The Traitor's Kiss

by Erin Beaty

  Stephen and Dell arrived back in the cave just then. Ash had Dell collect a bucket of rainwater, and with it he set about cleaning the rest of her cuts and scrapes. She hadn’t even noticed half of them, including a long gash on her forehead at her hairline. The remainder of the water she used to rinse her hair out, but she didn’t bother with her clothes. Sage wrung cold water from her hair as the three soldiers readied their weapons and developed a plan to take out the fortress’s patrols.

  “How many will there be?” she asked.

  “We’ve seen as many as twenty walking sentries,” Ash said. “But in the last couple days it’s been more like eight or ten.”

  She nodded. “The sickness.”

  “Remind me to tell Alex that was brilliant. His father will be proud.”

  Sage concentrated on braiding her hair, unwilling to brag about her part in it. “So how can I help now?”

  “Would you consider staying here? It’s safer.” At that she looked up, and he snorted in laughter.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What’s so funny?”

  Stephen and Dell exchanged an amused glance. Ash shook his head. “Nothing. I just—I can see why he likes you. You’re stubborn as hell.”

  “So is he.” Sage had to smile. “That aside, I’m coming along.”

  “Can you handle a crossbow?” he asked.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Spear or sword?”

  She swallowed. “No.”

  “Knife?”

  “Only a little. And I lost mine.” Her confidence faded.

  Ash sighed. “Mistress Sage, I hate to say it, but unless you come up with something, I’ll have to insist you stay here, and I’m sure the captain would agree with me.”

  Sage looked down, cheeks burning. She didn’t want to be a burden, but she couldn’t stay away. There had to be something. The drawstring of Dell’s travel bag caught her eye, and she smiled.

  While the soldiers sorted through what they would take and what they’d leave behind, Sage got to work, borrowing Ash’s knife and cannibalizing a torn satchel for her purpose. When she showed Ash what she’d made, he frowned.

  “How good are you?”

  “Good enough to hunt with,” she replied.

  Ash’s frown remained, but he agreed to let her come when she promised to obey orders and stay out of the way. Stephen and Dell didn’t seem to mind her presence, especially when she proved she could keep up with their pace down the mountainside. When they reached the river, already swelling with the rain and melted snow, Ash halted and gestured for her to go ahead.

  Sage picked through the stones along the riverbed, searching for the ones with the best balance and smoothness. Ash watched with crossed arms. He still didn’t like the idea, and frankly she didn’t blame him. Her own courage faltered when she thought how long it had been since she’d used a sling, and she hadn’t yet tried out the one she’d cobbled together with the drawstring and a scrap of leather.

  She stuffed several round stones in her pockets. There wasn’t time to be picky. Hopefully she wouldn’t even need them. “I’ve got enough,” she called as she waded out of the frigid stream.

  Ash didn’t move. “If you wouldn’t mind a quick demonstration.”

  Sages swallowed nervously. “You’ll have to give me the first one. I’ve never used this sling.”

  “I’ll give you three tries.”

  She nodded and wove the knotted ends through her fingers. A perfect stone presented itself at her feet, and she swooped down to grab it. It was almost too good to waste on her first attempt, but she settled it in the leather pouch and pulled it taut. When she gave the weapon an experimental swing, she almost laughed. It felt like she’d never put a sling aside.

  “Try to hit that greenish knot on the fallen tree over there.” Ash pointed at a target twenty-five yards away.

  Sage spun the sling faster and focused on the spot he indicated. Don’t think. Just throw. The leather cup swished past her face right where she wanted, and she snapped her arm to release the stone. It sailed out and hit the log with a thunk, embedding itself in the soggy wood just below the target. She’d missed the knot by mere inches. When she recovered from her own shock, she put on a smug smile and turned to face him.

  “Will that do?”

  75

  ALEX DIDN’T KNOW whether to believe what D’Amiran had told Clare or not, but the duke obviously wanted him to think Sage was alive. He wanted Alex to come after her, which meant D’Amiran was ready.

