The Death Dealer - The Complete Series

by Katie Roman

  Donald and Grace bowed, leaving the rest to their now cold broth.

  ~*~*~

  Grace didn’t bother with dinner. Donald, being in no mood to speak, only grunted a farewell when she retreated to her rooms after leaving the castle proper. Her pride smarted from the evening’s event. Calvin’s anger came at them from nowhere, and Leon had never talked to her as though she was less than his niece. Her own temper caught her by surprise. She’d never raised her fists in anger to her family before. To her surprise, George sent her a tray of food and a note of apology. It was the closest to a hug she’d get from him.

  She didn’t bother with the food. Instead, she insisted the maid who brought it eat it herself and just tell George that Grace ate it. Her stomach growled now, making her regret the impetuous decision, but it was too late. The castle slept and Grace didn’t want to bother lighting a candle to rummage around the kitchens for food. She had places she wanted to go, and finding a late supper was a waste of time.

  Grace dressed in black trousers and slipped into her coat. She armed herself with an unlit torch and her sword. Her old traveling pack was slung over her shoulder, its weight comfortable and familiar. She left the warmth of the castle and headed into the freezing night, where the only lights in the courtyard came from the wall. Men watched for activity, but she knew the blind spots and darted from one to the other. Sneaking around to the stables, she slipped inside unseen.

  The inside was pitch black, but Grace’s eyes were used to the dark, at least enough to know where she needed to go. The smell of horse was heavy in the air. It wasn’t the most pleasant of smells, but hay and manure managed to soothe Grace some. She’d been a stable hand for a while in Glenbard, and it was easy to work out her frustrations and clear her head while mucking out stalls. But she wasn’t planning to clear her head in the stables tonight.

  She made for the last stall on the north end. It was filled with four barrels and old tattered gear that needed mending. Grace walked over to the barrels and tapped each one until she hit a hollow one, and then she gently pushed it aside. Underneath was a square plank of wood. She knelt down in the dirt, groping for the edges of the plank. Upon finding them, she carefully propped the wood up against the newly moved barrel. Her hands ran along the dirt until they hovered over emptiness. Swinging her legs over the side, she carefully lowered herself into the hole.

  The smell of damp earth surrounded her. The tunnel led into the forest, a passage to be used if the castle was endangered. The purpose was to sneak one or two out so they could run and find help, but it hadn’t been used like that for ages. When Grace had first donned her Death Dealer garb, she used it to sneak into the woods, but she never liked it. The blackness was oppressive, however, there was no other way to sneak in and out of the castle without being seen by the guards at the gatehouse.

  Grace knelt in the dirt and reached into her pocket for her flint, putting the torch in front of her. It only took her a few tries to get a spark that caught the torch. The world around her filled with shadows and all she could see was brown earth and roots. The tunnel was big enough for one person to go through at a time. A tall man would have to walk hunched over, but Grace walked comfortably, her head a few inches from the roof.

  She continued on, walking for what seemed like hours. It was only a mile of tunnel, but each step she took felt weighted. A circle of moonlight shone in front of her, and she stepped into it and looked up at the night sky. Tree branches obstructed the view, but Grace felt better to have the fresh air blow down to her. The walls in this part of the tunnel were stonework.

  She inspected the wall until she found the side with the handholds. She pressed the torch into the ground to extinguish it, discarded it on the ground, and began her climb.

  She came to the surface from inside an abandoned well and hoisted herself out. Nearby was an old cottage, battered by time and unused throughout the entirety of Grace’s life. As such, she frowned to see a candle lit now. It didn’t take her long to piece together who was inside. Only a few people knew she used the secret tunnel, and only one of them would be bothered enough to come out tonight, of all nights.

  “Calvin!” she hissed into the darkness. The candle light moved and the door to the cottage opened.

