The Royal Thief

Chapter Fifty-nine: The Lying Messenger

"You smell like--"

"Like horses, I know," Nick said grumpily, flopping onto the grass, limbs splayed out like he'd been flattened by a giant's foot. "Joshua gave me punishment work for looking at him disrespectfully."

I snickered. "Does he bother coming up with real excuses anymore?"

"Shut up. It's not funny." He buried his head in the maroon over-shirt he'd taken off, and mumbled into it, "He wants to kick me out."

"What?" I twisted sharply to look at him. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! He's wanted me out for a while."

It took me a moment to grasp what he really meant. "He wants to put you in the archers."

"I don't want to join the archers!"

"We've been having this argument all day," sighed Sam. He'd joined me in my now-regular spot outside the boundaries of the training yards, though his arrival had been less dramatic than Nick's. "Don't bother. He won't consider it."

"Damn right I won't!"

"It's Joshua's decision," I pointed out. "If he expels you from the auxiliary guard, what are you going to do? Leave us?" Nick would never leave. He may rebel against the archers every way he could think of, but he'd stop short of having to leave the castle.

He muttered something indistinguishable into his shirt and Sam and I silently agreed to leave him to his theatrics.

"So what have you been doing? Hardly anyone's mentioned you lately. Given up on terrorizing nobles?"

"Just taking a break. Lulling them into a false sense of security."

We were distracted momentarily by the sound of a wooden staff striking home-- in other words, a loud crack and harsh cursing. I sighed. I kind of missed being in the middle of all that noise. Really missed it, actually.

Sam chuckled. "Why do you torture yourself like this? Sitting five feet from everything and looking like a... a rejected lover."

"Well what would you do if you were thrown out?" I demanded.

"I'd thank the Lord's mercy and never go back."

"I wouldn't have time to do anything because they'd shove a bow in my hands before I could blink," Nick called venomously, still splayed flat on the ground, voice muffled by his shirt.

We ignored him. It was generally the only thing to do when he got in this mood.

"I feel like I'm missing out on everything," I told Sam.

"Oh, sure, you're missing out on lots of exactly the same things we've been doing for years. Very exciting."

"There was the princess," Nick pointed out.

"A minor and momentary distraction. Did we tell you, Morie?"

"About what?"

"About the princess's training? You remember she'd asked for training, right? You were there the first time she came down, in that ridiculous outfit she thought passed for training clothes..."

It was times like these, when Sam talked about Magali with the same sarcasm and snickers as we did, that I remember with discomfort that she was, after all, his sister. Only half-sister, but it was more blood than Sam and I shared, and I called him my brother. 

But it wasn't blood that mattered, was it? Sam was my family because he'd taken care of me before I'd known how. The only contact between him and his full-royal sister was stunted and awkward, stiff nods and stilted greetings.