The Queen's Assassin

by Melissa de la Cruz

  At the same time, I’m irritated that he seems so affected by my fall, although I can’t quite put my finger on why.

  “Did you grow up in Serrone?” Cal asks me, breaking the quiet of our silent truce.

  “Right outside of it, in Nir,” I tell him. “I live with my aunts on a farm called the Honey Glade. After they ended their active service in the Guild, they began running bee colonies and raising herbs. They make poultices and such that they sell these days.”

  “Ah. Sounds nice, actually. Peaceful.” He gets quiet, and for a moment the only sound is the hooves clicking on the trail. Then he asks, “And your parents?”

  “My mother is part of the Guild and she serves at the palace, so she isn’t around a lot.” Eventually I’m going to have to tell him the truth—how I’m currently running away from her and the plans she’d made for me—but I’ll worry about that later. Maybe if he finds me worthy he’ll speak on my behalf to the Guild, maybe even help change my mother’s mind. I urge my horse away from the cliffside.

  “And your father?”

  “My father . . .” I don’t know what to tell him about my father. Partly because I don’t know much myself. “Not much to say; he died when I was young.” I don’t often have to discuss my family with strangers and it’s making me uncomfortable. “How about you—how did you end up working for the queen?” I know most of this background already, but I’m desperate to take the focus off me and curious to learn what version of his story he’ll share.

  “Long story,” he says. “Boring. I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Your father was Cordyn Holt, right?” I push him. “King Esban’s assassin.”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Cal snaps. He adjusts how he’s sitting on the horse.

  “Hardly anything to be ashamed about,” I assure him. Why ask me about my family if I can’t ask about his?

  “I didn’t say I’m ashamed. I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “All right. You don’t have to,” I say. “I was just curious. I’m sorry I upset you.”

  His shoulders relax a little and his expression softens. “You didn’t know.”

  His words make me feel even worse, because I did know, just not that he would be touchy about it. I shake off the guilt and change course. We have a mission ahead—and I have plans of my own to attend to . . . “Let’s discuss exactly what happens when we get to Montrice.”

  “I’ll get to work making contacts, to get an audience in the king’s chamber . . . ,” Cal says, barely glancing my way.

  I scoff in response. “If anybody is going to infiltrate a royal court, it’s going to be me.”

  “You? Why you?” His eyes are incredulous, but I see a slight smile playing at the edges of his lips. He’s amused, but I am not.

  I look him up and down. “You clearly have no manners. Sure, your brooding and arrogance will make you quite at home with Montrician royalty, but they won’t be enough to gain the connections we’ll need at court. Do you think you can just slash your way to the king? That they would let you even get that close?”

  He reflects on that. “You may have a point. I suppose you could bat your eyelashes; I hear honey is more effective than vinegar.”

  I take a deep breath in and sigh, lest I lash out at Renovia’s deadliest assassin while already injured.

  He shrugs. “But in the end, neither force nor flirtation will lead us to King Hansen. In Montrice, it’s purely who you know that wins you favor and success. We need a powerful courtier to introduce us. That’s all that matters in their world.” He stops his horse to look at the view. We are high up on a ridge, and from here all we can see are valleys, streams, and forest. We are alone in the wilderness, far away from villages and towns, let alone a palace and courtly life.

  “Yes,” I say, scanning the treetops. “I am well aware of the conventions of Montrician society, which is why I—”

  He interrupts me by making a slashing movement across his neck. He drops his reins and his horse whinnies. “If we are caught, it’s over. There’s more to being an assassin than tracking and weapons. Espionage is an art. You need a wide range of skills learned through experience and perseverance. I learned that lesson early on, and it was . . . well, let’s say it was a far cry from your Honey Glade.”

  My nostrils flare. “Yes, I know.” My voice comes out as a low growl and it takes everything within myself not to lunge at his taunting face, claws bared.

  “Fine, then. I’ll save my tricks for someone who deserves them,” Cal says. “Can’t make someone learn something they’re not ready for, I suppose.”

  My face twists with disgust. “Deserves? Care to explain what you mean by that?”

  “I don’t like to pull rank, Shadow, but you were sent to—”

  “Be your apprentice,” I say. Here I am, about to embark on an adventure under the tutelage of the Caledon Holt. It’s all I’ve ever wanted—and yet all I feel is frustration and fury. Maybe I should have gone to the palace after all . . . I doubt any life would be as infuriating as one shackled to this pompous buffoon. I dig my heels against my horse’s flank, ready to gallop ahead so I don’t have to look at him.

  I let my horse run for a while, and leave Cal behind.

  Then I hear him galloping up next to me, pulling up so we are riding side by side.

  “What?” I say.

  He scrunches his eyebrows and blinks a few times. “Apprentice. Right. Then let me remind you that it is I who am the captain of this ship, so it is I who will issue the orders. For now, I’d like to keep my head. I’d even like for you to keep yours. It would be a shame to lose such a pretty face. And yours isn’t too bad either.” His eyes are shining in merriment.

  I clench my jaw and shake my head. “You are definitely . . . something.” I wonder if there’s a shred of truth in his words . . . but I refuse to be distracted by flattery, especially when it is of a backhanded sort.

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Funny. I feel the same way about you.”

  I turn my gaze away toward the trees so he doesn’t see my cheeks flush pink. From a distance, wolves begin to howl, and I’m thankful for the distraction.

  “We need to stop soon,” Cal says. “We won’t make it across the pass before nightfall.”

