“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but your father understands his desire for solitude with his family.”
“Is that so? And what house are you in?”
“I have no house; I am an apprentice mage for Count Guyver.”
“What?” Her eyes grew wide, and she detached herself from him. “You’re not even a noble?”
“Yes, Your Grace, I—”
She lifted the front of her skirts and kicked him. She must have had some practice, because the tip of her shoe struck a sweet spot on his shin, sending pain shooting up his leg. Alyssa stormed off with a pouty face, and everyone closest to Sean laughed as he clutched his aching limb.
Favoring his leg, he bashfully retreated once more to the shadowy dining area and took a seat. A waiter came by with a pitying expression and gave him a much-needed glass of water. He slowly nursed it as he watched the revelers dance the night away, wondering if his episode with the princess would amount to an ill portent. Perhaps she would complain to her father that a commoner was acting like a nobleman at the ball, or perhaps she would think he wasn’t worth her time and outrage. Whatever she did, he prayed it wouldn’t result with him in chains.
He must have relaxed longer than he thought, because before he knew it, the conductor announced that the last song for the night was coming up. He quickly got up and looked around for Callie, feeling guilty for leaving her on her own for so long. He had spotted her several times during his dances, and she appeared to be doing well, so after a while he nearly forgot about her. If he missed his last chance to join her for a waltz, he’d never forgive himself.
Just before the music returned, Callie found him and waved. He approached her and bowed with his tender leg stretched in front. “My lady, care for a final dance?”
She curtsied and pleasantly said, “It’s just me, silly. No need to be formal.”
They linked hands and fell into the most relaxing dance Sean had all night. They savored the moment for a beat, gazing into each other’s softened eyes.
“I hear you and the princess danced like an old married couple,” Callie quipped. “Congratulations.”
“My leg would say there’s nothing to congratulate.”
“Oh, are you all right?”
“I am now,” he said, making her blush.
She edged closer to him as they slowly spun together and spoke into his ear. “I’m glad to finally dance with you. You won’t believe some of the things I’ve heard. These men speak of the war like it’s some sort of game, just as you said. They spoke of the brigades like they were simple chess pieces, and they crave news from the front so they can make wagers on battle outcomes. I asked every one if they ever stepped onto a battlefield after the fighting was over; one man said he wouldn’t want to get his shoes wet from the blood, and another said it would ruin his appetite. Thoughtless bastards.”
“Terrible,” Sean agreed.
“It made me so mad at first, but then I grew numb to it all. They’re all the same: They care not that people are dying; they just want food and taxes and comfort. Not that I blame them overmuch, but their words disgusted me.”
“I know just how you feel.” He explained how his own partners were just as dismally shallow and blackhearted.
“I can’t wait to finally be out of here,” Callie said. “I’d rather stand guard at the house than dance with any more nobles.”
“It won’t be long now. From what I’ve seen, you’ve handled yourself well.”
“Thanks. I once had two guys fight over me because they didn’t want to share. I flipped a coin to determine who would get me.”
“Sounds like a recipe for trouble.”
“I told them I had a daddy who was an army general, so if the loser wanted to start some shit with me, I’d let Daddy know after the war.” She shrugged. “It was either that or twist their ears off.”
“I don’t know what to say to that except … I’m so proud of you.”
She chuckled, and they waltzed in silence awhile. Once they faced each other, Sean said, “I thought your helpers would whiten your face. I’m glad they didn’t.”
“Oh, they tried,” she said, beaming. “When I saw what they meant to do, I took the powder case and threatened to toss it across the room. They said, ‘No, don’t ruin the nice rugs!’ I said, ‘Either clean the rugs or let me go au naturel, your choice.’ They chose wisely.”
“You are incorrigible, Callie. Don’t ever change.”
“I don’t know what ‘incorrigible’ means, so … okay.”
They fell again into comfortable silence and slowly spun to the vibrant melody. In time, Sean grew brave enough to try something new, so he raised Callie’s hand and spun her, then pulled her to land her back on one arm. He then had her twirl away once more and stepped up to return to their former position. Callie gazed at him with round eyes, her lips slightly parted.
“It looked like you needed that,” Sean said.
“Oh, I’ve been doing that. Never thought you’d do it with me.”
Sean only smiled sweetly and continued their current pace. Once the song reached a climax and came to an end, the revelers applauded, but Sean and Callie only continued to look at each other, each trying to be stoic and only halfway succeeding.
There was a spark, he could sense it. It was real, it was undeniable, and it was his for the taking.
But for a reason he felt deep in his bones, he resisted.
“Come, Callie, let’s get you to your rooms.”
They slipped into the throng of people departing the ballroom, saying farewell to acquaintances on the way. As they walked to the main building and up the central staircase, they spoke not a word to each other save for a snarky remark from Callie about an old portrait. The halls of the guest wings were filled with female servants who awaited their noblewomen’s return to help them properly undress. Two such servants approached them as Sean opened Callie’s door and gave her the key.
“Well, it wasn’t all bad, was it?” Sean asked.
“No, it wasn’t,” Callie said. “I’m glad to attend at least one ball in my life.”
