Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

1

Young Mhera laughed as she raced down the palace hall in her soft slippers, her hair streaming behind her like a pale banner. She had a wooden sword in one hand—a sword of which she had recently relieved the boy who came running behind her, shouting, "Stop! Thief!"

As Mhera rounded a corner, she nearly collided with a broad man in a sky blue tabard: a palace guard. The near-miss caused her to stumble, and the guard reached out instinctively to grab her by the upper arm.

"Careful, my lady," he said. "It isn't wise to run with your weapon."

"I think you mean my weapon," said the boy, who had come to a halt beside them. "Thank you for catching this miscreant, sir."

"A thief, you say, Prince Koreti?" asked the guard. "My, you'd never have suspected it from our Lady Mhera."

Uncertainly, Mhera said, "I was just borrowing it. I was going to give it back." She was not sure what a miscreant might be. Koreti, a few years her senior, knew all sorts of words she did not. But it sounded like the sort of thing she might get in trouble for becoming, and she would already be in quite enough trouble once Madam Gella apprehended her.

The young prince stroked his chin, looking at Mhera. "What do you think, sir? A day in the stocks?"

The guard released Mhera's arm. He was smiling as he said, "A reasonable punishment, Your Highness. Shall I call for reinforcements?"

But before Koreti could answer, Mhera was off again. The wooden sword clattered to the marble floor at the prince's feet. He laughed, snatched it up, and darted down the hall after his cousin.

Mhera had made it as far as the wide double doors of the main hall by the time Koreti caught up to her again. She was winded from the run and nervous that she had done something very bad this time. But when her cousin reached her, he was laughing as if it had all been a grand joke. Having secured ownership of his trusty sword again, he seemed inclined to forgive her after all. Mhera laughed with him and tried not to let her relief show.

Together, they went out through the palace doors and down the steps to the Sovereign Square. Koreti trailed the well-worn point of his wooden sword along the cobblestones, making a clock-clock-clock sound that rang off the stone walls around them.

They followed the outer wall of the palace until they came to a courtyard set off to one side. Ahead and to the left were small outbuildings sheltered by a high wall. Most were workshops from which the cruder needs of the palace were supplied: weapons, metal tools, pottery, leather goods, butchered meat. There were storehouses as well, stocked with barrels of ale and casks of wine from every reach of the continent, rolls of cloth both fine and plain, and sacks of grain.

All of this provided infinite interest and mischief to two royal children who were very good at evading their minders. But Mhera and Koreti knew an even better adventure lay ahead: the stables.

Glancing his way, the girl caught a sly, challenging look from the boy.

Let's go, the look said.

Okay, Mhera replied, without having to speak a word.

They came upon the stables. The doors stood open, for it was a fine summer day. The scents of horseflesh and sweet hay were tempered with the barn smell of dung. As they approached, a young hostler-in-training was raking out one of the stalls nearest the door, his back turned to them.

Mhera and Koreti crept inside, skirting the hostler. Koreti glanced solemnly at Mhera and walked with exaggerated caution, demonstrating the need for silence. It was easy to pass the distracted hostler; with his head bent to his work and theirs no higher than the gates of the stalls, they were out of eyesight soon enough.