Amaskan's Blood

by Raven Oak

  Lady Millicent’s fine green gown rested against a chair that used to be of the same shade before dust coated it in gray. “The wedding cannot happen. Prince Gamun Bajit isn’t the man people believe him to be, and he can’t be allowed control of the throne.”

  Adelei overturned a short stool and sat, glad to be resting on something other than a dog’s cushion. “I was told Alexander royalty held a joint leadership.”

  “Yes, but we both know that the moment the Shadian family marries into this kingdom, the royal family’s days are numbered. And with the Princess and her father out of the way, it’s only a matter of time before Prince Gamun would rewrite law to allow himself control.”

  “If it’s so easy to rewrite the law, I’m surprised this hasn’t been an issue before.” Despite a solid background in the histories of the Little Dozen, she could remember no time where such a concern had existed. But then, I can’t think of very many instances where the royal family married outside their own kingdom either. Not since long before the war.

  “Prince Gamun is different. Crueler than most and ruthless. Certain laws can’t be changed without the agreement of the King’s advisors—the Alexandrian council. But if members of that council were to suddenly disappear or die before they could be replaced, or if they were replaced by members of the Shadian bloodline, then those laws could be changed easily enough.”

  Lady Millicent swallowed hard, the lump in her throat causing the ruby on her necklace to bounce like a clump of blood resting on her breast.

  “What makes you think this prince is capable of such lofty goals?”

  “Don’t play coy with me.” The lady’s eyes flashed. “An Amaskan within our midst can mean only one thing—an attempt on the royal family’s lives. What else would bring someone as detested as you into Alexander? That’s why you’re here, is it not?”

  Adelei said nothing. When she continued her silence, Lady Millicent sighed. “I know you can’t discuss details with me, but you can’t hide from me either. Why not come outright and ask me for information… Alethea?” Adelei’s eye twitched. “I thought I finally had the evidence needed to take before the Boahim Senate and lock that monster away. But I don’t, do I? There is no girl, no victim here. Only an assassin seeking information.”

  “I’m sorry, Lady Millicent. It wasn’t personal.”

  The way the lady’s rigid frame sat straight in the chair, her fingers in a white knuckled grip on her hem, gave Adelei pause. When she spotted the unshed tears, she swore. Something isn’t right here.

  “Lady, I will help anyway I can. If this man is a perceived threat in the eyes of the Boahim Senate, he is on my map as well. Tell me what you know—let me help.” The anger fled from Lady Millicent as a few tears leapt over her eyelids and rolled down cheeks that had been rosy only moments before. Whatever monster she thinks exists in this prince, it’s not just about Margaret. This is personal.

  “This Prince of Shad has a history, but it’s all gossip. Whenever the Boahim Senate gets close to a victim, they disappear—sometimes permanently. Sometimes just the victim’s memories are missing.”

  “So when ‘Alethea’ came before you, you thought—”

  “I thought we’d found another victim, this one in time to save my—to do something about this monster of a prince.”

  Adelei noted the slip. “I apologize for the necessity of that. After I heard Lady Angelina and you in the library, I didn’t know whether you would be willing to speak with me. I do wish to talk with you further, but I fear leaving Her Highness alone for too long.”

  “I understand. I’ll leave you to your job then.”

  “Wait—” Adelei touched the woman’s arm as she brushed past. “Tonight, when the Princess has retired, seek me out in her sitting room. We’ll discuss this further.”

  If the woman thought it odd to be invited into royal chambers, she said nothing of it, nor did she give any exterior sign of surprise. She nodded curtly and excused herself, kerchiefed fingers blotting at her eyes as she retreated.

  That made one ally in Alesta. With hope the information was worth the price. Adelei strode toward the bower, tension twisting her muscles. The laughter inside set her on edge. Back to the torture chamber. Adelei nodded to the guards before she crossed the threshold into the room of women that made her skin crawl.

  “Where is Lady Millicent?” Lady Angelina asked, and all eyes returned to Adelei.

