The Queen's Assassin Page 19

  “Of course,” says Cal, still holding one of the dogs.

  The duchess leads them to a grand split staircase, freshly waxed mahogany lined with a handwoven wool runner. She stops at the first door in the hallway to the right, closest to the stairs. “This one’s for you, Lady Lila,” Duchess Girt says.

  “Your Grace is too kind,” says Shadow, entering the room.

  “Do you have everything you need, sister?” Cal asks her, not quite ready to be alone with Duchess Girt.

  “Absolutely,” Shadow says from behind a tiny crack in the door. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite!” She slams the door closed in finality.

  The duchess walks ahead of him, carrying a lantern. The wall sconces are not lit. There are no sounds aside from his boots on the tile and the swoosh of the duchess’s skirts. His room is on the other end of the long hallway, at least ten doors from Shadow’s. They stop in front of a doorway.

  “The other guests are all in the opposite wing,” the duchess says with a sly look on her face. “I thought you’d prefer being away from the commotion. So many people wandering about. Poking their noses into everything. Watching. Isn’t it so much better to be alone?”

  “Yes, that’s true, I prefer being alone,” he says. “In fact . . .” He yawns dramatically and places the puppy down on the floor between them, hoping she takes the hint. While her attraction to him might be useful, it is clearly upsetting Shadow for some reason, and there are always other ways to infiltrate the court.

  The duchess fumbles for the key, the other puppy perched precariously in the crook of her arm. “Here it is!” she exclaims. She unlocks the door and pushes it open. For a moment he’s uncertain if she’s going to walk in front of him or not—she moves as if she’s about to, but then steps back.

  He grabs the opportunity and steps inside the room, immediately beginning to shut the door behind him. “You are too kind, Your Grace,” he says. “The evening has quite tired me out. I bid you good night.”

  The door clicks shut as her mouth opens to say something. He hears her on the other side of the door: “Good night!”

  Then the sound of another door opening and Shadow’s voice calling from down the hallway: “Duchess! Oh, I’m so glad to have caught you before you go downstairs. If I may, do you have a candle? I can’t seem to find one in here. Oh, and if it isn’t too much bother, would you send up a lady’s maid to help unbutton my dress?”

  No doubt, if they were still sharing a room at the inn, it would fall upon him to do the honors. He is a stupid, stupid man.

  The dogs both start barking, their yaps traveling down toward Shadow’s room. The duchess’s voice follows them as she answers Shadow’s request. “Oh yes, my dear, I can take care of that for you, of course!”

  Cal’s room is clean and comfortable, from what he can see with only the dim night sky in the open window, but he doesn’t care to inspect it just now. He really is exhausted—it hits him fully, all at once, the weeks of being on alert morning and night.

  He sits on a chair to remove his boots, then climbs onto the wide, fluffy bed. His body sinks into the soft cotton bedding. Newly laundered, smelling faintly of rose water and fresh air from hanging to dry outside the wash building. No creaking old bed frame, no sagging middle of the mattress. This one is stuffed full with fresh down. He was right about it being far better than the room they had at the inn.

  Except for one exception, and the loss of her presence makes the room as quiet and unforgiving as his cell in Deersia prison.

  Alone in the silence, his thoughts return to last night at the inn . . . Her silhouette behind the screen and under her linen shift. The warmth of her next to him. The way she burrowed herself against his chest, their bodies entwined in sleep. Just last night his hand curved around her waist, and her hair rested against his cheek.

  She is the most maddening girl he’s ever met, defiant, stubborn, and impulsive. She doesn’t listen to reason and is much too reckless with her person. Shadow has also made it quite clear that she has no desire for romance or a family and doesn’t care a whit whether he likes her or not . . . and yet. He finds he can’t deny the truth. He hopes she cares at least a little bit, that he is right, that she might be jealous of the duchess.

  He falls asleep imagining what would happen if he got up, walked down the hall, and knocked on her door . . .