  Her cousin waited in the door frame as Grace trudged up from the well. He was dressed in the tunic of the house guard, looking angry and undignified. His nose was swollen and dark patches were evident under his eyes. Grace wondered if she had broken his nose. It would make for an interesting wedding, with his face battered as it was. She felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She knew she shouldn’t have hit Calvin, but her pride still smarted so she offered no apology.

  “You have guard duty!” she said. She stood outside the cottage with hands on her hips.

  “Funny how a bit of coin turns heads and silences men. What about you? Running away?” He reached around her and tugged at her pack. “Do you ever think that maybe it is your impulsive nature that gets you in all the trouble you so often find yourself?”

  “I will not stay where I am not wanted.”

  Calvin pulled Grace into the cottage and shut the door. The floor was dirt, but a heavy layer of dust settled over the walls and windows. A battered chair and table were pushed into a corner, covered in dust as well. No other furnishings remained. Calvin put the candle on the ground.

  “Don’t act childish,” he scolded.

  Grace gave him a shove. “Why didn’t you ever say you were mad at me? Why did you wait until poor Donald was here?”

  “And tell you what? That it took months to even start to undo the damage you did?” He shoved her back, but she stood firm, with her feet shoulder width apart. “I heard gossip everywhere and received dirty glances. ‘Was I bewitched? Did I train my cousin to use a sword? What sort of home did I grow up in that women acted so shamelessly?’ I was very nearly stripped of my knighthood because His Majesty thought I allowed you out in my armor. And Cassandra? She’s lucky my father didn’t thrash her when she returned. She wasn’t allowed to work in the castle for almost a year. And have you noticed, dear cousin, that my father no longer trains any of the village girls in self-defense anymore? Did you ever stop to wonder why? Under threat of heavy fines and possible confiscation of our lands, Frederick said we were not to teach girls anything like that. He reasoned that if one girl got ideas above her lot in life, others would too.”

  Calvin paused to take a breath, but his eyes remained fixed on Grace. Her breath caught in her throat at all he revealed.

  It never occurred to her that Leon’s self-defense classes were forcibly canceled or that Cassandra suffered for her folly. She stuck out her chin and squared her shoulders.

  “I did not mean for any of that to happen.”

  “Of course – you didn’t think, and neither did I. I defended you, not thinking how I would be perceived. I gave you gold and sent you on to Glenbard, thinking we’d all be happier for it. But no. I suffered for your crimes. And what of you? You can’t even go back to Glenbard! You’re a wanted criminal now!”

  Grace tried to move away and back out, but Calvin blocked her path. “Let me leave, Calvin.”

  “You are not running out of here.” Again, Grace tried to move around him, but this time he took hold of her bag, yanking it hard, and the strap ripped under the pressure. “I demand satisfaction!” He shook her bag in her face before dropping it into the dirt.

  Grace kicked her bag to the side and pushed Calvin again. “Get out of my way, dolt!”

  Calvin reached for his belt, producing a leather riding glove. In one fluid motion, he slapped her across the face with it. “If violence is all you understand, then violence is what I shall give you. I challenge you to a duel.”

  Grace touched her burning cheek. Her cold fingers felt good against it, soothing the sting of the glove, if not his words. She glared at Calvin. The candle light flickered, casting devious shadows over her cousin’s face.

  “We fight outside, in the mo
onlight.”

  Calvin opened the door and held it open for her to move through first. The moon’s light filtered weakly through the trees. Grace had fought in the dark before so she knew one false move and there would be blood, but she was too angry to care.

  She drew her sword, the moon reflecting on the steel. It was a short sword, smaller than Calvin’s sword, but easier to maneuver one-handed. Calvin did the same, taking up the guard position. She gave her sword a few test swings before doing the same, and studied her cousin by the moonlight. He was angry now, but he was like her. Certain clarity came when she fought. Only the next move mattered.

  Grace crossed her sword arm over her chest in salute. When Calvin did the same, they crossed blades. The clank of steel on steel resonated through the forest.

  “Father should never have wasted so much time training you!” Calvin growled as he brought his sword down.

