Traitor Princess, Assassin Saint

by T. R. Sherwood

  “Oh.” Annara blinked. “Oh. You were worried about me.”

  “I was incredibly worried about you.”

  Annara wasn’t sure how to deal with that. She wasn’t even entirely sure how it made her feel. The only thing she was certain of was that she wanted Senne to be closer, so she drew her legs up to her chest and patted the end of her hospital bed.

  “I wouldn’t have died,” Annara said, reasonably. “You’re the only thing that’s destined to kill me, which means I’m functionally immortal whenever you’re not around.”

  “I’m not entirely convinced that’s how fate works,” Senne said, sitting on the end of the bed.

  “Neither am I, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

  “Annara.”

  “I won’t do it again,” Annara promised, reaching out.

  Senne took Annara’s hands in both of hers. She wasn’t wearing gloves. Her skin was so warm it felt like being touched by sunlight.

  Annara hadn’t expected to find anyone next to her when she woke up. Nothing like this had ever happened before. And maybe that wasn’t much, but it was something.

  “What now?” she asked.

  Senne shifted slightly, leaning in so that she could lower her voice. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about how we have two possible fates: a good one and a bad one. Marriage or death. If both fates are equally likely, then it stands to reason that whichever one comes to pass is affected by the choices we make.”

  “Are you making an argument for free will?”

  “No,” Senne said, “not exactly. I...”

  The nurse came back in, beaming. “You’re free to go, miss. Let us know if you experience any sudden dizziness, hallucinations, or fever.”

  “I will,” Annara said, confused.

  “Shall we go for a walk?” Senne said.

  ✽✽✽

  The distant skyline of the Royal City was shrouded in fog. Shreds of mist whirled across the gravel path, hiding the ruffled petals of half-seen roses, blazing pale pink and red through veils of white. Senne offered Annara her arm. Annara could walk perfectly well on her own, but she took it anyway, driven by a hunger for closeness she had felt for ages but never managed to name.

  “What were you trying to say?” Annara said.

  She felt Senne shift next to her. “I don’t think I can explain it well.”

  “Take your time,” Annara said, perplexed.

  “Remember when you talked about wanting a cottage by the sea, on the south coast of Chreon Arda where they grow lavender?”

  “Yes, I’m surprised you actually remember that.”

  “Maybe we could both retire. Maybe I could go there with you.” Senne wouldn’t meet her eyes. “If you’ll have me.”

  “What?”

  “It isn’t a terrible idea, is it?” Senne said, watching the gravel under her boots. “If our choices truly do affect our fate, then retiring together might be one of the best choices we can make.”

  “Wait,” Annara said, stepping out in front of Senne. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re talking about the rest of our lives.”

  “It’s the most logical course of action.”

  “I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life with me because it’s the logical course of action,” Annara said. “I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life with me because it’s convenient, or because it’s your only option to avoid an early death. What do you want, Senne? Why are you asking me this?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you,” Senne said. “I never say these things. But, Annara, I don’t want you because it’s convenient, or because I’m just trying to survive. You make me happy.”

  Somehow, this was the last thing Annara had expected. Her eyes widened.

  “What do I want?” Senne asked, her voice growing slightly stronger. “I want to fall asleep next to you again. I want to make you breakfast. I want to hear all your opinions on art and architecture. I want to help you with whatever ridiculous scheme you’re planning. But most of all, I want you to be happy and comfortable, so I would be satisfied with all of those things or none of them. Just say the word.”

  “Do you know what you’re asking?” Annara said breathlessly. “I’ve never kept an oath in my life.”

  “There’s a first time for everything. We could try to be good to each other.”

  “And if we did that over and over, if we tried to be good to each other again and again for the rest of our lives, maybe that’s all it would take to choose a happy ending,” Annara said.

  “Exactly,” Senne said.

