Bound to the Alpha King novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: The Whitford

The banner hung off the north gate in a black scorched rag, still smoking.

Three of the Chancellor's riders stood under it with their arms folded.

"Fen colours," said the tallest one, as soon as he saw the king.

"Green on brown."

"Painted on the cloth in broad daylight, Majesty, and nobody saw who."

I walked up and put my hand on the rag.

It was cheap wool, dyed with walnut hull.

"Our mothers dye with peat water," I said. "This is walnut. Fen cloth goes grey where it burns, not black."

The tall rider smirked.

"You'd say that."

"I'd say that because it's true."

"Enough," said Rorik.

He looked at the gate, then the road, then at me.

I could see him adding it up.

"Take the cloth to Embla," he said. "She'll know who sold the walnut. Everybody else, back to your posts."

On the long walk down from the gate I said nothing.

Neither did he.

I went to the undercroft because my patients needed me.

Rorik went with me, though nobody had asked.

He stood in the corner of the old stable while I changed dressings by lamplight.

The Fen wounded watched him.

An old man in a cot hissed a curse at him.

Rorik took it.

When the last bandage was done, the stove had burned low and the wounded had turned their faces to the wall.

I washed my hands and said, without turning around, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"When?"

"When he cursed you."

"He's earned it."

I dried my hands.

"Say it," he said.

"Say what?"

"Whatever you've been carrying since the cup. You've held your tongue for two days. I can feel it in my chest like a stone."

I turned.

He was standing by the stove with his coat off and his sleeves rolled, his bandaged arm held a little stiffly.

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