The Tattooed Duchess (A Fire Beneath the Skin Book 2)

by Victor Gischler

  Alem considered. He hadn’t had a moment alone with Rina since her guests had arrived. Not that he held it against her. It was her duty to play the attentive host, and the visitors were important people, but he was lonely for her. Stealing even five minutes of her time would go a long way toward brightening Alem’s evening.

  Even before he’d finished the thought, Alem found himself jogging out of the stable and toward one of the castle’s servant entrances.

  He was a fairly common sight in the kitchens now, and none of the cooks gave him a second look as he passed through on the way to the main pantry. He paused in the hallway, glancing about to make sure nobody saw him. When it was clear, he ducked into the pantry, closing the door silently behind him.

  By now, Alem could find the secret lever even in the dark. He reached between two shelves, stretching his hand around back of one until he felt the small lever with his fingertips. He stretched just a little more, pulled the lever down, and with a clunk the simple mechanism unlocked. He swung the shelf out smoothly and quietly on well-oiled hinges, stepped inside, and pulled the shelf closed behind him.

  The narrow stairway spiraled up and up, finally terminating at a narrow hallway. Again, he made his way in the dark. It was all familiar territory. He’d tried to figure out once where he was, and his best guest was that he was in a passage built behind the rooms in the ducal wing of the castle. He wondered idly if there were other secret doors that emptied into this hall.

  He arrived at the end of the hall, and pulled another lever, and a second later he was in Rina’s bedchamber. It was dark here too, but yellow light seeped from under the door leading into Rina’s sitting room. Alem couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard voices.

  Alem reminded himself to step lightly. Nobody was supposed to know he was a frequent visitor in the night.

  He tiptoed to the anteroom door, cracked it just enough to peek inside with one eye.

  Rina looked troubled, thoughtful. There was a man with her. A far-too-good-looking man.

  Don’t be stupid. He’s probably somebody important, and she needs to speak to him. Alone. In her personal quarters.

  He thought he recognized the man as one of the guests from Merridan. Yes, definitely somebody important.

  The conflict in Rina’s expression was clear. Alem knew her well by now, knew when she was mentally wrestling with something. It made sense. She was duchess. She made important decisions every day. Suddenly, Alem felt like a first-class fool, spying on her like some child. The smart thing—the mature thing—to do would be to go back the way he’d come and catch up with Rina some other night.

  Alem kept watching.

  The man cleared his throat. “Rina Veraiin, will you please marry me?”

  Alem’s eyes shot wide. He suddenly couldn’t draw breath.

  A long pause, and for a moment it was as if she hadn’t heard him.

  “Send word to King Pemrod,” Rina said. “Tell him we’re engaged.”

  A hole opened in the world, and Alem fell into it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Alem was halfway down the secret staircase when he realized he had no memory of getting there. He was dizzy, felt like he couldn’t breathe, a cold weight on his chest.

  He put a foot wrong, tumbled down the last few steps, and landed in a heap against the secret door to the pantry.

  Alem lay there a while. His world was over. Why bother to get up?

  He understood he was being childish. There had never been a future for him and Rina together. He’d been kidding himself.

  But it would have been nice to kid myself a little longer. I’m not ready for it to be over.

  It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

  Over.

  He stood up slowly, rubbing a sore spot at the small of his back.

  Nobody saw him leave the pantry. Nobody spoke to him as he waffled leadenly though the kitchen and out of the castle.

  Back inside the stables, Pip ran up to him. “All of ’em watered and rubbed down, Alem.”

  “Good.”

  “Anything else?”

  Alem shook his head. “Go to bed. Tosh and his people leave early. We need to see them off.”

  Pip scampered away.

  Alem went to his shabby room, stood there a moment looking at it, numb. A narrow bunk. A stool. A small potbellied stove. The room had always been just the place he waited until it was time to see Rina again. Now it was home. Forever.

  No. No it’s not.

