Sweetness Bled and Brindled Read online

  Jewel stood staring at the door for what felt like an eternity, then ran.

  Briar moved away before the door had even fallen shut, momentarily unsure of where to find the crown prince. She was, at the least, terribly sure that she wouldn’t be able to work with subterfuge any longer. Someone was bound to have found some of the sleeping bodies by now, and she was covered in blood.

  So, since it didn’t matter much anyway, she cornered the first person she could find who might know where to find a litter of puppies and asked them outright. Frustratingly, the young man didn’t know.

  Neither in the mood nor feeling like she had time for this, Briar changed tack. There was, after all, one person in the castle who would undoubtedly know where to find Jewel’s lost litter.

  And she wanted to visit him anyway.

  Briar hoped the crown prince was vain and arrogant enough to spend quite some time replacing the outfit she’d ruined and set off at a run, ducking into an unused washing room and up corridors that looked barely used until she found somewhere that was somewhat familiar. There were guards all along the main hall, and it was so ostentatious Briar couldn’t help but wonder who else was staying there. Someone needed to be impressed with the amount of gilding, masonry and paintings, and it certainly was not the royal family.

  She did not put much faith in gods, usually. They’d never done much for her. She put her faith in skill and confidence, but her heart hammered in her throat as she strode up to the doors she knew housed the crown prince’s rooms purposefully, bloody clothes and all.

  She nodded at the guards who, all things considered, should probably have reacted to her arrival before she’d pushed the doors open and walked into the reception room. Well, if they had the sense to save their own skins, let them. She could make amends to Jewel.

  The crown prince’s reception room was… not what she had expected, but she wasn’t going to let herself get distracted when she could hear what she could only imagine were puppies. At least they didn’t sound like they were in pain.

  Ignoring the sounds of protest behind her — and setting the uniform of the one who managed to put a hand on her arm on fire — Briar walked up to the pile of blankets in a corner. From beside it, a greyhound rose to growl at her. She counted five puppies and hoped they were all of them.

  She dodged another grab from a guard, and danced out of the reach of a protective canine mother, and wasn’t surprised in the least to find one of the closed doors fly open and to see Henry.

  She wasn’t entirely surprised to see him half-undressed, and she took great pleasure in the moment of absolute shock she could see on his face before she had to dance out of the guards’ reach again.

  This time, she did not hold back, had no more reason to. She’d given them fair warning and if she lost now, she’d regret it. Greatly. So the first guard that grabbed her found himself gurgling when she surprised him with her knife. She pulled free and narrowly missed the chair behind her, suddenly finding Henry’s arms locked around her. He squeezed her harder than she’d expected, but she’d been in worse situations. He wouldn’t want her dead — yet — after all.

  She could do with his hands somewhere else, but she could use him to kick the remaining guard in the chest. Or she could have, if he hadn’t let her go when she’d started the move. Before she could take advantage of her freedom, she felt one of his hands grab her arm, nails digging in so deeply that she could feel them through the cloth.

  Briar didn’t know if he was simply that confident a woman couldn’t fight or if he had some plan she’d not anticipated, but she wasn’t about to wait and find out. She spun around, gritting her teeth against the way his grip tried to prevent her, knife at the ready.

  Of course the bastard managed to block her then. Well, that was all right. She was facing him now, and if he managed to ward her attempt to poke an eye out… Her knee found no such protection. He really should’ve seen that one coming, Briar thought, as she wrenched free and slammed her fists against Henry’s neck when he doubled up. She was grateful, though. She’d have regretted not setting his guards on fire when she saw them if he’d put more care into keeping up with his training.

  Briar darted away, dismayed to find someone new in the room and he was making his way to the dogs, not her. Odd as it was, the man had a drawn sword and she couldn’t let the man hurt the beast. The dog went for him and Briar, half an eye on Henry, did the one thing that had never failed her: she set his sleeve on fire.

