Page 21 of Seven Ways to Kill a King
Cass gave her one more quick glance before he kicked up his horse, and they rode through the thick woods at an unsteady pace. They came out of the forest near the church, and their pace finally settled. They rode from Pirn as if heading north, but the moment they’d traversed enough land not to be seen, they turned west. Late morning became midday and early afternoon. The summer sun bore down on the clearings between each patch of trees, and the spicy scent of yarrow was stirred into the still air by the flowers crushed beneath their horses’ hooves. Two flies nagged at Miri’s ear, and two more hovered near Wolf’s.
Then it was evening, and Miri drew the cloak tighter around her shoulders and held her reins closer to hand. At nightfall, Cass finally stopped beneath a copse of close trees. He strung a rope between two of those trees and tied loose slipknots to keep the animals near. He did not start a fire or leave to hunt.
Cass settled a blanket onto the ground and handed Miri a piece of dried meat and a hunk of dark bread. Both felt like pulp in her mouth, and she chewed absently as she stared past the horses into the dark. She should clean the dirt from beneath her fingernails. Miri’s maids had hated it when her play had left her caked in mud. They had fussed away at her with brushes and tools, scraping all of it clean.
She was a princess. It wasn’t proper.
Miri didn’t realize she was crying until Cass’s arm came around her and he pulled her to him. Her chest rose and fell in racking sobs. Cass didn’t speak, only held her tighter, and when she finally settled, he moved his palm in soothing circles over her back.
He shifted to lean against a tree, drawing Miri with him so that her arm and cloak made a pillow against his leg. Long after she’d settled, warm so near him, Cass began a story in a low, steady tone. It was a story of Miri’s mother and how he’d been hurt and humiliated by failing a minor task, and she had set him to rights. The Lion Queen had been kind, her wit as sharp as a blade.
Miri understood why he was telling her. Cass was bloodsworn, the highest of the queensguard and closest to the queen. He knew as well as anyone that she had been a good ruler and did not deserve her fate, even if he didn’t agree with Miri’s plans.
When Miri finally spoke, her voice was a raw whisper. “I’m not sorry he’s dead, only that I was the one who had to do it.” Even the words felt like a betrayal, as if speaking them aloud was a vow broken. There should be no guilt or regret in Miri’s heart, only honor. She should have had done with it and been strong enough not to blubber like a fool on Cass’s shoulder. She should have the heart of a lion. She should be worthy of her blood.
Cass brushed the hair away from Miri’s face, his finger grazing her cheek as he tucked the lock behind her ear the way Nan had done when Miri was a child. “I’ll not judge you for taking a life. Not with the things I’ve done.”
He was of the guard and could understand what drove her and what she was going through. But that did not mean he approved. She was, after all, putting both his life and his vow to protect Miri on the line in order to carry out her plot.
“Casper was cruel to Lettie,” Miri said. “He’d use carefully constructed words to trap her and maneuver her into situations in which she looked the fool in front of everyone, no matter what she did. Like she was incapable. Unworthy.” Gods, she’d been just a child.What sort of man could find pleasure in besting a girl?He’d made Lettie feel those things, like she would never have been good enough to be queen.
Miri wondered if her sister would be glad of what she’d done.
“Casper will get what he deserves.”
Cass’s tone was low, but Miri thought she heard something beneath. She wondered, not for the first time, what other things Casper had done when the queen’s attentions were elsewhere.
When a person found pleasure in cruelty, it was rare that they found boundaries in how far they were willing to take it. The poison she’d left him was quick but not painless. The grim thought that he would not suffer enough swam to the surface, and she wondered at what point her desire to fulfill her duty might morph into something cruel—when the lion might become a monster.
* * *
It had been cunningto plan the first killings with enough leeway for escape, but their luck would only hold out so long. Miri waited on pins and needles to hear word—desperate with dread that it hadn’t worked or, worse, that it had and she was a murderer. Cass did his best to attempt entertainment, but Miri’s mood left little room for conversation, and they had very far to ride. In a few days, they would pass near Stormhold, named—like Stormskeep—for the first queen of the realm. Miri couldn’t recall the first time she’d seen the gate, but she’d been in awe without exception since. A massive structure stretched so high that one could barely make out the guards at the top, and carved into the stone of the archway was a relief of the Storm Queen herself.
The queen wore armor and a helm, and her thick braid was curled over her shoulder in a style Lettie had emulated. Legend had it that the first queen had abolished magic and broken the chaos of the realm by conquering the men who practiced dark arts. She had created order, and within it, only the sorcerers who held fealty to the queen were allowed to have that knowledge passed to them. It had been such for every queen since.
Her realm had stood for years beyond counting, and as children, Miri and Lettie had thought the Storm Queen a god. But queens were only mortals. Queens could be killed.
“There’s an inn not far from Stormhold. We should rest here for the evening and start again tomorrow.”
Miri nodded her assent, ready to crawl off her horse and straighten her legs. That morning, Cass had found a soft patch of earth far from their trail to dig a hole and bury the vial. So when he started a fire well before dark, she did not ask what he meant to do.
He burned her clothes, the simple garments that had been provided in Pirn. They held evidence of the mud and earth from beneath the tree. The evidence was gone, but the king was not yet dead.
Miri settled onto the ground to stare up at a cloudless sky, wondering how many kings might fall by her hand and how soon she and Lettie might die. A shadow fell over her a moment before Cass came into view. He stared down at her, outlined by endless blue, a well-made blade in his grip. “Exercise,” he reminded her.
She stifled a groan as she rolled to her side but took Cass’s proffered hand. “I’m a bit rusty. Nan wouldn’t let me spar with anyone good.”
Cass chuckled. “Thom and Nan were two of the best swordsmen in Smithsport.”
She crossed her arms. “Are you saying they let me win?”
He handed her the sword. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Miri’s progress was slow—it truly had been a while since she’d practiced. The movement felt good, though, and the more she worked, the more she fell into the familiar routines of thrusts and cuts. It wasn’t long before she felt comfortable, and Cass increased his speed.
Miri dodged and parried and was soon sweating, her moves just a little too slow. She felt nearly up to his challenge, but he was a guard. Cass never had to dedicate time to sewing and gowns—he’d used all of his time and energy to train with weapons and hone his instincts. But Miri had been taught something of tactics herself, and she was not above using them in a fight. She stepped into his swing, bringing her blade up to block, and spun into Cass as he reset, twisting her leg deftly into the back of his knee. He was only off balance, but Miri had drawn her dagger and held the pommel at his ribs.
Cass gave her a look.
