Mina hesitated for a moment before stepping through the gate.
Her father’s soldiers were everywhere, their faces grotesque masks in the light of yellow lamps. They never once suspected the royal princess might be leaving the safety of the castle, and going into the poor district outside the solid, thick protection of the curtain wall.
She looked up, but the sky was dark, and she only heard the soft talk, the coughs, the shuffle of feet and the groan of leather and armor.
A lady walking about alone in the dark was asking for trouble. Luckily, she had Cedric and Ivan to protect her. Just before Quentin had departed home, she had asked him to leave behind some of his knights, should she ever need discreet, lethal help. The two Confederacy warriors lodged at a small inn just outside the castle gate, and there was always one of them around to assist, if she showed up at the door to their room.
Dressed in light armor and gray cloaks to hide their weapons, they followed just close enough to ward off any thieves or crooks; not too close to be mistaken for bodyguards or to draw too much attention.
Mina paused for a moment and tried to remember the way. She had to take the slip of paper from a small rent in her dress and consult the directions. Unlike the city, the outer quarters did not have any landmarks, just tight lanes that crossed each other almost in surprise.
The air was chilly and dry, and her breath misted. There were sheets of fresh ice on the ground that cracked under her boots. Snow was piled in big, filthy heaps close to the buildings, but it provided enough light to steer by.
Soon enough, she found her destination. Shitty Affairs wasn’t an inspiring name for a tavern, but she wasn’t surprised. Why did they even bother giving names to the places here? It was not as if anyone could read.
Ice-lipped stairs led into the basement of a small house with a sagging roof, its almost-ground-level, soot-smeared window panes blushed with a sick yellow glow from within. Holding a gloved hand to a thick wooden rail, she climbed the staircase down, trying to ignore the smell of piss and vomit. At the bottom, the snow and rubbish had not been cleared, and her boots sunk into slushy refuse. She shuddered.
Ivan moved past her, pushed the door open and stepped in first. Mina followed a few moments later, Cedric at her tail. She was expecting the crowd of delinquents, miscreants and drunkards to stop their vile activities and glance up at her, in wonder and greed. But no one paid her any attention.
There was music, smoke, laughter and greasy food. Ugly people sat down on small benches, pressed close for warmth, eating and drinking, playing cards. Whores mingled among them, trying to palm a rod or two from the less sober patrons.
Mina realized her face was twisted in disgust, and she forced her expression to soften. She did not want to be remembered. In fact, no one must ever know she was here.
Despite the noise, there were several free spots in the far corner of the common room, away from the oily heat of the fire. There, someone was sleeping under a bench, knees under his chin, a small dog curled in front of him, ears twitching. Nearby, sprawled face down, a man was snoring into a pool of his own bile. At the far left, a very sober-looking guest was playing a game of Bone. With himself.
That must be Sandro, Mina thought.
She nodded at Ivan, and the knight approached the loner, a hand casually resting on his belt, close to the handle of his long knife. Mina had seen the two men arm themselves before leaving their inn; short blades for fighting indoors, swords for outside combat, hatchets for tough situations, and a pistol or two against mounted targets or assassins.
The two talked for a few breaths, then Ivan gestured for her to join them, never taking his eyes off the man.
“Greetings, My Lady,” the patron introduced himself, sliding the bones off the table and into a satchel.
“You are Sandro, I presume?” she asked, her voice squeaky with excitement. Now that she was here, she had doubts. What if Father discovered her little venture?
“Indeed I am, at your service. Your guard tells me you require my assistance? Please do sit down.”
Mina was taken aback by the man’s excessive politeness and his smooth way with words. She thought he would be a toothless criminal with scars down the side of his face. Instead, Sandro looked almost presentable. The soft, gleaming madness in his eyes gave him away.
“A drink?” Sandro asked and raised his hand toward the owner.
“No!” Mina blurted. She did not want to put her lips to anything they served in this place. In her mind, all she could see were thousands of chapped, whiskered mouths lapping stale wine and beer from chipped, gnawed-edged cups and mugs.
“Never mind then!” Sandro was cheerful, relaxed. He did not seem worried by the two knights. He patted the table. “What is it that you want?”
“I need you to kill someone,” she hissed in a rushed breath. She realized she was still standing, drawing unnecessary attention, so she lowered herself into a hard wooden chair, ignoring the cold sensation of disgust seeping through the fabric. She would have to burn the dress once she got back to the castle.
Sandro winked slowly, meaningfully. “Of course. Who?”
You can do it, Mina, her conscience whispered. You can. “Prince Dietrich.”
Sandro rolled his mad eyes. “The royal heir? Prince-Elector Dietrich?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“He will be leaving Eisenstar for Ostfort in a few eightdays,” Mina plowed on. “A mishap somewhere along his journey would be the best. Or once he reaches the other city.”
“Will he be traveling unescorted?” Sandro asked and chuckled.
Mina frowned. The man’s joviality was unnerving her. “Heavily guarded, all the time.”
The assassin clucked his tongue. “I see. Anyone else?”
“No, just him,” Mina said and leaned back, feeling edgy, fluttery. What if Father found out?
But Dick really had to die.
