Page 109 of The Sun King's Noon

Richard startled at the whisper that sounded by his ear. Kaelen had moved back through the procession to slot himself in between Richard and Flint.

“This place makes me feel ill at ease,” Richard murmured, then quirked a smile. “But I am reassured to have you close.”

Kaelen smiled, red tinging his cheeks. “Always, my—Richard.”

Flint slung an arm around Kaelen’s shoulders and winked. “And me too, oh Knight of Cups. I’m counting on you to get me to that island.”

“We shall locate a ship tomorrow and set sail in the night.” Kaelen shrugged Flint’s arm off. “We will keep to our bargain. Pray, see that you keep to yours.”

The wagons trundled on, often needing to be hefted down a small step. The Lowmarket, when they reached it, was a different country. Pale stone gave way to grey brick and cheap plaster. The broad avenues narrowed to lanes barely wide enough for a wagon. Washing dangled in sagging ropes from window to window. Women shouted across their windowsills. Children darted underfoot. A pair of sailors lounged at the corner of a brothel, and through the red shutters, Richard saw half-naked people slow dancing. A man two doors down vomited into thegutters, while nearby, a trio of beggars sat in a row along a wall, holding out wooden bowls.

The faces that watched the wagons from the doorways were not friendly. A young woman spat into the dirt as they passed. Mutters of ‘Bloody Ardenians’ flitted past them. The circus troupe didn’t seem to care, perhaps used to unfriendly welcomes. But Kaelen walked close enough for their shoulders to touch, and when Richard tried to peer into a darkened back alley where a man and a woman appeared to be doing some secretive exchange, Kaelen placed his hand on the small of Richard’s back and nudged him to face forward.

“Don’t go looking. Only invites trouble.”

Richard obeyed. And yet, he could not forget the man’s haggard expression.

Or the tattoo of a slain stag on the woman’s nape.

CHAPTER 40

The bathwater had gone tepid by the time Richard climbed out, and the inn’s towel was so thin it might as well have been a handkerchief. He patted himself dry as best he could and dressed in fresh trousers and a loose shirt, hair still dripping at the ends.

The room at the Cup and Crook was a sorry thing. Two narrow cots crammed against opposite walls, a tin bath in the corner, and a window whose shutters hung from their hinges. Outside, a drunkard was bellowing a sea shanty about a man with two ships and two cocks. Downstairs, the inn’s common room rumbled with music, stomping feet and laughter.

It would be, Richard thought wryly, a miracle if he slept at all.

Though Flint, somehow, had already managed it. The bandit was spread atop the covers in only his undergarments, an arm flung over his face, and his chest rising and falling steadily. He’d slept through Richard’s bath—exhausted, Richard suspected, from the cost of summoning the Tower yesterday.

Richard tied his shirt’s laces and considered his own cot—its mattress sagging in the middle. It was late. He really ought to sleep.

But his feet wandered, and he found himself knocking on the room next door. Kaelen had taken it, urging Richard to share with Flint—“You wished to befriend him, did you not?” He’d spoken as though he were arranging a diplomatic summit, and Richard had had to stifle a smile.

When no reply came from his knock, Richard pushed the door open. The room within was much like his own, only with a single cot and a balcony door. A breeze stirred the curtains. Beyond them, in the silver wash of moonlight, Richard made out the shape of a man at the railing.

Kaelen spun at the sound of footsteps, hand jerking towards his hip. But he was clad only in a towel, knotted low on his hips, with the hem barely reaching mid-thigh.

Richard raised a palm. “It is only me.”

Kaelen’s shoulders sagged, and he rested against the balcony’s railings. “Richard.”

Water still beaded along his collarbones and trailed down the centre of his chest. His wet hair was raked back.

“You will catch a chill standing out here.” Richard crossed the room and joined him at the rail. Their elbows knocked into each other. “What were you doing?”

“People-watching,” Kaelen said.

Richard followed his gaze. The Lowmarket sprawled beneath them. Directly across the lane was the brothel, where scantily clad men and women hovered, flirting with passersby. Two doors down, a wiry old woman was locking up her apothecary. Further along, a man stumbled out the tavern door, vomited in the gutter, and staggered back inside.

“It is a shame we cannot see the sea from here,” Kaelen murmured. “It was more beautiful than I had imagined. And that glow along the beach—I had not seen its like.”

“It is the plankton,” Richard said. “Creatures smaller than the eye can perceive. They live in the water in their countlessbillions, and when the waves disturb them, they—well, they fear they are being eaten. The glow is a defence to dazzle their predators.” He hesitated, conscious of his own voice. “I—I read of it in an encyclopedia of tiny creatures.”

Kaelen was looking at him with a strange expression—his head tilted and a corner of his mouth curving. “Such a book must have been enlightening.”

“The book was written by Master Halverin of the Veiled Coast,” Richard said. “He spent forty years studying the matter. The illustrations alone are—” He caught himself. “Well, you might find it dull.”

Kaelen’s mouth curved further. “Not if you were to read it to me.”