The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(28)

Then again, the dirt and stench probably help with my disguise anyway, so perhaps it’s not such a bad thing after all. Stable hands are hardly squeaky clean.

The others are up now and dressed for the day, walking up to the castle to get food in the dining hall. Guards eat first, then servants. That’s the usual way of it. My stomach growls. I didn’t eat at all yesterday. I don’t want to go in with Luce and his crew, but I can’t skip another meal. I let the pack disappear inside before I follow. Hopefully, they’ll grab their food, eat quickly, and be on their way out before I even sit down.

I turn at the sound of footsteps behind me. It’s Jander. He stops walking when I look at him. “It’s okay,” I say, waving him toward me. I stand there and wait. He joins me on the path. His gentle nature is an unexpected surprise here at the prison. I’m not sure what to say to him, so I decide to stick to yes or no questions. “Hungry?”

He nods. Now we’re getting somewhere. “You like it here?” I ask him. He shrugs. “Have you been here long?” I try. He shrugs again. His timidity reminds me of the stray dog who started coming around the farm one summer. It was clear the dog had been abused—the evidence was all over him—so he was desperate for affection but also distrustful. Eventually he came around, though, once he knew we weren’t going to hurt him. Maybe Jander is like that, too.

I try once more. “They mean to you?” I say quietly. This time he doesn’t respond right away, but then he nods. How awful. “How old are you?” I ask, but he just shrugs again in response. A terrible thought occurs to me. “Do . . . do you know how old you are?” I say. He shakes his head. I don’t want to push any more, so I stop asking questions.

We get inside and walk to the dining hall, which seems to be one of the only rooms still being used for its original purpose. There’s a queue for food. At the front, two men are doling out bowls of porridge with bread.

We get in line. Luce is already sitting at a table with a few of his minions; the others are getting their food. They haven’t noticed us yet. But when they do, it happens quickly.

Luce knocks Jander’s porridge bowl, spilling it to the floor.

Without thinking, I lunge at Luce. His eyes widen as I knock into him, slamming him to the ground. He gains the upper hand quickly, flipping me over so he’s on top of me. He punches me in the side of my face. I try to knee him in the groin, but someone pulls him off me. I sit up, scrambling backward. My shirt is torn, almost exposing the wrap. I try to hold it closed.

The guard who pulled Luce off me is the same one who escorted the Montrician spy the day before. He’s scolding him: “I told you! Leave that boy alone!” The guard lets him go and turns to me. “I knew you’d be trouble,” he says. “Let’s go. You’re coming with me.”

I dig my boots into the ground. “Where?” I’m not about to follow anyone around here unless I want to.

He is taken aback by my question, but he answers me anyway. “Kitchen duty.”

At least that gets me inside the castle. Progress! I look around for Jander and spot him by the open stable door. I point to him. “He was fighting too. It’s only fair.”

“You’re giving orders now, huh?” the guard barks at me. But he takes one look at Jander and gives in. “Fine. He’s good at washing floors.”

I nod to Jander. He comes out from the doorway and follows the guard. I step behind him, glaring at Luce. He glares back. Then, finally, he smirks and disappears into the barn.

But I’m the one who gets the last laugh. Wonder who will shovel manure for them now?





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Shadow

THERE ARE ONLY THREE MEN and one boy in the kitchen, but there’s so much going on that it feels like at least twice that many. There are two enormous cooking hearths, each with two massive black pots bubbling, and a bread oven. More pots of various sizes line the walls, though they’re probably rarely used. I’m sure this kitchen hasn’t prepared grand multicourse feasts in quite a long time.

The cooks are sweaty, their shirtsleeves rolled up past the elbow and white caps holding their hair back. One of them frantically scrubs out bowls, stacking them beside him on the butcher block counter to dry. Some of the bowls still have bits of food left in them. The wheeled cart from the dining hall is next to him, full of dirty dishes. Another cook is peeling potatoes, and the other is chopping them. He fills a bowl, runs it to the pot, dumps it all in, then returns to chopping at the table.

The head cook notices Jander and I are waiting for orders, so he grabs a mop from the pantry doorway and hands it to me. “There’s another around here somewhere. The hall needs a good wash. Go to it.”

Jander and I find another mop and pails and begin cleaning the dining hall. The cook wasn’t joking—the floors haven’t been cleaned in a rather long time. The initial swipe of the mop leaves muddy smears, but under those layers of dirt is a gorgeous mosaic tile floor. Were the windows clean, the floors would be glittering in the sunlight. As we uncover more and more of it, I see that the tiles make a giant floral pattern, blue and red blooms with green stems and leaves, against a black background.

I keep cleaning, and as I do, I begin to doubt this whole scheme. What am I doing here? Why am I at Deersia? Am I even helping Caledon or just hurting myself?

I jump back and shout, “Ouch!”