Seven Ways to Kill a King

by Melissa Wright

  It felt like an endless journey, but the sky was just lighting red when the castle walls came into view. Miri drew a steadying breath then glanced at Cass. His eyes were already on her, his brow set and his mouth a determined line. She inclined her head, and he responded with a sharp nod.

  Miri slipped into the crowd. She walked amid a cluster of black-garbed women whose robes were clean but faded with age. They were not the servants who worked within the castle. Those resided inside its walls. But the group would certainly serve as Miri’s way in.

  Long shadows were cast across the cobblestones that led to the castle walls, and Miri slipped from among one group to another, carrying baskets and hauling goods until she reached the gates where supplies entered. She loosed the ties of her cloak and let it fall to the ground among the shadows as she hung tight to the stone wall and away from the king’s guards who watched the gate. A sudden commotion came from the opposite direction, a cart overturned and a horse’s cutting scream.

  Miri darted through the gate with several other women, keeping her stride as even as she could manage against the desire to run. She did not look behind her or even raise her face. She was a servant, a maid, no one of consequence to the watching guard.

  She knew she was being ridiculous. Not a single kingsman would be alert to her there. No one could reach the king from that part of the castle. A lone woman could not possibly be a threat to them. They would be watching for men of the queensguard, for loyalists, but not for a maid. Miri drew another breath.

  “Simon is far from the vainest,” Miri could remember one of the ladies saying when she’d only been a child. Simon was not then a king, only a lord, yet to be etched on Miri’s list as one of seven murderous kings. Vainest or not, Simon had been, apparently, quite concerned about his virility. And that information had not come from a single source alone.

  Miri’s mother had held no compunction with regard to explaining the faults of men to her daughters. Her acquaintances had relayed information quite the same. But neither was the source of the particular information that Miri planned to use. That had come from Lettie’s giggling ladies-in-waiting. Miri would not normally risk her neck over rumors spread by girls, but her time in Smithsport had proven valuable for information as well. Thom had taken note of any shipments destined for the kings, so that he might be aware of the kingsmen’s movements ahead of time to keep Miri hidden away.

  She felt a pang of loss at the idea of him and the month she’d been apart from Nan and Thom both. Then she felt a strange sort of emotion when she realized Thom’s information on the deliveries had likely come through Cass. There were perks to being the harbormaster’s spy, after all.

  Miri snuck through the castle corridors, her head bowed in the posture of a maid, one hand wrapped about the scratchy rope of a bucket handle, the other holding a dirty rag. She had studied each of the castles in hand-scratched maps she’d made when devising her plans, alone in her room at Nan’s, a single candle lighting her work. But actually being there was different. It was real. The hard lines she’d drawn as walls had sometimes been slightly wrong, and the short, sharp hatch work of doors faded with ink, always open, were sometimes blocked by man or construct or wrong by a few lengths. She knew the layout, though, and which direction would get her where she needed to be. No one paid her mind, just as she’d expected, and the corridors were filled with the early-morning busywork that the upkeep of the castle required.

  Eventually, the sweat on her palms dried, and her racing heart gave way to a steadier beat. She found the rooms where the king’s ointments and potions were stocked.

  Two guards moved through the doorway, and Miri dropped to her knees, sloshing water over the rim of the wooden bucket and onto the stone-tiled floor. They did not even glance at her, but she kept her head low, her knuckles white at the pressure with which she brushed the floor.

  It was a long while before the patterns of movement through the room became apparent and longer still before she managed to pick the lock. Once inside, though, she worked quickly, and she found each vial of the black glass shipped from a sandy isle far away, the tonic Lettie’s maids had tittered so brutally on about. They had not been wrong. Thom’s notes had not been wrong. Simon was stocked with more of those vials than a man needed water.

  The lock was what saved her, because Miri knew the tonic had been tested the day it arrived. The shipments could not be tampered with without being discovered by the king’s taster, but the mixture was too valuable to the king and taken too often to test every one, every time.

  As Miri stared at the overly full shelf, she knew Lettie’s maids had not been exaggerating. The worse Simon began to feel, the more he would take. It would work.

  Miri wiped her palms on the fabric of her makeshift uniform then shook them out to release the tension that made her fingers tremble. She had never liked the idea of poisons, but weapons would draw attention that she wasn’t ready to attract. She carefully unstoppered each vial and tilted a single drop into each of the tall, narrow containers, thanking the gods that they’d been sealed with wax. The oil inside was not particularly costly or particularly rare. It was only that Simon believed the single place to source it was from a sole island across the unnamed sea and his witch-worker of a supplier the only one who could trade those locals for it. Simon was a fool, just like the others.

  With her work done, Miri turned, her empty containers of poison tucked into her inner layer of clothes. She dipped her hands into the bucket, carefully washing each clean, and meticulously brushed beneath each nail. She dried her hands on the outer clothes, pressed her ear to the door, and listened for the pattern of footsteps so she might make her escape.

  When the room outside was quiet, Miri came cautiously through the door, closed it behind her, and set the bucket on the stone floor as if she meant to work. Two more guards came past and found Miri on her knees, scrubbing the floor with the single determination of someone who had nothing else in the world. The moment they were gone again, she went back to the lock and worked the mechanisms back into place.

