Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,53
smearing his face. He was grinning madly, chest heaving.
“Turns out it's about fifteen feet,” Quinn said, “when you clean up a couple of bandits on the way. Once he’d knocked them over, he hit them on the head to make sure they stayed down.”
“You’re okay,” Loth breathed, and he’d never been so relieved in his life.
“I’m okay,” Quinn confirmed. He held up the kitchen knife he’d armed himself with. It was smeared with blood, too. “Turns out I have a vicious streak and surprisingly good aim.”
“But...” Loth’s head was still spinning. “But I was going to be a hero.”
“We already have one of them.” Quinn said. “Nobody likes him, and Dave used him as a shot put.”
And then Quinn flopped down on top of Loth, still grinning like a loon, and smeared their mouths together in possibly the worst kiss Loth had ever experienced. He didn’t even care when their teeth clashed though, because Quinn was safe and alive, and smiling at him. A laugh bubbled up inside him, and Loth let it out, and then they were both laughing and kissing and kissing and laughing, and Loth had never felt so alive.
“When you guys are done doing the horizontal galley rower, can I shoot this bandit, or what?” Calarian asked.
Quinn wrinkled his nose. “The what?”
“I’m starting to think he’s making these things up on the spot,” Loth murmured, but he gently pushed Quinn off him, and sat up. “Don’t kill him yet. I want to know who sent him.”
“We all want to know,” said Ada. “But more than that,” she lowered her voice and glanced over to the heap that was Scott, checking he was still unconscious, “I want to know when you—” She prodded Quinn. “—had another name change? Who’s Quinn? What aren’t you telling us, Prince?” She glared at Loth.
Loth craned his head. “Scott’s still unconscious, right? Or dead?”
“Be nice,” Quinn said. Loth looked at him, surprised, and Quinn added, “He was actually useful for once.”
“As a projectile.” Loth gestured around them. “We could have used the cow for that!”
Dave, still dangling the bandit leader from his grip, looked horrified. “I would never!”
“Fine,” Loth said. He climbed to his feet and held his hand down to help Quinn up. “But this is for your ears only. Not Scott’s, and...” He waved at the bandit. “Not his either.”
Dave clocked the bandit on the head and dumped him on the ground. “He’s sleeping!”
Well, that was one way of putting it.
Loth cleared his throat. “Yes, Cue is now Quinn. Which is short for Tarquin.”
“That’s your name too,” Dave said.
“No, it’s just his name,” Loth said. He gestured to Quinn. “He’s the prince. I am not the prince.”
His exciting revelation didn’t get the reaction he’d anticipated. In fact, both Ada and Calarian looked slightly bored.
Ada grunted. “Figures.”
Calarian shrugged. “Yeah, I heard you talking about it the other night.”
“So there... aren’t two of you,” Dave said, his forehead creased in thought as the wheels in his brain turned very slowly. “If he’s the prince, and you’re not the prince, then who am I?”
“You’re still Dave, Dave,” Quinn said gently.
Dave gave a relieved smile. “Oh, that’s good.”
“And the thing is,” Quinn said, stepping forward, “we know someone hired Scott to get me out of that dungeon, but we don’t know who it was. Maybe there are still noblemen in Callier who are loyal to the crown, and who want me to take the throne now I’m of age, but—”
“Death to all kings!” Calarian exclaimed.
“No,” Quinn said firmly. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we just leave the revolution aside for now—you’re not even from this kingdom anyway, Calarian—and worry about the fact that this whole thing could be a trap set by Lord Doom? Because even Ser Greylord, the Shire Reeve in Delacourt, said that he suspected Doom could be responsible. This escape could be nothing more than a chance to get me killed in an apparently random manner, leaving Doom to take the throne in my place.”
“Well, I don’t care about any of that,” Ada said. “My job ends when we get to Callier and I get paid.”
Calarian shrugged. “All kings are tyrants. I’m just here for the quest.”
Dave puffed his chest out. “You’re my friend, Grub-Cue-Quinn. I’ll smash Lord Doom for you.”
A gentle smile tugged at Quinn’s mouth. “Thanks, Dave. I appreciate that.”
On the ground at Dave’s feet, the bandit leader groaned and stirred.
Loth strode forward. “Well then, let’s see if we can get some answers.”
Chapter Thirteen
The bandit leader