by Dawn Cook
“Um, yes,” he said hesitantly, and I added another handful. His brow furrowed. He leaned forward as if to say something, then sat back. “Do you want to head inland after Saltwood?” he said, his words clearly not what he originally intended. “It’ll be warmer.”
I pushed my fingers into my forehead as if in pain. “Duncan,” I said wearily. “I’m not a cheat. You should take my saddle and just . . . go away.”
His eyebrows arched slyly. “You won’t find anyone better,” he persisted.
“I’ve seen street performers who can move cards like you,” I scoffed.
Duncan went cocky. “Can they do this?” he asked, bringing one of my needles out.
My jaw dropped. “W-where . . .” I stammered. My hand flew to my topknot, my fingers counting to find a dart missing. “When did you take that?” I demanded, going frightened.
“Earlier.” He was smug, almost frightening in his confidence.
“When?” I said, unable to think of a time when he had been close enough.
Duncan put a finger to his nose and grinned. “I’m not saying, Lady Tess.”
I watched the dart, thinking Lady Tess was marginally better than Lady Black Sheep. “Fine,” I said cautiously. “You’re clever and quick. Give it here.”
He heard the threat in my voice and pulled away. “Is it valuable?” He looked at it with a new interest, grinning to show his teeth. “Did you lift it where you got that knife?”
“Duncan . . .” I warned. “Give it to me.”
He shook his head, thinking it was a grand game. I lunged around the fire to take it, and he pulled away. Jumping, his fingers jerked apart. “Damn,” he said, eying the needle by his knee. “That’s wickedly sharp. I can’t believe you keep it in your hair.”
I went cold. “Duncan, listen,” I said, knowing the venom’s effects would be slowed if his heartbeat stayed slow. “You’re going to be all right. I promise I’ll see you out of it.”
Duncan looked at me as if I was insane. Then his humor left his face, replaced by a sudden pain. “Wha—” he started, then bent double. “Chu pits,” he moaned. “What is it?” Then he fell over, curled up about himself.
Lips pursed, I leaned across the camp and snatched my needle up and tucked it where it belonged. I was more irritated than worried. Shifting around the fire, I checked his pulse at his neck. It was fast but steady. “Idiot!” I berated him. “I told you to give it back.” He moaned, and I sighed in resignation. “You’ll be all right,” I said, scraping up my empathy and awkwardly patting his shoulder. “I promise I won’t let you stop breathing.”
Apparently it wasn’t the right thing to say, as a violent spasm shook him, and his jaw clenched until his neck muscles turned to cords. Remembering the cold, I pulled his blanket over him. He had curled into a ball, his eyes closed and his face tight with an agony he didn’t understand. His breath came in quick, harsh pants.
I bit my lip in concern and poked the fire for more light. He looked awful, a tinge of purple edging his lips. The venom seemed to be acting harsher than usual. His gasping breath hesitated, then resumed. My mild concern shifted to alarm. That wasn’t good.
“Duncan?” I said, knowing he could hear me. I watched his pulse at his neck. The wild pounding had frightening hesitations. “Duncan, you’re all right,” I lied. He was having a bad reaction, made worse by his fear. “Listen to me,” I said firmly, trying to keep what little presence of mind he had left, focused. “I have to look at your finger.” I reached for his right hand, clutched to his middle. “Let me see it,” I coaxed. “You need your hands for your trade.”
Frightened for him, I yanked his hand from his shivering huddle to find it swollen grotesquely. His middle finger was purpling. A stark white upraised circle showed where the dart had penetrated. It would be easy to slow the venom’s spread with a tight bandage from his elbow to his finger. But doing so might cause irreparable damage to his hand.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling nauseous. “I have to bandage your hand. It’s going to hurt like the devil’s dogs are chewing it, but it will slow the poison down.” I hesitated, having to be honest with him. “You might lose your finger, but if I don’t, you might lose your life.”
He jerked. “N-n-n-no,” he moaned, yanking his hand out of my grip and curling around it. Sweat beaded up on his forehead, glistening in the firelight.
