The Decoy Princess

by Dawn Cook

  “It’s the venom,” he finally said. “It’s a player’s first weapon, yes, and I imagine players began strictly as assassins. But it was found long ago that if one increased their natural immunity by repeated exposure to the venom as a way to protect against a rival’s dart, they were able to take on the abilities of the animal it came from.”

  I stared at him, not understanding. “Abilities?” I prompted. “Like what? What animal?”

  He leaned closer, his eyes catching a glint of the fire. “A punta,” he said, deadly serious.

  My mouth dropped open. “A punta?” I finally said. “They’re all dead.”

  He straightened. “No, they’re not, and the next time I need to replenish my venom, you’re going to help me. It’s about time you start earning the poison I’ve been giving you.”

  “They’re just stories,” I protested. “Big magical cats that . . .” My words trailed off, and my breath caught. Magic?

  Kavenlow grinned through his beard. “I’ve waited so long to tell you. Every player has cheated death, surviving a killing dose of venom to balance on the edge of oblivion, returning with the magic puntas possess. You were three months old, struck by an assassin’s dart. I think it ironic that a rival player found my successor for me. I’d thank him, if I knew who it was.”

  He had to be jesting. “A punta?” I looked at him quizzically. “I can’t do anything a punta can do. Neither can you.” I hesitated. “Can you?”

  “I’ll show you,” he said. It was just what I was going to demand, and it took me aback. “See Pitch over there?” he asked, pointing with his chin. “Try to get her to come to you.”

  Pitch had wandered from the other horses, trying to get at the hay in the wagon’s bed. My eyebrows rose, giving him a pained look. “You mean, here, horsy, horsy, horsy . . .”

  He gave me a severe look, but his eyes were glittering in a repressed amusement. “Don’t be impertinent. Put the thought into her head that you have a handful of grain in your pocket.”

  “Like calling wandering sheep . . .” I said, and he inclined his head as if I had said something wise. He was in a grand mood despite the cold pinching his cheeks red.

  I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. I stared at Pitch, thinking thoughts of grain overflowing my pocket. My heart pounded when Pitch swung her head and looked at me. She didn’t move, though. I flushed, and a whisper of vertigo swept me. My knees started to tremble from the cold, and I felt nauseous.

  Kavenlow silently eyed me rubbing my knees. Reaching up, he plucked a dart from my topknot. Before I knew his intent, he stabbed it through my blanket and cloak and into my thigh. “Ouch!” I cried, shaking the spilled tea from my hand. “Why did you do that?”

  “Try again,” he said as he set the dart on the log between us.

  My leg throbbed—from the needle, not the venom—and I rubbed it. Irate, I nevertheless imagined a juicy apple. My dizziness eased, and I stared at Pitch, feeling like an idiot. “Nothing is happening, except my leg hurts,” I said sourly. In fact, Pitch seemed utterly sleepy, her tail going still and her head drooping as the wormwood smoke swirled about her hooves.

  Something shoved me from behind. Cup dropping, I spun on my seat to find Jeck’s horse. Frightened, I raised my hands to touch him as he dropped his head and snuffed at me with his prickle-velvet nose. “Kavenlow?” I quavered, frightened.

  He chuckled, pushing the horse’s head out from between us. “That wasn’t quite what I had envisioned, but you did it.”

  “I did it?” I said, not really believing. Jeck’s horse stomped impatiently, waiting for the nonexistent apple. I rubbed his ears in apology, thinking I’d have to get him an apple as soon as we got back to the capital. Much to my amazement, he blew heavily and turned away. Chu, I thought. I not only enticed him to me but told him to go away, as well! “Is that why I’ve been so dizzy?” I said, pulse hammering. “Saint’s bells, I almost passed out the night I got over the palace wall when I told Banner to stay. Was that magic? I thought he was just obedient.”

