The Queen's Assassin Page 13

  He assents.

  We get ready as if for a race, bent low, prepared to bolt. The two forces get closer and closer . . . there’s a clamoring of hooves, boots, and steel behind us; the dogs are coming right around the bend, and a clash of a horde booming from the other direction, just as loud and unstoppable. Cal doesn’t need my extrasensory strength to hear either one anymore.

  Nearer still. Cal looks at me, his eyebrows knit together. I shake my head. He doesn’t look convinced but he doesn’t move either. The dogs are so close. They can definitely see us at this point. Cal looks like he’s about to go with or without me.

  “Wait!” I shout over the noise. The clamoring gets louder. “Now!”

  We take off down the road just before the dogs lead their masters right to us—just as a stampede of deer charges across the trail directly in front of them, blocking their path.

  I hear men yelling and dogs barking furiously. The deer stampede continues, giving us the distraction we need to get away. The confusion should mask our scent and throw the dogs off our trail.

  Once we’ve put enough distance between us and the hunting party, we slow the horses down to a trot. I don’t hear our pursuers anymore. “That was close.” I start laughing and can’t stop. I’m so relieved that it worked.

  But if I’m looking for praise or thanks, there will be none from him. “Best to get where we’re going without any more excitement,” Cal says. “I’d like to survive the rest of the way, if you don’t mind. We’ll ride until we get into town.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say, unafraid to hide the annoyance in my tone.

  Cal says nothing. Just clops on ahead of me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Caledon

  ALVILLA IS A TINY BORDER village nestled in a valley, the last proper town before crossing the invisible line between Renovia and Montrice. It’s typically populated by a mix of local farmers, shopkeepers, trade merchants, and diplomats, as well as some unsavory types; a place accustomed to outsiders and unusual people. So nobody pays much mind to two strangers on horseback.

  Cal is still uncomfortable, however. There are too many people around for his liking. Out of habit he reaches to pull a hood up over his head, then remembers he doesn’t have one. Maybe I can buy one in town, he thinks. Too bad I can’t get cleaned up properly first, though. He’s in desperate need of a hot bath.

  He’s still a bit angry at Shadow for insisting on taking the forest trail. Even if she rescued them from her own mistake, they could have been captured or killed. The closer they get to leaving the relative safety of Renovia, the more irritated he feels.

  He should probably get rid of her. Leave her behind somewhere and continue the journey alone. She can go back to Renovia. He’ll send a message to the queen that the girl was a liability. Except it seems Queen Lilianna wanted the girl to be with him, for whatever reason. He’ll have to deal with having a shadow—ha!—for at least a while longer. He’ll just have to be more assertive, stop allowing her to make decisions she isn’t qualified to make. Sent by the crown or not, Montrice is his task—he is the Queen’s Assassin. She may have been ordered to release him from Deersia, but she isn’t equipped to deal with the Aphrasian traitor.

  Shadow seems to know exactly where she wants to go. She leads them directly to a tavern in the middle of town. They dismount and tie up the horses; there’s a water trough for the animals, and they can keep an eye on them from one of the tavern’s front windows.

  They walk inside and sit down at a small table. A man holding a dirty rag in one hand shouts at them from across the room. “The missus will bring out some salt meat and ale for ya. Four coppers apiece.” He disappears through a door in back.

  “Thank you kindly, good sir!” Shadow shouts back, a bit too jovially.

  Cal leans toward her. “Do you have any coin? Because I do not.”

  “I do,” she says, avoiding his gaze.

  “Why don’t I believe that?” Cal says. “Look, if you were given coin for the trip, we should save it for Montrice.”

  When she doesn’t answer him right away, he says, “We should leave.”

  “But I’m hungry,” she says with a frown.

  Cal sighs. “I might have something to eat,” he says, motioning to the drawstring pouch under his shirt in which he’d carefully collected food scraps for his escape. “Or we can catch something if need be.”