  “She didn’t feel well so I escorted her to her rooms. Carry on, ladies.”

  While the others returned to their sewing, Lady Angelina’s gaze met Adelei’s. While she didn’t make the connection Lady Millicent had, she studied every false line painted on Adelei’s face. How long I can carry on this facade, I don’t know. Too many people seem preoccupied with my appearance.

  Adelei returned to her seat on the dog bed in the corner, a brief prayer on her lips. Let me survive this long enough to ask my questions of my master. If too many people put together the clues, this is going to be the shortest lifelong job in the history of the Order.

  She expected swords. Big, metal things with sharp edges for butchering people. Or maybe some throwing knives like the ones Master Adelei carried. Or that horrid dagger Adelei had used against her. When Margaret followed Adelei into the practice room after tea, she’d expected at least some weapon or another. But what she got was a room full of furniture.

  While the quality left much to be desired, the layout felt familiar, and Margaret pursed her lips together as she spun about the room. “I thought you wished me to learn self-defense.”

  “I do.”

  Margaret picked up a familiar-looking candle from a short table. The purple candle still held the dent from earlier that morning, and she rubbed her finger across the indention. “This is my candle. From my bedchamber.”

  “It is.”

  “You were in my room. Who gave you permission to enter my room—” Adelei wore a look that stilled Margaret’s tongue, the same look she’d worn earlier when she’d held the dagger against Margaret. “My apologies, Master Adelei, but I don’t understand. How is this candle going to help me defend myself against an assassin?”

  “It probably won’t, at least not against a Tribor or some other assassin. But if you’re attacked by someone else, it might save your life.”

  Margaret returned the candle to the table and crossed to a chair by the open window. “Wait—this room. It’s set up like mine. It’s not my belongings,” she said and crinkled her nose at the well-aged, well-used pieces. “But the layout is like my room.”

  Adelei nodded. “I want you to get familiar with how to escape from rooms you’re commonly in, as well as those you aren’t. Take that candle for instance.” When Adelei picked it up, she hefted it like a ball, and before Margaret could move, the candle came hurtling at her. Margaret covered her head with her arms and tucked her shoulders in closer to her body. When nothing made impact, she cracked open one eye and then another.

  Master Adelei’s hands were empty. Puzzled, Margaret turned to her right where the thunk had sounded. A large splotch of purple wax stuck to the wall in a clump, while the rest of the candle lay misshapen on the floor. “That could have hit me.” she shrieked.

  “Not in my hands. I knew exactly what I was doing when I threw it.” Adelei waited a heartbeat, then turned her back to Margaret.

  “What are you doing?” Margaret leaned over to see around Adelei, but the Amaskan’s hands were hidden in her pockets.

  The woman’s feet shifted on the stone floor, and she held something in her fist. “Your Highness, be honest,” she said as she faced Margaret. “If an enemy came, you’d be unable to fend them off at present. King Leon has done you a great disservice in not having you learn more self-defense. It’s not enough for you to know how to run, though that’s a good start. You have to know how to defend yourself.”

  “So you said.” Margaret gestured to the room. “But there aren’t any weapons here.”

  “You’re surroun
ded by weapons.”

  Margaret frowned. “Are you expecting me to carve a sword out of a table?”

  Adelei kicked the wobbly chair beside her. “You could, but there’s no time for you to learn sword work—”

  “Good. It’s too manly a sport anyway.”

  They were the wrong words. Margaret barely caught the shift in Adelei’s stance as the woman came at her, dagger in hand. “Wait, stop,” she cried, but there was no time. Her feet stumbled over the footstool behind her, and she fell on her rump beside it.

  The dagger’s edge quivered near her chin, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Closing your eyes won’t save you. Won’t make you any less dead. Now get up.”

  When she opened her eyes, Adelei sat in the rickety chair from before. “Your first mistake was not running.”

  “But—”

  “Your second mistake was not using the chair beside you. Kick it at me, so I stumble. Throw it at me. Wood in the face hurts.”

