The back of my neck prickled. I turned my head slightly to the left, seeing two pairs of legs in dark breeches by the door. I should’ve known better than to blindly rush into any room, even in Wayfair.
Hadn’t I learned that lesson a time or a dozen over the last three years? “I didn’t have a choice,” the servant whispered. “Truly, I—”
“That’s enough,” a male voice snapped, and the servant immediately fell quiet.
His voice had come from my right. Either the one I saw by the door had moved, or there were two in the room. Irritation buzzed through my veins as I slipped my right hand into my boot. I was not having a very good day, and that really sucked after such a wonderful few hours by the lake. The poor Coupers were dead. My arm still throbbed. Sir Holland would be annoyed because I was sure to miss training now, and the one nice skirt I had that didn’t make me want to tear it off was about to be ruined.
After all, I knew how this would end. With me bloody.
And someone dead.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I said, rising slowly and unsheathing the knife from my boot. It was small enough that when I held it pressed to my palm with my thumb and kept my hand open, it appeared as if I held nothing. I looked slightly to my left again, and the pair of legs was still there. “You’ve heard some rumor. That I’m cursed. That if you kill me, you’ll end the Rot. That’s not how it works. Or, you’ve heard something about who I am and think you can use me to gain whatever it is you need. That’s not going to happen, either.”
“We aren’t thinking about anything,” the man to my left replied. “Other than about the coin that will fill our pockets. Enough not to ask questions.”
That was…different.
I shifted the knife slightly, turning the slender blade between my fingers.
Killing is not something one should have little regard for. Ash was right. I
forced myself to breathe in slowly and then hold it as I looked over my shoulder to my right once more in response to the whisper of steel being drawn. I saw black, and my stomach lurched. Black breeches. Well-muscled arms. A glimpse of purple brocade over a wide chest.
They were guards.
An unsettled skip came from my chest, but I couldn’t let it take hold. I shut down my thoughts and feelings and became the thing that had stood in Nor’s office. That empty, moldable creature. A blank canvas primed to become whatever the Primal of Death desired or be used in whatever way my mother saw fit. I sometimes wondered how the Primal would’ve painted me, but as the handle of the small knife now slipped between my fingers, I was still blank. Exhaling a long and slow breath, I turned to my right. But that wasn’t where I aimed. I cocked back my arm and let the knife fly.
I knew it struck true when I heard the ragged gasp, and the servant let out a startled cry. There was no time to see if Sir Holland’s blindfolded training had paid off as the other guard charged me, sword drawn.
He was young. Couldn’t be much older than I was, and I thought about the marks Ash had said every death left behind.
I kicked out, planting my booted foot in the center of the guard’s chest. My skirt slid over my leg as he stumbled back. Reaching down, I gave the room a quick scan as I unsheathed the iron blade. I’d been wrong about how many were in the room. There were three, and they were all young.
Well, probably only two in a few seconds. Sir Holland would be disappointed.
My aim hadn’t been spot-on. The knife had caught the guard in the throat. Crimson streamed down his arms and darkened his tunic. He staggered forward, falling against the settee. The servant scrambled backward as the other guard rushed me.
He swept out with his sword, and I dipped under his arm, popping up directly in the path of the third guard. He jabbed out with a shorter blade. Cursing under my breath, I grasped the guard’s sword arm. I spun, dragging him along with me. Letting go, I slammed my elbow into his back. The act jarred the already sore bone and flesh, causing me to suck in a sharp breath as I pushed hard. The guard’s shout ended abruptly in a gasping breath.
I whirled around to see that his partner’s blade had impaled the guard.
“Shit,” the guard growled, shoving the other to the side. The man went down on one knee and then fell face forward, slamming into the low table.
The vase of lilies crashed. Water spilled as delicate white petals hit the carpet.
“That wasn’t me,” I said, backing up. The girl had retreated to the wall and…appeared to be praying once again. “That was all you.”
He shifted his blade to his other hand. “More coin for my pockets, I suppose.”
The remaining guard shot forward. He was fast, blocking my stab. He spun out before I could strike again. My gaze flicked to the locked door. There was no way I would make it there and unlock it in time.
“Who paid you?” I asked.
He circled me slowly, eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t matter.”
Maybe it didn’t. I already had my suspicions. I spun, slicing out with the blade. The guard brought his fist down on my arm, right on the bruise. I yelped. The shock of pain rippled through me. My hand opened on reflex. The dagger fell, hitting the carpet without a sound.
The guard laughed under his breath. “For a moment there, I actually started to worry.”
