by Erin Beaty
“Mouse.” Casseck waited for him to pause. “I suggest you wear body armor when you tell her.”
58
SAGE SLEPT STRAIGHT through lunch and dinner, waking with a start as a tray of food settled on the table near her head. Clare sat on the edge of the bed and brushed hair from Sage’s eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Sage sat up with a groan. She felt like she’d been run over by a wagon. “I’ve felt better.”
“Where were you all night?” Clare asked. “I heard you leave, but you never came back. I went looking for Darnessa after a few hours.”
The matchmaker had been waiting when Sage returned that morning, disheveled and smelling like sweat. Though Darnessa had stopped short of calling her a harlot, it was a lecture Sage didn’t care to remember. She rubbed her face and tried to think. “Privy,” she said. “The soldiers said we passed a village with a nasty illness. I must’ve caught it.”
“Is that why Darnessa told us not to drink the water?”
“Probably. I guess she didn’t tell me in time.”
Clare smiled sympathetically. “I brought some dinner. Are you up to eating?”
Sage’s stomach roared in response. “Yes, thank you. I think the worst is over.” Clare handed her a cup of herbal tea and watched as Sage tried to drink it slowly. “Did anything interesting happen today?”
“Lots of departures and arrivals. Duke D’Amiran’s angry about something. He spent most of the day stomping around the outer walls, staring at the forest.”
Sage smiled to herself. “What has our escort been up to?”
Clare offered her a roll of soft bread. “Haven’t seen most of them, other than the regulars who patrol around us on occasion. I think they’re lying low. One of the maids said the duke was yelling at Captain Quinn this morning.”
Feeling guilty, Sage said, “I’m sorry you didn’t see Gramwell today.”
“He told me last night he wouldn’t be able to write or come near me for a while, but if the duke said anything interesting, I should tell you.” Clare narrowed her eyes. “Why would it be dangerous for one of our escorts to speak to me?”
“Did he say ‘dangerous’?” Sage asked.
“No, but I’m not a fool, and you’re even less of one.”
Ash must have felt this way when she asked questions. “Clare, there’s trouble brewing, and I can’t tell you the details, but not because I don’t trust you. Anyone who knows is at risk.”
“And when events come to a head, how am I to act in a way that’s helpful if I don’t know anything?”
“I’ll tell you. Or one of the soldiers will. Or Darnessa.” Sage added the last, suspecting the matchmaker knew much more than she revealed. They eyed each other stubbornly until they heard a knock on the door.
Clare stood and set the tray of food across Sage’s lap. “I will try to be content with that for now.” She walked around the bed to answer the door and came back with a note. Before Sage could stop her, Clare opened it herself and glanced at it, then handed it over.
Main chapel, 1 hour before midnight.—A
She looked up at Clare, who gazed back with raised eyebrows.
“You weren’t sick last night, were you?” Clare asked. “You were with him.” Sage pressed her lips together, and Clare rolled her eyes. “Just tell me when I should start worrying that you haven’t come back.”
* * *
Sage waited nervously in the dark chapel, as eager to see Ash again as she was to confront the captain. The air behind her shifted, and she felt the heat of someone at her back. She yelped as an arm slipped around her waist. A gloved hand slammed over her mouth, and she was lifted off her feet. She bit down hard on the hand, bracing her arm to elbow her attacker with all her strength.
“For Spirit’s sake!” Ash hissed in her ear. “It’s only me.”
He released her, and she spun around to shove him. “You scared the life out of me!”
Ash’s teeth flashed in the dim light as he shook his left hand in the air. “Good reaction, though.” He took off his glove and flexed his fingers. “Ow.”
“You deserved it.” Her heart was pounding so hard, she felt it in her fingertips.
“So I did.” He pulled her to the side, glancing around. “We’re going to a planning meeting, but I have to explain something first.” Sage’s heart had begun to slow, but it leapt again. Ash took a deep breath. “Robert’s gone, so now it’s safe to tell you who he was.”
