The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(55)
“I don’t like him,” I tell Cal.
“We’re not here to like him,” Cal says, his expression unreadable. “We’re here to get into the palace. And we’re that much closer already.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Caledon
“AREN’T YOUR AUNTS HEALERS? THEY sell salves and teas and such?” Cal asks Shadow when they are alone. He tries to sound casual. He gets up from the chair to get a closer look at the vizier’s house of horrors. He leans toward one of the deep bookshelves, only to discover that the tiny jars lined up on it are filled with preserved primate ears.
First a pouch full of gold coins and now Argonian emerald rings—is Shadow a thief? What kind of name is Shadow, anyway? His earlier suspicions about her resurface in an instant. Who is she really?
Shadow busies herself with brushing nonexistent debris from her dress. “Yes, and . . . ? They weren’t always. In any case, they do well for themselves.”
He stares intently at one of the fish—a dragonfish, according to the label. “Remarkably so, apparently.”
She folds her hands in her lap and glares at him. “What are you saying?”
He shrugs and crosses his arms against his chest.
Shadow bristles in her elaborate dress, flouncing her ruffles. It almost brings a smile to his face but he keeps it grim. What else is she hiding from him?
“Honestly, how I acquired the rings is none of your concern,” she says haughtily. “But I suppose you can’t help making assumptions, questioning everything I say—you know why? Because . . . because you’re a hypocrite.” She looks pleased with herself for saying it.
This time, Cal does bark a laugh, but it only provokes her more.
“You are!” she nearly shouts.
He shushes her; she lowers her voice but continues. “You question everything about me and yet tell me nothing about yourself!”
“I have hardly been so circumspect,” he says. “You are the only one aside from my father and the queen who knows about the blood vow.”
For a moment she looks chastened, but soon sits back against the chair in a huff and crosses her arms. “Just because you don’t know any Deian healers who can afford Argonian emeralds doesn’t mean they don’t exist!”
He knows better than to respond. She’s clearly hiding something and trying to deflect. He’s just glad the tension between them is broken. He’d rather have her annoyed than distant . . .
Even if it doesn’t answer his question about the riches she’s carrying around.
Is she upset about last night? He was very much awake when she pressed herself against him, and it had taken all his discipline to hold himself back, when she was so pliant and soft and close, and he was more than ready and willing. He’d thought about properly rolling her over so that she was under him, so that they could . . .
Hold on. Did she know what she was doing? What she was doing to him? Why are they acting as if nothing happened last night? He can’t take his eyes off her all day, even as he can’t help but notice she spent the entire morning being utterly hostile to him.
Maybe that’s best. They are unsuited for each other, clearly, and neither of them is keen on marriage or a family. She is bent on joining the Guild, and he had made himself believe that the comforts of hearth and home are not his to have until he delivers the Deian Scrolls back to their rightful owner. She is not meant for his bed, or his heart. Yet there is no scarcity of coin, and neither of them thought to let two rooms at the inn. Perhaps he should suggest it, although the thought pains him.
Shadow busies herself by studying the glass vitrines while Cal broods. Not too long after, the door flies open.
“Ah, I see you enjoy my little sea monsters,” the vizier says, voice booming. “My shipmaster is out on the Silvren Sea as we speak, procuring a merman.” He claps his hands together. “Enough of that. Dinner. Tonight. Please! Join me.”
“We’d be honored,” Cal says quickly.
“Just a few friends,” the vizier says. He runs a disapproving eye down Shadow’s dress and then over Cal’s jacket. “Do let me know if you need to borrow something else to wear.”
* * *
A FEW HOURS LATER, Cal and Shadow are seated at the vizier’s glittering dining room table along with eighteen overdressed members of the Montrician aristocracy, all of whom are pointedly ignoring them. Which is absolutely fine, as they themselves are barely speaking to each other.
The meal began at least thirty minutes before, and the guests haven’t been served the main course yet—although platters of roasted duck, broiled venison, sauced hen, and fried pork have been set at the table. Cal has been to grand banquets before, but it has been a long time since he’s been able to feast like this. He’s stuffed full as it is and yet more keeps coming. Even the most formal meals weren’t this elaborate back home. Shadow was smart; she paced herself from the beginning, only eating a bite or two of each. She obviously knew what to expect. He wishes she’d tipped him off. Maybe he should read Crumpets and Cravats after all.
Now the waiters are bringing in a plate with some sort of fish over a bed of asparagus. For the first time ever, Cal just wants a feast to end.
He notices how Shadow pushes food around her plate to make it look like she’s eaten more than she has, and he follows suit. The whole charade makes Cal resent these people even more—what a colossal waste this dinner is. He pictures the children at the fountain, wonders if there’s a way he can sneak some of this food to them. Maybe Shadow can spare some stolen jewelry from her bag. Or whatever else she might have stashed in there.