“Yeah, well, don’t stop yet.” Twisting at the waist, I grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on.
Turned out to be an embroidered pillow.
“What are you going to do with that?” he asked. “Smother me?”
“Perhaps.” I winged the surprisingly heavy pillow directly at his face. He jerked back. “What the—?”
I spun, kicking out and up, catching the pillow and his face with my boot. He grunted, staggering several steps back. I snagged my blade from where it had fallen and snapped up. I grasped the hand that held his dagger and pushed down as I thrust the iron through the pillow. The man howled as red-tinged feathers puffed into the air and dropped his sword as he reached for me. I jerked the blade free, desperately ignoring the soft, wet sound of suction and his shrill screams.
I slammed the blade into his chest again, over his heart. The dagger pierced the heavy brocade and the bones there, sinking through his body as if it were nothing but spun sugar.
His screams cut off.
Tugging the blade free, I stepped aside as the guard’s legs went out from under him. He fell to the side, twitching. A pool of crimson swept across the ivory carpet, joining the other deep red stain.
“Gods,” I uttered, glancing up to where the female servant stood against the wall. “The carpet will definitely require more than a spot clean, won’t it?”
Wide-eyed, she slowly shook her head. Her lips moved for several moments without sound. “I didn’t want to do this. They caught me outside. Told me they needed my help.” Words spilled out of her between ragged sobs. “I didn’t know what for until they led me in here. I thought they were going to—”
“Do you know who was supposed to pay them?” I cut her off.
“N-no,” she said, shaking her head. “I swear to you. I have no idea.” Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t really even know who you are. I thought you were a handmaiden.”
I swallowed a sigh as I looked down at the three guards, not letting myself take in their faces—to see if I recognized any of them and allow them to leave a mark behind. Who could’ve gotten to them that had the kind of coin needed to convince someone to kill someone else who was either employed or protected by the Crown?
There was only one who would do it, knowing there’d be no repercussions.
Tavius.
My stomach tumbled. Could he truly be behind this? I pressed my lips together. Was I seriously asking myself that? Of course, he would, but could he have pulled something like this together in the short time between when he left his father’s office and now? Or had it been planned? His taunts came back to me, and my grip tightened on the dagger. Did he even have the kind of coin he would need or be willing to fork it over?
A loud thud sounded near the door. I turned just as a male voice announced from the other side, “Let me try.”
Before I could even walk forward and unlock the door, I saw the knob turn and keep turning. Metal creaked and then cracked as gears gave way.
Dear gods…
I took a step back as the door swung open, and several Royal Guards filed into the chamber. They drew up short, but it was the male who stood in the doorway that snagged my focus.
I’d never seen him before.
I’d never seen anything like him before.
He was tall and…golden all over. His mane of hair. His skin. The elaborate…facial paint. A shimmery gold swept up over his brows and down his cheeks, a design that resembled wings. But his eyes…they were such a pale shade of blue they nearly blended with the faint aura of eather behind the pupils.
I knew then that he was a god, but that wasn’t what left me unsettled.
The facial paint reminded me of the charred skin on the seamstress’s face.
That pale gaze drifted over to where I stood, still breathing heavily, and landed on the bodies behind me, ending where the servant girl was still pressed to the wall as if she were trying to become one with it. I slipped the hand holding the dagger behind me.
The god grinned.
My mother appeared behind him, her face paling to match the ivory and cream of her gown. I suddenly wished that I could become one with the wall.
“I found them like this,” I lied, glancing at the servant. “Right?”
She nodded emphatically, and I turned back to them. The god’s pale gaze burned into mine, the wisps of eather in his eyes far fainter than Ash’s. What was a god even doing here in the castle? I swallowed, wanting to take a step back as he continued staring at me.
The god’s smile grew. “What a terrible thing to discover.”
I glanced at my mother. Not for one second did I think she believed what I claimed, but she wouldn’t say anything. Not in front of a god.
The Queen’s expression smoothed out. “Yes,” she said, her chest rising sharply. “What a terrible thing, indeed.”
 |
“You really think Tavius had something to do with the attack?” Ezra asked, her voice low as we hung freshly washed linens on nylon lines in the courtyard of Healer Dirks’ home the following afternoon.
