Two smaller bells rang in quick succession on the north side of the castle, followed by the muffled shouts of running men. Cass let his gaze meet Terric’s, and they each gave a nod without acknowledgment that it might be the last time they saw one another. Then Terric was gone, and Cass was on the move, each intent on foiling the kingsmen where they could.
Calls of “What’s happened?” echoed quietly among the black-garbed laborers. Their voices were no more than whispers to avoid notice from the kingsmen.
Cass made his way toward the sound of the bells, hooking the edge of a basket to spill fruit so that it rolled over the stones. He kept moving, as if he’d been entirely unaware of the commotion behind him as several black-clad figures moved to pick up the mess. His palm itched for a sword hilt, the feel of his dagger handle, or for any sort of action. But that was not his duty yet.
He slipped closer to the wall, passing two half-helmed kingsmen close in conversation, their words clipped. He heard “Stabbed him in the thigh,” then “Broke his jaw.” Miri had been smart. She’d left her assailant so that he couldn’t chase her. And no doubt the jaw had not been an accident, either, not when the man’s words would have her found out faster. But something else must have gone wrong, because Miri had not killed him. She’d not left him unable to sound the alarm. Maybe more guards had turned up, or worse, someone who might be able to identify her in detail or might have recognized her for who she truly was.
Cass swerved near two more kingsmen as they ran past and heard “Covered in blood. Short. Female. A maid.”
There it was. They thought her still dressed in black. It would give her the chance to escape, if she could.
Cass moved faster, toward the sound of the bells, and felt his hope drop to the pit of his stomach at the sight of a mass of horses approaching at speed. It was a dozen kingsmen, swords drawn, and between them, as if the demon needed protection, a sorcerer dressed in the long black robes for which they were known. The robes hid their bodies, scarred from the drawing of blood. They had been paid for by the deaths of Cass’s brothers and were rich fabric trimmed with gold.
As the horses neared, the gates opened wide, and Cass spotted the familiar figure of Terric, swift on his feet and somehow already dressed in kingsman garb, as he edged toward the entrance. Gods, he meant to slip inside. Cass drew one long breath before he could change his mind then pulled the sword from his belt, shouted an obscenity about the king’s men, and waved the blade toward the sky.
The kingsmen only gave him the briefest glance, but that was all Cass would need. The group on horseback didn’t give chase, but three on foot certainly did. Cass turned to run, leaped toward an alley he hoped was not a dead end, and prayed his brother-in-arms had made it inside.
Chapter 17
Cass would much rather have dispatched the three kingsmen and hidden their bodies in a dark, unfindable place instead of evade them. But Miri had, as near as he could tell, only stabbed a single kingsman before she ran away. The castle guard was on alert, but there was no reason for them to think it was anything other than a rogue attack. It was just a single maid who’d had it out with a guard. If he killed any more, they would know the truth, and Miri’s plans would all be spoiled.
He leapt to a perch on a rooftop, high enough to see over the castle wall. Below him, in the courtyard, stood two dozen black-clad figures around the man in the sorcerer’s robe. The kingsmen were some of the best-trained men in the lands. Coin was scarce, and though most didn’t favor the kings, the guard was a place of status that paid well enough to gather skilled men. But that did not mean the men of Kirkwall were as capable as those at Stormskeep. They housed a single sorcerer and an ineffectual king and lacked the stores to hold much sway among the six other lords who’d taken the realm. Kirkwall was the least powerful. Stormskeep had surpassed it not due to its own king but because of the port. And Blackstone was constantly on the edge of rebellion.
If Miri couldn’t execute her plans at Kirkwall, she would succeed nowhere else in the realm, particularly not if they realized who she was.
As servants were rounded up in the courtyard, Cass scanned the street, searching for a figure moving swiftly away. He searched for the color of her hair, the set of her shoulders, and the way she moved, that familiar surety in her step, the way she held her head high with her gaze straight.
Cass drew a sharp breath at the sight of her long, loose brown tresses, those he’d held in his hands. She’d peeled the outer layer of her clothing away to reveal the soft linen in brown and green, but she held something wadded in her arm, balled just right so that it helped cover what might have been a stain. He hoped it was not her blood.
She strode down the street, along the castle wall where, on the other side, stood the sorcerer and so many kingsmen. Cass felt sick at the nearness of that sorcerer and the memory of Miri’s face only weeks before, when they’d crossed paths with one in Pirn. He edged closer, searching for any sign of distress, but Miri only crossed behind a row of carts, making her way toward the opposite side of the street.
He crept backward, shuffling carefully over poorly kept thatch and onto another rooftop, then scurried down to run after her again. He realized, too late, that she meant to go back to the inn.
Kingsmen trailed after her, three silver half helms glinting in the late-day sun, and Cass let slip a whispered curse.
His feet moved swiftly over stone, following as the kingsmen drew their swords. The far one gestured to his side, in the same area where Miri’s wadded bundle poorly concealed a stain of blood. They would know it was her.
They would be able to identify her the moment she was brought back to the other guard. Or worse, they would not question her at all. They’d no idea she was a princess and thought her a lowly maid.
Cass leaned against a building, glancing down at his hand as if distracted, and cut a sharp whistle. The kingsmen’s glares were swift, but Miri had turned too. She had looked backward and saw them advancing.
Cass wanted to face the soldiers and incite them instead to give chase to him. But he knew they would not. They’d seen the blood on Miri’s side. It was only by the grace of the maiden that they’d not already called an alarm.
She was only a maid. They thought they could take her. But Myrina of Stormskeep was no maid. She hadn’t run at his warning call. Instead, she’d turned and moved back toward the soldiers in their momentary distraction. A scarf was suddenly over her face, a blade in her hand.
Cass moved, too, but the kingsmen had drawn up on her. They hadn’t realized they’d walked into a trap.
Don’t kill them, Cass wanted to call, but he held his tongue and instead drove the hilt of his sword down hard on the base of a kingsman’s neck. He staggered forward, and Cass followed, shoving the man to the ground.
Miri crouched low, her dagger hand ready. The guard muttered a curse and reached for her, as if to knock the weapon away. Miri’s other hand slammed into his chin, knocking his head back, and she reset and followed with a solid blow to the nose.
Cass hit the back of the third guard’s knee an instant before his forearm was pressed against the kingsman’s neck. There was a short, grunting shuffle as the first two rose and were batted down again. Miri produced a rope from somewhere and tossed it to Cass. He looped it around one guard’s wrists as she swung a brutal kick into the side of another’s head. She yanked off her belt, threw it at Cass, and shoved a sword away from the third guard with her foot.