“Duncan!” I tried to sound authoritative but was scared to death. What if he died out here? “It’s either that or you might die. I told you to give it back. Let me see your hand!”
He clenched into himself, trembling and sweating. He managed another guttural moan, and I touched his shoulder, turning alarmed at how his muscles had locked up. His shoulders were like rocks. “Let me have it!” I demanded, tugging at his arm. He gritted his teeth, and his eyes were clenched shut. Even under the throes of the venom, he was stronger than I was.
Frustrated, I sat back on my heels, watching. If he fell unconscious, his hand was mine.
Anxiety prompted me to pick up Duncan’s cards, dusting each one carefully before I put it back in his box. Listening to his painful rasps of breath, I wished he’d pass out, then prayed he wouldn’t as he might never come out of it. I sat at his shoulder, worrying as I built up the fire.
“You’re doing fine, Duncan,” I said as the first hints of rhythm returned to his breathing. His blanket was soaked in sweat, and I draped my second blanket over him. “That’s it. You’re going to be all right,” I whispered, falling into a soothing pattern of voice. “I’m right here. I’ll see you through it. I promise.”
The words sounded eerie coming from me. They were nearly verbatim to Kavenlow’s whispers when I had struggled to throw off the venom. I wondered if he had been as worried as I was now, when he watched with only his voice to ease the pain. The memory of Kavenlow prompted me to run a hand over Duncan’s head. Kavenlow’s touch had always made the pain easier to bear, as if he knew and understood. Duncan was an idiot, but his pain was my fault.
His shortly cropped hair was softer than I had expected, a pleasant whisper on my fingertips. My tension loosened as the warmth of the fire finally soaked into me, making my hands tingle in relief. I let one rest atop his shoulder to feel his muscles slowly ease. “You’re going to be all right,” I whispered as the hurt finally left his face.
He took a shuddering heave of breath. It was his first grasp at conscious control, and my shoulders slumped. They ached, as if I had been the one struggling to breathe, not Duncan. His gamble to save his hand had worked. Tucking a wisp of hair from my eyes, I moved away, stiff and sore from the day’s ride.
I reached for the forgotten tea, black and boiling over the fire. My hands were shaky as I pulled it from the fire and poured two cups. I set Duncan’s within his reach and moved to my bedroll. Experience told me he would want something to shake the cold that gripped him. And I needed something to steady myself as well. Watching his misery had brought it all back. Until I had built my resistance high enough to suit Kavenlow, he had repeatedly subjected me to that same pain, that same fear. The reminder left me heartsick. What had it all been for?
“Who . . . are you?” Duncan rasped.
My attention jerked to him, finding him huddled under the two blankets. His eyes looked black as he stared at me over the low fire, his long face haggard under a day’s growth of stubble and his struggle. I wondered if he hated me the way I hated Kavenlow the first time I had gone through that hell. I looked at the fire, trying to find an answer. “No one,” I said, believing it. My eyes closed so they wouldn’t fill, and I felt the fire’s heat on my cheeks.
“That’s a pit full of chu,” he said harshly, and I opened my eyes. Taking two attempts, he propped himself up on one elbow. He hunched as he coughed violently, then wiped the spittle from himself. “I saw you repacking. Everything you need for extended travel, but you’ve never slept in the open before. You ride like a man but have the manners of a lady.” He held his breath as he shoo
k with a repressed cough. “And though you know what to do with torch flowers, you can’t cook worth a tinker’s damn. Who are you?”
“I’m no one,” I said, recalling Garrett’s face twisted in disgust as he learned of my true birth. My eyes flicked to his and away. “I’m a beggar’s child,” I whispered, afraid.
Duncan clutched the blankets tight about his shoulders. He shivered, eying me over the flames. “A beggar’s child wouldn’t walk away from a bowl of uneaten soup. They don’t have poison on their hairpins, either. Neither do thieves.”
He raised his tea to his lips with shaking hands. Hesitating, his face drained of what color it had. “You are an assassin,” he said, dropping the cup. Tea soaked into the ground. “I thought you were—who did you kill? Sweet mother of God. I helped you escape! They saw me! They’re going to come after me, now!”
