The Queen's Assassin Page 11

  He pulls out the paper and opens it with one hand. “This is fake. A decent one, but fake all the same.”

  The fact that he knows that instantly makes my stomach turn. The only reason I wasn’t caught straightaway is because the guard in the wagon was too dull-witted to notice. “We don’t have time to argue. Because there is someone in this prison who was sent here to kill you and it’s not me.”

  He looks me up and down. That revelation didn’t get the reaction I wanted. “No, she wouldn’t send you. Who are you really?” He pulls on my wrist and twists it. “A spy?” he demands, scrutinizing my face.

  “No!” I pull away from him. He lets me go this time. He does believe me, then. I snatch the paper out of his hand and put it back in my pocket. “I told you! You’re wasting time. The queen sent me to you for training. Getting you out was my first assignment.”

  “You’re to be my apprentice?” He looks confused. “She knows I work alone.”

  “Look, there’s nothing else I can do to prove it, but if you want to get out of here—”

  “Well, first of all, how about giving me your name?” he says. “Since you already know mine.”

  “Caledon,” I say, stalling for time.

  “Name’s Cal,” he corrects. “No one calls me Caledon but my father and the queen.”

  Reluctantly, I answer him. “My name is Shadow of the Honey Glade. My aunts Moriah and Mesha are part of the Guild.” He may not know me, but his father knew my aunts well. I wait for some kind of recognition, but none arrives.

  “Shadow. Awfully unusual name for a boy, isn’t it?”

  That’s all he has to say? He clearly doesn’t remember me or my aunts. My face burns red. “Maybe because I’m not a boy.”

  Then I see it—his face lights up for the first time. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dirty scrap of fabric, holds it up for me to see. A bit worse for wear, but it’s the handkerchief I gave him in Serrone. “Do you know anything about this?”

  “Of course I do. I gave it to you,” I say, and his face changes.

  “Why?”

  “You saved my life once. And now it’s my turn to save yours.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Caledon

  “THAT WAS YOU?” HE SAYS. “At the abbey?”

  She nods. Cal’s mind is reeling. He can’t reconcile the memory of the strange girl from Baer Abbey with the one in Serrone and the person standing before him now. They were all so different. One a mysterious black-clad combatant, one a demure merchant girl, and now . . . This is who the queen chose as her messenger? Why not send a man from the Guild? The girl’s absurd disguise would barely pass the Guild’s standards . . . It doesn’t make sense to him, any of it, but Queen Lilianna must have her reasons. She always does. And the girl did give him the handkerchief: You’re not alone, she said.

  He can see out of the corner of his eye that she’s still shaking. She’s terrified, Cal thinks. And he doesn’t fault her for it. That all could have ended much differently. She’s clearly a novice, but if she’s from a Guild family, she knows exactly who and what he is. He feels sorry for threatening her, but he couldn’t have known. She’ll get over it. She’ll have to if they’re going to get out of here. “Explain the forgery, then.”

  “I told you, I had to convince the queen I was worthy, so I had to do everything myself. Now we need to go,” she says. “Listen—I hitched a ride here on a prisoner transport carrying a spy from Montrice. I overheard him talking to the guard, about you and the Aphrasians and Alast. He’s somewhere in this fortress. I think he’s here to kill you.”

  A Montrician spy. Of course their enemies have made their move after hearing of the grand prince’s murder. Cal thinks quickly, weighing whether he should stay to take care of this new threat before leaving.

  “I know where we can get horses,” she says. “I’ve been working in the stables.”

  “You mentioned that.” This is not what he expected when Queen Lilianna said she would send someone for him. But Shadow knows about Montrice. She managed to infiltrate the prison and find him, so he supposes it has to be her. But he can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right, though he can’t be sure if he’s not thinking clearly because of his confinement. “We should deal with the Montrician agent first,” he finally says.

  She walks in front of Cal without addressing what he’s said. He follows her into the hall. “Where is he?” Cal asks.

