The Midnight Spy

by Kiki Hamilton

  “Yes, I assumed that, unless you make it a habit of attacking men carrying bottles of wine. Here.” He thrust two unbroken green bottles toward her. “Hold these, while I get a broom.”

  Nica took the bottles as Toppen slid a corkscrew into his back pocket. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder toward the group surrounding the Magician but she no longer held their interest.

  “Ahhhh!” The crowd cried as the magical man pulled a pure white docelyn from inside his tall black hat and launched the delicate bird into the sky. The magician’s hungry gaze, however, was pointed in her direction. Nica hurried around the corner into the shadows cast by the wine emporium, out of view of the disturbing stranger.

  “You’re graceful today,” Toppen said when he returned from sweeping up the broken glass. He leaned against the broom handle and contemplated her. “Too many people were watching you. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to draw attention to our acquaintance.”

  Nica started to point out that she was disguised but Toppen interrupted.

  “Why did you run?” he asked. “Was it something the magician said?”

  “What he said, what he did—” Nica lowered her voice. “It was like he was really magic, Toppen. He made those cards float in the air. I saw it myself.” She shuddered. “There was something about him—about his eyes, the way he looked at me—” she glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were alone— “as if he recognized me.”

  “What did he say?” Around the corner a loud cheer went up.

  “Something about betrayal—” Nica grabbed his arm to make him look at her— “and death.”

  Toppen quirked his brows then shrugged. “Sounds like a cheery fellow. He probably says the same thing to everybody.” A couple strolled down the street in their direction and he made a show of sweeping around Nica’s booted feet.

  “Let me put the broom back and we can talk more.” Toppen disappeared into the building and returned carrying two new bottles of wine. “Your punishment for breaking my wares it that you’re going to help me make my delivery this morning.” After several steps he looked back and shrugged his shoulder at her. “Come on then, we haven’t got all day.”

  Nica hurried after him, her boots tapping a quick staccato down the dusty cobblestones. Toppen shortened his stride so they could walk side by side. “And by the way, nice disguise.”

  Nica tried to jab him with her elbow but he dodged away, laughing.

  “Now, now, let’s behave. You’ve done enough damage for one day. Besides, you know I think you’re the most beautiful girl in all of Sartis. Your eyes remind me of the Sea of Nephalon…”

  Nica groaned.

  “And your lips…ah, yes, those lips…they’re the color of a spilled bottle of quiizenberry wine.” He grinned down at her. “Food for a starving man’s soul.”

  “Oh, please…” Nica laughed, but the day lightened around her. Toppen’s humor was infectious; his compliments, though outrageous, were always nice to hear. She enjoyed being around him. It was a rare day anyone else ever paid her a kind word.

  Toppen swung his arms together over his heart and knocked the bottles together with an alarming clink! “Oops,” he said, checking for breakage.

  “Very smooth.” Nica rolled her eyes. “Though your tongue may be descended from gypsies, your grace appears to be a direct result of some rather unfortunate in-breeding.” She gave him a smile. “Lucky for you, I enjoy your fool’s humor.”

  “You’re a brave one to talk about grace today,” he replied, unconcerned with her insult. “And better the humor of a fool then the lies of a nobleman.”

  Nica grimaced. “Have they cut the body down yet?” Mosaba had caught a traitor posing as a nobleman within his court. Unable to explain the documents found sewn into the man’s jacket, Mosaba had declared him a Jarisan spy and hung him from the highest turret wall for all to see.

  “I don’t believe the vultures have had their fill for he hangs there even as we speak. Or what’s left of him.” Toppen steered them off the main thoroughfare to follow a lesser used street lined with shops. “So, tell me, is that all the magician had to say? A little betrayal, a little death?”

  “It was enough, believe me. And what about the journey part?” Nica skipped ahead to better see his face. “We didn’t even know until today.”

  Toppen stopped. “Know what?”

  “The reason I came to town.” She lowered her voice. “It’s time.”

  His expression froze, as though he didn’t want the moment to pass and find that he had misunderstood.

