The Queen's Assassin Page 30

  “You looked like that, the day we went hunting, with the white wig and the mask. I almost recognized you,” he says.

  “I know,” I say. “When my mother sent you to Deersia, I was shocked, so I changed out of my costume and ran out to try to see you before you were taken away.”

  “And pretended to be a merchant’s daughter,” he says. “When you were the princess all along.”

  I nod. “I accompany my mother to some of the royal ceremonies; the people must see the princess once in a while to know I am alive. But mostly I live with my aunts. I told them from the beginning that I wanted to join the Guild. I was convinced I could do my royal duty that way. What better weapon than a royal assassin, after all? No one would suspect a princess, would they?”

  He shakes his head.

  “But my mother disagreed and my aunts had to comply. That’s when I ran away the first time, to Baer Abbey. My life has never been my own, either.”

  I sigh. “You saved my life. But I had to go back to my aunts. I didn’t want them to worry. I was sent to them as a baby, right after the Battle of Baer. It was your father who insisted upon it. My aunts were his trusted friends from the Guild. Well, my aunt Moriah was a friend. My aunt Mesha . . .” This is the hardest part. “My aunt Mesha is your mother’s younger sister. But she couldn’t tell you. She had to forsake her family if she was to be mine. Your father insisted on it, that no one could know the truth, not even his own son.”

  Cal rubs his hands down the sides of his face and stares at the floor, but he doesn’t speak.

  I decide we can return to that when he’s ready. “Well, I was lucky; they were wonderful. And they knew a thing or two about natural magic too. They taught me as much as they could. As for my mother—well, she came to visit once in a while.”

  Telling him this story makes me think that maybe I am a little too harsh with the queen. She had to send away her only child, in the midst of chaos and the loss of her husband. I regret my harsh words, when all she did was out of love for me, and the safety of the kingdom. Just like me, her life has always been bound to Renovia. She is a Dellafiore, as am I.

  “Then I was summoned back to the palace, to take my place next to my mother’s side. I could no longer be Shadow; I had to be Lilac. But when I saw you being carted off to Deersia, I knew I had to intervene. You’d saved my life; I owed you. And . . .” This part is excruciating to admit. “I thought it was the perfect opportunity to get what I wanted. To show them I was worthy of Guild training. So I forged a work order to get into Deersia and set you free. And then you took me on, so we came here. I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you the truth earlier.”

  Cal doesn’t respond. It is like he is made of stone.

  “Anyway, I brought you something.” I uncover a heavy square box, wrapped in midnight-blue velvet, embroidered with the sacred symbol of Deia.

  He leans over to look more closely.

  I remove the cover and unlatch the box. “This may help you fulfill your vow.” I open the lid.

  Inside the box is a piece of obsidian, shaped like a key.

  His eyes widen. “A key to the scrolls. It has to be.”

  “It was found among Duke Girt’s things, hidden behind a painting. All his worldly possessions revert to the king. Duchess Girt—or Gertie or whoever she is—has apparently abandoned her title and fled the kingdom before she could be apprehended. All Hansen cares about is horses, wine, and gambling. Nothing is really important to him, not even the scrolls, as incredible as that might seem. So I was able to take this for myself.”

  Cal gazes at the key, transfixed.

  I continue. “Honestly, he didn’t even notice. I suspect he just wanted to return to his dice games. I am lucky. I can only hope his hobbies will keep his attention elsewhere.”

  Cal still does not speak.

  “Use the key, find the scrolls, return them to Renovia, and claim your freedom,” I tell him. “The future is yours.”

  “And what about your future?” he asks at last. “You can’t do this, Shadow.” Cal puts his face in his hands. Shakes his head. “You can’t give your life to him.”

  If only I’d understood his feelings earlier, when we had more time alone. “I’m doing it for you.”

  “I don’t need it,” he says. “I would rather remain in a cell for the rest of my life than see you throw your life away.”

  “It is mine to do with as I wish,” I say softly. “Here.” I push the box closer to him. “Please, take it. Find the scrolls. You’re almost free. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

  “I am not free, not without my love,” he says, and this time, when he looks at me, I don’t look away.

  My love. How do I answer that? There has always been so much unspoken between us. And yet now that we’re together, now that he’s saying the words I’ve so longed to hear, it is hopeless. Our fate is already sealed.

  “Leave with me. We can run away; we’ve done it before. We can find the scrolls together,” he says, taking my hands in his. “Shadow. Be with me. Always. I am yours. Be mine.”

  Oh, my heart. I cannot breathe and my entire body is aflame.

  He is everything I never knew I always wanted.

  Caledon Holt.

  The Queen’s Assassin.

  He is mine.

  I can see it so easily. We could don servants’ garb and slip away in the night. Hansen would not look for me, at least not at first. But then my mother would wonder where I am at breakfast. An alarm would sound. Cal would be accused of kidnapping the princess, and the king’s bride. We would be hunted for the rest of our lives. If we were caught, he would be executed. I could never risk that. And there is more to think about than our fate.