I’d taken Ezra up on her earlier offer to help those injured in the protests. Well, I sort of overheard her giving directions to the carriage driver and followed her to the very edge of the Garden District today, where the most severely injured from the protests were being treated. But it was clear
that Dirks needed as much help as possible. Nearly a dozen cots and pallets lined the front chamber of his residence, containing those who had been hurt. Wounds needed to be cleaned. Linens washed before they aided in infection. The injured coaxed into eating or drinking. Healer Dirks hadn’t said a word to me beyond pointing to the baskets of linens that needed to be hung to dry. I could never tell if the older man knew who I was. He hadn’t asked questions over the years when Sir Holland brought me to him to treat the injuries I’d received while training. If he suspected anything, he never said a word. Ezra had eventually joined me. It was the first chance we had to speak about what had occurred yesterday.
“I do think he’s responsible.” I glanced to where several Royal Guards stood positioned at the iron gateway to the courtyard as I grabbed one of the damp sheets from the basket. “Who else would’ve had the coin?” Flipping the sheet over the line, I pulled it straight. “Or the courage to risk recruiting the guards?”
“Not that I’m trying to defend my brother, but even I don’t think he’s idiotic enough to kill the one thing that can stop the Rot,” Ezra pointed out.
“You’re giving him far more credit than I can, then.” I tugged the hood of my blouse farther down, more so to shield the glare of the sun than to hide my identity.
“And the girl?” Ezra asked, bending to pick up the last linen. She shook it out, and the astringent scent tickled my nose. “You really think she had nothing to do with it?”
“I don’t know.” I caught the other end of the sheet and helped her spread it over the line. “She was scared, but I don’t know if that was because I was in the room or because she had been forced into it.”
Ezra swept one of the linens to the side as she stepped through, joining me. “Either way, someone should relocate her out of Wayfair just in case.”
“Where would she go?” I asked. “If you say something about her, she will most likely lose her job.”
“And if she played a role in this attack, should she continue working in the same household that you live in?” she challenged as she straightened the tiny white bow on the bodice of her robin’s egg blue gown.
“But if she didn’t, then she’s out of a job.” I picked up the basket. “Not only would we be punishing a victim, she would likely blame me and the curse, and that is the last thing I need.”
Ezra sighed. “You’re right, but you should at least say something to Sir Holland. He could probably look into her background and see if she may be a continued threat.” Her brow wrinkled; her gaze moving between the Royal Guards and me. “I’m just not sure that Tavius played a role in this. And you know I do not say that because I believe he’s not capable of such a thing. Tavius hardly has spare coin,” Ezra explained. “I know this because he’s always trying to borrow from me. He spends whatever he has on Miss Anneka.”
“Miss Anneka?” I frowned, holding the wicker basket to my chest as I turned toward the Shadow Temple, where it loomed at the base of the Cliffs of Sorrow. The shadowstone spires reflected the sunlight as if it repelled life itself.
“She is a recently widowed merchant’s wife,” she explained, lifting her brows. “They have been having a rather sordid affair. I’m surprised you didn’t know about it.”
“I really try not to think about Tavius and block out anything about him,” I told her, wondering if it were possible that this widow had given Tavius the money. I sighed. “I can’t believe all of that had to happen right as the Queen was coming in from the gardens. She was not entirely pleased.”
“She spent a good portion of supper last night bemoaning the ruined carpet,” Ezra said, and I rolled my eyes. “Apparently, it had been imported from somewhere east and, according to her, was ‘utterly irreplaceable.’”
Apparently, my life wasn’t.
My mother hadn’t said a word to me after I left the room. She hadn’t checked on me to make sure I wasn’t injured like Sir Holland had. Neither had the King.
“What happened to your arm?” Ezra demanded, her eyes narrowing. “Did that occur when you fought off the guards?”
“Not entirely, though I’m sure that didn’t help. It’s courtesy of Prince
Tavius,” I replied and then told her what had happened.
Her jaw hardened as she stared at my arm. “You know, I have always had a hard time believing that people are inherently evil,” she said, lifting her gaze to mine. “Even after everything I’ve seen while helping those in the city. Misdeeds are either done by choice or by circumstance. Never by nature. But, sometimes, I look at my brother and think that maybe he is evil. Perhaps he was simply born that way.”
“Well,” I murmured, “I can’t say that I would disagree with you on that.
I just wish more realized it.”
“As do I.” Ezra stepped in close enough that if either of us moved, her bare arm would touch mine. “By the way, the god you saw with the Queen yesterday?” she said, and I immediately thought of the gold-painted face mask. “I overheard her speaking with my father after supper about him. His name is Callum.” Her chin dipped. “He’s from the Court of Dalos.”
My stomach flipped. “He’s from The Primal of Life’s Court?”
