The Queen's Assassin Read online

  “Okay. And what about after? How long is Nhicol going to be here?”

  “We’ll figure that out later. Let’s just get through this first.”

  * * *

  A FEW HOURS LATER, I’m laced into Montrician hunting garb, which basically amounts to a riding habit with puffy sleeves, embroidered with the yellow rose of Argonia. The Montricians hunt in full formal gear, so I have a large white wig on my head as well.

  Cal knocks on my door. When I answer, he’s holding up two white eye masks. “I just remembered this is one of those strange Argonian hunting customs.”

  “Brilliant,” I say. “With that, and the ridiculous curly white wig you’re wearing, your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.” I cringe. “I’m sorry. I . . .”

  Cal is looking out the window at the gardens below. He doesn’t acknowledge my awkward comment about his late mother.

  I put on the mask and powder my nose again.

  Cal is staring at me.

  “What?” I ask him.

  “You just—you looked like someone just now,” he says.

  “Who?”

  He shakes his head and doesn’t say, although I have an inkling of who it might be. “They’re getting lined up. Showtime, Lady Lila.” On our way out the door, he knocks on the wood trim. Aunt Moriah used to do the same thing for good luck. She would like him just for that.

  We step into line as King Hansen’s trumpeter announces it’s time to begin. The procession starts forward from the gardens toward the woods. The couple in front of us, two older people donning parasols and lace finery not intended for actual hunting, smile politely.

  Seconds after we start, a handsome young man, a bit older than us and wearing a sharp black hunting costume, jogs up behind us. “Have I missed the boring part?” he says to Cal. Then: “Haven’t had the pleasure. I am Lord Mathieu.” He holds out his hand.

  Cal shakes it. “Lord Holton,” Cal says, then gestures toward me. “My sister, Lady Lila.”

  Cal and I catch each other’s eye. This is the ambassador’s husband. My pulse is racing even though he doesn’t know me. I decide paying as little attention to him as possible is the best strategy, so I simply bow slightly and then walk forward. Cal isn’t as lucky.

  “To be quite honest, I’ve never been to one of these things. Spouses typically stay behind, but I insisted on coming along. Montrice has the finest silks and I’m hoping to buy a few dozen bolts to bring back to Renovia. I own drapers’ shops there.”

  When the king’s party reaches the edge of the woods, everyone stops. The trumpeter blows the horn to get our attention before making an announcement. He stands on a little wooden stool and shouts: “His Royal Majesty King Hansen and the distinguished Ambassador of Renovia have joined together in the spirit of friendship to offer a generous prize for today’s royal hunt: one thousand coins of silver to whoever fells the largest prey. The horn will blow to announce the end of the hunt, wherein all shall gather here with their conquest.”

  “I could win, easy,” Cal whispers to me.

  “Don’t be so sure,” I reply. “I’m here.”

  He scoffs playfully at that. “In any case, we aren’t going to win that silver because we aren’t drawing attention to ourselves, remember?”

  The horn blows. The king and his servants, carrying his extra arrows and swords and daggers, head off down the trail into the darkness of the forest. Ambassador Nhicol follows, and then all the rest of the Montrician nobility after him. Cal and I hold back a bit, waiting for the crowd to disperse among the trees and pathways of the duke’s property. He does have some of the greatest grounds of any estate I’ve ever seen.

  “I’m going to catch up with my husband,” Lord Mathieu tells us. “It was a pleasure making your acquaintance. I’m sure we’ll see one another at dinner.”

  “The honor was ours,” Cal says, and I repeat the same.

  When he’s out of earshot, Cal frowns. “A friendly joint prize between King Hansen and the ambassador?”

  I nod. “We need to find out what’s going on here.”

  We venture into the woods off the path so we can watch the others.

  Dogs bark in the distance. A man shouts. Leaves crunch under feet; a lady lets out a high-pitched shriek, then giggles. We won’t find the answer to the question of how the ambassador became so friendly with the king in the fields. “This is pointless. We should just go back,” I say to Cal. He doesn’t respond. “Cal?” I look around.