  Dogs, she knew, weren’t defenceless and this one had a litter to protect to boot, but she couldn’t risk it. The man had a blade and knew how to use it. The dog wasn’t trained for war or boar hunts or whatever the massive beasts were used for now. She was a greyhound, trained for speed and retrieving rabbits and woodland animals. She wouldn’t stand a chance against a good swing.

  Her concentration was harder to hold than she was used to, partially because the crown prince had recovered enough to get a sword of his own and rush her with a weapon he clearly knew how to use, and partially because she’d gone soft too, staying with Spindle and coming to rely on others to keep attackers away from her while she focused on what she wanted her magic to do.

  The dog, to Briar’s surprise, switched targets immediately and went for Henry. She was fast and sleek enough that he tripped over her and Briar’s heart hammered in her throat at the yap, but she had a chance to end this. Anything else could come after.

  She went for it.

  If she burned her hand in the process, again, it was worth it to hear the scream.

  That was also her cue to make haste. The one remaining guard still hadn’t called for help. She couldn’t wonder about why, but he didn’t make a move to pick up the blade he’d dropped. It probably wasn’t surprising considering his arm was nothing but red blisters forming and she’d imagine that moving it hurt immensely.

  The dog growled at her when she moved to the litter. The guard looked at her, nodded, then turned and closed the door. Perhaps she’d have to pay her respects to the gods after today after all. Briar wasn’t entirely sure how to move the entire litter of puppies.

  “Er,” she said. “I want to take you all to Jewel. Please don’t bite me.”

  She was only a little surprised to see the guard appear beside her, carrying a crate. She was impressed that he even managed to hold it. It wasn’t particularly small. It was empty, though, which helped.

  “What are you doing?” she asked anyway, but she understood the moment the guard put the crate down and gestured at the pile of puppies with his good arm. Briar gathered a blanket that seemed unused and lined the bottom of the crate with it, then carefully picked up the small animals and put them inside. Digging through the pile revealed a further two puppies, snuggled away. One didn’t seem to be in good shape and Briar hoped it would survive until she got back to Jewel. He’d be heart-broken if she managed to rescue them all except one.

  The mother dog growled at her as she worked, but didn’t attack. Briar picked up the crate, grunting under the weight. In silence the guard used his good hand to grab the other half of it and guided Briar to a panel that moved to reveal a secret passage.

  She was surprised, if pleasantly, to see him help her so readily, but she supposed he’d seen a chance to escape and had decided to take it. She asked, but the man didn’t answer beyond shaking his head. He knew exactly where he was going, which made Briar tense, especially with how deep and far he led her, but they arrived outside on an old, deserted courtyard. There weren’t any guards there and the man collapsed against the broken well. A brick tumbled down into it, landing with a dull thud.

  Briar needed a few moments to gather her bearings, and to put down the crate and let the mother hop in to curl up with her babies. She’d not seen it in the half-dark of the passage ways and tunnels, but outside it was obvious: the dog was hurt. There was no way to tell whether she’d been hurt just now or before then and Briar tried to take stock.

  “I don’t trust you,�
� she told the guard, though with the adrenaline wearing off she had to wonder why a guard was dressed so finely. He was probably a captain or something and needed to look good. Just one more reason to stand by her assessment.

  He shrugged in response.

  Briar tried to lift the crate, but with the mother in it as well, she could barely lift it off the ground. If the damned thing had been a little easier to hold… No, she couldn’t lie to herself that way.

  She glared at the man still panting beside the well and considered her options. She could try to carry the crate to Jewel, with the guard’s help, and it’d take… longer than she’d like because a crate full of puppies, even young ones, and their mother was heavy. She could try to do it alone, but she’d probably have to drag the thing and leave a clear trail, even assuming she found a good, safe route.

  Damn it all.

  She’d have to fetch Jewel here. He’d have Fourscore-and-twenty nearby. The horse wasn’t saddled to carry a litter of puppies, but if she could get Jewel to them before the little, struggling runt died they’d be able to figure something out. Probably. It was the best she could do.

  “Guard those dogs with your life,” she told the guard. “And don’t move.”

