Free The King's Blood by S. E. Zbasnik, Sabrina Zbasnik Page A

crates, his face a giant smile. There was no greater fun that pretending to be what you weren't, and for the moment the prince got to be a "commoner". He stood there impatiently, waiting for someone to appear, to take his escorted dish, and perhaps reward him for a job well done. But no barkeep appeared, no jolly man in an apron with some hilarious saying painted upon it. Not even a shrewish wife, who clucked her tongue at the spec of food he didn't finish.
    Ciara smacked her forehead as she set down her own spife 12 and noticed the idiot still standing there, drawing even more attention to himself, "Pst. Get back here."
    Aldrin jumped at her theatrical intrusion and blinked slowly at her narrow glare. Properly cowed, he returned to his chair slope.
    "What were you doing up there?"
    For being one of the dark people, she didn't mince words. "I was waiting to be acknowledged."
    Her brow furrowed as she absentmindedly scraped off the embedded bits of dinner, "The last thing we want is someone to 'acknowledge' us."
    Watching her, Aldrin wondered just much experience she'd gained hiding out from the authorities, ducking through dark forests for safety, and outmaneuvering entire armies. For his sake, he assumed it was greater than her years allowed. Five year olds could be wanted criminals.
    "I got us a bed of sorts for the night. It sounds like the winter's gonna turn soon judging by all the creaking bum legs. If we don't head towards the Northern Pass now, we can kiss making it before snowfall goodbye."
    The prince nodded, as if any of that made sense. His cartography skills ranked somewhere around the sailing acumen of a landlocked pirate. Ciara gently placed her plate on the floor where the "dishwashing crew" would lick them clean later and began to stuff the coats in the bags. Aldrin watched her unfold each piece of clothing, weigh them in her hands, then toss one at his side before folding the other into the pack in front of her.  
    Ah. He fumbled with the pack she acquired from the "manager," as Fred demanded he be called. The buckles he undid, flopping to the floor with a clank. A black eyebrow raised and caramel eyes watched as the prince tried to lift the lid of the pack. Finding it still seemingly sewn down, he searched through the front for a missed buckle, a snap, anything else he could undo, but he only found more canvas.
    Picking up the coat she had tossed his way, he crumpled the edge into a small ball and forced it into the tiny opening on the side. Then, like a rat catcher working a small pipe, he wormed the end through the opening, slowly wadding the coat as he went. The thing was over half way in when Ciara, aware of the attention this was gathering, snatched the thing away and seemed to open the top flap by a magical spell, offering a glimpse of the tortured overcoat inside. Aldrin looked up at her in awe.
    She sighed and pointed to a slit on the back of hers, "It's on the back that way pickpocket's can't easily get in without you noticing."
    He grinned widely enjoying this vacation, before wadding up a pair of mismatched mittens, which might have once been socks. Ciara sighed at his exuberant face and picked up her weak ale, more water than anything approaching alcohol. Well, she hoped it was water.
    The doors flew wide, one finally succumbing to the harsh mistress of gravity and accepted its retirement as a drink supporter. Two men wandered in, slugging each other in the shoulders the only way a pair besotted to the point of near blindness could. Their clothes were obscured by muddied fawn cloaks but the familiar clank of armor betrayed them.
    The regulars sat bolt upright at the sound, but these men weren't with the local tab enforcement. The bearded one fell onto what had once been a highchair and banged the table, "Mead!"
    "An' anly good shit too. We knows you're all hidin' it," the second one, clean shaven, spoke with a lilting accent as if the Cadaratchian tongue was only native to him thanks to a lot of