  “Those moldy old biscuits you’ve been dragging around with you? Very kind of you to offer, but no thank you.” She sits up straight and shouts toward the back room: “A loaf of your freshest bread alongside that salted meat, good sir?”

  “Beats stealing,” Cal hisses back at her. “You want more people chasing us? Because I’m not a beggar. Or a thief.”

  “Ouch!” Shadow puts her hand to her heart. “Of course I can pay for the food,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Why would you assume I’m going to steal it?”

  He frowns. It’s because he never has any coin of his own. Since she hired him from the Guild, Queen Lilianna rarely sends him off with any—too easily robbed and would attract too much attention. She sets up places for him to stay and the like instead. Of course, now that he thinks of it, he has neither Her Majesty’s coin nor largesse at hand. “You truly have coin?”

  She shrugs.

  “Let me see it, then,” Cal says to Shadow. He isn’t about to be fooled into eating a meal that won’t be paid for.

  She reaches into the side of her trousers and pulls out a small leather pouch from a hidden pocket. She loosens the top and shows Cal a handful of shiny gold coins inside. Just one of them is more than enough to pay for this meal, and the next three after that. He raises his eyebrows and calls out toward the back room: “Make that two loaves of bread for the weary travelers, please.”

  Eager as he is for his first real meal in over a month, it is still infuriating to think that the queen lavished so much coin on this green apprentice. The queen was never so generous with him—certainly not before an assignment was fulfilled, either. But at least they will be able to eat.

  * * *

  BELLIES FULL OF MUTTON and fresh bread slathered in creamy butter, they step back onto the wood-slatted sidewalk. Cal is practically delirious with happiness; he can’t remember the last time he ate so well, the memory of Deersia porridge is too strong. “Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to spend the night here. Rest up some,” he says. “Then head into Montrice early tomorrow.” The luxurious meal has altered his outlook considerably. If she has coin, why should they suffer? The thought of a real bed, even an old lumpy one in a tavern lodge—not to mention the possibility of a bath—is so enticing that he forgets he’s the one who didn’t want to stay in Alvilla to begin with. “We can make arrangements for our introduction to Montrice.”

  “Wonder if that inn down the road back there has any vacancies?” Shadow says. They’d passed a two-story wattle-and-daub building on the way into town.

  “Not sure that’s a place for a lady,” Cal says. “If you know what I mean.”

  She scoffs at that. “I’m not some delicate flower . . .”

  “Clearly,” he says, then puts his hand up to quiet her. “Hold on.” He sees a man tacking a sign to a fence post. When he’s finished, he walks back inside his shop—a print shop. The two of them approach the fence to read the sign up close:

  **NOTICE**

  ESCAPED PRISONER

  ARMED AND DANGEROUS

  MAY BE TRAVELING WITH HOSTAGE

  **DO NOT APPROACH**

  ALERT DEERSIA AUTHORITIES IMMEDIATELY

  There are two crude charcoal sketches on the poster. One shows a man with an exaggerated upturned nose and bulging eyes over a wild mane of uneven hair and a patchy beard. Underneath the drawing it says, CALEDON HOLT, ARMED AND DANGEROUS. “Terrible likeness,” Cal says, frowning. “Ears are all wrong.” The other drawin
g shows a handsome young boy with chiseled features and wavy, tousled brown hair, one eyebrow cocked, smiling mischievously: IDENTITY UNKNOWN.

  Cal looks at Shadow and then at the picture and back at her again. “Surely they can’t be serious. Did you give them this description yourself? Because—”

  “Shame,” Shadow says, shaking her head. “They gave you way too much beard. Yours is actually a bit shorter and gnarlier than that. Otherwise, though . . .”

  “You continue to amuse,” Cal says. He looks inside the shop. The printer is still operating the press; he’s making more posters. Soon they’ll be hung all over town.

  “Guess we won’t be staying,” Cal says, noticing a young mother and her two small children staring at them from across the lane.