  She supposed the sound he made was supposed to be a chuckle. It seemed to be all the acknowledgement she got. “If I come back to find these dogs dead or gone, I will hunt you down and kill you,” she added.

  Judging by the wall she could see in the distance and the position of the sun, Briar had to head east to find the grove she’d told Jewel to run to. She set off to find him.

  Jewel found no peace amidst the blooms that afternoon. Being there during the day was strange enough. It was their spot, for moonlit nights and secrecy, that gentle curtain between the world and only them. It wasn’t for bright sunlight, the grass trampled shadelessly and bird song scattered through the air. It was intrusive, a reminder the world was not just him and her and them together. It was loud and bright and demanding, as he struggled to breathe, tucking himself into the shadiest corner against rough bark, until the knot in his chest loosened.

  His brother wasn’t going to appear on the horizon. Briar had told him to wait, told him to run, though he didn’t know where to. She’d told him Fourscore-and-twenty would be there, but the horse wasn’t. It was only Jewel.

  Just Jewel and the birds. And the bees. And whatever else lurked amid the branches and the undergrowth that he couldn’t see. Suddenly, he jumped up and paced to the other side of the grove, then back. Again and again and again, rubbing his hands along his arms not because he was cold but because he was filled with a restless energy that would not dissipate. How could it when he was alone with the whole world in front of him? He might go anywhere.

  He didn’t want to go anywhere.

  Home was… It was not safe, but it was familiar. He knew what to expect, how to predict and dodge the blows. Well enough, at least, to find his feet drawing him back in the direction of the manor walls. Briar would understand.

  Briar would be cut more deeply than he could ever harm her.

  And so Jewel paced and moved and decided this way then that until at last he wore himself out and hid up the boughs of trees that Mattie would never climb again, tucked himself against the tree as high as he dared, and let himself cry.

  “Jewel? Jewel!”

  He didn’t know how long Briar had been calling him, voice frantic and slightly out of breath because he could not recall a time before she was shouting for him. He had a dim memory of scaling the tree, of fighting each sob to send air in instead of out and letting snot run down his lips and chin because what was even the point of wiping it away.

  He didn’t climb down, couldn’t. But he attempted a cry, a noise, to let her know to look up. “Oh, thank the gods,” he heard her mutter as he struggled, and half-fell into her arms. He’d not been as high up as he’d thought, perhaps, but he felt Briar wrap her arms around him, bury her nose in his hair against the curve of his ear, whispering sweet nothings as the warm breath grounded him more than anything else might have.

  He let her wrap an arm around his waist, leaning on her, his head on his shoulder as he sniffed still and her hand only stopped running along his back and against his head because he needed the support for his steps wobbled on their own.

  The world was her and him.

  And, unexpectedly, a horse. That whuffed into his hair because Fourscore-and-twenty did not understand personal space. Briar got into the saddle first and pulled him up in front of her. It was the first thing that day that made Jewel smile for she needn’t. He was perfectly capable of mounting a horse on his own, but as her arms settled around him it was a reminder that people cared. He wouldn’t have mounted. He’d have stood there, indecisive, insecure, waiting for doom to find him.

  Briar tugged him along into freedom, steadied him as the world spun around and around with possibility and the slow, dawning realisation that this was real as the breeze against his cheeks, as the warm body pressed against his as she drove the horse to a canter and, eventually, a gallop.

  It felt like no time at all before they arrived to Briar’s destination. Before he saw, sitting on the ground, an all-too familiar face. Before the past and reality dug their claws in him again as he remembered he had duties, family, people who depended on him.

  Once dismounted, Briar led him to a crate. He might have focused differently, but she was insistent and he followed meekly where she led. The fierceness that drove her… He didn’t know how to stand against that and wasn’t, with Briar, certain that he wanted to. She wasn’t his brother, after all.