  So was Alex.

  I’m coming, Sage.

  He knocked on the door, and the matchmaker opened it and let him into her suite.

  “Everyone’s here,” she said before he could ask. A glance around told him the count was low, and she gestured to the bedroom. “Some are changing. Their idea of dressing plainly isn’t the same as mine.”

  Alex nodded once and strode through the back door without knocking, eliciting several shrieks. None of the women were truly uncovered, though, and he was not in the mood for propriety. He pointed his finger at one girl and swept it around to the others. “All of you will follow me, be silent, and attract no attention. If you refuse to cooperate or allow yourselves to be left behind, you forfeit my protection.”

  A tall blonde stepped forward, chest heaving in what she must have believed was an attractive way, and put her hand on him. “What is the danger, sir?” she begged.

  He shifted his gaze to the painted nails clutching his arm. Jacqueline. He recalled the name and the venom stretching back to the first night. Sage had risked her life for this wretched woman. Suffered for her. He peeled her fingers off coldly.

  “Death.”

  The women were silent after that.

  After a quick nod from the soldier posted in the passage told him all was clear, Alex led them out. Each bride carried a bundled shawl as they walked down the steps to the laundry, three levels below the guest wing. With the shortened staff brought on by the sickness, along with the approaching midday meal, the area was deserted. His soldier brought up the rear and stood outside the door as Alex bent over and pulled the sewer drain open, trying not to think about the last time he’d done so. He looked up at over a dozen shocked faces.

  “In there?” cried one of the ladies.

  “Yes, and quickly.” He held out his arms. “Who’s first?”

  Lady Clare stepped forward without hesitation, pinning her skirts between her legs to make them smaller. He grasped her arms and lowered her down. “Move along the tunnel to make room.” He turned back to the group and held up his arms. “Next.” No one moved, so Mistress Rodelle shoved the nearest girl at him. As he lowered her, her dress caught on the opening, and she went down with it flipped over her head. The rest tucked their skirts as Clare had.

  Jacqueline arranged herself last, and Alex eyed her voluminous skirt while she simpered at him. “I don’t think you can fit through.” He pulled out a knife and jabbed it into the fabric and ripped off the excess as she protested. “Quiet,” he snapped. Once she disappeared into the darkness, he kicked the remainder of her dress down after her. Now he faced the matchmaker alone.

  “I’m going to get her back,” he said.

  Mistress Rodelle smiled a little. “I know.”

  She held out her arms, and Alex lowered her below, then tossed a burlap sack down, explaining it contained some food, water, and several daggers. As he sealed the stone grate over them, pressing dirt into the cracks, he overheard the matchmaker warn she’d cut out the tongue of any lady who complained. Alex smiled grimly. He had little doubt she’d be willing to carry out her threat.

  * * *

  Alex and Charlie crept up the stairs of the keep. The duke and his guests had all gone to the Great Hall for the noon meal, so each level was empty or nearly so. The duke’s quarters were silent as they passed and continued higher.

  Alex headed for the very top of the tower and the watch standers. As always, it pained him to use Charlie, but he couldn’t waste a
fighter, and hopefully the boy would be safer doing this job. Since Sage hadn’t made it to the pickets, he’d decided to call them in, and the signal would also be used to begin their attack. Luck was with them, and just as they approached the trapdoor, it opened and one of the guards came down the steep wooden steps, grumbling to his companion that he couldn’t wait any longer to use the privy. When he reached the bottom, his attention was caught by Charlie juggling two small casks. They danced around each other in the dark space as the boy stammered apologies. When the soldier’s back was to the shadows, Alex stepped out and clamped a hand over the man’s mouth as he buried a long dagger in his back, angling up to pierce the kidney. The intense pain caused the man to jerk once and drop straight down. Alex caught him and dragged him backward down the stone steps and finished the job out of Charlie’s sight.