  I shake my head. “No, if we leave together, there’d be another war. Hansen has been placated by the promise of expanding his kingdom. If I disappear, he will blame the queen for his humiliation and he will invade Renovia. I can’t have that on my head.”

  “But you can have it in your bed,” he says bitterly.

  I flinch at his words. But he looks more resigned than angry.

  “I have no choice. As you have been bound by an impossible vow, I, too, am tethered to a fate—but one that will never let me be free. But this is larger than you or me. I’m simply a vessel for an heir who will inherit two kingdoms. Our child will be wed to the heir of Argonia and Stavin. It is my mother’s plan to unite all the kingdoms of Avantine once more, through blood and marriage; to start a new Dellafiore dynasty.”

  That silences him.

  But I am not here to talk about Avantine history. I must go back to my chamber, and yet I am here, in my robe and nightshift. I need to ask something of him, and if I don’t do this now, I will never have the courage again.

  “Cal, listen to me.” I reach for his hands. Mine are shaking. “Hansen will have my name and my kingdom. But he will never have my heart. That remains with you, my love, forever.”

  In answer, Cal pulls me toward him and puts his hands on the sides of my face. “You will always be Shadow to me,” he says softly.

  “Cal.” I want to say more, but soon there are no words between us. He puts his soft, warm mouth over mine, hesitant at first, then eager as I respond in kind, and somehow, none of this matters anymore. He breathes into me as his strong arms circle my waist, and I slide my own around his back, pulling him closer.

  “We might not have tomorrow, but we have tonight,” I whisper.

  At that, he pulls me down to the bed. We shed our clothing and slip under the covers. He kisses me all over so I can barely breathe.

  The world narrows to the two of us in this room, our bodies fitting together as one. I pull him closer, closer, until he’s on top of me, and we move in sync as if dancing.

  Our bodies joined as our hearts, we soar to the skies.

  We are free.

 
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Shadow

  “COME BACK TO ME.” IT’S the earliest hours of morning; the sun is barely peeking over the horizon. I’ve spent the last few hours wrapped up with Caledon in his sheets, our legs and arms entwined, as if we cannot bear to be parted, and the truth is, we cannot.

  “I wish I could,” he mumbles into the pillow.

  “I can order you to return.” The truth is, I am his sovereign; I could make him do as I wish. A thought occurs to me.

  He turns over so that I rest my head on his bare chest. This is how we slept in the cave, in the inn; this is where I am meant to be all my life. I cannot bear to let him go. I cannot bear for him to leave me. He must come back to me. This cannot be the end of us.

  “Please,” I say.

  “What are you saying?” he asks.

  What am I saying?

  The queen may have her plans, but I can make my own. I think of the story we spun not too long ago, the one about Cal and his Renovian fiancée. I can see him now, speaking the words to me like a vow . . . To be unmarried to each other, but together, forever. I think I can keep that promise.

  “You could not be my husband, but you wouldn’t have to be,” I say. “There is a room off Hansen’s bedchamber, for his favorite.” For his mistress. I have seen her at court these past few days, a beautiful girl who gazes at me with barely concealed contempt.

  Thankfully, my future husband has many distractions.

  “But there is a room off mine as well,” I tell Cal. “No one would know. You could return to me, there. When you come to Montrice, when you come back to see me.”

  He doesn’t respond, but I am seized by the idea and cannot hide the hope and joy in my voice. “You can come back, to be by my side, in between your journeys. Come back to me—come back to Montrice. We can steal time together, you and I. We will find a way. You will not be my husband, but I will be yours forever.”

  Cal shakes his head. He gets up from the bed, pulling on a pair of pants that were strewn on the floor. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, trying to pretend I’m not. He looks out the window at the encroaching light. “You should go.”

  He’s not wrong. My new ladies-in-waiting will show up soon to dress me for the day, and they would be quick to report my absence. “Where will you go?” I ask him. My hands fist the sheets, rumpling them.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “I ask too much,” I say. Of course he will not return to me. I am to marry another, and being the queen’s consort is beneath him. He would be under constant threat of discovery, and with little more status than one of my servants. Once he has fulfilled his vow, he has a barony in his future, land, riches, freedom to marry, to have children of his own.

  “You ask so little,” he says. “But that is not the reason.” He takes my hand and presses it to his lips.

  Outside, mourning doves coo. Roosters crow. The sun peeks out from beyond the mountains.

  “You will not return, then,” I say as I leave the bed. My heart is shattering, but I will not cry. I will be brave for him.

  Cal keeps his back turned, which I find endearing—he’s shy about looking at me while I put my nightclothes back on too.

  “Will I see you again before you go?” I ask when I am dressed.

  “I don’t know.” He is standing by the window, his back to me, shirtless, his hands shoved in his pockets. I try to etch the picture of him that way into my mind so I’ll have the memory always. My handsome, dangerous assassin.

  He turns around and it seems as though he’s about to come toward me, but he hesitates, so I go to him and throw my arms around his neck. He folds his arms around me and squeezes tight. I pull my head back and look at him, our faces nearly touching. He runs his hands up my back and then grabs on to my hair and kisses me again, long and hard and possessive. Soon we will need to return to bed.