  The crate held puppies and the joy he felt at seeing all of them together and breathing, River inside with them died when he realised why, exactly why, Briar had pulled him here first. Jewel reached out into the crate, ignoring River’s growl, ignoring the warning bite, and reaching to touch the soft, sleek fur of the youngest of them all. It should have thrived. Even with Henry looking after them, the magic he’d given it should have lasted.

  But they were all larger than they ought to have been, all older than the days suggested they were. How l— He didn’t want to know. Not sincerely, not truly. He ought to, Jewel supposed, but he didn’t want to. That or the puppies had grown magically, somehow, and he did not know what concerned him more. It would be like his brother, he supposed, to find a mage to make them age, all but the youngest.

  Jewel stroked the small head thoughtfully, carefully. It licked his fingers when he brushed his hand past its nose. He didn’t dare take the pup from River. Not for this, not now, because he could feel the pup slipping away. Could —

  He hated Henry. Passionately.

  His brother had said he’d had no magic of his own and, surely, this was true for Henry would have used it, abused it. But somehow he’d found a way to cut the pup’s vitality and siphon it into the others. Not enough to kill it outright, but enough that Jewel could tell and enough to make it suffer.

  Well, it was going to end.

  Jewel carefully traced the lines of magic, snipped the ties neatly and quickly. He didn’t take from the other dogs. However they’d come to their strength, it would be cruel to take it when he could easily recreate what he’d done for the brindle once before and the dogs could never understand what he’d done. He fed the pup as much of his energy as he dared, left it strong and hale like the others around it.

  And if the grass around him was dry and brown and brittle, what of it? If Fourscore-and-twenty had shied away, if two humans had fled to the ruins of the buildings and a few mice and birds lay dead at his feet, it was nothing. It wasn’t a single thing.

  What good was saving anything when someone else would always come to turn it to ash? Henry had done it over and over and over again. Taken Jewel’s carefully nursed animals and leaving them dangling from walls, blood dripping down until the maids screamed. Pounced on a maid just after she’d left Jewel’s sanctuary, healed from some dark bruise or another, only to send her stra
ight back in. He’d watched as Henry poured his cough medicine in winter into the fireplace, all of it, the fire already lit with the hearth.

  He didn’t know what to do. The world was so vast, people like his brother so common, he was certain. He’d seen more of them. Or, if not them, their handiwork. It was in the people who scurried to him when he was in town, or who trekked on broken bones to the manor when he wasn’t.

  It would hurt less, to burn it all down.

  Distantly, he heard singing. It was old and brittle, like flakes of chalk, and wrapped around him like a warm blanket. There was another voice, lower, darker, and more hesitant, rough, like a foal uncertain on its legs until it steadied. They were songs Jewel only vaguely remembered, the kind of nonsense sung to babies and small children to soothe.

  Underneath it all, he heard a staccato of soft whinges, of wuffs and rowls, and there was a warm, small body cradled in his hands, biting his thumb. It wasn’t a hard bite, not an attack. It searched, it tested.

  It was hungry.

  So small and so hungry.

  The voices continued to twine around him, hands against his shoulder. Easy enough to bolt, if he wanted. Easy enough to lean back into the embrace, feel the warm, steady heartbeat behind him, against him, feel the press of lips against his head.

  “It’s okay,” Briar whispered. “You’re okay.”

  It hadn’t been for a very long time, but perhaps, finally, one day, it could be.

  The small puppy bit his thumb again, a little harder. Jewel carried it over to its mother and helped it find a nipple. Growing was, after all, hard work.

  They named the brindle puppy Hope. It’d been Haven’s idea. What his brother had been doing at the ruins, Jewel didn’t know. Neither Haven nor Briar had explained and he hadn’t asked. He’d poured his energy into healing the burns on his brother’s arm and the injuries he could find on Briar.

  Haven hadn’t stayed long, had said he couldn’t. Jewel had simply sat with the puppies and River. He hadn’t lifted them out of the crate because even he caused River to growl in warning. They had seemed happy enough to mull around the crate as best they could anyway and he’d carefully looked them all over as River had allowed. It’d only been the bridle, as he’d expected, who had been in true trouble.