lead into the school building and headed in and apparently up for he was on the stairs when Darin came in the door moments later.

“Brother Dustin, what are you doing in the broom closet again?” Valen’s voice floated down the stairs.

“I was looking for the broom, father.” Dustin spoke with a faint lisp.

“And–as your hands are empty apparently you didn’t find it?” Valen asked.

“No, father, it wasn’t that important.” The monk was scurrying, there was really no other word, except perhaps scuttle, to describe the quick hurried movement that the monk made as he went toward his classroom and away from his abbot. The third monk in the small hall as Darin crested the stairs, Brother Loki, sauntered toward his classroom, looking somewhat disheveled as well, but sated and with the air of a cat who had just eaten the canary.

“Isn’t–” Valen looked at the broom closet, then closed the door with a slam. “Never mind.” In the next movement, the monk had pulled a small flask out of his sleeve and took a long draw off it. “And they wonder why I drink. Two flasker today.”

If there was one thing that you could say about Brother Loki, it was that if one could at all avoid it, it would be best not to be the sole focus of his attention. (That and that he was in a long, extended catfight with sanity, and Loki was winning. But one digresses) There was something about the flat gray gaze that he turned on everyone, the sharp, angular planes of his face, and the barely contained hostility and driven madness in his gaze, but when Darin entered the classroom only to find it empty, it wasn’t exactly like he could just turn around and walk back out. Brother Loki would definitely notice that and Darin didn’t want to answer for that.

So instead Darin walked to his seat, refusing to scurry as he passed the monk, nose wrinkling unconsciously as he caught the whiff of anger, sex, and blood clinging to Brother Loki like some sort of bizarre incense. Brother Loki said nothing to Darin, just picked up his flint and went about the room lighting the lamps.

Sadly though, Brother Loki smelling like a brawl in a brothel wasn’t even the worst part of the class. No, that strolled in the door a couple of minutes after the monk finished lighting the lamps, as Darin tried to pretend he was terribly interested in what the book on the table said. It–or he rather–sat down in the chair to Darin’s right with a casual, boneless grace that seemed at war with the broadness of his shoulders, the muscles that bunched under his doublet as his hand clenched and unclenched under the edge of the desk and swept a no-more-sane nor any more warm gaze over him.

“Joshua, might I suggest, in the future, if you’re going to bully your schoolmates into doing your classwork for you, that you, at least, copy it into your own writing?” Brother Loki asked before standing up to start the lecture? “Or begin providing your classmates with handwriting samples. After-all who knows when a Lord will need the talents of a forger.”

“Oh, gee, Brother Loki, you caught me. I am appropriately chastised.” Even though Darin wasn’t the recipient of the black gaze that Brother Loki tossed at their table, even though Darin had stared down the man who had killed his father without flinching, it took every bit of strength and will not to cringe in the face of it. Don’t fuck with crazy, Reggie always said.

But if Joshua felt anything in response, he didn’t show it. He simply dipped his quill in the inkwell on the table and looked attentively at the monk with a smile.

By the time that Darin had gotten through his morning classes, through lunch, to his last class of the day, a religion lecture that was given by Father Valen, Darin’s shoulders were so twisted and knotted with tension, what was probably a very good meal sitting in his stomach like a lump of dried brick mortar.

This was the most pointless class that he took. It was intended to prepare students for the religious curriculum at Camford, and if Darin got within a day’s ride of Camford, it would probably be as a wagoner delivering a load of wood or something.

But Father Valen was a good speaker, and it was always interesting to see how drunk the man would be by this point in the day. He was always drunk by this time, but to what degree was the question.

And unlike the other instructors who insisted that they sit in some sort of arranged order, Darin could grab a seat on the bench at the very back, as far away from Joshua and his friends as was simly possible.

A two flasker, Father Valen had said that morning. It meant that to even the unobservant the man was a little off his game. He didn’t slur or stumble, nor did his hands shake as he followed the book with one finger, but the fact that he had to follow the book was telling. No matter how soggy his brain was, he had to be pretty far gone to not remember exactly where he was and exactly what he was saying.

It also meant when the knot of boys surrounding Joshua started getting a little loud and were obviously not paying attention, Father Valen didn’t even try and quiet them. At first, Darin thought that Father Valen didn’t even notice, but the way his eyes flicked up and to the right belied that. For some reason, today, Father Valen just didn’t care.

Darin slipped out in the confusion at the end of the class, and when the door opened again, bringing with it the musky smell of Joshua’s cologne, Darin basically darted straight for the chapel across the hall. It wasn’t guaranteed to save him, not being exactly like the Lord Wright would shoot lightning into the chapel and fry anyone who dared to fight, bully, or antagonize anyone in it. But Joshua seemed reluctant to go in there if he could avoid it.

Maybe bad luck was just with him today, because almost immediately after his butt hit the pew, the door opened again. He slumped down, not because it would hide him but out of resignation.

“If you were one of the other boys,” Father Valen murmured, “I’d tell you about how your mother would lecture me if they knew I let you slump.” He wound his way around the other side of the pew and sat down next to Darin without invitation.

“But you know I don’t have a mother.” Darin said, staring at the cross carved into the paneling over the altar.

“No, that’s not it. And not even in a “you do have a mother, she’s just been taken home to the Lord Wright” sort of way. Your sister is far too busy and practical to take time out of her day to yell at me for something that all boys do.” Father Valen said. “If your sister is going to come yell at me, it’ll be for a good reason. It’s so rarely for a good reason, you know.”

Like Remi? Darin wondered. Whoever he was. “Sorry.” Darin muttered to his feet instead of inquiring.

“For what? The fact that of all of the people I get coming through my office door so many are silly and there for completely ridiculous reasons?” Father Valen. “That certainly isn’t your fault and unlike some others, I don’t look to you for someone to blame. The fact that you’re here on scholarship, or as others would say, sufferance, doesn’t mean that you’re brainless.” He paused for a moment and continued on in a musing tone. “In fact I’m not sure it wouldn’t mean the opposite, half the time, with all the well-born dunces in my class, I’d half imagine the brains have been breed out of the nobility.”

Darin blinked. “But–” He cut himself off by biting his tongue before it followed to aren’t you the cousin of the Duke of Avilion?

“If you’re thinking that I’m a nobleman by birth,” Valen snuck a swig from his flask. “I will point out to you that I am the one who is in charge of all of this mess, which is more a nod to my brainlessness than my overwhelming intelligence. Go on, Darin, enjoy the summer day before it’s over. You’ll have plenty of time to wander these moldering halls, days like this don’t last forever, boy.”