  “Over here,” he says in a loud whisper.

  I follow his voice behind a tall shrub. “What are you doing?”

  “Look.” He points at something on the ground.

  I lean closer. There’s a bit of glass—something shiny. I reach out to touch it. Cal grabs my arm. “Don’t touch it!” he says. “It might be dangerous!”

  The dark glass swirls.

  “It’s the shield!” I exclaim. “That’s what the Aphrasian guard was wearing on his chest, but bigger.”

  “I had a feeling.”

  “How did you find it?” I ask.

  “I saw something glittery, thought it might be lost jewelry at first. There were a few shards of whatever that is. It led me here. Looks like it broke off, maybe?”

  As I reach for it, a twig snaps.

  “Leave it for now.” Cal grabs on to my arm and pulls me low to the ground with him. About ten feet away from us, Duke Girt appears to be tracking an animal. He hasn’t seen us. He draws his bow back. Aims.

  The trumpeter’s horn blasts through the air.

  The duke lowers his bow and misses. I hear a small animal escaping into the forest. The horn scared it off.

  We watch it run away while the duke heads in the opposite direction. When he is gone, we join the rest of the hunting party gathered in the field. To our surprise, Duke Girt is being crowned the winner of the royal hunt. A dead stag lies at his feet, and I feel a frisson of wrongness. Why am I seeing a pile of wooden branches? I blink my eyes again, and I see the stag once more.

  Magic, I think. The duke has somehow ensorcelled the branches to look like a dead deer. I tell Cal as much. “The duke is a mage,” I whisper. “That’s not a stag.”

  Cal frowns, watching as the duke takes his bows.

  “Pure luck!” he tells the crowd. “Thank you, thank you.”

  Is the duke an Aphrasian? Have we unwittingly stumbled into the conspirator’s home? The Duke of Girt is clearly a liar and a cheat, but could he also be part of the enemy order that has plotted the death of the Renovian dynasty?

  Someone touches my shoulder. I look to my right. Ambassador Nhicol is standing there with his hand extended. “We haven’t been introduced,” he says. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. My mind is spinning—

  “Apologies, she is terribly shy,” Cal says, deepening his voice. “May I introduce you to my sister, Lady Lila Holton. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “And this is my brother, Lord Callum,” I say weakly.

  “Ambassador Nhicol of Renovia, on behalf of Queen Lilianna. What brings you to Montrice, Lord Holton?”

  “Merely passing through.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Traveling to claim our late grandfather’s estate,” Cal says smoothly.

  The ambassador nods. “Very nice.” He claps for something the king said about the prize money.

  “If you don’t mind,” Cal says. “Aren’t Renovia and Montrice . . . ? I’m curious how this arrangement came about?”

  “Well, you know how it goes. If I told you, then I’d have to kill you,” the ambassador says, grinning.

  Cal puts his hands up. “Understood.”

  “And . . . if you don’t mind me asking, why the masks?”

  “Well . . . I suppose the same answer applies.” Cal smiles broadly.

  The ambass
ador slaps his arm. “Funny!” he says to Cal.

  “It’s an Argonian custom,” Cal explains.

  “Back to the house for food and libations!” Duke Girt announces.

  “That’s my cue,” Ambassador Nhicol says. “Looking forward to speaking with both of you more tonight.”

  “Likewise,” Cal says. I simply curtsy. I feel sweat pooling under my wig. Now I’m certain I’ve met the ambassador before. I can’t place him. The voice, I know it from somewhere, I’m sure of it. Why do I think I heard it in Deersia? But that’s not possible. Perhaps I wasn’t fibbing when I said he’d purchased honeycomb at the marketplace. As soon as he walks away, I exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. How are we going to make it through this visit? We can’t wear masks the entire time.

