Seven Ways to Kill a King

by Melissa Wright

  “Fits you well, then.” The woman’s head tilted as she appraised Miri’s slender form. “I reckon you could wield it for practice. But you’ve got no real reach with a weapon that size.” She hummed. “Come back to me when you’ve got this one mastered, and we’ll fit you with something with a bit more heft to it.”

  “How much?” Cass’s tone was clipped but all for show. Miri knew how heavy the man’s coin purse was. He was Cass the trader, well versed in bargaining and dicker.

  Miri stepped back a pace to fall into stance. She raised the sword and spun, testing its balance and trying a few basic moves.

  The woman laughed. “She’s lost the deal for you before you’ve even started, boy. Look at her. You can’t take that blade from such a pretty bride.”

  Miri did not have to turn around to see Cass’s expression. She could imagine it full well by then.

  “Seventy,” he said. “It’s a fair price for us both.”

  The woman scoffed. “Good steel’s near impossible to come by these days, and you well know it. Look at those blades on your hip.”

  Cass had not displayed his best knives in the open, but that did not seem to matter one bit.

  Miri turned back to face them, weighing the sword in both her hands. “I’ll need a sheath and a strap as well. Throw those in, and I can convince my husband it was worth his while.”

  The woman cackled and patted Cass on the shoulder so hard he nearly stumbled.

  Though Cass stared at Miri, she only said, “No sense in dally, my precious helpmeet. We’ve two more stops at least. I’ve a need for scarves and sweet-smelling soap, remember?”

  Cass blinked at Miri then drew in a long-suffering breath and handed the woman her coins.

  Cass carried Miri’s sword as they traversed the market beneath a midmorning sun. The sense of chaos and riot of smells had intensified, in no small part because of the preparation of the midday meals. Meat roasted on large iron spits, and vegetables were being cooked into pottage or roasted in metal baskets over the fire. Miri sidestepped a cluster of rowdy men to slip into a tent with candles and oil. Cass followed her, his constant scrutiny on the crowd.

  A young girl approached Miri, her copper hair in a crown of braids. “Can I interest you in some oils, miss?”

  “Yes,” Miri said. “Indeed.”

  The girl’s sharp green eyes took Miri in, and her freckled cheeks plumped when she smiled. “I’ll wager you’re a mint-and-lavender sort.”

  “You’ll wager nothing at all!” The voice came from an older woman crouched beneath a table, stacking glass bottles into a crate. She had the same copper hair, only two shades lighter.

  The girl rolled her eyes. “And for him,” she said, gesturing at Cass as if she’d not been reprimanded at all, “sandalwood and sage.”

  Miri chuckled. “Aye, boys are a stinky lot. Maybe something stronger.”

  The girl nodded sagely. “I’ve just the thing.” She gestured for Miri to follow, but it was only two steps to her table of wares. She offered up vials for appraisal, and Miri smelled rose water, lily, cloves, and lemon while Cass perused the deadlier stock on the shelves behind them.

  She needed something in a powder and two kinds of oil. As the girl chattered about heated salves and the medicinal benefits of saffron and iris, Miri closed her eyes to take the various scents in. The musky, soil aroma of patchouli in one vial was replaced by another, its scent woody and something like lemongrass or citronella. Miri’s cheeks heated when she realized what it reminded her of—it smelled like Cass. She opened her eyes, placing the stopper back in the vial.

  The girl’s smile warmed. “Oh, you like that one. That’s vetiver. Excellent for repelling lice.” She took the vial from Miri and set it aside in a pile of possible purchases. “You’ll need some almond oil for base, and we’ve got fresh cinnamon bark just in from Smithsport. It was delivered today.”

  The word cut through Miri’s distraction, driving a sudden spike of fear through her veins. She’d no idea why, because truly, goods from Smithsport were exported to every city in the realm. She suddenly felt Cass beside her. His presence was a calming reminder she was not alone and that nearly no one knew who she truly was. She pressed away the voice that said the count of those people was fewer and fewer every day and that she might never be that person again.

