The king shoved Miri toward another kingsman and said, his voice thick with disgust, “Take them to the tower.”
Cass was shoved forward and only caught a glimpse of Miri’s eyes behind her mask. The tower! the look seemed to scream. The sorcerers. But she was jerked from his view by another pair of kingsmen as they escorted Cass and Miri across the room. The sorcerers would use Miri’s blood to destroy her, draining her of life to summon dark magic for use for the kings.
It might have been best to throw themselves out the window instead of being taken, to end it quickly, but they’d not had the chance for even that. Behind them, the king clapped. His words were muffled by the crowd as revelers gasped and whispered at the pair being hauled through the ball. Peter played the incident off as little need for concern, and his jests were followed by an easy laugh.
When Cass was a boy, he had thought of the lords who’d stolen everything from him a great deal. There was an order to how badly he’d wished them all dead. Peter had been second on that list.
The kingsman at one arm shoved Cass forward roughly, spitting onto the path at his feet. Another held Cass’s other arm, and footfalls indicated at least six kingsmen behind them, plus two more with Miri. He could take maybe five of the men and not the big ones, but he had no way to stop them before they decided to run a blade through her side in retaliation. They didn’t know who Miri truly was. But it was only a matter of time before they did.
When they exited the ballroom, the kingsmen were joined by four more men, a lead group to clear any trouble crossing the grounds. They would traverse the corridors, cross a high bridge, then start their ascent of the tower, where Miri and Cass could be split from each other, where he might never see Miri again. His mind ran through a dozen scenarios, none of them good. He needed to get free before they reached the bridge, and he needed to do it without getting Miri killed.
Cass drew steady breaths, tracking the footfalls of the men behind him. The bridge was in the distance, its railing lit by lanterns, and the faint outline of the king’s banners snapped in the wind. He would have poor footing on the bridge and no room to fight on the stairs. If Cass meant to do anything, it had to happen before they reached the next turn. His foot raised in a step as Cass prepared to move in a swift series of strikes, and a solid piece of blunt metal slammed into the base of his neck.
He felt himself thrown forward, stars bursting in his vision, while his arms were still held by the other men. His head lolled forward, his ears rang, and he was unable to keep his eyes open. Snatches of recognition broke through as he was shifted and lifted. His arms were useless as they hung limp beneath him over the shoulder of a massive kingsman.
Chapter 27
Cass woke to the sound of trickling water and flashes of memory of a darkened stairwell, the clank of metal and scrape of stone, and footfalls of the kingsmen as they’d dropped him to the ground and walked away. His head throbbed, his eyes were dry, and thoughts and senses were somehow far away. His hands felt tight and swollen, and when he tried to shift them, they didn’t move. He winced as he pulled his eyes open to find a stone floor, his arms draped before him, and his wrists bound.
Then his attention snapped back, alarm roaring through him. He was strapped to a wooden structure and had a rope around his torso, latching him to a bar like some sort of makeshift pillory. But his head was free. He lifted it, wincing at the stiffness and pain, and found the eyes of a sorcerer on him.
Dread rose though Cass, more real since he was fully awake. The man’s gaze left Cass as he calmly went back to his work, entirely at odds with the terror and rage coursing through Cass. They were in a tower room, the sorcerer’s workspace. Cass had never seen one in person—the queensguard were kept as far from them as possible—but there was no mistaking the implements of the man’s craft. Bottles and jars filled the shelves that lined each wall. The space was only broken by tall, narrow windows and alcoves. Tables and contraptions were in the center of the room, and a large fire pit was near an outer wall.
The sorcerer’s robe was draped over a rack. His uniform was a tight-fitting, high-collared jacket. He would not need access to his own skin that day, not when he had bodies from which to draw. The sorcerer shifted to set a tool on the table behind him, and Miri came into view.
Cass’s throat went thick. She was draped over a rack not unlike his, her head hanging limply over a basin, her body still. Cass’s mind supplied a reminder of the sharp metal tools in the sorcerer’s grip, an image of just how perfectly the blood would drip from her neck into the basin below. They would empty her of blood.
Cass’s gaze went wildly through the room, but there was only one sorcerer present, not a single kingsman or another soul. No one was worried that he and Miri might break free. Assassination attempts had been frequent in the years since the queen’s murder. They’d no idea who Cass and Miri truly were. He didn’t know if that made it any easier.
Unsure if it was the best path, Cass opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t want to give the man information or for the man to realize who Miri and Cass were, but he needed to stop him from draining her before it was too late. His voice was a broken croak. “Don’t—” He stopped to clear his throat, but the sorcerer glanced at him.
“Not to worry,” the man said mildly. “I’ve no need for your blood.”
Cass swallowed, letting his confusion show.
The sorcerer wiped a cloth over a long, narrow blade. “I prefer the girl’s. Hers will be enough. We’re well stocked, to tell the truth.” He set the blade beside the others, absently straightening each as if running through the procedure in his mind, to be certain everything was prepared.
“What will you do with—” Cass coughed and realized it was not merely a dry throat. Something of a fume hung in the air. A bitter sharpness was on his tongue and through his nose.
The sorcerer waved a hand and said, tone unconcerned, “You’ll both be burned, by order of the king.” He held a glass vial to the light. “Fortunately, he has no interest in interrupting his celebration with a public display, so he’ll never know this one was bled first.” He chuckled, glancing sidelong at Cass. “I’ve a feeling Peter would not approve of the assassin’s blood being used to procure his demands.”
Cass worked his throat and slid his tongue over his teeth. The king did not want Miri’s blood stolen. It was why they were in the tower alone—no witnesses and no reason for concern that a bound girl could escape, not when dark magic was so close at hand.
The sorcerer crossed to the window before opening its shutters wide. Cass glanced down again at the stone ring that surrounded his feet and circled the rack he was tied to. They would be burned upon those racks, sorcerer’s fire tearing over them the moment Miri was drained.
The sorcerer crossed to the next window. His features were sharp, and his skin was pale. His short hair was nearly black, his frame tall and lean. Cass did not remember the man from his youth, and the man clearly did not remember Cass.
Cass pressed his booted feet to the floor but was unable to gain purchase. His gaze darted to the open windows, the spiral stair, and the single closed door. “Take me first,” Cass demanded. “By the laws of mercy, burn me now.”