Page 23 of Seven Ways to Kill a King
Miri had been with Cass for weeks, and she’d never thought to ask what he was leaving behind. Henry had raised Cass as a father and had taken Cass into the guard when he was young and spent each day training him in their ways. Cass had likely had little choice, but there was no denying how he’d felt as a boy. Miri had seen them together, how hard Cass had trained, and how badly he’d wanted to impress.
She wondered who else Cass had lost and who else he had watched die. But the idea, like her memory, was too hard to look at for long. Cass’s brothers of the guard had died in their attempts to save the queen and Miri. Their blood was on her hands. And from that, Miri could not look away.
Chapter 13
After dinner, Cass sat quietly spinning an unadorned short-handled knife in his hand. Miri had a full stomach and was drowsy but could not seem to draw her eyes away from the dance of the blade as the flicker of firelight caught on it. How many hours he must have done so, likely in the streets of Stormskeep while on his watch, mindlessly twirling a dagger, as if it were not an implement capable of inflicting death.
The light brushed his knuckle, and she reached over to still his hand and traced a finger across a faint mark.
“Not from a dagger,” he said. “I slipped from a balustrade I’d climbed on a dare.”
Miri snorted. “I hope you won something for the trouble.”
“Only repute.”
She smiled, shifting to rest her head on an elbow with a yawn. “I’m surprised you’re not covered in scars by now.”
Cass ran his finger across a faint line on Miri’s temple. His touch was gentle enough that she shivered. “And what of you, Princess? How did you come by this scar?”
Miri pressed her lips together, fighting her desire to run from the memory. “My sister and I got into a tussle over a silver brush.” Miri could remember the heft of it, the delicate carved roses that vined up the handle, and the molded silver lion that stood out in relief. The lion’s long and sharp claws had wrapped around the edges of the paddle. “She took hold of it, trying to wrest it away while she screamed.” Miri wanted to shake her head but only nestled closer into the warmth of her arm. “I was so stubborn. The more she fought, the less I gave. I saw it in her eyes, that look, and I knew I’d taken it too far. She let go with a shove, swift enough that I wasn’t able to regain my balance from our tug of war, and it cracked my scalp just as I turned my head.”
Miri had fallen on her rear and stared up at her sister through the blood that streamed from her temple. Lettie had not been sorry.
She sighed. “Momma found us and ordered every single mirror out of our rooms. Apparently, one of the lords had been taunting Lettie, telling her that the younger Lion outpaced her in beauty as well as wit. I hadn’t known.” Miri wasn’t sure it would have mattered—she couldn’t say she would have let up if she’d known.
Miri’s mother had been furious that the lord’s taunting had worked and appalled that Lettie had drawn her own sister’s blood. The queen had taken Miri aside to tend her wound. Her assurances were as soft as her touch. “Beauty is everywhere in you, my child. It can never be erased with something as simple as the slice of a blade or a layer of mud. Remember that, my little bean. Remember that your heart is that of a lion.”
Their mother hadn’t understood Lettie’s fears the way Miri had. The queen didn’t know that Lettie was afraid she might never earn a true name like the Storm Queen or like the Lion Queen herself had, barely two years past her coronation.
Lettie had been afraid she would only be known as the Lion Queen’s daughter, as a princess who’d had a great and powerful mother, one who had not truly earned the throne. What had happened instead was far worse than any of them could have imagined.
Cass’s gaze weighed on Miri. His silence said something she didn’t particularly like and that dug into the comfort she’d managed like an ill-placed burr. She shook it off, only offering a final “We were just girls. Children,” before she drew her cloak over her shoulder.
Miri recalled something she’d heard from Henry the very next day. “Scars are only proof that a person has experience in battle and that they’ve earned a victory and survived to fight again.”
Miri didn’t know if that was true. Sometimes scars were earned by battles lost.
* * *
The newsof the king’s death arrived at the inn near Stormhold well before Miri and Cass. They heard the chatter of men from the trail, travelers standing idle with the locals for news they deemed too important to wait for a decent setting. It only grew louder as they neared the inn. Horse-drawn carts were stopped in the road as a young boy in short trousers retold the tale. By the time they reached the stable, Miri had heard it again and again.
“The king has been killed. Fallen from his horse. His neck broken so that he couldn’t even speak. Blood bubbled from his lips, no words. A terrible accident.”
The whispers followed. “The man was such a fool for his riding. Never skilled but a braggart, constantly on that he took his stallion out to hunt every week. A second cousin had a boy who was a groom there, said they’d pushed him onto the beast every single time. Trotted him through the courtyard and into the woods on parade. His knights would shoot a fox for him and lay it in the weeds the morning of. Fool of a thing. It’s a wonder he lasted this long at all.”
Miri met Cass’s gaze, but when he was approached by the stable hand, Cass only shook his head sadly, as if dismayed by the unfortunate news. “No, of course we’ve not heard. We’ve been traveling for weeks. Yes, traders from Kirkwall. On our way home to replenish our stock.”
She was grateful he’d gone along with her plan. A time to implement the spread of rumors would come but not yet. Too soon, and the kings might raise their guard—before their suspicions had been triggered by Miri’s actions. She had one more kill, maybe two, then things would get exponentially harder—one more before the risks became higher still.
“My lady.”
Cass offered his hand, but Miri didn’t flinch. She took it gratefully and let him settle her onto the ground. She had two feet, and she could use them to get to the inn—she hoped, anyway.
“Terrible news,” the stable hand said. “And no son to bear his throne.”
Miri’s teeth pressed together so hard that she feared they might crack.
“We’ve ridden such a long way,” Cass said. “Please excuse the lady. I fear we both need a hot meal and a long rest.”
