Hybel 4th, 1513 – Carico Estate, River Sulis, Lothianshire Albion

The words on the page in front of him were wavering for the third time, Josh closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The problem he’d found with choosing poetry as the subject he was being “tutored” in was that for so many years poetry had been his refuge from the craziness that came with being a Carico. But now every time he sat down to read one of those volumes, all he could hear was Darin’s deep voice, practically see him sitting in that chair by his desk, that half a smile on his lips. And that was just another bit of craziness that truthfully Josh didn’t need.

He sighed and flipped the page. He hadn’t expected to find someone he felt about the way he felt about Darin. Someone whose soul was a cracked and crazed and battered as his own was, but unlike Josh, someone who drew strength from adversity, someone who didn’t let that break him. He doubly would never have expected that it would be a “him”, certainly there were men that had “agreements”, he wasn’t totally innocent to the idea, but even had he entertained the idea, which he hadn’t really, before Darin, he’d never been that strongly attracted to anyone, male or female. Still an orphaned peasant boy was hardly what he ever would have pictured. Somehow though, none of that mattered when he looked at Darin. Still, it all hardly seemed to matter, Darin definitely was interested in the fairer sex, all you had to do was watch him with an attractive serving maid. And he had this feeling that was so deep it felt like knowledge that what was in store for him was that old Gaulish saw. Die young and leave a beautiful corpse.

And that brought his thoughts back around to why he was sitting here trying to lose himself in a volume of poetry anyway. In just a couple of short hours, they’d be piling into the carriage and heading to the cathedral to listen to a bunch of people lie about Milford Rance and what a great man he was.

It was usually lies, but when you considered he’d be in the pew next to–and behind–the reason that the man was in a box in the first place, the lies seemed that much more distasteful.

A knock came a moment later on the door. Josh didn’t jump exactly, but he did stand up and give his waistcoat a firm tug before saying “Come in.”

The door didn’t reveal who he thought it would. Usually if his mother wanted to see him, she had one of the maids summon him to wherever she was. But it was definitely his mother standing in the doorway, her black silk suit showing not the slightest sign of wilting, despite the heat of the day.

“I’m sorry to intrude.” His mother said, pausing just a few steps inside the door. “But I am at my wits end, Josh.” Josh couldn’t help the blink, if he did manage to restrain gaping at her. His mother come to beg help off of him. “Your sister listens to you far better than she ever listens to me. Please, try and talk some sense into her.”

“I know she’s stubborn, she’s related to your father’s family and mine. But usually she’ll see sense.” It was a shock to see Marisol flustered. Nothing ever seemed to phase her, she had a completely enviable ability to roll with whatever life threw at her. But she was definitely frazzled. “I do not even want to know what will come out of this. Please, Josh. I’ve had the maids lay out a couple of my suits, we have time to have them hemmed up before we have to leave.

“All right, Mother.” Josh said, not quite tracking what she was talking about. But apparently Bet had gotten an idea in her head and was being stubborn about it. Which if he thought about it, he should have expected. You’d have to be a saint to forgive a man who had done to Bet what Rance had. And now she had to go sit in the cathedral and listen to the same lies Josh had been lamenting listening to earlier. Of course she would rebel–and of the four of them, only Marisol didn’t know why she would be rebelling.

“Thank you, Josh. I’ll be downstairs in the parlor.” Marisol turned and walked back out into the hall and down the stairs. Josh squared his shoulders, feeling like a man suiting up for a battle, because if Bet had dug her feet in, it’d probably be one. And he he walked out the door, crossing the short piece of hall that separated his bedroom from hers and tapped on the ornate door.

“Who is it?” His sister’s familiar voice came a moment later.

“It’s Josh, can I come in?”

“Of course.” Of course. He pushed the door open and walked into his sister’s domain. Bet was at the mirror, checking her cosmetics, he guessed. “Mother sent you in to deal with me, huh?”

“Yeah. She didn’t, uh, actually get to the part where she explained what I’m supposed to be talking with you about, though.”

“My dress. She doesn’t think it’s appropriate, either for my age or the event.” Bet smoothed the waves of her hair one last time before stepping away from the mirror and around the screen. Josh bit his lip, pretty much to keep from pounding his fist against his forehead and groaning. He could definitely see why his mother had a problem with it. No twelve year old should be showing that much decolletage, nor really anyone attending a funeral.

