Alpha Moon by Rebecca A. Rogers Page B

along or sang the tune.
    In the corner of the inn, Alaric whispered in the ears of two wenches, one of which had a distinct mark on her neck, not likely from birth. As Ulric stood there, watching his brother, a tendril of irritation yanked at his gut. Alaric was not the person Ulric thought him to be; he was wasting his liveliness on women and ale. Where was the brother who diligently watched over the land, their cottage, and their father? ’Twas not the man before Ulric, for certain.
    Carefully, Ulric approached his brother and cleared his throat.
    “Pray tell me my eyes do not deceive! ’Tis my one and only brother. My dear, dear brother,” said Alaric.
    Ulric was close enough to catch the scent of ale on Alaric’s breath, steady and strong. Judging by the smell and the amount of empty tankards on the table behind him, Alaric had been here since breaking his fast.
    “I have come to take ye home,” Ulric said, his voice squeaking on the last bit.
    “Take me home?” Alaric let out a boisterous laugh and slapped Ulric’s shoulder. “No need. I am exactly where I want to be.”
    Ulric did not budge from his stance, and Alaric took this as a sign to wave off the maidens.
    “What is it, then?” Alaric was perturbed his brother invaded his social outing and asked him to leave. He had no shame, honestly.
    “A messenger arrived; he had a letter. Father opened it and proceeded to toss it into the hearth,” said Ulric. “Have ye any idea of the contents?”
    Alaric paced back and forth across a five-foot span, pondering. “Aye, my ears have heard news.”
    Joyous, Ulric could hardly contain himself. “Pray tell!” He chose a seat on a wooden bench near Alaric, excitedly waiting for his brother’s words.
    “Men spoke of the messenger this very morning. A rebellion is brewing in the northern lands, one which has cause to dispel the queen.”
    “Saints almighty! Can they not leave the crown alone? ’Tis all those bulbous poachers do when somebody new sits upon the throne.” Ulric glanced up at his brother. “Are we being asked to serve and aid their ridiculous rebellion?”
    “Aye, ’twould be the most logical explanation.” Alaric pondered traveling north for a while, so he could disappear from his father and the farm. Regrettably, this would leave Ulric in a dreadful arrangement. “Do not worry, brother,” Alaric said, slapping Ulric’s shoulder yet again but leaving his hand in place, “our destinies lie here, I am afraid, with the sweat on our brows and the tender blisters on our palms.”
    “And rightfully so,” said Ulric. “Who else would take care of our bloody father?”
    Alaric threw his head back and laughed vociferously. “Indeed, my brother. Indeed. Come, open thy pockets and drink with me.”
    “’Tis only noon.”
    Alaric smiled. “Then the day has just begun.”

Chapter Two
     
    London, England
     
     
    “ D aciana! We have no time to lose.” Angelica had been calling her daughter for nearly ten minutes.
    Daciana languidly entered her mother’s bedroom two doors down, standing in the large, ornately-crafted doorway with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Is father as adamant as thee about packing our possessions?”
    Angelica bristled and pursed her lips. “Men care not for such small matters; this is a woman’s job.”
    It took great effort for Daciana not to spit on the floor. After all, this was her father’s doing; he created the grim financial circumstances they were in, and now they had to flee London before scandal caught up. Had her father stopped his gambling, they would still be living a life of luxury, complete with silken frocks, dazzling jewels, and the finest delicacies the world had to offer. Now they were naught more than peasants.
    “I daresay, mother, he should be the one to stuff trunks and swallow the shame he caused, not us.” A swell of raw emotions rose into Daciana’s throat, constricting her airflow. She contained her feelings by thinking of