After her last year’s success, she had expected Father to permanently give her more authority. She had almost believed he would let her remain his Right Hand upon his return from the Sacony campaign. But her life had gone back to normal, attending the noble council meetings to listen to the masters droning about their taxes and guilds and endless complaints, and sneaking into Master Arnulf’s solarium in hope to catch a rumor or two from the old man. She no longer dared read the royal missives without Father’s permissions, but whatever the flizzard keeper told her wasn’t her fault.
Worse, Dick had somehow managed to survive the war in the south and come back almost as a victor. He had married Amadea, and their two lands were united now, and Father had access to all that silver. Her cursed brother had also won Father’s favor by presenting him with Eva. Mina had no idea how he’d achieved that, but Dick was still around and alive and very much the heir.
And now, it seemed, Father was keen on making him the king one day.
Sending Dick to Ostfort meant Father was priming him for the burden of leadership. Dick would be forced to learn how to govern and delegate and organize armies to protect the realm’s borders. It was a dire task, but Mina feared the fat weasel would find his way. He had already demonstrated remarkable adaptability last year. Betting on luck wasn’t going to help Mina.
Dick’s early death was the only way to ensure she became Queen.
Before he planted a child in Amadea’s womb, she reminded herself. She had nothing against Dick’s fat little wife, but if she got pregnant with Father’s grandson, then she would also need to be removed, before she gave birth.
It wasn’t fair how men always got everything they wanted, Mina thought, which was why organizing an assassination of her brother was a legitimate counterbalance to this injustice.
“The price will be very high,” Sandro said, bringing her back to reality.
“Name it.”
“Silver, My Lady, loads of it.”
Mina actually managed to smile. It wasn’t easy with all the stench tugging at her n
ostrils, but she did it, matching the madman’s relaxed grin. “All the silver you can hope for, as long as you get the job done.”
Sandro rubbed his palms. “I always get the job done.”
Mina considered the man’s words. “Make it quick. Don’t make him suffer. If you can make it look like an accident, even better.”
“I can’t promise anything, My Lady. I will do my best in the given circumstances. But I will need funds upfront. Ten thousand silver, for my expenses, and another thirty thousand silver upon the completion of my work.”
Should I argue? Should I haggle? It would be pointless and suspicious. You didn’t commission the death of the royal heir so you could banter over the price. Whatever it took, she had promised herself, which was why she was here. Braving Father’s wrath or maybe even banishment, spending days trying to find out the name of a man who might know a man who might know the right killer, without ever explicitly mentioning her intentions or the target.
Sometimes, she still woke at night in cold sweat, dreaming of Father stepping into her chambers, a displeased look on his face. But there was no way he could ever learn about it. Ivan and Cedric were quiet, professional and loyal. And King Ulaf didn’t know anything about them.
Outside, she breathed in relief. The night’s air never smelled so clean, so sweet. She was glad to be away from this place, away from anything that could incriminate her.
“Back to the castle,” she whispered mostly to herself. “Cedric.”
“Yes, My Lady?” The man had a strange dialect, which was why she made sure only Ivan did the talking, and even so, sparingly.
“You need to find another assassin, to take care of Sandro once he completes his mission.”
“Yes, My Lady.”
“And make sure he is followed, all the time, until at least the day my brother departs for Ostfort. If he ever comes close to the castle, get rid of him.”
“Yes, My Lady.”
There could always be problems, complications, she knew. Sandro could very well decide to try to earn the king’s favor and tell him about a mysterious woman who sought his son’s death. That would not be a great surprise, given Dick’s infidelities, but Father was smarter than that. She knew he loved her fiercely, and probably didn’t think her capable of such deeds, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t plotting and scheming and watching his children all the time.
Just in case.
Father’s reach and cunning were frightening. He was always ahead of everyone else. But if Mina could get her brother killed, it would also prove she was able to plot on a level equal to Father’s, and that would make her worthy of the throne.
The only thing she couldn’t put aside was the small but persistent worry that Sandro might know who she was. The chances of that were quite remote. Most common folks had never seen her face. They had just seen a lady on a horse or in a carriage from a great distance, with a cowl pulled over her head. Still.
Until Dick left for Ostfort and Sandro followed, she couldn’t rest.
That was a price she couldn’t weigh in silver rods. The price of becoming the queen.
The cold and soot from the chimneys wrapping her, she walked back into the city. Farewell on your journey, sweet brother. I hope you do get killed this time.
CHAPTER 5
A Chance to Strike Back
“Bitterer the soul, bitterer the revenge.”
—OONGLANT PROVERB
27th Day of the Month of the Blizzard
There was a small rap at the door. First Citizen Vincenzo did not need to see who it was. Only one person at his villa had that precise, courteous knock. Not too loud, not too soft, not too urgent, not too hesitant.
“Come in.”
Donna Abriella stepped in and nodded sideways. “Your Serenity.”
“Donna,” Vincenzo returned the greeting, putting the book on maritime piracy away.
“How are you feeling, Your Serenity?” Something approaching sympathy cracked her voice.
Vincenzo let a dry smile touch his lips. Day after day, ever since Eva’s disappearance, she would ask that question. “I am preoccupied,” he admitted.
