A Brother's Price

stern-wheeler, but they had arrived to find the armory plundered and set afire. As they were still docking, the flames reached the gunpowder room. Great flowering blooms of flame rose in the night with a sound that could be felt, a heat that seared the skin even at a hundred feet away.
    The scorching heat, the thick black smoke, and the charred bodies curled into the fetal position. Old impressions of the theater explosion that had killed her elder sisters and Keifer joined with new. No wonder her old nightmares were resurfacing.
    Her cold rage at her helplessness reawakened too. Without thought to Odelia’s and her own safety, Ren had led a pursuit of the escaping thieves from the armory back downriver. When the royal party found the thieves’ barge run aground, she ordered a landing against Raven’s advice. Stupidity at its highest order: going into unknown territory after an unknown force. Only Odelia’s amazing luck had kept her safe.
    At least there wouldn’t be new nightmares to join the old one.
    Dawn gleamed in the window, small noises indicated a house awakening to a normal day, and the smell of smoke vanished. Maybe, Ren rationalized, the stench had been the tail end of her nightmare.
    She stretched, stiff after a night in a strange bed. and caught another whiff of smoke. She pulled the shoulder of her nightshirt to her nose and sniffed. Woodsmoke. No wonder she was dreaming about the fire. With a curse, she yanked the nightshirt over her head, wadded it into a ball, and was about to throw it across the room when she caught the smell of him. Ren buried her nose into it. Jerin. Beautiful, talented, sexy Jerin. She let the memories of him crowd out the nightmare. His sweet kisses. His warm skin. His long, silky hair. The delight he triggered in her body. The last made her giggle, hugging the shirt to her. Oh, she must be insane—as insane as Odelia! Making love to a farmers’ son on the kitchen floor. Her mothers would die! His mothers would kill her!
    Raven’s tap came at the door.
    “Enter,” she called, trying to control her grin and failing.
    “We are in a good mood.” Raven used the royal plural. The captain carried a steaming pail of water.
    “We are.” Ren unrolled the nightshirt and carefully folded it, vowing to herself never to wash it. A farmers’ son, no matter how beautiful or talented, could never be prince consort. Last night, though, had been glorious, and stopping where they did made it all the more pure.
    Raven lifted one eyebrow in question and poured the water into the washbasin bowl. “The Queens Justice rode in with the false dawn. They spent the last of yesterday sweeping the woods and the neighboring lands for five miles. A lot of tracks, many from us when we were searching for Odelia. No sign, though, of the guns or Odelia’s attackers. They’ll be combing them again today.”
    “I didn’t expect any.” Ren stashed the folded nightshirt into her travel bags. “The thieves had since the night before last to tuck the guns away. The Whistlers found Odelia hours before we arrived, and we waited about an hour for Queens Justice to arrive. Odelia’s attackers would have been complete fools to wait around for a second chance.”
    “So you think they’re gone?”
    “Certainly it’s a far more comforting thought than the idea of them lurking behind every bush, looking for an open shot.” Ren splashed warm water onto her face.
    “Bounder had a theory on why the attackers didn’t use pistols. She says that the Whistlers are notoriously rough on poachers. A shot fired would have brought them out in force, and no one in their right mind would want to take the Whistlers on.”
    Water dripping from her chin, Ren looked at Raven. “Only locals would know about the Whistlers. She thinks one of the locals had a go at Odelia?”
    “Heron Landing apparently has a good bit of river trash.” Raven named the nearest town, home of Bounder’s garrison, at least ten miles from the Whistlers’ farm. “Seasonal workers, outcasts, drifters, all of whom have been in the area long enough to learn about the Whistlers, and wouldn’t be above doing some dirty work for hire. It would fit the description of the riders Heria saw.”
    Disposal tools. Did they even know who Odelia was? Or had they been told just to kill the red-haired woman on the roan mare? Considering her family’s reputation at meting out severe punishment for regicide, one could almost be sure that the hired thugs