wary look, but he took the bet with a flick of his fingers and retreated into the corner of the bar.
Kell shook his head in disbelief. “You came here to place a bet. On the tournament you’re running.”
There was a glint in Rhy’s eye. “Indeed.”
“That’s hardly legal,” said Kell.
“Which is why we’re here.”
“And remind me why we couldn’t have started the night here?”
“Because,” said Rhy, flagging down the barkeep, “you were in an ornery mood when I dragged you from that palace—which is nothing unusual, but still—and you were determined to despise the first destination of the night on principle. I merely came prepared.”
The barkeep came over, but he kept his gaze on the glass he was polishing. If he registered Kell’s red hair, his black eye, he didn’t show it.
“Two Black Sallies,” said Rhy in Arnesian, and he was wise enough to pay in petty lin instead of lish or the gold rish carried by nobles. The barkeep nodded and served up two glasses of something thick and dark.
Kell lifted the glass—it was too dense to see through—and then took a cautious drink. He nearly gagged, and a handful of men down the bar chuckled. It was rough stock, syrupy but strong, and it clung to Kell’s throat as it filled his head.
“That is vile,” he choked out. “What’s in it?”
“Trust me, Brother, you don’t want to know.” Rhy turned back toward the barkeep. “We’ll take two winter ales as well.”
“Who drinks this?” Kell coughed.
“People who want to get drunk,” said Rhy, taking a long, pained sip.
Kell felt his own head swim as he shoved his glass away. “Slow down,” he said, but the prince seemed determined to finish the draft, and he slammed the empty glass down with a shudder. The men at the end of the bar banged their own cups in approval, and Rhy gave an unsteady bow.
“Impressive,” muttered Kell, at the same time that someone behind them spat, “If you ask me, the prince is a spoiled shit.”
Kell and Rhy both tensed. The man was slumped at a table with two others, their backs to the bar.
“Watch yer tone,” warned the second. “That’s royalty yer smearing.” But before Kell could feel any relief, they all burst into laughter.
Rhy gripped the counter, knuckles white, and Kell squeezed his brother’s shoulder hard enough to feel the pain echo in his own. The last thing he needed was the crown prince involved in a brawl at the Blessed Waters. “What was it you said,” he hissed in the Rhy’s ear, “about the ones who wanted to watch us burn?”
“They say he hasn’t got a lick of magic in him,” continued the first man, obviously drunk. No sober man would speak such things so loudly.
“Figures,” muttered the second.
“S’unfair,” said the third. “‘Cause you know if he weren’t up in that pretty palace, he’d be beggin’ like a dog.”
The sickening thing was, the man was probably right. This world was ruled by magic, but power followed no clear line or lineage; it flowed thick in some and thin in others. And yet, if magic denied a person power, the people took it as a judgment. The weak were shunned, left to fend for themselves. Sometimes they took to the sea—where elemental strength mattered less than simple muscle—but more often they stayed, and stole, and ended up with even less than they’d had to start with. It was a side of life Rhy had been spared only by his birth.
“What right’s he got to sit up on that throne?” grumbled the second.
“None, that’s what …”
Kell had had enough. He was about to turn toward the table when Rhy held out a hand. The gesture was relaxed, the touch unconcerned. “Don’t bother,” he said, taking up the ales and heading for the other side of the room. One of the men was leaning back in his chair, two wooden legs off the floor, and Kell tipped the balance as he passed. He didn’t look back, but relished the sound of the body crashing to the floor.
“Bad dog,” whispered Rhy, but Kell could hear the smile in his voice. The prince wove through the tables to a booth on the far wall, and Kell was about to follow him in when something across the tavern caught his eye. Or rather, someone. She stood out, not simply because she was one of the only women, but because he knew her. They had only met twice, but he recognized her instantly, from the catlike smile