“And you do?” Josh asked. If he couldn’t be honest with Elizabet than who could he be honest with? That was the thing that his mother didn’t understand about dealing with Elizabet when she got into one of her stubborn phases. You had to lay your cards out on the table, be honest. Marisol never laid her cards on the table. She wasn’t dishonest but she kept so many things close to the vest that you never felt she was truly being honest.

“If all I am to Father is a means to an end, a piece of meat to be auctioned off to the person who can give him what he wants, then why shouldn’t I acknowledge that?” Elizabet said, planting her hands on her hips in a way that said that he was not off to a great start.

“Because that’s not what you are, Bet. Aren’t you the one who always says that Father shouldn’t win with us? He doesn’t get to break you, he can’t.” Josh pulled his sister into a long hug, hating the way her body quivered as he did it.

“You think he should get to break you. Aren’t you the one who is always trying to be what that son of a bitch thinks you should be? To the point of completely denying your own heart?” Elizabet pointed out ruthlessly.

“And since when do you want to be me, Bet?” Josh shot back.

“Since I realized it doesn’t matter!” Elizabet said. “I’m still just a piece on his game board and nothing I do will change that. What’s the point in fighting and arguing and trying to be something else?”

“Okay.” Josh said. He saw her blink before he turned for the door.

“Okay?” Elizabet echoed. “What are you doing, Josh? Where are you going?”

“To my room, to get The Sword.” The Sword had been Joshua the First’s. The one that he had used to lead the army against the Remans in the battle that won the town. Elizabet caught his arm.

“And what are you going to do with it?” He felt a little tingle of something–magic, maybe?–coursing between her palm and his bicep.

“I’m going to kill our father with it.” Elizabet gasped and that tingle became a current that locked him in place.

“Josh! Don’t even joke about that!” Elizabet told him in a shocked voice.

“I’m not joking. If I can’t protect you from him while he’s alive, then I’ll just bloody make him not alive.” Josh said through clenched teeth. “The king won’t even have to come to River Sulis twice for a funeral. He can just stay an extra day while we get a box.”

“Josh, don’t throw your life away.”

“What life, Bet? I’m so fucked up that I can’t even fall in love right. You’d make a much better baroness than I’ll make a baron, Mother can go on with her life, Darin will be okay, you’ll take care of him, I know. Everyone and everything I care about will be safe as long as he’s not here.” Josh enumerated for her. It was about all he could do, his legs were trembling from whatever she’d done to him, and he wasn’t sure that they wouldn’t fail him a moment later.

“Josh.” Elizabet’s voice broke. “You can’t do that.”

“Orkneys are good at killing people who get in their way. It–and being batshit crazy–is about all we are good at.”

“I. Won’t. Let. You.” Elizabet told him.

“If my choices are you or him, I choose you. If my choices are you or me, I still choose you.” Josh told his sister.

“Josh.” Elizabet whispered. “You won’t, promise me, you won’t. We can’t lose each other.”

“If the dragon’s gone, you won’t need me.”

“But I will. I need you to be my big grouchy brother to scare all the pimply faced suitors Mother scrounges up. I don’t want to be Baroness. I want to be able to stand behind you and tell you I told you so while you do it.” Elizabet laughed, except it didn’t touch her eyes at all. “I won’t stop needing you after he’s gone and I am not going to let you take yourself away from me.”

A tap came at the door. “Lady Elizabet, Lord Joshua. Your lord father says it is time for you to leave.”

“See, we’ll be late for the funeral if you kill him. You can’t kill him.” Elizabet stuck her tongue out at Josh. “We’ll be right down, Fern. Now,” Elizabet poked him. “You stop being crazy. Right now, Joshua Piers.”

“You first, Elizabet Sophie. I always have to go first, it’s your turn.”

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 14th, 1513 – Carico Estate, River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

The new maid, Mrs. Hearst’s niece, ducked her head and looked to the side, she was taller than Elizabet–who wasn’t?–but between the ducked head and the hunched shoulders and slouched posture she didn’t seem it. “No, m’lady. I haven’t seen Lord Joshua.” Her tone was deferential and–almost scared. Like I’d blame her for the fact that I seem to have misplaced my brother. Maybe Fern thought that Elizabet would. She didn’t think her father was that unreasonable and he was by far the most unreasonable person in the entire household from pot boy straight on up.