  This time, Cal and Shadow agree. The sooner they get out of Renovia, the better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Shadow

  ONCE WE’RE SAFELY OUTSIDE THE village limits, we decide we’ll make do with camping overnight in one of the nearby hill caves before tackling the last stretch into Montrice. The most direct route over the border, a narrow passage between two mountains, is visible in the distance.

  “We’ll be too exposed in the gully. I think we should take the high pass,” Cal says.

  “But the gully would be much faster,” I reply. “I thought that was what we wanted—to get off the road as quickly as possible?”

  Cal exhales loudly.

  I hear rustling nearby. I pull back and motion for Cal to move away from the clearing. We steer the horses off the trail behind a dense thicket. From there I’m able to see what caused the noise ahead of us.

  About a dozen Aphrasian monks, wearing their telltale gray robes, are gathered around a clear blue spring, resting their horses. We almost wandered straight into them—and a fight.

  These aren’t the same men who were attacked by the owls and the wolves, but perhaps they are from the same company.

  Cal peers through the trees. “Do you recognize any of them?” I ask him. He shakes his head no. “Let me look,” I tell him. He has the best vantage point where he’s standing. He moves aside to let me get in next to him. Our faces press close together so we can both see at the same time. His beard is scratchy against my cheek.

  At first I don’t know who any of the men are, either. None of them look familiar. An older gentleman with a haughty air is ordering them about.

  “Wait here,” I tell Cal.

  He grabs my arm to stop me. “What are you doing?”

  I look down at his hand and he removes it. I make a point to smooth my sleeve where he grabbed it. He rolls his eyes at the gesture but I pretend not to notice. “I’m going to divert them. Then you will escape into the high pass. I’ll meet you there.”

  “No.” Cal shakes his head. “No, you will not. I’ll figure out what to do.”

  “Really? You agreed that we should go through the woods.”

  “Just so you’d stop badgering me about it. And that nearly got us killed.”

  My face immediately scrunches in disgust. “And you’ve never made a mistake before? I do happen to know a thing or two. I was also raised by the Guild.”

  His gaze hardens on my own. “What exactly do you suggest?” Cal says. I know he’s humoring me, but I’ll take it.

  “I’ll distract them. You go on to the high pass. I’ll find you there.”

  Cal shakes his head again. “That’s the same plan! If they attack, you won’t be able to fend them off alone.”

  He may be right. Then again, maybe not. In the short time since I left home I’ve discovered that I have far more strength and power than I ever knew. Plus I’m determined to prove him wrong. “Let me worry about that.”

  “Impossible. You can’t fight that many men. Or outrun them. Even if you managed to get away, you’d lead them straight to us. I’ll check the other side and see if there’s another way around. Wait here.”

  I look up into the trees that surround the spring. While Cal wastes time coming up with another plan, I decide to go ahead with my own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Caledon

  WHERE’S SHADOW?

  Cal looks around but doesn’t see her anywhere. He almost yells out to her, but he stops himself; the monks might hear.

  A chunk of leaves falls on his head from above. He looks up. A glimpse of fabric and skinny arms flash by him. Shadow is maneuvering through the thick trees, as adept as a predator, trying to get closer to the spring.

  Cal curses under his breath. “I told you—”

  “Too late,” Shadow whispers down from over his head. “Just get ready.”

  “We weren’t finished discussing this,” he hisses back.

  “I was,” she says, then hauls herself up to another branch.

  She has gumption, he has to give her that. She just doesn’t know when to rein it in. Cal draws his sword and watches, waiting to see what she’s going to do. All is calm, and then a sudden silence descends: Birds stop chirping; even the breeze seems to halt.

  Seconds later something whizzes through the air. There’s a thunk, and one of the monks’ horses rears up and whinnies, followed immediately by another thunk and another frightened horse, and then they’re all rearing and whinnying and running, scattering in every direction. The men, alarmed and confused, begin chasing after them, yelling for them to stop and come back.

  Stones begin flying at the men now, too; three of them are hit, falling to the ground. A couple of the men draw their bows and begin shooting arrows toward the trees, trying to strike their hidden enemy. Shadow.