  She blocked it easily and moved to the side, blocking his next blow aimed at her right. She was never much for egging her opponent on, but she felt Calvin deserved it. “He had to train someone worthy of his talent, seeing as how you disappointed him so much.” Her rage fueled her words.

  Again, Calvin tried for a side swing. She twirled out of the way and struck Calvin’s shoulder with her hilt.

  “Hardly. He always felt pity for you, you know. Your own father didn’t love you enough to put you in his will.”

  Calvin’s words almost caused Grace to take a hit from the left, but at the last moment she turned, catching his blade with hers.

  “How does it feel, I wonder, to know if I had been a boy you would have no standing, but would have been shipped off to the temples for a lifetime of religious contemplation?” She lunged, pressing their bodies close so it became harder for Calvin to maneuver. “How does it feel to know that if my mother and Uncle George have a child, or if George marries a young wife, even now, you will be replaced that easily? How does it feel to make a house on shifting sands?”

  Calvin pressed back on her, trying to force her to her knees. Grace stood firm, not giving away any ground. “You don’t belong here.”

  “You are right.” Grace slipped her hand to her belt and pulled out a knife, moving quickly and pressing it to his throat. “I do not belong here.” She had no intention of hurting him, but she needed him to let her go; to let her flee and start a new life away from scandal.

  “I yield,” he said quietly. Grace backed away and sheathed her weapons. Calvin rubbed his neck.

  “If you are done insulting me, I would like to head out now. I am not interested in staying where I am hated.”

  “I do not hate you, Grace,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I just do not understand you anymore. You would never have pulled a knife on me before. Or punch me.”

  “You have never used my father’s will against me before, either.” Grace frowned. Her father died without drafting his own will, so the family had to default to her grandfather’s will that named his second son the heir if Daniel died. George, seeing that Grace and Deidre stood to lose everything, married Deidre so she could keep her title and he named Calvin heir. Grace never imagined her father didn’t write a will for lack of love, but rather from a lack of foresight.

  Calvin finally sheathed his sword and turned his back to Grace. His shoulders slumped and she saw him raise a hand to his forehead.

  “You should have told me before tonight how much I had hurt you,” she said in a small voice, guilt pouring over her; finally forcing its way out. She had erred and become aggressive, and it was unseemly behavior for her.

  “You and I were raised as brother and sister,” Calvin said. “I did not bear any ill will to you when you ran from the tournament. You are family, and it was my job to defend you against those who flung insults at you. I thought you would be happier in Glenbard; maybe settle down, marry a guard, and raise a brood of wild children. But you did not.” He swung around to face her. His eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight as he stared at her. “You allied yourself with a thief and lived in muck. And you have killed men, Grace. You are not the same girl who fled, and Donald’s return reminded me that you shamed us and have entered a world we are not part of.” He eyed the knife on her belt. “This duel proves it.”

  Grace lowered her head to inspect her feet, unsure what to say. She knew she had changed, but she’d never before felt like she didn’t belong in Arganis.

  “I do not hate you, truly. We are family. The same blood runs through our veins. You are welcome here, but if you do leave, at least have the courage to tell Uncle George.” Calvin moved around her, not bothering to say another word.

  Grace went back to the cottage to gather her bags. The night was still young.

  Four

  “Lord Gregory isn’t who I think should fill the seat of chief magistrate,” Ridley proclaimed. She plopped down into a seat across from Jack. Her hood was drawn up to cover her face, but he suspected enough of the guards who drank at the King’s Beard knew who his dinner guest was.

  “Well, perhaps you ought to notify His Majesty of his folly. Tell me – who would you put in the position? There aren’t many lining up to take Brayden’s place.” Jack sipped his ale. His meager dinner of mealy apple slices and goat cheese didn’t look too appetizing at the moment.

  “He should give it to a commoner. None of these lords know how it works for us.” She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. Underneath the hood, Jack saw her pouting with her lower lip stuck out.