  She did not hear the approach of the kingsman, only felt his sword on her shoulder and heard his whispered words.

  “Trying to pick a lock, girl?”

  Chapter 16

  Cass stood in the shadow of Kirkwall Castle, completely helpless to aid Miri in any way. She’d been right, but that did not make it any easier to let her go alone.

  He’d been watching her for years. He knew her skill with a blade, the way she could land a solid kick, and exactly how clever she was with maneuvering through tight spaces and around heavily laid rules. But the past weeks on the trail, he’d seen another side of Miri—hesitation, doubt, and the distant look that came over her when she remembered what she’d lost.

  Miri was too good to be a killer. Her heart was perilously kind. He’d watched her stop to hand the last of their supplies over to the sick and the poor and noticed how she’d seen their suffering for what it was. Miri’s gaze had not skirted that pain but took it in with steady determination and well more than her share of evident guilt.

  She thought it her fault, all of it, that it was somehow her responsibility to repair the damage done by seven kings who had done their level best to put themselves before the realm and had murdered its one true queen.

  That was why Miri held Cass’s concern—because that heart could be her downfall. Not because of anything else, he was certain.

  Cass jumped when a hand rested on his shoulder, and he spun before the man had a chance to move fully away. Terric’s grin was slow, maybe the only slow thing about him, and it said all that he did not speak aloud. Nearly got you, Cass could almost hear.

  In fact, he had. Cass knew better than to let himself get distracted. It was the very reason the men of the queensguard were not meant to court until their service had ended.

  Terric’s brow drew together. “Gods, brother, what’s with the face?”

  Cass shook his head, utterly disturbed that the t
hought of courting had even risen. He stepped forward, grabbing the hand of his brother-in-arms, and tugged him closer with a relieved sigh. “Thank the maiden you’re well.”

  Terric slapped his free hand hard on Cass’s shoulder and held him tight in his grip. “You’re never alone.” His voice was low, his words a vow, and Cass thought he’d never heard anything more welcome. Terric used the grip to pull Cass even nearer. “Does this seem like a good idea?”

  Cass frowned. “It was obviously not mine. She’s got a will of iron.”

  Terric chuckled. “She is her mother’s daughter. I’ll give you that.”

  Cass glanced toward the street. He kept his voice low as they let go of their grip and he asked, “How goes the strategy?”

  “Support is steady. As you’ve likely seen here, conditions have become worse for most. Those who remember before will rise. But we build back support as we speak.”

  The words were purposefully vague, but Cass understood. Nearly all who’d lived through the Lion Queen’s reign would relish the chance to have prosperity back. They would follow the true queen the moment they were given the chance. But the queensguard had been unable to act before. The sorcerers had ensured as much.

  Timing would be critical. Miri had been hidden for years because the sorcerers would have come for her the moment they found out she was alive. Or they would have used Lettie to draw her out. And Cass knew Miri. She would be caught in that trap all too easily. It was the fault of honor and duty and those who upheld all they believed was right. If, while in search of support, the queensguard let Miri get found out or let slip to the wrong person that a second daughter of the queen lived, they would only hasten the death of both daughters. The last of the true bloodline would be lost.

  They had tried before and failed. The queensguard was betting all on their last chance. They believed in Miri—not because she’d actually managed to kill a king—though she had—but because they’d had faith in her all along and in the plans in place to restore her line. They were queensguard. Their duty was to protect her. And she would need them now more than ever.

  “Should she make it out,” Terric said, “you’ll have friends in Ironwood Forest.”

  Cass looked his brother-in-arms straight in the eyes, letting Terric see the promise in his gaze and how much his brother’s vow meant. “I hope to see you again,” Cass said. “By the grace of the maiden.”

  “By the will of the gods,” Terric said.

  As he turned to go, the clang of a massive steeple bell rang through the streets, shuddering against Cass’s bones. When Terric’s gaze snapped to Cass, he’d gone as pale as snow at the sound. The bells echoed into the peal of half a dozen more, the alarm spreading in a series of bells across the castle grounds.

  The princess had been found. The kingsmen were on alert.

  Cass ran through the street with Terric hard on his heels. He was not certain which way Miri might have gone when she found trouble and could only follow the sound of the bells. If they rang still, then surely that meant she was not in their hands and had a chance of escape.

  His heart beat so strongly that he wanted to clutch at his chest, but the fear only pushed him harder. His booted feet crossed the cobblestone of the path that led to the gate, and Cass watched with dread as the kingsmen slammed it shut. The metal landed with a hollow clang, the sharp ringing of the bells still echoing off the stone.

  At their approach, the kingsmen took note of Cass and Terric, their speed among the chaos drawing attention they didn’t need. Cass moved his hand away from his sword belt, forcing his racing pulse to slow. He needed to think. They’d laid plans for so many outcomes, but from outside the gate, he could not know where Miri truly was, only where the kingsmen were.

