Page 2 of Seven Ways to Kill a King
Nan drew a thin rod from the pocket of her skirt, and for a moment, Miri didn’t think either of them was entirely sure whether Nan intended to use it on her or the guard.
The kingsman let out a snort, apparently not at all concerned for the latter, and tossed Miri roughly to the ground. Her knees hit the stone tiles with a crack, her thin flesh splitting over bone. She bit her tongue and her words and bit back every shred of rage she’d ever felt for the men of the king’s guard and what they had done. Nan grabbed Miri by the knot of hair at the nape of her neck and muttered a curse as she dragged her to her feet.
When she was pulled into the next corridor, Miri chanced a glance at the guard. He pushed over a tall shelf, scattering its contents onto the damp floor, then kicked through the mess and knocked over a metal bin and a basket of wooden utensils. Miri drew a breath through her nose, and Nan shoved her into the next room.
Three corridors later, Nan slammed the door shut behind them, barred it with a wooden slat, and turned to lean against it. She placed a hand over her heart as she slid like liquid to the floor. Miri uncurled her fists from their grip on her skirts and straightened the material before pushing the tangled hair from her face.
“Gods, girl,” Nan whispered up at her, breath coming in broken heaves. “That was close.”
“What are they doing here?” Miri knelt before her protector, who’d cared for her and hidden her since she was a child. “Why are they in Smithsport?”
Nan ran the back of her hand over her forehead and, voice low, said, “King’s business. There are at least a dozen down by the dock.” Her soft gray eyes held an apology. “We didn’t get word in time. I’d no sooner heard they’d been spotted before this one was scampering about. Came in under the cover of a wagon, hidden in supplies like stowaways right through the town gates. Getting sneaky, they are. Thomas knocked an entire barrel of ale in this one’s path, made a mess of the thing, but the bear wouldn’t be put off.”
“So that’s what happened to you.” Miri reached forward to wipe the muck off Nan’s neck, but she brushed her attentions away.
“Come on, help me up, Bean. We’ve got to get you somewhere safe.”
Miri took hold of Nan’s arm and helped her to her feet. “Not much of a plan. You know we’re trapped back here.”
Nan gave her a sly smile and whispered, “Don’t think much of your old Nan, do you, Bean?” She yanked a drapery cord by the far wall, and a filthy animal pelt fell silently to the floor.
Miri waved away the dust and stared openly at what appeared to be a trap door. Nan had been holding out on her.
“Aye,” Nan whispered. “Now up you go.”
* * *
Miri had climbedthrough the trap door and into a small dark chamber nearly an hour before, by her estimation, and had been listening to the rustle of foot traffic and wheeled carts overhead.
Nan had closed and locked the entrance behind her, swearing she would soon be set free. “Listen for Thom,” she’d promised. “He’ll be along.”
A brief scuffle and shouting overhead had followed shortly after. Then came the clink of a metal sword, and sweat had prickled on Miri’s skin. Those noises had settled into the more common goings-on, though, and the sweat ran in rivulets down her back instead. She was a dirty, damp mess, and she was fairly certain the barrels tucked in beside her held something far worse than old ale. She wondered how long the stale air in the spare space would hold her and whether she would be able to break out if Thom never came. She wondered what the kingsmen were looking for.
A hollow scrape sounded above, and Miri ducked as loose dirt fell into her tangled hair. She cowered against a barrel, but there was little room to move away. A narrow beam of light speared the space as an overhead plank was shifted aside. Then she heard Thom’s knock: three short raps.
She signaled back, two quick taps to the barrel with her knuckles, the second louder than the first. The plank was shoved aside. Miri closed her eyes against the glare, blinded after so long in the empty dark, and was met by Thomas’s words.
“Come on, girl. Time to move.” He reached into the open space to grab Miri’s shirt, glancing quickly at the man beside him.
Miri rose, knocking her head against the low ceiling, then was tugged from the pit into the fresh evening air. It was early, well before sunset, and Thomas Blackwater was unceremoniously shoving a princess of Stormskeep into a dirty barrel.
She resisted momentarily, but hetsked at her, and she remembered her place in the ordeal. Being caught could get them all killed, not just Miri. She squatted into the barrel and was turned on her side as it was set quickly to rights. As she struggled to shift in the cavity, the figure with Thom disappeared as he slammed the lid into place.
“Quiet, Bean,” Thom murmured through the wood. “It’ll be over soon.”
The barrel was jostled as she was thrown aboard a wagon, and then came the muffled crack of a whip and a call to the horses before her barrel rattled against the others and the wagon’s deck below. She bit down hard on a curse and prayed she would not be stuck inside long enough to be taken to port.
The ride was miserable and painful and loud and hot, but it was not the worst she had been through. Miri had experienced much worse, and that low point sat well beneath her current situation. She would get through it so that she could live another day. Myrina Alexander had things to do—great things.
Chapter 2
The wagon stopped well before they’d had time to reach the port. Her barrel was unloaded carefully by at least two grunting men, and silence settled into the darkness once more. Miri counted her heartbeats, desperate to be free. Her legs ached to push her to standing and run. Her hands trembled to do anything other than clutch at her skirts. Miri couldn’t remember why she’d ever argued with Nan to leave the house. She couldn’t recall what had seemed so important about having something productive to do or being near actual crowds. She wanted to take it all back. She wanted to go home.
Three soft taps sounded on the lid of the barrel before the wood was slid aside. Miri gasped in the fresh air and was fished out of her barrel by a cloaked figure who was too tall and narrow to be Thom. She fell clumsily into the man and recognized the familiar scent of sweet ale over that of the sea, salt, sweat, and fish. He was another of Thom’s men, another who was loyal to her—one more who could be killed for keeping her safe.
The man said nothing as he tugged Miri into a run, rushing them through a darkened stable. Horses nickered and groaned as they passed, then came the ragged complaint of a single goat, which meant they were passing through the smith’s outbuildings. She was nearly home.
The cloaked man drew to a stop at the back of the stable and glanced at a shadowed figure at the edge of a neighboring barn. The two gestured some signal, then Thom’s man turned to wrap his cloak over Miri’s form.