  Eyes catching the amber light, Kavenlow picked up my cup. “He is, but a portion of that is because he’s used to taking venom-induced direction from me. Animals become sensitive to it and respond better. And your abilities gain strength as you build up your resistance to the poison. You can also find a temporary boost by taking some, such as I did here, though that’s a good way to end up unconscious on the floor and vulnerable. You might get dizzy when you try to do more than your skills have risen to, or your muscles might spasm—just as if you had an overdose of venom. Your knees were shaking before I darted you, yes?”

  “Oh!” Excited, I turned to snatch a glance at Jeck’s horse. “Is that why my hands hum?”

  His eyes widened. “Your hands . . .” He grabbed one, alternating his attention between my eyes and my palm, looking small in his. “Oh, Tess,” he said softly, frightening me. “I had no idea. They really . . . How long have they been doing that?”

  “Since Jeck tried to down me with about six darts. Why? Is it . . . wrong?”

  His smile went proud. “No. It’s right. Maybe it’s because you were first darted so young, but it’s rare to come back from the brink of death with that particular ability.” He swallowed, his brow furrowing. “You say they hum? Does it hurt?”

  “Not . . . really.” He said nothing, pressing his lips so his mustache stuck out. He looked almost worried. “Kavenlow?” I questioned. “Is that all right?”

  He flashed me a quick smile that did nothing to ease my mind. “Yes, yes of course. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to teach you something I can’t do, is all.”

  I didn’t like seeing him feel inadequate, so I smiled—though it probably looked rather ill. “What else can I do? Vanish in a whirl of wind like a punta in one of the stories?” I jested.

  He chuckled. “No. As a novice you can nudge thoughts into quiet animals with nothing on their minds—like that black gelding there. I have a greater span.” He sifted his attention to the trees, and I listened to the night, waiting for something to happen. My breath caught as a black shadow ghosted over the camp and an owl dropped to my abandoned bedroll.

  “Oh, isn’t he grand?” Kavenlow whispered, a delighted smile making him look younger as the horned owl shifted on his thick talons, hissing at us. “When there is a good match between player and animal, it’s almost as if you can speak to them.” Kavenlow reached out to the owl, and with three heavy beats, it took to the air and vanished. We both sighed.

  “People are too complex to manipulate like that,” he added, his voice still soft with wonder from the owl. “But you can cloud a person’s memory and sight. And from that stems your wonderful ability to play hide-and-seek.”

  “I knew it!” I exclaimed, then covered my mouth, looking over the silent bumps of the people sleeping around us. “You were teaching me how to get out of the palace, weren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Magic or not, puntas aren’t any faster than any other animal; they just seem to appear and disappear from nowhere because they can cause a person to not see them until they want to. The venom gives you the same ability. Right now the best you can hope for is to keep from being seen if you’re trying to hide. I can walk the streets unnoticed if I work at it.”

  I slumped on my log. “So all those times I won at hide-and-seek it was the venom?”

  Kavenlow took a finger and raised my chin. “Tess, it was never a game to me. It was practice. Don’t think of it any other way.”

  It didn’t make me feel any better. It seemed like cheating to me. “Have you—ever clouded my memory?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

  “If you remember the gypsy, then you remember what I said.”

  “You said you couldn’t. But she did,” I blurted.

  “She’s stronger than me. Apparently, though, even her skills aren’t infallible. Some of that is your will, but most is because of the venom slowly building up in you gives you some protection against venom-induced t
rickery. That’s why she used wormwood to reinforce her attempt to cloud your memory. That you recalled so much tells me you’ve been sandbagging, my girl.” He patted my knee. “I had no idea I had built up your resistance so high. It’s past time I start teaching you how to consciously draw upon your talents and find out what you’re especially good at.” He hesitated. “Besides healing.”

  It was almost a mutter, and I heard the concern he was trying to hide. “The gypsy,” I said, reluctantly. “She asked if my dreams ever came true.”

  Kavenlow’s eyes went worried in the flickering light. “Be careful, Tess. Even a novice can have prophetic dreams, especially when under an overdose of venom needed to build their resistance. But dreams can be manipulated by your own feelings, giving you false truths. The gypsy has so much venom in her she can see the future even when awake. I don’t trust dreams, and neither should you.”

