Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,29
the night to avoid complications with the law. Loth had been born and raised there. His father was a tailor and his mother was a brewer, hence Loth’s inherited love for the best things in life: fashion and intoxication. He wondered idly what Grub’s parents were like, and how different their upbringings had been. Grub might have been a bastard son, but his father obviously acknowledged his existence. He almost certainly loved him in some way, because otherwise what value would he have been as a hostage? But whenever Loth tried to ask Grub about his childhood, Grub shrugged it off and muttered that it didn’t matter.
“Let’s just say my family isn’t nearly as close as theirs,” he deflected, nodding at the elves, who were heading into the trees holding hands.
“I’m not sure anyone’s family is as close as theirs,” Loth said with a grin. He’d discovered Cal and Benji weren’t actually cousins per se, although they were distantly related, but he didn’t intend on telling anyone else that—it was far too much fun watching Scott have conniptions.
Benji had assured them that another day's walk should take them to the road, and as much as Loth was hesitant to head home, he was looking forward to getting away from the mud, the gas, and Scott’s constant whining every time Dave broke into song and the rest of them joined in with the chorus. And Grub had said there were villages along the Torlere road, and villages meant amenities, possibly even a tavern or an inn with warm meals, comfortable beds, and hot bath water. And if those warm meals were less turnip-based and more chicken-or-beef-based, then Loth certainly wouldn’t complain about it. Hell, he’d settle for rabbit.
He’d noticed that even with Benji’s vegetarian meals, Grub was already looking less drawn, and his elbows jabbed less brutally at night. Of course, Loth conceded that could also be because he’d stopped asking Grub if he wanted to stop in at the closest stables when they got a chance. In return, Grub did his best not to steal all the blankets and squirm too much. Regardless, Grub was less bone and more skin, now, and it made Loth pleased in a way he tried not to think too hard about. He tried to concentrate on the journey out of the swamp instead.
The surrounding landscape barely changed for most of the trek through the Swamp of Death: twisted, ghostly trees, and miles and miles of stinking mud. Finally, just when Loth was beginning to think he’d never escape the stench of sulphur and the stinking mud that sucked at his boots with every step, he looked down to discover that he’d stepped on a clump of stringy green grass. The surprise of seeing something alive and verdant almost made him stumble.
From that moment it seemed that every step brought a new sign of life: fresh grass, a sapling with a green trunk, buzzing insects and, finally, as the haze of the swamp cleared, birdsong. Loth took his first breath of clean air in days.
“Well,” Benji announced at last, “this is the edge of the swamp.” He nodded toward a screen of trees. “If you go straight through there, you’ll find the Torlere road. Turn east on it when you reach it, and Torlere is about an hour away.”
“What’s east?” Dave asked. “I only know left an’ right.”
“East is left,” Scott stated confidently.
“East is right,” Ada corrected with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. When Scott scowled at her, she pointed up. “You do know the sun rises in the east, right Scott?”
Calarian and Benji clapped each other on the back manfully, like they hadn’t just spent the last few days perched on each other’s dicks.
“Good luck on your quest. Come see me again if you’re ever passing,” Benji said, with a final slap of Calarian’s pert arse.
“I just might.” Calarian said with a grin. “Long live the revolution!”
“Fuck the state,” Benji said fondly.
They all took a moment to remove the various cloths from around their faces and climbed back on their horses. Loth watched Grub slide into the saddle and just this once, resisted the horse joke that was begging to be made. Grub caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. “Are you getting on, Your Grace, or do I get to mount this beast all on my own?” he asked with a grin.
Loth burst out laughing. He swung up behind Grub and wrapped an arm around his waist, still smiling, because,