Seven Ways to Kill a King

by Melissa Wright

  Miri held tight to the reins, her hand turned so that the gold band on her finger was hidden, and kept her expression bland as she glanced down the street. Kirkwall was dirtier than she remembered, the buildings in desperate need of repair. She was not certain whether Cass was worried about thieves or kingsmen, but the idea of abandoning him to save herself seemed strangely unsuitable. They’d been riding together for weeks— four, had she kept count properly—and in that time, he had somehow seemed to become part of her plot. He wasn’t. Cass did not approve of her mission or what it risked. But he was there nonetheless, and she didn’t imagine she would be brave enough without him.

  Determination had never been her problem, after all. It was the fear that broke her.

  The fear that gripped her most was that Lettie was so near—no more than ten days’ ride north of their stay in Stormhold. But Miri couldn’t get to her sister. Too many kings, too many sorcerers, and too many walls were in her way.

  In two months’ time, at the end of summer, Miri’s sister would be dead. Lettie would never make it through her name day and would never wear the crown of the one true queen.

  “Bean,” Cass said from beside her.

  Miri startled, hand twitching toward her knife. He stared up at her, making no move to rein her in. “Of course,” she said, with regard to nothing at all.

  His mouth turned down on one side. “There are rooms at a smaller inn down the way. We’ll get settled then walk into town before nightfall.”

  “Of course,” Miri said again. Of course.

  If the market at Pirn had been a lord’s feast of imported spices, hearty meats, and well-dressed guests, the market at Kirkwall was pottage and sour ale at a back-alley inn. The town was gated and closed off to many traders, so goods were more focused on staple foods, practical cloths, and locally made household necessities. Fortunately, Cass had gathered what Miri needed from the herbalist at Pirn, and thus far, they had not been robbed of those goods. The way Cass stayed near both Miri and his blade, she did not have confidence in the unlikeliness of just such a thing, in which case they would have to choose between fighting for their possessions and being taken into custody for stabbing said thieves.

  The idea made Miri a bit sick, because her plans did not have room for too many corrections or for too much to go wrong.

  “In and out,” Cass told her. “Get what you need, and we’ll return to the inn.”

  Miri nodded, picking up her step to stay with him, not that he’d let go of her. “Clothes,” Miri reminded him. “Everything else can wait.”

  They dodged through a crowd of women trading scarves, keeping tight to the storefronts and stalls and away from the milling men in the center of the streets and the small children with quick little hands. The children were thinner than Miri remembered, and there seemed to be far more scavenging and lurking about.

  The smell of fresh bread caught her attention, and when Cass noticed, he passed the woman peddling the baked goods a small coin. In return, she gave him two hard rolls and a toothless grin. A pair of elderly men sat leaning against a building, their eyes covered with black strips of cloth. Miri slowed, her gaze caught on the sand-covered stones beneath them. A mark had been drawn in that sand, the outline of the symbol Miri had seen on the arm of the woman in Pirn.

  Gods, she didn’t understand how so many still held fealty for a queen who would never return. After so many years…

  The thought made Miri’s stomach go sour, because she was the one speeding through a market in Kirkwall, prepared to kill its king. For a queen who could never come back.

  A small child darted toward Miri, and she held up a hand, warding him off with a severely pointed finger. Behind her, as swift as a whip, another darted a hand toward her satchel. Miri snatched his wrist, and the boy drew back for a kick, but one quick move, and Miri had him pinned in front of her body between her and the other child. “Boys,” she said in a tone that brooked no reply. “I’ve no quarrel with you.” She gave the wrist in her grip a bit more twist. “Yet.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” the boy in her hold squeaked. “Apologies. Truly, we meant no harm.”

  Cass watched as the first boy blinked up at Miri then turned to run, the soles of his worn boots flashing with impressive speed. Miri let go of the second boy and barked a call at him before he darted away. He turned, still moving but apparently clever enough not to leave his back to her, eyes wide and arms out while he decided which way to go.

  She tossed him the roll. “Don’t try it again.”

