by Erin Beaty
Rivulets of red.
Blood.
71
ALEX BARELY MADE it to his room before vomiting into the bucket Charlie had used yesterday.
How many hours had he sat outside, smug and content? How many hours had she been dead while he thought she was safe? While he smiled and shaved and ate like nothing was wrong?
Another wave hit him and he sobbed through it, not caring if Casseck and Gramwell and Charlie saw how weak he was, because nothing mattered now except that Sage was dead. She was dead, and it was his fault, and he wanted to die, too.
Eventually the heaving stopped, though it went long past the point his stomach emptied. A damp cloth appeared in front of his face, and when he made no effort to take it, Casseck wiped the snot and spit and vomit away for him. Alex was sitting on the floor between his cot and Charlie’s, and he leaned back against his.
“I killed her,” he whispered.
“No,” said Cass firmly. “This isn’t your fault.”
Alex shook his head and reached for his face before realizing he still held the dagger in his hand. He eased his fingers open—the muscles were cramped from gripping it so hard, and the design of the hilt had pressed into his flesh deep enough to bruise. Reddish-brown blood had collected in the lines of his palm.
Her blood on his hands.
He lunged for the bucket again and heaved nothing for another five minutes.
Alex wiped his own face this time, and Cass offered him a cup of water. Charlie hovered in the background with a worried expression. “Are you getting sick, too?” the boy asked.
“No, I’m just…” Alex trailed off as a new emotion began to unfurl.
He would kill them all.
It wasn’t until Casseck said “What?” that he realized he’d said it aloud.
“I’m going to kill them,” he said. “The duke, Geddes, and every man who stands between me and them.”
Cass shook his head. “If he surrenders, you can’t.”
The rage inside was building, and he warmed his soul on the fire. “Watch me.”
“He has rights and privileges by law. It could ruin your career, land you in prison.”
“I don’t care.” Alex pushed to his feet.
There was a knock on the outer door and Sergeant Porter stuck his head in the meeting room. “Beggin’ your pardon, sirs, but Mistress Rodelle is here asking for you.”
Alex pulled the door closed on the room and the foul-smelling bucket and gestured for Porter to let her in. Casseck whispered some task for Charlie, and the boy slipped out as the matchmaker entered. Her blue eyes blazed in anger as she shook out her wet skirt.
“Where is she?”
“Mistress Rodelle—”
“I’m not a fool. She spent the night here. I’ve allowed you to use my apprentice for your spying, but I’ll not let you make a—”
“She’s dead.”
The matchmaker froze midsentence, every bit of color draining from her face. “She’s what?”
“Dead.” Every time Alex said the word he felt calmer. “She was caught making an escape that would have brought reinforcements here several days sooner.”
“But … are you sure?”
“Yes.” Alex gripped the dagger in his hand. “I’m sure.”
“You saw her?” the woman pressed.
For the first time, Alex faltered. “No.”
“Is it possible she’s alive somewhere?”
But Geddes would have taunted him differently if they had her. He would have said—
It was a torturous night for me, too.
Alex swayed and grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. The knife clattered onto the table, and he sank into the chair he’d sat in all night, waiting while she’d been … “I don’t know.”
“Alive or dead, she’s in the keep,” said Casseck. “The dungeons or the infirmary or D’Amiran’s private chambers.”
“Or a void,” said Gramwell, speaking for the first time. “There were areas within the keep we couldn’t account for. They could be support columns or secret rooms or passages.”
“We’re accelerating everything,” said Alex. “I’m not waiting for nightfall.” Darkness was to be their ally, but time was the enemy. “Can we be ready by the noon meal? Everyone will be headed to the Great Hall anyway, so half the work of herding them there will be done.”
Cass nodded. The matchmaker gaped at them. “I thought we were just going to leave as though nothing was wrong. You sound as if you’ve planned to take over.”
Alex looked up to her. “We have. It turns out your ladies are what the duke was after in the first place.”
Realization dawned on her lined face, and she sat down hard in a chair of her own. “Spirit above, all those marriages of the past two years … he was binding half of Crescera to him.”
“And now he’ll take the rest,” Alex finished. “Sage figured it out.”
Mistress Rodelle smiled weakly. “Of course she did.”
“Which is all the more reason we’re going to find her.” Every instinct Alex had screamed to charge in now, to tear down the keep brick by brick. But no, he had to wait until the time was right, until everything was in place. He clenched his fists to keep his arms from shaking.
Patience.
“We have a few hours before we can act,” Alex said. “In that time I want to find out where she is and if she’s alive.”
Casseck nodded to the dagger on the table. “That was about making you want to find out. He’ll be expecting it. Anyone who snoops will be caught.”
“I have an idea who to send,” said Gramwell.
72
D’AMIRAN WATCHED THE activity below from his window. The escort soldiers milled about the inner and outer wards, collecting supplies for continuing their journey, but it was only a cover. They were looking for her.
He smiled to himself. They’d never find her.
And as the day wore on, Quinn would get more and more frantic. Geddes had seen the look on his face when he handed him the knife—the boy had almost lost control right there. D’Amiran would enjoy executing him in front of everyone. The escort soldiers would dissolve into chaos, and he’d have them easily.
