The Rose and the Thorn (Riyria #2)

“That’s none of your concern. I am on the king’s business—leave us be.”


“Can’t do that. We’ve got orders to find a young girl—a whore.” He paused, looking at Rose carefully, shifting around her to get a full view. “For two nights a tiny army has crawled up every alley and looked in every rat hole. But no one’s seen anything close—until now.”

“And yet, I’m telling you I’m on the king’s business.” The escort’s voice didn’t have a hint of fear. If anything, he sounded irritated. “You see the uniform, you know what it means. Now leave us be. I don’t have time for your provincial games tonight.”

“Maybe you’re on king’s orders, maybe not. If you are, then there’ll be no trouble with you coming with us to the castle so we can ask Lord Exeter. If it checks out, we’ll apologize real proper-like and provide an escort to wherever it is you’re going so no other patrols interfere. How’s that sound?”

“I told you I don’t have time for games, boy.”

The sheriff didn’t like that. “I think you’re gonna have to make time, Sergeant Hilfred, because I’m not a boy. I’m a Medford quarter sheriff, this is my quarter, and the two of you are under arrest.”

The moment the sheriff reached out for Rose, Richard wasted no time. He jerked Rose back hard, causing her to cry out and fall to the street behind him. At the same time, he drew his sword. Before anyone else moved, he shoved the blade in and out of the stomach of the largest deputy, who at the time wasn’t even looking his way. Rose started screaming as the big guy crumpled in a little spin to the stone as if he were a dying top.

Richard swung at the uniformed sheriff, but by then all swords were out and the stroke met steel. The clang rang through the empty square as the men faced off. His focus on the sheriff gave the deputy an opening, and he slashed Richard across the back. The blow rocked him, but nothing more.

“He’s wearing chain, you idiot!” the sheriff shouted. “Grab the girl. Take her to Exeter!” The sheriff advanced, swinging and driving Richard to the side with a series of chops aimed at his head.

Still screaming, Rose crawled away until the deputy grabbed her by the arm and pulled the girl to her feet. She fought, kicking him in the shin, but the man held on. In frustration, he finally just dropped his sword, lifted Rose over his shoulder, and started carrying her toward the castle.

Hadrian waited until he approached the cobbler shop. “Evening, Deputy,” he said, stepping out of the doorway. “That’s a heavy load you’re carrying. Could you use some help?”

The man looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then said, “I dropped my sword back there. Could you get it?”

“You don’t have a sword, huh?” Hadrian replied. “That’s the problem with only carrying one.” In a breath, Hadrian had the point of his own blade touching the throat of the deputy. “Put her down.”

“I’m an appointed deputy. I’m working for Lord Exeter. Look at the hat!”

“Funny—that strategy didn’t work for the sergeant either.”

“You’ll be hanged for interfering.”

Rose did something behind the man’s back that Hadrian couldn’t see, and the deputy cried out, dropping her.

“Damn it! You bit me!” He reached out to grab her again and Hadrian pressed the point of his blade tighter against the man’s neck.

Thirty feet away, Richard and the sheriff danced to the tune of ringing swords. The sergeant was the better of the two, and being the only one dressed in chain doubled his advantage. The sheriff kept his distance, lunging only when Richard was distracted.

“Terence!” the sheriff shouted. “Just run and get help.”

The deputy took a step back, turned, and ran toward the Gentry Quarter. Hadrian let him go and sheathed his blade.

No longer distracted, the sergeant pressed the sheriff, who fell back but not fast enough. The sergeant cut him in the leg, and when he dropped, Richard thrust his blade through his side, twisting it before drawing it back out.

Hadrian grimaced. That was uncalled for. He had him the moment he slashed the thigh.

With blood dripping from his sword, Richard charged Hadrian, who raised his hands in surrender.

“Easy, I’m on your side.”

The sergeant hesitated a moment, glanced at Rose, then nodded and sheathed his sword. “Thanks. Who are you?”

Hadrian looked at Rose. “I’m a friend of Gwen’s.”

“Who?”

“She’s the lady who runs Medford House,” Rose explained. “Hadrian was a guest.”

“Medford House?” Richard looked confused.

“Yeah, where I live. You know, where we’re going—where you’re taking me.”

“Oh yeah, right.” The sergeant nodded several times. “And we need to get going. Thanks for the help, friend.” He grabbed Rose once more and the two began to run.

They trotted through the central square past the fountain where the cobblestone formed a circle pattern. During the day, Hadrian had hardly noticed the fountain amidst the activity and the crowds, but in the silence of the chill night, it bubbled like a cauldron. Following behind them, Hadrian cringed. Rose’s white skirt stood out as brightly as a surrender flag, and Richard’s military boots slapped the street with enough noise to be a call to arms. Maybe it was the time he had spent with Royce, but the two appeared as deft as oxen. Ironically, after a year of being berated for his own noise and clumsiness, Hadrian could finally appreciate Royce’s frustration. Why don’t they just shout, “Over here! Come find us!”?

Richard stopped when they reached the gate to the Lower Quarter and turned, looking irritated to see Hadrian still with them. “What are you doing?”

“I thought you might need—” Shouts and the stamp of boots cut him off. Hadrian saw lanterns casting jittery shadows of running men.

“Stay here,” Richard told him. “Slow them down. I’ve got to get her away.”

Hadrian nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The sergeant smiled, and grabbing Rose’s wrist once more, they ran into the dark narrow streets of the Lower Quarter.

Hadrian turned to face the approaching noise.

“There! He’s one of them!” Terence, the once-unarmed deputy, had picked up his sword on the way back and now brandished it at him. At his side were three more men wearing hats with white feathers. None of them wore a uniform but all drew their swords.



Albert waited in the reception hall listening to the muffled sounds of gaiety seeping through the corridors. He could smell the scent of meat. Dinner was at long last being served, and he hoped he was about to be finished with his obligations for the night so he could enjoy himself. He looked forward to spending the rest of the evening indulging in the luxury afforded to his class, a lifestyle he had so sorely missed.