Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(71)

He was about to call it a night for the second time when he saw a familiar figure shoulder his way into the tavern, glance around the room, and saunter up to the bar. Robert ordered a cider, sipped it, then scanned the room once more. He leaned in and exchanged a few words with the tapsman, who nodded toward Hal in his corner. Robert slipped him some coin, took a long pull on his cider, flirted with the serving girl, then strolled over to Hal’s table.

“Is this seat ta— What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“Have a seat,” Hal said, shoving the chair out with his foot, “and tell me how you managed to misplace the good sense you were born with.”

For a moment, he thought his little brother might refuse, but Robert finally slumped into the chair and banged his tankard down on the table.

“I don’t need your help,” he growled. “Go on back to White Oaks.”

“Oh, I’m going back there tomorrow, and you’re going with me. If I can find you, the King’s Guard can, too. Every thane on the council has spies and operatives here in town trying to get to the king’s hostages. Why do you think you’ll succeed when they haven’t in three months of trying?”

“Because nobody’d expect me to come looking.”

“Right. They wouldn’t expect it, because they know you spring from a long line of smart people.” Hal leaned toward him. “Look, nobody wants to free our mother and sister more than me, but this is not the right way to do it.”

“King Jarat said that if Father’s armies lay siege to the city, he’ll hang the families from the parapets.” Despite his bravado, Robert’s voice quivered a little.

That thought, Hal had to admit, was a punch to the gut. It was one more reminder of how impossible it would be to forge an alliance with the north to fight back against the empress.

“Doesn’t sound like the new king is much of an improvement over the old one,” he said.

“Father won’t listen to me. He’s going to attack anyway. He says we can’t give way to that kind of pressure. And he won’t lift a hand to save them.”

“Do you think he wants to see Mother and Harper hurt?” Hal waited, and Robert finally shook his head. “Giving in won’t help them. Even if the thanes flat-out surrender, Jarat will execute Father and the others, and probably us, too, because he knows we’ll come back for revenge. He’ll confiscate the estates and fill his treasuries. And he still won’t free the hostages.”

Robert scowled down at the table. “So, that’s it? We give up?”

“No. Matelons never give up. But we don’t get drawn into a battle we can’t win.” As he said this, Hal was a little amazed to hear his father’s words coming out of his own mouth. And it seemed a bit hypocritical after his boneheaded moves in Fortress Rocks and Delphi.

Well, he thought, maybe my brother can benefit from my bad experience. Somebody ought to.

After another minute or two of sulking, Robert nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’ll come with you. Nobody’s responded to my inquiries but you, anyway.”

“Fortunately for you.”

Robert drew a deep breath, then blew it out. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“We can hope that King Jarat is smart enough to know that if he takes action against the hostages, there can be no reconciliation, ever. This civil war won’t end until he’s dead, or we are.”

Hal stood. “Now. Where are you staying? We should go get your things and both move somewhere else. We’ll leave in the morning. Our luck can’t last forever.”

Robert drained the rest of his cider and stood, pulling his cloak from the back of his chair. “It’s just a few blocks down, close to Citadel Hill.”

When they walked out into the spring night, Hal still felt no need for a cloak, though the air was moist, promising rain. You’ve grown tougher during your time in the north, he thought.

They hadn’t gone more than a block down the darkened street when Hal heard the thud of boots on cobblestones and the familiar hiss of swords sliding from their scabbards. Hal and Robert put their backs to a building and drew their own swords, only to find themselves facing a ring of steel.

“Stand down, in the name of the king,” one of the swordsmen said, “or we’ll gut the pair of you.”

Robert broadened his stance, lifting the tip of his blade, and Hal knew he had visions of fighting his way out. His little brother was a devil with a sword, and he’d draw plenty of blood before he went down, but there was no doubt about the outcome. Hal put a hand on his arm. “Lower your blade,” he said. “Remember what I said about being drawn into a battle we can’t win?”

“That sounds like wise advice, Mister . . . Cordray, is it? I do hope you’ll take it.” Someone stepped forward, raising a lantern so that it shone down into Hal’s face, all but blinding him. The man was tall, slender, dressed in the black of the King’s Guard. “Blood of the martyrs,” he muttered. “What have we here?” The officer’s voice was faintly familiar, but Hal couldn’t place it immediately.

He turned to his men. “Disarm them and bind their hands.”

The blackbirds complied, collecting the brothers’ swords and chaining their wrists.

The officer handed the lantern off to one of the blackbirds, so, once Hal’s eyes adjusted, he could finally see his face.