by Erin Beaty
His attention was so focused, he didn’t notice Casseck approaching until he was right next to him.
“So what did you say to her last night?” he asked.
Quinn looked at his hands. “The truth.”
“I see. What was her response?”
“Nonverbal, but clear.” He rubbed his still-sore cheek.
“I’m sorry.”
“I expected the reaction, but I still had to tell her.” The hurt and fury hadn’t been a surprise, but the blank look that had taken over afterward had been worse. That she’d mustered enough emotion to hit him after that deadness had been a relief.
“She’ll cool off, Alex, just give her time. You can make it up to her.”
Quinn snorted. “If D’Amiran doesn’t kill us all first.”
“Always sanguine. Which reminds me, I came up here to report.”
Quinn stood straight. “Go ahead.”
“We’ve got so many arrivals that they’re putting up tents now.” Casseck nodded to the inner ward, where a large circular canvas was being laid out. “Only a few guards with them, though, so that means we don’t have much more to worry about than D’Amiran’s soldiers.”
“And the Kimisar.” Quinn gestured to the top of the granite keep. “The flags up there were moved around this morning. I’m guessing that’s how the duke talks to them, though I’ve no idea what it means, and there’s no way for the scouts to tell us.” He tapped his lip as he watched the activity in the ward. “Good news on the arrivals, though they’re all too late to catch the sickness. If it works.”
“That’s my other good news,” said Casseck. “I just found Charlie in the privy. Not feeling too well.”
It was good news, but Quinn couldn’t manage a smile over the twisting guilt in his stomach.
61
THE MAID ENTERED the bedchamber to prepare it for the evening. She stacked more firewood by the hearth and swept the ashes away from the embers before coaxing them back to life. Then she swung a kettle over the low flames so the ladies would have hot water for tea and wiped her hands on her apron. This room was easier to tend than the others—the occupants were far less demanding. For that reason, she often found herself putting extra effort into it, simply because the ladies were so kind and appreciative. Tonight, though, she had a touch of stomachache, and she hurried through her duties so she could have time to rest before dinner.
She dusted and plumped the cushions on the chairs, replaced the lowest candles, and had just moved to turn down the beds when the door opened behind her and a castle guard stepped inside, leering at her. He was huge and dangerous-looking, with a large chunk missing from one of his ears. His intentions became obvious when he bolted the door behind him and made a kissing face. She cast a frantic look at the small window. Would anyone come to her aid if she called? He smirked while she tried to decide if she could make it to the opening before he got to her.
She dove over the bed, rolling across the satin coverlet and to her feet on the other side, and lunged for the open window. She took a deep breath to scream as loud as she could, but his hand clamped over her face and yanked her backward. Within seconds he had her pinned to the floor, and he released her mouth only to clench his meaty fingers around her throat.
“I suggest you stay quiet,” he whispered maliciously in her ear. She began to cry.
He slid a large knife from his belt and tapped her on the shoulder with it. “I’m not actually in the mood just now, but that may change, depending on how you answer my questions. We can start with something simple.” He leaned back and looked down at her. “What is your name?”
“Poppy,” she whimpered. “Poppy Dyer.”
“And where are you from, little Poppy Dyer?”
“Garland Hill.”
“You were hired by the matchmaker as a ladies’ attendant for the journey?”
She nodded, tears streaming back into her hair. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
“You’re doing well, Poppy.” He smiled, but it gave her no relief. “Let’s try some harder questions. What are the names of the women who sleep in this room?”
Poppy choked against his hold. “Lady Clare Holloway and Lady Sagerra Broadmoor.”
The man shook his head in disappointment. “Now, see, I know that ain’t exactly accurate, little Poppy.” He trailed the blade from her collarbone to her waist and sliced the laces of her bodice open, generating a brief, futile struggle. “Let’s try again, shall we? What are the names of the women who sleep in this room?”
Mistress Rodelle didn’t want anyone to know Sage was really her apprentice. But no silly matchmaker’s secret was worth keeping in the face of this man.
“Clare Holloway,” she sobbed. “And Sage Fowler.”
“Much better,” he said pleasantly, resting the tip of the knife on the neckline of her linen underdress. “Now let’s find out how much you know about Sage Fowler.”
62
SAGE MADE HER way back to her room in a fog. She couldn’t remember half of what had happened that day. Like a horse wearing blinders, she’d focused only on what was directly in front of her. That way she never saw Quinn, never had to think about him.
She flopped down on the bed, wishing she could fall asleep right then, even in the ridiculous dress, corset and all; but there would be a meeting tonight, and she had news to contribute. Quinn would probably fetch her soon, unless he was too cowardly to come himself.
Someone knocked on the door, and Sage groaned and rolled off the bed, then slumped against it. The sky outside the window was still light, so it was too early for Quinn. Clare wouldn’t knock, so it must be Darnessa. “Come in,” she called.
As Darnessa opened the latch and stepped inside, Sage felt a rush of anger. So much of the emotional turmoil of the last few days reminded her of when Uncle William had told her she would go to the matchmaker, and all of it, past and present, had been orchestrated by this woman. She pushed herself upright and faced Darnessa.
