The Traitor's Kiss

by Erin Beaty

  Huzar responded in a thick accent that hardened every consonant. “Yes. By your calendar, they have arrived.”

  D’Amiran allowed a tiny smile. “Excellent.”

  Huzar was unmoved by the praise. The lack of deference irritated the duke, but he ignored it for the moment. Things were going too well to quibble over a few phrases of respect from someone who had probably never addressed anyone as important as himself. D’Amiran clasped his hands behind him. “And they all understand their parts?”

  “As instructed, only their parts. If some are captured, which is doubtful, they will not be able to inform on the others. Or you.”

  “Your men must not frighten the group.” The duke lowered his chin to give Huzar a piercing look. “It only needs to be isolated from communication. As long as they believe nothing is wrong, they’ll continue on their way here.”

  Huzar’s lips tightened at the implication his soldiers did not understand their task. “They will not act unless necessary.” He paused. “When shall we expect our hostage?” He couldn’t manage the soft g, and it came out as a hissing sch.

  D’Amiran waved his hand. “My brother is seeking him. Prince Robert is a cavalry officer, so it’s only a matter of time until he patrols away from the main force. When your men carry him through the pass at Jovan, much of the army will follow, and we will act. As long as your men in the south can bring the prince back through the pass here, he is yours.”

  13

  A LINE OF servants carried trays to the ladies’ dining room at sunset. The women ignored them as they set places and filled wine goblets. When the head server announced the evening meal was ready, the guests made their way to the long table.

  One server’s mouth twisted in disgust as the higher ladies forced the lower ones to defer to them in small ways. His ears perked up when the conversation began, but after a few minutes he suspected it would bore him to death—luxuries they owned, marriage proposals they’d turned down, and other, even less interesting topics. Only their impression of the soldiers held any interest; they’d be amused to know the girls compared notes. None had recognized Prince Robert, which was a relief.

  The matchmaker’s letter had given only surnames, but the ladies addressed one another by first name, leaving him at a bit of a loss until he realized they’d arranged themselves in the same social rank as the list. He studied each girl in turn, attaching names to faces. The unnatural enhancements were distracting—how could they stand the paint on their eyelids? Some of the hair designs looked positively painful; they made his own scalp itch and reminded him he hadn’t had a trim himself in two months, when it occurred to him one lady was missing. He counted again. Only fifteen.

  Bowing deferentially, he approached the head of the table. “Mistress Rodelle, may I inquire if all your ladies are present? I see an extra plate.”

  The matchmaker scanned the table and sighed. “Yes. She’s probably in the library and didn’t hear dinner called.” The blonde on her left snorted.

  He decided there was little more to learn tonight and felt glad for a chance to escape. “Should I fetch her, mistress?”

  The blonde—Lady Jacqueline—interjected, “We’ve already finished the first two courses. It would be rude for her to show up now.”

  Mistress Rodelle gave the girl a warning look, then turned back to him. “If you’d take a small meal to her, I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

  He bowed and stepped back and around the table to assemble a tray of food. The bread was all taken, and he’d just decided this girl would have to do without when the lady at the matchmaker’s right waved him over. With an inward grimace, he went to her, but to his surprise she handed him her loaf.

  “You can take this to her; I have plenty.” Lady Clare smiled and met his eyes—the only lady to have done so. They weren’t all snobs, apparently.

  He slipped out of the room and down the dark passageways he’d already memorized in the few hours since arriving. At the library door he balanced the tray on his knee long enough to lift the latch and nudge it open with his elbow. Deliver the food, get a look at her, and get back to the barracks. Based on placement of the empty seat and Lady Jacqueline’s disdain, it was safe to assume this was the last on the list, Lady Broadmoor. He doubted he could find a way to get her first name tonight, though.

  She didn’t look up from her seat at the table by the fire, so he cleared his throat as he approached. “Forgive the intrusion, my lady, but I’ve brought you some supper. The other ladies said you wouldn’t be joining them.”

