The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(51)

They tie up their horses and prepare to enter the inn. If Shadow is nervous, she hides it.

“Let’s get our story in order,” Cal says.

“I know what to do,” Shadow says. “Follow my lead.” Without waiting for him to respond, she walks inside.



* * *





“SO SORRY ABOUT THAT, Mister Garbunkle . . . erm, -bankle. Don’t mind my brother. If he seems out of sorts, it’s only that we’re dreadfully road-weary! My brother can’t control his temper, that boy! Again, my apologies. I agree you said nothing wrong whatsoever—I would’ve assumed the very same if I saw two people like us walk into my place of business.” Shadow smiles widely at the suspicious-looking innkeeper, who leans over the bar to take a better look at them.

Garbankle squints at her, but doesn’t respond.

Shadow continues. “You see, we’ve come all the way from Argonia. Dressed as beggars, as you can tell, to repel thieves. As one does. It was so dire out there, I was even forced to cut my hair to disguise myself. What a trial that has been! We’re simply traveling through Mont on our way to Stavin, thought we might pay a visit to the vizier while we’re here, if possible, pay our respects . . .”

Cal nudges her. She realizes her mistake immediately. Why did she say “pay our respects”? To whom would they do that? She’s lost hold of her story.

“Pay our respects to the vizier’s father. Who . . . knew our grandfather. You see, we’ve inherited my grandfather’s estate, so we must hurry on to Stavin. Backley Hold. Is what it’s called. The house, that is. I assume you know it?”

Cal closes his eyes. She’s repeating the plot of an old Renovian fable. He hopes the man doesn’t know it.

The innkeeper shakes his head from behind the weathered wood counter. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but Shadow just continues talking. “Well now. That’s quite surprising. It’s home to one of the largest vineyards in the triangular kingdoms. Maybe you’ll recognize our name, instead?” She glances to a vase of white lilies on the counter. “Mine is Lady Lily . . . I mean Lady Lila Holton. This is my brother, Lord Callum.” She blinks, waiting.

Cal gives the man a curt bow and then sticks his nose in the air, trying to look haughty. The innkeeper shakes his head again. Shadow looks to Cal and follows his lead, lifting her nose a little higher in the air. “Hmm, where was I? Oh yes. The, um, Holtons, our family, are always happy to pay our bill in advance. In fact, we insist upon it.” She roots around in her money pouch and pulls out a gold coin. “I imagine such a fine establishment charges . . . fifty a night for room and board and stabling of our two fine horses? We only carry Renovian currency, as we just came from there. But this should cover two. And a half. Please, keep the half. On be-half of the Holtons!”

Cal almost chokes. Fifty a night? For this? More like fifty a month, at best!

“Imagine that, got it right on the first try!” the innkeeper says, snatching the coin from her hand. “You do know your room and board. Must be a frequent traveler.”

She smiles politely. “Mm-hmm.”

“Lucky for you I got one room I save just for special noble guests like yourselves. You and your, uh, brother here can take room seven. I’ll go ahead and show you up.” He grabs a key from the wall behind the counter and walks ahead of them. Shadow turns to Cal and flashes him a self-satisfied smile. He won’t deny that she’s a decent storyteller, but he also knows the innkeeper never would’ve bought that ridiculous yarn if she hadn’t grossly overpaid him.

They follow him up a few well-worn stairs and down a dusty hallway. There are no sounds from any of the other rooms. They must be the only guests.

He stops in front of a door. “As you two are flesh and blood, there won’t be any impropriety, right?” he says, sticking the key in the lock.

“Well, I never!” Shadow says, feigning outrage.

“You’d be surprised,” the innkeeper says. “Or maybe you wouldn’t.” The door swings open. “Make yourselves at home,” he says, before handing the key over to Cal and shuffling back down the hall toward the front desk. On his way he calls over his shoulder: “Washtub’s out back.”

Inside the room there’s a small round table with one chair and a single bed. Cal wipes his hand across the table and leaves a long smear in the dust. Shadow sticks her head out the door into the hallway and calls out, “Excuse me, Mister Gorfinkle. I believe there’s been a mistake.”

“No mistake,” he yells back over his shoulder. “Take it or leave it.”

She shuts the door. “I gave him fifty a night for this?”

“I couldn’t stop you.” Cal sighs. He looks out the dirty window. Their view is the gray brick wall of the building next door. “Hopefully we won’t be here long. And you’re not paying for the room so much as his silence.”

“Right,” Shadow says. She sits down on the bed, then falls back. “A real bed. A hard one, but a real one, at least.”

“No time for a nap. We have things to do.”

“Yes. We should inquire about proper attire for Lord and Lady Holton of—what did I say it was called?”

“Backley Hold.”

“Backley Hold! Is there a quill around here? I should write it down.”