“The king has been killed. Fallen from his horse. His neck broken so that he couldn’t even speak. Blood bubbled from his lips, no words. A terrible accident.”
The whispers followed. “The man was such a fool for his riding. Never skilled but a braggart, constantly on that he took his stallion out to hunt every week. A second cousin had a boy who was a groom there, said they’d pushed him onto the beast every single time. Trotted him through the courtyard and into the woods on parade. His knights would shoot a fox for him and lay it in the weeds the morning of. Fool of a thing. It’s a wonder he lasted this long at all.”
Miri met Cass’s gaze, but when he was approached by the stable hand, Cass only shook his head sadly, as if dismayed by the unfortunate news. “No, of course we’ve not heard. We’ve been traveling for weeks. Yes, traders from Kirkwall. On our way home to replenish our stock.”
She was grateful he’d gone along with her plan. A time to implement the spread of rumors would come but not yet. Too soon, and the kings might raise their guard—before their suspicions had been triggered by Miri’s actions. She had one more kill, maybe two, then things would get exponentially harder—one more before the risks became higher still.
“My lady.”
Cass offered his hand, but Miri didn’t flinch. She took it gratefully and let him settle her onto the ground. She had two feet, and she could use them to get to the inn—she hoped, anyway.
“Terrible news,” the stable hand said. “And no son to bear his throne.”
Miri’s teeth pressed together so hard that she feared they might crack.
“We’ve ridden such a long way,” Cass said. “Please excuse the lady. I fear we both need a hot meal and a long rest.”
The stable hand smiled. “To be sure. You’ve come to the right place, I tell you. Mags has on a beast of a stew. Sure to be a busy one tonight. Even a bard or two, I’ll wager.”
Cass took Miri by the elbow to lead her away from the stables, through the milling travelers, and into the inn. The exterior was large and unadorned, made of wattle and daub despite being so near the town at Stormhold. It was an older establishment, and though Stormhold was rich in trade, the inn was far enough out to see less traffic. No one would bother trading there when it was only a day’s ride to the central trading spot of Stormhold, situated between two rivers with the port to its south and the wealthy kingdom of Stormskeep to its north.
They walked into the inn to find it lit by a dozen hammered-iron chandeliers and wall sconces and smelling strongly of the promised stew. Few patrons waited at the tables, but the staff was busy milling about in what was undoubtedly preparation for what would have been a previously unexpected crowd. One of the servers glanced up at Cass, and something like recognition flashed in her eyes. It was gone a moment later.
“Is it too early for dinner?” Cass asked.
“No, to be sure.” She smiled. “Have yourselves a sit down, and I’ll be back in a wink with plenty for you both.”
Cass settled onto a bench across from Miri, giving her a look that asked how she was. She managed a nod, but if she were being honest, she didn’t feel like a criminal about to be caught. She felt almost relieved. The waiting was over. The first king was dead. It was an accident, they’d said. Everyone thought him a fool.
“He’ll be replaced by one of his advisers, a cousin, I’m told…” The words echoed from across the massive room, a space filled with rough-hewn lumber, pottery, and trenchers on every table.
The rumors were true—those of succession, at least. King Casper had no heir. His fool of a cousin would be no threat, should the true queen be raised again to her throne—should Miri make it to Lettie in time.
“Ale for the lady,” Cass said. “Cider for me.”
The server, younger than the first, smirked at Cass’s order, which did not bode well for the quality of his choice. He thanked her, anyway, and when she returned a moment later with two mugs, the older woman followed after. She was the aforementioned Mags, Miri guessed.
The woman settled their stew onto the table, her gaze lingering on Cass’s placid face before she straightened to place a hand on her hip. “Will you be having a room then?”
“If we’re lucky.” Cass gave her a grin, but it was not the lopsided one that surfaced when he really meant it.
“Aye,” she said. “You do look like the lucky sort.”
Miri bit her lip at the color that crossed Cass’s cheeks. She was feeling more than a little unbalanced, but she picked up the ale anyway and drank heavily.
The woman nodded. “I’ll set you up with a room and bring back another helping. You both look like you could use some fattening up for the trail.”
Cass thanked her then took a draw from his mug. He choked loudly and set the cup on the table, his eyes watering. Miri slid her ale toward him, and he took it with a grateful look once he was able to draw a solid breath. “Gods,” he muttered. “Remind me never to try that again.”
Miri chuckled, but it was only half-hearted. She knew Cass would not sleep easily with so many about at the inn. He would stay awake and listen from his spot on the floor. He would be close enough to protect Miri but always kept an ear to the crowd.
The stew was warm and salty with large chunks of vegetables and a hearty portion of meat. Miri hadn’t realized how hungry she was and was quickly feeling settled and steadier by the warmth and the food. By the end of the second bowl, they’d finished three glasses of ale, and Miri was comfortable enough to entertain sleeping on the bench right there in the dining room.
“Another ale, I think,” she said lazily before Cass slid the mug to his side of the table.
“That’ll do,” he said.
Miri quirked a brow at him when she realized he wasn’t drinking it, only moving it away from her. She wondered a bit vaguely how long that had been going on. Surely, he’d helped her drain the previous mugs.
The room had filled with an early-supper crowd, and over the chatter of scuttlebutt and jest, Miri could hear the patter of rain. It would be dark and wet and maybe warmer in the stable near a dozing horse. She could certainly picture herself sleeping out there as well.
Laughter erupted from across the room, deep bellows from broad-chested men and the cackling crows of the serving women. It had been something the bard had said, she thought, but Miri’s gaze caught on the fire in the massive stone hearth. There, it would be warm. There, she could sleep.
“Well enough,” Cass said. “Time we retire.”
“No, I’m fine. Very well, in fact,” Miri answered. There was no need to rush on her part. Cass the queensguard could listen all he wanted.
Cass frowned, stood, and came around to bow toward Miri. “My lady.”
Miri snorted a laugh but stood to meet him. “Good sir.” She put her elbow out and let Cass lead her toward the stairs.
As they crossed in front of the door, a large man came in, shaking rain from his hat and rolling his shoulders like a dog shedding water. He had brass rings braided into his beard and boots fit for the sea. He was from Smithsport, then. Cass leaned into Miri, his face nearly brushing her neck as he swept her toward the stairs. They were only a young couple, traders newly wed, not the harbormaster’s spy from Smithsport and the daughter of a dead queen.