  “I haven’t seen him since we got here. But he’s already imprisoned. It’s a waste of time, don’t you think? Why pick a fight we don’t need?”

  He’s about to argue, but she’s not wrong, and they need to make their escape soon if they mean to leave undetected. He decides to agree for now.

  They descend the tower stairs. “There are two guards stationed at the front,” she says. “But they seem to get bored and wander off a lot. And there’s that card game in the dining hall tonight . . .”

  He nods; he’s been keeping tabs as well, and he memorized the map of the castle he’d made when he first arrived. “This way,” he says as he leads them out toward the back.

  The sound of out-of-tune instruments playing disjointed songs floats into the dark hallway. “Good,” she says. “They’ll never hear us over all that racket.”

  Curious girl, he thinks to himself. The way she’s taking charge, it’s almost as if she thinks she’s the one saving him. Entertaining as it is, he supposes she is sort of rescuing him, even if he could have overtaken the guards and been on his way out of Deersia on his own. But his orders were to wait. Regardless, he’s rather enjoying the charade.

  They back up against the wall and inch toward the dining room. Cal nods at the swords leaning against the wall outside the entrance. Shadow nods in agreement. They will take them.

  She studies the open doorway and closes her eyes for a moment. Then she opens them and urgently waves her hand down. They both crouch just as a guard walks into the hall. The man glances in their direction but doesn’t see anything amiss. He turns and heads the other way.

  Shadow puts her hand over her heart and exhales softly. Cal’s not worried, though—amused is more like it.

  They continue sliding along the wall until they get close to the door.

  Now they just need to slip past the doorway without being noticed. Shadow gets down on her hands and knees and peeks into the room. Then, in a flash, she’s on the other side, grabbing a sword. Cal stays low and moves next to her, then chooses a blade for himself.

  They move quickly through the hallway until they reach a side entrance off the kitchens. Cal’s about to open it but Shadow puts up a hand to stop him. He rolls his eyes and tries not to sigh. He can tell no one is there. He’d hear boots stomping. As he pushes the door open, she grabs his arm, for all of a sudden he’s face-to-face with the guard who’d left the dining hall earlier.

  Without thinking, he drives his sword through the man’s stomach, then yanks it straight back out. The man’s exclamation gurgles in his throat, arms flailing wildly. Cal steps away as the man collapses.

  Shadow’s breath hitches.

  Cal walks through the doorway and continues on the path leading away from the building. He is clearly out of sorts from day after day of insufficient food and movement. If she hadn’t warned him, it might have been him lying crumpled on the floor with a sword through his belly, blank dead eyes wide-open in shock. He looks back. It won’t be long before someone finds the body. But they don’t have time to hide it.

  He shakes off the thought, and they creep down the path toward the stables. Shadow leads them around the side. “The stable boys sleep in the loft, so try to stay quiet. We’ll take the horses closest to the door and head straight down the path to the main road. We should make it all the way to Alvilla before anyone notices.” The village is far enough away to make a safe haven.

  He nods. They creep
inside the barn, trying not to make any loud noises or sudden movements that would startle the horses.

  They begin to saddle up when a whiny voice calls out from the far end of the loft. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” An angry blond boy is peering down at them over the loft rail.

  “Luce,” Shadow snarls.

  In the time it takes her to yell, “Go! Now!” Luce is already climbing down the ladder. He gets about halfway, then jumps the rest and chases after them.

  Shadow has already mounted her horse and started for the lane leading to the gate, but Luce catches up to her and pulls on her leg.

  Cal leaves his horse and runs after them, then tackles Luce to the ground. But the boy kicks him hard in the ribs and gets up first, so Cal grabs Luce’s ankle and twists his leg so hard that he slams to the hard-packed ground, belly-first. Cal gets to his feet; so does Luce. Both are covered in dirt from the stable floor. Cal is breathing heavily, annoyed at how winded he is; it should be easy to get rid of this snot-nosed stable boy. Then Shadow runs up, grabs Luce by the back of his shirt, and drags him away.