She nodded. “I imagine it has something to do with the upcoming Rite.” That made sense, but I couldn’t remember a god from the Court of
Dalos ever coming to the castle before.
We started to make our way through the winding path that cut through the numerous raised planters full of medicinal herbs. “Let’s see what else we can help Healer Dirks with,” Ezra said, and I nodded. “Then I must head home. Father has requested to speak with Lord Faber. I’m not sure why, but Mari was finagled into joining her father, and I was somehow included in the conversation.”
Wondering what the King wanted to speak with Lord Faber about, I followed Ezra toward the curtained doors.
“Hey.”
I looked over my shoulder toward the voice as Ezra stopped in front of me. I looked past the Royal Guards and beyond the courtyard to where…
A fair-haired male stood by Ezra’s carriage, rubbing the muzzle of one of the horses. He was tall and slender, his features sharp—his eyes, cheeks, and jaw. He wore a black, sleeveless tunic trimmed in silver brocade, and polished, dark boots that reached his knees. There was something…off about the way he casually stood there. It raised the hair along the back of my neck. It took me a moment to realize that the sun’s glare didn’t appear to touch him—that he and only he stood in the shadows.
My heart started thumping heavily as I turned to Ezra, to see her trying to peer around me. “I’ll be right back.”
“Who is that?” she asked as the Royal Guards eyed the male with what I suspected was the same unease I felt.
“Not sure. If I find out, I’ll tell you later.” I bit back a smile as she sent me an impatient look. “I promise.”
“You’d better,” she muttered and then snapped the skirt of her gown with how quickly she turned.
Senses alert, I kept my right hand close to where I had the blade sheathed to my thigh. As I passed the Royal Guards, my steps slowed near the stranger who had returned to petting the horse.
“Who are you?” I asked.
His head turned toward me, and I saw his eyes. They were a deep amber color, and I was close enough to see the glow of eather behind his pupils.
The stranger was a god.
Out of reflex, I placed my hand over my heart and started to lower to a knee in a gesture of respect reserved only for a god or Primal. Something I just then realized I’d never done for Ash. “Your Highness.”
“Please don’t do that,” he requested, and I froze for a heartbeat and then straightened. “My name is Ector.”
I opened my mouth—
“I don’t care what your name is,” he interrupted, and I snapped my mouth shut. I was going to say hello. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
I was.
“If so, we have that in common,” he continued, tilting his head. Several locks of blond curls slid over his forehead. “I’m also wondering that, but I know better than to ask questions and to simply do as I’m told.”
My brows lifted in confusion.
Ector gave the horse one last scratch and then turned fully toward me. I saw then that he held something in his other hand. A narrow, wooden box made of pale birch. “I was ordered to give you this.”
I stared at the box. “By whom?”
“I think you missed the part about knowing better than to ask questions.
You should know better.” He offered the box. “Take it.”
I took the box, only because…what else was I supposed to do? Glancing down at it, I turned it slowly in my hands and then looked up. The god called Ector had already walked off toward the street.
Okay, then.
Curious and a bit wary, I stepped into the shadows of the building next door. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t a little afraid of what could be in a box given to me by some random god. I found the seam of the lid and lifted it.
I gasped as a tremor of shock rippled through me. The box wobbled in my hand. I steadied myself, unable to believe what I was looking at.
Nestled against cream velvet was a dagger. Not just any dagger, though.
The corners of my lips tipped up, and a smile stretched across my face as I freed the blade from its soft nest. The dagger was…it was a magnificent creation. A piece of art. The hilt was made of some kind of smooth, white, surprisingly lightweight material. Perhaps stone of some sort? The pommel of the hilt was carved into the shape of a crescent moon. I gripped the hilt and pulled the dagger free. The dagger…gods, it was delicate yet strong.
Beautiful and powerful.
The blade itself was at least seven inches long and shaped like a thin hourglass—deadly sharp on both sides. Someone had etched an elaborate design into the dagger—a spiked tail on the blade, and the muscular, scaled body and head of a dragon carved into the hilt, its powerful jaws open and breathing fire.
The dagger was made of shadowstone.
The polished black blade blurred. I blinked away the sudden wetness and swallowed, but the messy knot still clogged my throat. The emotion had nothing to do with the shadowstone. It didn’t even have to do with who I knew must have given it to me. It was just…
I’d never been gifted anything in my life.
Not on the Rites when gifts were often exchanged among family and friends. Not on my birthday.
But I had been given a gift now—a beautiful, useful, and wholly unexpected one. And it had been a god who’d given it to me.
Ash.