  “Have you found what you need, my lady?” Cass’s voice was gentle, his entire manner attentive and nothing like that of a thief. Miri hoped he didn’t haggle with the merchants, at least, to make up for the offense of pocketing poisons when the girl’s attention had been turned away.

  Miri nodded, and the woman approached from her bottle-sorting task, her sleeves rolled up, presumably to keep the oils from the cloth. Miri smiled automatically in greeting, but her eyes caught on the edge of a dark mark on the woman’s skin. Miri felt her face go slack, and the woman jerked her arm away to brusquely unroll the sleeve to its place.

  “This is a lovely shop,” Cass said smoothly, as if he’d not noticed the exchange. “We’ve been traveling the forests for ages, and I’ve not seen a single variety of hyssop and purslane to be had among other tradesmen.”

  The woman nodded hastily and adjusted her apron then her hair. “Yes, of course. Get most of our stock from a farm outside of Blackstone. They’ve a hot house to be envious of, I’m sure.”

  The girl added, “We grow all the common herbs ourselves. And Momma says that soon, we’ll have enough saved to build a hot house of our own.”

  The woman’s eyes seemed to dim. The promise she’d made was clearly empty.

  “It’s a pleasure to hear,” Miri said softly.

  The girl glanced at her mother, but the woman only patted her shoulder absently. “Wrap up the vials, blossom. I’m sure these two have other places to be.”

  Miri held the woman’s gaze, wanting to make a promise of her own. The secret beneath the woman’s sleeve that she was so clearly terrified of being found out would remain safely concealed—because the mark was one of loyalty to the Lion Queen.

  Chapter 10

  They made only a few more stops on their way out of the market: one for silks and scarves and one at a finery shop that sold utensils and metal jewelry. Miri was unsettled enough at the mention of Smithsport and the sight of the woman’s mark, but when they neared the edge of the crowds, Cass stilled her with a sudden too-firm grip on her elbow. Her eyes shot to him then followed his gaze to the edge of the throng. Against the backdrop of serene cottage-style houses on cobblestone streets, three massive figures in the kingsmen colors of dark brown and red stood in a row. Between them, a slender man in sorcerer’s robes eyed the crowd.

  Miri’s blood ran cold. Cass squeezed her elbow tighter, and she dropped her gaze to her feet. Gods, she wanted to run at just the sight of him so near. A second icy stab of fear jolted through her, lingering on the back of her neck. She wanted to swat at it like a horse would a fly. Seven hells, she needed out. A small sound escaped her before Cass jerked her toward him and dragged her away from the soldiers and back into the crowd. They moved as swiftly as possible without drawing notice, and Miri’s hands trembled against the satchel of wrapped vials.

  She wanted to look back and to see if they would follow. She wanted to bend over in the street and be sick onto the stone.

  “Bean,” Cass said, tugging her into his side. “Keep moving. Nearly there.”

  They ducked into a narrow alley between two buildings, their boots sloshing in a mud puddle.

  Cass came to a stop and put his hands on Miri’s arms as he made her face him. “Look at me, Bean. Right here.”

  She pushed against the dread, and whatever was swimming through her head seemed to clear, if just a bit.

  “Two more streets, and we’re back at the manor. Safe.” He winced at whatever he saw in her eyes. “Can you make it?”

  Miri considered that for a moment. The task of walking only two short blocks felt impossible for a reason she couldn’t quite identify. She should
want to get away, but she couldn’t find her will to run. Cass was watching her and waiting. She managed a nod.

  They moved with purpose, and before she had a chance to crawl from her skin or retch in the street, Miri was safely inside the walls of the benefactor’s manor. She could finally breathe.

  “Are you well, miss?” one of the kitchen staff asked.

  Cass brought Miri nearer still. “A bit under the weather, I’m afraid. Can you—” He pressed his lips together, as if considering what might help. “Do you mind sending up an early dinner?”

  “Of course,” the woman said. “Poor dearie. We’ll have whatever it is sussed out with some hot tea.”

