Heir of the Gods

Ch. 15: Easy Trust

Calix had a servant bring food and ale up to his rooms. Then he shed his cloak, throwing it carelessly into his bedchamber. Over the meal, he told his brother about being ordered to Antelium, and Tarquin told him everything the king hadn't cared to hear.  

His words would have been unbelievable coming from anyone else.

"But you never actually saw them yourself?" Calix finally asked, swirling the amber-colored ale around in his goblet, staring into its depths.

"It was all I could bloody do to keep the fucking lines formed up," Tarquin replied, splayed in his chair. He downed his ale, glaring dully into the fire. "Lucarius and Antonius cut and run—the men of the Fifth and Sixth broke ranks in a panic. The Wolfclaws smashed through, nearly cut us off from the Sixth Legion, which is why they were hammered so hard."

Calix shook his head in disgust, filling his friend's cup again.

"No I didn't see them. But I know a few of the men who did. They're good men. And dead bodies rarely lie." Tarquin rubbed at his temple, then met Calix's eyes. "This is insane. Absolutely mad. Women who kill without weapons?" His voice turned dark. "We never should have stepped foot on that gods-forsaken island. Why isn't it enough? Why isn't the land the old bastard already has enough?"

There was no answer to that. So Calix just held his silence and they both drank deeply.

"Enough of this, mindra, enough of war. There will be time for that when you return," Tarquin said. He stretched his lean body like a cat before he settled deeply into the chair and quirked an eyebrow. "What have you been doing with yourself? How have you not gone mad in this dismal place?"

Calix opened his mouth to tell his brother exactly what he'd been doing, knowing that Tarquin would find it either hilarious or intriguing. Likely both. But then he choked on the words.

It wasn't his secret to tell, even though he knew Tarquin wouldn't breathe a word.

And though it hurt to keep anything from his brother, Calix just offered a smile and downed the rest of his ale, the liquor warming his veins. He set his goblet down on the table, then watched as Tarquin refilled it. 

Calix waved a lazy hand. "Mostly trying not to go mad. The food's too good, the beds are too soft. And the perfume, Tarquin, gods above. Every time I step out of my rooms I'm practically drowned by the stuff."

"My heart aches for your hardship," Tarquin said dryly. "Next you'll tell me the wine's too rich and the women too warm."

Calix let a laugh huff from his nose. He shifted in his seat, taking another drink of ale. He'd have to call for another pitcher soon. With a shrugged shoulder, he said, "The women are fine enough, I suppose. And the wine is about the only thing that makes this place bearable."

It was all the answer he could give, considering he hadn't exactly sampled all the court had to offer as far as women went. Why would he when the princess satisfied him more than enough?

Tarquin raised an eyebrow, but didn't call him out over the half-answer. He just propped his head on his fist and asked, "Is there a particular lady I should stay away from?"

That got another laugh from Calix. He'd laughed more in the span of two hours with his brother than he had in the past month. Grinning, he just tipped his goblet toward Tarquin. "Happy hunting."

"Indeed," Tarquin replied, a hungry light in his eyes. 

If Calix knew his brother, Tarquin already had his quarry in mind. They'd passed no less than a dozen ladies and twice that number of servant girls to and from their meeting with the king today.