  We step in line and begin the procession back to the house for the resting period before dinner. Behind us, servants load the dead stag onto a cart. They’ll bring it to the taxidermist to be stuffed and mounted on a plaque. I wonder if all the duke’s hunting trophies are phonies.

  When it’s our turn to file into the duke’s great hall, I step through the door to find King Hansen standing there. I curtsy; Cal bows. “Your Majesty.”

  “I’m sorry to have missed you at the hunt,” he says to me, as a beautiful courtier behind him sneers in my direction.

  I curtsy once again. He’s holding a bouquet of wildflowers, which he hands me. “I picked them myself.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” I’m supposed to flirt with him, but all I want to do is run upstairs.

  “They reminded me of you. Wild and beautiful,” he says, his voice thick.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I repeat, taking them from him and keeping my eyes on the floor.

  The king exits abruptly after that, his personal servants trailing after him.

  I turn to see Cal watching me. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Caledon

  “WE NEED TO PROVE OUR suspicions,” Cal says. “About the duke being the mage and the hidden conspirator.”

  “Yes, but how?” Shadow asks. They’re convening in Shadow’s room while the rest of the guests are napping before dinner.

  The two of them have changed from their hunting outfits into daywear, though Cal hardly finds it comfortable. If this is the life of a nobleman, they can have it. The land and title and prestige come with too many conditions and obligations.

  Shadow bites her thumbnail. “We have maybe, I don’t know, until the fourth bell? I need time to get ready for tonight.”

  “Not a lot of time. How about the duke’s office?”

  “That’s the most logical place. But how can we be sure he isn’t there?”

  “We’ll just have to take our chances. If he is, I’ll make up something. Say I want to buy some land.”

  Cal peeks out the door. It’s clear. He and Shadow start down the hallway and tiptoe down the wide staircase to the first floor. Cautiously, they head toward the room where they first met the duke when they arrived.

  The door is closed. Shadow sidles against it and places her ear on the wood. She nods and Cal pushes the door open. They slip inside and close the door behind them.

  The library is stuffy and masculine, lined floor to ceiling in dark walnut bookcases on three sides. The fourth wall, where they entered, is covered in oil portraits of the duke’s predecessors. Heavy red leather chairs flank a circular table in the middle of the room. There’s a writing desk in the corner. “I’ll start with the desk. You see if there’s anything in the cabinets . . . or in a book. Could be a false book, maybe. Check everything,” Shadow says. She crosses the room and begins opening desk drawers and riffling through papers.

  Cal stands in front of the bookcases, a little irritated at being told how to do his job, but holds his tongue and methodically begins to search. He opens a cabinet door at the bottom of the bookshelf. Nothing but candles, lined in rows. The next one holds more books; the third, newspapers bound with twine. He walks around the room opening cabinets but none offers anything promising.

  Rows upon rows of books stare him down. Impossible to check through them all. Not a single one is out of place or gives any indication that it has been read or looked at recently.

  Shadow has a handful of envelopes. She flips through them quickly and places them back in the drawer, then moves on to the next one.

  “Find anything?” he asks her.

  “Just old invitations, notices . . . well, wait. This is strange.” She holds up an envelope. Cal walks over. It’s addressed to TRH The Grand Duke and Duchess of Girt.

  “What is it?”

  “A letter. From Renovia.”

  “What does it say?”

  I hold it up to the light. “It’s a letter from King Esban, thanking the duke and duchess for their kindness to his brother.”

  “Alast?”

  “No, Almon. The older brother, who was supposed to be king, except he died young,” says Shadow.

  Cal frowns. He knows his history. “Almon was killed during a hunt with a grand duke in Montrice. At first it appeared as if Montrice had conspired against Renovia, but suspicion fell to his brother Esban instead. The Aphrasians started the rumor that he had poisoned his own brother. His legacy was always tainted by this doubt until he died heroically in the battle of Baer Abbey.”