  Annara looked up at her, considering it. Senne met her eyes, and Annara’s breath caught. The words for the rest of our lives seemed to glow in her chest like a captured sun or a second heartbeat. This was what she had wanted, not just since Tin’s attack on the Royal City, but from the very beginning. The happiness she felt now had been building like a crescendo since the first time she ever saw Senne smile.

  The heavy mist had condensed into tiny of water on the wool of Senne’s coat. Some of them clung like pearls to her hair. A few strands of black hair slipped out of Senne’s bun. Annara reached up to brush them back behind her ear, slipping her fingertips across Senne’s cheek in the process. They both leaned in at the same time.

  Annara had been kissed before. Every other kiss in her life turned to smoke and vanished in comparison, because none of them had been with Senne. It was exactly the type of deep, gentle kiss that Annara had thought must be meant for other, kinder people.

  When Annara pulled away, the cool air seemed to sparkle on her skin. The look in Senne’s eyes was paralyzing until she kissed her again, and Senne’s hand came up to twine her fingers in Annara’s hair. Annara felt all the tension in her body melt.

  When she looked up at Senne’s face, Senne smiled. The look on her face was an echo of Annara’s own happiness, so bright and affectionate Annara was struck by the certainty it could last them the rest of their lives.

  ✽✽✽

  Unlike most throne rooms in the Crescent, the throne room of the Palace of Chreon Se didn’t actually have a throne in it. Instead, it had a desk. To give credit where credit was due, Lord Chreon Se could often be found asleep at it.

  “Lord Heron of Seichre,” a herald announced.

  Juniper blinked himself awake and signed the piece of paper he had fallen asleep over with a flourish. “Chira, please take this down to Foreign Affairs. Evenne, could you cancel my two o’clock meeting with the Minister? Don’t worry, she’ll understand. Coral, I think Cedar wants you in the ballroom. Thank you.”

  Heron watched, impressed, as Juniper seemed to transition from napping to working without missing a beat. He swept around the room, dismissing everyone with some useful task or another, until they were alone under the high, vaulted ceiling.

  The palace of Chreon Se was beautiful. It was one of the oldest buildings in the Crescent. The walls were pink stone, and the floor was a black and gold chessboard, ancient but polished. Even so, Juniper’s eyes were fixed directly at Heron. His expression was unreadable.

  “What?” Heron said. “Oh. You looked in the box.”

  “Of course I looked in the box.” Juniper reached into the satchel at his side, took the box out, and offered it to Heron. Its contents were no worse for wear.

  “Have you been carrying it this entire time?”

  “It hasn’t left my sight. Does it… does it hurt?”

  “No,” Heron said.

  Juniper narrowed his eyes skeptically.

  “Not anymore,” Heron corrected himself.

  “How long ago did…”

  “They put the ore in when I was fourteen,” Heron said, “although I think you’re not technically supposed to know that. Seichrenese state secret, and all that. But after my last conversation with the king, I’m inclined to think it doesn’t actually matter, because—”

  He stopped, because Juniper had walked around the desk and hugged him. Heron could smell sandalwood and vanil
la on his clothes.

  “You’re taller than me,” was all Heron could think to say.

  “I am. Just a little. Listen, Heron, I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  Juniper pulled back, quickly reaching up and fixing Heron’s collar as he did. Heron shivered, paradoxically. He could still feel the warmth of Juniper’s hands on his spine.

  “I should have done something to help you,” Juniper said.

  “Jun, you were a fourteen-year-old in Pahinvar. What could you possibly have done?”

  “After we met, I mean. I should have figured out what was going on.”

  “You think you should have unearthed one of the Seichrenese government’s dirtiest secrets when you were a teenager,” Heron deadpanned.

  Juniper looked at him gravely. “Yes.”

  Heron started to laugh. “Of course you do.”

  “I could’ve done it.”

  “I believe you! It’s a moot point now, though. The Wraith Initiative is gone.”

  “Are you going by your personal name now, then, Lord Heron?”

  Heron sighed. “Technically speaking, I have a new title. It’s stupid, though, so I’ve been trying to avoid it.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “Lord Saintslayer of Seichre.”

