Page 82 of The Sun King's Noon

Richard leaned forward even as Kaelen blanched. “A flower.”

“Aye. Green petals with red at their corners. Brewed with the right roots, it’ll unwind any curse of the mind. The witch called it Skullbreath. Grows on the cliffs of an island off Vexmara. The locals call it the Singers’ Teeth. Any who sails near it does not come back.” Flint’s grin returned roguish. “Thus, I am here, handsome. My woman is ill. My man is worried sick. And I therefore journey to set matters right.”

Richard cocked a brow. “And the boat with which you plan to sail?”

“I’ll acquire one.”

“Steal one, you mean?”

“Imeanthe poor sap who currently believes they own it shall come, in the fullness of time, to a different understanding of their property rights.” Flint jutted his chin at them. “Now, your turn, handsome. What is the crown’s business that two of its soldiers must come pretending to be lovers?”

Kaelen’s eyes bore into Richard, no doubt trying to gain a hint of their aliases, but—Richard squinted at Flint—was there a need to lie? He’d long suspected that Flint possessed a Threadbourne magic greater than his cards, a magic used to shield his bandit group from Ardenian and Estaran soldiers alike in the border forest. Not a safe man, but an honest one, in his particular fashion, and one who could well prove exceedingly useful.

A risk worth taking, Richard decided. “We, too, mean to sail to Singers’ Teeth.”

“My—Richard!” Kaelen hissed.

“And after that,” Richard continued, “we mean to battle the siren living there and collect its heart.”

Kaelen tried to stifle a groan but did not quite manage it. Instead, he flexed his arms and glared at Flint, seeming ready to reach for his sword.

Flint, for his part, had gone still, cards mid-shuffle. Both eyes—the one slitted from the burn and the heavy-lidded one—fixed on Richard.

“Well, handsome,” he said softly. “The Three of Cups indeed.”

“Our purposes overlap.” Richard shrugged. “There is strength in numbers when the water is monstrous. So do we have ourselves an accord?”

Flint laughed and smoothly rose to his feet. “An accord.” He extended a hand, bangles clinking. “You help me with the flower. I help you with your creature.”

Richard took the hand. “Very well.”

Flint adjusted his grip so his thumb stroked across Richard’s knuckles. “Black suited you better. But the sandy hair does grant you a certain softness.” He winked. “Makes me yearn to wring out the sweetest sounds.”

Richard rolled his eyes and had barely yanked his hand away when Kaelen was between them, shoving Flint back.

“You will not speak to him so,” the knight spat, his back almost entirely obscuring Richard’s view.

Flint peered around Kaelen’s bulk. “Not interested?”

“No.” Richard strode past Kaelen and made for the bedroll in the furthest right. “And neither is Kaelen before you proposition him next. Now, let us sleep. It has been a long day.”

Kaelen dashed across the wagon to take the middle bedroll. He dropped himself flat and stared at the curved ceiling, hands on his chest.

Flint blinked at him, then pouted. “You think I cannot be trusted near your handsome friend?”

“I think,” Kaelen said tightly to the ceiling, “that I do not care to trust you, even if my companion has deigned to do so.”

Richard tried to study his face. Was Kaelen upset with him for including Flint on the mission? In part, he could understand the frustration. Flint did complicate matters.

And yet, a part of him was gladdened to meet the bandit leader again. Perhaps it was a vestige from his younger days as Crown Prince, when he’d heard tales of the Raven’s Guild—of highway robberies and kind deeds at orphanages. And there was also the matter of why Flint, Lyell and Edith hated his true royal self so deeply. Maybe now, he could learn why.

“Sleep, Flint.” Richard shifted onto his back, mirroring Kaelen’s posture. The wagon’s floorboards dug into his shoulder blades. “Turn off the lamp.”

“Anything you say, handsome.”

There came the sound of footsteps. Flint blew out the lantern, and darkness fell.

CHAPTER 32