“Lieutenant Gramwell, right?” She wanted to show him she’d discovered it on her own.
“How did you figure that?”
“You didn’t want me to talk to the officers, so it must be one of them. Gramwell wouldn’t leave Clare alone, and who but a prince would be so bold with a Concordium bride? He also told her he wouldn’t see her for a while.” She heard Ash groan softly. “I’ll do everything I can to make the match happen. She’d be a wonderful queen.”
“For once, you’re mistaken.” His head snapped up at a noise near the altar. He tugged her arm. “This way.”
Ash led her out a side door and pulled her toward the soldiers’ quarters. Along the way she tried to figure where she went wrong in her logic. He ushered her into the barracks, pausing to close the door behind them.
“Quinn,” she said as he turned to face her.
Ash jumped. “What?”
“Prince Robert was acting as Captain Quinn.”
He swallowed. “Yes.” He glanced anxiously at the captain’s door.
She waited, but he didn’t say anything more. After a few seconds, she prompted, “And Casseck is really the captain?”
“Will you stop it with the theories?” Ash reached up to her face with his right hand, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something important.”
“Yes?” she whispered, the mystery forgotten. Now she understood why he was nervous. He wanted to say what he couldn’t before. The words that would change everything.
Ash hesitated. “I’ve practiced telling you so many times, but I still don’t know how.”
She leaned closer and placed a trembling hand on his upper arm. Please, she thought but could not say. I don’t need fancy words, I just need—
The captain’s door opened, throwing a shaft of light across them. “Captain?”
Without lowering his hand, Ash slowly turned his head to acknowledge Lieutenant Gramwell, who now realized his intrusion.
“Sorry, sir. Begging your pardon, sir, but we’re ready when you are.”
Ash gave a short nod. “Thank you. I’ll be just a couple minutes.”
Gramwell shut the door after casting an apologetic look at Sage. Once again they were alone with the light from a single torch. Ash continued to stare at the door, clenching his jaw.
“You,” she whispered. “You’re Captain Quinn?” His dark eyes turned back to her, filled with shame. Fury of comprehension raced through Sage like wildfire, burning every nerve ending in her skin.
It was all a lie.
Everything about him was a lie.
There was no Ash Carter.
Her vision clouded over, and she wrenched away, yanking her hand back from his arm, only to reverse and send her clenched fist flying at his face. With the hand that had rested against her cheek, he deflected the blow and seized her wrist, forcing her arm down in a swift arc. His left arm clamped around her, pinning her arms to her side and pulling her roughly against him.
“I may deserve it,” he said, straining to hold her. “But a broken nose will slow us down in ways we can’t afford.”
His right arm was across her body, pressed between them, jamming her left hand under his elbow, and he’d wrapped one leg around hers to pin them together. She couldn’t move an inch. “You two-faced son of a BITCH!” she hissed. “Is this how an honorable officer of the realm behaves?”
“In protection of the crown, yes.” His coolness only infuriated her more, and she twisted and pushed against his iron hold, he
r left wrist screaming in protest. Her struggles made him fight for balance on one foot. “You weren’t always honest about your identity and motives either, my lady.”
It was a cruel thing to say. Every second the Ash she knew drifted farther away, but he’d never been real. “Mine were never intended to use or hurt people, Captain Quinn.” She spat his name like a curse.
He looked down on her without blinking until she turned her face away. She’d fallen for his act like a lovesick schoolgirl—she who prided herself on her judgment, her ability to see through the fronts people presented. And why? Because she wanted a prince, a fairy tale. The tidal wave of anger receded, leaving behind a gaping chasm of hurt, which was worse, and she sagged against him with a muffled sob.
Quinn relaxed his leg and eased the pressure at her back enough to pull his right arm free. She might have escaped his grasp in those seconds, but she no longer cared enough to try. He wiped her tears away with his fingers as she stared into empty space. It was humiliating. She hadn’t even cried when Father died.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered.
