Page 81 of The Sun King's Noon

Kaelen squeaked as she caressed his upper arm. “I—well, that is—” He glanced at Richard and went red. “We—we have not—we have not formally discussed our?—”

“What is there to discuss?” The butterfly tattoo on the woman’s elbow fluttered up to her cheek. “Is your lover the sharing sort or not?”

“His lover is not,” Richard snapped, glaring at where she squeezed Kaelen’s bicep. “And he would thank you to keep your hands off.”

It came out flatter than he had intended. The cat tattoo above the woman’s bosom scowled and slunk lower. With a pout, the woman retreated, showing her palm in a gesture of surrender.

“Right you are, sweet. Right you are. No offence meant.”

“None taken,” Richard gritted out as Kaelen gave her a smile. Was the knight utterly incapable of refusing advances?

“Pity,” drawled a new voice from beyond the fire. “For my part, I should dearly have loved it.”

The crowd parted for a lean man to saunter through. He wore a purple coat over a low-collared vest that clung to his torso. His trousers were just as tight, highlighting the curves of his thighs, and between his bangled hands flicked a deck of cards.

“To be sandwiched,” the man continued with a lopsided grin, “between two such fine specimens. Why, the memory would warm the coldest nights. Such a waste, my friends. Such a waste.”

The crowd cackled, and the tattooed woman swatted at him fondly.

“This,” said Master Clemens with a long-suffering sigh, “is Silex. Our fortune-teller. Joined us at the border. Does palm reading and tarot cards—and bloody accurate he is at that! He’s also the only one with a wagon with enough space. So you two will be lodging with him.”

Richard stared. Kaelen, too, had gone still. They both knew this new man. The burn scar that marred the left side of his angular face. The dark hair that half spilled to his shoulders and half pulled into a ponytail. The heavy-lidded eyes twinkling with mischief.

And should the sleeve rise too, Richard knew, he’d find an intricate tattoo on the forearm of three blackbirds huddled together.

Lyell’s lover. Leader of the Raven’s Guild. Bandit.

Flint.

* * *

Flint’s wagon was small,cramped with stools, tent equipment and musty clothes, with three bedrolls in the far end. As Kaelen knelt to tuck the packs amongst the stools, Richard hung his cloak on a hook. Flint was already sitting on the middle bedroll leaning against the wall to shuffle his cards.

“The cards told me.” Flint flipped a tarot card up. The lantern’s light illuminated the Three of Cups. “Old friends in unlikely places. I wondered who it could be? A merchant I’d bedded in Kernwell? The pretty barmaid from Bluehill? But no.It was you, my handsome soldier—if you even are that. And your vigilant friend, who scowls at me so sweetly.”

Kaelen straightened. “What are you doing in Estara?”

“Straight to business, are we?” Flint clicked his tongue. “No matter. I’ll answer yours when you answer mine. What in the hells are two Ardenian soldiers doing in Estara, sneaking into a circus bound for the coastal city?”

“Crown business.” Richard crossed his arms and lounged against a broken dresser. “Nothing that needs concern you.”

Flint’s smile warped into a sneer. “Crown business, is it? Tell me, soldier. Do you know what your gracious king did to my lover?”

“If you mean Lyell of the Raven’s Guild,” Richard said calmly, “then yes, I am familiar with the case. Your sorcerer aided witches in an attempt on the princess’s life.”

“The fuck he did.” Flint cursed. “My Lyell wouldn’t harm a child for all the gold in the Seven Realms. Doesn’t even swat the pups when they nip him, the soft fool that he is, and those witches lied to him. Used our lover against him. Edith’s forgotten her dogs, forgotten the children of our guild, damn near forgotten Lyell and me. Those witch bastards told Lyell they had the cure?—”

“And yet,” Richard said, “the princess almost died. By all accounts, the king showed mercy in freeing your lover, so take it and be grateful.”

Flint scoffed, sitting up. “Mercy? Lyell returned to me trembling—still wakes some nights screaming and don’t settle till I hold him. ’S not even the torture that haunts him. That king of yours—the slimy bastard—threatened to castrate me and chain me at the foot of his bed like a fucking dog, and to send Edith to the northern mines to die of rock-lung. Left a scar so deep no manner of whips and brands could rival it.”

Richard’s jaw tightened. Guilt pricked—sharp and unwelcome, made worse by the weight of Kaelen’s gaze and the hate etched clear on Flint’s face.

If Flint ever learned who he truly was, there’d be bloodshed.

Kaelen broke the terse silence, his voice gentler, stripped of its earlier wariness. “Master Flint, are you in Estara because of Edith?”

Flint’s head swung to him. “Aye.” Grudgingly, he slumped back against the wall. “Aye, I am. After Lyell came home to us, I went hunting. Tracked a witch of the Sanguis Order and ran him down in a barn outside Vellerswell.” His mouth peeled back from his teeth in a vicious grin. “Took my time with him. I’ve come to learn a great deal about pliers, and about salt, and about the soft parts beneath a nail. Gathered enough details about a cure ‘fore the man’s heart gave out. Turns out there’s a flower.”