by Erin Beaty
Casseck glanced over his shoulder. “I’m surprised you don’t know. It had to do with the Concordium twenty years ago.”
The more Sage learned about matchmakers and the power they wielded, the more she was convinced they secretly ran the country. “I haven’t been Mistress Rodelle’s apprentice that long. What happened?”
“Apparently the good duke came home empty-handed. He was offered several matches but refused all of them.”
“Sounds like he wanted someone he couldn’t have.”
Casseck shrugged. “Some say he wanted Gabriella Carey, but she married King Raymond a year before that, so I think the theory is off.”
Quinn’s mother was a Carey—Queen Gabriella’s younger sister. She’d married Captain Pendleton Quinn around the time of her sister’s engagement, but it had been a quiet affair for a union of such powerful families. The fanfare over the king’s nuptials had overshadowed it, she supposed.
The dance they were doing involved several turns, yet Sage always found herself facing the window. “Are you trying to keep my back to everybody?” she asked, slightly exasperated.
Guilt flashed across his face. “I, ah, just like being able to keep an eye on the whole room. Soldier’s habit.”
“You don’t have to apologize for that,” she said. “I’m just glad you aren’t embarrassed to be seen with the lowest lady of them all.”
“From what I’ve seen tonight, my lady, very few have such reservations.” He angled her a little to the side for a change.
“Was it just my perception, or did you have trouble finding me in the crowd earlier?”
“I did. You look … different.” He winced. “I hope that didn’t come across as insulting.”
Sage barely heard that last part. Her heart was hammering at the thought of someone who knew her as well as Casseck not recognizing her.
Tomorrow she would test just how far that lack of recognition could get her.
49
CASS HAD STARLING at the far end of the hall. Her hair looked reddish, so for a few seconds Quinn wasn’t sure it was her, but then she tilted her head to the side as she did when she was thinking, and he knew it. He made his way through the throng that surrounded the duke.
“Your Grace,” the captain said with a bow. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet with you last night when we arrived. We were so behind schedule, I had to catch up on critical business.”
D’Amiran acknowledged him with a regal nod. “It was no matter, Captain; your officers took care of everything.” He paused and looked Quinn up and down. “So you are Pendleton Quinn’s son.”
“I am, Your Grace.” It didn’t escape Quinn’s notice that the duke had omitted his father’s rank. As young men, both the duke and his brother had entered military service but washed out before either achieved captain. According to his father, Morrow D’Amiran had potential, but had relied too much on his own father’s reputation. It was a lesson Quinn had taken to heart at a young age.
Light-blue eyes continued to study him. “Armand, is it? You don’t look much like him.”
“Alexander, Your Grace. My father’s middle name.”
The duke sniffed.
Either D’Amiran was trying to get under his skin, or he didn’t remember what the general looked like. Quinn was almost a copy of his father, but with his eastern mother’s darker coloring. “I actually find that advantageous, Your Grace.”
“Indeed.” The duke selected a flaky biscuit from the tray a servant offered him. “Will you be taking advantage of this assignment to visit your uncle, the king?”
At first Quinn thought it was a hint that D’Amiran knew his father had sent him to spy on him, but on reflection it seemed innocent small talk. “Of course, Your Grace. May I give him your regards, or will you be traveling with us to the Concordium?”
Too many teeth were revealed by the duke’s smile for it to be natural. “I would be pleased if you would carry my regards to both him and your father.”
In the form of my head in a basket? Quinn knew the look of a man who hated another, and he was only third on this man’s list, behind his father and the king. His eyes darted to Casseck and Sage. Her back was to them. He waved a hand around to indicate the room as he again addressed D’Amiran. “Your Grace puts on a magnificent display. I believe this rivals anything I’ve seen at the palace.”
“Yes, and you would know, having spent so much time there.”
People were always jealous of his position, but Quinn wearied of it. Only Robert and Ash had it worse. He suppressed a smile. Third place again.
The duke continued, “I trust the accommodations meet the standards you’re used to?”
“More than acceptable, Your Grace,” he answered. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
D’Amiran looked annoyed that his small digs never yielded a response. “Yes, well, I’m sure you have duties to attend to.”
Once again, rather than act insulted, Quinn simply smiled and bowed at the dismissal. With a last glance at Casseck and Sage, he slipped out the main doors and headed back to the barracks.
50
SAGE ROSE BEFORE dawn and put on a plain wool dress, lacing the bodice swiftly in the dark. Then she combed darkening syrup through her hair before braiding and coiling it behind her head and covering it with a hood. A glance in her hand mirror showed the reflection of a simple maid rather than the grand lady everyone had seen the night before. Grabbing a bundle of soiled clothing, she let herself out of the room.
No one gave her a second glance as she headed to the laundry. Few stirred as it was—everyone was recovering from last night. Sage dropped her bundle in the empty washroom with other clothing belonging to their group and began looking for more places to explore, thinking to start in the kitchens. The cistern had its own outlet into the laundry, which inspired her to fill an empty pitcher from a shelfful of them. There was no time like the present to start spreading the contamination.
