Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,66
He picked it up and wound it around his neck. The warmth and familiarity of the thing had him feeling instantly more like himself and less like the absolute imposter that he was. At Quinn’s questioning look, he said, “For luck.”
Pie grumbled from where he was burrowed in one of the pockets, poking his head out sleepily before nestling back in. Loth let him stay. Dragons were lucky too, right?
“So, Your Grace.” Mum tilted her head in thought. “If Lord Doom’s expecting Scott and his merry band to deliver you anyway, why are you bothering to sneak into the castle? Why not ride in all flags and trumpets, claim the throne publicly? Wouldn’t that actually be safer?”
It was Ada who spoke up. “Because we were never really expected to pull this off. If we go in like that, then Doom knows we’re coming, and he’ll have an entire division of his guard surrounding him. He knows the prince will want to claim his throne, and he’ll slit his throat as soon as he steps through the door. If we sneak in, we can catch him unguarded. And we can get paid before anyone gets their throat cut,” she added, which Loth privately thought was just callous of her, but his Mum nodded in understanding.
“Of course,” Mum said. “Dwarves always complete their agreements. So you’ll go in, pretend you have no idea Doom wants to slaughter his nephew.” She looked at Loth knowingly as he flinched at her words. “And once your ‘hero’ arranges payment, it’ll be onto your next job.”
Ada shrugged. “I’m loyal for as long as I’m paid to be.”
“It is handy that we’re going to the palace, we can meet Ser Factor while we’re there,” Scott said.
Loth sighed. “This would all be much simpler if you actually knew your benefactor’s name. Scott.”
Scott screwed up his face in thought, before shaking his head. “I’ve told you all before! Ser Bene Factor!” He dug in one of his pockets and pulled out a grubby slip of parchment, different from the one they’d taken off him and burned earlier. He flattened it against the table and hunched over it, one finger tracing over the letters, lips moving silently, before he straightened and announced, not-quite confidently, “Bean. E. Factor. Beany Factor.”
“That’s not a name, Scott,” Quinn said, and rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this before.”
“Shut up,” Scott said, full of self-importance and smarm. “You’re just a grubby little peasant, so what would you know?”
It was immensely satisfying for Loth, watching his mum wallop Scott around the ears. “Don’t you dare talk about my Quinn that way! That’s my son!”
Scott whimpered under the assault. Years of hauling barrels of beer around had given Loth’s mother plenty of muscle. Loth almost sympathised with Scott—almost—right until he remembered that he was very probably an accidental traitor and absolutely an idiot. He leaned over and gave him a swat of his own, and when Scott pulled his brows together and opened his mouth to object, Loth shrugged and said, “Royal privilege.”
Quinn grinned for just a moment, before sobering. “I guess we’d better get moving, before Doom has time to prepare.”
“One last thing,” Dad said. He disappeared upstairs and came back with a pair of swords that Loth had never seen before. “You two can't go and defend your right to the crown with just a meat cleaver and a kitchen knife, Your Graces.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Only one of them is the prince,” Scott interrupted, still cupping his sore ear and scowling.
Mum glared at him. “Maybe. But they’re both my boys.” She stepped forward and pulled a flustered-looking Quinn into a tight hug, and Loth heard her whisper, “At least try and stay safe, son.”
Quinn’s eyes were suspiciously bright as he nodded.
Mum let go and turned her attention to Loth, dragging him in for a hug as well and whispering the same thing. She’d been saying it for years, and Loth was hit with a wave of regret that he’d never bothered to listen.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “We’ll do our best, I promise. We’ve got an orc, an elf, a dwarf, an idiot, and a dragon—what could possibly go wrong?” he said, with an assurance he didn’t feel.
“We don’t have an idiot,” Scott said to the room at large. “Do we?”
Everyone ignored him.
Dad clapped them all on the back and wished them luck, and then they went outside, mounted their horses, and rode to meet their fate.
Chapter Sixteen
The castle was both intimidating