  The girl lifted her head from between stacks of books. “Oh, thank you.” She stood and shuffled papers and books aside. “I’ve made a bit of a mess, but you can tell the steward I’ll clean up before I leave.”

  She’d been writing in a large ledger. Trying not to be obvious, he maneuvered closer to see. About half the pages looked to have been used, but the book was divided into sections with dog-eared corners, so it wasn’t a diary. His eyes flitted over the scattered scraps of paper around her. Each appeared to have the name of a man on it. The open page had the information of a nearby paper copied on it. Transcribing notes. Interesting.

  Her precise handwriting also closely resembled that of the letter from the matchmaker. A strange coincidence to be sure, especially considering what she was writing. He tried to get a better angle, but she gathered a few pages and shoved them into the ledger before closing it. Then she piled a few more books on top and moved them aside. The remaining loose scraps she collected in a stack before turning to toss them in the fire behind her. As the flames blazed higher, he was better able to observe her features.

  She looked young, maybe just sixteen, and on the tall side, though perhaps due to her shoes. Her face lacked the doll-like beauty of the other women, but she smiled like she meant it. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes with her back to the fire, and a halo of fine hairs had escaped her simple braid, giving her a windblown appearance. The color was also difficult to nail down as the dancing light gave it red and golden hues. And either the shadows were playing tricks on him, or her nose was slightly crooked, like it had been broken at some point in the past.

  Her eyes met his boldly, and she let him study her without embarrassment or indignation. As her own gaze swept over him, he curled his fingers under the tray, suddenly conscious of his dirty fingernails. She gestured at the table. “Just put it anywhere there’s room. I’ll serve myself.”

  He realized how long he’d stared and hastily set the tray down, sloshing the soup and clattering the tableware. She dropped back into the chair and reached out to help him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” she said.

  “No, my lady,” he replied, mopping up soup with a cloth. “I came with the escort. The kitchen was short staffed, and I was told to make myself useful.”

  “You’re a soldier?” Her eyes brightened, and he nodded. “It’s good of you to help. And who wouldn’t want a glimpse of our lovely ladies? Are you spying for your captain?”

  Her tone was light, but he flinched and immediately cursed himself for it. She continued as though she hadn’t noticed his reaction. “I suppose it’s natural for people to be curious about them.”

  She spoke of the group as though she wasn’t a part of it. Or—strangely—like she owned it. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Ash,” he answered without thinking. Then, remembering how he should act, he straightened and bowed. “Ash Carter, my lady. I mostly drive wagons.”

  Her half smile took on a wistfulness. “Ash is a nice name. It reminds me of the woods where I grew up. How long have you been with the cavalry?”

  “All my life, my lady. I’ve been serving with Captain Quinn since he was given command, but I’ve known him since I was a boy.” He halted, realizing he gave more information than he should have.

  She tilted her head to the side like a bird as she looked up at him, and he instinctively felt he’d made a mistake, though he could not decide how.

 
“Well, Master Ash,” she said. “My name is Sagerra, and it’s a pleasure to meet you. What have you brought me to eat?”

  “Cold chicken with apricot sauce and vegetables, my lady, as well as bread and cheese and butter. This is Cook’s specialty.” He lifted the cover on the bowl. “Onion soup.”

  Lady Sagerra had leaned forward to sniff the steam rising from the dish but jerked back in revulsion. “Ick. They put onions in everything here. I can’t imagine an entire soup based on them.”

  He paused, lid still in midair. “Truly, my lady? It’s my favorite.”

  She gestured for him to close the steaming vessel. “You eat it, then.”

  “My lady, I couldn’t!”

  “Why not?” she replied. “If I send it back uneaten, what happens to it?”

  He blinked. “They’ll throw it to the pigs, I suppose.”

  “And you’ll get none.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll get some in the kitchens later, my lady.”

  Sagerra made an unladylike retching sound. “Suit yourself, but you’ll be lucky to get cold dregs. Meanwhile, next week’s pork roast will taste like onions.”

