The tales of their honour gave Lorn hope.
Yet he knew he could do nothing but wait. Eventually, when the time was right, he would reveal himself to Breck as a man who knew Jazana Carr and her tactics, a man with something to offer. Afraid that his offer would be spurned if presented too soon, Lorn knew that the time of his revelation was not to be wholly of his choosing. Before he could do that, he needed Jazana Carr’s help.
He was certain the Diamond Queen would not disappoint him. Surely she was far too greedy to keep her painted paws off Liiria.
A week later it began to rain. The bad weather kept patrons out of the Red Stallion, leaving Lorn and the other workers time to relax, play cards, and drink too much. Lorn — who was known as Akan by Van and the others — had grown comfortable enough with the people of the inn to take his meals with them and sit with them at the end of the day. Tonight, as the wind whipped rain against the windows, he sat by the hearth in the main room of the tavern. With Poppy in his lap and a mug of beer on the table, he stretched his legs while he watched Vanlandinghale gamble with a pair of customers, the only two patrons in the pub. Deine and the other prostitutes sat with them, gabbing and cooing at Poppy while the innkeeper Foric swept the floor and bemoaned the lack of business.
His belly full and his feet warm, Lorn smiled as he looked at the window, studying the rain trickling down the glass. He had found a good hiding place here. Though it had been a struggle for him to adopt the identity of a commoner, he had been an impoverished king for so many years his lack of funds hardly bothered him at all. More importantly, he knew he had been lucky to find Foric and his good-hearted band of whores. Kahlin, who had an infant of her own, had willingly wet-nursed Poppy, refusing any kind of payment, and the kitchens Lorn worked in were his to pick from whenever he got hungry. On more than one night he and Gleese the cook had sat down around the rickety butcher table for a kingly meal of mutton, cheese, and day-old bread. The bounty of Koth reminded Lorn of how little his people in Norvor had to eat. Guilt gnawed at him as he stared out the window. He wondered if Jazana Carr had done anything to stem the famine she had brought to their country.
‘I doubt it,’ he muttered. If anyone heard him, they didn’t bother to turn his way.
Still, it did not seem right to Lorn that his own stomach should be so full while his people starved. The notion made him grimace. Perhaps he was King Lorn the Wicked, after all.
But he was more important than anyone who had died in Norvor, more important than any of his loyalists he’d left behind. It was good that he’d survived, he decided. He nodded absently, gazing out the window, listening to the cleansing rain.
Van leaned back in his chair and gave a shout of triumph. He was not a good card player but tonight he was playing well. Kahlin, seated on his lap, squealed and kissed him as he laid down his winning hand. The patrons whose money he’d won cursed his good luck loudly. Lorn didn’t know their names but they were regulars in the Red Stallion, always ordering drinks but no food. At last one of them got up, retrieved his dingy cape from a peg on the wall, said his goodnights, and walked out into the rain. As he opened the stout door Lorn heard the wind howl with intensity. The breeze made the fire in the hearth shudder. Seeing that the game was over, Van’s other partner folded his cards and retreated with his tankard to a quiet corner of the pub, away from Lorn, who was happy to keep the fire for himself. He bounced Poppy gently on his knee. The child laughed and crinkled her sightless eyes. Lorn smiled. Hearing her chuckle, the pretty prostitute Deine came over and, without asking, lifted Poppy away from Lorn, hoisting her high in the air until she almost touched the beamed ceiling.
‘Ah, what a happy girl, what a good girl Reena is!’ Deine chirped. The sensation of the ride made the infant gurgle with glee. Reena was the name Lorn had given Poppy, and so far he hadn’t slipped. Truly, it surprised him how well he had taken to his new identity. The pretty woman lowered Poppy and cradled her in her arms, sitting down in a chair next to Lorn. This time, however, Lorn didn’t mind the company. Across the room he saw Van nibble Kahlin’s neck, and wondered if Deine was seeking the same. She smiled at him, her green eyes full of affection.
‘You’re quiet tonight,’ she remarked.
‘I’m quiet every night,’ replied Lorn, not unkindly.
‘What are you thinking about?’
It was an innocent question, but unsettling for Lorn. ‘Ah, just the weather. It’s been raining for days now.’
The dodgy answer made Deine sigh. At once she turned her attention back to Poppy. ‘She’s been so good tonight. Hardly a peep out of her. Now look, she’s falling asleep.’
It was true, and it made Lorn curious. There was magic in Deine’s touch. Whenever she cradled the baby, Poppy quieted immediately.
‘She should eat before going to sleep,’ said Lorn, but the way Kahlin was already occupied made that unlikely. No matter, thought Lorn. There was milk and fruit juice for her upstairs. When she awoke during the night — as she always did — he would feed her.
He let Deine amuse the child, not saying anything but enjoying the quiet company. Foric continued fussing with his broom, while the prostitutes excused themselves and went upstairs, except for Deine and Kahlin. Van told jokes that Lorn couldn’t hear but had Kahlin chuckling wildly. They were both more than a little drunk. Lorn smouldered a little as he watched the girl carry on, unhappy about letting his daughter drink from the breast of a whore but knowing he had little choice. And really, what did it matter? Poppy was happy and healthy and safe.
He reached for his mug of beer, long gone flat, and took a sip. Liirian beer was sweet and weak, and he was about to comment on it when the door to the tavern opened again. The stiff breeze surprised everyone, who turned to see a young man hurry in from the storm. His clean-shaven, boyish face was covered with rain. After closing the door behind him, he stomped his feet loudly to shake off the mud. He was barely twenty years old by the looks of him, but more surprising was the uniform he wore — that of a Royal Charger. The mere glimpse of him made Van wither, and he immediately shooed Kahlin from his lap and turned his face away. Noting Van’s discomfort, Kahlin excused herself and went up the creaking stairs to join her ‘sisters’. Lorn’s eyes panned between Van and the stranger as he slowly sipped his drink. The Charger’s young face was drawn. He looked haggard, or perhaps frightened. Happy to see a new customer, Foric put his broom aside and greeted the fellow.
‘It’s a witch of a night! Come in, come in. .’
The man — or was he a boy? — looked around in some confusion. The exhaustion on his face was plain as he let Foric guide him toward the hearth.
‘You sit here, by the fire,’ said Foric. There was one free chair across from Lorn. The young soldier collapsed into it with a grunt. Then, realising his cape was still on, he rose in embarrassment and handed the wet garment off to Foric. Surprising Lorn by smiling at him, the fellow took his seat again.
‘I’d appreciate a drink, and maybe something hot to eat if you’ve got it,’ he said politely.