  Luce turns to lunge at Shadow but misses.

  “Go back to bed,” Cal calls to Luce. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

  Luce laughs and turns back to Cal. “You’re gonna hang for this,” he says, then looks to his right and grabs a pitchfork from the wall. He aims it at Cal, walking toward him. “Be a shame if I impale you to the fence first, though. Deprive everyone of the public show—”

  Luce is caught on the word. He rises a couple inches off the ground, feet dangling. Shadow has him by the back of his shirt. She grabbed and twisted the fabric so it’s choking him. “Should have gone back to bed,” she says. Luce drops the pitchfork and struggles to release the shirt from his neck.

  Shadow walks a few feet, up to the fence, and tosses Luce over the side. There’s a squishy plop and splash as he lands in the pigsty.

  Applause erupts from the loft. A row of faces is staring down at them, laughing.

  “It’s not funny!” Luce yells, his voice cracking and hoarse, only making them laugh harder. He tries again: “Oy! Go get ’em!” One of the boys oinks in return. More follow, until a chorus of oinks and squeals bounces off the stable walls. They’re far more interested in the humiliation of their ringleader than the escaped prisoner—or they don’t want to end up in the pigsty alongside him.

  Cal and Shadow get back on their horses. He tries to suppress a grin—he enjoyed watching her throw that kid into the slop. So this is what it’s like to be rescued. He could get used to this. He wonders what else she can do, but there’s no time. Her antics with the boy have drawn too much attention already. It won’t be long before the guards realize something is going on outside.

  Cal grasps the reins and rides on after her, through the castle gates and toward the mountain trail that will lead them away from Deersia.

  It’s a good thing the moon is nearly full tonight, he thinks. Or we’d never make it down the mountain. It feels as if the universe is conspiring to help them. He gives silent thanks to Deia for that.

  They stay close to the inside of the trail, near denser foliage, trying to stay somewhat concealed as they approach the gate. “Even if Luce already alerted the guards, it’s dark and they’re too drunk to bother coming after us tonight. More likely they’ll put out a notice for us first thing in the morning, and by then we’ll be long gone,” Shadow says. It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than him.

  “Don’t be so sure,” he says. He murdered the grand prince. He’s a high-profile prisoner. Valuable enough to chase no matter the time of day.

  They slip through the gate without a problem. Shadow has the key ring, and there isn’t a guard in sight. But Shadow doesn’t look pleased. “What is it?” he asks her.

  “I don’t know,” she answers. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

  Cal shrugs. “Like you said, they’re all out by now. There’s nothing to worry about.” That’s what he says, because that’s what he hopes.

  They get about half a mile down the road before discovering there is something to be worried about, after all.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Shadow

  MY HEART IS BEATING SO hard in my chest, and my arm aches from tossing Luce into the pigsty. But we managed it! We escaped from Deersia! I have Caledon Holt riding beside me, and freedom is within our grasp—until we see a group of prison guards standing in the road ahead, right after the bend, as if they’ve been waiting for us.

  I pull on the reins and my horse rears up, belting out a piercing neigh. Next to me I see Cal gripping his reins and leaning forward, digging his heels into the side of his mount. “Keep going!” he yells. We can charge right through them; they’re on foot. They’ll have to move or be trampled. And they’ll never catch up without something to ride.

  Grabbing on tight to keep steady, I lower my upper body and prepare to bolt forward, following Cal as he runs through the guards, except one of them is able to grab his foot and pull him from the horse. They struggle on the ground, the guard attempting to overpower him but failing. Cal lands a punch directly on the guard’s cheek, but he barely pauses before coming back at Cal.

  Then Cal gets a burst of energy. A low growl erupts from him and he charges forward, knocking the guard onto his back. The two guards on the road start toward us. Cal yanks the guard’s sword away and pierces him in the heart. But there are more, and they soon surround him. Cal takes another down, and another; he is fearless and relentless and frightening in his speed and skill, but they keep coming.