  He suppressed a smile. Maybe he could develop this into the connection the soldiers wanted within the brides’ group. And that ledger she had was interesting. He didn’t want to seem too eager, though. “My lady, it really is improper.”

  “Please?” she asked simply. “Just sit and relax for a few minutes. I haven’t talked to anyone all day. I’ve never talked to a soldier ever.”

  He pulled a chair from the side of the table so he could sit across from her. Sagerra tossed him the spoon, and he caught it, grinning shyly. “I don’t know if I’m worth much for conversation, my lady.”

  “Then eat.” She pulled the bread loaf apart and leaned across the table to offer him one of the pieces, and he eyed it nervously. It was much larger than the one she kept for herself. “I’m not that hungry,” she said.

  He took the bread, careful not to touch her fingers. “Thank you, my lady.”

  She sat back and dug into her own food. He followed her example and didn’t speak, though his eyes kept drifting to the ledger on the edge of the table. What was its purpose?

  “So, Ash,” Lady Sagerra said after she’d eaten half her plate, “where do you come from? Near the Tenne Valley?”

  His mouth was too full to answer right away. “Yes, my lady. How did you know?” And why do you care? he asked silently.

  “Your speech is quick, something I’ve noticed in people from that side of the mountains.”

  He relaxed a little. One of the first things he’d noticed was her own Cresceran accent—she made the slightest separation in words he combined into one, such as anyone and everything. “I left home for the army when I was nine, but I guess home never left me.”

  “Do you miss it? Your home?”

  His answer required a careful dose of truth, but not too much. “I did at first, but they kept us busy, and that helped. The army is my family now.”

  It suddenly occurred to him that she, too, had left her family behind for a new one, but unlike him, she’d never be returning home. Did she feel as he had years ago, traveling into the unknown, feeling excitement and a sense of duty, but also a terrible loneliness and fear of the future? As his eyes drifted back to the ledger under the stack of books, he wondered if she buried herself in work as he had.

  Sagerra’s hand appeared in his line of sight and picked up the book on top. “Were you looking at this?”

  “No, my lady,” he said quickly, before realizing she wasn’t talking about the ledger.

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Well, it’s a rather interesting account of King Pascal the Third’s reign. Are you familiar with him?”

  He knew quite a lot about the kings of Demora, but she didn’t need to know that. “Not really, my lady.”

  Sagerra sighed a little. “Soldiers don’t need to know history, I guess.” She placed the book back on the stack and returned to her food. “I suppose it was a little much to hope for.”

  She thought soldiers uneducated. Ignorant. Not worth talking to. He ducked his head to his soup to hide the blood rushing to his face.

  “Were you schooled at all in your training?” she asked.

  No, he wanted to say. We just learned to stab things and march. Instead he cleared his throat. “Not as much as your ladyship was, I’m sure.”

  He needed to moderate his tone or he would get in trouble. Or worse, he’d lose his cover and look like a fool in front of the whole company.

  “I guess education doesn’t count for much in your work,” she said.

  He clenched his jaw and focused on a chunk of bread dissolving in the now-cold soup as she continued, “It probably makes life easier.”

  “Easier if I don’t know any better?” he snapped before he could stop himself.

  She frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Easier to be as obedient as a child? To not question anything?” Perhaps there was an element of truth in such accusations, but he found it insulting nonetheless.

  “Of course not,” she said. “But … an army’s success depends quite a bit on soldiers following orders, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I wasn’t aware my lady was such an expert in military affairs.”

  Sagerra exhaled heavily. “Do you or do you not follow orders you’re given?”

  He wouldn’t be here right now if he didn’t. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Have you ever argued over your orders or tried to get out of them?”

  “No, ma’am.” He wiped his thumb against his nose and looked away.

  “That was my only point, Master Carter,” she said, sagging a little in her chair. “I can even relate to it. We have more common ground than you think—”

  “I think it’s obvious we have nothing in common, my lady.” He shoved away from the table and stood. “I’ll be excused if I may.”

