Righteous Anger (Okal Rel Saga #2)

2.3: The Vrellish Error

— six months later —

Zrenyl whipped the covers off Horth's bed.

"I wouldn't wake him like that anymore!" said Branst, pausing in the act of doing up the complex lacework of his formal reception jacket.

Horth struck out, making Zrenyl drop the stolen blanket, and sprang to his feet on the bed, man-sized and naked from the waist up.

"Hey!" Zrenyl complained, shaking his stinging wrist. "Don't kill the messenger! It's Dad who wants us dressed for — Branst!" Zrenyl broke off, pointing. "Will you look at that!"

Horth's pajama pants were wet in front.

"So?" said Branst. "You never had one of those dream?"

"But he's barely eleven!"

Branst shrugged. "Vrellish highborns grow up fast. Like Vretla."

"Horth is not like Vretla!" said Zrenyl. "He's just a rejak't."

Horth punched. Zrenyl rocked back, but not quite fast enough.

"Why you brat!" Zrenyl touched a bloodied lip. "If you've messed up my formal clothes—!" Zrenyl made a snatch in Horth's direction. Horth rolled across the bed and sprang to his feet on the other side.

"You deserve a trouncing on the Octagon!" Horth's eldest brother threatened.

Branst made a rude noise. "Yeah? By you and which visiting champion? Face it, Zrenyl, Horth can beat you."

"Now I've got to wash and change!" complained Zrenyl. "So you get him dressed for Di Mon's big reception."

"Not happening," Branst told his brother. "I've got more reason to be on time than you do!"

"Tessitatt Monitum, I suppose," Zrenyl said disapprovingly. "She'll never marry you, Branst. She's too Vrellish."

"I don't want to get married!" Branst said, offended.

"Hah!" said. "You would marry her in an instant if she'd let you. Face it bro, beneath the court veneer you are all Nesak!"

"You're the Nesak!" Branst yelled at Zrenyl's departing back. The door closed. Frowning, Branst turned to assess the unwelcome task he had inherited.

Horth got down off the bed to wait for directions. He could dress himself, of course, but not in a manner acceptable for a formal court reception. He was still too childish to master that, although he had shot up taller than Branst in the last month and his bare chest was hard-muscled.

"I will not be late," Branst muttered, unhappily. Then an idea occurred to him. "I'll get Alice to do it!"

"Mother," Horth warned. The strangeness of his new, very deep voice, had set his fluency with words back a year or two.

"What Mother doesn't know can't hurt our character development," said Branst and sprinted out the door.

Alice arrived looking breathless, with Branst's arm around her waist and her hair disordered. Horth could smell her sexual arousal.

"Dress your brother, Master Branst?" Alice faltered, looking Horth up and down with trepidation.

Branst kissed her for courage. "You can do it!" he said, and turned her around to face his looming, 'little' brother. "Oh, I know," Branst admitted. "He looks all grim and grown up, but he's still just a kid. Honest!"

Branst snatched clothes out of Horth's closet. "Skip his shower," he advised Alice, heaping the clothes on Horth's unmade bed. "Just make sure his jacket is laced up and his pants aren't wrinkled."