  Alex wiped his bloody knife on the man’s shirt and ascended again, signaling Charlie to go ahead. The boy nodded and ambled up the steps to the platform. He had the last two packets of red blaze with him, and they expected the guards had a steady fire in the bowl to keep warm. Alex pulled the hinge pins of the stairs and listened as his brother conversed with the remaining guard; then Charlie came bounding down the wet wooden steps as the guard yelled, “What the hell?”

  The instant the guard’s foot hit the top step in pursuit, Alex released his support and the stairs collapsed, dumping the man in a crash under the trapdoor and smacking his head on the way down. Alex drew his sword and rammed it through the guard’s heart before he could untangle himself. He pulled the blade out and looked over at Charlie, who stared at the shuddering body with wide eyes.

  Alex stepped over the corpse. “Hey,” he said, grabbing the boy’s chin and turning his frightened brown eyes up to his own face. “You have a job to do, soldier. Focus.” Charlie swallowed and nodded. “Let’s go.” Alex boosted his brother up through the opening and leaned down to drag the dead guard off the steps. He tossed the staircase up onto the wooden platform. “Use that to help hold the door down.”

  “His crossbow is still up here,” Charlie called as he lugged the trapdoor shut.

  “Be ready to use it if you have to.”

  “Yes, sir.” Charlie peeked down at him one last time, red smoke billowing behind him. “Alex,” he called, and their eyes met. “Good luck.”

  “Be safe, kid.” The door slammed down, and he heard the bar slide across it. Sword in hand, Alex bounded down the stone staircase.

  He had a man to kill.

  76

  D’AMIRAN PACED IN front of the fireplace of the Great Hall as his guests straggled in for the midday meal. The escort’s muster would be assembling now, and Geddes would drop his hint that the girl had been in the duke’s private chambers all along. Quinn could fill in the blanks. The boy would charge into the trap without thinking, and D’Amiran would have his execution, right in time for everyone to see it.

  The ladies would be kept inside the hall, of course, but everyone else could step out to the ward. They’d hang him. Let him dangle and twitch and shit himself while his men watched, surrounded and helpless. The duke could hardly wait.

  D’Amiran stopped pacing and looked up. The ladies hadn’t arrived yet. Perhaps they were coming to the back of the hall, through the keep, to avoid the rain. Still, they should’ve been here by now. None were ill as of that morning, which was more than he could say for his own people.

  Shouts from the far end of the hall pulled the duke from his thoughts. People rushed in the doors, yelling about a fire in the courtyard. The stained-glass windows scattered drops of color across the room with the flames behind them—flames that raged high and bright despite the hours of rain. Soldiers ushered more people inside, calling for them to run for their lives.

  Soldiers in black. Quinn’s riders.

  Within the space of a few breaths, nearly all D’Amiran’s allies were in the Great Hall. The crowd parted as Captain Quinn pushed his way through, his sword drawn and bloody.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

  D’Amiran took several stumbling steps backward as Quinn grabbed a servant and shoved him against the wall with a sword at his stomach. After a brief exchange, the Demoran captain dropped the man and swept dark, wrathful eyes across every face in the room, searching for the ones he wanted. When those eyes focused on him, D’Amiran saw his own death waiting.

  He turned and fled.

  77

  ALEX SHOVED THROUGH the crowd in the Great Hall. The panicked face of D’Amiran’s manservant caught his eye, and he grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. With the point of his bloody sword against the man’s belly, Alex demanded what he needed to know. “Where’s the girl?”

  “What girl?” the man gasped.

  Alex pushed the blade through the first layer of the servant’s jacket. “The guards brought a girl in last night. Where did they put her?”

  White showed all around the man’s irises. “I never saw a girl!”

  “Would they have put her in the dungeon?” He pressed harder

  The man screamed as the sword pierced flesh. “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

  Alex dropped him in disgust, and the man fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. People scattered out of his way as he continued his search until he found himself facing D’Amiran from across the room. The duke’s eyes widened when he saw him, and he turned and ran for the back door, which hadn’t been sealed off yet.