  His eyes, as green as the sea, shifted between Miri and the bread in his grip before he turned tail to run.

  Miri stared after him. “Not even a thank you.”

  Cass gave Miri a look then awarded a longer one to the few watching from the crowd. It would not have been an unusual scene, but she wasn’t meant to draw attention to herself. “My lady,” Cass said sternly, taking her by the elbow as he handed her his roll.

  “Of course,” she said. Of course.

  They neared a stall selling textiles. Silk and linen were on display as a young woman sat near the street, knitting. Miri felt Cass’s grip tighten on her hand and let her gaze roam the street to find the source of his tension. Kingsmen dressed in black cloaks, their signature dark-brown uniforms trimmed in red and adorned with the emblem of the king’s guard, roamed the street. Miri tried to look away and not see the bear emblazoned on the chest plates of their armor.

  She could feel the sudden remembered pain in her wrist from her mother grabbing it so long ago. Her hand was slick with blood, and she held her too tight to pull away. You’re hurting me, Miri had wanted to scream. But Miri couldn’t say a word.

  “Bean,” Cass whispered through clenched teeth, suddenly in front of her. His face blocked out all else.

  She nodded mutely, swallowing against the memory, the fear, and the feel of a blood-slicked hand. She pulled her fingers from Cass’s. “We’ll shop for candles first.”

  Cass watched her for several moments, likely wondering if she was losing her mind. But when she only faced him steadily, he drew her with him into the stall selling tallow and lanterns, touching her gently at the elbow instead of gripping her sweating palm.

  It wasn’t long before the kingsmen moved on, and in their wake swelled the murmuring of the crowd. The kingsmen were less well liked than the kings of the realm, which was more than a shade of distaste. It did little good toward her cause, though, because the kings and their sorcerers held all the power. Miri complimented the stall owner on her wares, and Cass bought a candle that was entirely unscented and unadorned. She smirked up at him, her humor returned since the pain of the memory had passed, but he seemed to have no idea that his purchase had been an uninspired choice.

  As they walked the street toward the clothing stalls, Miri leaned closer to him. “What is your favorite scent, Cass?”

  He glanced at her sidelong. “That is a strange question.”

  “Not the sea, then? The stink of fish and soured ale?” Miri didn’t suppose she minded those smells at all, if truth be told, because she was a little bit homesick for Smithsport and more than a lot for Nan and Thom.

  He shrugged, glancing down the street. “I don’t know. I’m partial to sweet orange, I suppose.”

  Miri skipped a step to catch his pace. “Oh, I love sweet orange. Nan used to make it special for me.”

  A flash of color tinted Cass’s cheeks, and Miri felt something strange pool in her gut. She pressed her lips together, feeling as if she’d said something wrong.

  But she hadn’t. The scent had been rare, imported from across the sea. Nan had only made sweet orange soaps for Miri alone.

  Cass didn’t glance back at her as he turned into the tent that sold clothes in the local style. The material would be similar to that in the king’s castle. It was of lesser quality, but she wouldn’t need an exact match. No one looked too hard at servers and maids.

  She brushed aside the awkwardness she’d felt the moment b
efore, concentrating on finding the garments that would serve her best. There was little to choose from in the color she needed, but a pair of dark pants, two tunics, and an embroidered jacket would give her the material she needed to craft her ruse. When Cass paid, he gave Miri a glance that said they needed to get back to the inn.

  The sun was falling low on the horizon, casting the market in a rosy glow. The scent of dinner and mead mixed with the less pleasant aroma of so many bodies and streets damp from weeks of rain, and they wove swiftly through the crowd to find their escape. Miri held tight to her satchel, glancing behind them for would-be thieves, and ran straight into Cass. She stumbled, pressing a hand to his back as she caught herself.

  He stared onward, his face pale. Miri followed his gaze.

  In the distance, among a milling crowd, stood a tall figure in a plain black cloak. It was a moment before Miri realized where she recognized the face from. She’d only seen it for a moment, in the heat of an attack by the kingsman, with sorcerers near and the forest closer still. Terric.

