The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(15)
Relief washes over him. He bows. “It’s my honor to serve, Your Majesty,” he says. He will not be punished after all.
“However,” she says, “you cannot remain in Renovia. Word is spreading, even into the distant villages, that the grand prince has been murdered, but they do not know that he was a traitor to the crown. We must keep it that way. We cannot let the Aphrasians know what we know. And we cannot reveal to the public the real reason for Alast’s murder. The people are volatile enough as it is.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Unfortunately, you were caught by my soldiers on the scene and so I intend to send you away before anyone finds out the truth about Alast’s loyalties or attempts to retaliate against you,” the queen says. “A mission which will take you far from Renovia as well as benefit the crown. It must be conducted with the utmost secrecy; every precaution must be taken. I will not be able to come to your aid if you are caught. Do you understand?”
He bows slightly. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He can’t believe how well this day is turning out. As soon as he leaves, he’s going to get a celebratory drink and warm meal at the Brass Crab. Why not? He deserves it.
“Good. As you know, my advisors have reason to believe that the King of Montrice—or someone near him—may be plotting war against Renovia. And there are whispers that Montrice is involved with the rise of the Aphrasians. An alliance, founded on mutual enmity of Renovia. You must infiltrate the inner circle of the king’s court first, and discover whether this information is accurate.”
“And if I confirm the king’s involvement?”
She frowned. “You are the Queen’s Assassin, are you not?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Cal bows, his heart racing.
Cal reels inwardly. Killing a traitor, a spy, or a criminal is one thing—but killing a king? That’s regicide. If he fails, or if he’s captured, Montrice will have his head, without question. It will be straight to the gallows.
He had been intent on going back to Baer Abbey, to see if his hunch was correct, if the scrolls were hidden there. This will only delay that attempt, and someone else might stumble upon them or take them to another hiding place. Still, he must do as the queen commands.
“Who knows?” the queen adds, reading his expression like a book. “Perhaps the scrolls are in Montrice.”
He doesn’t believe for a moment that they are. But he just bows again. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“One more thing,” the queen says. Cal turns back to face her. As he does, he catches the princess’s eye. She returns his gaze with a level one of her own.
The queen continues. “In order to provide cover for you, and to appease the aristocracy for your crime, you shall begin your mission with imprisonment at Deersia. Meanwhile, the Guild will continue gathering intelligence regarding the situation up north. When ready, I will send a soldier to deliver your weapons and release you to begin your journey to Montrice. But until that time, you will remain at Deersia.”
The princess whips her head toward the queen in surprise but quickly looks forward again.
Deersia. The prison no captive ever leaves. He’d rather take his chances locked in a room of Aphrasian aristocrats. Cal opens his mouth as if to speak, but finds no words. Finally, he manages to spit out, “I’m not sure I understand.”
The queen bangs her staff against the floor. “Guards!” The doors fly open and the two men reappear. The princess turns away. Queen Lilianna points at Cal, all traces of friendliness gone.
“Escort the traitor to Deersia. Immediately!”
CHAPTER SIX
Shadow
NOBODY IS PARTICULARLY INTERESTED IN buying honey or beeswax salves, nor am I interested in selling them today when I arrive at the booth and say hello to Aunt Mesha. There’s far too much on my mind. So I wander off to browse the marketplace flower stands instead, still fuming over what happened earlier that morning with Ma. I’d slipped into the palace to tell her what happened at Baer Abbey, but all we did was argue about the summons. No, of course you must do your duty. You will take your place at court.
My mother is as unmoving as my aunts, and once I am settled at Violla Ruza, it is clear that I’ll be monitored night and day. There’ll be no running off when there are guards and courtiers—spies—everywhere at all times.
How can you not want this? she asked. My mother assumes I am like other girls. She doesn’t know me. Even if she did, it’s clear she doesn’t particularly care what my wishes are. I don’t want to be a courtier, no matter how prestigious the position. I want to hone my magical powers, become as deadly and dangerous as she used to be, before she settled down to oversee and placate the nest of vipers at court. I want to train. If I go to the palace, it will be as an assassin. Not as a doll. Or a pawn.
The justice bell begins to toll from the palace tower and the sudden clang jolts me from my thoughts. I turn to look up the road. All around me townsfolk are abandoning their wares, their shops, their friendly chatter, and they swarm into the streets. Even though I’m as curious as they are, I roll my eyes. They’re vying for a glimpse of the prison transport so they can be one of the first to view the offender. They’ll exchange stories about it for days: Oh yes, I was there. I saw the murderer with my own eyes. I was shocked. Well, I wasn’t surprised whatsoever. Even the kindly shopkeeper, who just moments before was carefully arranging fresh-cut blooms in his wife’s elaborately hand-painted ceramic pots and vases, turns his attention toward the main thoroughfare instead. I purchase one from the old woman, a small plant pot in white, decorated with lush grapevines, purposely trying to seem indifferent to the commotion around me.