Page 25 of Seven Ways to Kill a King
“Pshaw.” Miri flopped onto the bed, boots and all. “I would never.”
Cass paced the room once, which didn’t take long, given the space, then was back at the door, listening to the goings-on outside. A woman gave a low and sultry laugh. Then came the muffled sound of a door closing down the hall.
Miri’s head spun. She’d definitely had too much to drink. She should probably unlace her boots, but it didn’t seem entirely worth the effort. Cass poured water from a carafe into a short cup and offered it to her. She waved it away.
He paced in front of the door. After a long while leaning beside the entrance, Cass finally moved toward the bed to unroll his cloak and settle it over the plank floor. He lay on it, his back flat and eyes closed. Miri’s gaze turned from him to stare at the ceiling, a very low affair that was heavily spotted with evidence of leaks and patches. Minutes passed to the steady sound of their breathing and the rain outside.
Miri had killed a king.
Her fingers found the lump of metal beneath her layers of clothes. The small trinket was all that was left of her mother. Eyes to the ceiling, Miri whispered, “Do you think it will work—that we’ll actually get away with it?”
Cass let the silence stretch before he answered. “No,” he said, voice tinged with sadness. “I think you’ll die.”
Miri sighed. She had imagined the killing of each king as long as she could remember and had felt the hate in her heart and the pressure of her vow. She’d dreamed of the day she might meet Lettie again and what she would say and how they would cry. But Miri had never thought past that moment or devised a plan on how to escape the kingsmen and the sorcerers and restore Lettie to her throne. It didn’t seem conceivable, because it was too much to hope.
Cass did not argue with her again or tell her it was not too late to stop. He understood. She could not give up or let them win, even though he thought she was going to die.
Miri closed her eyes to whisper into the darkness, “I think I will too.”
Chapter 14
The ride to Kirkwall had taken two full weeks. The rain had been relentless, and Cass had managed to find inns only four of those nights. Miri was soaked through and should have been in foul spirits, but she had never been more eager to carry out her murderous plot. The map on the wall was being pieced back together. She was one step closer to Lettie and to being free.
The sky had cleared to a hazy gray, and the air had finally stilled as they approached the top of a ridge looking down toward Kirkwall. Miri groaned at the sight of smoke rising over the bordering wall. She could imagine the smell of roasting meat. The idea of warmth and a dry bed conquered any guilt over manners.
Cass shook his head and pushed back the hood of his cloak, which had long since been sodden with what felt like endless rain. “It’s market day,” he said. “Well timed, if I do say so myself.”
“Finally, a bit of luck,” Miri agreed. She gave him a playful glance. “I suppose Mags was right about you after all.”
He returned her glance sidelong, not quite as playful. “Yes. Lucky.”
Miri’s cheeks stung when she broke into a grin. “Let’s get to it, then. I’m ready to be off with the lot of this sodden linen and wool.”
Cass kicked up Milo as they came over the ridge. The ground gently sloped and was covered in soft, short meadow grass dotted with wild summer flowers. The horses nickered at travelers in the distance, and Miri gave a small tug on Wolf’s reins to bring him back on task. The animals were tired of the trail as well, and sloppy ground made the work of stepping through forests and mucky trails more laborious.
The land eventually leveled off. The grass trodden by traffic funneled into muddy, wagon-tracked patches before reaching the packed roads that led to the wall. They followed a horse-drawn cart toward the gate, which was open for market day and posted with several guards. The guards were not dressed in the standard wardrobe of kingsmen but appeared to be hired hands. One had a pike, another had a sword, and two more were armed with apparently no more than their knives and wits.
But no one would have reason to attack the town of Kirkwall. Besides, the king was safe within his castle at the center of it all. That, Miri thought, was where the kingsmen waited. She couldn’t know for certain whether the castle housed a sorcerer, but her hope was that he still resided in the church tower, away from the king and Miri’s ploy.
The gate guards were quite distracted by the cart, which appeared to be well stocked with pottery jugs that smelled heavily of wine, but Miri kept her head down as they passed through the gateway in the massive stone walls.
Miri didn’t believe King Simon had any real concerns regarding his soul, but his people—the people who lived in Kirkwall and had once been ruled by the Lion Queen—did not abide by magic and the dark arts. They’d been prone to wearing charms and warding hexes, the last time Miri had visited with her mother, but when times were hard, sometimes faith was difficult to uphold. And Kirkwall had suffered mightily at the hands of its king.
Regardless, the town had been given a sorcerer, and by rule of local law and to protect from uprising, Simon had installed that sorcerer in the proposed safety of the tower. The tower was a massive stone affair, its base carved with signs of the maiden and reportedly mounded with offerings—to the maiden, not the sorcerer.
Miri had considered, long ago, letting rumors stoke the people of Kirkwall to incite a riot against their king. But she had learned of uprisings in her studies as a child and knew that more would be killed by such tactics than if she did so alone.
“There,” Cass said, gesturing toward a path away from the market. “Lodgings will likely be full after the rain and during market, but it’ll be our best place to ask.”
She nodded, leading Wolf over the winding stone paths and away from the smell of food. The crowd became thinner the farther they rode. Most were on foot or hauling handcarts toward the market square. When they finally reached the lodge, stacked tall and towering above them, Cass glanced at the street before stepping down from his horse and handing her the reins.
His gaze was severe. “Should I be too long, please don’t wait.” He gave her a smile, in case anyone heard, but Miri understood it was a warning. Apparently, Kirkwall was not as friendly or filled with benefactors who were loyal to the rightful queen.
Miri held tight to the reins, her hand turned so that the gold band on her finger was hidden, and kept her expression bland as she glanced down the street. Kirkwall was dirtier than she remembered, the buildings in desperate need of repair. She was not certain whether Cass was worried about thieves or kingsmen, but the idea of abandoning him to save herself seemed strangely unsuitable. They’d been riding together for weeks— four, had she kept count properly—and in that time, he had somehow seemed to become part of her plot. He wasn’t. Cass did not approve of her mission or what it risked. But he was there nonetheless, and she didn’t imagine she would be brave enough without him.
Determination had never been her problem, after all. It was the fear that broke her.
The fear that gripped her most was that Lettie was so near—no more than ten days’ ride north of their stay in Stormhold. But Miri couldn’t get to her sister. Too many kings, too many sorcerers, and too many walls were in her way.