And then tonight everything would come together.
The last of his nobles were expected to arrive this evening. Scribes were finishing the wedding announcements and dowry demands at that very moment, and the messengers could go out at first light as soon as the bedsheets were collected to prove the permanence of the unions. D’Amiran would head to his army in the morning, and they would march. It might ruin the element of surprise to send young Quinn’s head to his father beforehand, but the poetry of it was irresistible.
“Your Grace,” came a voice from behind him. D’Amiran turned away from the window to acknowledge his bowing steward. “The morning meal is ready, if you wish to break your fast.” The man indicated the table laid out.
“Actually, I believe I’ll go to the Great Hall,” D’Amiran said. The steward tried to hide his frustration. It was no easy task to bring everything up here, but the duke didn’t care. He wanted to see Quinn’s face for himself, wanted to relish it.
He shrugged out of his robe, and the steward rushed to bring his doublet, hissing to the waiting page that he must delay the meal below until the duke arrived. Once the close-fitting jacket was buttoned and his sleeves straightened, D’Amiran went downstairs, a bounce in his step. He entered the Great Hall from the back, smiling as everyone rose from their seats. With one hand, he gestured for all to sit, eyes sweeping over the table where the escort officers sat. All three of them.
Lady Clare left her seat and came to meet him, sinking into a deep curtsy. “Your Grace honors us,” she said.
This one he’d picked for himself. Even if her family was already bound to him through her sister’s marriage to his brother, they were still the richest in Crescera. And she was lovely. Castella Carey had been lovely. It almost made up for that disappointment.
One of the officer’s heads went up, watching, and D’Amiran realized why Clare had come forward. Oh, he would enjoy this.
“My dear, I could never pass up an opportunity to spend more time in your presence,” he said as he raised Clare’s hand and put it on his arm. He spoke loud enough for all to hear, and the officer watching stiffened as D’Amiran led her back to the table. When they reached the head, the duke indicated she should sit at his right hand, forcing some shuffling of seats.
The platters came out and the duke waited for his plate to be filled before turning to Lady Clare. “And how are you this morning, my lady? I hope the weather hasn’t dampened your spirits.”
“Oh, no,” she said lightly—too lightly. “I’m worried a bit for my friend. Lady Sagerra fell ill last night. I haven’t seen her all morning.”
The girl wasn’t very good at hiding her intentions. Her eyes kept darting to the officers’ table. All three watched silently, their food untouched.
The plan had been to have Geddes drop a particularly vile hint about where the Fowler girl was during the afternoon muster. One that would have Quinn raging to rescue his beloved little commoner. One that would lead him straight into a trap in his private chambers. But this was too good to pass up.
D’Amiran looked back to Clare with a sympathetic smile. “Indeed, she’s in my infirmary. I spoke to her only an hour ago.”
Clare’s back went rigid. “May I see her, Your Grace?”
“Oh, no, my lady,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that. I’d never forgive myself if you became ill, too.” He glanced over at the officers’ table with a smirk. “And she’s in no condition to see anyone right now.”
73
SAGE WOKE TO the steady drip of water. Her face hurt in more places than she would’ve imagined possible, and she could barely see out of one eye. She turned her head away from the light and discovered a new pain in the back of her skull. For the next twenty seconds, she battled dizziness and nausea, conquering both only to remember the previous night. The nausea surged, and she rolled to her side and retched the meager contents of her stomach onto the stone floor.
Large hands reached down to pull her hair back from her face as she vomited, though most of it was completely matted to her scalp by dried blood. The muscles that went rigid with her heaving identified even more bruises and scrapes, and she sagged and groaned.
“You’ll be all right,” soothed a deep voice. Sage’s hands were over her stomach. The sash of red blaze was missing. She clutched around for it frantically. It was all that mattered. “We’ve got it,” the man said. “Relax.”
He tried to help her sit, but she struggled against him until dizziness overtook her. The man held her upright until the world stopped spinning. Sage blinked at the dark, bearded face that swam into focus. She recognized him now, though it had been dark when they found each other in the woods last night. When he seemed sure she could hold herself up, he tipped a canteen over a scrap of cloth and began wiping her face. Sage flinched away from the wet rag and the pain it brought, but he continued his gentle cleaning. “We didn’t realize you were a girl till the sun came up and we could see you better. Sorry if we roughed you up.”
“Forget it.” She’d been near collapse when she found Alex’s scouts, so she hadn’t resisted when they pinned her to the ground and searched her for weapons. “The castle guard who found me before you did was far rougher.” He chuckled, and she took in her surroundings. They sat sheltered in an overhang of rock on the side of a steep slope. “Where are the others?”
He poured more water over the cloth. “Dell’s checking the snares, and Stephen’s patrolling. Rob and Jack are probably right at the pass by now. If they push hard, they can light the signal fire tomorrow morning, and we’ll have reinforcements in less than a week, thanks to you. Can you drink anything?”
She nodded and discovered it was not a movement she wanted to repeat anytime soon. “Yes,” she rasped.