  “What has occurred?”

  “Mosaba has captured Jacoby.”

  “What?” His words came out in a gasp. “Where?”

  “The Jarisan king was headed toward Ry’dontt.”

  “Has your father declared war?”

  Nica nodded, shivering at the ominous implications. “Mosaba is sending men to capture Jacoby’s only heir, his daughter Jaaniyah.”

  Toppen seemed to thrum with excitement as he began walking again. “And what of the king? Is Jacoby still alive?”

  “I think so. Mosaba expects him to be delivered to the castle today.”

  “Where, no doubt, your father will torture the poor man to death.” Toppen gazed into the distance, his lips pursed in thought. “Mosaba’s hunger for power has warped his ability to reason. Jarisa could crush Sartis if she decides to attack. But, it will give us the perfect opportunity to leave,” he mused. “We better hurry before they start watching the borders.”

  The bark of an approaching dog startled Nica. She turned to see an old brown and white mutt loping up to them, her paws kicking up little clouds of dust while her long pointed tail wagged happily.

  “Hello, Hope.” Toppen slowed to a stop, tucking a bottle under his arm as he reached down to pet the head of the old dog.

  “Hope?” Nica questioned. “That’s a peculiar name for a dog.” She squatted down, setting her bottles on the ground to rub behind the dog’s ears. “Where did you come from?”

  “She lives over there, next to the healer’s house.” Toppen nodded toward a modest cottage as he stacked Nica’s bottles of wine under his arm. “Hope always says hello when I make a delivery to Is’bella.” Juggling all four bottles of wine, Toppen approached the small white hut and knocked on the door.

  Nica stayed where she was, petting the soft fur of the dog. She took a deep breath, enjoying her heady sense of freedom. She could almost imagine what life could be like without Mosaba glowering at her all the time.

  A flash of color caught her eye. The red uniform of Mosaba’s court soldiers was easily identifiable. Two men were walking down the other side of the street headed her way. The metal of their long swords blinked with the reflected light of the morning sun.

  She stood up in alarm. What were they doing here? “Toppen…” she turned to see if he had concluded his business and was surprised to find him standing right next to her. “Are you done?” Her voice came out in a whisper.

  “Nic, remember, you’re disguised.”

  His calm voice soothed her ragged nerves and she could feel the weight of his hand on her back as he steered her under the overhang of a nearby doorway. “Relax,” he said as he stepped closer, blocking her from view. He bent his head and before she could move his lips were on hers.

  Nica put her hands on his chest to push him away but the catcalls of the soldiers made her freeze in place. Toppen, on the other hand, was anything but frozen and his lips moved on hers in a shockingly intimate manner. His hands slid around to her back and pressed her close until she was sure he could feel every inch of her chest against his.

  “Toppen,” she gasped, before his lips covered hers again. This was not how she’d dreamed of her first kiss. She jerked her head back and hissed, “stop.”

  Toppen raised his head and grinned at her. “I’m only trying to protect you, Nic. The soldiers can’t see your face this way.”

  The strength returned to Nica’s hands
and she gave him a hard shove. “Thanks, but no thanks.” Over his shoulder she could see that the soldiers had disappeared into the entrance of a pub.

  Toppen’s laughter followed her as she stomped down the street. “Hey, wait for me…” he called as he jogged to catch up. He walked beside her in silence, his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune under his breath. Nica saw him cast a sideways glance her way but she raised her chin a notch and pretended not to notice.

  “So,” he said, “who is searching for Jacoby’s daughter? Have they left already?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I think there are four or five.” She quickened her steps. “Some left last night, I think the rest go tonight.”

  “And will Mosaba join them in their hunt?”

  “Once he gathers the information he wants from Jacoby, I’m sure of it.” She looked up at Toppen. His red hair glowed in the late morning sun. “This is it. This is the chance we’ve been waiting for.” The burn on her arm throbbed with her movement and her voice dropped. “I can’t delay. Mosaba is getting worse.” She knew Toppen understood what she meant without having to actually say the words. “This may be the only chance I get.”

