The Five Kingdoms

Chapter 2: Benicio

Alana woke to the sound of the northern rain beating down hard and fast outside. She kept her eyes shut; when she opened them, she would find herself sheltering from this rain in a barn or a lean-to somewhere. The journey would not be over and soon enough she would have to rise and brave the weather and exposure of the open road once again. Rolling to her side, she felt the bed beneath her. It was not soft, nor particularly comfortable, but it was a bed.  It had been nearly three months since she’d last slept in a bed – the night before she had heard the Vice Chancellor speaking with her mistress. She didn’t know how she had come to lie in this bed, but she was eternally grateful for whoever had placed her here. Simply being dry and warm was the most glorious feeling.

Alana could distantly smell food, and she suddenly realised just how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten for two days before arriving at the castle, and the Gods only knew how long she had been asleep. Suddenly unable to ignore her ravenous hunger, Alana opened her eyes, pushing herself onto her elbows. She was in a low-ceilinged stone room and, looking left and right, she could see four beds lining one wall and large, open windows filling the other. The room was dim, the only source of light and heat coming from the fires at the far ends of the room.

A man was lying in the bed next to her. He was completely still, and Alana assumed him to be sleeping. A pile of bloody rags lay next to his bed and Alana wrinkled her nose in distaste. Surely the palace maids should have cleaned those up immediately. Squinting in the dimness, Alana tried to make out his features. His dark hair and tanned skin made him look Telloan, but it was difficult to say in this light. His face looked bruise, and Alana noticed a bandage around his arm. The Empire must have found this one, she thought sadly, overwhelmed with relief that she had made the journey undetected. The man shifted and Alan quickly looked away.
“Is he in there?” asked a low voice, from just beyond the door. It was a strange accent; a mixture of elongated vowels and lyrical intonation. “I’m going to see him.”
As the far door opened, Alana lay back down. She had been travelling too long, she realised. Suddenly, every newcomer was regarded as an enemy. Positioning herself on her side, facing the sleeping man, she kept her eyes open just enough to see the next bed. The newcomer had crossed the room and was kneeling by the man’s side. Peering through her lashes, she saw the lithe figure and the glossy dark curls. It was the rider who had saved her at the gate.

“What the hell happened to you?” he breathed, stroking the man’s head softly. His voice sounded guilt ridden and Alana shut her eyes fully. Her saviour did not deserve to be spied upon during such an honest moment. Besides, eavesdropping was a bad habit; it had certainly landed her in a great deal of trouble. “Beni?”

“I’m fine,” murmured the man, his voice croaky with sleep.

“You don’t look fine,” the first man replied, his voice filled with relief. “Did they find you? Did they do this to you?”

“Row,“ the man said, the affection in his voice cracking with pain as Alana heard him move in his bed, “Calm down. I’m fine. I’m just a little roughed up.”

“Who did it?”

“I don’t want-“ began the man, but something made him confess. “It was my welcome present, Rowan. When I got here, Gaulior’s men didn’t think I was genuinely seeking refuge. But, it’s not important.” The first man made to object, but he was cut off. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter, however, is that we are not alone. The girl in that bed – she’s awake.”

Alana felt herself flush with the knowledge that both men must now be looking at her, and the fact that the man must have seen her staring at him earlier. She opened her eyes slowly, and looked at the two men. Rowan was still kneeling by the bed, his head turned over his shoulder. Alana was immediately struck by his eyes; a keen, piercing blue, set against his pale, pointed features. Like Alana, the other man was now lying on his side, his head propped up by his hand. His brown eyes were unfocussed as he looked at her, and Alana saw the beginnings of a beard growing on his square jaw. He looked somehow familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“How are you feeling?” asked Rowan, his eyes looking her up and down, as if appraising the care she had received.

“Much better, Sir,” Alana whispered, instantly recalling that this man had been titled ‘Lord’. “Thank you very much for your help.”

“It was nothing at all,” he responded kindly.

“Oh,” said the other man, wincing as he lowered himself back to his pillow, “Were you playing the hero again, Rowan?”

“Well,” Rowan replied, “I failed so miserably in rescuing you. I thought I’d best turn my attentions to other damsels in distress.”

“I can’t believe you went out looking for me,” the man muttered, “when I was already in the bloody castle. A truly brilliant move on your part.” He continued to grumble for a few seconds, before adding, “by the way, introduce me to your damsel. I happen to think redheads are divine.”

Rowan suppressed a smile, knowing that once the drugs and concussion had worn off, Beni would be mortified that he’d said such things. “Of course,” he replied, “But I don’t know her, so it will be introductions all around.”

“Alana Riorn,” she offered promptly, her arms moving instinctively to  curtsey, before she realised she was still lying down.

“Well, Alana, I am Rowan Ryder, and this,” he affectionately rubbed his companions shoulder, raising his voice to speak over the intensified rain fall, “Is Benicio.”

Her years of court training served her well, for she maintained an impassive face as she learned their names, despite her sudden realisation. Of course Benicio had looked familiar; she had often seen him at court in the Empire. Benicio was the Emperor’s son. His first born, illegitimate son. His bastard status denied him the throne, but the Emperor adored the boy. Why on earth was he seeking refuge is Devourscnov?