“How long did you know?” Sage demanded. “From the beginning?”
Darnessa sighed as she closed the door. “Since Underwood. I agreed to let him use you. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”
Sage advanced a step, eyes narrowing. “How, exactly, was it supposed to happen?”
The matchmaker wrung her hands, looking small for once. “You were just supposed to be friends. You were supposed to trust him, help him. I hoped when this was all over, maybe you would let yourself see him as something more.”
“Some. Thing. More.” Sage’s hands curled into fists. The fragile control she’d maintained all day began to crack.
“I just wanted you to be happy. You were happy,” Darnessa insisted.
“He lied to me.”
“You lied to him, too.”
“On your orders!” Sage screamed.
Darnessa dropped her arms and drew herself up. “I did not do this for my own amusement, Sage. Nor did he.”
Furious as she was, Sage knew the first part was true—the matchmaker never abused her influence and punished those who did. As for him … It was easier to hate him than to admit she’d fallen for the idea that a prince had loved her. She wasn’t as blind to position and power as she’d thought. “He’s not who I thought he was.”
“And who am I, Sage? The high matchmaker—or Darnessa?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“We each play several roles in life—that doesn’t make them all lies.” Darnessa moved closer, raising her hands in appeal. “I am the high matchmaker of Crescera. I make calculated decisions that affect the lives of hundreds, if not thousands. That’s who I am.” She stopped when her skirt brushed against Sage’s and reached across the gap. “I’m also just Darnessa. I’m your friend.”
Sage stepped back before Darnessa could touch her. “You are not my friend,” she spat. “You’ve been playing high matchmaker so long you’ve forgotten how not to manipulate people. Friends don’t do that.”
“
You’re not an authority on friendship.” Darnessa dropped her hand. “But you’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Mend a broken plate with that apology, and I’ll accept it.” She pushed around Darnessa and stalked to the door, throwing it open only to find Clare standing outside with a guilty expression. Turning back, Sage addressed the matchmaker. “Good night.”
Darnessa nodded, her face crumpling like a used napkin. Clare moved out of the matchmaker’s way, then stepped inside and bolted the door behind her. For a handful of seconds she and Sage eyed each other from a few feet apart.
“Are you okay?” Clare whispered.
“No,” said Sage. “It was all a lie.” She burst into tears, and Clare put her arms around her and let her cry.
63
QUINN WIPED CHARLIE’S forehead with a cool cloth. “How are you feeling, kid?”
“Better now.” Charlie clutched his stomach and shifted on the cot in the room Quinn shared with Cass. “I’ll get up in a minute and finish my work.”
Quinn shook his head. “No, stay here. All this will last a couple days more. Just rest.”
“How do you know?”
The knot in Quinn’s stomach tightened. “I’ve just seen this before.”
Charlie nodded. “I’ll get the bucket, though.”
“No, I’ve got it.” Quinn stood and picked up the foul-smelling bucket covered with a soiled, wet towel. “I have to take care of some things, but you stay here and call if you need anything. And drink this tea when you feel you can. Those are orders.”
Charlie nodded, his feverish eyes closing as Quinn backed away.
Quinn carried the bucket to the privy and dumped and rinsed it out himself. Then he washed his face and hands in water that had been boiled and tossed his shirt in the steaming cauldron the soldiers had already started to wash contaminated clothes. He couldn’t afford to have anyone get sick, least of all him.
But he’d let it happen to Charlie. The logic was indisputable—the page wasn’t a fighter they would lose; they needed an early sign that the sickness would work; and Charlie was already exposed when he dumped it in the cistern. None of it eased the feeling of guilt.
Quinn slipped back into his room, placed the bucket where Charlie would be able to use it again, and changed into a fresh shirt before going to collect Sage for the meeting tonight. He arrived early, afraid she would head to the barracks unescorted.
She answered the door, dressed in breeches and ready to go, and he stepped inside before she could push past him into the corridor. A low fire in the hearth provided the only light, but his sight was already adjusted enough to see the puffy redness around her eyes. She’d been crying.
Because of him, what he’d done.
He didn’t realize someone else was in the room until there was a movement by the fireplace, but it was only Lady Clare. She stood to acknowledge him, and he wondered what she knew. Not much, he decided. Sage wouldn’t have wanted to endanger her friend, but from Clare’s hostile look, he could tell she knew enough to blame him for Sage’s tears.
“Captain Quinn,” she said, offering her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”
Quinn touched his lips to her fingers. Sage watched impassively. “Lady Clare, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Clare pulled her hand back. “I was just leaving to speak with one of the maids. I imagine you’ll be gone by the time I return.” Her brown eyes were hard with a silent message: If you hurt my friend again, you will answer to me.
He bowed, and she left with a last glance at Sage. When they were alone, Quinn cleared his throat. “Say what you need to,” he said simply.
Sage looked confused. “About what I learned today?”
“Well, that.” He shuffled his feet. “Or anything you’d like to say to me. Anything you want to know—I’ll answer it all now.”
A ripple of surprise went over her face, a spark of life in an otherwise spiritless posture. “All right, then. Why did you keep lying after I told you who I was? And don’t say to protect me.”