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Caledon

  BY THE TIME CAL WAKES up and goes down to breakfast, the duke’s hunting guests are already finished eating. The men have moved out to the gardens to smoke cigars. Footmen and butlers clear their empty plates and scattered utensils. He chastises himself for missing his chance to make inroads with the other titled lords, to gain a little more knowledge about the Montrician court. At least Shadow is still sitting there, sipping hot tea, and the duke and duchess are there as well, waiting politely for her to finish.

  The duke looks exactly as he did the prior evening, but the duchess looks like an entirely different person. Her face is clean, with only a touch of gloss on her lips. She wears a simple pastel day dress, and her golden hair is free of the elaborate updo and extensions, pulled away from her face with pearled combs but otherwise trailing down her back and around her shoulders in loose waves.

  Shadow catches him looking, and he immediately feels remorseful for having even noticed the duchess, who perks up considerably when she sees him. “Did you sleep well, my lord? I do hope you’re hungry. We made sure to wait for you. Toast? Tea?”

  Cal takes a seat next to Shadow. He’s still not hungry after last evening’s feast, but he says, “Tea and toast would be wonderful, thank you.” It is only polite.

  “Were the accommodations to your liking?” Duchess Girt asks him, bright and friendly.

  “Very nice, thank you.” Waitstaff appears to pour him a steaming cup of strong breakfast tea. There’s a faint orangey scent to it; his appetite returns. Like a comfortable bed, it’s been ages since he’s had good tea.

  “Bit quiet, though?” She puts her elbows on the table and gazes at him. “Lonely?”

  “Er, no, it was fine, thanks.” He pays intense attention to sweetening his tea in order to avoid looking at her. Still, her attention is much preferable to the stony glares Shadow is throwing his way.

  Meanwhile, he can’t help but notice that the duke is anxious to leave and only feigning patience—he clears his throat and snaps the paper he’s reading every few seconds.

  “Good-looking young man like you shouldn’t be used to spending nights alone.” The duchess takes a bite of her toast and chews slowly. “I’m sure that’s a rather rare occurrence.”

  “Perhaps. One does tire of traveling companions, however,” says Cal, taking a dig at Shadow, who has yet to acknowledge his presence or bid him good morning.

  Shadow picks up her teacup. “May I have a fresh cup as well?” The server steps forward to pour her one too. She grabs a sugar cube with the tongs and has her revenge soon enough. “My brother is lonesome for his lady,” she says. “Oh, has he not mentioned it?”

  “Mentioned what?” asks the duchess, looking alarmed.

  Shadow titters coyly. “My dear brother, do share with the duke and duchess the news of your engagement!”

  “Engagement?” the duchess says before taking another bite of toast. She can’t keep her eyes off Cal.

  Cal raises his eyebrows. Strike and parry. “Pray, tell them, sister.”

  “Oh dear,” Shadow says, placing her hand over her heart. “Was it still hush-hush? Have I spoiled the surprise?”

  Cal tries not to smile. Shadow seems determined to keep him away from the duchess, for reasons that he hopes are in his favor. He takes a sip of his tea. “We’d intended to announce together, of course. As we’d met quite by accident.”

  “Do tell the story,” says Shadow.

  Cal taps a finger against his cup. “It was almo
st as if she just appeared in my room one day, out of the blue.”

  “Oh! Who is she?” cries the duchess.

  “A lady I met in Renovia,” he answers, as Shadow’s cheeks burn. “In a castle.”

  “Renovian,” says the duchess with distaste. “What is she like?”

  Shadow is about to answer when Cal cuts her off. He looks right at her when he speaks. “She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. Brave, courageous, and loyal. In all the kingdoms of Avantine I have never met her equal.”

  “And how did you propose, brother? Seeing that you had sworn off marriage and children to look after Mother’s estate,” says Shadow softly.

  “Ah, but she too had vowed not to marry,” Cal answers. “So we promised to be unmarried to each other, but together, forever.”