  Cass said his thanks and led Miri wordlessly to their room, where he deposited her onto the narrow bed. She curled her legs to her chest to lean against the wall as he paced the room, none too subtly peering out the window on his route. He carefully unloaded the murder supplies he’d pilfered from the market.

  A light knock sounded at the door, and Cass retrieved the tray of food. He deposited it onto the table in the front room and brought Miri a mug of steaming tea. The cup was laden with lemon and honey and several floating herbs. She breathed in the scent of it, wrapping her fingers cautiously around the mug. Her hands had seemed to stop their trembling, but she did not quite trust them.

  Finally, he sat down beside her. “Tell me about your plans again, Miri. Tell me what happens in two days’ time.”

  She nodded, understanding that he wanted her to discuss something she’d thought of a thousand times—not the new terror that had so unsettled them both. “I’ve been in the castle before, many times, when King Casper was no more than a lord. He’s too secure in his safety now that the Lion Queen is gone, and the lot of those lords turned kings have aimed more for palaces than fortresses. Pleasure over protection.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat, not mentioning the precautions Edwin had taken in the tower at Stormskeep. “As the years wear on, their confidence only grows. They’re selfish. Vain. Creatures of habit. And I know the secret faults of every single one.”

  Cass nodded. “How do you know, Miri? How do you know Casper?”

  “I befriended a serving girl while my mother met with the lord. She was tall for her age and had wide brown eyes and cropped hair. My attentions gave her leave to escape her chores, and she took me on a tour of the castle. We didn’t marvel at the art and sculptures the lord had amassed or the grand rooms meant to impress. The girl and I stole down to the basement cells to see the prisoners—which wasn’t allowed, by my mother’s own laws. We felt our way blindly through secret passages, held our hands over the steaming cauldrons of the castle laundry, and dipped our fingers into the dyes.”

  Cass took the mug from Miri and set it onto the window’s ledge before facing her more fully. “Tell me about the stables.”

  She stared into his eyes, felt the safety of telling him, and remembered that she’d told him the same only the night before. “The stables border the forest, but there is an old guard house nearby where deliveries used to be allowed through. The wall between the stables and the guard house is solid block, but the repairs were not kept up when the woods grew thick.”

  “And what’s there, behind the trees?”

  “A chink in Casper’s armor.” Cass’s mouth turned up a bit at the corner, and Miri went on, her voice low. “A split in the wall from roots formed beneath the earth, ignored because the opening is so small. No one would get in because of the tree, but even then, it would only permit someone very small.”

  “Like a child.”

  Miri nodded. “Like a serving girl who sometimes might want to sneak into town.”

  “Or a woman.”

  “Yes,” she said. “But who’s afraid of those?”

  Cass did smile then, if just a little.

  Miri said, “And it wouldn’t even matter, since the only access through the wall is to the stables. It’s not as if a queen’s army could chop down a tree and cross the courtyard to reach Casper in the safety of his rooms without notice. Why bother even inspecting beneath the roots for cavities large enough to burrow through?”

  Cass watched her, and Miri realized her chest had loosened, as if she was once again herself. He took her fingers—still warm from the mug—into his hands. “How often have you been near a sorcerer?”

  He wasn’t comforting her. He wanted her trapped—held there should she decide to run away. She shook her head. “Not since... before.”

  “Never?”

  “Any time they came—even word of a single kingsman—Nan hid me away. The entire time in Smithsport, and before—Cass, not since I was a girl and my mother was—”

  “I need you to tell me, Miri. I need to know what happened.”

  There it was, the thing that hurt her and would cause her to run. She tried to jerk her fingers from Cass’s grip, but he held fast.

  “You know why I need you to tell me.”

  He was her guard. He was meant to protect her.

  At her expression, Cass sighed and let go of her hands. “I know you felt it. We both know something is there. You’re stepping into a dangerous task in two days, and you refuse to give me the tools to help you should you need it. Gods dammit, Miri, I don’t want you to die.”

