The Queen's Assassin Read online

  As we start moving, I can’t help but smile a bit. My disguise—and my forgery—are a success. So far.

  * * *

  I MANAGE TO FALL asleep for a while, sitting up against the side of the wagon with my arms folded across my chest. When I wake up, we’re far from Serrone. Far from the rolling green fields. The terrain is much rockier now. The sickly sweetness is gone; the air is dull with dirt and dust.

  It’s late afternoon, almost evening. I shift my body, trying to find a more comfortable way to sit, which is, of course, near impossible. The prisoner is talking with the guards. He’s facing the front of the wagon with his back to me. Their voices are low, so at first it’s hard to make out what they’re saying over the clip-clop of hooves and rattle of wheels.

  “Maybe you’ll get lucky,” one of the guards says. “Plenty of vacancies up there, I hear.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure that can be worked out,” the other says, nudging the first guard with his elbow.

  What are they talking about? Work what out? Then the prisoner says: “If he’s anything like his old man . . .”

  A chill races up my spine. They’re talking about Caledon. I lie back again and cover my face, pretend to sleep. They continue their conversation, seemingly oblivious to my presence. Most of it is garbled by the time it reaches me, but if I concentrate I can hear their words under the rumble of the wagon and the rutted road: Queen Lilianna, Aphrasians, Prince Alast, hotheaded kid. And then, Wasn’t expecting the boy, though. Certainly complicates matters.

  It hits me—this is all coming together perfectly. The spy is going to Deersia to kill Cal. And the guards are in on it. A conspiracy. Nothing else makes sense. Prisoners are prohibited from addressing the guards, especially in such a casual manner. Why else would they have this hushed conversation? They’re delivering an enemy spy directly to the Queen’s Assassin while he’s a sitting duck. No better way to eliminate him—when he’s less able to defend himself.

  Well, I’m not going to let that happen. Little do they know, reinforcements are on the way.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME WE make it all the way up the mountainside road to Deersia, it’s dusk. The fortress looms above me, dark and foreboding. Its highest towers are shrouded in fog. Now that I’m here, I’m not sure what to feel. From a distance it looked, well, regal, elegant—but up close, I see the crumbling mossy stone for what it is. A neglected structure housing neglected human beings.

  I expected to feel nothing; this is just another building after all, like so many others I’ve visited. But I don’t. Maybe it’s the castle’s history. People locked up, treated worse than animals. Executed. It leaves an ominous cloud around the place. I fear the return of my visions.

  A wave of goose bumps sweeps my spine when I set my feet on the ground. My response must show on my face because one of the guards says, “Impressed, are ya?” I ignore his comment.

  The guards take the condemned man out of the wagon. They lead him to the front gate by each arm. I start to follow them inside, but then one turns to me and says, “Where’d you think you’re going, boy?”

  While I search for a believable reason to go inside the fortress, he says, “The stables are across the yard.” And points.

  With little choice, I turn and head in that direction. I won’t be able to see where Caledon is being held. At least not without some wheedling. This is going to be more complicated than I hoped.

  As I approach the stables, I hear raucous conversation inside. It sounds like the stable hands are taking turns telling jokes. One speaks and the others laugh. Their language is rougher than I’m accustomed to. Not that I’m so delicate—just not used to it. I stop at the entrance and take a deep breath. If the stable boys don’t accept me as one of their own, my entire story could fall apart.

  I push the door open. There’s a group of boys, around my age and younger, sitting together. They all turn to stare. They stop laughing and talking. “Who the hell are you?” one says. From his demeanor and central place in the group, I guess that he could be their leader. He’s sitting on a crate, perched above the others, who gather around him on the ground in a circle.

  “Um . . .” I search my mind. I hadn’t thought of a fake name. How careless. My first mistake.

  “So very nice to meet you, ummm,” another says.

  One of the others chimes in. “It happened. I finally met someone too stupid to know his own name.”

