The Queen's Line (Inheritance of Hunger #1) - Kathryn Moon Page 0,93

awning nearby.

"Coin to watch the horse," I called, rousing him from his nap and pulling a coin from my pocket. "I'm a friend of Emory, and there'll be more coin if you don't swindle me."

"You're the new palace steward," the boy said, eyes widening.

Hmm, I hadn't expected that particular news to spread so easily or swiftly. "I am."

"What's she like? My friend Asher says he'd seen her, but I don't believe him. Is she really so pretty?"

Bryony, eyes dark and teeth gritted with her sword to my throat flashed in my mind. "Can barely look at her and remember to speak," I said. "The guards say she can make flowers bloom just by walking by, but I haven't seen it yet."

The boy mouthed amazement and pocketed my coin as I left him by my horse and headed for the entrance.

The Yawning Pig really only came to life at night, lit up by candles and lanterns, full of whores and men who could barely pay for a kiss on the cheek, let alone the full service. By daylight, it was an odd kind of space, with an empty stage that looked like the yawning maw of an enormous pig, and a bar that I could usually help myself to without anyone being the wiser.

Today there were two men seated, drinking from foggy glasses.

Jonathon Roderick and Emory…who the hell knew the man's last name, if he even had one.

"You've started without me," I said, moving to join them and shaking my head at the offered bottle. I didn't like alcohol, for myself or for most men. The indulgence only seemed to bring out ugliness, even in smaller doses, and larger ones made it a poisonous habit.

"How go your efforts with Her Highness?" Jonathon asked as I helped myself to a barstool.

"Your father didn't give me an easy start of it. It's obvious there's hard feelings for the council." And apparently, sword fighting isn't a way into the woman's bed.

"Of course there are, that's why we've put you in the position," Jonathon scoffed.

"I always said it should've been me," Emory said with a grin and shrug.

Emory might've had better luck if the princess were tempted by elegant looks. Women had never made their interest in me secret, but even I knew that Emory was as beautiful and handsome, with vivid auburn hair and eyes to match a sky in a prettier place of the world.

"Not if Martin really is one of her Chosen, although we think that might've been a bluff," Jonathon muttered.

"Aric Martin?" I asked, eyes flashing between the two men.

"King of Thieves, proprietor of the Wing and Roost," Jonathon said with a nod and a roll of his eyes.

I'd heard of him but never bothered venturing that far into the heart of Rumsbrooke, especially not after meeting Emory, who more than satisfied my limited interest in thieves and barkeeps.

"King of dusty old pick-pockets," Emory scoffed, combing fingers through his fiery strands. "As if he could get it up and keep it hard long enough to satisfy the Hunger."

"I haven't seen him at the palace," I offered. I debated saying more, that while I'd seen evidence of Princess Bryony's passions, I hadn't seen real proof of the Hunger itself. For all I knew, she was only bedding two of her Chosen, which seemed contradictory to what I knew of the queen's line, but I hesitated and let the others fill the silence.

"Her festival seems to be a hit," Jonathon said.

"For now," Emory added.

"I take it you have a plan," I said, glancing between them.

"Nothing I intend to know anything of," Jonathon said, grinning and raising his hands in unconvincing innocence.

"My court will attend, of course, most of Rumsbrooke will," Emory said, leaning back against the bar. "We'll be…working."

Stealing. They'd be stealing from people attending the festivities.

"Am I…meant to be doing something about the guards?" I asked, frowning.

Emory scoffed, tossing his red hair to the side. "We can manage the guards. You don't need to have a hand in it. However, if you happened to see something, undoubtedly it was from one of Aric Martin's men. Not mine. And you can tell Her Highness as much."

"Speaking of the imperious little bitch," Jonathon said, clearing his throat.

"It's in progress," I said, keeping my face impassive. It was an expression I'd learned to wear at a young age when a scowl could earn me a belt and laughter was too spirited and tears were weak. Better to remain blank. "I see enough from the outside.