The brandy had burned all the way down, and if it hadn’t settled her nerves, it had at least given her something to focus on besides imagined scenarios of being caught. They rode through the town, casually greeting passersby and talking of a trip north to Blackstone and whether the snow had yet melted from the mountains of Ravenskeep. They did not talk of the stables or of their plan to kill a king. Cass had made Miri detail that plan so often that she wanted to shout that she’d no idea what the words even meant anymore.
Then, when they’d negotiated through the thick forest to the old, broken wall, the words had come back to her again. “And what will you do?” she whispered to Cass.
He shook his head with a rueful grin. Cass would likely be standing as if relieving himself on the wall surrounding the castle, should anyone find him in the thick of the trees.
He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed it once, then turned to survey the woods. Miri drew a settling breath, repeating the steps in her head. Burrow through beneath the roots, find the crack in the wall, shift the block I was shown as a girl, and slide into the stables in a crawl.
“Don’t break the glass,” Cass warned again.
Miri snorted. The place beneath the roots had grown to a tangled snarl, damp and rank, and she hoped the worst thing in the darkness with her was the salve in that vial. She took shallow breaths, stretching her body in ways it was not meant to stretch, and resisted the urge to grunt when her knuckles scraped against stone and a tree root jammed against her ribs.
She felt blindly for the loose block, carefully slid it across the others, then stopped to listen for footsteps or voices on the other side. Satisfied she was alone, she crawled through the too-narrow space to the packed earth and dusty manure of the disused corridor behind the old stable stalls.
Miri looked behind her but could not see that she’d left much disturbance or any way of being tracked. She listened longer to the goings on outside, the muffled nicker of far-off horses, and the birds in the trees outside the wall. Everything was safe, secure, and going as planned. She crept down the corridor, momentarily disoriented by the passing of years. She had to backtrack twice, but the stable was not so changed that she was entirely unprepared. The kings were about habit, routine, and ritual. They didn’t deviate without due cause.
She found the corridor to the room she needed, one where the king kept his riding gear. Listening, she waited then unlatched the ancient metal and carefully moved the door on its weary hinges.
Miri inched into the room, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. Shelves as old as she was held carved leather bridles, shining bits, and the formal riding gear of the king of Pirn. A shock ran through her at the recognition and the feeling of being so near something so personal to that king—one of the men who’d killed her mother and held her sister captive and sat boldly upon a stolen throne.
Gritting her teeth against her anger, she peered through the space to be certain she would not be detected. Satisfied she was alone, she stepped forward, the mantra of her plan repeating in her mind again. Find his gloves and his mantle then carefully remove the vial.
A bout of laughter sounded outside the room, coming from the entrance that had been more recently put into use. Miri nearly fumbled the sweat-slicked glass. She held painfully still as a muffled voice called down the corridor, then she wiped her palm on the material covering her thigh. Her hand came back slicked with mud from beneath the root mass, and she bit back a curse, trying again with the material that made up the inside of her shirt.
They were not Miri’s clothes. Her pendant waited in her spare garments with Cass, outside the wall.
Miri took the narrow stick of wood from her pocket and dipped it into the poisoned salve. She carefully spread it over the fingers of the right glove. Not wanting to harm whoever might dress the king, she avoided the wide cuffs as best she could. Then she dropped the piece of wood into the vial and returned the stopper.
In the castle at Stormskeep was a great carved map attached to the wall. It had fallen in the attack, the scores that divided the realm splitting the wood into broken chunks, separating the kingdoms from the whole. The image of that shattered carving, the realm split to pieces, had been burned into Miri’s memory as they fled. She was setting that splintered block back into place.
Miri gently set the gloves in their proper position. As she stared at the very implement that would commence her years-old plan, she whispered, “The Lion has come for you. It is time to pay your due.”
Chapter 12
Miri had killed a king—not at the moment, of course, but within the week. Again and again, she reminded herself that she had time as her trembling hands worked to lace up her boots. She and Cass need not run. They had time.
Her fingers slipped on the button of her vest, and she cursed.
Cass came around the horses and took hold of her arms. “Breathe, Miri. It’s done.” He did not wait for her to nod, only made quick work of the rest of the buttons and buckles that adorned her belt and vest. He secured the mantle of her thin cloak before he looked at her again. “Ready?”
She could only manage a trembling nod.
“Right,” he said. “Up you go.” He grabbed Miri’s arm and helped her astride before climbing onto his own horse with a swiftness that belied his apparent lack of concern.
Cass gave her one more quick glance before he kicked up his horse, and they rode through the thick woods at an unsteady pace. They came out of the forest near the church, and their pace finally settled. They rode from Pirn as if heading north, but the moment they’d traversed enough land not to be seen, they turned west. Late morning became midday and early afternoon. The summer sun bore down on the clearings between each patch of trees, and the spicy scent of yarrow was stirred into the still air by the flowers crushed beneath their horses’ hooves. Two flies nagged at Miri’s ear, and two more hovered near Wolf’s.