  “A fifth is needed. And who knows? Maybe the king’s personal guard will be waiting for you tonight to bestow the honor to you.”

  “Your wit astounds me,” she said, curling her lip.

  Jack pushed his plate across the table for Ridley to take some. She picked up a piece of cheese and ate it. The tavern was quiet for the dinner hour. A few other off-duty guards enjoyed their meals and a few gamblers threw dice in the corner, but there was no fiddle player or the loud laughter that normally filled the King’s Beard. Jack frowned into his ale. He missed the Angel Tavern. It was still lively when other places were falling silent.

  “Any more news?” Ridley asked as she swallowed the bit of cheese.

  “Only suspicions. They’ve locked away a skulking character. He was found around Golden Road with a bloodstained dagger and a black hood.”

  “And?” Ridley leaned forward.

  “He confessed easily enough to murder, but only to the murder of his wife and her lover. He’s too stupid to be a hired assassin, but he may make the perfect scapegoat.” Jack shrugged.

  “Poor sod.”

  “He’ll meet a traitor’s end for it, I’m sure. Lord Gregory wants people to think the murderer was caught. I think he believes that giving them this man will make them forget the poor harvest and rising prices.”

  Ridley rose from her seat and grabbed another piece of cheese. “Thank you for the information.”

  “Be safe, Ridley.”

  She gave him a warm smile before departing. Jack finished his meal in silence. A few of his guard mates asked him to gamble with them, but he declined, feigning tiredness.

  The air outside the King’s Beard was cold, too cold for this time of year. His breath hung like a little white cloud before him. Jack buttoned his long jacket and moved on toward home. The city, like the tavern, was too quiet. The people were anxious about the duke’s murder and about a hungry winter, and he couldn’t blame them. There had been a few whispers at the guard house about arrests for treason. Duke Nicholas of Actis had even been arrested and sent to the Nareroc Islands for it. There were suspicions and rumors that King Frederick planned to make some sort of offensive over the islands in the spring, and everyone knew that an armed conflict would be disastrous for the country.

  “Someone help!” a woman screamed from the alley to Jack’s right.

  He looked and could make out two figures scuffling in the dark. He removed his baton from his belt and ran for the alley, ready for a fight.

 
A large man had a woman of middling height by the hair. Jack could smell the whiskey on him as soon as he moved into the alley. He came up fast and gave the man a solid smack on the back of the head. The man went down, pulling the woman with him.

  She whimpered and tried to push his inert body away as they lay on the frozen ground. Jack heaved the man off the woman and helped her to her feet.

  “Any damage, miss?” he asked, brushing her off.

  In the dark he saw the glint of her teeth. “I’m fine, but you may want to see a healer about the bump on your head.” She disarmed Jack in a heartbeat and swung at his head, moving like lightning. The world flashed white and the woman forced a tangy tasting liquid into his mouth, forcing him to swallow it. Jack sputtered and the liquid spilled down his chin. The world swirled around him as he fell into a heap on the ground.

  ~*~*~

  Someone splashed cold water over Jack and he sat up, gasping for air. His head pounded. Someone had dragged him into a little room with a dirt floor, though with the considerable amount of water thrown at him, it was now a mud floor. When he tried to move he found his ankle tied to a table. In the corner opposite him there was a table that held a clay tankard and a wooden bowl. The window over the table was shuttered, but a few rays of sunlight managed to find their way through the cracks. Otherwise the only light came from a torch in the wall. The woman who clubbed and drugged him stood over him holding a bucket. She was in her late twenties, with a freckled face and strawberry blonde hair. Her clothes were ill-fitting, hanging off her like sacks. He recognized her now.

  “Fair Mary,” he grumbled, rubbing his head. “Did Marcus have you bring me in?” He was furious with himself for letting Mary get the drop on him in the alley. If he had to guess, the man “attacking” her was probably her husband, Sly Stephen. They were a notorious pair throughout the city, known for drawing people into their traps.