  A frown crossed his face then Toppen nodded at her. “Then we go tonight.”

  ica’s two hours of freedom with Toppen flew by and before she was ready she had to retrace her steps back through the secret gate into the orchard. Once inside, she pulled the glasses from her face, spit the wax piece into her hand and hid both in the pocket of her voluminous trousers. She rounded the corner of the stables and stopped to stare as soldiers escorted a manacled prisoner.

  As if sensing her presence the battered, grey-haired captive wearily lifted his head. Nica’s mouth dropped open.

  King Jacoby.

  It had to be. Streaks of blood had dried down the side of the man’s face as well as out of the corner of his mouth. His nose leaned unnaturally to one side and he limped so severely that a guard had to support him. Emotion contorted his face when he caught sight of Nica and his eyes suddenly burned with a maniacal intensity that frightened her.

  “Juneedika dio simpra e’sa mia ya moiré,” he whispered hoarsely in Jarisan.

  Unsettled, Nica hurried in the other direction, automatically translating in her head: ‘Juneedika, by the blessing or the curse.’ She’d heard of Juneedika—one of Jarisa’s revered deities. He’d been praying to a higher power for mercy. A strange feeling of guilt washed over her. Was this man—this king—doomed to die here? She glanced back over her shoulder to see the prisoner reaching out to her with his one good hand.

  She slipped through the side door and ran to her chambers, nervous and unsettled.

  THE DAY DRAGGED by like the steps of a tired ox. Nica didn’t dare pack the few things she planned to take until most of the castle had retired for the night.

  It was mid-afternoon when she left her rooms and ran upstairs. She pulled open one side of a majestic pair of tall carved doors to slip inside the Grand Library, her favorite room in Ravensfell. Mosaba had once told her that he’d built the library to honor his sister. Her mysterious aunt had lived in the Ortawn, a labyrinth of stone tunnels and chambers buried deep under a desert area known as the Scablands, until her death. Now, the Ortawn was a Sartish prison of unspeakable conditions.

  Nica shuddered as the thought of her aunt brought back memories of the dark tunnels of the prison. Mosaba had taken her to the Ortawn more than once, seeming to delight in her aversion to the underground dungeon. Even now, as she remembered the tangled web of hallways and jail cells carved among the rocks, she could hear the cries of the desperate and the ranting of the demented.

  Nica tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear and pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, relieved to find herself alone in the library. Overhead, a massive dome made entirely of amber glass lit the room. She stopped in the center and gazed up. On impulse, she spread her arms wide and twirled, imagining herself flying away into the sky. She was so excited. After all this time—all the waiting and planning—they would go tonight.

  Someone cleared their throat.

  Nica snapped to attention with a gasp. Jonn Shanks leaned against the end of a bookcase, his arms crossed over his chest, one knee cocked, watching her.

  “We meet again, M’lady Madanica.” His expression was blank, his thoughts secret.

  “You,” she breathed as her pulse jumped. “What are you doing in here?”

  Shanks raised one eyebrow at her. “Looking for something to read, of course.” He unfolded his hands and slid a book back on the shelf, but his smile made her think he was lying. “M’lady Madanica—” he began again as he sauntered toward her. His golden skin was bronzed even darker by the sun making the blue of his eyes that much more startling.

  “Nica. Please call me Nica.” She put her hands behind her back and clutched her fingers together where he couldn’t see her discomfort. “How odd that we keep running into each other, Mr. Shanks.” She tried to give him a cool look like the haughty ladies she’d seen at court. “It’s enough to make me wonder if I’m being followed.”

  Shanks tilted his head and grinned. “Or perhaps just another fortuitous circumstance.” His smile faded. “Have you heard of Jacoby’s capture?”

  “Yes, Mosaba is ecstatic.” Nica took a step back. Why, oh why couldn’t she be brave instead of afraid all the time? Once again he was too close for comfort. Should she question his right to be in the library or should she focus on escaping from him? She cleared her throat. Maybe better to be polite and perhaps he would get bored and go away. “I heard he was captured on his way to Ry’dontt.”