  “But the chair will break.”

  The Amaskan sighed, and Margaret bit her trembling lip. “Stop thinking of this furniture as important. It’s all garbage—stuff the Stewart was throwing out. It’s here for our use, so use it. Besides, in a real attack the assassin won’t care two pennies for your precious candle. Use whatever you have to escape. If you’re dead, it won’t matter anyway.”

  This time when Adelei rushed Margaret, she had more warning. At least this time I know she’s not going to kill me. I don’t think. Lost in thought, she barely had time to kick the chair. It moved a scant foot, and she hopped on one leg. “Ow.”

  Adelei rolled her eyes. “You’re going to have to toughen up, Your Highness. Do you participate in any sport? Hunting? Riding?”

  “I ride my pony in the spring. And when the Duke of Ceras visits, his lady and I play paille-maille. Have you heard of it?”

  “It goes by mai-dur in Sadai. You hit little balls through arches on the ground, correct?” asked Adelei.

  Margaret clapped her hands together. “Yes. Most of the other sports are too rough, but paille-maille is genteel enough.”

  The Amaskan stood before Margaret and grabbed her hands. “These are soft hands. Hands that don’t work. Hands that don’t know a blade.” She leaned close to Margaret’s face and stared at her. “An assassin doesn’t care what is and isn’t genteel.”

  The princess tugged her hands from Adelei’s grasp. “And when this assassin is gone? Would you have me return to my position with the rough hands of a… of a farmer?” Margaret picked at the tie at the base of her braid. Tears stung her eyes, and she stared at the floor so Adelei wouldn’t see.

  “I don’t want to be a fighter.”

  A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. “And I don’t want to be here. Sometimes, the Gods don’t care what we want, Your Highness, any more than assassins do. I’m not asking you to be a fighter, but you need to understand how to defend yourself and your kingdom.”

  “Father handles that. Or Captain Fenton—”

  Adelei whispered, “And when they are gone?”

  The swift intake of air made her cough. “No, I refuse. This isn’t necessary.” Margaret strode to the door and as she reached it, a chair exploded into a dozen pieces of wood as it slammed into the wall beside her.

  “One day, they won’t be around to protect you, Margaret. And if you don’t learn something, people will take advantage of you until there is nothing left of you to take advantage of.”

  Margaret let the door close behind her. She made it to the third floor before the tears fell in earnest. Several servants nearby averted their glances, but the whispers moved down the hallway as she fled. Once in the safety of her room, the door securely shut and locked, she fell into her bed and cried.

  I don’t have to be strong. I don’t.

  Heavy footsteps sounded outside her room, too heavy for Master Adelei, and Margaret scrambled upright. Her eyes dashed around the room. She needed a weapon. Something. No swords awaited her in her bedchamber, nor daggers or knives. Oh Gods, please save me.

  Whoever stood on the other side of her door jiggled the door handle, and Margaret covered her lips to muffle a scream. The handle shook again, and then an odd sound like a kitchen knife on a spoon. Margaret ran to her bathroom and leapt into her bathing tub.

  If I stay here, maybe they won’t find me. She crouched down in the tub as silence reigned outside her bedchamber. Oh Gods, of course they’ll look here.

  She stumbled out of the tub in her rush. Margaret raced to the bathing room door and put her back to the wall where she wouldn’t be seen. Her gaze landed on the stool near the tub, and Adelei’s words floated through her mind. Kick it at me so I stumble. Throw it at me. Wood in the face hurts.

  Margaret dashed over to the stool and snatched it with both hands before returning to the door. Footsteps outside, quieter this time. As if they’re tiptoeing. Oh Gods, someone is trying to kill me. The shadow crossed the doorframe, and she held her breath. The person stepped away. Margaret exhaled, and they leapt through the door. Margaret’s stool hit the attacker straight in the face, and the person fell to their knees.

  When she stopped running for the tub long enough to look back, it wasn’t an assassin who lay groaning on the ground, but Captain Fenton. “Oh, oh, oh. I’m sorry, Captain. I thought you were an attacker.”