  “Of course I know my name. Doesn’t mean I need to tell you,” I snap.

  The first boy asks, “And what do you want?”

  “I was sent to work,” I say. The boys look at one another in confusion. Would they have been informed of a new hand on the way? I hope not.

  “None of us is leaving,” he says. “So you can bugger off.”

  “Yeah. None of us is leaving,” the other chimes in.

  “You don’t have to,” I say. The boy on the ground mocks me again, repeating you don’t have to in a high-pitched voice. My cheeks flush.

  “Well, thank you for allowing us to stay, honorable sir,” the leader says to me before bowing dramatically. Others laugh. I think I’d rather be locked up alone in a cell at this point.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I say, trying to keep my voice low and level. I can’t let them know they are getting to me. Most of all, I just want to go to sleep. My body hurts from being jostled around in the wagon all day long. My throat hurts; I’m thirsty. My water skein ran out hours ago. They all stare at me, waiting. I lift the skein, showing the boy on the crate.

  “The well’s out back,” he says. Then he adds, “We sleep in the loft.”

  I look up where he’s pointing. Seems like there’s plenty of room. I’ll find a spot as far away from the others as I can.

  “But you can sleep there.” He points to a filthy corner. Some of the other boys snicker.

  I don’t respond. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Besides, a secluded corner is preferable. I walk away and go out to fill the pouch. I hear them begin talking as soon as they think I’m out of earshot.

  I linger outside, listening. Once they determine it won’t be so bad to have someone lowly around to burden with their grunt work, I return inside, heading for the corner where the leader said I could sleep. There’s hay nearby, so I gather some to make a bed and lie down, grateful to collapse into a heap on the ground. I do wish I could remove the linens I’ve wrapped around my body; I’m itchy and it’s difficult to find a comfortable position. But I have absolutely no privacy. And the wrapping does offer more warmth.

  Though I haven’t said another word, I guess my mere presence did ruin the fun, because within moments the stable hands disperse for bed, almost all climbing up into the loft. Only one stays behind, in the opposite corner of the barn. If he’s separated from the others, then he’s my best bet for an ally. I wonder why he’s relegated to the floor like I am—maybe he was the last new addition? I’ll try to learn more about him later. In the meantime I need to figure out how to get to Caledon. After I get some rest, that is. My eyelids are heavy. All the sleepless nights combined with today’s adventures have caught up with me.

  The first day was a success; still, I’m determined to make this visit to Deersia as short as possible. I won’t be able to hide for long.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Shadow

  I SPRING AWAKE, READY TO fight. I’m being attacked.

  The leader of the pack is standing over me, holding a small pail, doubled over with laughter. My face and hair are soaking wet. As are my clothes. I’m lucky there was just water in the bucket.

  “Wakey-wakey!” he says. His minions are watching from a distance. “Time to shovel dung, plebe,” he continues. “Follow Jander. He’ll show you what to do.”

  Jander turns out to be the boy who slept in the other corner. He looks at me sheepishly and shrugs. Standing next to him, I realize how
small he is, and young. He must be eleven or twelve at most. I wonder how he ended up here, and why the others treat him so poorly.

  “Are you going to take off your shirt?” the bully asks me.

  “What?” I blurt out. I realize I’m standing there with my arms wrapped around my wet torso. The linens under my shirt are loosening.

  “He’s afraid we’ll see how soft he is,” one of the other boys offers. They all laugh and begin adding their own insults.

  “His soft widdle baby belly,” another calls out.

  I clench my jaw and control a jolt of fury. I’m tempted to go after them. Pummel them until they beg forgiveness.

  Jander turns toward the horse stalls, so I take a deep breath and follow him. I’m more than happy to put some distance between myself and the others.

  It’s not a terribly cold morning, but my wet clothes make me shiver. Jander disappears around a corner and returns seconds later with a folded wool blanket, which he holds out for me. It belongs to the horses, but it’s clean, so I don’t mind. I wrap it around my shoulders. “Thank you, that was very kind of you,” I tell him. I think I see a bit of a smile around his lips before it evaporates.

