He moved toward her as her steps slowed, bringing her backward into the room, and Miri could only think of how it would feel when he touched her, when his warm, soft lips pressed to hers, and when his hands, always gentle, tightened around her in something that wasn’t comfort or protection. It was something that felt as reckless and urgent as she did.
A screeching yowl came as Miri stumbled over the cat. The creature danced underfoot before sinking its claws into Miri’s skin. Miri hissed a curse, and Cass grabbed her arm to steady her as she hopped on one foot and the hateful feline shot through the door.
“Isabella,” Ginger scolded from upstairs.
Cass stared down at Miri as she leaned to rub the tender leg. Her feet were bare beneath a borrowed homespun gown. She sighed and straightened, acknowledging whatever foolishness that had come over them. Miri was of queen’s blood. Cass was bloodsworn. They both had duties to fulfill. Cass’s was to protect her. Miri’s was to kill a king. In the morning, by the grace of the gods, each would see it done.
Miri rubbed salve over the angry scratch on her leg, and she and Cass said their farewells to Ginger and Hugh with a promise to visit, should they ever return. Their packs had been filled with supplies, and their clothes had been laundered and scented with violets. Their first stop had been the seamstress, where Miri procured a lady’s dress. Their next was the stately manor where they would linger until nightfall while their horses hid in the stables. Their cover stories were secured in case Miri was noticed.
“We have friends in Ironwood,” Cass had said. He meant friends loyal to the dead queen.
Miri dressed in a richly furnished bedroom while Cass waited in the parlor. She would not allow a maid to help, should something go wrong and Miri be caught. She was already risking more lives than she cared to think about for long.
Miri tied her corset, wondering if Lettie had been able to track time where they kept her. It was impossible to know if Lettie was even aware her name day was approaching. It was possible Lettie felt as if centuries had passed, as if there were no torture greater than waiting for her death.
She also wondered if Nicholas visited her sister’s cell to taunt the rightful heir. It was unlikely. Nicholas might have named himself king of Stormskeep, but that didn’t mean the man had changed. He didn’t relish attention like the other lords. He quite enjoyed his secrets. Lord Nicholas had been able to hold his tongue. King Nicholas was doubtless even better at the task.
His son, however, had a tongue like a snake. He was a whispering, slithering reptile of a thing. Lettie had made sheep’s eyes at Augustus every time they were forced into his company. Miri had never understood it or been able to see why Lettie needed so badly the approval of those lords and their sniveling sons. And now she was prisoner to the very lord she’d wanted so much to impress.
Of all the kings of the realm, Miri hated Nicholas the most. But he was not the king she would kill next.
A soft knock came at the door, and the rhythm of it tugged Miri’s scowl into something softer. It consisted of the three short raps Thom had always used. “Do you need… assistance?”
Miri let out a resigned laugh. “Apparently. Please come in. I’m decent enough.”
Cass came slowly through the door, his eyes meeting Miri’s before he closed the door again behind him.
She shrugged. “I’ve gotten as far as I can, but the laces will need tightening in the back.”
He gestured for her to spin as she muttered that she should have chosen a better gown, and Cass was suddenly behind her, his clever fingers on the laces and his breath on the back of her neck. Miri swallowed.
He tugged each row tighter then paused. “I’ve never—I don’t know how tight these should be.”
Miri looked down at her chest, where it swelled perilously from the bodice. “Tighter, I’m afraid.” She raised her arms, testing to be certain she would be free to climb and move. “But not much.”
The bodice was black cambric, embroidered with delicate vines. The skirt was black as well, traditional in style and entirely ordinary. She appeared to be a lady of no real stature who would serve at the beck of Edwin’s queen. A lady on her way to mass warranted no attention.
Miri turned to face her guard.
Cass dutifully did not look at her chest. “Do you have your blades?”
She nodded. “Three. Two within easy reach.”
“And the vial?”
Miri carefully patted the small pouch hidden beneath folds of material at her waist.
“And your courage?”
She smiled. “I’m unable to leave it, though I might like to.”
Cass’s gaze stayed on her a moment too long. “Then we should go.”
Chapter 22
As they stood in the shadows of the chapel, the only light was the flicker of far-off torches and lanterns. Miri looked up the tall tower of the castle. Its stone was tinted blue by a scant bit of moon through the clouds. She would part with Cass, climb that tower, and kill the next king.
Miri turned to her guard in the darkness. His eyes were on her face as she drew the cloak from around her shoulders. She handed it to him wordlessly, unable to say goodbye.
“We’ll need to dye your hair soon. It’s getting lighter. On our way to Ravensgate.”
It was a promise that she would make it and they would escape with their lives. She nodded. “On our way to Ravensgate.”
Miri hoped it was true.
She said no more as she slid into the shadows, her slippered feet silent on the path. It would not be a maze to find Edwin’s rooms. There was only one way: up. She entered through the postern gate, her hands carefully positioned in front of her waist, fingers clasped together. She kept her gaze on the smooth stones beneath her, moving with purpose through the quiet corridors. The whispered swish of her skirts echoed through the hall, barely audible as she turned toward an inner castle wall. Kingsmen were posted at a wide arch across the small courtyard, their shoulders straight but their eyes on the darkness before them, not behind—not where Miri was.
She unclasped her dusty hands, grateful for the lack of rain or dew and that the stone was dry as she wrapped strips of cloth tightly around her palms. Miri wasn’t certain she would have managed the wait if weather had impeded her plans. She tied her skirts back as well as possible and gripped a wood beam then a carved corbel. Her feet slipped into the narrow cracks of stone as she pushed herself up. The construction curved outward, so if Miri fell, it would be to the flat stone covering the earth, not the rough pieces she was crawling over. It was why she’d had to dress as a lady and why there would be no return using the same route. After her task was complete, she would have to descend the tower while the ladies made their way to the chapel under the cover of early morning, but her disguise was not foolproof. She couldn’t pass for a lady in the light of day, not when all eyes were upon them as they returned to the queen’s rooms, so the way up had to be in the dark of night, through the second-level window.
Miri’s fingers slid from the gritty stone, and she slipped. Her elbow slammed against the side of a support before she caught herself, black dress pressed against the shadows as she waited to discover if the guards had heard. When her breath returned, she raised a hand toward the carvings beneath an oriel window and drew herself up and over the ledge. Her arms trembled with the strain, and she wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor inside.