Page 16 of Seven Ways to Kill a King
Cass settled onto the small fabric bench to unlace his boots. “Many in the kingdom were well looked after. They miss what has been taken, the same as you or I.”
Miri’s fingers stilled on the fabric, but she didn’t speak. Cass wondered whether she meant to argue that no one felt the same as she did or if the tension in her body was merely because of the reminder of her mother.
He sighed. They had ridden into the city of Pirn, where she planned to avenge her mother’s death, and Miri could not even face the thought of the woman, let alone the emotion that came with it.
Cass rose from the bench, boots forgotten, and moved to stand beside Miri. He slid a hand to the small of her back. The motion drew her gaze to his. “We both need a bath and some decent food. Then you and I are going to sit at this table and map out every single detail of your murderous plot.” His voice was quiet, but the tone was clear. “Do you agree to those terms, my lady?”
Miri stared up at him, and Cass was grateful he’d not called herPrincessorBean. He could see the struggle behind her gaze and understood that she’d held her plans tightly for so long that letting go to anyone would be difficult. He hoped she trusted him. He hoped she didn’t die.
Miri’s brow drew together at his expression, but eventually, she gave him a small nod. “I agree.”
Chapter 9
Miri woke in the small apartment to the sound of a cart in the street. She blinked in the broken darkness, her brain still foggy. The room was dimly lit in strips by sparse moonlight through the glass. It was not that she’d grown used to the sounds of the forest, but at Nan and Thom’s, the sounds had been so different. The air had been filled with noisy patterns of ships coming into port, sailors eager for a stretch of land, and the gulls that called to sea and sky.
Miri had made it to Pirn. It was all so real.
She shifted beneath two layers of warm blanket to find Cass’s lean form positioned carefully on the floor at the foot of the single bed. He was by all appearances asleep, but Miri had learned to take nothing of that sort at face value. They’d stayed up half the night, meticulously walking through the first step of Miri’s plan. Cass had grilled her on every detail and second-guessed her every move. Her patience had worn down, as had their candle, but Miri felt more secure since she’d had a solution for nearly every one of his proposed flaws. Cass was queensguard. He’d been trained in such things. Miri felt a pang for Henry because of all the small ways in which Cass mirrored the head guard’s mannerisms and tone. She pushed the thought away, creeping carefully down her mattress to slide a blanket over the edge of the bed and onto Cass’s still form. He cuddled into the quilt, into Miri’s warmth, and she settled flat on the bed again.
When the sun rose, they would eat a good breakfast and go to the market at Pirn. Then, two days later, Miri would scratch the first king’s name from her list. If she lived, they would escape to Kirkwall, and there, she would knock another from his throne atop a lengthy flight of stairs. Seven kings. Seven murders. Seven men between Miri and her sister’s freedom—between Miri’s death or freedom for them all.
A sigh came from the floor at the foot of her bed. “Go to sleep, Bean. We’ve plenty to worry about on the morrow.”
Miri bit down a chuckle at his tone and rolled to her side. Gods help her, but she was worried less than she’d ever been. It was not death she was afraid of. It was being trapped, unable to act on her vow. Finally, finally, one way or the other, Miri would be free.
* * *
The marketat Pirn was a loud and bustling affair. It felt like certain chaos, but beneath it all was a pattern, order, and the apparent familiarity of everyone involved. Miri had not been in a crowd that size for years, and her heart raced with the excitement and terror particular to facing something new. She clung to her satchel. Cass was pressed to her side. They’d eaten a breakfast of honey and biscuits and dressed in clothes that had been provided by a nameless benefactor. Cass’s face was once again clean-shaven, and his clothes were of a nicer cut. The garb looked nothing like the uniform of a queensguard—decidedly so. The cut of the fabric rounded over his shoulders, and the shirt was loose and pleated and tied with string. He wore a wide belt and, though it was warm, a long thin cloak that hid most of his blades.
Miri had a weapon, too, though she couldn’t imagine it would do her any good should a band of kingsmen find her. Cass had fitted her with a boot dagger, and two more were strapped to the back of her belt. If nothing else, it made her feel safer. And because she was the Lion Queen’s daughter, her hair had been bundled away beneath a soft brown bonnet with a ridiculously oversized brim. She pushed at it as they moved through the crowd, hating the way it obstructed her vision. Cass slipped his arm around her waist, tugging her to him when she inadvertently bumped into a curly-headed man with a basket full of salted pork. She glanced at him then tripped over a broken stone in the path.
“Seven hells,” Cass muttered, drawing her between two stalls to bend the visor back. Miri stood looking up at him as he folded the material over itself, his mouth drawn and eyes pinched.
“Sorry to be so difficult,” she said coolly.
His hazel eyes met hers. “You stick out like a bad apple. It’s hard enough to keep an eye on the crowd.” He meant by himself. Miri frowned as Cass added, “When we get to the blacksmith, let me do the talking.”
“Because you’re my husband.” She crossed her arms, incredulous.
“Because you’ve never bartered as someone who holds no power.Bean.”
She scowled at his reminder then swatted his hands away from her bonnet. “As you say,” she offered. “But I pick the sword.”
Cass took hold of her hand and drew her with him as he made a path between stalls of woodcraft and pottery, weaving past carts of oils, wine, cast pots, and caged chickens. A vendor tried to sell Miri a scarf, and another offered wax. Cass kept on, appearing to pay it all no mind, though Miri could feel the tension in him. She kept up, one hand tight in his, the other managing her cloak, until the scents of the market were overpowered by the smoke and solvent and molten steel of the blacksmith’s stalls.
At the entrance to a massive tent Cass stepped aside, letting Miri walk past him inside. The interior was hot and dusty and filled with the clank of metal being formed beyond the stall. Miri let her eyes adjust to the dim light as she stared past the folded brim of her bonnet to a wall of metal ornaments and shields. Long tables were situated in rows, each scattered with an assortment of cuffs and knives. Horseshoes rested in a bucket on the trodden earth, and farm tools and construction material sat on a table of their own.
A woman wearing a thick leather apron came forward, wiping her hands on a threadbare rag. “What’ll do for you?”
“I need a sword,” Miri said.
Cass’s hand slipped deftly beneath Miri’s cloak to rest on her back, and he smiled down at her like she was the best mare in the stable. “My wife would like a sword of her own, something light and thin, I think, for I trust she’ll take to it brilliantly.” At Miri’s attempt at an apologetic glance, he added, “And sharp. For good measure.”
The blacksmith laughed, but the sound was drowned out by the hammering of metal beyond the tent walls. “Aye,” she said when the clatter died down. “Sharp.”
She gestured for them to follow, and Cass let Miri go ahead of him. His fingers brushed the back of her arm as they slid free of her cloak.
She would try to remember the girl Bean had no idea about metalwork and weaponry, aside from the skill with her knives—those of a trader and a woodsman. They walked past a bench layered with ax heads and chisels as the woman slipped through the side of the tent. Outside again but away from the crowd, the woman led them to a cart built of thick, scarred lumber. She tossed back a massive sheet of leather to reveal half a dozen mallets and three well-made swords.