“Mainly to protect Robert.” He tried not to fidget. “I reassigned our original Mouse at the last minute, and since I’d never gone undercover myself, I took the opportunity to experience it. We still needed a captain, however, and Rob looks a lot like me. I thought after a few days I’d step back into the role and no one would notice as long as he stayed a bit distant.
“When you offered to teach me to read, I couldn’t really say no, so I played along, especially because you and that ledger became more interesting. I also enjoyed the freedom of not being the captain.” He tried to smile. “And your company.”
She waited, saying nothing.
He took a deep breath. “Thing was, we realized we were surrounded, and keeping Rob hidden became a necessity. If I’d gone back to being myself…”
“You would’ve revealed him,” she finished.
He nodded and looked down. “Every decision I made has put us in the best possible position to foil D’Amiran’s plan—and Robert is safe now. I regret nothing except that you were hurt. But…” He hesitated. “I also could’ve told you earlier. I was a coward.”
“You didn’t have to kiss me,” she said stiffly. “Not after the armory, at least.”
“I didn’t have to, no.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. Kissing her had been like tasting sunshine. “But I wanted to.”
Sage blushed and looked away, hugging her elbows across her stomach, but whether from anger or embarrassment he couldn’t tell.
“You’re a complication, Sage, one I never could have planned for. I wish I could make you understand.” He shrugged helplessly. “But I don’t really understand it myself. I just know how I feel.”
Her gray eyes focused back on him, but she remained silent.
Quinn swallowed. He’d been a fool to think his lies had been forgivable. That he loved her only made them worse.
“I don’t even know your first name,” she said abruptly. “But I suppose I can just call you Captain like everyone else.” She looked away again and flushed a deeper shade of pink.
Sweet Spirit, no wonder she treated him like a stranger. “It’s Alexander,” he whispered. “Alex.”
“Alex,” she whispered back. There was a softness to her voice.
It was enough. For now.
64
ALEX. HIS NAME echoed in her mind every time she looked at him. It was a strong name, one that suited the man who now held the attention of his officers with a natural confidence and command. But it had a softness and intimacy, too, when he’d whispered it in her room. Occasionally, she caught his dark eyes, and there was a trace of uncertainty in their depths. Darnessa’s words returned to her.
We each play several roles in life—that doesn’t make them all lies.
Gramwell was reporting on the test runs of what D’Amiran’s people would and wouldn’t notice. The soldiers had obtained several casks of oil and two kinds of very pure alcohol and planned to place them around the fortress to aid in creating panic and destroying weapons. Several of the duke’s guards were observed to have skipped the evening meal or eaten lightly, and Sage noted the absence of three lords at dinner, which was taken as evidence the sickness was spreading.
“But those lords may have picked it up on the way here,” she pointed out, worried they depended too much on her idea. Spirit above, how did Quinn make life-and-death decisions with so little information?
“Given Charlie fell ill this afternoon, I’m optimistic,” he said.
He’d made his own brother sick to test the weapon. What a Quinn thing to do. She crossed her arms and looked away, though not before catching the guilt on his face.
Sage paid attention to where they would stage oil and alcohol so she could keep the women away from those areas. When the discussion turned to how to take out the long, single-room barracks in the outer ward, hopefully with a number of sick guards inside, Sage listened with one ear as she studied their map of the fortress
. It was based mostly on her own sketch, with a few additions. She barely glanced up when Gramwell left and returned with two enlisted men who looked enough alike to be brothers. The officers began questioning the soldiers on how to start a big fire in a hurry.
“It’s not hard, sir,” the shorter man was saying. “You jest need t’ spread it around. It vapors into th’ air pretty quick, but then it thins out. If you catch it right at th’ beginnin’, it can be good and explosive, though.”
That caught Quinn’s attention. “Explosive?”
Both soldiers nodded, and the shorter one continued, “In a closed space it’s deadly. Can I show you?”
“If you can do it without killing us,” Quinn said with raised eyebrows.
“Sure, sir. I jest need a bottle and a bit o’ the spirits.”
The materials were procured and the shorter man poured a thimbleful of clear liquid in an empty bottle. He held his thumb over the mouth and swirled the liquid around a bit, until most of it seemed to disappear. Then, keeping it plugged, he set it on the table and gestured for everyone to back up.
Quinn pulled Sage away, and she peered around him to watch. His arm stayed protectively in front of her, ready to sweep her behind him if necessary. This close, she couldn’t help breathing in scents of leather, evergreen soap, and linen—a mix that was distinctly his. She felt herself leaning against him. To get a better view.
The taller soldier brought over a sliver of wood lit from the torch on the wall—a little nervously, Sage thought. Quinn’s arm curled around her a bit, muscles taut as a bowstring.
In a swift move, the first soldier released the bottle and the second dropped the burning stick in the opening, then both jumped away. A loud pop echoed through the room as blue flashed through the bottle, spouting flame out of the mouth for a few seconds. Then it was over. The shorter man picked up the bottle and swirled it again, and a trace of the blue flame inside flickered and vanished.