  “What an atypical arrangement,” says Shadow, not quite meeting his eye.

  The duchess was fully agitated by now. “Sworn off marriage and children? How strange! What kind of engagement is this?” She takes an aggressive bite of toast.

  “A promise between two souls,” he says, but he only has eyes for Shadow.

  “A promise can be broken,” Shadow replies.

  “Not mine,” he says, so quietly that he’s not sure she can hear him.

  “Nor mine,” she says, which means that she did.

  They catch each other’s eye, and Cal wants nothing more than to reach across the table for her hand and pull her to him. But they are at the Duke and Duchess of Girt’s table, and must conform to propriety.

  * * *

  THE SNAP OF THE duchess’s fan brings them back to the present. The duchess flicks it open once more with a snap of her wrist and begins airing herself. Then she closes the fan in her right hand, her eyes trained on Cal. She knows exactly what she is doing and what she has signaled. “Dear Lord Holton, it certainly doesn’t sound like any kind of engagement to me,” Duchess Girt drawls. “Besides, the only reason to get married is so one can have affairs.”

  The duke is oblivious to all of this. He seems to regard himself as above everyone else, even—and maybe especially—his wife. Like they’re all children he’s tolerating until they’re sent back into the nursery with the governess. He continues to read the previous day’s news, paying no mind to the way his wife gushes over Cal. Maybe he really doesn’t notice. Or maybe he hopes someone will take her away from him, or at least entertain her for a while.

  He wishes he and Shadow were alone, so they could talk more openly. He tries to catch her eye but she is resolutely studying her plate, as if her breakfast were the most interesting thing in the world.

  A loud bell clangs outside. The duke throws down his paper. “Hunt is on. Come on, Holton.” The duke and duchess rise from the table, and there’s a clatter of activity as servants rush behind them, gathering dirty cups and plates. The duchess bustles away and the duke marches out after her. Cal follows, except Shadow holds him back. “A word, brother?”

  He nods and they find a quiet alcove. “Yes?”

  Her eyes are dewy and her cheeks flushed. It looks as if she wants to say something important, but all she says is, “Be careful, on the hunt.”

  “Is that all?” he asks.

  She nods.

  “I assure you I shall return in one piece, my lady,” he says, and bows.

  * * *

  CAL JOINS THE OTHER men gathering near the stable, hunting dogs milling about between them. He chooses a bow and quiver from the duke’s collection even though he has no intention of using it. He has always detested the sport.

  The duke introduces him. “Lord Holton of Argonia.” The duke’s friends murmur appropriate greetings. This is the center of the aristocracy and Cal has been accepted as one of their own, a foreign lord who has won the duke’s approval.

  Hours pass on the duke’s hunt. Cal lags behind the men with his borrowed bow and borrowed horse. The boar they’re chasing holds no interest for him, but then he overhears a conversation that does. “Renovian problem,” someone says. He rides up to try to get closer so he can hear them better.

  “They’ll take us if we don’t take them first,” says a second voice.

  “Don’t disagree.”

  “Montrice cannot fall.”

  “War is inevitable.”

  But before he can hear more, the dogs begin running and barking furiously: They’ve found the boar. They corner the animal in some dense hedges. It cowers there, squealing. The sound is horrendous. The men rush forward, praising the dogs: “Excellent work, Whitefoot” and “Good job, Jak.”

  Cornering an animal with dogs is not hunting, Cal thinks. But at least it’s nearly over and they can soon go back to the house. He’s eager to talk to Shadow about the day and the snippet about Renovia he overheard.

  The men all move aside to allow the duke to ride through and approach the boar. He dismounts and removes a dagger from his boot. “Lord Holton,” he says.

  All the men look at him. Cal is taken aback. “Yes?”

  The duke twists his wrist and holds the dagger out, handle toward Cal. “Please, do the honors.”

  “Your Grace, I thank you, but that isn’t necessary. It is your hunt, after all.”

  But the duke motions with the dagger again. “I insist.”