Then it was evening, and Miri drew the cloak tighter around her shoulders and held her reins closer to hand. At nightfall, Cass finally stopped beneath a copse of close trees. He strung a rope between two of those trees and tied loose slipknots to keep the animals near. He did not start a fire or leave to hunt.
Cass settled a blanket onto the ground and handed Miri a piece of dried meat and a hunk of dark bread. Both felt like pulp in her mouth, and she chewed absently as she stared past the horses into the dark. She should clean the dirt from beneath her fingernails. Miri’s maids had hated it when her play had left her caked in mud. They had fussed away at her with brushes and tools, scraping all of it clean.
She was a princess. It wasn’t proper.
Miri didn’t realize she was crying until Cass’s arm came around her and he pulled her to him. Her chest rose and fell in racking sobs. Cass didn’t speak, only held her tighter, and when she finally settled, he moved his palm in soothing circles over her back.
He shifted to lean against a tree, drawing Miri with him so that her arm and cloak made a pillow against his leg. Long after she’d settled, warm so near him, Cass began a story in a low, steady tone. It was a story of Miri’s mother and how he’d been hurt and humiliated by failing a minor task, and she had set him to rights. The Lion Queen had been kind, her wit as sharp as a blade.
Miri understood why he was telling her. Cass was bloodsworn, the highest of the queensguard and closest to the queen. He knew as well as anyone that she had been a good ruler and did not deserve her fate, even if he didn’t agree with Miri’s plans.
When Miri finally spoke, her voice was a raw whisper. “I’m not sorry he’s dead, only that I was the one who had to do it.” Even the words felt like a betrayal, as if speaking them aloud was a vow broken. There should be no guilt or regret in Miri’s heart, only honor. She should have had done with it and been strong enough not to blubber like a fool on Cass’s shoulder. She should have the heart of a lion. She should be worthy of her blood.
Cass brushed the hair away from Miri’s face, his finger grazing her cheek as he tucked
the lock behind her ear the way Nan had done when Miri was a child. “I’ll not judge you for taking a life. Not with the things I’ve done.”
He was of the guard and could understand what drove her and what she was going through. But that did not mean he approved. She was, after all, putting both his life and his vow to protect Miri on the line in order to carry out her plot.
“Casper was cruel to Lettie,” Miri said. “He’d use carefully constructed words to trap her and maneuver her into situations in which she looked the fool in front of everyone, no matter what she did. Like she was incapable. Unworthy.” Gods, she’d been just a child. What sort of man could find pleasure in besting a girl? He’d made Lettie feel those things, like she would never have been good enough to be queen.
Miri wondered if her sister would be glad of what she’d done.
“Casper will get what he deserves.”
Cass’s tone was low, but Miri thought she heard something beneath. She wondered, not for the first time, what other things Casper had done when the queen’s attentions were elsewhere.
When a person found pleasure in cruelty, it was rare that they found boundaries in how far they were willing to take it. The poison she’d left him was quick but not painless. The grim thought that he would not suffer enough swam to the surface, and she wondered at what point her desire to fulfill her duty might morph into something cruel—when the lion might become a monster.
It had been cunning to plan the first killings with enough leeway for escape, but their luck would only hold out so long. Miri waited on pins and needles to hear word—desperate with dread that it hadn’t worked or, worse, that it had and she was a murderer. Cass did his best to attempt entertainment, but Miri’s mood left little room for conversation, and they had very far to ride. In a few days, they would pass near Stormhold, named—like Stormskeep—for the first queen of the realm. Miri couldn’t recall the first time she’d seen the gate, but she’d been in awe without exception since. A massive structure stretched so high that one could barely make out the guards at the top, and carved into the stone of the archway was a relief of the Storm Queen herself.
The queen wore armor and a helm, and her thick braid was curled over her shoulder in a style Lettie had emulated. Legend had it that the first queen had abolished magic and broken the chaos of the realm by conquering the men who practiced dark arts. She had created order, and within it, only the sorcerers who held fealty to the queen were allowed to have that knowledge passed to them. It had been such for every queen since.
Her realm had stood for years beyond counting, and as children, Miri and Lettie had thought the Storm Queen a god. But queens were only mortals. Queens could be killed.
“There’s an inn not far from Stormhold. We should rest here for the evening and start again tomorrow.”
Miri nodded her assent, ready to crawl off her horse and straighten her legs. That morning, Cass had found a soft patch of earth far from their trail to dig a hole and bury the vial. So when he started a fire well before dark, she did not ask what he meant to do.
He burned her clothes, the simple garments that had been provided in Pirn. They held evidence of the mud and earth from beneath the tree. The evidence was gone, but the king was not yet dead.
Miri settled onto the ground to stare up at a cloudless sky, wondering how many kings might fall by her hand and how soon she and Lettie might die. A shadow fell over her a moment before Cass came into view. He stared down at her, outlined by endless blue, a well-made blade in his grip. “Exercise,” he reminded her.
She stifled a groan as she rolled to her side but took Cass’s proffered hand. “I’m a bit rusty. Nan wouldn’t let me spar with anyone good.”
Cass chuckled. “Thom and Nan were two of the best swordsmen in Smithsport.”
She crossed her arms. “Are you saying they let me win?”
He handed her the sword. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Miri’s progress was slow—it truly had been a while since she’d practiced. The movement felt good, though, and the more she worked, the more she fell into the familiar routines of thrusts and cuts. It wasn’t long before she felt comfortable, and Cass increased his speed.
Miri dodged and parried and was soon sweating, her moves just a little too slow. She felt nearly up to his challenge, but he was a guard. Cass never had to dedicate time to sewing and gowns—he’d used all of his time and energy to train with weapons and hone his instincts. But Miri had been taught something of tactics herself, and she was not above using them in a fight. She stepped into his swing, bringing her blade up to block, and spun into Cass as he reset, twisting her leg deftly into the back of his knee. He was only off balance, but Miri had drawn her dagger and held the pommel at his ribs.
Cass gave her a look.
“Oh,” she said sweetly, “did you let me win?”
He inclined his head, his eyes lingering on her face as he extracted his body from hers. “I would never.”
Miri smiled despite herself and realized it was the first time she had since Pirn and the sorcerers in the market.
Cass slid his sword into its sheath. “Dinner,” he said. “Then stories.”
Miri’s smile would not return, but she managed a nod.
Cass was trying to draw the details from her, but Miri was not yet able to let them go. What had happened the day her mother had been murdered had simultaneously been seared into her memory, unable to leave her alone, and was unbearable to look at directly, like the sun, impossible desires, wishes that could never come true, or truths that would never be less real.
“Did you know that Henry was a childhood friend of my grandfather?” Cass poked at the fire with a broken tree limb, settling the logs before he started heating the pot.
Miri shook her head.
He went on, though he did not stop in his task to look at her. “They grew up south of Ravensgate, one the son of a well-to-do lord and the other the son of a river captain.”
“Seems an unlikely pair.” Miri sat on the ground behind where he worked, curling her legs beneath her before stretching them out again. She was still restless and would be glad when news finally came—when it was over.
“Aye. But it seems the lord enjoyed a bit of gambling, so when he found himself down at the docks, Henry’s father would leave the boy outside the establishment—not fit for a young man of stature—to fend for himself.”
Cass glanced over his shoulder at Miri’s soft laugh.
“And your grandfather was a captain’s son?”
“Yes. They immediately fell in together, peering through windows at seedy goings-on and joining in street games with somewhat lower stakes. It wasn’t long before they were fellows, and young Henry had inherited an estate.” Cass situated the pot over the fire and moved back to sit beside Miri. His elbow rested over his knee, his attention, by all appearances, in the distance.
Cass was good, Miri realized. Maybe he hadn’t spent his time training entirely in weapons and duty. Maybe he’d learned something of extracting information and making his prey fall into comfort.
“Henry offered to use his connections, but apparently, my grandfather refused the help. He wanted to make it on his own.” Cass gave Miri a look that implied he did not altogether believe Henry had not done his part, but he didn’t say so outright. “So by the time my father was born, the two families were closer in social stature. Eventually, my father and his brothers were sent to the same tutors as had attended Henry, despite my family being lesser in the eyes of some.”
“A ship captain is no less a man than a lord. I’ve known enough lords to see how little they actually accomplish.”
Cass chuckled at Miri’s assessment. “In matters of toil or money, that’s certainly true. But not in social status. Not the power they hold.”
“Power is an illusion. Any man can gain or lose it by a toss of the dice.” The words came automatically, and she could tell by the way Cass averted his gaze that he remembered too. It was something her mother ha
d said. Miri had not understood when she was a child that the words, though spoken lightly, could be taken as a threat, which was especially effective when coming from a queen.
“Soon after, preparation began for the coronation of the young Lion Queen and, with it, openings for Henry and my grandfather in the royal guard.”
Miri leaned forward. “But the guard doesn’t marry until they retire. How could your grandfather have had a son so young?”
“His arm was broken in a training accident.”
Cass’s tone made it clear that there was more to the story. Miri hoped it was not that it had been broken because of a social standing before entering the guard.
“So he retired early.” He gave Miri a crooked grin. “And immediately started having sons.”
“Only sons?” Miri plucked at a piece of grass, unable to take her eyes from Cass too long.
“As far as he was concerned, every one would pick up a blade.”
“Sounds like he was looking for redress.”
Cass shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe so. But my father was soon a member of the queensguard.”
“And his son a bloodsworn.” The words came thickly off Miri’s tongue. She cleared her throat. “Unexpected that you would end up at a port after all he’d done to escape it.”
“Yes,” Cass said. “Unexpected.”
Miri had been with Cass for weeks, and she’d never thought to ask what he was leaving behind. Henry had raised Cass as a father and had taken Cass into the guard when he was young and spent each day training him in their ways. Cass had likely had little choice, but there was no denying how he’d felt as a boy. Miri had seen them together, how hard Cass had trained, and how badly he’d wanted to impress.
She wondered who else Cass had lost and who else he had watched die. But the idea, like her memory, was too hard to look at for long. Cass’s brothers of the guard had died in their attempts to save the queen and Miri. Their blood was on her hands. And from that, Miri could not look away.
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