Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,25

story, a fantasy, and definitely dead and buried if Lord Doom had any sense.

Scott was biting his lip. “Not met-met, but everything in the letter has been true,” he said. “The cell, the red hair, the sleeping guards, all of it.”

“Wait. Sleeping guards?”

It was Dave who nodded. “Was gonna knock ’em out, but they was asleep already.” He pouted. “Didn't get to hit nothin’ except the wall.”

Loth tucked that information away for later and held up the piece of paper. “Surely you were meant to get rid of this?” Because he couldn’t see any plotter worth his salt not disposing of the evidence.

“Um, I’m not good with remembering things like town names, details,” Scott admitted. “So I kept it. I was supposed to burn it.”

“Right. When we light a fire later, in it goes,” Loth declared.

“That’s what I said,” Ada muttered, “but it was all think of the ballads, Ada.”

“The Ballad of Scott and his dodgy ball sac!” Dave supplied, happy to have more fodder for his musical career.

Scott cringed visibly, and Loth bit his lip. He’d laugh about it later, when he didn’t have more pressing concerns.

He rubbed his forehead. “So just to be clear, a man you don’t know is paying you to bring the prince back to Callier to put him back on the throne, and you never thought to question his motives? Did it even occur to you that it might be a trap?”

Scott’s vacant stare was all the answer he needed.

Loth chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Grub, was that your normal cell?”

“No. They moved me, something about needing me out of the way so they could clean. Like they ever cared before,” he muttered bitterly, and really, Loth couldn’t blame him.

Loth groaned internally as it all began to make sense. Prince Tarquin was dead and had been dead for years, except rumours of him persisted. So what did Lord Doom need to quash the rumours? A body. And that meant he needed a handy redhead to murder. He would probably explain it away as an attack by bandits or by rebels or something, but as long as he had a red-headed corpse to bury for the public, what was then to stop him from finally claiming the throne outright? Gods, he’d probably been intending to use poor Grub all along—maybe that was even the reason for his hostage status. But which poor sap had wandered unaware through the streets of Delacourt one night and accidentally come to the attention of the guards? Loth, with his henna-dyed hair.

Loth sighed and exchanged a wary glance with Grub. This just got worse and worse.

He knew he should have gone blond.

Chapter Seven

Loth attempted to bury his head under the pillow he was half-sharing with Grub, hoping to block out the disturbing noises coming from Benji’s room. He was only partially successful, since Grub insisted on tugging the pillow back to cover his ears. They were huddled together as they tried to keep warm since there was no chance of a fire, and the night winds cut cruelly through the swamp. At least Benji had found an old shirt for Loth to wear. It was black of course and slightly too long, but Loth tied a strip of blue doublet around the waist and called it good. At least it kept him warm.

Dave and Ada were sharing a blanket, and one of them was snoring loudly. Scott was curled up on his own since he still stank of swamp water. And Calarian?

Calarian was the reason they were covering their ears.

Well, Calarian and Benji. Loth groaned as the night was once more disturbed by the creaking of bedsprings and the muffled shout of “Yes! There!” followed by the dull thud of the headboard against the wall.

“They’re cousins!” Scott whined. “That’s—”

“Yes, well,” Loth snapped. “Elf families are incredibly close, apparently! Who knew?”

Loth was fairly sure the only reason Grub pulled his head out from under the pillow was to give him a judgemental look before observing, “That’s rich, coming from someone whose own grandparents were second cousins.”

Loth stared blankly for a second.

“Queen Frida and King Algernon?” Grub prompted. He obviously knew Loth had no idea what he was talking about, the little shit, and now Ada had lifted her head, listening.

Loth’s tired brain kicked into gear. Right. The old king and queen had been distantly related. He remembered now. “Excuse me for not having memorised Warp’s Peerage,” he huffed. “Besides, the rules for nobility are different. We’ll screw anything that takes our fancy,