  Her arms drew tight around herself at his words, but Miri did not run away. Want, he’d said. Not duty and honor but want.

  He seemed to realize what he’d said as well. He stood, pushing a hand through his hair, and resumed pacing the room.

  “When I was a boy,” he said, “my mother used to tell me a story about a changeling. It was a child stolen from its crib, secreted away by magical beings—fae creatures of the forest.” He stopped his pacing, his gaze coming back to hers. “In that child’s place, they left one of their own whom they’d deemed unworthy or at least worth the trade.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine, Miri? Can you imagine what this was like for the rest of us?”

  For me, he meant to say. For the boy Cass who’d been taken from a family who loved him so much that they felt his life was better served at the hand of the queen. But Cass was not the changeling. That distinction had gone to a poor serving girl who’d been murdered in the skirmish only moments before.

  The kingsmen had been coming. They’d already taken Lettie captive—Miri had heard her screams. They were coming for Miri next, her mother had said. It was time to put the plan into place.

  Cass’s brothers of the queensguard had stripped Miri’s thin frame down to her shift. They’d dressed the dead girl in the clothes of a princess and lain her body by the queen’s to let them both burn.

  Later, the kingsmen had thought it was Miri, and every day for a solid year, Miri had wished that it was. She’d longed to have been laid beside her mother and turned to ash so that even the sorcerers could no longer tell it was her.

  Miri had been jealous of a dead girl—a servant and child who would never again draw breath. Cinders.

  It had worked, of course. All thought the second princess was burned, not carried away in drapery, half-naked and bleeding and covered in ash. They’d shoved her into a box on a boat, and she’d ridden in that hell down the Maidensgrace River alone and nearly dead. The feeling of being choked, the feel of the icy sea as the box had been dumped over, and the way the salt water burned her aching lungs were with her still. She’d wanted to die there, wanted so much for it to only end. That was when her hand remembered the pendant. Her childhood fingers took tighter hold of the only thing she had left—on a thin chain pressed to her flesh as she was choked to death by fire, sea, and loss.

  Then Thom’s men had pulled her from the water. They’d cracked the box open so that she felt the shattering and splintering of the wood. Those men had cradled a broken, blistered shred of a thing and carried her to the place she would soon call home.

  When the blisters had healed, Nan had shaved Miri’s head. The hair had been half burnt away, melted in the sorcerer’s fire. Nan had forced a bonnet lined with s
alve over Miri’s raw and ragged scalp. Miri had hated that bonnet. She’d hated everything. She hated it still.

  Cass stared at Miri’s hand where it rested at her hem. She felt for her mother’s pendant at the memory, checking to be certain it was still there. It was. She was no longer choking. She was no longer a battered child who’d escaped with nothing but minor burns and a broken heart.

  She might not be a princess of Stormskeep while those kings held their rule, but Miri was still a daughter of the Lion Queen. She would get Lettie back, and those kings would pay for what they’d done. Miri would have revenge in their name.

  Her gaze was steady on Cass, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of his duty. His lean muscled form was clad in tradesman’s rags, though he belonged in the uniform of a guard.

  “They took her blood,” Miri told him. “The sorcerers used it against her. It was the only way they could have won.”

  Cass pressed his lips together, which meant he was concerned about the extent to which Miri could be affected and how much of her own blood the sorcerers might have.

  “I can handle it. If I’m no closer than I was today, I can do it. I can kill the kings. And they don’t realize that I’m alive. None of them knows.”

  His mouth turned down, but he didn’t remind her of the risk she was taking or what could happen the moment those sorcerers realized she still drew breath.

  “I will do everything I can for Lettie.” Miri let him see the truth in her gaze. She would not back down. “I’ve no other choice.”

  Chapter 11

  Miri woke two days later with a flock of sparrows fighting in her chest. By the time she and Cass had dressed and packed the horses, Miri was convinced the fluttering would burst free and spill out of her with her very being. But Cass had forced Miri to eat and—because she was stubborn and refused to back down from her plan—take a shot of brandy from a flask he’d been given at the Silverton Inn.