  No wonder Cass looked like he had seen a ghost. But Terric was not dead. Cass turned his gaze away from his brother-in-arms.

  “Go to him,” Miri said. “I can fend for myself.”

  “No.” Cass shook his head once and grabbed Miri by the elbow. “Not here.” He rushed her again, and she meant to protest, but Cass shot her a warning glance. His voice was low. “If he needs to get me a message, he will.”

  The message, Miri thought, was clear. Terric was alive. Cass was not alone. Miri’s fool decision had not cost another man his life.

  Chapter 15

  Miri and Cass returned to the small inn just as dusk settled on the streets of Kirkwall. They were greeted by the innkeepers, a middle-aged couple with dark curls and bright-green eyes. The man picked up the last remaining evidence of a card game while his wife spread a cloth over the table. “In the spare of time, you are,” she said. “Dinner is coming out, and all guests must be at the table or doomed to go without.”

  Miri bit her words back while Cass inclined his head politely. “How fortunate,” he said. “What can we do to help you?”

  The woman hissed at him and waved a hand, ordering both him and Miri to sit and be served. Another two men, young traders, by the looks of them, and a second couple who had been playing cards were ordered to sit as well. Miri settled onto the bench across from the other travelers, and Cass slid his sword and her satchel under the bench beneath them before he took a seat beside her.

  “Ah, look at you,” the woman across from Miri said. She had long dark hair tied up in braids and long dark fingers that gestured toward the band on Miri’s hand. “Newly wed and on the trail together.” She gazed longingly at the burly man beside her. “Remember those days, my love?”

  The man snorted and took a chug of what was likely not his first mug of ale. “Remember them? Lass, I’m still living them.”

  She chuckled and gave a swift elbow to his arm, with a bit more force than pure affection would call for, Miri thought. The woman’s sharp gaze cut to Cass. “And what of you, young man? Still in the flush of newfound love?”

  Cass stared back at her for a moment, his lapse only broken by the innkeeper’s wife slipping a mug of cider in front of him.

  “Leave the man be, Ginger.”

  Cass seemed to ease a bit, his chest falling as he reached for the mug, but the woman added, “Clearly, he is. Can’t take his eyes off her long enough to even take in a drink.”

  Laughter erupted around the table. Cass good-naturedly raised his glass to the crowd as Miri was served her own mug of cider. The innkeepers brought out large platters of vegetables, a meat pie, and salted herring covered in a suspiciously colored brown sauce. Miri exchanged a glance with Cass, which only incited the teasing to start again.

  She pressed her eyes closed for a moment then took a sip of her cider. It had a bite to it but was not unpleasant, and Miri let the warmth fill her chest and settle in her bones. Terric was alive. She’d found clothes that would work well enough. The second king would soon be dead, and another piece of the kingdom would be returned to its place on the map of the realm. And they could leave that cursed inn.

  The innkeeper and his wife settled at the table beside Cass, and the eight of them began the evening meal. It was loud and close but, like the bite of the cider, not altogether unpleasant after weeks in the woods and the rain. She and Cass had settled into quiet routines on the trail and grown used to each other’s moods and manners, and it had helped fill the void that leaving her second home with Nan and Thom had carved in her heart. Thom had trusted Cass and chosen him above the others to send at Miri’s side.

  As the chatter and meal carried on, Miri fell into a comfortable silence, letting the sounds fade to the background of her thoughts. She’d gone over her plans countless times, and memories of her past held nothing but heartache, so she let her mind wander over the past few weeks and let herself linger on the markets and forests and all that she had seen since she’d left Smithsport and her strange captivity. As a child, she’d seen too much, then she’d been trapped in the house and barns at Thom and Nan’s and unable to live at all. It was so peculiar to be free of both situations yet free of nothing at all.

  Miri realized quite suddenly that her hand had slipped into Cass’s beneath the table. She glanced at him, intensely aware of the contact despite that he’d done the same a dozen times in the market. But that had been to drag her along behind him and keep her safely near. What Miri had done, as unintentional as it was, had been a gesture of comfort, a familiarity she should not be sharing with anyone, let alone her mother’s guard—particularly not her mother’s guard. Cass didn’t look at her, only sat as if listening to the others. His grip was soft within hers. His other hand rested on the mug of cider, which he’d barely touched, the same as his meal.

