“That should do it,” Miri said awkwardly, suddenly realizing how much, exactly, she would be relying on him.
She cleared her throat, stood to stretch, and remembered that she had no idea what Nan had sent for food. She glanced again at Cass as he stood wiping the oil from his hands with a cloth, his head lowered but his gaze on her. His shoulders were broad and his forearms muscled. His bearing was that of a man who knew his way through a fight. She wondered how his hunting skills were.
She also wondered precisely what Cassius of Stormskeep and the queensguard had learned in his tutelage. “How well did you know my mother?”
All the blood drained from his face.
Miri nodded. He was one of Henry’s, then, as she’d suspected. He would have been training to become a personal guard to the queen, not just her family or the throne. “I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through,” she said.
Miri turned and kneeled to rummage through the other packs. Her mother had taught her to look a person in the eyes when she apologized to them, but Miri’s emotions felt tethered by thin wire. She wasn’t certain, on the run once again and leaving those she cared about, that she could think about the boy Cass had been and the loss he might feel for someone so dear to her.
He was quiet behind her and too still, and Miri rubbed her brow with the back of her wrist. It came away slick with oil, and the pin in her hair was already threatening to fall loose. “It seems we’ve enough for a few days’ ride. Bread, dried meat, and a bit of fruit.” She glanced up at the trees. Gods, it was dawn, and they were in the forest, heading to kill a king.
Cass shifted behind her. “I can hunt. You should get some sleep.”
She pulled a braided loaf from Nan’s meticulously wrapped cloth, a little sick at the realization that Nan would have prepared the packs while Miri was stuffed in a barrel—and worse, that Nan might have been planning to ship her off on a moment’s notice all along. Miri turned, tearing the loaf to pass half to Cass. “You don’t have to. I can make do.”
He stepped closer, ignoring the proffered bread. “We have friends along the route. There’s no need to rush into—”
At her glare, his words cut off.
“I said I can make do.”
His mouth went into a hard line, but he leaned closer. “We’ll stop first at a small inn near Silverton. They’ll have word of the king’s men.”
Miri drew back from him at the mention of the kings and that their men were not just causing trouble in Smithsport. She wanted to scream, What in seven hells have they been up to now? But she didn’t. She and Cass might have been isolated in the forest, but it was clear by the expression on his face that it was not the best place to speak of treason.
And when she shoved away thoughts of her mother, Nan, and Thom, treason was about all Miri’s heart had room for. “Fine,” she said coolly. “Silverton, tomorrow’s eve.”
Chapter 5
Miri woke feeling as if her head weighed a solid stone. She groaned, rolling onto her back to face a noonday sun through a canopy of trees. “Seven hells,” she muttered, remembering the dye she’d left in her hair. She glanced over the clearing to find Cass strapping a pack onto the bay horse. Grateful to see he’d left a pot on the fire, she sat up. At least she wouldn’t be dipping her scalp into a cool stream to rinse the dye. She rubbed her face, and her fingers came away oily and with a leaf that had been stuck to her temple. The knot of hair was likely a crooked lump on the side of her head and plastered in bits of shed underbrush. She reminded herself that sleep deprivation was no way to win a war.
Cass crossed the camp to hand her a waterskin and a hunk of dried fruit. “You’ll want to ready yourself. We should discuss our stories in case it comes up while we encounter other travelers.”
Miri took a bite of the fruit and stood. “I’ve had six threads in place since I was a child. I know them by heart.” She took a long draw from the waterskin before glancing at Cass. “Do you honestly think I’d walk into this blindly or that my protection has not been mapped out?”
His expression did not change. “I honestly think that your threads—as prepared as they were—did not include me.”
The fruit went sour in Miri’s mouth. He was right. She’d always planned to go on her own. Everything Nan and Thom had lain into place was centered on Miri and Miri alone. But that wasn’t true. They’d sent her with Cass. They’d known they would all along, surely, because once she thought about it, he fit seamlessly in each of her cover stories.
A wind picked up, rustling the green leaves. Cass’s eyes were hazel, his lashes dark. The light of day made everything so much more real and finite.
“Fine,” she said. “My brother.”
He took her hand in his and slid a thin band onto her finger. “Husband,” he said.
Right. Because having a brother would not protect her as much as being wed. She kept forgetting the laws had changed and that the safety of Smithsport would soon be long gone. “Husband,” she echoed. “And what of you?”
“I know your threads as well,” he said. “I’ll merely slide in as your newly acquired helpmeet.”
That would make it easy on Miri, and he could serve his dead queen. Miri turned from him, relieving the tightness of the circle of gold on her finger by the pressure of her thumb. It had slid right over her knuckle but sat like a collar on her finger. That was why she hated those kings, for what they’d forced her life to become. They had bound her to lies and hiding. She walked to the fire, lifted the pot by its handle, and carried it to the creek to wash away what was left of that other girl.
By the time Miri rinsed her hair and returned, Cass had smothered the fire and saddled her horse. She handed him the pot, which had grown cool, and his gaze only briefly flitted to her hair, which was loose and dark chestnut, the way Nan’s had been years before.
“Let’s go,” Miri said. It was nothing but a command.
The Silverton Inn was a small two-and-a-half-story establishment that served food and drink and provided stables, baths, and beds to travelers who followed the Silver River on their journey between kingdoms. Its exterior was modeled after the Pirn style, simple white cottages with decorative trim, and the building had a cob roof that rose to a central peak over rough walls boasting narrow windows in even rows. Cass led Miri toward the rear of the inn, apparently familiar with the layout and location of the stables. He was met at the entrance by a boy no more than twelve who had dark hair cropped close to his head. The two exchanged words as Miri glanced casually toward the back of the inn to note the exits.
It was a habit that was not borne of her fear of kingsmen. It was how she’d been taught to live. A princess must always have a route for escape. Her mother’s planning had been all that had saved Miri in the end.
“My lady,” Cass said from beside her.
She jolted, staring down at his hand raised to assist her from her horse. “We’re traders,” she mouthed. “I should know how to dismount a horse.”
His answering smile was forced. “We’re newly wed. I should offer regardless of your skill.”