  He knelt and pulled a wooden chest from beneath the bunk. He opened it, withdrew the contents and lined them up on a bunk. A dagger in a sheath. A bag with a small collection of coins. A travel cloak and a floppy hat. Two spare shirts and two pairs of breeches. A silver engraved gentleman’s blade Rina had given him, the handle wrought in the shape of a horse’s head. He took his crossbow and a quiver of bolts from where they hung on the wall and dropped them on the bunk next to the other items.

  An hour earlier, Alem had lived in a very different world, bigger, filled with Rina, filled with possibilities. Now his world had been reduced to a barren room and a meager collection of possessions that wouldn’t fill a pair of saddlebags.

  Or he could go find the world. He could just . . . go.

  It occurred to Alem that he’d stood in this exact room contemplating something similar not so long ago.

  That’s not really true, is it? The last time, the city was overrun with Perranese. I was fleeing for my life.

  This time, Alem was fleeing from his life.

  He shoved his belongings into a saddlebag. Dawn would arrive soon enough.

  ***

  Ferris Gant blew out a relieved sigh. “You’ve made me a happy man, Rina. I mean, not in the usual way a man’s happy when a woman accepts his proposal, but still.”

  “I didn’t accept your proposal,” Rina said flatly.

  One of Gant’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “I said to send word to the king we’re engaged,” Rina corrected. “I didn’t say I’d marry you.”

  Gant cleared his throat. Frowned. “And that helps me how?”

  “It buys you some time,” Rina said. “And when it comes to fish or cut bait, I’ll back out. You can blame me.”

  “You’ll regret it, Rina.”

  “You don’t seem the vindictive type, Sir Gant.”

  “Me?” Gant shook his head. “No, you’ve nothing to fear from me. It may be my wedding, but it’s Pemrod’s plan. It’s him you’ll be thwarting. And he won’t let something like that pass without payback.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rina said. “It’s the best I can do.”

  Gant scratched his chin, thought about it for a minute. “Okay. As you say, it will buy me some time. However.” He thrust a finger into the air for emphasis, grinned. “I’m going to keep reminding you why marrying me would be a good arrangement. I’ll win you over sooner or later.”

  Rina’s smile was half-tired and half-amused. “You can try.”

  ***

  The sounds of merrymaking dwindled behind her as Prinn left the main courtyard, rounding a corner and taking a side alley toward one of the servant’s entrances. The diehard revelers were still going strong when Prinn had been relieved. The bride and groom had finally retired, but that hadn’t stopped the party.

  It’s sure as blazes over for me, Prinn thought. I’m bloody exhausted. All I want is bed.

  “Don’t walk so fast, missy,” came a voice from the darkness.

  Prinn’s head spun, hand going to the hilt of her sword. Garth lurked in the shadows up close to the castle wall. How had that worm gotten inside the walls?

  Giffen, of course. He’d lived in the castle for years, knew all of the ins and outs.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Garth.”

  “And the boss should have heard from you by now,” he said. “He’s invested in you and expects a payoff.”

  “These things take time.”

  “What are the king’s folk doing in Kl
aar?”

  “No idea,” Prinn said.

  “Not good enough,” Garth said. “Earn your silver, missy.”

  “Shove the silver up your ass.”

  “I’ll take care of that little cousin of yours,” Garth said acidly. “Do her myself.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Then give us something, damn you. Who’s the duchess screwing on the sly?’

  “Alem,” Prinn said. “His name is Alem.”

  Prinn felt ashamed as soon as the name had left her mouth. She’d needed to tell the man something, and she’d panicked.

  “Who’s that?’

  Prinn swallowed hard. “He runs the stables.”

  “Stable boy? Is that a fucking joke?”

  “Not a stable boy.” Prinn felt sick, something heavy in the pit of her stomach. “He’s in charge.”

  “Whatever.” Garth sneered. “He must be some pretty boy.” He squinted at the sky. “Dawn soon. Most of that lot will be in bed by then.” He meant the revelers. “Should be nice and quiet then. Me and a few of the boys will ease in sneaky-like to the stables and snatch him.”

  “But why?” Prinn asked. “He’s nobody.”