“That’s just like brothers. They’re always around when you don’t want them and not around when you do.” She shook her head. Fern raised her head slightly, a small smile poking at the corner of her lips. “You have brothers, right? Isn’t that just like them?”

“Aye, m’lady.” Fern said.

“How many?” Elizabet asked, curiously. Fern blinked at her. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Oh, I have three, m’lady.” Fern said. When Elizabet nodded encouragingly, she continued. “All younger.”

“Miss them?” Elizabet pressed. Fern nodded again.

“Oscar an’ Ham a lot. Hamilton, it’s a family name, m’lady.” She added in a hurry. “Parnell not so much.”

“Ah, one of those brothers that the best part of knowing him is missing him when he’s gone, eh?” Fern giggled behind her hand. “I have some extended family like that.” Fern looked down the long hall toward the green door the separated “upstairs” from “downstairs” and Elizabet realized that she was probably keeping the other girl from something. Niece or no niece, the housekeeper would come down hard on the girl for any perceived slacking.

“I should probably go find my brother.” She told Fern.

“‘m Sorry I couldn’t be more help, m’lady.” Fern told her, though she ducked her head and shoulders a little, at least she wasn’t looking like a whipped dog as she had when Elizabet had first stopped her.

“Salright.” Elizabet told her with a smile. “It’s not your fault that my brother is good at disappearing.” That would be my father’s fault. She thought as the girl curtsied and hurried off down the hall. Though if Fern hadn’t seen him, there was one place he might be. Mrs. Hearst wouldn’t have sent anyone into that room to light the lamps, normally there wouldn’t be anyone in it. She quickly turned the corner to the smaller, but no less opulent door set there.

A brazier was lit here, wouldn’t do for the family to stub their toes getting to the lamp, after all. But that was about all the stock that Elizabet took of the room. She wanted to get in and out of it as quickly as possible. It was like all the time that Cox spent in the room had somehow permeated it with something it couldn’t be too healthy to expose yourself to.

Up the spiral marble stair, her soft slippers seeming to call to the empty walls by the way they echoed as she climbed. The furniture in the antechamber was opulent, if a touch dated, she’d been told it was a holdover from when her grandfather had been baron of River Sulis. It was the same furniture that resided in Madame Cox’s parlor. Except of course it seemed welcome and right in place in Madame Cox’s parlor, here it seemed rather like one of the aged courtiers who played chess in the gardens at Camelot, old, tired, still good for stiff formality, but not so good for much else.

And of course there was a painting of some relative stuck on the wall to watch disapprovingly. Like there was practically anywhere in the house. Every room had to have some solemn portrait staring at every move you made, unblinking in their disapproval.

Whomever had come up with the idea that decorating with portraits was a wonderful plan was obviously a sadist.

She didn’t linger, lest the portrait of great aunt somebody-or-other get the idea that she was being idle. Sure, it was silly and superstitious, but a little silliness never hurt anyone. Elizabet pushed open the door to her father’s office to be greeted by warm light and the glint of her brother’s hair as he stared at a set of papers in front of him. Fingers curled about his chin, a slight slouch of shoulders and a haunted expression that she’d lay a year’s pocket money had nothing to do with those papers.

He looked up and smiled at her, an honest smile, true and a little sweet, though it flickered a little at the edges.

“What are you doing in here.” Elizabet asked. She hated this room most of all. It was like most rooms decorated by someone of Orkney descent, dark wood, fabric that looked like it had been dyed using blood, carvings and all the trappings of opulence abounding. But that wasn’t why she hated it. It was her father’s room. More than his bedchamber, which she wasn’t even sure what looked like, she never went in there, this was where her father held court.

Where edicts and demands were handed down. If it would have changed anything, Elizabet would have burned the entire room. But it wouldn’t, nothing would change until Jayson was gone from all their lives.

Normally Josh felt the same way about this room and avoided it with the same passion Elizabet did. It was strange to see Josh at the desk that her father normally sat at. Though there was no doubt that Josh was their father’s son, the wide upswept eyes and line of the jaw were identical, there was no mistaking Josh for Jayson.

And it was the one prayer that Elizabet voiced often, that her brother would continue to be exactly as he was and never develop the aura of “this man is crazy” that their father exuded with every breath.

“Father said that I should tend to dispatches and such in here.” Josh shrugged, his broad shoulders rising and falling in almost furtive movement.

“What father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Elizabet pointed out.

