A Brother's Price

whistles echoed from the distant river like cries of great hunting beasts.
    The roan, lathered and winded, couldn’t go any farther. They dismounted and found that Jerin’s ankle was weak, but he could limp.
    “We’re almost to Sarahs Bend,” Cira said as she helped Jerin to a hay barn standing like an island in the fog. “It’s just a half mile down the road. The Queens Justice here is corrupt. I think the Hats have the lieutenant in their pocket. Fen might think I pulled wonders getting her and her women free, but all I had to do was mention the Hats and drop a few crowns, and someone forgot to lock their cell door.”
    “I’m supposed to believe you’re not one of them after comments like that?” Jerin asked.
    The barn was in good repair, with no windows and a door padlocked against passing river trash.
    Cira tested the heavy lock with a tug. “Fen was a means to something bigger.”
    “And I’m just a means to something bigger too?”
    Cira gave him a hurt look and then turned away, studying the barn for another entrance. “I’ve been hunting the Hats for over a year. Fen is getting me closer to knowing who they are.”
    “They’re the Porters: Kij and her sisters. We found proof.”
    Cira jerked around to face him. “ What ?”
    Jerin backed away from her. “We found the proof in the husband quarters.”
    Cira caught his hand, keeping him from bolting away. “Honey, I’m not angry at you. Just tell me what you found.”
    “Kij was sleeping with Keifer, even after he was married.” Jerin slipped out his lockpick and tackled the padlock to distract himself. “Keifer poisoned the princesses’ father. And then, after the princesses’ father was dead, every time Keifer acted angry, it was so he could let Kij into the husband quarters. We didn’t know at first that
    Kij was his lover, though, and Ren went to Kij and showed her what we found.“
    “Oh, bloody hell.” Cira started to pace. “This all makes sense. They’re after the throne. You’re Prince Alannon’s grandson: marrying you would give them legitimacy.”
    “But I have male cousins nearly my age—they could have made an offer…”
    “You’re the one who’s been verified by the Queens themselves.”
    The padlock clicked open and Jerin unlatched the door.
    Cira eyed the lock with surprise. “So that’s how you got free from that bed. An interesting talent for a prince consort.”
    Jerin limped inside to collapse onto the fresh hay. Cira led in her roan and tied it outside reach of the hay, so it couldn’t eat itself to death, and then found grain and water for it.
    “Three daily packets stop in town,” Cira said as she returned Jerin’s pistol to him. “I think the first packet comes through town before noon. I’ll get tickets so we can board at the last moment and go straight to a cabin. Once we’re on the river, we’ll be safe until we hit Mayfair.”
    Somehow sharing a cabin with Cira didn’t seem like a “safe” option. Nor did Jerin like the idea of waiting here, trusting Cira while she could be selling him to the highest bidder.
    “And your plan is for me to sit here quietly until you come back?”
    “Sweetie, I’ll just be more river trash, but you’re a man, one that the entire Queensland is looking for. If the Queens Justice is in town, they might have drawings of you.” Cira took his hand and clasped it tight. “And I know you have no reason to trust me, but just because they’re soldiers doesn’t make them infallible.”
    As his own family history would attest to.
    He sighed and pulled his hand free. “I’ll wait here. Can you bring me something to eat? My stomach is still queasy.”
    She gave him a slight smile, pulled her Stetson down low to throw a shadow across her scarred face, and left. He waited as the bells of the nearby town rang five o’clock. Once he was fairly sure she was gone, Jerin unbuckled her saddlebag and carried it to the hay mound to look through it.
    On top was a silver flask. He unscrewed its lid, sniffed its contents. Brandy—and fairly expensive if he judged it correctly. He had expected to find corn whiskey, the standard smuggler drink.
    He put the flask aside and continued unloading the saddlebag. A turtle shell comb. A bottle of black liquid he couldn’t identify. A small book tied shut with a piece of ribbon.
    Untying the ribbon, he found the book was a journal written in code. He worried at his bottom lip. While his grandmothers had taught him code