A Brother's Price

obeyed, probably out of fear of facing the cannons once more. More than half her women lay dead in the street, but the remaining ones surged forward. Forty trained soldiers against fewer than twenty river trash. The fight was bloody but quick.
    Silence fell again, broken only by the moans of the wounded.
    “Take a horse,” Ren said to a private, a young girl who looked barely sixteen. “Return to the barracks. Tell the commander we need wagons for the wounded, and more troops to clean up this mess.”
    The girl nodded repeatedly, eyes wide, as if she had seen too much today.
    Ren set the remaining survivors to searching for the cannons and thieves. She also gave them descriptions of the Whistlers and instructions that they shouldn’t be harmed. Raven still hadn’t made an appearance, so Ren stumbled back up the street, heartsick, looking for the captain’s body among the dead. Her other bodyguards had been from the palace guard, a rotating handful from nearly two hundred women. Raven, though, had been with her for over ten years, had been there on the night of the explosion, had been her captain since that night. To lose Raven would be like losing a sister.
    She made it back to the bakery shop without a sign of her captain.
    “Hoy! Princess.”
    Ren looked up at the call and found Corelle Whistler, leaning against the doorway of the bakery, splattered with blood, looking pale but smug. “Corelle!” Ren cried. “Where’s Eldest? Have you seen Raven?”
    “We found the captain out cold. Eldest is patching her up. I’m afraid that any others you’re missing are dead.”
    Ren nodded, too relieved to care now. She’d mourn later. She brushed past Corelle, anxious to see Raven with her own eyes.
    “You’re alive,” Eldest said, glancing up when Ren entered. Raven slumped in a wooden armchair, face pale under a stain of blood, eyes closed, coat off, and blood-soaked shirtsleeve cut away. A strip of white bandaging was wrapped about her temple, a spot of red growing on it as Ren watched with concern. “We thought with so many trigger-happy regulars, we should keep out from underfoot.”
    “How is she?” Ren asked, torn between staying out of Eldest’s way and wanting to reassure herself with a touch.
    “I’m not sure.” Eldest mummified Raven’s shoulder, her hands and the bandaging blood-tainted from Raven’s wound. “I don’t have my grandmothers’ experience with battle wounds. Head wounds always bleed a lot, and the shoulder looks shallow to me. You’ll want someone who knows what they’re doing to look at her, though.”
    “I’m—I’m fine,” Raven muttered, her eyes fluttering open. She eyed the shop as if seeing it for the first time. “Ren, Your Highness, were you hit?”
    “No.” Ren reached out to grip Raven’s unhurt shoulder. “I’m fine.” She thought then to inspect the Whistlers. They looked as if they had been dragged down a bloody street behind a wagon, but there were no visible bullet wounds. “Thanks for the warning. Are you two all right? What happened? We heard shots.”
    “It’s why we came along.” Eldest shrugged, then looked sheepish. “We had worked our way into the mill. When we realized they were laying a trap for you and tried to pull out, they spotted us. It might have been trickier for us if your people hadn’t started beating on the doors. It kind of spooked them.”
    “What happened with the cannons?” Raven asked.
    “There were only the two to be seen,” Eldest explained. “But the others might still be in the city. They had coal wagons and buckets of coal. I think they were loading cannons on the wagons, then spreading coal on top of the cannons. It’s an old trick.”
    Raven started to nod, and then winced. She reached up with trembling fingers to explore her bandage, but Eldest caught her hand before she could.
    “Eh, eh,” Eldest scolded. “It’s almost stopped bleeding. Touch it, and you’ll start it going again.” After she was sure Raven listened to her, Eldest continued her story. “There were five door guards and fifteen more women inside playing cards, sleeping, and waiting. There were three women that seemed to be running things: walking rounds to the guards, keeping the others quiet, and such. Soon after we heard the drums start, two gentry rode up.”
    “Gentry?” Ren asked.
    “They were all spit and polish,” Corelle said. “High boots, tan leather riding britches, and broadcloth coats, neat as new. The three