Page 27 of The Empty Throne

Cohea had little faith or interest in gods,but if they existed, they were laughing at him.

He looked up at the sky, huffing infrustration at the unending stretch of dark, heavy clouds. Theimpeding white they dumped relentlessly. Sighing, he went back towork cleaning the stable he was calling home for the foreseeablefuture. As his coin had been limited, he was now trading board forwork. Thankfully, it was work he knew well, as his parents had notbeen the type of nobility to think their status made them betterthan everyone else and had seen to it their children learned thesame. Mucking stables had been a frequent punishment for him,followed closely by washing dishes and cleaning the entire kitchen.In addition to all his training and lessons, the expectationsplaced upon him as the Lindquist heir…

Well, it was little wonder he struggled tofind his pleasures, let alone the time to enjoy them.

"Not what I would have guessed for you.Don't you have enough power?"

"Do I?"

"Poor baby, forced into a life of cozycomfort and tiresome responsibility."

"I've never once complained about it."

"No, you smile and obey and uphold thatinfuriating honor, then come here and indulge in a highlyintriguing past time."

"What difference does it make to you?"

"That is the question, isn't it?"

Cohea paused his work, gripping the shaft ofthe shovel tightly, eyes closed as he breathed heavily through hisnose. The stench of the mucking certainly wasn't conducive toheated thoughts, but they tried to rise up anyway. Too long, fartoo long, since they'd last been together. His body ached with aneed only one person could sate, and his heart ached for the onlyperson who'd ever understood him in ways no one even bothered tolook for.

He stared at his hands, but the work gloveshe'd borrowed hid his ring from sight.

Heaving a long sigh, Cohea got back to work,finishing one stall and moving on to the next. If he got his workdone in reasonable time, he would use the long stretch of boringnight ahead of him to indulge in a few fantasies.

"Three days," was the low, husky reply inhis ear. "Starting now.”

Gritting his teeth against his stupid brainand even stupider libido, Cohea focused on the stench of his workand the complaints of his back and shoulders, until he was sweaty,filthy, and too exhausted to think about much of anything.

Once the mucking and cleaning were done, hefilled the stalls with clean straw, made certain the horses hadplenty of hay and water, then went to get himself scrubbedclean.

Clean, dressed in freshly laundered clothes,he sat down to enjoy the lunch waiting for him.

He was just eating the last of it when heheard a commotion out in the street—including enough words thatsmacked of soldiers. Damn it. Hopefully, they had nothing to dowith him. Shoving the last bit of biscuit in his mouth, he pulledon his jacket, hat, and gloves, and ventured out of the stable andacross the yard to the fence, peering through the gap in the gateto see what was going on.

Soldiers, in Fazekas colors, bright and easyto mark out even in the snow. They were arguing about something,but between their unfamiliar accent and the wind, Cohea could makenone of it out. Four of them, two against two. If the weather wasmore hospitable, there'd probably be a crowd gathering.

Something about the snow caught his ear, solikely they were arguing about the weather. When he caught a fewmore words about the dark and cold, that seemed to clinch that thiswas an argument between doing as they were told and quitting fornow because of the weather. Quitting was by far the smarter choice,the kind of decision that Cohea would never blame his own peoplefor making, whatever his initial orders, but if Fazekas was thatgood a leader, none of them would be in this predicament.

Finally one of the guards lost their temperentirely and slammed a fist right into the face of one of hisdissenters, sending the man flying back a rather impressivedistance into the snow, leaving a trail of red that instantlyfroze.

The other dissenter snarled angrily at theviolent man and went to help his friend.

Clearly unbothered by his own violentdecision, the man gestured sharply at the house Cohea was stayingin, seemingly giving orders to get back to work and search it. Sothis must be the sergeant in charge of this little scouting team.If only he knew how many were in the village. Surely not more thantwenty. Unless Fazekas had returned to the fortress, which seemedunlikely, between the urgency with which he'd left and the weather,then their forces were limited in number, and they'd more likelysend the bulk of them to the cities and other border crossings.

Unless they'd realized this was the likeliestplace he'd go, and gambling that, sent the entirety of their forceshere. Damn it. So he had to assume that all fifty of the remainingsoldiers at the fortress were here combing the village for him.

Which meant getting caught was a matter ofwhen, not if, and as they'd made it to his hostess's house…

Time to vanish.

Bolting back to the stable door, he then ranto the back of the fence, so that ideally it would look as thoughhe'd seen them at the gate and fled out the back. Returning to thestable, he gathered up his belongings, not that they were reallyscattered, left one of the stable doors slightly ajar to make itlook as though he'd left in a hurry, then hastily cleaned and driedhis boots, sloughing snow from his clothes, before he climbed upinto the loft and hid himself in the hay there.

If he could stay hidden long enough, he coulddepart once the guards stopped the search.

He'd barely settled into place when he heardnoise, urgent voices, down below.

"He was here!" one of them said. "You wereright."

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