“Here.” He held the canteen to her lips. “Just sip for now, even though you want more.” She obeyed, swallowing tentatively. Even her throat muscles hurt. The short man eyed her. “The first is always the hardest. Better him than you, though.”
Sage recalled waking up with the weight of a dead man on top of her. It was a miracle she hadn’t suffocated. After shoving him off of her, she’d vomited all over his body. Belatedly, she remembered leaving the knife behind as she stumbled away, drenched in his blood. “Did you throw up after your first kill?” she gasped between sips.
“I don’t know anyone who didn’t.”
That made her feel better. “Even Captain Quinn?”
“Alex? For days.” He sat back on his heels. “You were so worn out last night, we weren’t properly introduced.” He offered his hand. “I’m Sergeant Ash Carter.”
Sage sighed. “Of course you are.”
74
SAGE OUTLINED ALEX’S plan to Ash as he prepared a meal over a small fire. The smell of the blood in her clothes and hair killed her appetite, but she forced herself to eat. She had to put food in her mouth carefully, as her lips were split in two places. Chewing was also difficult, with her left cheek so bruised and scraped. At least her teeth and jaw felt intact.
Ash watched her eat a piece of camp bread—basically fried porridge—with her dirty fingers. “Are you a maid, then?”
She resisted the urge to shake her head. “No, I work for the matchmaker. I’ve been blending in with the ladies and helping Captain Quinn gather information. It’s a long story.”
“I look forward to hearing it.” He offered her a piece of squirrel meat. The way he looked at her made her slightly uncomfortable.
She cleared her throat as she took the piece from his hand. “When I first met Alex, he told me his name was Ash Carter. Are you the real Ash Carter, or is that just a name spies prefer?”
He smiled ironically. “I’m the real Ash. Normally it’s my job to gather information, but he wanted to give it a try and have me do some scouting. My story was already known and in place, so I suggested he use it rather than make up a whole new person.”
Sage considered the idea as she chewed. “You have to create an entire identity to be effective.” Ash nodded. “So you know Alex well? You were raised together?” Again he affirmed. “Are you really Prince Robert’s half brother?” He nodded. “Are you a sergeant rather than an officer so you won’t ever outrank him?”
He winced. “It seems you already know a lot about me.”
“Just those details. It might take a while to sort some things out in my head; your history is mixed up with his personality.”
Ash snickered. “Yeah, it’s kind of hard to keep that under wraps.” He studied her for several seconds. “Does he return your affections?”
Sage’s head jerked up. “My what?”
Ash looked surprised by her reaction. “Your affections,” he repeated slowly. “You care for him a great deal.”
“I don’t—”
“Oh, you don’t? My mistake, then.…” Ash popped a piece of meat into his mouth. “But it’s nothing to be ashamed of if you were—half the ladies I know would choose him over Robert. You should see the fuss whenever he shows up at court.”
Sage made a study of brushing crumbs from her jacket. It was still damp and most of them just smeared. “Which explains his expertise in the deception of women.”
“Not at all.” Ash sat back. “Alex is a bit … private with his inner thoughts, but those of us who know him well can usually tell what he’s got brewing in there.” He tapped his temple. “Once he’s decided on something, though, it usually comes out.”
“Yes,” Sage agreed. “And what ‘usually comes out’ is a lie. For starters, he said he was you.”
Ash smiled without humor. “I bet that hurt.”
Sage flinched. “I’m not some silly, sentimental schoolgirl—”
“I meant it hurt him,” Ash said calmly. “Did you ever imagine it from his perspective?�
� He picked up the spit stick and bowed it back and forth between his brown hands. “I tried to warn him. Playing spy is fun until you realize people don’t like you—they like what you’re pretending to be. And if they ever find out…” Ash shrugged and tossed the stick into the flames. “Well, then they hate you.”
I hate you. They had been nearly the first words out of her mouth. And his response had been—
I love you, Sage Fowler. Of everything I’ve said and done, that is truth.
Sage had been staring into space, but she brought her eyes back to focus on Ash, who wore an encouraging smile. “If he told you he cares for you, I suggest you believe it. Your feelings were obvious the first time you said his name.”
Sage squeezed her eyes shut against the threat of tears. It had all hurt so badly because she thought he had lied, but she understood now he hadn’t—not in any way that mattered. He had shown her the real Alex, the man beneath the rank. The Alex buried so deep even he had begun to forget existed. And then that Alex had laid his heart at her feet, knowing full well how she would react. An ache pulled at her chest from the inside as she remembered their parting and how she’d refused to even let him speak, and how he’d accepted her hate as something he deserved.
But she didn’t hate him; anger was a cloak she wore out of habit, even though it never brought lasting warmth. In truth, what she hated was how he’d drawn her out and made her care after years spent wrapped up in herself. She hated that he’d crippled her pride and exposed her flaws and loved her in spite, if not because, of them. She hated that she couldn’t bear the thought of a world without him.
She loved him.
She loved him, and she had to tell him before it was too late.
She opened her eyes to find Ash was grinning openly. “My only regret now is not taking that spy job as we’d originally planned—I would’ve met you first.” He shrugged in resignation. “Don’t worry, though, I know better than to get in his way.”