"I'll go see about collecting his belongings," Ender said.
Berkant only finally kissed him, lips hot, firm, and commanding. Then he drew back and, with a move that Jankin completely failed to follow, swept him up into his arms and carried him like an elderly penitent who couldn't walk themselves to temple. "Put me down!"
Smirking, Berkant held fast as he walked across the room to the enormous bed.
"You can sleep here, or in one of the other beds. You each have your own, to do with as you please," Shafiq said. "We'll get you acquainted with all the little things later. For now, you really do look like you're ready to fall over."
Jankin yawned. "I hate to admit it but you're right."
Shafiq cupped his face and kissed him softly. "Sleep. When you wake, your new life awaits."
"I'm looking forward to it immensely," Jankin said with a smile, and kissed them both one last time before climbing into the soft, warm bed that smelled of flowers and Shafiq's spicy cologne, other little scents that collectively just described home.
The Lynx
Ramsay heard the cry for help a split second before he saw the boy coming in his direction at full speed, chased by half a dozen heavily armed men, bright sunlight reflecting off their metal breastplates. Dropping the dipper from which he'd been drinking water at the well, he drew his sword and ran forward with a roaring cry.
The men fought tenaciously, and if they had not been so strung out while chasing the boy, they might have stood a chance. Six against one should have been an easy victory for them, but they were scattered and tired from running in the exhausting heat, and Ramsay had not lost his edge, despite his unexpected and extremely early retirement.
He was still panting heavily when he finished. Kneeling, he cleaned his sword on the robe of a dead man, then sheathed it. He used his own sleeve to wipe the spatters of blood from his face. Turning, he sought out the boy and found him hiding behind the well Ramsay had only just abandoned. "Ho, there," he called, taking care with his Tavamaran. "You all right there, lad?"
"Y-y-yes," the boy stuttered, visibly shaking and crying as he slowly stood up. "T-t-thank you."
"You are welcome. Why is a boy so young out here all alone, being chased by dangerous men?"
The boy looked guilty and afraid, but only shrugged and looked at his feet.
Ramsay examined him. Despite sweat and dirt and grime, the boy was clearly of noble breeding. The clothes were high-quality linen, dyed expensive colors, and he wore a plain gold bracelet that plenty of people would certainly see as sufficient motivation for killing.
So likely taken for ransom, or wandered off following something curious and found himself in over his head. "Were they trying to kidnap you?"
The boy nodded, looking guiltier and more miserable by the second. Ramsay rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It will be all right, lad. What's your name? We'll see you home safe."
Rather than give his name, the boy went from scared to terrified, and tears began to stream down his face in earnest.
Ramsay had a sudden awful realization. No noble's son wouldfeargiving his name to a complete stranger—especially not one as glaringly foreign as Ramsay. But even a foreigner was likely to recognize the name of royalty, and the king had only one son, a boy of about eight years.
Kneeling, gripping his shoulders, Ramsay said softly, "You are Prince Kajan, aren't you?"
The boy started to sob then and appeared ready to bolt. Ramsay scooped him up and hugged him tight, holding him as he had once held his own little brother. He spoke soft, soothing words, switching between Tavamaran and Tritacian, until Kajan's tears finally calmed.
"It will be all right, Your Highness," Ramsay said. "I promise, I will not hurt you. Neither will I let another harm you, understand? I promise I will see you returned to your father. Come, come," he said, and finally let Kajan go. "No, you do not need to see that," he said when Kajan tried to look at the bodies.
He guided Kajan to his horse, Feather, and settled him on it. Then he went carefully around the rest stop, removing all signs of himself from the area that he possibly could. After that, he went to each of the bodies and removed anything useful.Many said it was bad luck to take things from the dead, but the dead had no use for coins and food and a headwrap for Kajan.
Their clothes were unremarkable, but their swords and armor were all of good quality. Those metal breastplates were an odd choice, uncommon in Tavamara. Even the royal guards wore leather armor for the most part. The swords were also high quality. Whoever these men had been, they were either good at their job or had thought they were.
The way it had taken six of them running about like angry chickens inclined him toward the second option. Smart, competent criminals were the exception, not the rule.
Once confident he would not be easily traced, and that he had all the information he could gather from the bodies, he swung up onto Feather behind Kajan and rode off into the thin forest that eventually would spill into the mountains that much later on formed the border between Tavamara and its northern neighbors. They traveled as quickly as he could manage, while stopping frequently to cover their tracks and ensure they were not followed.
By the time they reached his home, he was exhausted. He had not felt this sort of tension, this awareness, for a very long time. He thought he had left it all behind. He had intended to leave it all behind.
Pain twisted in his chest, a wound that would always be raw, as painful now as it had been seven months and six days ago. He would never forget how it had felt to hold his brother's dead and bloody body in his arms. The light forever gone from brown eyes, so much like their mother's. Dead because Ramsay had been too busy guarding a prince and had trusted his brother to others.
Making a rough sound, he dismounted, helped Kajan down, and then led Feather into the stable he had built himself shortly after arriving. The house had already been here, if onlybarely. He had gotten it for a pittance from a man who had been delighted to have the old cabin—shack, really—off his hands. But Ramsay had nothing but time on his hands now, and so had used it to make the house respectable and add a small stable to the property.
Now, buried in the thin forest, with a view of mountains all around him, he had found a reasonable imitation of peace.