  There’s no way out of this. Cal jumps down from the horse and walks toward the duke. He takes the dagger. The duke watches him as he moves past the dogs toward the scared boar. It lets out a snorting squeal. The dogs begin barking again.

  “Quiet!” the duke yells at them.

  Cal looks at the boar, shaking and pawing at the dirt. To those who worship Deia, causing an animal fear before killing it makes it inedible. It becomes cruelty for sport, rather than survival, and interferes with the balance of energy. Cal may not be an incredibly religious man, but he still has respect for Guild customs.

  The duke is challenging him. He wants to see Cal’s response to this task.

  “Well, get on with it!” the duke shouts. The other men laugh.

  “Deia take you,” Cal whispers to the boar. He closes his eyes and quickly slides the dagger across its throat, killing it immediately.

  “We’re feasting on boar tonight, gentlemen!” the duke announces.

  As Cal walks by him to return to his horse, the duke mutters to him: “Excellent hand with that dagger. Had a lot of practice?”

  “On a different kind of hunt,” Cal replies with a grim smile.

  The duke snorts.

  * * *

  “THERE WAS NOTHING AT the inn.” The duchess is standing on the staircase landing when Cal returns from the hunt. She’s changed into an afternoon dress, light pink, with a long brocade jacket over it. The jacket has bell sleeves and a high stiff collar that frames her face. Her hair is pulled into a soft twist. She’s pretty, he admits, and in another lifetime, perhaps he would have appreciated her attentions; but there is business at hand, and he’s still aggravated from the hunt. The duchess is the last thing he wants to deal with.

  “No trunks, no wardrobe—it appears all you had are the clothes on your back,” she says.

  “Of course,” Cal says. “We traveled lightly. No time for a lot of baggage.” He nods and begins walking past her.

  She turns as if to follow. “No, it appears not. Where in Renovia did you say you called? I have many friends in Serrone.”

  He stops, one foot on the stair. “You know, I can’t quite recall the names . . . My sister usually keeps track of these things.”

  “Ah. Yes. Your sister.”

  He doesn’t like the way she said that. He turns and regards her coldly. “If you’ll excuse me, I do need to get cleaned up.”

  The duchess taps her forehead with her hand and says, “Silly me, yes, of course, I’m so sorry. Do get out of those filthy clothes! I have to go take care of something in the meantime. It’s supp
osed to be a surprise, but, well, oh, I just can’t keep it to myself! It’s too exciting.”

  Cal doesn’t like these games of intrigue but the only way to get her to go away is to play along. He tries to soften his expression into something friendlier. “Perhaps I can spare a moment.”

  She leans forward and puts her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t say a word . . . and if you do, I’ll know who told! But”—she pokes his arm—“I have the perfect match in mind for your sister.” She pulls her hand away and smiles broadly.

  “A match?”

  “Well, since you are affianced, it is only right that she is married off as well, don’t you think?” asks the duchess. “A beautiful eligible maiden like her isn’t set to be an old maid.”

  Cal coughs. “I am sure Lila will appreciate your concern. Where is my dear sister, if I may ask?”

  “Oh, I’ve sent her away with the maid for a dress fitting. As I told her the other day, she can’t meet the king wearing those clothes. So she won’t be back in time for dinner. Will most likely be quite late before she returns. You’ll probably be asleep. Do be sure to get some rest tonight,” she drawls. “Tomorrow is the king’s weekly audience.”

  With that, she turns on her heel and walks down the hallway, waving herself with her fan.

  Her words hit him like a slap. The duchess is no fool. She has not only ensured that he won’t see Shadow that evening; she is also intent on matching her with someone else. The thought brings an ache to his chest.

  But there is nothing between them—only unspoken embraces in the night and veiled conversations at breakfast. They have made no promises to each other, and likely never will.

  Perhaps it’s best if Duchess Girt does find Shadow a suitable gentleman. After all, what can Cal give her? He does not even have his life to offer; it already belongs to the queen.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE