Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,47

Loth repeated. He looked at Ser Greylord. “If what you say is true, then now you know we’re on this road, I expect you won’t be bothering us too much anymore.”

Ser Greylord inclined his head.

“But, you’re right,” Loth said. “We don’t trust you. We don’t trust anyone.” He nudged Quinn sideways. “Get our horse.”

Quinn didn’t argue. He hurried to get the horse, tugging it forward gently by the bridle. He swung himself up into the saddle and held a hand down for Loth. Loth hauled himself up behind him, and Quinn turned the horse toward the stable door.

“Just one thing,” Loth said.

Ser Greylord raised his eyebrows.

“Me,” said Loth. “Where did I fit in with this plan? Was it a decoy you wanted, to muddy the waters in some way?”

“You?” Ser Greylord shook his head. “No, nothing like that. You weren’t even supposed to be in the prince’s cell.”

“So why was I?” Loth asked curiously.

“It was Bring Your Child to Work day,” Ser Greylord said. He looked slightly embarrassed. “And young Crispin, the head guard’s son, put you in the wrong cell.”

“Huh.” Now that Loth thought about it, the guard had seemed quite young. “For a moment there I thought I was important.”

Quinn twisted in the saddle, his mouth quirking up. “You are.”

They rode out of the stable.

They caught up with the rest of the party a few minutes down the road. Quinn didn’t say anything about their run-in with Ser Greylord, and neither did Loth. They rode at the end of the party so that they could speak together without being overheard. Loth figured that Calarian could listen in if he chose. Despite his earlier failure to hear horses back at the manor, he’d proved time and time again to have acute hearing. Loth also figured that, being Calarian, he probably didn’t give a fuck.

“Do you believe him?” Loth asked quietly, his hands on Quinn’s hips.

Quinn sighed, and leaned back a little. His hair brushed Loth’s jaw. “I have no reason not to believe him.”

“You don’t need a reason. Not believing people should be your default, because people are untrustworthy arseholes.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Loth rolled his eyes. “Not always. But, come on, back to Greylord. What about that stuff with his kid? Because let me tell you, every single beggar I’ve met in every single town has either got a grandparent at death’s door, or some other sob story about a sick puppy to make you feel sorry for them. It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“And it works,” Quinn said patiently, “because people can relate. Death is relatable because everyone knows someone who’s died. And being threatened with the death of a loved one? Well, that’s relatable to anyone who’s ever been in a room with Lord Doom. Look, I don’t know if Greylord has a son or not, but I do know that he was much kinder to me than the previous reeve. I was fed, and I was given more than one blanket, and some nights he’d even come and talk to me, and bring his chessboard.”

“You were sleeping in rags in a pile of straw!”

Up ahead, Ada turned to look back, and Quinn shushed Loth.

“I was sleeping in rags in a pile of straw for two days before I was rescued,” Quinn corrected. “I already told you that.” And he had, Loth recalled dimly. “You really thought I lived like that for five years? Fuck that. The first winter would have killed me. They said it was because of the rats when they moved me to that cell, but it would make sense that I was being put in position for a rescue instead. After all, Ser Greylord wouldn’t want Doom to find out the prince had been rescued from a nice cell.”

“You believe him,” Loth said. “You think he was playing both sides while he was getting ready to break you out of there.”

“Loth, why didn’t our rescuers have to knock out any guards?”

Well, shit. Quinn had an excellent point there. What was it Dave had said? That all the guards had been sleeping. Fuck’s sake, this had been an inside job the whole time, and none of them had even realised it. Loth found himself replaying every moment of the rescue and every moment that had followed it, trying to see it all in a new light.

“Um... Loth?” Quinn’s voice sounded strangled.

“Hmm?”

“Your hands.”

“Oh.” Without being aware of it, Loth’s hands had slipped off Quinn’s hips. One was settled on Quinn’s thigh, but the