  Cleaning the stalls is easy work. I never did so many at once, but I’m accustomed to taking care of animals. I reach down to grab hold of a wheelbarrow when a wave of guilt rushes over me. I left my aunts with all the work. No doubt they’re furious that I’ve gone—but I’m not worried about furious. What upsets me is imagining them distraught or terrified, not knowing if I’m all right. Selfishly, I hadn’t considered that side of it. And I must stop thinking of it now. I bite the inside of my cheek to distract myself.

  I bite down again, hard, and think of Caledon and the Guild. “Not too bad, huh?” I say to Jander, referring to the clean stalls we’ve already done. He nods but doesn’t look up.

  We shovel out the manure and replace the hay for each horse while they’re being exercised in the field. With two of us, it doesn’t take too long.

  Jander doesn’t speak, but I don’t know if it’s because he’s shy or because he’s mute. I realize I haven’t heard him talk at all to anyone.

  “So, how long have you been here?” I ask him. He just shrugs. I try again. “My name’s . . . Shadow,” I say, holding out my hand. I don’t want to start out by lying to him. He hesitates but then shakes my hand weakly before going back to shoveling.

  By the time we finish, my clothes are almost completely dry. Things could have gone differently this morning—I’ll have to be a lot more careful from now on. If I’m caught, not only will I lose the opportunity to rescue Caledon and get to the Guild, I’ll face charges of trespassing, forgery, and treason—all punishable by death.

  We each take a wheelbarrow full of manure and push it out to the gardens. I see a few prisoners wandering the gated castle yard and try to see if Caledon is among them. I don’t see him. They all look bigger and older than he is.

  “An hour a day,” a guard says. He noticed me looking. I hadn’t even seen him standing by the fence. “We’re not barbarians.”

  I nod. Did disapproval show on my face? I stop myself from telling him that I never accused him of such. The less I talk to anyone, the better.

  We dump the wheelbarrows and head back to the stable for another load. When we return to the garden, the prisoners are gone. I need to find a way to warn Caledon about the Montrician prisoner.

  The rest of the first day isn’t too awful; Jander leaves me to go do whatever else he does, and I avoid the pack of stable boys— especially their leader, who I discovered is named Luce—and keep busy weeding the gardens. As long as I look occupied, nobody bothers with me. I look for a way to snoop inside but can’t find an excuse to go into the building.

  When the sun starts to set, I hide in some bushes behind the stable buildings and wait, the wool horse blanket keeping me warm. I don’t want to go to bed until the rest of them do. I wonder if there’s someplace better I can sleep. But the only options I can think of don’t sound any safer than staying where I am.

  The final beam of sunlight disappears over the horizon when the truth dawns on me that I didn’t think this plan through. I hadn’t considered exactly how dangerous Deersia is. On some level, I suppose I knew, but it wasn’t until actually getting here that I realized it will be near impossible to get out again. The road down the mountain will be bad enough without a posse of armed prison guards chasing us. I have to think of a way to find Caledon, release him, and leave without being detected, which means we’ll need a long head start. So we’ll have to leave at night. That solves one of the three problems, but not the other two.

  I don’t have much time to figure this out either. The longer I’m here, the greater the chance I’m going to be exposed. Lessons with my aunts never included acting—I have barely a clue about how to seem like a boy. And soon I’ll have a fourth problem on my hands—what my aunts liked to call “Deia’s monthly gift.” I have supplies but it’s better if I’m not here when it starts. Tomorrow, I need to focus solely on finding Caledon.

  Once I hear the boys snoring in the barn loft, I go in and find a dark corner to curl up in. I toss all night, worried that Luce will get up before I do. But I’m determined to get outside in the morning before anyone has a chance to douse me with water again.

  When I get up, it’s still dark, closer to night than day. I go behind the stable into the tall grasses and squat down, listening for anyone nearby. The boys relieve themselves wherever and whenever, but obviously that’s a problem for me.

