“We’ve only two days to waste, now that our tasks are done. What say you, dear Bean?”
Miri gave Cass a flat look. “We’ve no days to waste. Those were meant to be used obtaining supplies for the next stop.”
Cass hummed something that sounded suspiciously noncommittal.
Miri settled onto the chaise and leaned over the arm to peer at him. He was sitting on the floor, sharpening one of her knives.
“You weren’t eager to trade south of Ravensgate.”
He did not look up at her.
“Where your family lives.”
His hand did not slow at his task, but the rhythm of his movements changed. “Henry was my family. They aren’t—I can never go back there again.”
“I’m sorry,” she told him. She was sorry that they would kill his family, that sorcerers would find and burn their homes and destroy everything Cass had ever known. If there was anything the sorcerers hated as much as the queen, it was those who were sworn to her by blood.
Cass’s face, clean-shaven and a shade darker from their time in the sun, turned up to hers. He smelled of mint and steel. “The fault lies with neither of us.”
Miri nodded, but guilt had already settled heavily in her gut. She had been there and watched and done nothing to stop her mother’s death. But it wasn’t just her mother. They’d killed her maids, her tutors, and everyone Miri held dear. They had taken Miri herself. “I’m not even a princess,” Miri whispered. Not anymore, not while the bastard King Nicholas sits on the throne at Stormskeep.
Cass set the blade and stone onto the floor to turn toward her. He was so close that she could see the flecks in his hazel eyes. “You will always be. They cannot take that from you, just as they cannot take my vow.”
She swallowed the words that wanted to rise.
He came nearer still and with his voice impossibly low, he said, “You are the daughter of the Lion Queen.”
Beneath his words, she heard, And I am bloodsworn. Between them crackled an energy that was capable of stealing her resolve, but Miri didn’t look away. Everything had been taken from her. The vow was all she had. She could be brave enough to fulfill her duty—the promise she had made to her mother— even aware of its cost, but she didn’t know if she was brave enough to do it alone. She didn’t want to face it alone. Miri had seen small flashes of Cass while on their journey and seen the scars across his back. He had been whipped, though he’d hidden it from her, probably because he should never have been in such a position. He should have been at her mother’s side, not playing a whipping boy for the local lords. And Miri was asking him to risk so much more. “I’m afraid I’m very selfish.”
Cass’s gaze trailed over her face. “You are the most selfless woman I’ve ever known.”
She pressed her lips together. It was something Henry would have said about Miri’s mother but never in the tone Cass had used. The queen had, without fail, put the realm above all else. Her final request, the vow she demanded of her second daughter, was not based on any self-serving motives. It was to save the kingdoms from harm. The Lion Queen knew something that Miri didn’t. Miri had always understood that and felt it in her very soul. It was all that kept her going when kings’ blood flowed over her hands.
Miri and Cass filled their wait for the ball with much-needed rest and planning, and she was grateful for the ability to stretch her limbs and soak in a warm bath. Her aching muscles had eased to the point that she thought she might soon not feel the dull pains at all. They’d taken to eating in their rooms because of Miri’s fear of being recognized. Cleaned and coiffed and dressed in the clothes of a lady of stature, it was less likely that gazes would skirt her face. Bean had been the best of disguises, but a common trader or cleaning girl would not be welcome in the castle. It was also likely that her wound would be noticed, and even Cass had not known how many details of Edwin’s attacker had been noted by the kingsmen. The night had been dark, and blood had been everywhere. Miri couldn’t be certain that the location of her injury had even been obvious.
But she suspected it very much was. She’d relived the event a hundred times since, and at least one sinister detail could not be resolved. Edwin’s mistress had already been standing in the doorway when Miri had killed the king. Miri couldn’t say how long her witness had stood in watch, because she’d not heard her approach. It must have happened in the struggle, and she must have seen the blade to Miri’s throat, and maiden save her, the woman’s silence during the struggle was all that had kept Miri alive.
“What are you watching?” she asked Cass as he leaned against the open window, his shoulder cushioned by a thick pillar of brocade drapes drawn against the wall.
He turned from the window, clearly intending to change the subject and distract her. Miri had caught on to his tells, and she would fall for no more of his clever games. She pinned him with a glare and stood to cross the room.
The sun was low in the afternoon sky, casting shadows from the tall buildings that lined the plaza below. The mountain had been bustling with guests in preparation for the ball, but the crowd that had gathered seemed rowdier than the others. They surrounded a platform in the center of the stone, their voices rising in gleeful jeers and eager shouting. Men and women dressed in finery had joined with the local merchants to watch a proceeding that sent a dark foreboding into the pit of Miri’s stomach.
“Who is he?”
Cass shook his head. His constant presence beside Miri was something she’d grown to expect. “A lord, I think. It’s too far to make out the shouting, but his coat is dark blue.”
Miri’s skin went cold. “A sympathizer?”
Cass didn’t answer, not as she stood beside him in a room supplied by true sympathizers and as they were about to watch another man be tortured for loyalty to a dead queen.
The man was dragged onto the platform, his fine coat torn from his body to cheers from the watching horde.
“How many?” Miri whispered. She was not certain what she was asking: how many this year? How many since the last attempts at revolt? The sorcerers had burned thousands in Stormskeep uprisings alone. Miri had no idea how many had been slaughtered across the realm.
“Too many to count,” Cass said.
Too many. Too many to die. Too many who would pay for a crime that was not theirs.
Miri didn’t look away as they bound the man to the post. She didn’t turn her gaze from the blood or block out the sound of his screams. Miri watched as one more was murdered at the hands of the bastard kings, and she renewed her vow of vengeance once more. Miri would reclaim whatever kingdoms she could. The kings of the realm would pay their due. The Lion had come to collect.
Chapter 26
Cass helped Miri into her gown. The thin undershirt she’d worried at relentlessly over the past months seemed to do nothing to mask the yellowing bruises that covered her skin. He’d watched as she powdered her face where the marks would show, as she dusted her healing fingers, and covered every bit that wouldn’t be concealed by her dress. She’d chosen one that buttoned high up her neck and had layers of silk and beads that he feared were too heavy for summer and were likely to restrict her movements. “I’ll not be fighting,” she’d promised, but there was not much else to be done. Bruises on a lady would draw attention, and any flesh that was bare would be looked upon in such a crowd.