  “Esban would never do such a thing! And neither would Alast. The three of them were close, that’s what my aunts told me. They were never rivals. They all had the same goal—to bring down the Aphrasians,” says Shadow. “Do you think this is the same duke who hosted King Almon?”

  “Could be,” Cal replies. “It was only twenty years ago.”

  “But the duchess is younger than that,” says Shadow.

  “Maybe he remarried,” says Cal.

  “Maybe,” Shadow agrees.

  “Anyway, we already know the duke is suspicious. The question is whether he’s involved with the Aphrasians, and if they are the source of that black shard we found.”

  “Do you think it was his?”

  “Possibly, and more likely than not. But the shard could have been from anyone. There were dozens of people in the woods today alone. We don’t know how long it’s been there, either. Maybe two weeks, maybe two years.”

  Chimes announce the second bell. Shadow shoves the letters back in the drawer and slides it shut. “We’re running out of time.”

  Cal turns and his eyes rest on the paintings on the far wall. One in particular catches his attention: It’s slightly askew. Only slightly, yet noticeable next to the precision of the others. Perfect place to hide something. Fixed to the back of a painting, he guesses. He hopes.

  He reaches out to pull it away from the wall.

  The door flies open. He yanks his hand back.

  It’s Duchess Girt.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing in here?” she says, eyes narrowing.

  Cal turns his head toward Shadow but she’s gone. “And you are exactly who I am looking for,” he tells the duchess.

  Though she still looks suspicious, her face softens some. She shuts the door. “Why is that?”

  “Why do you think?” he asks, his eyes hooded from practice. He should have done this sooner. He needs to distract her, and fast. Make her forget that it’s strange to find him here, standing in her husband’s private office.

  “Oh, I thought you’d never—” the duchess says, but she doesn’t finish because Cal has already pulled her toward him.

  “Never do this?” he asks. He brushes a hand on her cheek and lowers his face to hers. When he kisses her, she’s ready for him, and returns his kiss with fervor.

  He grimaces, but continues to kiss her, wrapping his hands around her waist as she digs her nails into his scalp to pull him closer.

/>   “Lord Callum!” The duchess gasps, coming up for air.

  “Yes, My Grace?” From the corner of his eye, he catches Shadow watching him from under the desk.

  Her glare could melt steel.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Shadow

  I’M SEATED AT THE FAR end of a long table in the most formal of Duke Girt’s three dining rooms. As visiting guests of honor, Ambassador Nhicol and his husband are near the head of the table, where King Hansen took the duke’s place, being of the highest rank. The duke sits to the king’s left, the duchess beside him. Ambassador Nhicol to the king’s right. Cal and I are on the same side of the table as the Renovian ambassador. There are candles lit, but the light is dim and yellow, so if I keep the long tendrils of white wig around the sides of my face, I hope I can avoid the ambassador’s attention. With so many seats between us, it shouldn’t be difficult. Not to mention, I’m wearing so much kohl and rouge that my own mother would probably walk in the room and look right past me. As for Cal, he wears an elaborate white wig as well, along with a pair of gold spectacles. Between that and the outlandish Montrician high-necked, lace-collared frilly shirt he’s wearing, I almost don’t recognize him.

  Plate after plate of exquisite dishes are delivered to the table, but having recently watched Cal in a clench with the duchess, I have absolutely no desire for food. Especially as I have to sit next to him while she flirts with him and he flirts back. There he is now, raising one eyebrow at her suggestively when she wraps her lips around a thick piece of steak. How much of it is an act, I have no idea.

  Why do I even care? He clearly doesn’t.

  “Nauseating,” I hiss when the duchess winks at him.

  “Jealous, are you?” he whispers.

  I sit up straight. No! Of course not. If he wants to kiss her, it’s no concern of mine! “Not jealous, just revolted by how easy this is for you,” I say. Perhaps that explained the closeness between us in the woods and in the inn; perhaps I was just another mark.