A hideous tearing sound came as Miri’s skirt caught on the edge of a carving, and she was suddenly jerked to a stop—stuck between the frame of the window and the ledge outside. Her eyes snapped to the space above her, her heart skipping with fear that someone might have heard, but she couldn’t let go to free the material. She was caught, every measure she tried to shift stolen by a determined snag. She felt without warning more hopeless than when the guard at Kirkwall had touched her with his sword. She couldn’t go backward, or she would fall. She was trapped, snared by a foe she could not fight or stab. Gods, she felt hot tears welling in her eyes.
It was not how she would die. Miri gritted her teeth and drew herself forward with all of the strength in her arms. The material ripped loudly, but with a finality that let her fall over the ledge inside. She panted, fingers trembling as she jerked the frayed threads free, then with more horror, she checked her pouch to be certain she’d not lost her vial. It was there, so she scurried into a nearby alcove to sort the torn bits of her dress into reasonable order. She pulled the fabric from her palms, unsurprised her fingers were tipped in scratches and blood. She would not have to climb any farther—not that she could have with the sheer flat walls of the upper levels. She’d only needed to bypass the lower level and reach the second floor so that she could gain access to the spiral stairs that led toward the lady’s rooms, which had secret passages.
It was quick work when the castle slept, but Miri had to skirt several guards on her way. The king’s mistress’s sitting room was empty. Most of her ladies were asleep in their beds after so many years of going unneeded. A scattered few lay sleeping on the cushions before the windows of her bedchamber, where the cool night air brushed against a dozen sheer silks hanging from bedposts and over chairbacks. Miri crept through the room toward the massive stone fireplace, which was bare of wood. She pulled a candle, which had cracked during her climbing, from the pouch at her waist and lit it from a taper that had been left burning near the bed. She stepped through, careful of soot, and behind the hidden panel to be engulfed in the damp, stale air of the passageway.
The space was narrow, sandwiched between two walls, and left her no choice of which direction to go. She held a hand before the flame of her tilted candle, making her way as quickly as the air would allow. When she finally reached the end of the passage, she dampened her fingers and pinched the flame, waiting for the scent to dissipate as she prayed she’d been right about which corridor led to the king.
Miri listened for a painfully extended length of time, alone in the darkness and yearning for fresh, open air. She heard nothing, could see nothing, and felt no sense of movement beyond the wall. Holding her breath, she reached for the panel, pushing down the fear that the king had since blocked the way. There could be any number of furnishings on the other side, but her only other option had been climbing through the tube that evacuated his garderobe, and no one had attempted that since the uprisings following the Lion Queen’s murder. It had not ended well for the men who’d tried.
The panel came free of its frame with a wooden pop, and Miri held very still for another torturous moment. When she heard no movement from inside the room, she slid the panel aside, only to find more darkness. She reached tentatively forward, feeling the heavy woven back of a tapestry. Miri moved to her knees to peer below it and saw the bottom of a wide, open space. Its floors were covered in finely woven rugs, and its ornate fireplace was bare of wood. There was another passage on the far wall behind the massive wardrobe, Miri had been told, but that one led to a tower that held two sorcerers, something Miri hoped she would never face again.
She shook off the cold thought, crawling from the passageway to avoid shifting the massive tapestry from its place. Moonlight streamed through high windows. The air near her was still, but it rustled the sheers across the room. Her gaze roamed the far space as she searched for any dangers, trying to discern shapes that might be sleeping men. Miri eased forward on her knees, jolting and nearly screaming when she came face to face with the tangled mass of a hulking snake. She froze as it stared at her, its dark eyes unmoving and its head low. One more move, and the creature would have struck. Miri winced, silently begging the creature to let her go as she backed slowly toward the wall she’d only just emerged from. When she’d given it enough space, the snake slithered from its spot, crossing the floor at an angle and speed that made Miri’s stomach turn.
She leaned back, giving herself a moment to catch her breath, then settled on putting the panel back into place. She’d made it to the king’s rooms, clearly, and should she find the bath and complete her task, she did not want to have to come back to hide her trail.
After smoothing the tapestry with a scratched and filthy hand, she followed the wall through the room, avoiding baskets and structures that might be hiding more snakes. She stuck to the shadows, her eyes catching on a low, wide bed draped in heavy fabric. The curtains were drawn closed. She stared at it for several moments, feeling the thundering of her heart. Behind the curtains slept a king—a lord in wolf’s clothing who’d murdered to name himself king.
Miri swallowed back bile. She was a murderer too. Vengeance might have been her duty, but it did not feel entirely clean. She forced her eyes off the drapes surrounding Edwin’s bed and crept through the door to the next room.
Edwin was known for his rituals, foremost his private bath. He’d had the stone tub built when he’d only been a lord, but as king, it had been said that the servants heated and hauled his water twice a day. His oils were imported from across the sea, blends that he chose not as the king of Kirkwall—for their supposed healing properties—but because Edwin was pleased by their scents. The windowed room was sparse with furnishings, its central feature and only real purpose the tub. Miri crossed slowly to the circle of smooth stone, impressed by the detailed carvings despite herself. Rows of candles and incense lined one rim, and the other was worn with use. There, Edwin would sit, his arms spread wide, eyes closed as his tensions eased in the heated, fragrant water. There, Edwin would die.
He would lose his ability to control his muscles, slip beneath the surface, and drown, in darkness and alone, the way Miri nearly had as a child. She took a steadying breath, kneeling onto the stone to choose a vial. One was dark-blue glass, its liquid half gone, and appeared as if it could be his favorite. Another beside it was nearly gone. She considered which of the six to use, but it was all a gamble. She needed his death to wait until they’d taken care of the next king, but Edwin had to be gone before the end of summer and the festival of moons.
Miri pulled the poison from the pouch at her waist and cautiously opened the stopper. She dripped the liquid into the oil then returned each to their original positions. She had never imagined she would be a poisoner. Miri was a princess, daughter of the Lion Queen. Her fate was to wield a sword in battle, secure her sister’s rule as head of the guard, protect their blood and their name, and shore their legacy. It didn’t feel as if she was holding to her duty, but Miri knew there was no one else who could save Lettie. It was Miri’s sacrifice to make.
She had done it. Pressing her palms to the stone, she prepared to push herself to standing—and was seized by the knot of hair at the back of her neck. A blade pricked the flesh beneath her jaw, and Miri felt the line of blood run from the wound even as her head was wrenched backward. Her fingers curled against the stone, but the blade was already at her throat. Trying to toss the man forward into the pool would only get her throat cut.