“I’m not an assassin,” I asserted, depressed.
“Then what are you?” he demanded. He tried to raise his arm, becoming panicky when it didn’t move as well as it ought. “What did you do to me?” he cried.
Frustrated, I shouted, “Next time listen when I tell you to do something!”
He hesitated, then settled back on his blankets, showing a wary respect. I waited until I knew he was listening, then added, “My hairpins have poison on them. I’ve been conditioned to withstand it. One scratch usually won’t kill a person. Two will, unless you work hard to keep them breathing.” I recalled Jeck retaining enough control after two darts to talk. “Usually.”
“Only an assassin would be immune to poison,” he said, shivering.
I sighed as I gathered my thoughts. Perhaps he’d believe the truth now. “You were right, earlier,” I said in a flat voice. “Well, almost. I’m—” I took a breath, forcing the words out as my betrayal rose caustic and strong. “I’m the princess’s decoy, bought to shield her from backlash caused by that damned Red Moon Prophesy. I’m immune so as to extend my usefulness.”
And I’m stupid, I thought bitterly. I should have seen it. No one risks the life of a princess to make her immune to poison. And you don’t leave her upbringing to the chancellor, however well he keeps her occupied and prevents her from bothering the royal family.
I closed my eyes against the hurt. In that instant, I hated them. Hated them all: my father, my mother, Kavenlow, the princess I had unknowingly protected, all of them. When I opened my eyes, I found Duncan watching me with a mix of disbelief and mistrust. “Listen,” I said, deciding he needed to hear it all. If Jeck found him with me, he might be killed by association. “King Edmund’s second son, Garrett, is making a bid for Costenopolie’s land and ships. He could have had it all but in name had he bided his time and married the real princess at year’s end, but he wants it now. He took the palace and the outlying garrisons, and when the rest of his men get here, he’ll take the city, the harbor, and all the ships in it.”
Grief broke through, and I caught my breath. All I cared about and thought was true had died in the name of Garrett’s meaningless conquests. Nothing had arisen to replace what I once thought real. “Prince Garrett killed my parents,” I whispered. “After I find Kavenlow, I’m going back to kill Garrett.”
“You can’t kill a prince of Misdev,” Duncan whispered, his knuckles white where he gripped his blanket.
“I almost killed you,” I said, weary of everything.
“But it will start a war,” he protested, hunching into his blankets.
I dropped my gaze. “Kavenlow can stop it.”
“Kavenlow?” he questioned.
“The chancellor.” My face twisted as I struggled not to show my emotions. “He went to fetch the real princess. He’s the only one I have left—” My voice had risen to a squeak, and I cut my sentence short. “He doesn’t know what happened,” I said flatly. “I have to find him.”
“You’re the Red Moon Princess?” he said, a hint of belief in his long face.
“Not since yesterday.” I said the words carefully, refusing to feel anything. My life had been ruined, and all for nothing. I glanced up at the branches and the clear skies beyond them. Where is the rain? My life can’t get any worse. It ought to be raining.
Numb, I took a gulp of tea and set it aside. It was bitter. “Drink some tea to keep your heart strong through the night, and don’t even think about swallowing any of that vile ale of yours,” I said. Not caring if he had more questions, I lay down, wrapped in my cloak, and drew my last blanket over my head. I wanted to sleep, exchanging my reality for dreams if only for the span darkness ruled the sky.
Twelve
The light On the inside Of my eyelids was a restful gray, not the bright glare I usually woke to. And I was cold. Confused, I tried to separate myself from my dream of shifting waves. I smelled horse, and the surprise of that, not the stick poking repeatedly into my shoulder, brought me fully awake.
My pulse leapt as I bolted upright. Duncan was crouched on the far side of the fire. The stick that had been poking me was in his grip. My hand dropped from my darts, and I clutched the prickly wool blanket to my neck. Sitting to curl my legs under me, I blinked at the man.