In the kitchen she found several baskets of bread and cheese set out on a central table. A hungover cook barely glanced up before gesturing for her to take one. “It’s about time you girls started showing up. Go out to the main gate first. The guards are hungry, so be quick.”
He assumed she was an errand girl. Perfect. Sage grinned to herself and grabbed a basket and a metal cup in addition to her pitcher and set off for the north side of the fortress. Balancing her burdens carefully, Sage passed through the inner gate and the outer ward and climbed the stone steps nearest the gatehouse. Two sleepy guards perked up as she walked in the door.
“Hello, love,” one called from where he lounged in a rickety wooden chair. “You’re a sight. Come give us a little wake-up?”
In that moment, Sage realized she was woefully unprepared to deal with the advances these men might make on a common maid. She nervously set the basket down and poured water into the cup. When she offered it to the guard who’d spoken, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her onto his lap. Sage yelped as he squeezed her rear end and whispered in her ear, “You got me woke, love. How’s about you stay awhile an’ keep me company? Hix here ain’t much fun, but you looks lots of fun.” His week-old stubble pressed against her cheek, and he gave her a sloppy kiss that reeked of sour wine.
Sage shrieked and shoved herself off of him, and he laughed before drinking the water. A wet trail dribbled down his chin and onto his blue uniform, joining several dark stains that looked like wine—or blood. He held the cup out to her and winked. She stared at it, unwilling to get closer, though a part of her wanted to give him more of the contaminated water, until he pulled the cup back and wiggled it. “Com’n get it, love.”
The other guard, Hix, stepped forward and smacked him lightly across the back of the head. “Knock it off, Barley. She’s got rounds to do.” He took the cup and held it out for his drink. She poured his water ration with shaking hands and waited for him to finish it. He handed back the cup and grabbed two rolls from the basket, tossing one to his leering friend.
Sage set down the basket and pitcher so she could straighten her clothes and wipe her face on her sleeve, feeling foolish for thinking it would be easy to just wander around like a servant. Some spy she was.
In the morning twilight made longer by the eastern peaks, she saw several guards in blue and white posted at intervals along the wall, the nearest of which looked at her expectantly. Sage took a deep breath as she gathered her things and reminded herself she was safer out in the open.
The next encounters went smoothly, and she progressed along the north wall. None of the guards made further advances, though one on the northeast tower eyed her long enough to make her blush. She stared at the mountains to avoid his gaze, watching a hawk fly up from the south and circle over a spot near the pass.
On the eastern wall, midway between guards, she passed a man sitting against the curve of a small, unmanned tower. “Spare a bit of bread, miss?” he asked quietly.
She stopped in her tracks, sloshing the water in the pitcher. “What are you doing here?” she gasped.
Ash squinted up at her and scowled. His dark hair stood out at odd angles from where he’d leaned against the wall. “I could ask you the same thing.” He stood and moved closer to take a roll. “Because I know this isn’t something anyone told you to do.”
“It’s called taking the initiative.”
“No, it’s called putting yourself in danger needlessly.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said, trying to forget the man in the gatehouse.
“No, you can’t. Go back to bed.” His voice had the air of a command.
“Not until I finish taking the rest of this around.” Sage switched the basket to her other arm and brushed him aside. “It’ll look suspicious if I stop now,” she said over her shoulder.
“Dammit, Sage, this is not a game!” he growled to her back.
Fuming, she continued down the east and south sides, making it around to the circular tower at the southwest corner before she ran out of cheese and bread. There was still some water in the pitcher, so she decided to climb up the tower to the last guards before returning to the kitchen. The encounter in the gatehouse rattled her more than she’d ever admit. Part of her wanted to quit and go back to bed, but she certainly wouldn’t after Ash ordered her to. She was hitching her skirt to mount the steps to the open trapdoor when she heard the men above talking.
“I’m tellin’ you, sir, it was ’im,” one was saying. “I seen ’im before, last time we escorted ’is Grace to th’ capital.”
“He doesn’t look like the king, though,” another replied. Sage froze. They had to be talking about Ash.
“’Is mother was onna them easterners—they got black hair an’ dark skin. I’m tellin’ you it was ’im, an’ ’is Grace would want to know, sir.”
Sage backed away to where she wouldn’t be seen if they looked down. An authoritative third voice asked, “Have you told anyone?”
The first soldier replied, “No, sir. I couldn’t place ’is face till I thought on it, and yer th’ first I told.”
“Then keep your mouth shut,” came the harsh response. “His Grace already knows, and if you ruin his plans by running your mouth, you’ll wish your execution was quick.”
Sage didn’t wait to hear any more and fled, thankful she wore her soft leather boots, which were silent on the stone steps. They knew who Ash was, and they were planning to take him. She had to warn him—now.
