Exile by Betsy Dornbusch Page B

other issue was Osias. Though most Akrasians accepted the Mance with awed courtesy, more than one turned away from him in revulsion and refused to speak in his presence. When Draken asked Osias why, he smiled his stunning smile.
    “They face hard truths when they look at me,” he said.
    But no truths about the assassin emerged from Draken’s questioning. By the end of the third day, Draken had crossed Auwaer City a dozen times, nursed blisters from his new boots, and wondered desperately how to shake Tyrolean. That night, after Draken reported his lack of success to the court, Reavan smirked.
    “Shall we relieve Draken of his duties, my Queen?”
    Draken wasn’t surprised when Queen Elena looked as if she were considering the suggestion. “Not yet,” she said at length. “The assassin is clever, but I hope Draken is more so.”
    Draken felt her dark eyes on him throughout the evening and escaped supper as quickly as he could. But on the way to their room, a voice called to them down the corridor.
    “Hold, kinve! I would speak with you.”
    “Heir Geord,” Osias said in surprise. Since the first night, the Heir had made a point of distancing himself from Draken and Osias and Setia, not even acknowledging them with a glance.
    “The kinve and I would speak alone, my Lord Mance, if it pleases,” Geord said.
    Osias looked at Draken.
    “Go ahead,” Draken said. “I’ll be along.”
    “You’re a difficult man to know,” Geord said, fingering one of his chains and eyeing Draken.
    If Draken had disapproved of Geord and his finery before, now he was revolted. Unease crept through him. “Why would you care to know me at all, my lord?”
    “I wonder how a common bloodlord and the murderer of Reavan’s First Captain climbed his way so quickly into Elena’s favor,” Geord said.
    Geord was quietly, cunningly looking for a way to undo him. What Draken didn’t know was why. “Trick of fate, I suppose, my lord,” he said.
    To his surprise, Geord laughed. “ Fate ? A common Brînian has forgone Khellian to take on Akrasian Moonminster Faith? I’d have thought your Mance and Moonling would keep you from such idolatry.”
    Draken felt his lip twitch in annoyance. If Geord only knew of the countless arrows bloodied on Draken’s palm and tossed into the seas around Monoea. “I’ve ancestors named for Khellian,” he said. God of war.
    Geord’s glance dropped to his marked hands. “They say you’re a bastard.”
    “Their blood still runs through my veins, does it not? And I am a soldier. I’ve not abandoned my patron-god.”
    Geord leaned in close. “I want you to disappear from Auwaer, Draken.”
    “You and I want the same thing, my lord,” Draken said. “Our Queen holds me here.”
    “By your own offer.”
    “Between the commission or the cages, my lord, I would take the commission. You see how Reavan looks at me. You even pleaded on my behalf, aye?”
    “Aye. And I will not have your failure affect my friendship with this court, even if—” Geord paused with a knowing glance, though the significance of it escaped Draken. His voice went very soft. “—our King would have us enemies with this Queen.”
    King? Was he not a Prince at Brîn? At any rate, if this bumbling fool of an heir put his foot in it again, he’d jeopardize Draken’s plans and freedom. Careful, now. “I see no reason for us to make it known.”
    “Truth,” Geord agreed. “The time is not yet right. But I do not intend on releasing my hold on the throne.” He stepped closer to Draken and reached out to finger the edge of Draken’s tunic. “You know, we could be companions, you and I. You’re a handsome sort, if a bit rough.”
    Draken forced a calm response. “If that is all, my lord, a fair night to you.”
    Geord’s lips twitched, whether in annoyance or amusement, Draken had no idea. But he waved Draken away. He walked the rest of the way to his room, so lost in thought he almost passed by his door. Setia was settling