  “If he’s slipping it to the duchess, he’s not nobody, is he?” Garth said. “We get him, then the duchess does what the boss says or else, eh?” He drew a thumb across his throat to make clear what he meant.

  Prinn tried to think of something to say, something that would reverse what she’d done. Nothing came to mind.

  “You go about your business, missy. You done fine,” Garth said. “For now. Just keep feeding us, and you won’t have any problems.”

  Prinn nodded, turned, and walked away, feeling leaden and queasy.

  ***

  Tosh grabbed at the pitcher, eyes bleary, found the handle, and poured water into the shallow basin by the light of a single candle. He splashed water on his face. He’d learned to get up early in the army. And as cook at the Wounded Bird, he’d had to get up early to prepare breakfast. Now he was up before the dawn again.

  He fucking hated getting up early.

  Tosh dressed himself in simple warm clothes: a sturdy brown travel cloak with a hood. High boots, well worn and broken in. He buckled his belt, short sword hanging from one side, a dagger on the other. He slung a crossbow over his shoulder. A servant was already taking some armor and his saddlebags and other gear down to the stable.

  Servant. In a million years, did Tosh ever think he’d have a servant? Did he think he’d have any of this? The two adjoining rooms he’d been given were the old captain of the castle guard’s quarters. They were small, and on a lower level, but compared to his old army barracks, they might as well have been a palace.

  Something stirred in the other room. Tosh waited.

  Emmon walked out a second later, rubbing her eyes. In her other hand she clutched a collection of rags that loosely resembled a doll. She looked innocent and beautiful, and every time Tosh looked at the little girl, he saw her mother, Tenni, and his heart broke a little bit all over again.

  “Are you going now?” Her voice like some toy musical instrument.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t go.”

  Damn. “I have to, Emmon. Like I said last night. It’s my job now to do things for Duchess Veraiin. We have a nice place to live with the castle people, but that’s only if I’m a good helper.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  Tosh wanted to cry.

  “Me too, honey. But Aunt Darshia and Aunt Prinn will look after you. Make sure you go to the tutors with the other castle kids.”

  “I don’t like them. They call me whore child.”

  Tosh squeezed his eyes shut. Why are kids such fucking assholes?

  He opened his eyes again, forced a smile. “Those kids don’t even know what they’re talking about.”

  “I hate them.”

  “Pity them, Emmon,” Tosh said, “because the world they live in is small, and when it gets bigger fast, they won’t know what to do. And talk to your Aunt Darshia. She’s tough, isn’t she?”

  Emmon nodded.

  “Okay, then. If anyone knows how to cope, she does. Now give me a hug.”

  She threw herself on him and hugged him tight.

  “I’ll be back before you know it,” Tosh said.

  He hoped it was true.

  ***

  Prinn slipped into the barracks, kicked off her boots and unbuckled her sword belt, and lay down in her bunk. Darshia snored lightly in the bunk next to hers. The brazier in the center of the room burned low. Prinn’s limbs ached. Her heart ached. Her head spun.

  Go to sleep and forget about it. There’s nothing I can do anyway.

  But she couldn’t sleep.

  She sat up. She got out of her bunk and went to the footlocker at the end. Prinn dipped two fingers into her shift, down between her breasts, came out with a string, a key dangling from the end. She unlocked the footlocker and took out two bags of silver, all the money Giffen had paid her.

  She nudged the woman in the next bunk. “Darshia.”

  Darshia snorted once, and her eyes popped open.

  “I need you,” Prinn whispered.

  Darshia sat up immediately. “What is it? Is there a problem?”

  Prinn shushed her, looked around the barracks, but none of the other women woke. “I need a favor, and I need it fast.”

  Darshia rubbed her eyes. “It’s the middle of the—”

  “It’s almost dawn, and I need your help now,” Prinn hissed.

  Darshia stood, a serious expression replacing sleepy eyes. “Are you in trouble?”

  “There’s no time.” Prinn shoved the bags of silver into Darshia’s hands. “You’ve got to take this to my aunt in Eastside. Tell her to get her family out of Klaar. Now. Don’t pack anything. Just take the money and go.”