  Gods, he had thought Terric, his brother-in-arms and one of few remaining queensguard, was dead. Miri should have pulled her hand away that very instant, but she couldn’t seem to make herself.

  “Send him to the seven hells, I say. Kingdom’s never been worse off. All he does is sit there in his castle, rubbing oils over his pasty skin while his own people starve.”

  Miri’s attention snapped to the bull-necked man across the table at his mention of the king.

  The woman beside him gave him a sharp pinch. “Enough with your fool mouth, Hugh. Talk of treason will make you no friends.”

  “Aye. And what’ll they do? Pike my head at the gate?”

  The woman narrowed her gaze on him. “That’s exactly what they’ll do, and you know it. Kingsmen were out just today, fishing the markets for the same sort of talk. They’d love nothin’ more than to make an example out of the likes of you.”

  He looked at her, expression crestfallen. “What d’you mean, ‘the likes of me’?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, a pike won’t bother you with fear, but a simple word’ll send you running.” She shook her head, gaze landing on Miri. “I’ll tell you what, girl. No matter how big they come, they’re all just little boys.”

  The innkeeper and his wife snorted in laughter, but the two younger men only reached for more food, evidently unconcerned with keeping company in the talk of treason.

  Cass drew his hand from Miri’s. “I’m afraid my lady and I should retire for the evening. Good company is rare, but we’ve a long journey ahead of us on the morrow.”

  Ginger smiled up at him. “We’ll be off tomorrow as well. Fancy that. Perhaps we’ll see you on the road. Heading north?”

  Cass took Miri’s elbow as she stood, ostensibly distracted by the task. “Yes, Ironwood, should the grace of the maiden allow it.”

  The stocky man gestured with his mug. “Ironwood is where we head as well, lad. Let us ride together!” Ale sloshed over the rim of his mug and splattered onto the empty platter before him.

  Ginger waved him down. “Look at them, Hugh. They don’t have need for the likes of us impeding on their
newly wedded bliss.”

  “There you are with ‘the likes of us’ again. What exactly are you getting at, woman?”

  Cass tightened his grip on Miri’s elbow, and she managed to look embarrassed—or at least she hoped the mortification she felt at the idea of travel mates came across as such. She could not be sure she’d pulled it off, because Hugh and Ginger had taken to bantering over the likes of Hugh.

  Cass grabbed the satchel and the sword he’d stowed beneath the bench and said good evening before talk of traveling together could carry further. But as Miri and Cass made their way to their room, she could hear Ginger reminiscing about the days she and Hugh had been newly met and the things they’d done alone in the woods.

  “Seven hells,” Cass muttered as he closed the door to their small room behind them.

  Miri only nodded, because between the kingsmen, the shock of seeing Terric, and the closeness of the inn, she felt very much like she was dropping through several levels of hell. She sighed and sat heavily onto the bed to unlace her boots. It was going to be an entirely new level of hell figuring out how to escape for the morning’s murdering without those two on their heels.

  Cass tossed the satchel onto the bed beside Miri and took a seat on the stool as he lit a lantern and a second candle, and she suddenly recalled that she still had work to do.

  Miri rubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t suppose you’ve trained in sewing?”

  Cass had not trained in sewing, but he was excellent with a knife. By midnight, they’d managed to make a workable costume that fit well beneath her cloak. Before dawn, Miri had tied her long hair into a knot at the base of her neck and covered her head with a scarf. Cass wedged her small sword against the door, and they escaped out the narrow window of their room. Miri had left her mother’s locket in the straw mattress inside that room, as much as it pained her, because she needed to be able to leave her current wardrobe behind. They traveled swiftly across the rooftop to a rickety ladder that took them to the street. Dark alleys, still damp with runoff from too much rain, led them through a maze of the city until they could blend with the slew of servants and laborers headed toward the center of the city and the castle grounds.