“Not worried about it hurting him, Bet.” Josh said, pinning her in place with slate eyes. “I will be baron some day, I’ll have to get used to this office sometime.”

“No, you won’t.” Elizabet told him.

“This room has served as the office for the baron since the estate was built, it was specifically designed to be the office of the Baron.”

“Oh, sure, physically, these four walls will be here when you’re baron. But this office won’t. I know you, Josh, and would be heartfully disappointed in you if you didn’t gut everything out of this office when you inherit it.”

“Except the jar on the console.” He jerked his head behind him. “I couldn’t get rid of Great Uncle Victor.” Elizabet looked past Josh then back at her brother’s face.

“I don’t really think that’s Great Uncle Victor.” She said. Though she wasn’t convinced. She couldn’t put it past her father to use the ashes of some dead relative as a bookend.

Josh also looked over his shoulder at the jar. “Well, there is the ashes of someone in that jar. And what if it is Great-Uncle Victor? You can’t just give away a relative. No matter how creepy it is…” Josh shuddered.

“We’ll put the jar down in the crypt and if it is him, he and Grandfather can battle it out in the afterlife, and if it’s just fireplace ashes that Jayson uses to scare people, he can explain why there’s a dead tree interred in the family crypt.” Elizabet told him. Josh almost smiled.

“So, that’s why I’m here. Why are you here?” Josh asked.

“Looking for you. What’s got you worried?” Elizabet asked as Josh’s eyes flickered down to the papers in front of him. There was a chance it was a stall tactic, but there was also a chance that there really was something there too.

“You ever heard of a Madame Bones?” Josh asked.

“No.” Elizabet peered over the top of the page. “Who is that–other than a person descended from someone with a really poor taste in surnames–or someone crazy?”

“I don’t know either. Though what I do know about her, I’d lean more toward the latter. I think it might be an assumed name. She’s apparently a gypsy witch. I’ve got a report on her from Guardsman Rose. She’s ostensibly a bookseller, though there’s more than a few rumors that’s not all she sells. She’s got a shop down in Dead Man’s Alley.”

“Cheery place, that.” It was Elizabet’s turn to shudder. She’d been there only once and had had nightmares for months. She still sometimes had nightmares about it. There was something wrong there. You could feel it in the very ground. Josh nodded. “Well–I’ve never heard of her, but I know someone you might ask.”

“Oh?” Josh asked, finger sliding over the wood of the table.

“Darin.” Something like pain briefly surfaced in Josh’s eyes. “He’s down not far from there, and you know him, people talk and he listens.”

“Aye.” Josh stared at his hands. Yep. That’s just what I thought, Elizabet thought to herself. “He might know.”

“Although he hasn’t been around so much recently. Still comes for tutoring, but not so much beyond that.” Elizabet pressed. The problem with trying to talk about anything involving her brother and how he might feel was that you had to come at it more than a bit circumspectly. You had to trap him into admitting he felt it before you could even talk about it.

“Aye, I know.” Josh was meeting her eyes, but the way they twitched away told her more than words ever could’ve.

“What in Wright’s name made you convince yourself you needed a poetry tutor in the first place?” Elizabet asked him after a moment. “Josh, you love books and poetry almost as much as Marianne does.”

“It was a reason to get Darin to come around more, alright? I–like him… I mean, I realized that he was someone who would be a good friend.”

“I know.” Elizabet said and watched her brother sigh. “But I think it’s more than that.”

“It can’t be more than that, Bet! I can’t–I can’t.”

“C’mon, Josh, stop doing the old Lord of the Manor bit, so if you like him in a you wanna–”

“Bet!” Josh was blushed so hard his face looked slightly purpled. “I can’t like him like that, and it has nothing to do with Remi’s it’s a mortal sin to want to–to make love to another man sort of way. Darin doesn’t have parents that Jayson won’t want to piss off. He’s not safe. He can’t protect himself from–from our father.”

“And with anyone else, I might agree. But I honestly think that Darin would spit in the eye of the Grim for someone he cares about. And despite all his protests I think he cares about you.” Elizabet told him. “And if the Grim doesn’t scare him, I highly doubt our father would even make him blink.”

“He doesn’t like me like that.”

“And you know this because you’ve talked about it?” Elizabet asked blandly. And if they have talked about it, I’ll eat my riding boots–after I’ve walked through the corrals.

“No–but I am pretty sure that he likes girls, Bet. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not one.”