  Darshia’s eyes shot wide. “This is a fortune.”

  “Please, there’s no time.”

  “Prinn, if you’re in trouble, you’ve got to tell—”

  “Damn it, Darshia, are you my friend or not?”

  A stunned pause, then, “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  “Then do this for me, but it has to be now.”

  Darshia glanced down at the money in her hands. “Okay.”

  “Thank you. Oh, Dumo, thank you,” she said and told Darshia the address.

  Prinn grabbed her sword belt and extra daggers and walked fast toward the barracks door as she glimpsed Darshia hurriedly pulling on clothes.

  Outside, the sky was just lightening from black to a dull gray with the coming dawn. She hoped she wasn’t too late. Her fast walk turned into a jog then a full sprint as the stables came into view.

  She burst in through one of the side doors, eyes alert, hand on the hilt of her sword. Prinn still favored the long, curved Perranese blade she’d trained with.

  Four heads turned her way, Garth and three of his thugs. Alem crawled on all fours at their feet. A bright smear of blood from one ear down the side of Alem’s face, eyes glazed. Fairly easy to guess he’d resisted and taken a fist to the side of the head.

  “Step away from him.” Prinn’s voice was flat and low. No heat in it, just a cold resolve.

  “Enough of us here to handle this, Prinn,” Garth said. “Move along now.”

  “No.”

  Her against four. That might be tough, although they had only short daggers and cudgels. Not the weapons of a soldier. Street thugs.

  Garth’s frown deepened. “You know what this means for you and yours, don’t you? Burnard, give her a taste.”

  The one called Burnard was big running to fat, a dull, round face. He raised his cudgel and moved toward her, clumsy and lumbering like a bear.

  Remember your footwork, Prinn.

  She lunged and swept the sword from its scabbard, swinging across Burnard’s midsection in the same motion. He moved well for a big man, fast, but there was too much belly to miss. The tip of the sword sliced a two-inch-deep gash across h
is stomach, blood splattering from Prinn’s follow-through.

  Burnard clutched his gut, stumbled back, and grunted. “Bitch cut me.”

  Garth’s other two ruffians surged past Burnard, daggers ready, pissed looks on their faces.

  Prinn slashed at one, but that left her open to a quick lunge from the other. He drew a red line down her shoulder. She hissed at the pain and jumped back, swinging her sword widely from side to side to keep them at bay. They rocked back and forth in front of her, waiting for an opening.

  “You’re a stupid whore, and now you’re going to die,” Garth said.

  He might be right. But I can’t just stand here and wait for all of them to rush me.

  She made a quick feint at the one closest, and he stumbled back off balance. He was still recovering when Prinn changed directions for the other one. She went at him full speed, using the sword’s longer reach to get past his dagger. She thrust the blade straight through the middle of his gut. The blade sank in six inches.

  He grunted, face frozen in a contortion of pain, slid off the blade, and landed with a thump on the floor.

  Prinn turned to face the other one but was too late, the dagger already coming fast for her midsection. She tried to turn and took the blade in the side. It bit deep, and hot blood flowed. Prinn’s adrenaline carried her through the pain.

  She brought the Perranese sword down in an overhand swing. There wasn’t much strength in it, but the blow was aimed right at the man’s head. He tried to duck to one side.

  And almost got away clean.

  The blade sliced flesh down one side of the man’s face. Sliced off an ear. Gore and blood and screaming.

  She moved forward to finish him with a sharp thrust through the middle then kick him off her blade. He spun away, trailing blood.

  Prinn turned to face Garth. She held the sword in front of her one-handed. Her other arm hung wounded and limp. She panted, blinked sweat from her eyes. The wound in her side flared pain. She needed to finish this fast. When the battle rush faded, she’d wilt like a cabbage leaf. She was losing blood fast. Already she felt dizzy.

  But Garth wasn’t moving in to engage her. He held Alem by the hair, the point of his dagger at Alem’s throat.

  “Feisty lass.” Garth sneered. “Don’t know what this boy is to you, but I’ll open him up right quick if you take even one step in this direction.”