The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(9)

George helps me up the stairs to the heavy iron gate at the top, which opens into the palace gardens. The guard unlocks it for us, and George leads me inside.

“We’re home,” he says.

“We?” I blurt, surprised.

George laughs. “Yes. I live here, too. You still don’t recognize me, do you? I’m King Malcolm’s new fool.”





I THOUGHT HE LOOKED FAMILIAR. “You don’t look like a fool.”

“I should hope not. I’m a fool by occupation, not presentation. And only occasionally by reputation.” He grins.

“You’re too young to be a fool,” I persist, swaying a little.

“Not at all.” George takes me by the shoulders. “I’m eighteen, which is the most foolish age of all. All the troubles of a man, yet none of the excuses of a boy.” He leads me down the dirt path that winds around the edge of the garden. “We need to get you to your room before anyone sees what condition you’re in.” He looks around. “But I don’t know how—”

“Oh, I do.” I grab his sleeve. “Follow me.”

I drag him off the path and across the grass toward a vine-covered wall. I walk along it, trailing my hand through the leaves.

“Know what’s funny about this palace?” I say. “All the gargoyles. Lots of them are hidden, but when you find one, they’re always next to something interesting. See?”

I stop and point to the little snout that’s almost completely buried by the ivy. Stick my hand into the greenery and feel around for the door latch I know is there. Got it. I lift it and hear a tiny click, then pull apart the curtain of vines to reveal a small doorway.

He’s doing it again: staring at me with that funny expression, his dark eyebrows raised, the tiniest smirk on his face.

“What?” I say.

“Nothing. But—you’re a funny girl.”

“Not really.”

“Yes, really. I mean, what does a girl from the kitchen know about secret doors?”

I tut a little. “This is nothing.”

“You don’t say.” He shakes his head, then gestures to the door. “Ladies first.”

I squeeze through the tiny opening, and George climbs in after me. I lean out to rearrange the vines before closing the door behind me. Inside, it’s pitch black.

“There’s a staircase here,” I say. “If you go all the way to the top, you’ll come to a door. It opens up into the great hall, behind that huge tapestry, you know, the one with the owls and bats attacking the wizard on the table?” King Malcolm has a fondness for violent tapestries and paintings, and I hate them all.

“Aye, I know it. But what about you?”

“I’m going this way.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, though it’s so dark he probably can’t see. “Behind me. The hallway leads to the kitchen. The maids’ quarters are just past it.”

I stand there for a minute, waiting for him to leave. But he doesn’t. And even though I can’t see him, I can feel his eyes on me. I can’t figure out what he wants.

“I guess you can go now,” I say.

But he doesn’t move. “I would feel better if I saw you safely to your room.”

I fold my arms. “I don’t need your help.”

“I didn’t say you did,” George says mildly. “I was just being friendly. Seems as if you could use a friend.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I dunno. Hanging out in a dodgy tavern alone, drinking absinthe alone, stumbling home with a pirate and a fool, alone—”

“What’s it to you, nosy parker?”

“Last name’s Cavendish, actually. But come on. Let’s be friends. I’m new around here. I could use someone to show me how things are done.”

“You are a fool if you want a kitchen maid to show you how things are done,” I mutter.

I wish he’d leave. I want nothing more than to go to my room and sleep. Forget this day ever happened. In the dark like this, the absinthe is starting to wear off and I’m beginning to remember everything. Accidentally killing that necromancer. Caleb’s kissing Katherine Willoughby. Going to the masque with her while I stay home alone.

Then I get an idea.

“If you’re King Malcolm’s fool, then I suppose you know about his Yuletide masque.”

“Aye. I’ve heard of it.”

“If you really want to know how things are done around here, that’s a good place to start. Since we’re friends now, why don’t you go with me?”

George clears his throat. “Go with you?”

“Yes.”

“To the masque?”

“Yes.”

Silence. For the third time today, I can feel my cheeks getting hot.

“What?” I say irritably. “I suppose a fool is too good to go to a dance with a maid?”

“No. It’s just… I didn’t know maids were allowed to go to masques.”

Damnation. He’s right, of course. Maids can’t go, but I wasn’t going as a maid; I was going as a witch hunter. Not that it matters, since I’ll be wearing a mask and no one will see my face anyway.

“We’re not,” I correct myself. “But you are. And as I say, I think you should take me.”