“I dunno, you’re a little muscular, but plenty pretty enough.” Elizabet batted her lashes at her brother. Unfortunately instead of making him laugh, he surged up out of the chair and walked over to the fireplace staring for a long moment into the mirror above it.

“Would you want to tell Vivi or Marianne that you liked them?” He muttered at the mantle.

“If I liked them, it’d be better to tell them than live forever knowing I didn’t have the courage to do it.”

“Yeah, well, Darin’s not the only one who would spit in the eye of the Grim. I’m not like you, Bet. I can’t be fearless. I don’t know how.” Josh said, wrenching Elizabet’s heart in her chest. She wished he could. Her father shouldn’t be able to keep Josh on the ground. He didn’t deserve that victory.

“Josh, if you want to suffer in noble silence, I’ll think you’re an idiot, but I will accept that. If I have to. But you cannot do what you normally do when you don’t know what to do.” Elizabet paused for a moment wondering if that made sense and shrugged before continuing.

“Have you looked at Darin, I mean really looked? He is looking so much better than when we first met at the Guardstation. His skin doesn’t look two sizes too small, you can no longer shave with his cheekbones, he looks like he slept sometime this year, you know why that is?”

“I know.” Josh murmured. “And I thought of that.”

“So what are you going to do?” Elizabet asked. Josh shrugged.

“…Suffer in noble silence–but keep being a friend.” Josh said after a long moment.

“That’s my big brother.” Elizabet said, giving him a quick hug. Jayson can’t have your heart, Josh, he can’t break your spirit. It’s what makes you who you are. It’s what’ll make River Sulis a better place when you’re baron. And I will personally cut his heart out if he tries. She thought to herself as they both turned to leave the study. He might have won a few battles, but damn it, I am winning the Wright be damned war.

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.

Catch your breath hit the wall, scream out loud, as you start to crawl back in your cage the only place, where they will leave you alone.

Darid 25th, 1513 – The Academy of St. Hugh, River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

“Don’t tell me you’re done already.” A strong pale hand caught Brother Dustin by the throat. It’s twin caught him as somewhat lower as well, the lower hand shifting slightly so that broad, close cropped nails dug in the length of him. Dustin didn’t know what to tell him, not that it really mattered, he couldn’t have spoken even if he had known.

Loki stepped just a bit closer, the grip on his neck tightening to the point where his instincts were starting to kick in, adrenaline raced down his muscles, it’d hurt more if he tried to run, but his body wanted to. Perversely, it also wanted to press him back against the broad chest flush with his shoulders, to grind against Loki.

He’d prayed to the Lord so many times to clear him of these thoughts. But he came back, he always came back. Even when he had to walk, humiliatingly, into the dining hall at the abbey, the eyes of all the monks on him, his abused body clenched tight against leaking, unable to clean up because they were running late–or because Loki just hadn’t given him permission to do so. The knowing looks burned like salt sprinkled on the shallow cuts of Loki’s riding crop on his back.

But every time Loki cocked an eyebrow at him, Dustin slunk back to his metaphorical bed–in the years that they had been doing this, there had only been a couple of times that they’d had anything so mundane as a bed. Hughian monks, bar the abbot, slept in a barracks like dormitory room. Some other orders gave their monks the privilege of cells, even if they were no more than a cot, clothes chest, and place to kneel and pray.

There had been the once that Valen had sent Loki and Dustin to Port Finessa to collect some materials for him, they’d stayed one night in an inn because the weather had taken a nasty turn and the one monastery that would have put them up for the night, the brothers were suffering from a nasty flux. A couple of overnights to the capital in Reme, where Albionese monks were not always welcome.

But even had a bed been available to them, Loki probably would have chosen the floor, or a bench, or table. Beds, Dustin figured, were for lovers–not whatever the hell he and Loki were–other than on a fast track to hell.

“You’re not attentive tonight, cher.” Loki pouted in his ear. It was pretty much the only Gaulish that Loki ever used and the closest to informal they ever were. It was like they couldn’t do this if Loki was calling him by his Wrightian name. He grabbed hold of the back of Dustin’s neck with those neat, even white teeth sinking in to a point that would leave a bruise. He hoped to Wright that it was some place that his tail would cover. The last time he had to wear a high necked undergarment for like a week for the bruises to fade. It wouldn’t do for the students to see a monk running around with bite marks and bruises on his neck.