“Hearing such music is always a treat.”
“Oh, I loved the music! I’ll hear it in my dreams for days to come.”
“As will I. We should prepare to depart as soon as we can. I’ll come for you in the morning. Make sure to wear Lady Amber’s dress.”
She sighed. “I will.”
“Goodnight, Callie.”
She went into her rooms with her ladies-in-waiting, her expression unreadable. Sean would give a silver to anyone who could accurately tell him what she was thinking, but even if he knew, he believed his mind would not be swayed. He was just happy the evening went well enough … except for the incident with the princess, of course. He remained optimistic, though, certain that no harm would come of that petty tussle. He had done her father a big favor, and he wouldn’t allow his daughter to lash out at Sean out of spite.
Then again, perhaps he should worry more about Callie. Would she want to act out of spite?
She dreamed she was running down a dark, nondescript corridor, chased by three strange beings in eveningwear. Calling them “men” was a stretch, for they had large rosebuds for heads.
She halted at the sight of Sean, who glared at the beings in challenge. He held up a hand palm-out, and the beings dropped to their knees in submission. He then turned to Callie with a proud, mischievous smile.
“You know, I have a rose of my own,” Callie said with hands on hips.
“Oh, yeah? Well I have an orchid.” And he showed her his orchid—
—and she awoke with a start. It took her a moment to remember that her plush bed was in a luxurious palace guestroom, and afterward she reflected on the strange dream. She had given up the search for the enigmatic Three Roses a long time ago, yet she apparently still had roses
planted somewhere in the depths of her imagination.
She touched her face and brushed away tears from her lower eyelids. It was no mystery why they were there, and it wasn’t because she was angry. If Sean hadn’t acted on his chance tonight, it was for a very good reason.
It simply wasn’t meant to be.
Sixteen
As Sean was getting kicked by royalty, Rainer was thinking about burkleweed. It was one of his favorite poisons, for it worked quickly and was highly effective yet dynamic, too. About three hundred milligrams were enough to take someone’s breath away, and a full gram was plenty to kill outright. Plus the antidote was hard to make and spoiled quickly without a stasis spell. The only problems were that it had a funny taste and could change a liquid’s color, but those usually weren’t important factors since the taste could be adequately hidden and most people didn’t normally inspect the color of their beverages.
Back when he sat in the Rocking Turtle (acting on a hunch that Callie would show up there), he overheard a man claim that he was going to kill whoever won those silly trials Count Guyver was holding. As much as Rainer hated suffering fools with loud mouths, he held a soft spot for the man, so he ambled over and quickly gave him two stems of burkleweed, advising him to steep them in water first for faster results. He had no idea what became of that man after he left St. Clive for the city, but Rainer hoped the burkleweed had helped him in his hopelessly idiotic endeavor.
At present, he lied in wait for a money lender to poison himself. Said lender was fifty-four-year-old Albert Kenley, who sat in his rocking chair in his quaint second-floor bedroom. While Albert’s wife was away at theater and his butler rested in the downstairs study, he was free to indulge in one of his favorite nighttime activities: making himself some tea and reading a book on culture or history by a lit furnace. He always heated the water himself in a kettle, then poured it over tea leaves in a white china cup.
Rainer was banking on him not noticing how some of the crushed tea leaves were not tea leaves at all. Unfortunately, if Albert did notice, Rainer had little way of knowing it. He couldn’t see the man, only hear him, so if Albert was looking closely at his tin of leaves, Rainer wouldn’t be able to sense it unless Albert mumbled to himself that something was amiss.
The sound of pouring water was an encouraging sign, and when dear old Albert had his first sip, Rainer was fairly sure he had the old man’s number. Burkleweed rarely let him down.
Still, it took an unnervingly long time before Rainer sensed that he should make his move. Albert’s breathing was steady for a good minute, and Rainer feared his target had detected the funny taste. But after the man had a good long sip, he soon started to pant and wheeze, and he dropped his book as he slid from his chair.
Rainer scurried out from under the bed on all fours, then stood and grabbed the wheezing man by the collar of his nightshift. Albert resisted until Rainer rammed a fist into his pot belly, and he dropped to his knees. Rainer then took the hangman’s noose from his shoulder, slipped it over the old man’s head, and cinched it tight around the neck. He then quickly threw the rope over one of the rafters, dragged Albert near the bed, and pulled on the rope until Albert was suspended with his feet barely touching the floorboards.
Albert tried yelling for help, but all he could manage was a pathetic gasp. Rainer tied the rope around part of the bedframe, then laid an ear on the door and listened for any activity. He couldn’t be sure whether the butler had been alerted or not, but he was satisfied upon picking up only silence. He then pulled out a sack from his hiding spot and took out a few items, including a pot of tea leaves he meant to replace with the ones mixed with burkleweed, which could wait for later. He took a candlestick from atop the dresser, lit it at the burning furnace, and stood before the hanging money lender who grew even more terrified by the assassin’s mirthful eyes and cruel jester’s grin in the flickering candlelight.
“A man has to have his priorities, so I’ll start by asking this …” Rainer held up a letter. “Does this look like your handwriting?”