  Without another thought Cal runs out from behind the trees and leaps into the fray, swinging his sword. The men turn their bows toward him. An arrow flies by his head. He knocks the bow from the man’s grip and aims his sword for the man’s neck, slicing it open. The man crumples to the ground. Yet another appears beside Cal and takes aim at him with a sword. Cal spots another archer and sees him draw his bow. He ducks, hitting the ground just as the arrow whizzes by, striking his attacker instead. It feels great, flexing his fighting arm again. The others have given up on the horses to join the battle; they charge toward Cal, yelling at the top of their lungs. Rocks are still flying through the air, and a couple of them hit their target. Meanwhile, Cal drives his sword through the back of a monk; a large stone finishes off the other, clocking him squarely in the face. The last three monks run off into the woods, one bleeding from the side of the head, where another of Shadow’s stones got him.

  Their leader jumps onto a horse and begins riding away—with Cal following close behind. But before he can loosen his bow, the man is hit by a stone, jerks back, and tumbles from the horse’s back. The horse continues galloping.

  Cal runs up to him and lifts his sword. Until he realizes that man is already dead. Shadow’s aim was excellent—too excellent. The fall broke his neck. The mangled heap on the ground can’t respond to any questions now. Cal curses. Shadow has the brute force part under control, but if she’s going to become a properly trained apprentice, she’ll have to learn the finer points—and fast.

  Cal hears a high-pitched shriek. Horrible visions pop into his mind, and he runs to where Shadow had been hiding up in the trees.

  His fear is correct. Shadow is lying facedown on the ground, eyes closed, right arm curled under her. Blood seeps from her clothes.

  The guilt sears through him in a flash. I never should have let her do this, he thinks, though he knows there was nothing he could have done to stop her. All she wanted was to fight for a good cause, and he’s given her grief over it every step of the way. He was supposed to work with her, be responsible for her, and he fought with her instead. She was brave and resourceful, and had the makings of a good assassin. Now she is lying in the dirt. He falls to his knees beside her. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry.” If he could do this all differently
, he would. He’s failed in his duty.

  Then Shadow’s eyes pop open. “Hey, it’s not that serious. It’s just my arm.”

  “Oh. I thought you . . .” He looks at her arm. She’s hurt, but not nearly as seriously as he first thought. He pulls away, embarrassed about his outburst. She slides the injured arm out from under her, wincing. “Can you move it?” he asks. She wiggles her arm a bit. There’s a large gash and a lot of blood, but it looks like it will heal if they take care of it. And it doesn’t appear to be broken. She begins picking herself up off the ground.

  “Let me help you,” he says. He puts her good arm around his shoulder and pulls her into a sitting position.

  She puts her hand against her stomach and takes a few deliberate breaths. “Got the wind knocked out of me is all.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that?”

  “You didn’t exactly give me a chance, and you were supposed to run.”

  “Yeah.” He raises his eyebrows.

  Shadow is subdued. “I’m sorry—”

  But Cal doesn’t let her finish her sentence. “Let’s get you fixed up,” he says. He leans down and reaches under her knees and arms to pick her up.

  “It’s okay. I can walk,” she says. But when she takes a few steps, she’s limping.

  “Here,” Cal says. She doesn’t say no this time. He scoops her up and carries her the rest of the way to her horse, her arms grasping his neck tightly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Shadow

  WE MAKE OUR WAY UP the high pass, leading the horses carefully over the rocks. Cal asks me if I’m okay, if I’m in too much pain. If I need to stop and rest awhile. I assure him I’m fine, but he still offers for me to ride along with him. Again, I tell him I’m fine. In the span of one day, he’s gone from dismissive to overly attentive. But that’s my fault, at least partially. I guess I might have encouraged it back at the clearing. I really was hurt when I fell, but I could have gotten up sooner than I did—it’s just that his sudden anguish was too enjoyable. Before that I’d have guessed his response to me falling out of a tree would have been a shrug and a “served her right.”