  Two smaller bells rang in quick succession on the north side of the castle, followed by the muffled shouts of running men. Cass let his gaze meet Terric’s, and they each gave a nod without acknowledgment that it might be the last time they saw one another. Then Terric was gone, and Cass was on the move, each intent on foiling the kingsmen where they could.

  Calls of “What’s happened?” echoed quietly among the black-garbed laborers. Their voices were no more than whispers to avoid notice from the kingsmen.

  Cass made his way toward the sound of the bells, hooking the edge of a basket to spill fruit so that it rolled over the stones. He kept moving, as if he’d been entirely unaware of the commotion behind him as several black-clad figures moved to pick up the mess. His palm itched for a sword hilt, the feel of his dagger handle, or for any sort of action. But that was not his duty yet.

  He slipped closer to the wall, passing two half-helmed kingsmen close in conversation, their words clipped. He heard “Stabbed him in the thigh,” then “Broke his jaw.” Miri had been smart. She’d left her assailant so that he couldn’t chase her. And no doubt the jaw had not been an accident, either, not when the man’s words would have her found out faster. But something else must have gone wrong, because Miri had not killed him. She’d not left him unable to sound the alarm. Maybe more guards had turned up, or worse, someone who might be able to identify her in detail or might have recognized her for who she truly was.

  Cass swerved near two more kingsmen as they ran past and heard “Covered in blood. Short. Female. A maid.”

  There it was. They thought her still dressed in black. It would give her the chance to escape, if she could.

  Cass moved faster, toward the sound of the bells, and felt his hope drop to the pit of his stomach at the sight of a mass of horses approaching at speed. It was a dozen kingsmen, swords drawn, and between them, as if the demon needed protection, a sorcerer dressed in the long black robes for which they were known. The robes hid their bodies, scarred from the drawing of blood. They had been paid for by the deaths of Cass’s brothers and were rich fabric trimmed with gold.

  As the horses neared, the gates opened wide, and Cass spotted the familiar figure of Terric, swift on his feet and somehow already dressed in kingsman garb, as he edged toward the entrance. Gods, he meant to slip inside. Cass drew one long breath before he could change his mind then pulled the sword from his belt, shouted an obscenity about the king’s men, and waved the blade toward the sky.

  The kingsmen only gave him the briefest glance, but that was all Cass would need. The group on horseback didn’t give chase, but three on foot certainly did. Cass turned to run, leaped toward an alley he hoped was not a dead end, and prayed his brother-in-arms had made it inside.

  Chapter 17

  Cass would much rather have dispatched the three kingsmen and hidden their bodies in a dark, unfindable place instead of evade them. But Miri had, as near as he could tell, only stabbed a single kingsman before she ran away. The castle guard was on alert, but there was no reason for them to think it was anything other than a rogue attack. It was just a single maid who’d had it out with a guard. If he killed any more, they would know the truth, and Miri’s plans would all be spoiled.

  He leapt to a perch on a rooftop, high enough to see over the castle wall. Below him, in the courtyard, stood two dozen black-clad figures around the man in the sorcerer’s robe. The kingsmen were some of the best-trained men in the lands. Coin was scarce, and though most didn’t favor the kings, the guard was a place of status that paid well enough to gather skilled men. But that did not mean the men of Kirkwall were as capable as those at Stormskeep. They housed a single sorcerer and an ineffectual king and lacked the stores to hold much sway among the six other lords who’d taken the realm. Kirkwall was the least powerful. Stormskeep had surpassed it not due to its own king but because of the port. And Blackstone was constantly on the edge of rebellion.

  If Miri couldn’t execute her plans at Kirkwall, she would succeed nowhere else in the realm, particularly not if they realized who she was.

  As servants were rounded up in the courtyard, Cass scanned the street, searching for a figure moving swiftly away. He searched for the color of her hair, the set of her shoulders, and
the way she moved, that familiar surety in her step, the way she held her head high with her gaze straight.

  Cass drew a sharp breath at the sight of her long, loose brown tresses, those he’d held in his hands. She’d peeled the outer layer of her clothing away to reveal the soft linen in brown and green, but she held something wadded in her arm, balled just right so that it helped cover what might have been a stain. He hoped it was not her blood.

  She strode down the street, along the castle wall where, on the other side, stood the sorcerer and so many kingsmen. Cass felt sick at the nearness of that sorcerer and the memory of Miri’s face only weeks before, when they’d crossed paths with one in Pirn. He edged closer, searching for any sign of distress, but Miri only crossed behind a row of carts, making her way toward the opposite side of the street.

  He crept backward, shuffling carefully over poorly kept thatch and onto another rooftop, then scurried down to run after her again. He realized, too late, that she meant to go back to the inn.

  Kingsmen trailed after her, three silver half helms glinting in the late-day sun, and Cass let slip a whispered curse.

  His feet moved swiftly over stone, following as the kingsmen drew their swords. The far one gestured to his side, in the same area where Miri’s wadded bundle poorly concealed a stain of blood. They would know it was her.

  They would be able to identify her the moment she was brought back to the other guard. Or worse, they would not question her at all. They’d no idea she was a princess and thought her a lowly maid.