  Alex sprinted after him, instincts screaming that the duke was going to wherever Sage was being held, and he would kill her. Several yards out of the hall, Alex had to make a choice: up toward the duke’s rooms, straight into the keep, or down toward the dungeons and storerooms. He paused and listened for indications of which way he should go. Then he chose down.

  78

  AS SOON AS the red smoke appeared, the guards on the outer walls began falling, crossbow bolts buried deep in their chests and backs. Once satisfied, Lieutenant Casseck leaned out of the inner gatehouse and gave a shrill whistle. The Stiller brothers and two companions ducked out of the already smoking armory, carrying casks of alcohol and bellows stolen from the smithy. They reached the barracks and split up, one pair leaving a leaking barrel by the door as they passed.

  Casseck watched them pry open their casks and pour alcohol into the bellows, praying no one in the barracks had lit a candle or the whole thing would go up before the teams could get away. Both pairs began pumping the flammable mist through open windows on either end, and he held up a hand to signal to Archer down the wall several yards, who lit the pitch on his arrow.

  Not yet.

  He thought he heard shouting coming from inside the barracks, but the large tent set up in the inner ward had just caught fire, so it was hard to tell with all the noise echoing off the stone walls. Tim Stiller stood up to heave the bellows through the window and his partner tossed in the half-empty cask.

  Casseck raised his arm higher and Archer drew back his bowstring, aiming for the open window.

  Both pairs raced away from the barracks, diving under the first solid shelter they could find. The door to the barracks burst open, and guards stumbled out, rubbing their eyes and coughing. One tripped over the leaking barrel, and it spilled open.

  Casseck dropped his arm.

  Archer loosed the arrow, and the barracks exploded before either could duck behind the wall.

  79

  SAGE, DELL, STEPHEN, and Ash were within a mile of Tegann Fortress when red smoke began billowing from the top of the keep. A few minutes later, one of the flags was pulled down, and the smoke began rising in a pattern of puffs. They couldn’t see the person responsible.

  Ash grinned. “Looks like the party started early.” He pointed to Sage. “You, find somewhere to lie low. We’ll take out the sentries as they come back.”

  Sage looked around. “How about a tree? I can get a better look at what’s going on inside as well.” She gestured to a large evergreen. Most of the other tre
es hadn’t fully grown back their leaves.

  “Good idea. We’ll come back and find you when we’re done. Need a boost?” he offered.

  The walk had loosened her sore muscles and adrenaline flowed through her veins. Sage jumped up to catch the limb she wanted and hooked her legs over the next one. Then she pulled herself up and disappeared in a shower of pine needles.

  “I guess that’s a no.” Ash signaled to his companions and they moved out, weapons ready.

  * * *

  From her vantage in the tree, Sage saw movement on the inner and outer walls of the fortress. With the rain it was difficult to distinguish the colors of the livery. Black smoke poured from the inner ward. Must be the tents. Soon after, flames licked up the walls of the eastern armory. The rain would put out the fires eventually, but they’d been started with oil that was staged in slowly leaking barrels to soak into their surroundings.

  The plan was to create panic that made everyone easy to herd into one place, take out as many of the posted guards as possible within the first few minutes, and secure the inner walls. Gaining the entire fortress was ideal, but the soldiers were prepared to fall back to the inner bailey or the keep itself if necessary.

  Before making the decision, however, they’d wreck the outer ward as much as possible. The soldier on the top of the keep was barely visible as he swung a sodden flag. Sage caught a glimpse of him through the smoke and realized he wasn’t crouched over—the soldier was only as tall as the fire bowl itself. Charlie. Her gut twisted, but Alex must’ve had no choice. The boy was probably safer up there anyway.

  As Sage squinted to see if the plan for the barracks had worked, it abruptly went up in one large, expanding flash, though the sound didn’t reach her for several seconds. The success gave her morbid satisfaction, and she wondered how many she’d just killed with her idea. A man on the outer bailey was blown off his feet and over the side of the stone wall. His arms flailed uselessly as he fell to his death, and she turned away, feeling sick.