Loki was getting worse about it, it was like something inside the other monk was slipping… But like Dustin had any room to talk. He was the one who let Loki fuck him open wide right there on the desk that Loki’d be teaching at come morning. He raised his hand and touched the lock of hair right above Loki’s temple. It was one of their signals that Dustin needed to talk to the other man.

He wondered if it would work. It didn’t always. But Loki stepped away, letting Dustin take a couple of hard breaths. “I’m sorry.”

Loki stepped closer, heavy lids half closed. “Don’t be sorry, just say whatever you need to babble about so we can get back to what we were doing.” He gave Dustin’s nipple a quick pinch/twist as if to remind him. As if he could forget. “I don’t have all night, someone’s bound to notice we’re gone, and I don’t feel like dealing with Valen’s slurring tonight and Baron Jayson in the morning.”

“The baron? Why are you seeing him?” Dustin blurted out without thinking.

“Are you jealous?” Loki asked with a sneer.

“No.” Dustin didn’t know why his voice trembled on it. He wasn’t jealous, in fact it would probably be better if Loki found some other playmate. (…Plaything…) Not that he would, at least not in Jayson of Carico, the baron would never submit to Loki, and Loki needed to be the undisputed alpha.

The sneer jumped up a notch, before melting into smirk that ended in a heavy lidded salacious smile. “I need to talk with him about Joshua.” Dustin bit his lip.

“Why?” He couldn’t have been acting up in class, Joshua hadn’t been in since the previous week.

“Because he’s been skipping class.” Loki told him, rolling his eyes.

“I thought he was ill, he hasn’t been in anyone’s classes.” Dustin offered. It was hard not to notice Joshua, even in a class full of young noblemen, he hardly blended in, there was something about his glossy ash blonde hair and cat swept slate eyes that made him stand out almost always.

“I had thought that myself, but according to what I heard from a little bird, whatever this mysterious illness is hasn’t stopped him from going to the tavern in the evening.” There was something about Loki’s expression that twisted Dustin’s stomach with both fear and lust. He ignored the lust for now.

“You do know what will happen if you talk with the baron, Loki.”

“Oh, how sweet.” Loki simpered. “You’re worried for poor Joshua. If you have the time for that, cher, I guess I’ll have to take it off your hands.” The other man pulled Dustin into a crushing grip, forcing his mouth onto Dustin’s and smothering any protests with his mouth and tongue. Leaving Dustin with nothing to do but scrabble at his back and tip his head to give Loki the angle he needed to steal all of Dustin’s air entirely.

When he was breathless and shaking with reaction, Loki struck again, forcing him to the floor, pinning him in place. He felt the other man’s spit slide between his cheeks before being forced open with careless disregard for the state of Dustin’s internal organs.

—

Darid 27th, 1513 – Carico estate, River Sulis, Lothianshire, Albion

Josh’s hand shook as he reached for the library door.  Dorine had had that almost expressionless, sympathetic look on her face when she had tapped on his bedroom door to tell him that his lord father wished to speak with him in the library. It told Josh all he needed to know. He’d been caught, there was nothing to do but face up to the music. But that didn’t stop him from wishing that he could do anything but go into the library and speak with his father.

But Jayson was not one to be kept waiting and so Josh pushed the door open. His father was sitting at one of the tables reading a book. He looked up when Josh entered, glanced one last time at the page and shut the book with a soft thud.

“Have a seat, Joshua.” Jayson’s voice was as clear, icy, and even as if he were giving a speech. Josh wasn’t fooled, but he walked to one of the chairs by the fireplace, unlit logs sitting on the andirons at the moment, the fire wasn’t needed and given all of the books in the room, if it wasn’t needed, it wasn’t kept lit. He slipped into the chair and stared at the carvings on the fireplace.

He heard his father put his book away, then his firm footfalls as he walked to the other chair and sank into it with an easy grace that always made Josh feel like a lumbering behemoth. Jayson smoothed his tunic and looked at Josh with what was ostensibly disinterested curiosity.

“I’ve had a most interesting conversation with Brother Loki at the Academy, Joshua.” Jayson began, pinning him in place with a glare that practically dared Josh to squirm. He didn’t and Jayson continued. “He tells me that you’ve been skipping your classes this week. Is there a reason for that?”

It sounded so reasonable, so like if Josh would just explain then this could all go away. It wouldn’t and so Josh worked up enough spit to say “Not really.” If Josh had cared to inform his father about why he was skipping class–well–he wouldn’t have been in the situation that lead him to skip class in the first place.