The dim light of morning made him look more unkempt than usual. He had a brown cloak over his shoulders that I hadn’t seen before, its hem black from use. “Morning,” he said as he dropped the stick and pushed the rim of his hat back. “I’m going to water the horses. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Thank you,” I said, then coughed at the coldness of the air. The birds were noisy, and I wondered how I had slept through them. Saying nothing, he rose and went to Tuck. He wasn’t using his right hand much as he coddled the gelding into taking the bit. “Can I . . . see your hand?” I asked.
He hesitated. Dropping Tuck’s lead, he eased down into a crouch beside me. Silently he pushed his shirt up to his elbow. I leaned close. His deeply tanned arm was still swollen, and the purple and red streaks across his palm and finger were downright ugly. Still having not said anything, he flexed his poison-bloated hand, wincing.
“Can you move your cards?” I asked, knowing he must have tried.
His eyes were fixed upon his shifting fingers. “No.”
It was flat and emotionless, and guilt made me drop my gaze. “It will get better, but your fingers might always be slow when you’re tired.” I hesitated. “Do you want some willow tea?”
“No.” Rising, he turned his back on me, sliding the bit into Pitch’s mouth with a practiced ease. The horse mouthed it noisily.
Shivering, I bent to tighten my bootlaces. I felt bad about what had happened, but at least he wouldn’t be following me anymore. “You’ll be heading inland, then?” I asked, not sure I was happy to see him go. I didn’t like being alone.
He turned, his nasty stubble unable to hide his surprise. “We aren’t going to Saltwood?”
“We?” I blinked up at him. “After last night? I nearly killed you!”
“Really . . .” Motions stiff with what I thought was pride, he set the saddle pad on Tuck, quickly followed by my saddle. He rubbed his right shoulder before cinching it as if noticing a general weakness there.
“There’s no reward for helping me,” I said. “Just take my saddle and go.” Miserable, I removed my needles and let down my hair. “I can find Kavenlow on my own,” I whispered as I set my black ribbon aside and forced a comb through my curls.
Duncan’s rough bark of laughter pulled my head up. He was laughing at me? The nerve!
“Tess,” he said as he stood by Tuck’s head. “Let’s say you are the princess’s decoy and not a lunatic.” His eyes flicked to my darts beside me, then the whip on my waist. “You don’t owe that man anything. The king and queen bought you with the sole purpose of keeping their daughter alive. And you want to help her? Wake up,” he said bitterly. “Your dream is over.”
“They loved me,” I said hotly, surprised to find myself defending them, even though the same thought had filled my head for the last three days.
“They use
d you.” His narrow face was harsh. “Don’t you know how the story goes? The lost princess returns, saves the kingdom with the help of a goat boy, then marries her rescuer to live happily ever after. There’s no room for you! If you’re lucky they’ll banish you from the kingdom. If you’re not, they’ll tuck you away, and you’ll never see the outside of the palace walls again. You,” he said, his eyes fierce as he pointed at me, “should be running hard and fast. And I’m going to run with you until you go hungry long enough to realize it’s better to be well fed than spotlessly honest. You have a hard-won skill, Tess. And I’m not going to let you hide it under morals too expensive for commoners when we could be living like royalty in two years!”
Angry, I gritted my teeth and swung my length of hair in front of me. I tugged my comb through it, heedless of the sharp jolts of pain. “You think I should run away,” I said as I picked at a snarl in frustration. “From Garrett. From everything. He killed them right in front of me!”
My pulse hammered, and an upwelling surge of anger knotted my stomach. “He had my mother’s throat slit while I watched!” I exclaimed. “I couldn’t keep her blood inside her, Duncan! It’s still under my fingernails!” I held my hand up, almost screaming at him. “My father died to protect me! I promised I’d kill the murdering dog, and I will!”
My anger and grief poured through me, tightening my throat. I dropped my head as I realized I was almost in tears. Duncan stared, clearly shocked.
Catching myself, I dropped my head and bound my hair up off my neck. It was hard without Heather’s help, but I managed. Duncan silently finished with Tuck and put the riding pad on Pitch for me. I brought out my venom and refilled the needle Duncan had darted himself with, adding it to the four in my topknot. I was cold, and I hated it. I hated everything.