“Are you nervous about meeting Lady Loretta for dinner?”
He realized he had almost forgotten about that. It had been a long time since he had courted the women of the city. Ideally, he had hoped to marry off Eva to a wealthy merchant and strike an alliance with a foreign power through his own wedding. Recent events had forced him to rekindle his passion for the Enissian wealthy families and their eligible daughters.
Young Loretta Casteliani would inherit her father’s wineries, and she seemed shrewd and capable, despite her age. But she had never before caught his eye, and he wasn’t too hopeful about the evening encounter. Especially since her mother and two half-sisters would be there, too.
He had more important things to think about. Pirates prowling the coastline, the dwindling profits from commerce, the slow, inevitable distancing of his former allies, the rumor of plague aboard one of the ships anchored just outside the northern harbor, under a constant watch by a dozen cannon, his revenge…
“Nervous? No. I’m indifferent.”
The donna pursed her lips. “It is often as we age that we learn to appreciate the gifts of maturity. Young ladies bring the virtue of innocence and hope, like the spring breeze, but old blood is hot blood, and experience breeds passion.”
Vincenzo frowned. He wasn’t quite sure what she was telling him.
Her hand was suddenly on his lapel. Then it was gone, along with a morsel from his lunch. “Just remember, Your Serenity, that you have loyal friends close by, should you ever require their help. Anything at all.”
Vincenzo blinked. Had she…? No. She would never. He was tired and preoccupied, that was all.
“Also, Sheriff Fabio begs your presence, Your Serenity.”
It took Vincenzo half a blink to recall who the man was. He still missed Senes. Not as a person. He missed his style, and not having seen him die left a lingering impression that he might show up one day. But he had vanished five months ago during the war. Probably killed, or maybe deserted. It didn’t matter. He had failed, and if he ever returned, he would be drowned in the harbor.
“Yes, let him in.”
Senes’s replacement was an Enissian, having lived through its criminal ranks long enough to catch the attention of the city’s ruler. Still young, still somewhat insecure, but he showed great promise in being dedicated and without too many morals.
“My Lord the First,” the man said, bending down on one knee.
Excessive, unnecessary, Vincenzo thought. But the lad had been a sheriff less than a month. It had taken Vincenzo a long while to find a suitable candidate. After all that had happened last year, few people wanted to be in his shadow. Or to disappoint him.
“Yes, Fabio, what brings you here?”
The sheriff straightened up and brushed his coat. It was crinkled and dotted with the early afternoon rain, but the man still believed in the shine of his jerkin. “A flizzard from Eisenstar.”
That got his attention. He rose from the chair and approached the sheriff. Without being told, Donna Abriella took her leave, sensing a delicate matter that she shouldn’t overhear. The door clicked closed. “Speak.”
Fabio looked uncomfortable. No, it was something else. Eagerness? Yes. “My Lord the First, King Ulaf is planning on sending his son to Ostfort. Prince Dietrich is to assume the role of the Warden of the East and govern the palatine.”
Vincenzo did not speak for a time. He let the information from his spies sink in.
Prince Dietrich is to embark on a journey.
Five months ago, King Ulaf had secured a great victory over him. Having taken Eva captive, the Monrich ruler had undone the decades of advantage and deterrence Enissia had enjoyed over its northern enemy. All of Vincenzo’s plans had crumbled to dust. His agreement with Salabia and Korav, his planned marriage to Duke Ettore’s daughter, his favorable trade rights. Whatever he
did could—or would—jeopardize Eva’s life if the king disagreed.
Now, for the first time in five months, Vincenzo sensed a moment of relief.
A chance to strike back.
He realized he had stepped out of his office and onto the terrace. A lashing rain battered the fig trees, but they kept most of the furious swipes off the wicker chairs and table, away from the two marble busts decorating the half-circle grass plot. Nothing stopped the wind, though, a thousand cold blades slashing under his ribs. The cold reinvigorated his mind.
Fabio stood behind him, blinking into the wind, looking rather uncomfortable. Right then, Vincenzo wondered if he’d made the right appointment. Did this upstarting criminal really have what it took to be the city’s top man of the law?
You selected him, remember. Vincenzo recalled the days before the appointment. Senes’s gang of killers had refused to volunteer for the position. They preferred someone else took the lead—and blame. It had taken several weeks, a handful of deaths, and lots of veiled and a few explicit threats before someone greedy enough braved the opportunity. Vincenzo realized he should let the lad prove himself. His reputation was fearsome enough. Maybe he could cope with the challenge.
He smiled, and Fabio looked even more troubled. So long ago, Vincenzo remembered, while his father had still been alive and ruling Enissia, he had found Senes among a troupe of mercenaries in the docks, having come to the city to savor its best foods and whores. Right then, he had spotted the talent, the cruelty.
Vincenzo didn’t know what had happened to Senes abroad. Maybe it was money, maybe loyalty, or maybe an accident. Maybe something else. It rankled him. The knowledge that he had failed. Prince Dietrich was still alive, and his daughter had not returned home.
“Do you know what happened to your predecessor, Sheriff?” Vincenzo asked.
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