  I sneak out of the grass and go to the water pump to splash some water on my face. I don’t have a tooth stick or even a clean cloth to wipe the fuzz that’s accumulated on my teeth. I’ve never felt so grimy in my life. I’ve always had access to fresh baths and mint pastes to freshen my mouth, and though I didn’t grow up with dressing maids and fancy silks, I guess I’m more accustomed to certain comforts than I realized. I cup my hands and swish some water around in my mouth, spit it out into the grass. That relieves the worst of my dry mouth but doesn’t take away from the dirty, itchy sensation that’s spread all over me, from my scalp to my feet.

  Then again, the dirt and stench probably help with my disguise anyway, so perhaps it’s not such a bad thing after all. Stable hands are hardly squeaky clean.

  The others are up now and dressed for the day, walking up to the castle to get food in the dining hall. Guards eat first, then servants. That’s the usual way of it. My stomach growls. I didn’t eat at all yesterday. I don’t want to go in with Luce and his crew, but I can’t skip another meal. I let the pack disappear inside before I follow. Hopefully, they’ll grab their food, eat quickly, and be on their way out before I even sit down.

  I turn at the sound of footsteps behind me. It’s Jander. He stops walking when I look at him. “It’s okay,” I say, waving him toward me. I stand there and wait. He joins me on the path. His gentle nature is an unexpected surprise here at the prison. I’m not sure what to say to him, so I decide to stick to yes or no questions. “Hungry?”

  He nods. Now we’re getting somewhere. “You like it here?” I ask him. He shrugs. “Have you been here long?” I try. He shrugs again. His timidity reminds me of the stray dog who started coming around the farm one summer. It was clear the dog had been abused—the evidence was all over him—so he was desperate for affection but also distrustful. Eventually he came around, though, once he knew we weren’t going to hurt him. Maybe Jander is like that, too.

  I try once more. “They mean to you?” I say quietly. This time he doesn’t respond right away, but then he nods. How awful. “How old are you?” I ask, but he just shrugs again in response. A terrible thought occurs to me. “Do . . . do you know how old you are?” I say. He shakes his head. I don’t want to push any more, so I stop asking questions.

  We get inside and walk to the dining hall, which seems to be one of the only rooms st
ill being used for its original purpose. There’s a queue for food. At the front, two men are doling out bowls of porridge with bread.

  We get in line. Luce is already sitting at a table with a few of his minions; the others are getting their food. They haven’t noticed us yet. But when they do, it happens quickly.

  Luce knocks Jander’s porridge bowl, spilling it to the floor.

  Without thinking, I lunge at Luce. His eyes widen as I knock into him, slamming him to the ground. He gains the upper hand quickly, flipping me over so he’s on top of me. He punches me in the side of my face. I try to knee him in the groin, but someone pulls him off me. I sit up, scrambling backward. My shirt is torn, almost exposing the wrap. I try to hold it closed.

  The guard who pulled Luce off me is the same one who escorted the Montrician spy the day before. He’s scolding him: “I told you! Leave that boy alone!” The guard lets him go and turns to me. “I knew you’d be trouble,” he says. “Let’s go. You’re coming with me.”

  I dig my boots into the ground. “Where?” I’m not about to follow anyone around here unless I want to.

  He is taken aback by my question, but he answers me anyway. “Kitchen duty.”

  At least that gets me inside the castle. Progress! I look around for Jander and spot him by the open stable door. I point to him. “He was fighting too. It’s only fair.”

  “You’re giving orders now, huh?” the guard barks at me. But he takes one look at Jander and gives in. “Fine. He’s good at washing floors.”

  I nod to Jander. He comes out from the doorway and follows the guard. I step behind him, glaring at Luce. He glares back. Then, finally, he smirks and disappears into the barn.

  But I’m the one who gets the last laugh. Wonder who will shovel manure for them now?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN