Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,67
and disappointing, somehow. It showed hints of having once been a truly beautiful building, but if he looked closer, Loth could see that whoever lived there now didn’t really care—the gardens were scruffy and verging on overgrown, the windows dirty, the paintwork on the doors peeling. Quinn gazed about sadly while Calarian secured their horses, and Loth guessed it was just another reminder of what he’d lost. It hadn’t even been a formidable sight to begin with either—just a slightly larger-than-normal manor house with a couple of towers and new wings added on at either end. Loth was pretty sure, from memory, that the lord mayor’s house was grander. It was a few generations newer, for starters—but to be fair he’d only really seen inside the son’s bedroom that time.
The laundry door that Ser Greylord promised was unguarded was around the back—and Quinn knew the way. He led the way through the back street, and then through several gates and down a couple of paths to get to it. Loth guessed they’d got to the right spot when they reached a scrubby yard with a bunch of freshly laundered sheets flapping and cracking like wet sailcloths as the wind caught them. They stood outside the laundry door for a moment, all waiting for someone else to make the first move, until Ada rolled her eyes, and muttered, “Let's get this over with.”
She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and then shoved the door open.
The laundry room was dim after the brightness of the day outside, and the stone floor was wet and slippery.
Ada turned back to face them. “Careful how you—”
“I’m the leader! I should go first!” Scott darted forward, skidded, and then his arms windmilled as he smacked face-first into the wall. He reeled back again, blood pouring from his face. “By mose!”
“Well,” Loth whispered in Quinn’s ear. “At least if we die, we got to see that first.”
“It is weirdly comforting,” Quinn whispered back.
They made their way carefully across the wet floor. Ada and Calarian took the front, and Dave lumbered along behind Quinn and Loth. Scott staggered along after him, still whining about his nose.
They edged out into a deserted corridor and inched forward cautiously. They’d turned three corners when Calarian held up a hand. “Shh!” He tilted his head and then whispered, “It's Greylord.”
“How can he know that?” Quinn asked quietly.
“Ears like a bat,” Calarian answered, “I can tell his footfall.”
Right on cue, Ser Greylord turned the corner. Upon seeing them, he gave a terse nod. “Come on. Doom’s alone right now. He’s unwell.” A tight smile flitted across his face.
“Unwell how?” Ada asked.
“Something he ate disagreed with him.” There was a gleam in Greylord’s eye that hinted it might not have been a coincidence.
“Nice,” Ada said, nodding her approval.
They made their way slowly forward, watching and listening for any sign of the guard, but as Greylord pointed out, “Even if we see anyone, I’m already escorting you to Doom. What are they going to do, escort you more?”
It seemed to take forever to get to where they needed to go, and it still didn’t take nearly long enough as far as Loth was concerned. Quinn’s hand crept into his, and he wasn’t sure who was more comforted by the press of skin on skin. This was possibly the bravest thing Loth had ever done, and he wondered if heroics were for him, after all. He cast a longing glance at a side door, but Calarian caught him looking and scowled at him.
“You don’t leave a campaign at the last roll of the dice,” he said in an undertone.
Loth desperately wanted to disagree, to tell him that yes, you did if it meant you were alive at the end of it, and bolt anyway. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it, because that would mean tugging his hand out of Quinn’s, and there was no power in the world that could compel him to do that.
Also, of course, he wouldn’t make it as far as the laundry door if Ada had anything to do with it.
“He’s in the solarium,” Ser Greylord murmured.
Quinn nodded, his grip tightening on Loth’s hand.
“Oooh, are there fish?” Dave asked.
“No,” Quinn whispered. “A solarium is a room at the top of a tower, with a bunch of windows, so it’s always warm and sunny.”
Dave’s big shoulders sagged. “So, no fish?”
“No fish,” Quinn said.
Dave gave a small, sad sigh.
They reached a set of winding stairs and began to climb them.