Determination had never been her problem, after all. It was the fear that broke her.
The fear that gripped her most was that Lettie was so near—no more than ten days’ ride north of their stay in Stormhold. But Miri couldn’t get to her sister. Too many kings, too many sorcerers, and too many walls were in her way.
In two months’ time, at the end of summer, Miri’s sister would be dead. Lettie would never make it through her name day and would never wear the crown of the one true queen.
“Bean,” Cass said from beside her.
Miri startled, hand twitching toward her knife. He stared up at her, making no move to rein her in. “Of course,” she said, with regard to nothing at all.
His mouth turned down on one side. “There are rooms at a smaller inn down the way. We’ll get settled then walk into town before nightfall.”
“Of course,” Miri said again. Of course.
If the market at Pirn had been a lord’s feast of imported spices, hearty meats, and well-dressed guests, the market at Kirkwall was pottage and sour ale at a back-alley inn. The town was gated and closed off to many traders, so goods were more focused on staple foods, practical cloths, and locally made household necessities. Fortunately, Cass had gathered what Miri needed from the herbalist at Pirn, and thus far, they had not been robbed of those goods. The way Cass stayed near both Miri and his blade, she did not have confidence in the unlikeliness of just such a thing, in which case they would have to choose between fighting for their possessions and being taken into custody for stabbing said thieves.
The idea made Miri a bit sick, because her plans did not have room for too many corrections or for too much to go wrong.
“In and out,” Cass told her. “Get what you need, and we’ll return to the inn.”
Miri nodded, picking up her step to stay with him, not that he’d let go of her. “Clothes,” Miri reminded him. “Everything else can wait.”
They dodged through a crowd of women trading scarves, keeping tight to the storefronts and stalls and away from the milling men in the center of the streets and the small children with quick little hands. The children were thinner than Miri remembered, and there seemed to be far more scavenging and lurking about.
The smell of fresh bread caught her attention, and when Cass noticed, he passed the woman peddling the baked goods a small coin. In return, she gave him two hard rolls and a toothless grin. A pair of elderly men sat leaning against a building, their eyes covered with black strips of cloth. Miri slowed, her gaze caught on the sand-covered stones beneath them. A mark had been drawn in that sand, the outline of the symbol Miri had seen on the arm of the woman in Pirn.
Gods, she didn’t understand how so many still held fealty for a queen who would never return. After so many years…
The thought made Miri’s stomach go sour, because she was the one speeding through a market in Kirkwall, prepared to kill its king. For a queen who could never come back.
A small child darted toward Miri, and she held up a hand, warding him off with a severely pointed finger. Behind her, as swift as a whip, another darted a hand toward her satchel. Miri snatched his wrist, and the boy drew back for a kick, but one quick move, and Miri had him pinned in front of her body between her and the other child. “Boys,” she said in a tone that brooked no reply. “I’ve no quarrel with you.” She gave the wrist in her grip a bit more twist. “Yet.”
“Yes, m’lady,” the boy in her hold squeaked. “Apologies. Truly, we meant no harm.”
Cass watched as the first boy blinked up at Miri then turned to run, the soles of his worn boots flashing with impressive speed. Miri let go of the second boy and barked a call at him before he darted away. He turned, still moving but apparently clever enough not to leave his back to her, eyes wide and arms out while he decided which way to go.
She tossed him the roll. “Don’t try it again.”
His eyes, as green as the sea, shifted between Miri and the bread in his grip before he turned tail to run.
Miri stared after him. “Not even a thank you.”
Cass gave Miri a look then awarded a longer one to the few watching from the crowd. It would not have been an unusual scene, but she wasn’t meant to draw attention to herself. “My lady,” Cass said sternly, taking her by the elbow as he handed her his roll.
“Of course,” she said. Of course.
They neared a stall selling textiles. Silk and linen were on display as a young woman sat near the street, knitting. Miri felt Cass’s grip tighten on her hand and let her gaze roam the street to find the source of his tension. Kingsmen dressed in black cloaks, their signature dark-brown uniforms trimmed in red and adorned with the emblem of the king’s guard, roamed the street. Miri tried to look away and not see the bear emblazoned on the chest plates of their armor.
She could feel the sudden remembered pain in her wrist from her mother grabbing it so long ago. Her hand was slick with blood, and she held her too tight to pull away. You’re hurting me, Miri had wanted to scream. But Miri couldn’t say a word.
“Bean,” Cass whispered through clenched teeth, suddenly in front of her. His face blocked out all else.
She nodded mutely, swallowing against the memory, the fear, and the feel of a blood-slicked hand. She pulled her fingers from Cass’s. “We’ll shop for candles first.”
Cass watched her for several moments, likely wondering if she was losing her mind. But when she only faced him steadily, he drew her with him into the stall selling tallow and lanterns, touching her gently at the elbow instead of gripping her sweating palm.
It wasn’t long before the kingsmen moved on, and in their wake swelled the murmuring of the crowd. The kingsmen were less well liked than the kings of the realm, which was more than a shade of distaste. It did little good toward her cause, though, because the kings and their sorcerers held all the power. Miri complimented the stall owner on her wares, and Cass bought a candle that was entirely unscented and unadorned. She smirked up at him, her humor returned since the pain of the memory had passed, but he seemed to have no idea that his purchase had been an uninspired choice.
As they walked the street toward the clothing stalls, Miri leaned closer to him. “What is your favorite scent, Cass?”
He glanced at her sidelong. “That is a strange question.”
“Not the sea, then? The stink of fish and soured ale?” Miri didn’t suppose she minded those smells at all, if truth be told, because she was a little bit homesick for Smithsport and more than a lot for Nan and Thom.
He shrugged, glancing down the street. “I don’t know. I’m partial to sweet orange, I suppose.”
Miri skipped a step to catch his pace. “Oh, I love sweet orange. Nan used to make it special for me.”
A flash of color tinted Cass’s cheeks, and Miri felt something strange pool in her gut. She pressed her lips together, feeling as if she’d said something wrong.
But she hadn’t. The scent had been rare, imported from across the sea. Nan had only made sweet orange soaps for Miri alone.
Cass didn’t glance back at her as he turned into the tent that sold clothes in the local style. The material would be similar to that in the king’s castle. It was of lesser quality, but she wouldn’t need an exact match. No one looked too hard at servers and maids.