  An uneasy feeling took me. “She forecasted for me. Before you came in,” I said softly.

  Kavenlow stiffened. “What did she say? Did she say anything about war?”

  I shook my head. Everything she had said had happened. I had just been interpreting it wrong. “She said I would be traveling with a man who had dark hair.” I looked over the camp to Duncan. “The rest was fluff and patter,” I said, not knowing if it was or not.

  “Good,” he breathed. “It’s no guarantee we won’t find ourselves there, though.”

  I nodded, my attention on the coals. My eyes rose to the sleeping princess. The gypsy hadn’t said anything about her. What else had she left out?

  “She really isn’t a bad sort, is she,” I said, gesturing to the sleeping woman with my eyes. “Just rough. How is she ever going to learn the polish she needs to survive?”

  There was a creak of leather as Kavenlow turned to me, seemingly surprised. “I was hoping you’d be able to help her with that. She didn’t know who she was until last year, and I’m afraid she is very—ah—provincial in her reactions and expectations. I think the nuns realized who she was and let her have her way in everything.”

  I cringed, thinking of the political retaliation if her mouth ran amok with a visiting dignitary as it had with me. “She has no idea how many disappointments a princess must swallow with a smile, does she?”

  He shook his head. “She thinks being a princess means doing what she wants.”

  “It’s the exact opposite.” I hesitated as my brow smoothed. I wasn’t the princess anymore. Perhaps this was a good thing. “What is going to happen to me?” I asked, warming when my thoughts drifted to Duncan and that kiss. “Now that I’m not the princess?”

  Chuckling, he downed the last of his tea. “I wanted her to take you as her attendant guard, though that might be difficult since you thrashed her.”

  I was quite sure I didn’t fancy the idea of being a member of her court. It was insulting, and I would probably be stuck behind walls sewing all day. God help me, I would go insane if I had to make one more useless doily. Kavenlow refilled my cup before doing the same with his. He set it in my hands, and my fingers tingled at the new warmth. “Kavenlow,” I mused aloud. “Just how strong can you become? Do you just keep dosing yourself to increase your strength?”

  His head shook an emphatic no. “There are two reasons not to. One, you have to kill the punta to get the venom, and they are hard to find and devilishly harder to subdue. And two, players that push themselves beyond a reasonable level tend to die quickly. Though you were born with a natural immunity to the venom that most people lack, there are limits. Oddly enough, it takes more venom to kill an apprentice than a master, but an apprentice will pass out sooner, saving his life. A master won’t, giving the impression that they’re safe, which leads to the dangerous assumption that they can tolerate more than they can.”

  “Meaning . . .” I prompted, not understanding.

  “The more venom you’re able to tolerate before passing out—or the stronger you are, rather—the more careful you need to be about reaching your death threshold. An apprentice may fall unconscious after three darts, but it might take ten more to kill them. That’s ten darts that no player will waste upon someone who is down. A master can stay active after as many as eight darts, but one more after he falls unconscious might be enough to kill him or her.”

  “With more power comes more risk and a lower threshold,” I murmured. My head rose in a sudden alarm, and I searched Kavenlow’s face. Was he in danger?

  “Look at you!” he exclaimed, teeth glinting in the firelight. “I’m nowhere near overdosing on venom. I’m very careful to keep a safe balance of strength and safety. And speaking of that, here. You need these more than I do.” He twisted to reach his pack behind him. Silently he placed several palm-sized darts in my hand. They were made of metal instead of bone, looking like wickedly long needles as they glinted with a gray sheen of oil.

  “I had them made almost ten years ago,” he said, his gaze on the fire. “These three are all I have left. Be careful. They hold a great deal of venom and will kill a large man very quickly. They’re used to bring down a player,” he finished, and my eyes widened in understanding.

  “These are for Jeck,” I said. Lips pursed, I extended the darts to him on the flat of my palm. “I don’t want to kill him. I just want him to leave me alone.”

  The wrinkles about his eyes deepened as he curled my fingers over the darts. “I’m sure there isn’t enough there to kill him—unless he makes a practice of dosing himself up to temporarily increase his skills. Use them to knock him unconscious.”