  “Ambushed is perhaps more accurate,” Shanks said, “yet when one has a complete disregard for rules of engagement then I suppose it’s all a matter of semantics.”

  Though Shanks’ tone was light, Nica felt an uncomfortable chill creep up the back of her neck. His comment bordered on treason. She cocked her head, curiosity winning out over her fear. “Is there some reason Jacoby’s capture was inappropriate?”

  “Surely you must know that Ry’dontt is a neutral zone.” His eyes narrowed. “Mosaba called for peace talks with the sole intent of attacking Jacoby en route.”

  Nica blinked, unsure of how to reply. She knew Mosaba was not a man to be trusted—he hated King Jacoby with a passion that bordered on obsession—but to admit that to someone else, especially a stranger and one of his soldiers—could have deadly consequences. She fumbled for something to say in return. “I didn’t know there were rules to war.”

  “Rules don’t exist unless all parties agree to abide by them.” His tone held a bitter note. “You would be best served to keep your head down and your nose out of the court’s business.”

  Nica stiffened. “And do you take the advice you so freely give, Mr. Shanks?”

  Instead of answering, his eyes traced the contours of her face, lingering for a moment on her bruised cheek. His steady gaze made it difficult to draw an even breath.

  “I’m sure you know what I mean better than most.”

  Nica’s cheeks warmed at the accuracy of his insinuation and she cleared her throat. “W…will you be traveling with Mosaba in pursuit of Jacoby’s daughter?”

  “I’m leaving soon. Tomorrow, in fact.” He smiled at her, though there was a sardonic twist to the corner of his mouth. “Can I count on you to fill me in on any news of the court—” he paused, then added with a wicked grin— “or any secrets of Ravensfell upon my return?”

  “A tale for a tale,” Nica replied flippantly. “You share your secrets and I’ll share mine.”

  Shanks let out a low laugh. “Negotiating now, are we?” He inclined his head. “They say spies and pirates must band together.” His expression became steely. “I’ll trust you, if you’ll trust me.”

  Nica cocked her head at him. “One must earn trust.”

  “Very true.” Eyes as blue as the summer sky measured her. “But you can trust me.”

  Something quirked in her chest.
There was no one she could trust except Toppen.

  His voice lowered to a whisper. “What are you planning, Nica?”

  She blinked in surprise. “I…I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’ll tell you this—” he leaned forward. He was close enough Nica could smell the clean scent of soap. “The map which you so cleverly concealed last night does not reveal the danger of traveling outside of Sartis right now. Especially for you. There are things you don’t know. Yet.” He put an odd emphasis on the last word.

  Panic flared through her like a match to kindling. He knew she was going to run. “I’m not planning anything,” Nica lied.

  His intensity never wavered. “Trust me when I say that it’s too dangerous right now.”

  Nica raised her chin and worked to keep her voice steady. “Thank you for the …advice, Mr. Shanks, but I have no plans to travel or..or set about some mysterious plot or whatever you’re insinuating.” She forced herself to smile as she took another step back. This was life or death. She had to leave Sartis with Toppen tonight. “Though I’m sure you must have greater responsibilities to concern yourself with now that you’re my father’s favorite new soldier.”

  Shanks expression darkened and he opened his mouth to retort when a sudden sharp rapping on the wooden door made them both jump. Before Nica could move, the door was thrust open and the face of her tutor, Lady Angeline, peered through the opening, her expression sharpening when she spotted them.

  “There you are.”

  With masked innocence Nica faced her tutor. “Lady Angeline, uh, where have you been?”

  The woman’s large body flowed into the room, her floor-length skirt swaying like a ship cutting a wake.

  Shanks spoke low enough that only Nica could hear him. “You need to wait for me.” Her eyes darted to his unsmiling face. “One week. I’ll be back. Wait for me.” He turned and with a nod to Lady Angeline disappeared through the door.