A Brother's Price

pain, clutching his ankle. Light and smoke spilled out the window above him. Steeling himself against the pain, he limped as fast as he could to the barn. It leaned precariously, the roof was sway-backed, and the air inside was rank with rotting hay. A dozen horses stood waiting in box stalls, their bridles hanging from pegs. He unlatched all the stall doors and tossed all but one bridle into the dark corners. Back at the shack, the window framed a brilliant blaze—how had they not noticed the fire yet?
    Returning to the first stall, he slipped in beside the horse there with the last bridle in hand. Then his escape, which had been going so smoothly, stuttered, as he fumbled with the straps of leather and pieces of metal in the dark.
    “Come on. Come on,” he whispered.
    A shout went up from the house. The fire had been discovered. Desperate now, he urged the bit into the horse’s mouth and tried to fit the headpiece over its ears, only to discover he had the bridle upside down. Jerin removed the bit, flipped the bridle around, and coaxed the bit back into the horse’s mouth. As he pulled the headpiece into place, someone stumbled into the stable.
    The horse startled forward, forcing Jerin to step backward. Pain flared up his leg. He bit down on a gasp, but not quickly enough.
    Cira’s voice came out of the darkness. “Who’s there?”
    “I’ve got a gun.” Jerin tried to keep his voice calm as he pulled out his pistol and leveled it at her. It was so heavy for something so small. “I know how to use it. I will use it.”
    “Jerin!” Cira cried, and launched herself at him.
    If it had been one of the other women, he would have pulled the trigger. He was sure he would have. He tried to tighten his finger, to pull the trigger, to kill her, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. Her acts of respect and kindness flashed through his mind, freezing him in place.
    She caught hold of him in a crushing hug, pressing a damp cheek to his. “Oh, thank the gods, oh, thank the gods, oh, thank the gods,” she breathed like a mantra into his ear. Then she was kissing him, a desperate hungry kiss.
    He jerked out of her hold, whimpering in pain as he put weight on his bad ankle again. “I’ve got a gun. I know how to use it. Please, don’t make me.”
    “I’m not part of them, Jerin.” The flame from the shack gleamed on her pale face. “On my word. I came to save you.”
    “I can save myself.”
    “I can see that.” Her tone almost seemed like admiration. “Let me help you.”
    “I don’t trust you!”
    They stood, facing each other, as the fire crept through the shack’s ceiling to feast on the dried sod roof.
    “You’re not going to believe anything I say, are you?” she said quietly.
    “No.” He motioned with his gun. “Back up.”
    She backed up, giving him plenty of room to run. He swung up onto the smooth back of the horse and took it.
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    Chapter 14

     
    It was almost a royal brawl on the landing of Mayfair. Despite Ren’s orders for Odelia, Lylia, and Trini to be escorted back to the palace, they met her on the cobbled landing.
    “Look at this!” Lylia cried, thrusting a copy of the Herald at Ren. “Is it true? Is he gone?”
    Ren took the paper and scanned it. The Herald , always willing to blare out rumors, hearsay, and outright lies, blasted the story of Jerin’s kidnapping across the front page. The Herald went on to decry the royal security, lamenting that losing an innocent from the palace was a sign of supreme incompetence. Worse, the story begged someone, anyone, to save the poor royal-blooded boy before it was too late. Read carefully, it hinted darkly that such saviors could expect to keep their spoils. After such an article, the public would look softer at Kij for keeping Jerin after “rescuing” him from the river trash. Kij was already juggling madly to make her marriage to Jerin respectable. The news of Jerin’s kidnapping must have reached the Herald’s office long before it reached Ren. Or—she gritted her teeth in sudden anger—even before Jerin had even been kidnapped!
    “Well?” Trini asked quietly.
    “Yes, he’s gone,” Ren admitted, crushing the newspaper, wishing it was Kij’s throat. “They came in through the bolt-hole and kidnapped him, just like the paper says.”
    “What are we doing just standing here, then?” Ode-lia cried.
    “Raven is securing a boat,‘” Ren told them, beating her palm with the crumpled paper. Jerin’s kidnapping