  Juniper snorted. “Very alliterative. I haven’t the faintest idea why you don’t want to use it. Would you like to step into my office, Lord Saintslayer? Lord Saintslayer, do you have any future plans to go with your shiny new title?”

  “Oh, shut up.” Heron paused, then said, “I don’t really know what to do with myself now. Senne is safe, she no longer needs my help, and I have little to do in Seichre.”

  “Come to Pahinvar with me.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I mean it, come to Pahinvar. You need a vacation, and Pahinvar is the perfect place for it. It’s got fine wine, warm weather, beautiful people. You can meet my aunts.”

  “You want to introduce me to your aunts?” Heron said, baffled.

  “Of course! They’ll love you. There are six of them. Say you will.”

  Juniper was completely earnest, as if taking a former assassin to Pahinvar to meet one’s aunts was the most ordinary thing in the world. Heron’s hands tightened instinctively around the heavy cedar box with his heart in it. The wood seemed hot enough to burn.

  “I will,” he said, and Juniper beamed.

  EPILOGUE

  Black was not, strictly speaking, a wedding color in the Crescent. Still, Annara insisted on wearing it, for reasons that most people in her wedding party couldn’t understand.

  “I mean, it does look good on you,” Heron admitted, watching her brush makeup over her cheeks. “But it’s not exactly traditional.”

  Annara made a face at him. “Why are you here? Go bother Senne.”

  “I am here,” Heron said, with great dignity, “to help my future sister-in-law get ready for her wedding. I’m an old man, I need to be involved in these things.”

  “You’re not even old, you’re just a busybody.”

  “I’m thirty-five. I can feel death just around the corner.”

  Annara ignored this in favor examining her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup today was subtle: no stage makeup, nothing special, nothing to obscure her natural features or distract from her true appearance. She wore a coat and cravat in the Crescentian style, black with gold embroidery in the shape of scales. She wore roses in her hair, red and delicate pink.

  She bit her lip and adjusted her flowers, then gently pushed one of the pearls in her hair slightly to the left.

  “Are you nervous?” Heron said.

  Annara sighed. “I think so. I don’t know why. I want this, but I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t deserve it.”

  “I’ve felt that way about every good thing that’s happened to me since I was fourteen years old,” Heron said. “Think of it this way. Today isn’t happy just for you.”

  “Chreon Se did look very smug when I passed him in the hallway.”

  “I was talking about Senne, but yes, he is. He seems to have gotten it into his head that this is all thanks to him.”

  “Unfortunately, I think he’s sort of right,” Annara said. She took a deep breath. “You know, you’re the closest thing Senne has to a guardian. Do you approve, of all this? Of me?”

  “It’s not my job to question her choices,” Heron said. “But, for the record, I’ve never seen her look so happy. She never smiled as a child. She never faked it like I did. But these days, she never stops smiling.”

  “Oh,” Annara said, feeling heat travel up from her heart.

  Heron peered at her. “You’re blushing.”

  “I am not. Shut up.”

  “It’s your wedding. You’re allowed to blush.” A bell chimed somewhere. Heron smiled at her. “Are you ready?”

  He offered her his arm. She took it. Heron must have been able to tell that she was tense, because he said, “Stand up straight, look straight ahead, and don’t forget to smile.”

  “I don’t need acting lessons from you, Heron.”

  “Why are you being so mean to me? After today, we’re practically family.”

  She scowled at him as he led her out into the hallway, but when they emerged into the main hall of the church, forgetting to smile was no longer a possibility.

  The small room was crowded with stained glass and flowers in every color. Light spilled from the windows and blazed on petals and leaves. The pews were filled with a small group of friends: one or two of the least objectionable Seichrenese assassin nobles; nuns from Annara’s former abbey; criminal associates, new and old; Lord Chreon Se, dabbing theatrically at his eyes with a gold silk handkerchief; Lord Rheon Se, looking as if they weren’t quite sure what they were doing there; and finally, Heron, who settled into the front row with a smile. Some of the guests were already drinking. It wouldn’t be a Crescentian wedding without copious amounts of alcohol.

