Bryon returned with the city guards behind him. The guard captain looked over their captured quarry, then asked. “Any reason you’ve gagged Prince Grayden, as well as trussed him like a pig for the spit?”
Reba tried to look bored. “He kept trying to do deals with me. Said I could take my lad there,” she nodded at Byron, “make a few adjustments, then sell him off as the missing Prince Nikoli. Promised to find me a good buyer for a nominal commission.”
The guards’ expressions turned ugly. Too many of them knew first-hand what happened when people were sold like livestock. The fugitive prince was going to find the short walk to the docks a long and painful one indeed.
The captain’s laugh held no humour. “He wants to pass off a Drostian street brat as some fancy foreign prince? How hard did he hit his head on the way down?”
Byron muttered something, the captain looked over. “Speak up.”
The boy hunched his shoulders. “Said I can hit it harder if you want, make sure he shuts up till his ship’s well to sea.”
One of the guards hooked a hand under Prince Grayden’s shoulder, hauling him upright. “Nah, we can’t be having our important visitor missing out on his final tour of the city. He needs to see all the sights, and properly experience the place before he leaves.”
A second guard grabbed their prisoner’s other arm. “Come along now, Your Highness, time to collect souvenirs and stories for the family back home.”
The captain nodded to Reba, clapped Byron on the shoulder hard enough to stagger him, then led his squad towards the docks, muffled wails coming from the prince in their midst.
Byron muttered something again. Reba was pretty sure it was in another language.
Reba tutted. “No you can’t kill him. No one will believe him, and by the time his ship docks in Ettala, we’ll be long gone.”
“How did you know what I said?”
“Educated guess. Come on, we have places to be and not much time to plan.”
“We?”
Reba cuffed him lightly over the back of the hood. “You think I’m going to abandon my apprentice over malicious tattle-telling from a known liar? Now, decisions. North, south, or west? I’m not getting on a ship, so east is out.”
The DNA of Stories 