Page 6 of The Queen's Shadow

The queen stood and made her way to the window. The Rendran capital spread out below, its old stone buildings glistening in the afternoon light. Her sister was worried about her, but Cassandra had always shown herself to have a level head before. She knew she was the one person the queen trusted beyond all others. There were too many political games that went on at court.

“All right,” the queen conceded at last. “You leave at dawn. Outfit yourself accordingly. It won’t be an easy journey.”

Cassandra nodded. She had been out to the Malathi pass once before to make contact with those who had been allied to Andre Alarcon, the shadow before her. To make sure they were still willing to serve. She had people who could guide her.

“I won’t be reckless, Elena,” she said.

“I certainly hope so.” The queen sighed. “Just don’t let Ilin Serra get to your head again.”

“I won’t,” Cassandra said. “I swear it.”

Chapter 3

The cart rumbled along the rutted mountain road, its wheels groaning with each rotation. Cassandra did her best to keep her teeth from rattling from her perch in the back, gripping the rough sides of the cart for dear life.

Her bow rested on her lap, and her pack and a quiver of arrows sat beside her. She ran her fingers over the smooth wood of her bow, as familiar as if it were an extension of her body. The symbol of the queen’s shadow, and a gift from her sister.

She had been eight years old when the queen had first come to see her. It was hardly a month after the queen’s coronation, and Cassandra had been awed by the tall, terrifying woman dressed in the regal black of mourning. The queen had come quietly into the house where Cassandra lived with her grandmother on the outskirts of the Rendran capital. There had been no fanfare, no pageantry, no great carriage pulled by eight white horses. No one beyond the queen and a tall, familiar-looking man with graying hair, twinkling eyes, and a curved bow of rowan slung across his back.

“Your Highness,” Cassandra’s grandmother had gasped, immediately dropping into a deep curtsy and elbowing Cassandra to do the same. Cassandra had done so reluctantly and awkwardly, and only because there had been so much urgency in her grandmother’s tone.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of the sovereign’s visit?” her grandmother had continued with more deference than Cassandra had ever heard from the old woman.

“I have come to see...to see Cassandra,” the queen had said.

Cassandra’s head had snapped up then, and she’d met the queen’s gaze before she’d realized what she was doing. The queen’s brown eyes had twinkled, chasing away some of the sadness that lingered there.

“But why?” she’d said before she could stop herself.

“Because” the queen said, “I want to meet my sister.”

Cassandra had learned many things that day. She’d learned that her mother had worked at the palace for a time, and when Cassandra was born, the king had set them up in the house in which Cassandra now lived with her grandmother. When her mother had died of a wasting illness a few years later, Cassandra’s grandmother had moved from the small village a three days’ journey from the capital to take care of her.

And she had a sister. A sister who’d had no knowledge of Cassandra’s existence until their father’s death. No knowledge that she wasn’t the only child of the king until Andre—the tall, familiar-looking man—had told her. As the king’s shadow, he’d known all the king’s secrets. And as the king’s shadow, he’d been watching Cassandra for a long time. The new queen needed a shadow of her own. So, Andre had taken Cassandra on as his apprentice, and she had excelled. The queen had intended for the position to be ceremonial, but Andre never had.

Cassandra’s heart twisted at the thought of the man who had become a father figure to her. But he was gone now too, taken a few years earlier by an illness that had turned him into a shell of his former self.

“Road ends here,” the driver called from the front of the cart. He pulled on the reins and the cart rumbled to a stop.

Cassandra grabbed her pack, her quiver, and her bow before hopping out and tossing the man a small bag that clinked with coin. He gave her a nod before tugging his donkey’s reins and turning the cart back around. She waited until the cart disappeared into the trees before starting up the slope and toward the pass.

The high summer sun beamed over the mountains, bathing the forest in shades of green and gold. Far above, she could see birds hopping between branches in the thick canopy of pines. She pulled her gray cloak closer around her shoulders. Even in summer, the air here was cool and crisp—so different from the arid warmth she was used to in the Rendran capital.

The road narrowed ahead, turning into a single-lane footpath that sloped sharply upward and disappeared into the trees. A stream trickled somewhere in the distance, likely fed by the snowmelt of the higher peaks beyond the pass.

The queen had been right. It was a long journey to Malathi pass. But she had made it in little more than a week—in time, she hoped, to intercept the Inetian caravan.

But that was the strange thing. Cassandra had reached out to her contacts to see what the whispers were about the pass—but there had been very little in the way of information. There had been no mention of a caravan leaving Ineti and traveling toward Medira—not anywhere. Surely a group of Inetians traveling through the peninsula couldn’t remain undetected for long. Could it?

The path turned rockier as Cassandra climbed, and she was thankful when she finally topped the rise and peered down into the Malathi pass.

Deep greens and sharp grays blended in the valley, pierced by the shadows cast by the midday sun. Cassandra knew from discrete meetings with her contacts that the enclave lay about a mile along the valley from this road, nestled against the mountain. She checked her direction with the sun before setting off westward along the ridge, stray branches from the undergrowth nipping at her clothes.

It wasn’t long before she smelled the smoke of cookfires. The enclave.

A dozen timber-hewn cottages with thatched roofs dotted the floor of the valley, their parchment windows glowing faintly with the orange light of enchanted orb fire. A few humanoid shapes moved around the makeshift village, dressed in the nondescript gray robes Cassandra knew the chanters favored, hanging up washing, cooking, and corralling the gaggle of children who dashed barefoot between the houses. Pens holding pigs, goats, and chickens adjoined some of the cabins, and there were a few donkeys and oxen for pulling carts.

A wide, flat cookfire glowing with embers lay in the center of the village, where a few figures lingered, and Cassandra thought she could detect the peaty smell of pipe smoke wafting through the air.

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