“Right.” Nim scratched a hasty note to Margery as Wesley joined Maris in the sitting room, snatching two rolls and a hunk of meat from the tray on his way past. When Nim finally finished the missive, two pages long, she made her way to the sitting room to deliver it to him.
He took it and gave the lady’s maid a look. “She’s not to leave this room.”
Maris inclined her head slightly but instead of the expected “as you say,” she replied, “I wouldn’t dream of letting her.”
Wes’s answering grin seemed to imply it was a mite trickier than all that, but he let it go, giving them both a small wave before heading out the door.
“Maris,” Nim said as she stood in the center of the sitting room, “if whatever threat there was earlier is resolved, why is it, I wonder, that I am not allowed to leave without Wesley?”
“Is there somewhere else you wish to be, my lady?”
Nim pursed her lips. She guessed not. If anything, she should return to her work at Warrick’s desk. But when she gave a nod of acquiescence, Maris did not follow into Warrick’s study, and it was only a reminder that Nim was in the seneschal’s private rooms, as if nothing was untoward, as if it was not an act that could deem them both unfit to conduct themselves as agents of the king.
It did nothing to stop her from completing her work, and in the small hours before dawn, Nim was awakened by the gentle touch of that very seneschal’s hand as he brushed a thumb across her cheek.
She shot up, parchment plastered to her face and ink across her fingertips. Warrick’s brow rose, but all she felt from him was warmth. She ran a hand over her face and pointedly did not look at the mess she’d made of his desk. “Did you fix it?”
His intimations drew back as he shook his head. “Come to bed, love. You can worry about the rest in the morning.”
“But—”
He reached a hand down to hers. “Maris has returned to your rooms. When dawn comes, you can take the hidden corridor to rejoin her.” He stared down at her. “I only want to hold you for a while and rest with you safe at my side.”
Nim stood to follow, but she did not like what it meant that he had no simple answer. Warrick was losing his battle over her with the king.
Chapter 16
Rhen’s threats did not seem as if they might let up. The next day, Nim strolled a courtyard garden with Maris, taking in the sun between her hours in the dim study of her new post. When she was drawn to a particularly stunning rose bush, she leaned forward, unaware in the moment precisely what the draw meant. She only moved toward it, unable to stop herself from touching the soft petals, heedless of all else around her.
Then Maris’s blade cut the air before her, hard and fast like a serpent’s strike.
Nim drew in a sharp breath and glanced down as horror rose in her like a tide. The body of a long black snake spilled blood onto the paving stones inches from her feet, split into two separate pieces by the blade of a queen’s protector.
It had been bad, absolutely, but late that night, when Nim went to the passageway to seek out Warrick in his rooms, she paused in the darkness, more than a little aware of the slithering, unpleasant sort of magic with her in the corridor. Another serpent had found her—another warning from Rhen. Nim’s hand flew to her dagger, but she did not strike. She took the coward’s way and slunk back into her room, where she proceeded to lock herself away until morning.
She did so with a commitment that had Maris on notice. Nothing could be done for it. Rhen’s warnings had been clear and did not bode well for what was to come at the public ball, yet the king was out for Nim’s blood. There would be precious few chances to search out Lord Preston and answers to what the Trust had planned.
“My lady,” Maris finally said. When Nim’s head snapped up, Maris explained, “The lady Margery has arrived.”
Margery bustled into the room with an armful of documents and garments. “Alice?”
The girl beamed at Nim. “Your ladyship,” she started, but she was so laden with garment bags that she was unable to perform a proper curtsy.
“What are you doing?” Nim hissed at her friend.
Margery only shrugged. “Well, I can’t very well bring in someone who doesn’t know your precious secrets, now can I?” She dropped her burden onto a table. “And we need help.”
“We?”
She gave Nim a look. “We. And when you explained how things worked with Wesley, well, honestly, what harm could come from having double that sort of protection? Besides, it’s not as if I can trust my own help with it. That lot has no skill at holding their tongues, and you know it.”
Nim gaped at her. She wasn’t wrong about what Alice could do, precisely, but using her to shield themselves from magic was not the same as using Wes. The seneschal’s messenger was already involved. “She’s just a girl.”
Alice’s posture went rigid. “My lady. I am an agent of the king. This is king’s business, is it not?”
“No!” Nim shouted. Fate’s sake, the king wanted her dead. “And I’m not about to involve you in it.” She turned to glare at Margery, so when a low voice sounded at her ear, she nearly jumped from her skin.
“To be fair, while she does believe she’s about important business for the constable, mostly, she’s just loyal to you, my lady. To a fault, possibly, but it remains unchangeable.”
“Allister.” Nim gasped and turned, finding her erstwhile valet dressed in a suit fit for royalty.
“We’re to assist you to the ball, my lady, if you’ll have us.”
“Whether you’ll have them or not,” Margery snapped. “Don’t pretend they’re in less danger alone at Hearst Manor than here, under the protection of the castle guard. Now come. We’ve not much time.”
The night’s ball was an annual celebration, a nod to the tradition of chasing birds from early summer crops. While the children who performed the seasonal work were likely at home in their beds, society had bedecked themselves in lavish gowns and feathered masks, bells and strings of noisemakers in delicate glass and metal chiming at every arch and doorway. Music swelled through the space with the muffled swish of fabric, the scents of sweet foods overwhelmed by heady incense, its smoke coiling through the air like so many snakes.
Nim’s heart was in her throat. “This was a horrible idea.”
Margery patted a hand on Nim’s arm where it laced through hers. “Pshaw. Masques are never a horrible idea.”
Nim turned to glare, but the feathers jutting from her mask stole any gravity from the threat. Margery’s mask was a sleek, catlike thing, formed to her face in a way that made her somehow more menacing and captivating at once. “How are we to find anyone when we can’t see who they are?”
“My friend, some days, you lack imagination entirely.” Margery’s lip curled into a smile as she released Nim’s arm to take Alice’s. “Now, dance with Allister and see how long that dress of yours takes to snare some prey.”
Nim let her breath go then wiped a palm over the material of her skirt and took Allister’s proffered hand.
“My lady,” he said. “Exceptionally hideous scheme, as one might come to expect.”