Albert, who was in no condition to have a pleasant and informative talk, shook his head, his eyes pleading.
“Really? But I worked so hard on it. Like to know what it says? ‘My dearest family, I love you all, but over the past five years I’ve been living a lie, taking people’s money without their knowledge or consent, blah-blah-blah, I see no other way out, love you all, Albert Kenley.’”
A distraught Albert desperately tried to say something but could only form unfinished words and gasps. Rainer gave a knowing smile and set the letter on the table next to the rocking chair.
“I know, I put the word ‘love’ two times in there; thought it’d make it more poignant. You love your family, don’t you? And they love you … and do you know someone who used to love you? Fellow by the name of David Coppance. You used to be in business together, and your favorite game was bridge.”
Realization dawned in Albert’s eyes, which made Rainer grin like a child at sweets. He loved seeing someone’s past mistakes come to bite him in the ass when he least expected it. It was something he could rarely do in a job.
“He wanted me to give you a message: ‘Now you’re the one with a nightcap on.’” He shrugged. “I have no idea what the hell that means, but it seemed important to him. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to put some damn shoes on. This is supposed to look like a suicide, and leaving shoeprints in here would ruin the illusion. So …”
Rainer went to the bed and pulled on the rope, raising a struggling Albert. The old money lender valiantly tried to loosen the noose, but the strength in his arms soon gave out and his body trembled in the throes of asphyxiation. After Rainer tied a new knot on the bedframe, he did what little cleanup work was necessary, including exchanging the tea leaves and picking up traces of dirt from his socks.
With his work finished, he quietly opened the door, closed it behind him in the hall, and crept down the stairs. He was as quiet as the floorboards allowed him to be, and he carefully listened for any other sounds in the house. When he reached the ground floor, he peered into the study and found the butler still resting in an armchair. He was tempted to slice the man’s throat open, but of course that would ruin the illusion of suicide. He instead went down into the cellar, the route he had taken to enter the house. He passed by two wine racks and some paintings covered with rags, and he cracked open the horizontal door and scanned the backyard for any peeping eyes.
With no one spotted, he sneaked out of the house and into a small maze of alleyways till he climbed an awning to go atop a bakery. There he found his boots and overcoat, plus some weapons and tools he normally carried on him. Once he got fully dressed, he lied down to sleep with his head on a pile of old shirts. He felt a bump in a trouser pocket and pulled out the key to the cellar door, which he had snagged while bumping into one of Albert’s servants on the street. He thought about tossing it over the side but then came to his senses. If the key was discovered this close to the house, some smart investigator might put two and two together and believe the suicide was anything but. Better to hold onto it before he returned to his new hideout.
His client for this job, David Coppance, was a squirrely old bastard, a little man who was clearly uncomfortable talking with an assassin. But he was quite informative, giving Rainer important details such as Albert Kenley’s living situation, the layout of his house, and his nightly habits. More importantly, David was a rich old bastard who could confirm payment of eight hundred gold if the job was done right. With that money, Rainer could settle some old debts, buy new gear, and hire some muscle should he need it.
With Nyx informing him that Callie was in Asturia and planned to stay awhile, it was soon time for Rainer to make his first move. It would have to be close to her, something she probably won’t miss. After that, a few more moves ought to seal the deal—but only if Callie proved soft enough to care about what was happening.
Two days after the ball, the pain in Sean’s leg was a distant memory, but Jonas was not. That morning, Sean expected his older ward to bug him about breakfast, demanding whatever he was craving at the moment, only to remember that Jonas no longer shared a room with him. Jonas would no longer ask to play games or complain of a tummy ache, nor would they get their hair cut together or go foraging. The older man was now well out of sight, and Sean probably couldn’t make an appointment to see him any time he wished. It made him a little sad, but he was mostly relieved since he could focus on his lessons and chores more easily.
In the afternoon, he invited Callie to have lunch with him since she was free of her duties. They went to a place down the street where picnic tables were spread in the shade of a maple tree, bringing wicker baskets of beef sandwiches, strawberries, dates, and two jars of fresh milk. Children played nearby, but they otherwise had the place to themselves.
Sean started conversation by saying how much he missed Jonas, and Callie admitted she did also, despite any misgivings she had about him. “He claimed we would see him again,” she said. “It sounded like he had another vision, so don’t you miss him too much. You’ll see him eventually.”
Sean merely nodded, unwilling to add that Jonas sounded troubled by this vision, not excited. Callie probably thought the same thing. They then asked each other what they planned to do with their reward money. Before they left the palace yesterday, a treasurer gave them each a sack filled with one hundred gold coins, which were currently tucked away in their rooms until they could find a better place for them. Callie said she needed new clothes, and Sean smiled at how giddy she was at the prospect.
“I need more clothes, too,” Sean said. “I also want to send a letter to the headmaster of Hemlock Academy, ask him to pass it along to Patrick’s parents. I want to give them my condolences and tell some stories about him. I’ll have to pray that enough trade routes are reopened after the war, and even if they are, delivery won’t come cheap.”
The Hunt for the Three Roses Page 25