  But he draws back suddenly. I feel the wrenching as if he’d taken a piece of my soul. “Goodbye, Lilac.” It is the first time he has called me by my real name. He smiles, but his eyes do not.

  The sounds of morning are more insistent now. I have but a short while before the ladies come knocking.

  I will not run away with him and he will not return to me.

  Love is not enough.

  I walk to the door and place my hand on the knob. Before opening it to leave, I look at Cal one more time. I want to tell him how much I love him, but I can see that he already knows.

  I walk out and shut the door behind me.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Caledon

  WHEN THE DOOR CLOSES, CAL feels a profound emptiness. Grief overtakes him, the same as when his father died. He is entirely alone in the world. Again. His heart feels like lead, weighing him down so that he can’t even bring himself to get up from the windowsill to watch her go down the steps.

  He does not intend to be in Montrice when she and Hansen exchange vows. The mere thought of it makes him ill. He will leave by sunset.

  Then he sees something he hadn’t noticed before. There’s a light purple handkerchief on the pillow. He picks it up. It is made of the purest silk, embroidered with a monogram: HRH, LD. Her Royal Highness, Lilac Dellafiore.

  Just like the one she gave him in Serrone, it smells of perfume as well. Only this time, he recognizes the scent of freshly pressed lilac.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Caledon

  OUTSIDE, CAL SEES THE WEDDING party preparations going up—green and purple cloth banners and huge canopies, upholstered chairs being carried in by a parade of workers, silver torches being installed to line the property for the evening reception.

  He wonders what Shadow is doing at that very moment. Is she looking out her window at this scene, too? Does she wonder where he is?

  Cal watches from the window as workers install the stage where the marriage ceremony will take place. Where Shadow will become King Hansen’s wife. How can he let her do this? How can he let her go?

  No one questions him as he makes his way through the palace down to the catacombs; they are too busy with wedding preparations to bother with another Renovian in their midst. The steps down to the dungeons are damp and slimy, and Cal takes a torch from the wall to light his way. Even if the duke was unmasked as a conspirator, he was still an aristocrat, and Cal counts on his body being entombed underneath the castle along with other dead nobles. There are statues depicting their former visages: kings, queens, dukes, duchesses, earls of every stripe. Knights buried with their swords.

  He walks between the tombs, reading names, looking for the final resting place of the evil duke.

  “He’s not here,” a small voice says.

  Cal swings the torch over and sees a boy hunched over by an empty tomb. “Jander?” he asks, startled.

  The boy nods. “You can call me that for now.”

  “Where is he?”

  “We were too late,” Jander tells him. “The sun went down. So he came back. As did I.”

  Cal sighs. “He was the one who cursed you, didn’t he?”

  Jander nods. “A long time ago.”

  A very long time ago, Cal knows now. For he finally remembers where he’s seen the duke before, in a painting at the royal palace when he was called to see the queen. The hawkish visage, the angry eyes. The duke is none other than the Tyrant King himself, King Phras of Avantine.

  “I found this,” he says, showing Jander the obsidian key. “Any idea where the lock may be?”

  “I might,” says Jander. He stands up.

  It’s time to go then. They leave the catacombs together; Cal stops at his room to gather his things. He packs lightly, and finds a few things for Jander on the road. But there’s only one thing from Montrice he wants to keep. The lilac handkerchief. He tucks it into his back pocket alongside the other one.

  Jander picks up a satchel and follows him out.
>
  Cal smiles. He has lost an apprentice, only to gain a new one.

  They leave the palace as musicians rehearse the wedding march. He doesn’t look back.

  EPILOGUE

  Queen Lilac

  A FEW MONTHS AFTER THE WEDDING

  QUEEN LILAC IS ALONE IN her bedchamber yet again, though she’s not complaining. For all her husband’s avowed attraction to her, they have yet to consummate their marriage. Hansen leaves her alone, and for that, she is truly grateful. He spends his nights with his favorite.

  Her ladies-in-waiting have been dismissed for the night. The king’s apartments are far away from the queen’s, per the royal custom in Montrice; they are practically on the opposite sides of the castle. Hansen keeps late nights, while she prefers waking early to have a light breakfast of ginger tea and toast on the back veranda by the gardens, where she can watch her swans at the pond.

  This schedule leaves the two of them with very few opportunities to be together. That’s a good thing. She knows it could be worse. Hansen may be vain and pompous, but he is not unkind. They are simply disinterested in each other, their marriage a political alliance and nothing more. At least their kingdoms are at peace.

  In the afternoons, she trains with a Guild master. She is a queen now, and no one can tell her she cannot. She will follow her own path; she will turn the wheel of fate on her own terms.

  She picks up one of the newly bound books she ordered from the royal printer. This one she’d had made especially for herself: an illustrated collection of Renovian legends, hand-drawn and accented with gold leaf.

  Tomorrow morning she will write to Aunt Moriah and Aunt Mesha. She hopes they will visit the palace soon; she misses them dearly. She has forgiven them their part in this, for like her, they had no choice. Somehow, she has forgiven her mother as well. Now that she is queen, she understands her responsibilities to her people and the need for peace throughout the land.