No, he really didn’t want to tell his father about Philipa’s drug problem or all the money that she owed some thug in a stylish suit. He didn’t want to tell him about how he had gone to talk with said thug when Philipa told him that Marcinak was pressing her to steal some trial information from her father so that he could set his lackeys to intimidating the jury in a case against one of Marcinak’s lieutenants.

Philipa would never have gotten into her father’s office to steal that information. Either Marcinak didn’t understand that–or he was trying to set her up somehow. Josh didn’t know. Although that wasn’t really the reason that Josh had been skipping class this week. Sure, walking through the halls with a face as worked over as his had been would have been more attention than Josh would have wanted, but not all of it would have been negative.

No, it had more to do with where he sat than what his face looked like. Josh felt like he owed Darin some sort of an answer for all the crap he’d put the other boy through the other night and Josh didn’t have one. And somehow, even having run over in his head what was likely to happen to him if he did cut class–Josh didn’t have any hope that he would have been able to get away with doing it–he couldn’t go sit in those classrooms right next to Darin and not be able to tell him something.

You don’t just kiss a man and go on with your life as if nothing happened. Josh had a tough enough time with the idea of kissing a girl and going on with his life like it hadn’t happened. No, Darin’s willingness to let it go or not, he deserved an explanation and Josh didn’t want to face him until he had one.

Seeing as he couldn’t come up with a reason why he kissed him and his mind just wouldn’t let go of the fact that he had, the only thing he could do was avoid Darin, which considering he sat next to him in most of their classes, wasn’t all that easy to do. At least without skipping school.

And if telling Jayson about Philipa was out of the question, telling his father that he’d randomly kissed a man for no apparent good reason was a whole other universe of something altogether.

“I see.” Jayson said, folding his hands. “Joshua, what am I going to do with you? One of these days you are going to have to think about what you’re doing. You will be a baron one day and do you think that the other noblemen are just going to shrug or throw their hands up if you continue to act without thinking.” He paused as if collecting his thoughts.

“Has it occurred to you, Joshua, that having an ineffectual lord in this town is simply asking Reme to attempt to take it back? And do you really think that you would survive it if they did? And what might happen to your mother? Your sister? if that happened?” Jayson sighed but it didn’t cover the sound of the door closing.

Josh’s spine tingled, knowing there were eyes on his back. He knew exactly who was watching him, but Josh knew enough to know you didn’t take your eyes off Jayson, the other wouldn’t make a move until Jayson loosed his reins.

“Ah, Cox, right on time.” Jayson said with a half smile. Josh heard the sound of cloth rustling and felt his throat go drier if that was even possible.

And just a moment later, at the corner of his vision, Cox appeared. As Josh had suspected, he’d shed his coat and waistcoat, Madame Cox refused to even send his clothing to the laundress if he had blood on it. Blood, she had apparently told him, was not part of his job description and cleaning it up was not at all part of her job description. If he was going to get his clothing bloody, he could make sure that it got clean too.

“I am just trying to make you think, son.” Jayson said before standing. “I’m sure you understand.” Josh said nothing, nor did Cox. The library door shut with a soft click that might as well have been the ponderous thud of a stone crypt door.

Josh said nothing, just got out of his chair, no reason to make more work for the parlor maids and walked over to the empty space next to the door. Cox followed and Josh turned, his lips turned faintly up at the corners because you didn’t show fear to a mad dog.

That was the last coherent thought that went through his mind before he doubled over the wind knocked clear out of him.

His last thought at all was how brightly the light seemed to catch Cox’s wedding band right before the fist it was wrapped around caught his chin and all he saw was black.

—

The library was dark except the light of a single candle when Josh came to himself, curled up on one side, blood puddled under his cheek. The hem of a something fluttered near him, neat slippers stopped just a fingers-width from the blood.

“Bet?” He pushed the rough croak out of his desert-dry throat.

“Well,” She said, voice sounding on the edge of tears. “It’s not the queen.” He tried to chuckle–it hurt. The cold stone floor had leeched all the heat from his body and seemed to make every bruise protest that much more as he slowly pushed up into a sitting position and then even more slowly got to his feet. He could barely stay on them starting to tumble back to the floor when Elizabet caught him. How her small, almost frail body managed to keep him even a little upright amazed him.

“I got you.” She whispered in his ear. “I got you.”

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.