  There was a slight rustling noise from the back. Annara looked up and saw the Haol’s vivid red hair among the flowers. He looked as if there were hundreds of things he wanted to say.

  Annara had invited him, but he was Lord Archon now. The white swan of Archon glowed on his chest in beautiful silver filigree. The circlet gleamed against his hair. He was surrounded by a gaggle of aides. He had his work cut out for him, restructuring the Archonian-Ervonian government and convincing the nobles to accept the son of a servant as their king. Annara had assumed he would be too busy for a titleless, disgraced old friend.

  Haol raised a glass of white wine and smiled, then bowed to them both and ducked away, hurrying back to his responsibilities. His aides trailed after him. Annara bowed back, even though he couldn’t see her. He’d told her they were still friends, the day she abdicated in his favor. Annara had agreed then, and she had meant it, but part of her knew that nothing would ever be the same as it was when they were children.

  As Haol disappeared, Annara turned back to the altar. Any last trace of nervousness finally melted away. Senne smiled behind her veil, almost conspiratorially, and Annara immediately felt as if they were the only two people in the room.

  “May I?” Annara said, lifting her hands.

  “Please.”

  Annara helped Senne lift her veil. The silk slid through her fingers like water. Underneath, Senne wore earrings like drops of gold and a high, embroidered collar. There was a touch of color in her cheeks. As always, Senne’s eyes were arrestingly lovely, rich brown and overflowing with joy.

  Behind them, the priestess cleared her throat. “Do you, Senne, daughter of Seichre, accept this woman as your wife?”

  “I do,” Senne said.

  “And do you, Annara, daughter of the Crescent, accept this woman as your wife?”

  “Of course,” Annara said, too emotional to realize that wasn’t the line.

  The priestess giggled. “Then we shall proceed.”

  She produced a ceremonial dagger with a gleami
ng white blade and a golden cup of honey wine. Then she turned to Senne.

  “Your hand, please.”

  Senne let her make a slight cut in her finger and dropped the blood into the cup. Then the priestess turned to Annara. Annara offered her index finger, but her hands were shaking so badly that the priestess had to pin her hand to her side.

  “Thus is your blood bound into one,” she said. “Do you swear to love each other wholeheartedly until the end of your days, to protect each other in times of crisis, and to treat each other with kindness, care, and consideration?”

  “I do,” Annara said immediately.

  Senne’s eyes curved into delighted crescents. “I do.”

  “You may drink,” the priestess said.

  Senne sipped from the golden cup and handed it to Annara. Annara took a sip of the glittering golden liquid. It was sweet, familiarly so, and the alcohol lit a flame on her tongue. It spread warmth through her chest.

  “Congratulations!” the priestess said. “You are now married in the eyes of the goddesses and the law.”

  Senne drew her close and kissed her gently. Annara could still taste a trace of honey on her lips. She melted into the feeling of Senne’s lips against her own, Senne’s hands at her waist and at the nape of her neck. She didn’t realize she was crying until Senne reached up to brush her tears away.

  They turned and bowed to the priestess, then walked back down the aisle together in a shower of multicolored confetti. Later, there would be a marriage banquet, full of fresh fruit and hot soup. There would be shaved ice and syrup and sweet poppyseed bread. There would be tea, which Annara would pour for Senne without really thinking about it, because she already did so habitually at home. They would have to see Heron off, because he and Juniper were going back to Pahinvar, since Heron had apparently hit it off with at least four of Juniper’s six aunts.

  For the moment, though, there was only the warmth of Senne’s hand in Annara’s, gentle and strong, and a love and determination that would last them the rest of their lives.

  About The Author

  T. R. Sherwood

  T. R. Sherwood lives in California with one black cat and several succulents. Sherwood enjoys reading fantasy, science fiction, and historical romance. This is T. R. Sherwood's first novel.