She would not answer, would not look at him, would not even nod or shake her head.
“Sage, please, I’m so sorry it had to happen this way. Only truth from now on—I promise.”
How could he think that promise meant anything? “I don’t want your truth. I hate it.” Her voice sounded dead to her own ears. “I hate you.”
“I’ll say it anyway: I love you, Sage Fowler. Of everything I’ve said and done, that is truth.”
Of all the things he could have said, that was the worst. Her left hand no longer restrained, she drew back and slapped him across the face with all her might.
59
SAGE IGNORED CASSECK’S and Gramwell’s apologetic smiles as she brushed past them into the room. She didn’t hate them, though—all of the blame rested on the captain, who now pulled a chair around the table. He gestured for her to sit, which Sage did without looking at him. She’d refused to go back to her room. Maybe it was defiance; maybe it was loyalty to Darnessa and Clare. Maybe she just couldn’t stand to be left out. But when he offered to release her from any part in their plans, she’d simply turned her back on him and walked to the meeting room door.
The lieutenants stood silently on the opposite side of the table as Quinn seated himself beside her. They acknowledged her as one of their own and not like some pet as she feared they would, though perhaps their deference was inspired by the fading red handprint on their captain’s cheek.
What she learned was frightening. The 130 men she’d heard about were in fact 200 Kimisar soldiers, though at least ten had been killed. As Quinn showed her how the squads were arranged around them, her mind made a connection.
“Their commander is here.” She pointed to a group near the pass. Everyone stared at her.
“What makes you say that?” asked Quinn.
“That morning I was on the wall, a trained hawk circled that spot before landing. It came in from the south.”
“How do you know it wasn’t just a regular hawk?” Quinn asked. In response, she raised an eyebrow, and he snorted humorlessly. “Right. A fowler would know.”
Most of the meeting was devoted to refining the soldiers’ response if the duke acted before the sickness hit. Her responsibility would be to gather and hide the ladies, and if they were taken, to be alert for a rescue attempt. So after everything she’d done for Quinn, he wanted her to sit on the side and watch. “I can do more,” she argued. “As a woman I can provide … unique distractions.”
Quinn waved her idea aside. “I leave it to you to have a fainting spell as necessary, but we’re talking about battle, Sage.”
Somehow her name on his lips was an insult; he had no right to address her so casually. Sage crossed her arms. “I’m talking about battle. D’Amiran’s guards are as lecherous as they come. We can use that to our advantage.”
Quinn’s eyes widened. “Don’t even think about it.” Casseck and Gramwell shifted uncomfortably. “Besides,” he continued with a meaningful look, “you promised to follow orders, as I recall.”
“And you promised…” She faltered. An awkward silence fell as the lieutenants looked everywhere but at their captain. Sage pinched her upper arm to anchor herself. She would not cry. Not here. Her fingernails dug into her flesh through both jacket and shirt, but she maintained her composure.
“Mistress Sage,” Lieutenant Casseck said, “this is what we need from you. It’s truly important, and it leaves a man free to fight.”
Sage squeezed harder as she turned to Casseck. His expression was open, honest. For the sake of that honesty, she backed down, but she remained silent for the rest of the meeting.
Gramwell left when dismissed, but Casseck stayed behind.
“I need to check on a few things before taking her back,” Quinn said. “Can you wait with her?”
Casseck nodded.
Once Quinn was gone, Casseck pulled up a chair and sat facing her, but didn’t speak. After a full minute, she asked, “How long have I been involved in this?”
“Since the night he met you,” Casseck said. “The code name for the first agent to go into a situation is ‘Mouse,’ because he’s supposed to be the crumb catcher no one notices. But you saw him, and that changed things.”
Her hands clenched under the table. He’d used her from the first day. “Did I have a code name, too?”
“He called you Starling.”
Starling. A useless, annoying bird that gabbled all its secrets.