  Someone appears on my left and grabs my leg. I swing my sword at him but miss, as I’m losing my balance; I slide off the side of the horse, which is now in great distress, pawing back and forth in the dirt. I hit the ground, landing hard on my left arm, which softens the blow to my head and torso but does some serious damage to my elbow. A lightning bolt of pain shoots up my arm. I flinch and yelp in agony—I can’t help it—then immediately pull myself up, trying to favor the sore arm as much as possible.

  I take a clumsy swipe at the guard with my sword, but hurt and winded and taken by surprise, I miss again. He catches my wrist and twists. I drop the sword. I try to shake him off but he grabs my other arm and twists it behind my back.

  “Let me go!” I struggle against him but he yanks my arms again and immobilizes me. Nearby, Cal is faring no better—he lies facedown on the ground, his arms stuck behind his back as well, the guard’s knee pressing into his spine.

  We’re trapped. This was an utter failure.

  Worse, we’re both in deeper trouble than when we started.

  We have to get out.

  That’s when I remember a story Aunt Moriah told me once, about how she learned to conjure a power inside herself stronger than she ever dreamed she possessed. She’d been backed into a corner by an assailant, but her fury propelled her onward in that moment—perhaps I can do the same.

  I close my eyes and concentrate, directing all my energy inward, willing my power to consolidate in the pit of my stomach. I feel it, hot, gaining strength. The guard is pulling me. But my feet are planted in the ground. I imagine them becoming one with the earth, growing roots, staying put. Stronger than any man. The guard is getting frustrated; I can hear him yelling, demanding I obey, but he’s outside of me somewhere, as if I were underwater and he were shouting from above. It’s muted here, and tranquil.

  And I control what happens. Not the guard.

  I ask the energy to come through me now. I feel it as a white-hot orb, quivering, ready to be unleashed. Legs solid, rooted, I prepare to knock the guard across the road.

  I picture the orb; I release it. Everything in slow motion, with force, like moving through water . . .

  But instead of attacking the guard, I’m knocked forward, slammed into the ground. I gasp to breathe, air sucked out of my lungs. Wh
at just happened?

  The sounds around me waver back into focus. Voices are suddenly booming; leaves rustling more like crackling; animals hooting and chirping and howling, all bouncing off my pounding head.

  I’m yanked to my feet, but my legs give out under me. The guard pulls me again and drags me along while I shuffle and scurry to get my bearings.

  The guard laughs. “Tricky little witch, are you? Didn’t expect that, I bet.” He laughs.

  My vision is blurred, but becoming clearer. I zero in on something I hadn’t noticed before: He’s wearing a shiny black plate over his chest. Not full-vest armor, just a diamond-shaped piece of dark metal sewn into his uniform. No, not metal, it looks almost like black liquid flowing directly under the surface.

  Is it some sort of shield? It has to be; it repelled my magic.

  “Hang on. They’re slowin’ us down. Let’s throw ’em on the horse,” one of the guards says about me and Cal. “I’m not carrying this kid all the way.”

  “Fine,” the guard with the black shield responds. He lifts me up and tosses me, stomach down, onto a horse. They think we’re too weakened to put up much of a fight. Two of them walk in front and lead the horses; the other two walk behind us. I move my head enough to see Cal on the horse next to me. His wrists are tied behind his back, as are mine, but if I can regain enough energy . . . maybe I can try again.

  I try to see if the other guards have the same protective plate on their chests, but it’s too difficult to see. The shield deflected a force of energy directed at a specific person, but can it deflect a natural spell? Can it stop a weirding call? There’s only one way to find out.

  Besides, what were Deersia prison guards doing out in the woods anyway?

  This doesn’t make sense. We were far from the main gate, which was bolted shut, and almost all the guards were busy at that card game. So why were they here . . . ?