  Reassured, I obediently tucked the lethal darts in my topknot.

  “Tess,” he said slowly, a new hesitancy to his voice, and I put my hands between my knees to try to warm them. “There’s a price for this. And I wanted to tell you before it’s too late. The venom—it takes away your ability to have children.”

  Eyes wide, I stared at him, reading the truth behind it in his sorrowful gaze. “No children? Ever?” I asked, hearing the smallness of my voice.

  He looked pained. “It’s not too late. I think you have a few years yet before the venom asserts itself so deeply inside you that it would be difficult to carry a child full-term. It’s one of the reasons why players can’t rule. There would be no heirs.”

  Turning away, I clenched my blanket to me, colder than the night warranted. I rubbed at my thigh where the dart had penetrated. Magic—real magic—or children. “None?” I asked.

  “No.” His gaze was weary as he stared at the coals. “But it’s not a bad option to take a child from the street as your own. They’re full of surprises—like you.” He cupped my chin and made me look at him. “Tess? I forced this beginning upon you, but it’s not too late.”

  My gaze fell from him. I felt an unexpected tingle of tears. No children of my own? Probably not even a husband, as I was sure anyone close to me would be a target for player-sent assassins, just as I had been.

  “Most apprentices are given no choice,” he said, “but you’re a woman, Tess. The decision should be yours. There aren’t many women players, but what you can bring to the playing field—compassion, empathy, and the ability to compromise—are desperately needed. You can’t be a player without the strength of the venom. If this is something you don’t want, I’ll find another. But, please. You could hold the future of thousands of children in your choices. You would be a magnificent player.”

  I said nothing, putting an elbow on my knees and dropping my forehead onto my stiff fingertips. No children? Ever? Why was he asking me to choose? I had always known what to do when I had been a princess; there never were any choices.

  Kavenlow shifted his yellow-lined cloak about his knees, clearly uncomfortable at my distress. “Get some sleep,” he said gruffly. “As I said, you have time to decide. Years. I’ll wake you when it’s time for you to stand watch.”

  He took my cup from my fingers, replacing it with the bone dart he had stuck me with. Not looking at him, I slowly tucked the spent dart away and rose. Edging a
round the sleeping princess, I numbly went to my bedroll. An owl feather rested on it. I picked it up, gripping it as if it were a talisman. I lay down with my back to Kavenlow and stared unseeing into the night.

  A child of my body, or a lifetime manipulating vast forces and hidden agendas. A husband to grow old with, or a kingdom. I recalled my delighted shock when Jeck’s horse bumped me, looking for an apple that existed only in my thoughts. The owl’s feather was softer than silk as I brushed it against my chin. My children taken from me before I had begun to think of them?

  But there really was no choice to make. I knew my answer. If I wanted a husband, I’d find a man able to defend himself from assassins. If I wanted a child, I’d take one who needed me as Kavenlow had. To do otherwise would say he had been wrong, that he loved me less because I wasn’t of his body. And to say that would be a lie.

  “Kavenlow?” I whispered, knowing he could hear me, “I’ll stay your apprentice.”

  Twenty-four

  It was the sound Of someone rustling in their pack that woke me, and I knew we had made it through the night without Jeck finding us. The birds were clamoring again, and faint through the twittering uproar were Duncan and Thadd’s whispers. My eyes opened, and I stared at my odd view of matted leaves and grass, dim with the scarcely risen sun. I was finally warm, so I didn’t move, hoping everyone would leave me alone and perhaps make me breakfast.

  Sighing, I closed my eyes. It felt good to be hungry. It felt good to be warm. It felt good to have a purpose. I was a player, and not the princess—not anyone—could take that from me. This, I thought, would be what I shape myself on, now that I’m not the princess.

  My eye opened at a crackle of leaf litter. It was a mouse, silver and small, hardly big enough to be out of its mother’s nest. Creeping forward, it pushed its way over and under the sticks and leaves looking for food. A smile curled the corners of my mouth.