  The man wiped a streak of blood from his cheek as a second shadow fell across the floor. Master Adelei stepped around Michael and nodded. “He could have been. He still could be. Anyone in this castle could be your assassin. Don’t drop your guard because they’re down. Now is when you should be running.”

  “No, not Captain Fenton. He’s been a family friend for years—”

  “So was your father’s Grand Advisor, Goefrin.”

  Margaret frowned, and Captain Fenton shook his head. “She doesn’t know, Master Adelei.”

  Adelei swore.

  “I don’t know what?” asked Margaret.

  “Later,” said Adelei. She handed Captain Fenton a cloth, which he held to the cut on his face. “You did well to throw the chair in his face.”

  “I thought he was an assassin.”

  Captain Fenton stood and gave a quick salute to Master Adelei. To Margaret, he bowed before retreating from the bathing room. “I wanted you to think that because he could be. If you hear someone where they shouldn’t be, or you think you’re in danger, save yourself. Run. Defend yourself if you must.” Adelei picked up a piece of the broken chair. “I’m going to add some lessons to your day, Your Highness. Some weapons work with the captain.”

  Margaret opened her mouth, but Adelei shook her head. “Nothing too heavy. You won’t wield a sword for a long while, but it will lay the groundwork for skills you may need later in life. Especially if war breaks out.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped. “War? There hasn’t been a war here since I was a child. With the Boahim Senate, who would dare?”

  The way the Amaskan looked at her, Margaret wished she could crawl into a hole somewhere and hide. It was Adelei’s are-you-really-that-stupid look, the same one Margaret’s tutors sometimes gave her, and she flushed under it. Chair pieces in hand, Adelei gave Margaret a short bow. “You will still meet with me for self-defense training. Anyone can be a killer, Your Highness.”

  “No one can live that way. I can’t see shadows in every light in front of me. It’ll drive me insane.”

  Adelei grinned, showing too much of her white teeth. “Now you understand more about Amaskans,” she said, and she was gone. Margaret squatted on the bathing room floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. She didn’t want to understand the Amaskan.

  All I want is for things to go back to normal. Please.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Exhaustion was not a strong enough word for what Adelei felt as she folded her frame into the largest chair in the sitting room. Her legs stretched out closer to the fireplace as she leaned her head against the cushion. How Margaret maintained her smile all day long
through such boredom was a mystery.

  It wasn’t that guarding the princess was exhausting—watching and waiting was something Adelei excelled at, something she’d done over and over again for many jobs over the years. But the constant boredom of moving through social circles—greeting, gossiping, greeting again, and smiling—it was enough to drive her insane.

  An entire day of doing nothing. How could anyone live like that? Her eyes closed as she soaked up the fire’s heat. Princess Margaret had retired for the night. After seeing her rooms were secure and safe, Adelei had shooed out the handmaidens and settled down to wait for her guest.

  Now the real job begins—figuring out who is after royal blood. In the meantime, the rest will do me good. Adelei focused on her breathing and allowed her body to release stress with each exhale. One ear listened for changes in the suite’s normal sounds while the other tuned out. She fell into an unsteady trance. Wish I could afford the time for a deeper meditation, but I’ll take what I can get.

  The footsteps outside the door shifted from the guards’ normal pacing to a lighter step and then silence as they stood still. Adelei waited for the knock to announce the Lady Millicent. It wasn’t the lady who entered as expected, but King Leon.

  Adelei was still seated when he walked through the door, though less casually once she recognized the footsteps as much heavier than a woman’s. She bolted upright. “I’m expecting a visitor any moment now—”

  “I asked the Lady Millicent to give us a few moments.” He claimed the seat across from her and winced as he settled into it. “Captain Fenton tells me your mere presence has ruffled a few feathers, especially Margaret’s. How went today? Did you perceive any threat?”

  Adelei sighed and rubbed her temple with long fingers. “Many, Your Highness, though none I’d care to name just yet.”