Wen Spencer - A Brothers price

She wouldn’t delay any longer. She signaled that they were to steam out immediately. “What armaments do we have?”

The corner of Raven’s mouth dipped in worried disapproval. “The Red Dog is only lightly armed. Two eight-inch guns, one forward, the other aft, behind iron shutters. True, their twenty-pound balls will put a hole in just about anything, but you’ve got to be pointed in the right direction first. The bow is reinforced as a ram. And we’ve got the marines-a hundred rifles is nothing to sneer at.”

“Hopefully more than what Kij has.”

“One hopes.”

Jerin never considered he’d fall asleep, not with the stress and fear of his situation. If he had thought it possible, he would have guarded against it. The day’s rigors, however, combined with the warm, soft bed. put him fully asleep before he realized the danger.

He woke to Kij’s voice, coming from across the room, asking softly, ‘“Is he still sleeping?”

“Like a babe,” Meza whispered in reply. There was a rustle of paper. “Sign here, and here.”

“We’re through the last lock. We’re going ashore here. See that he gets well cared for-something to eat, a chance to relieve himself. You’ll reach home within a few hours. Install him in the husband quarters-quietly. No one but family is to see him. We’ll have to handle this carefully for it to work.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Meza asked.

“The last fifty years have proved us cleverer than all. We’ll weasel out and land on our feet. Have we not time and time again?”

“We’ve never pushed our luck this close before.”

“This will work. It goes faster than I planned, but a nudge here, a nudge there, and everything will fall right. Trust me. Meza.”

There was a slight, tired sound from Meza. “I do. Please, be careful. I’d rather not have Alissa as Eldest.”

With a laugh, Kij said her good-bye and went out the door. Jerin lay with his eyes closed and forced his breathing to stay deep.

The duchy of Avonar lay upriver of Hera’s Step. Kij said they were through the last lock, so they were now above the great waterfall. He recalled the small town that supplied boats with coal, food, and entertainment while they waited their turn to move through the locks. The town was crowded with ship crews and passengers, people he could hide among and perhaps find aid from. While there were towns north of the falls, he would be a lone stranger in a place loyal to the Porters.

Now was the ideal time to escape. If he was to free himself, though, he needed to get rid of Meza.

Considering Kij’s orders, asking for food and water might force Meza to fetch it herself. If not, she’d at least undo his hands so he could eat.

He stirred then, making a show of waking and stretching, blinking with sleep befuddlement. Did Meza believe his act? She glanced up from her paperwork, fingers ink-stained, looking more an accountant than a murderous smuggler. Cira, on the other hand, glancing over the rim of the footboard, had murder in her eyes. Was that look of anger for him, for falling asleep, or just anger at the situation?

Trying to ignore the hate on Cira’s face, he whined, “I’m hungry, and thirsty, and I have to wee-wee.”

“I’m not surprised,” Meza said, methodically cleaning her pens and putting the desk aright before standing. “You’ve been asleep for hours.”

He felt a flare of guilt at her words. He should have tried to escape hours ago, gotten free and back to his wives. Every minute he spent away from them, the less likely he could ever return to them.

Meza came and unshackled his wrists. Holding firmly to his elbow, she steered him to the corner where there was a chamber pot built into a dresser to make an indoor privy. She kept hold of him while he relieved himself. though she averted her eyes. He chanced much, moving his stash pouch from his pocket to his loosely gathered sleeve.

Afterward, Meza led him back and handcuffed him to the bed again. “I’ll go get you something to eat.”

Even as she shut the door behind her, he slipped the pouch out, fingered through it, and pulled the lockpick free. From the foot of the bed, Cira’s eyes went large.

Minutes later, when he undid her gag, she whispered fiercely, “You have to be the slipperiest prince consort in history! I saw them take that from you. How did you get it back?”

“I picked Meza’s pocket,” he whispered, tempted to gag her again. “I wanted to be free of them before they decided that they wanted to be serviced.”

“What about your word of honor?”

“I lied.” Jerin struggled with her handcuff. “You meet people at their level, or the liars and murderers of this world will drag you under.”

Cira smothered a laugh. “I can’t believe you! Did Queen Mother Elder really agree for you to marry her daughters?”

“I don’t see how being raped would be preferable to lying.”

The cuffs came undone and she rose, rubbing her wrists.

“What should we do now?” he started to ask, but she caught him and kissed him. Her mouth was warm and sweet, and he realized that he was half in love with her.

“Why did you do that?” To his shame, he wanted to do it again.

“You’re teaching me never to give up.”

He wasn’t sure if this was a good thing. He pulled himself free, needing to put distance between them before he gave in to kissing her again. “So what do we do?”

“Get in the bed,” she said with a grin.

His heart leaped and a flame of arousal went through him. “What?”

“Pretend like you’re still handcuffed. I will too.” She glanced about, then picked up a heavy stone paperweight, and gave him an evil grin.

He sat down, put his hands back above his head, and tried to be calm. Cira settled at the foot of the bed, her eyes glittering with contained excitement. Minutes stretched out until they seemed unbearable.

Then finally Meza stepped through the door.

She carried a glass of lemonade and a bowl of biscuits covered with sausage gravy. Jerin’s stomach growled at the smell. In tense silence, he and Cira watched as Meza came across the room, unaware of the danger to her, intent on not spilling the nearly full bowl. As she set the food on the table beside the bed, Cira rose, drawing back the paperweight.

Meza must have caught the motion in the corner of her eye. She started to turn, and Jerin lunged out, grabbing hold of her hands. Her eyes went wide in shock, and then Cira struck her. It was a hollow noise. Meza’s eyes rolled back, showing their whites before they closed, and her knees folded.

Jerin jerked his hands away from her as she crumpled, and covered his mouth to hold in the dismayed cry that was trying to escape. Cira bent over Meza, quickly and ruthlessly binding the woman. When Jerin trusted himself, he took his hands from his mouth and whispered, “Is she dead?”

Cira glanced up and her eyes saddened. “No! No. I’m sorry, honey, I would do anything to spare you this.” Cira undid Meza’s gun belt and strapped the six-gun to her waist, tying it down low for a fast draw, and then checked the pistol. “Let’s get out of here.”

The Destiny was steaming directly up the center of the massive Bright River, making it nearly a quarter mile on either side to the shore. The sun was in the final throes of setting, and the river reflected all its vivid blood reds and fire yellows.

Holding Jerin’s hand tight, Cira guided him through a maze of cotton bales and crates stacked on the Destiny’s decks to the railing. There they crouched in the growing shadows.

“Can you swim?” Cira asked him.

Jerin looked uneasily out over the quickly moving water. “Some. I-I don’t think I could get to the shore. It’s too far and the current’s too strong.”