When Miri finally spoke, her voice was a raw whisper. “I’m not sorry he’s dead, only that I was the one who had to do it.” Even the words felt like a betrayal, as if speaking them aloud was a vow broken. There should be no guilt or regret in Miri’s heart, only honor. She should have had done with it and been strong enough not to blubber like a fool on Cass’s shoulder. She should have the heart of a lion. She should be worthy of her blood.
Cass brushed the hair away from Miri’s face, his finger grazing her cheek as he tucked the lock behind her ear the way Nan had done when Miri was a child. “I’ll not judge you for taking a life. Not with the things I’ve done.”
He was of the guard and could understand what drove her and what she was going through. But that did not mean he approved. She was, after all, putting both his life and his vow to protect Miri on the line in order to carry out her plot.
“Casper was cruel to Lettie,” Miri said. “He’d use carefully constructed words to trap her and maneuver her into situations in which she looked the fool in front of everyone, no matter what she did. Like she was incapable. Unworthy.” Gods, she’d been just a child. What sort of man could find pleasure in besting a girl? He’d made Lettie feel those things, like she would never have been good enough to be queen.
Miri wondered if her sister would be glad of what she’d done.
“Casper will get what he deserves.”
Cass’s tone was low, but Miri thought she heard something beneath. She wondered, not for the first time, what other things Casper had done when the queen’s attentions were elsewhere.
When a person found pleasure in cruelty, it was rare that they found boundaries in how far they were willing to take it. The poison she’d left him was quick but not painless. The grim thought that he would not suffer enough swam to the surface, and she wondered at what point her desire to fulfill her duty might morph into something cruel—when the lion might become a monster.
It had been cunning to plan the first killings with enough leeway for escape, but their luck would only hold out so long. Miri waited on pins and needles to hear word—desperate with dread that it hadn’t worked or, worse, that it had and she was a murderer. Cass did his best to attempt entertainment, but Miri’s mood left little room for conversation, and they had very far to ride. In a few days, they would pass near Stormhold, named—like Stormskeep—for the first queen of the realm. Miri couldn’t recall the first time she’d seen the gate, but she’d been in awe without exception since. A massive structure stretched so high that one could barely make out the guards at the top, and carved into the stone of the archway was a relief of the Storm Queen herself.
The queen wore armor and a helm, and her thick braid was curled over her shoulder in a style Lettie had emulated. Legend had it that the first queen had abolished magic and broken the chaos of the realm by conquering the men who practiced dark arts. She had created order, and within it, only the sorcerers who held fealty to the queen were allowed to have that knowledge passed to them. It had been such for every queen since.
Her realm had stood for years beyond counting, and as children, Miri and Lettie had thought the Storm Queen a god. But queens were only mortals. Queens could be killed.
“There’s an inn not far from Stormhold. We should rest here for the evening and start again tomorrow.”
Miri nodded her assent, ready to crawl off her horse and straighten her legs. That morning, Cass had found a soft patch of earth far from their trail to dig a hole and bury the vial. So when he started a fire well before dark, she did not ask what he meant to do.
He burned her clothes, the simple garments that had been provided in Pirn. They held evidence of the mud and earth from beneath the tree. The evidence was gone, but the king was not yet dead.
Miri settled onto the ground to stare up at a cloudless sky, wondering how many kings might fall by her hand and how soon she and Lettie might die. A shadow fell over her a moment before Cass came into view. He stared down at her, outlined by endless blue, a well-made blade in his grip. “Exercise,” he reminded her.
She stifled a groan as she rolled to her side but took Cass’s proffered hand. “I’m a bit rusty. Nan wouldn’t let me spar with anyone good.”
Cass chuckled. “Thom and Nan were two of the best swordsmen in Smithsport.”
She crossed her arms. “Are you saying they let me win?”
He handed her the sword. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Miri’s progress was slow—it truly had been a while since she’d practiced. The movement felt good, though, and the more she worked, the more she fell into the familiar routines of thrusts and cuts. It wasn’t long before she felt comfortable, and Cass increased his speed.
Miri dodged and parried and was soon sweating, her moves just a little too slow. She felt nearly up to his challenge, but he was a guard. Cass never had to dedicate time to sewing and gowns—he’d used all of his time and energy to train with weapons and hone his instincts. But Miri had been taught something of tactics herself, and she was not above using them in a fight. She stepped into his swing, bringing her blade up to block, and spun into Cass as he reset, twisting her leg deftly into the back of his knee. He was only off balance, but Miri had drawn her dagger and held the pommel at his ribs.
Cass gave her a look.
“Oh,” she said sweetly, “did you let me win?”
He inclined his head, his eyes lingering on her face as he extracted his body from hers. “I would never.”
Miri smiled despite herself and realized it was the first time she had since Pirn and the sorcerers in the market.
Cass slid his sword into its sheath. “Dinner,” he said. “Then stories.”
Miri’s smile would not return, but she managed a nod.
Cass was trying to draw the details from her, but Miri was not yet able to let them go. What had happened the day her mother had been murdered had simultaneously been seared into her memory, unable to leave her alone, and was unbearable to look at directly, like the sun, impossible desires, wishes that could never come true, or truths that would never be less real.
“Did you know that Henry was a childhood friend of my grandfather?” Cass poked at the fire with a broken tree limb, settling the logs before he started heating the pot.
Miri shook her head.
He went on, though he did not stop in his task to look at her. “They grew up south of Ravensgate, one the son of a well-to-do lord and the other the son of a river captain.”
“Seems an unlikely pair.” Miri sat on the ground behind where he worked, curling her legs beneath her before stretching them out again. She was still restless and would be glad when news finally came—when it was over.
“Aye. But it seems the lord enjoyed a bit of gambling, so when he found himself down at the docks, Henry’s father would leave the boy outside the establishment—not fit for a young man of stature—to fend for himself.”
Cass glanced over his shoulder at Miri’s soft laugh.
“And your grandfather was a captain’s son?”
“Yes. They immediately fell in together, peering through windows at seedy goings-on and joining in street games with somewhat lower stakes. It wasn’t long before they were fellows, and young Henry had inherited an estate.” Cass situated the pot over the fire and moved back to sit beside Miri. His elbow rested over his knee, his attention, by all appearances, in the distance.