Page 7 of What Fury Brings (Wrath and Fury #1)

S anos felt all the tension leave his body as he started on his second ale.

His back had healed over the past fortnight, and he’d enjoyed stolen moments with his mother and sister.

Both seemed to be doing well. Emorra had taken an interest in engineering.

She was building all kinds of miniature bridges, buildings, and the like.

She’d rattled off numbers and words like suspension and architectonic .

He had no idea what books she was reading or how she managed any of it, but that was the way she was.

Now his birthday had arrived, and Sanos could finally loosen up. He was out with his brothers, and his father didn’t know where they were. They weren’t being watched. Sanos knew, because he kept looking over the tavern for spies.

Here he couldn’t do anything to stoke his father’s paranoia.

No, instead he had good company, tolerable drink, and the promise of pleasure at the end of the night.

The Ladicus brothers were only at their second tavern, yet Andrastus was already slurring his words. He never could hold his drink.

“Saaaaaaanos. Youuuuuu’re olderrrrrrrr tooooooday. You looooook olllllllllld.”

“Thank you, Andrastus,” he said.

Canus shoved Andrastus over and took the seat next to Sanos. “I was just chatting up a couple of very nice girls over at that table. Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

Sanos took another drink. “No nice girls. Only whores.”

“Right, because sex is only fun if you pay for it.”

“You know that’s not why.”

Yes, Canus knew. He was more observant than the others, but that didn’t stop him from trying to get Sanos to have a little fun.

“He wants you isolated,” Canus tried. “Don’t let him win.”

“I can’t risk him not winning.”

“Sanos—”

“I said no.” His tone left no room for argument.

“Fine.”

Canus left him to go sit with the girls. Trantos bounded up to take his place.

“Are you scaring everyone away?”

“I have that effect on people.”

“You don’t scare me.”

Sanos snorted. Trantos, fourth-born, was only twenty years of age. He was old enough to be considered a man yet acted young enough to still be considered a child.

“What do you get up to these days?” Sanos asked him.

“Whatever I like.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’ll get.”

Sanos rolled his eyes. He knew what the rest of his brothers did with their time.

Andrastus was constantly at the cathedral, studying ancient poetry and writings with the priests dedicated to serving the god Brutus.

Canus was involved with smithies because he wanted to be as close to war as he could get.

Ikanos was still being tutored, too young to pick up any sort of business or hobby.

But Trantos? He hadn’t shown any particular interest in anything.

Or so Sanos had thought. He wondered if Trantos was being sneaky on purpose.

“Whatever it is, it had better not be something that will get you into trouble.”

“Will you relax? Try worrying about only yourself for a change. Else you’ll go gray early.” Trantos clapped him on the back and left to help Andrastus find a seat before he toppled over.

Apparently Sanos was scaring everyone away. Ikanos was in a corner scribbling away on a piece of parchment. And Sanos turned his head in time to watch Canus get slapped across the face by one of the young women.

Sanos nearly spat out his ale as he laughed.

“I think it’s time we headed for the next tavern,” Canus said.

He was already over their argument, for he took the seat beside Sanos once they reached the next establishment.

Ikanos began to recite poetry for all the patrons to hear, since Andrastus was too drunk to do it.

Sanos and Canus made a game of it to pass the time, taking a sip of their ale every time their youngest brother made a rhyme with the word flower .

“My, this ale is sour.”

The lighting was low, the laughter loud, the drink tasting better by the minute.

“Brother Sanos, why dost thou look dour?”

His other brothers laughed at the rhymes. Ikanos chugged another ale as the pub cheered for more verses. Sanos wasn’t drunk enough for this, yet he wanted to be sober enough to properly enjoy the last stop of the evening.

“Tonight I hope my cock shall tower.”

Ikanos grew fouler the longer this went on.

“Where’s the nearest pretty maid? Might I plow her?”

For gods’ sakes.

“I’m leaving,” Sanos declared.

“Ooooooone lassssssst taaaaaaaaavern,” Andrastus begged.

They ushered him along to yet another establishment, and it was here that Canus approached him with the rope.

Shit , he’d forgotten.

“No,” Sanos said firmly. He was feared by many with his deep voice and authoritative stance, but his brothers didn’t bat an eye.

“Sanos, it’s tradition. You must!”

He tried to make a run for it. Four-on-one hardly made for a fair fight, even when one of them could barely stand. One-on-one he could take any of them, but he didn’t stand a chance when they ganged up on him.

Ikanos swung near his face and missed, but Canus got him in the gut, and he went down like a bird with an arrow through its eye.

They stripped off his shirt and tied him to a load-bearing post in the establishment.

His bonds were tight, too tight to wriggle free.

So he gave each of the men a stare that promised death once he was free.

“How many years is it now?” Trantos asked.

“Twenty-six, I think,” said Canus.

“Tweeeeeeeeenty-seveeeeeeeen, I thought,” said Andrastus.

“Twenty-five,” Sanos said. “None of you are funny.”

The higher the number, the more painful this would be. Sanos didn’t know how the tradition started, but for some reason, it was customary to pluck the hairs off a man’s chest to match the number of years he’d aged. Fucking Brutes and their fucking traditions.

His brothers took turns, ripping patches of hair off his chest, counting aloud so the whole tavern could join in the fun. Sanos bore it with a straight face and hardened eyes, not crying out once and flinching only minimally.

“Sixteeeeeeeeeen!” called out Andrastus on his turn.

Sanos closed his eyes as a fresh sting erupted on his chest. Birthdays were something he always looked forward to. He was so eager to be home that he managed to forget this part of the night. He should take more care to remember in the future. Drinks. Pain. Women. That was the way of the Brute.

Did they all have to look like they were enjoying this so much?

“Twenty-five!” Canus proclaimed, and then finally released him.

Sanos reached out to strangle the first one he could get his hands on.

“Time for the brothel,” Ikanos wisely said.

It was the only thing that could have halted his revenge.

Sanos hid his eagerness well, but the truth was that he was touch-starved.

Even miles and miles away, Sanos couldn’t risk his father learning of him getting attached to any woman.

All he needed was one more person for his father to hold over him, or worse, take away from him.

And it didn’t feel right to go to the brothels of the cities they conquered.

So Sanos waited for his birthday every year.

Blanchette’s was a special brothel that catered to noble clientele.

It was also entirely fashioned in the style of the Amarrans, Brutus’s rivals to the south.

The whores wore pants or short skirts instead of tight dresses, and their tunics were made of sheer silk.

The women all wore their hair in a variety of braids, as the Amarrans did.

They wore bows over their shoulders or an empty quiver.

Some wore sheaths around their waists or thighs and nothing else.

The Amarran wretches thought themselves so superior to every other kingdom in Torateeria, but at Blanchette’s they were reduced to nothing more than common whores.

As was their place. Or so his father said.

Sanos had never met any Amarrans, but the rumors were vicious.

Amarra was a territory ruled by women. They kept their men in chains.

Drank their blood. Performed sexual acts in public.

The women themselves were unnaturally strong, and they used that strength to treat men like dogs.

The madam greeted them warmly, but Sanos was already looking over the women in the room. He wasn’t very discerning when it came to height or size or features. He liked women . Whatever women he could get away with having.

While the younger princes took their time selecting partners for the night, Sanos was of half a mind to grab the closest woman and take her upstairs. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Madam Blanchette approach his next youngest brother, who was still swaying on his feet.

“Prince Andrastus,” the woman said with a curtsy. “I have a new girl who I think will be perfectly suited to your tastes. In fact, if I may speak so boldly, she requested you .”

That caught Sanos’s interest. Andrastus was a sap. He liked poetry and going to the opera. He probably preferred his women on top.

“New girl?” Sanos repeated. “One who asked for Andrastus? Why?”

Madam Blanchette didn’t bat an eye at his tone. “She’s heard the rumors about the prince’s handsomeness. She wants to see for herself.”

Andrastus was the pretty one. Canus, the big one. Trantos was the troublemaker. Ikanos was the baby. And Sanos… what was Sanos? The absent crown prince.

Maybe it was all the ale, but something primal came out in Sanos. Some need to take and prove himself. It was the way of the Brute, his father would say.

And he’d gone without sex too long.

Ikanos laughed and elbowed Canus, who already had his tongue sliding up the exposed breast of a whore. “Sanos doesn’t like that a girl fancies Andrastus over him.”

Canus palmed the breast as he turned and gave Sanos a wide smile. “He’ll get over it in about ten minutes. Hurry and take your pick, big brother.”