  He didn’t wait for her permission to leave. As he yanked the door closed behind him, he caught a glimpse of her face, flushed with anger.

  To think he’d actually liked her at first. She’d seemed rather unpretentious, but she was just as bad as the girls around the table, knowledgeable only about fashion and book learning.

  He stomped back to the barracks, ignoring everyone he passed. Halfway there he realized he should probably tell somebody he’d left those dishes in the library, but he decided Lady Sagerra could find someone to take care of them. Soldiers were too stupid to know what to do unless someone gave them directions, anyway.

  A part of his mind whispered that it wasn’t her fault. A woman, especially one raised in the sleepy farmlands of Crescera, wouldn’t have needed to know anything about the army. She admitted she’d never met a soldier. If he hadn’t been acting the part of a wagon driver, he could’ve shown her just how educated he was, could’ve explained that the best soldiers were thinkers.

  But she hadn’t been that far off on the importance of following orders.

  He reached the captain’s door before he realized it. A quick glance around told him the passage was empty, but he went ahead and knocked a code on the wood. After waiting a few seconds with no answer, he opened the door and went in to write his report.

  14

  DARNESSA LOOKED UP from her embroidery as her apprentice poked her head in the door. “Just wanted to say I’m turning in,” Sage said.

  “Did you get supper?”

  “Yes, a servant brought me some in the library. I figured you sent him.”

  Darnessa nodded. “I did. You really shouldn’t avoid the ladies so much.”

  “I had a lot of work to finish.” Sage hesitated. “Did you know that servant was actually one of the soldiers from the escort?”

  “Really?”

  Sage opened the door wider, then stepped inside and leaned against it to close it. “He said he was just making himself useful, but I think he was really observing for Captain Quinn.”

 
Darnessa chuckled. “You should have heard the girls at dinner mooning over the officers. They’d be all too pleased to learn the men are spying on them.” She glanced up and saw Sage frowning pensively. “Does that surprise you?”

  “I suppose it makes sense from a military standpoint.” Sage shrugged. “We’re under their care.”

  Trust Sage to completely ignore the romance of the idea.

  “I thought at first he’d be a good source of information on the officers,” she continued. “So I started the usual routine to get him talking.”

  The anger in Sage’s voice made Darnessa look up. “Did it not go well?”

  “No.” She stood straight and threw her hands up. “He got all bent out of shape! All I did was ask him what kind of schooling he had.”

  “And of course you didn’t come across as condescending.” Darnessa shook her head and looked back down.

  “It’s not my fault he’s ignorant!”

  Darnessa sighed. “Not everyone enjoys book learning as much as you, Sage.”

  “A whole lot of good it does me in this job.” Sage folded her arms across her chest and leaned on the door again.

  Darnessa grimaced. “Then perhaps you should focus instead on the things that will help you do your job. Like getting to know those girls.” The matchmaker pointed to the door behind Sage. “We’ll need to find matches that will suit them.”

  “You already chose the girls,” Sage protested. “What more is there to do until we get there?”

  “How can you expect to be able to match them properly if you don’t get to know them?”

  “I know what they think of me.”

  “And whose fault is that? It took you less than two minutes to start flinging insults this morning.”

  Sage’s face went scarlet, but she said nothing. Darnessa watched her until she started to twist her hands. “Did you get this soldier’s name, in case I hear about it?”

  “Ash Carter. He’s a wagon driver.” Sage was staring into the fireplace and didn’t notice Darnessa jump.

  Ash Carter!

  Darnessa quickly looked back at her sewing. While most knew the king had a son named Ash—one of the most common names for a boy born out of wedlock—very few knew his mother’s last name was Carter. His official surname was Devlinore. The illegitimate son served discreetly under General Quinn alongside the crown prince, and using his mother’s name was logical. If this was him, it was a huge stroke of luck.