Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,43

Lord Doom had once been little boys. It seemed incongruous, somehow. It was easier to imagine ruthless men like him springing fully formed into the world, instead of once having been pudgy-fingered, apple-cheeked toddlers. The larval stage of evil was strangely underwhelming.

“Come on,” he said. “Show me the way to the kitchen before our noble rescuers strip this place back to the bare bones.”

Cue nodded once and led the way back down the stairs.

The kitchens were, as Loth suspected, mainly stripped bare (although there was a disturbing amount of pickled herring). At least they were able to arm themselves when Cue dragged out a drawer and found an old set of knives and a meat cleaver, which Loth tucked into his belt. He had no idea where everyone else had got to, but Calarian was rattling through a bunch of dusty jars.

Cue lingered in the back of the pantry, smiling to himself. “I used to hide in here sometimes.” The sound of horses outside the back door interrupted Cue’s musings, and Loth swore under his breath.

“Cal? What happened to a little bit of warning?”

Calarian pulled his hand out of a jar of pickled onions. “What? Oh, shit. Horses!”

Loth threw him a look as Ada came scurrying into the kitchen. “Horses!”

“Yes, we know. Where’s Scott?” he asked as Dave lumbered through the door clutching a dusty lute.

“Did you know there are horses outside?” Scott called from somewhere near the stairs, and then there was a rattling sound, a thump, and a groan.

Loth sighed. “Did he just...?”

“Fall down the stairs?” Ada asked. “Probably. Dave?”

Dave grumbled but headed towards the source of the moaning. He was back a moment later with Scott slung over his shoulder. “They’re out front as well,” he reported gloomily. “An’ we’re stuck in here.”

Shit. They were trapped. Loth could see the outline of bodies through the dirt-streaked windows, and he steeled himself for a fight that could only end one way. He took out his meat cleaver and reflected that at least he’d die in battle and not hanged for petty theft like his mother had always predicted.

But then Cue was pulling on his arm, hissing, “Quiet!” and dragging him towards the pantry, beckoning the others to follow. Maybe Cue thought it would go better for them having their backs against a wall, but Loth had never in his life known ‘backs against the wall’ to mean anything good. Still, he followed, because what other choice did he have?

Cue pulled the doors of the pantry closed, and then made a tiny chirping noise, and Pie’s head popped out of Loth’s scarf.

“Light,” Cue whispered, and Pie obliged with a flame just big enough to see by. Cue tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he felt under a shelf. “No. No, no, no. Where...?”

“What are you doing, Cue?” Loth asked in a whisper.

“Shh.” Cue squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and then suddenly dropped to his knees and began to feel under the lower shelf. “Of course! I was smaller!”

From somewhere, Loth heard a sharp clicking sound, and then Cue was scrambling to his feet and pushing the shelf. For a moment nothing happened, and then suddenly the shelf creaked and swung backwards. Loth saw a set of narrow, twisting stone stairs that appeared to lead down into total blackness.

“Pie,” Cue said. “Light.”

Pie chittered, and fluttered down into the darkness.

“Go,” Cue said, catching Ada by the arm and pushing her toward the stairs. “Go.”

Calarian followed Ava, and then Dave squeezed down into the narrow space, tugging Scott behind him. Cue looked at Loth, eyebrows raised. “Coming?”

And suddenly, it all clicked into place.

The dead parents, the ducking and dodging around his identity, the knowledge of secret passages and royal breakfasts, the red hair, the strange tenderness as he’d brushed the mould and dust away from the queen’s childhood portrait, all of it. Loth grabbed Cue’s wrist. “What’s Cue short for?” he asked quietly. “Is it... Tarquin? Or should I just call you... Your Grace?”

Cue met his gaze coolly. “Quinn is fine. But I don’t really think now’s the time, do you?”

And oh, didn’t he sound every inch a prince? Loth couldn’t believe he didn’t see it before. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Cue pulled his wrist from Loth’s grasp. He scowled. “I told you the first night in the cell back in Delacourt, Loth. Don’t act so fucking shocked now.”

Well, the princely demeanour hadn’t lasted long at all, had it? But Cue had a point. Grub had a point. Tarquin had a