Orphan's Blade. Aubrie Dionne

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СКАЧАТЬ House of Song’s princess would remedy those prejudices. He held their gazes as he dismounted and the minstrels’ fanfares resolved in a beautiful harmony his trumpeters could only dream about playing themselves. Medics rushed to the wounded as the carriage came to a halt.

      Nathaniel found the princess glancing nervously at the forming crowd. He walked to her and offered her his hand. “Princess. If you will, I’ll announce your arrival.”

      She took his hand, squeezing hard. Her fingers shook. “Please, by all means.”

      Nathaniel helped her down, then brought her before the crowd. “Come to us from the House of Song, the only daughter of King Valorian and the late Queen Mayweather, may I announce Princess Valoria.”

      Whispers filled the air. One person managed a meager clap. With Nathaniel’s insisting glare, light applause spread.

      “They do not trust me,” Valoria whispered, loud enough only he could hear.

      “Not yet.” Nathaniel turned toward her and gave her the reassuring look he usually gave to the troops before a battle. The way she’d chosen to ride instead of retreating to her carriage told him there was more to her than a simple minstrel’s daughter. “But in time, they will.”

      She surveyed the crowd with a tight-lipped smile, then turned to him. “Please, I must see my people’s wounds cared for.”

      “Of course. Medics usher them to the infirmary as we speak. You can stay there as long as you like. But, keep in mind the king and queen are waiting to receive you.”

      She pursed her lips as if weighing her personal needs with offending her new family. “I’ll stay only long enough to see them tended to.” She pulled her harp from her back and handed it to her handmaiden, a brown-haired girl with a fierce look about her.

      “Very well.” He offered his arm. Better to keep her beside him then have some hired assassin pull her into the crowd. Ebonvale’s hatred for the minstrels ran deep, even though they had helped them win the wyvern war. “Come with me.”

      The crowd parted before them. Her retinue followed as they walked the cobblestone from the main square to the apothecary, a stone building with vibrant stained glass windows. Various bottles, vials, and rolls of bandages lined the walls. Behind the counter, a backroom filled with beds took up the space of an old, attached barn. Patients from previous raider attacks filled half the beds. Hopefully they’d have enough room for Valoria’s people and the prisoners they’d captured.

      Guilt stung his chest as he saw one of the raiders chained to the bed. He’d have to interrogate him later on, a chore he never liked. But, if he let Brax get to the man, he’d be dead by morning.

      Valoria rushed to the bedside of the older man Nathaniel had helped her carry back to the carriage. The intricate embroidery on his overcoat labeled him as someone of high status in the House of Song. Perhaps a music teacher? His kind eyes reminded Nathaniel of Ludo, the baker in Shaletown who used to slip him sweet biscuits when his parents weren’t looking.

      She touched the medic’s arm with insistence. “Will he live?”

      “He’ll have an ugly scar, but yes, he’ll live to see another day.” The medic nodded curtly and rushed to the next bed where another minstrel clutched an arrow speared through his shoulder.

      Valoria leaned over the old man, and his eyes flickered open. “Did you hear that? A hideous battle scar. Your pupils will listen to you now.”

      “Anything to get them to practice.” He chuckled, then held onto his shoulder as if the movement pained him.

      Valoria took his hand in both of hers. “My father will be proud of your bravery.”

      “And yours.” He tapped her hand. “Although you should have listened to me and stayed in the carriage. You’re too important to both kingdoms to lose.”

      “Lose?” She laughed cynically. “I’m not going anywhere.”

      “Hopefully, you’re going to the throne room, my lady. Shouldn’t keep the king and queen waiting.” The older man glanced at Nathaniel. He nodded, then backed farther away. He shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on their conversation. This unhealthy preoccupation with his brother’s intended had to stop.

      Valoria leaned over and touched the old man’s forehead. She whispered something in his ear, then left him to survey the other wounded minstrels.

      Nathaniel kept his distance. Instead of following her to each of her people’s beds, he approached the chained raider. He was just a boy with red fuzz for a beard and freckles sprinkled across his dirty cheeks. Sprawled across the bed in tattered clothing, he breathed laboriously, as if each intake of air would be his last. A nasty gash stretched across his stomach. Nathaniel’s gut tightened. This boy must have been close to his real brother’s age the day the wyverns attacked Shaletown.

      Pill. His true brother. He hadn’t thought of him in years.

      The boy spit at Nathaniel, wriggling against his bindings. “You might as well kill me now, because I’m telling you nothing.”

      Nathaniel leaned down, examining the cut. The medic had staunched the bleeding, but the wound ran deep. With so many of their own people needing care, the battlefield surgeon would treat him last. He probably wouldn’t live through the night.

      This could have been him, or Pill, if he’d survived the attack. Where had Ebonvale gone wrong?

      “Listen closely, I’m not here to weed out your friends, just relocate them. Temple monks purge the southern lands as we speak. Soon the soil will be ripe for planting. All Ebonvale needs are people willing to go back.”

      The boy winced and held his stomach. “Lies. All of it. That soil won’t grow a sprig if you brought your royal horse to fertilize it himself.”

      A few soldiers standing by the door placed their hands on their hilts and stepped forward. Nathaniel waved them back. “How do you know if you do not try? It cannot be much worse than raiding caravans on the road for scraps.”

      “Starve here or starve there, the only difference is the scenery.”

      The prisoner was right about that. The wyverns had scorched most of the south, leaving a dry wasteland. The temple monks had a large undertaking in reclaiming it. But, they’d never succeed without volunteers to cultivate the land.

      The boy grabbed his arm, leaving bloody fingerprints on his armor. “What do you know of loss? You have a castle, an army, fancy armor, sprawling orchards.”

      Nathaniel met the boy’s accusing stare. “Shaletown was my home. The wyverns took my entire family away from me. You have to make something of what fate has given you, or else you’ll always be a victim.”

      “I’m not a victim. I’m a fighter.” The boy pulled his arm away.

      Nathaniel shook his head, wishing he could believe him. When he looked down at that bed, he saw himself.

      Someone cleared their throat behind him. Nathaniel turned around, feeling as though he’d woken from a daze.

      Valoria crossed her arms and steeled her gaze like a warrior charging into battle. Blood stained her white gown across her breasts and down her СКАЧАТЬ