Casseck watched her fight back tears. “It was never easy for him to lie,” he said. “In fact, as time went on, the harder the act wore on him.”
“What’s done is done,” Sage said dully. She just wanted to go to sleep and forget everything. “If he hadn’t been playing the Mouse, you might never have realized what was going on.” He nodded, and they were quiet again. Finally, she said, “I remember Mouse being mentioned during the meeting—you talked about him like he wasn’t there.”
“That’s a spy tactic. It throws off anyone who might overhear and alleviates confusion about who is doing what, as who, and what everyone’s relationships are.” Casseck scooted his chair closer and put his elbows on the table, plainly relieved to address something professional. “The habit is also useful to those who change identities. It keeps the personas separate in their own mind, makes it easier to take one off and put the other on.”
The implication made her feel sick. I love you, Sage Fowler. Which was the person who’d said that? Did it even matter? One person was a lie and the other she hated.
Casseck shook his head as if reading her thoughts. “No, Mistress Sage, I’m his oldest friend, and I can tell you—”
The door opened and Sage and Casseck nearly jumped out of their seats as Quinn walked in. He looked from face to face before striding to the door of the bunk room. “Whatever you were about to say, Lieutenant, keep it to yourself.”
Casseck shrugged sheepishly at Sage.
Quinn returned a few seconds later, stuffing something into the breast of his jacket. “Things look clear enough to take you back.” He stalked out the door without waiting for her. Sage glanced at Casseck before pushing back her chair and following.
“Sage,” Casseck called, and she paused to look back. “Just … go easy on him.” He grinned a little. “Or at least don’t hit him again.”
Captain Quinn waited for her in the passage. “Nice chat?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Very informative,” she answered coolly.
“Anything you want to say to me?”
“No, I think I’ve expressed myself enough for one night.”
He rubbed his cheek. “I deserved that.”
“At least we agree on something.” She felt a little satisfaction, but she also knew he was fast enough to have ducked the blow. He’d let her hit him.
The walk back was silent. Only the guard posted at the entrance to the Great Hall was i
n sight, and he didn’t seem interested in anything but scratching his ear. They made it to the guest wing without seeing anyone else. At her door she turned to leave him without a word, but he caught her elbow.
“You’re in this now, for better or for worse,” he said, “so you need to take extra precautions.” She nodded reluctantly, and he continued, “From now on, don’t go anywhere alone unless you absolutely must, and then always make sure someone knows where you are. Don’t trust any notes we don’t hand to you, and don’t trust any you don’t recognize as mine.”
He reached into his jacket, pulled out a knife, and pressed it into her hand. “Carry this on you everywhere you go.”
Sage looked down at the sheathed dagger. The handle was black and had inlaid gold letters: AQ.
“If you’re in trouble, any of my men will recognize it, and if none of my men are around … you remember what I taught you.”
She didn’t want this knife—his personal one—but his logic was sound.
His hands were still on hers. “Are you going to be all right?”
She gripped the weapon and nodded.
“Good night, Sage.” He pulled her hand up to his mouth and brushed a featherlight kiss across her knuckles. She pulled away at the touch of his lips, and he released her.
Sage backed into the room, refusing to look at him as she shut the door in his face. She shoved the bolt home, and the sound echoed through the silence.
How she would face tomorrow, she didn’t know.
60
QUINN WENT ABOUT his duties and inspections the next morning, contemplating how his father wanted him to learn patience. Well, he was learning it now.
It was his habit to walk several daily turns on the inner and outer walls, and if he dallied where he could see the garden, so be it. From his current angle he could see Sage sitting on a stone bench. She’d tinted her hair and wore a dress that made her look like another of the painted peacocks he was protecting, but he recognized the way she walked, knew how she tilted her head when she smiled, saw her fold her hands as she did when she was stressed. A pair of young men hovered around her, vying for her attention. He leaned on the wooden rail and watched, silently willing her to look back at him, but she never did.