She dashed down the stairs all the way to the bottom, afraid the guards would notice her if she went back out on the wall. Now on the ground level, she forced herself to walk around the outer ward to the base of the small tower where Ash sat on the wall above. She picked up a stone and threw it against the structure. She missed and tried again until she succeeded in getting one right where she wanted. Ash’s dark head leaned over the edge to look down.
Trying to be discreet, she made motions saying he needed to come down to talk to her. He shook his head, and she stomped her foot. Why wouldn’t he believe this was important? Finally, he jabbed a finger at the building behind her and disappeared. She dumped the remainder of her water on the ground and put the pitcher and cup inside the basket before heading to the double doors.
The scents of metal and oiled leather met her as she pulled the right door open and let herself into the main armory. A single torch lit the empty passage from a bracket on the wall. Ash stormed around the corner at the opposite end. She had no idea how he’d gotten there so fast. He walked right up to her, grabbed her arm, and gently shoved her into one of several pitch-black storerooms.
“You know, I have a reason to be up there, unlike you,” he whispered furiously. Ash closed the door and bumped against her hard enough that she backed into an open box stacked in the corner. Something sharp poked her, and she reached behind her to feel what it was and push it fully inside the crate. She could barely see in the faint light from cracks in the door, so she clutched Ash’s vest to make sure he was facing her.
“Ash, they know who you are. They’re going to grab you.”
She had his full attention now. “Who knows?”
“The guards on the tower; I heard them talking. One of them recognized you.”
He put his hands on her upper arms. “Tell me exactly what they said. Exactly.”
Sage repeated it word for word and added, “You have to get out of here, Ash.”
She heard him shake his head. “They’re not talking about me.”
“The king’s son, Ash. That’s you.”
“They’re talking about Robert.”
“Prince Robert?” she gasped. “How—”
“He’s been with us the whole time under a false name.”
“But … how can you be sure they mean him?” After all, Ash was valuable to the crown, too. And to her.
“Just trust me. But you’re right, we need to get him out. Today.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry I was angry. You’d think by now I’d know to trust your judgment, though coming out here wasn’t—”
He broke off at the sound of the armory door creaking open, and two guards entered the hall, laughing and talking. They walked past Sage and Ash’s hiding place and opened a storage closet at the other end of the passage and began rummaging for equipment. Ash leaned on the door to listen for a few seconds, then stepped back to her, and whispered, “They’re getting crossbows for their patrol. Once they find the bolts they’ll be gone.”
A wave of horror swept over Sage, and she seized his collar frantically. “Ash, the bolts are in here.”
“What?”
“There’s a box of crossbow bolts behind me.”
51
SHE HEARD ASH’S breath catch in his throat. Before Sage could say anything more, he pulled her close. “You must forgive what I am about to do,” he whispered, reaching down to hike up her skirt.
“What—” But he silenced her with his mouth on hers. It was so sudden, so urgent, Sage didn’t even register it as kissing as he pushed against her, forcing her back. With one hand up her dress, Ash lifted her off her feet and set her on the crates while the other tugged her bodice laces. He pulled his face back with a murmured apology before nudging her knees apart with his hip and maneuvering to stand between them.
Her bodice loosened, and he leaned forward and put his mouth at her ear. “Whatever you do, don’t let them see your face.”
Let who see her face? She couldn’t see anything, which only made his closeness overwhelming. Then Sage understood. They needed an excuse to be hiding, and it had to look like they’d been here for a while. This act couldn’t be one-sided, though—she had to do something. It was just so hard to think with his hands workin
g her bodice open more. She fumbled with the ties on his vest, but they weren’t coming loose, so she reached around to his back and untucked his shirt. Ash pulled her sleeve off her shoulder and dragged his lips across her collarbone and up her neck, leaving a strange trail of icy fire on her skin. His hand slipped between her bodice and thin linen shift—under where his hand had been when he helped her off the horse, right where she tucked her note yesterday.…
Sage had one hand under his shirt and halfway up his back, unsettlingly aware of the solid muscles at her fingertips. Heat from his breath burned her skin as his right hand pulled her hood off. Ash buried his nose in the loose hair at the back of her neck, inhaling slowly and deliberately. It seemed an odd thing to do. She turned her face into his collar. He smelled infinitely better—like soap with essence of evergreen … clean linen … leather … and something indefinable that left her only wanting to breathe more deeply.
Ash froze and then leaned back a little, brushing his eyelashes across her cheek as he brought his mouth to hover over hers.
“Sage,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes and parted her lips. Yes.
The door opened, throwing blinding light across her face. She shrieked, and Ash shielded her with his body. A guard with the torch in his hand stood motionless for a second before bursting into riotous laughter. His companion peered around the door frame and joined him. Sage pushed her skirt down and attempted to pull her bodice back together, aware Ash was blocking her face from their view as he hitched his sagging breeches higher.
“Get out of here, you two,” said the man with the torch. He stepped back and threw the door wider. Ash advanced on them so Sage could slip out behind him, and she grabbed her basket, keeping her face down and away. “Be glad we’re in a hurry, boy, or we might’ve taken a turn, too.”