  It’s the second time we agree.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Caledon

  WITHOUT SHADOW, CAL HAS TO admit to himself—though he won’t admit it to her—we wouldn’t have made it back there. He knows he wouldn’t have stood a chance against that many men alone. The problem is, while he’s come to the grudging realization that she may be useful, it’s clear that as much as she might admire him, she also finds him deeply exasperating. So he isn’t quite willing to allow her the satisfaction of being right so she could hold something over him.

  After an hour of searching, they locate a cave where they can sleep for the night. He’d expected her to say she doesn’t want to stop, maybe to prove something to him, but she agrees straightaway. Good thing too, because if she doesn’t get some rest, they’ll be in jeopardy. The echoing howls of the nightwolves likely helped her decision. Neither of them was looking forward to facing that pack again.

  They’re relieved to have found a cave not too far from the road, especially one so dry inside. When they settle in, Cal sets to building a fire, using one of the scraps of wool from his blanket, and a flint from Shadow. Then he tends to Shadow’s arm. She’s reluctant to let him at first. “It’s fine. Much better already,” she says.

  “No, it’s not. It’s worse than I thought,” he says, touching the area around the wound gently as he inspects it.

  She abruptly pulls back, away from his hands.

  “It would help if you stopped yanking yourself around like that,” he chides.

  She rolls her eyes a little but allows him to
continue his examination. He gingerly cradles her arm in his lap and tries to assess the damage by the glow of the flames.

  “Mage blood,” he says, noting the blue-black color.

  She nods, trying to be modest about it. Blue blood is prized in the kingdom.

  “The gash was deep. It may feel better but that doesn’t mean you have full use of your arm yet. And you’ll need it for us to survive these woods. So we need to stop and let this heal before we go any farther. No matter how long it takes.”

  She pulls her arm from him again, but slowly this time. “I told you, it’s just a scratch. I’ve had worse.”

  “Take it from someone who knows, Shadow. It’s more than a scratch. Listen, I don’t want to have to cut that thing off for you if it rots. I’ve done it before and it is not pleasant. The flesh is one thing—I can get through it easy enough—but the bone is another. I’ll have to use a sword to cut it off. I’d prefer very much that you keep your arm instead. I’m sure you do too.”

  Shadow suddenly looks ill, and Cal wonders if maybe he overdid it. “We won’t let that happen,” he assures her. “But you do need to let it heal.”

  She nods. “Fine—but we can’t afford to sit around. The longer we wait, the more likely someone catches up to us.”

  Cal is glad he’s persuaded her to agree to his plan—even as he makes new plans of his own. The queen should have known better than to send him such a novice. Once they get to Montrice, he intends to part ways with her. He has never taken on an apprentice before. The work he does, he does alone. He can’t keep worrying about her recklessness—not to mention her injuries; it will only distract him.

  He gathers some herbs, clay, and fresh water from a mountain spring near the cave and brings it back to set Shadow’s wound. The salve always worked for him; every scrape and cut his father treated with it healed seemingly overnight. It should do the same for Shadow.

  Once he mixes it, with Shadow looking on curiously, he has her sit, leaning against the rocky wall. He kneels next to her.

  She winces when he touches her arm this time, proving that it does hurt much more than she admits. He’s glad they didn’t try to push on through the night. As soon as he applies the paste, she exhales. “Better already, isn’t it?” he asks her. She nods, eyes closed.

  He wraps her arm with some large gunnera leaves and tells her they’ll see how it looks in the morning. She nods again and he takes a seat next to her, leaning his head against the wall. It may be the toll of such a harrowing day, but with the soft moonlight on Shadow’s face, he notices how elegant her features are, the length of her neck, the delicate slope of her cheek; suddenly he’s not sure how he ever thought she was a boy.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he blurts out.

  She frowns a bit but keeps her eyes closed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Accompany me to Montrice.” He thinks maybe he can convince her that leaving is her idea. That would make all of this much easier.

  She opens her eyes and turns her head to look at him. “I don’t just want to; I have to. Like I told you, the queen herself ordered me to come with you.”

  “Right, I’m to take you on as my apprentice. It’s just . . . I’m not sure you fully comprehend what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “Of course I do,” she scoffs.

  “Do you? Because it requires quite a sacrifice.” He shifts his body weight and adjusts his legs.

  She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “What sacrifice?”

  “You say you want to train as an assassin. Well, this is who I am. It’s all I have.” He stops talking and looks down at his hands. “I don’t have a home or a family. When I’m not working at the smithy as a cover for being in Serrone, I spend most of my time on the road, sleeping outside in the wilderness. To get the work done, I must always pretend to be someone else and sometimes I wonder if I’m getting too good at it. Because there are days when I don’t even remember who I really am. And yet, I know what I am. I am an assassin, a death dealer. I don’t know if I would choose this life if it hadn’t already been chosen for me.”

  Shadow is silenced by his sincere tone and sobering words.

  “You’d choose to live a life devoted to killing whoever you’re ordered to kill?” He thinks back to how she’d stayed his hand when he’d held a dagger to that soldier’s throat. “A life where your own could end at any moment?”

  “I think that’s been established,” Shadow says, motioning around her. “I do, I choose this.” When her gaze meets his, Cal sees the challenge in her eyes.

  “What about . . . marriage? Children?”

  She shakes her head and looks away from him, crossing her arms across her chest. She shrugs. “Your father had both, didn’t he?”

  “And it was a mistake,” Cal says. “One I won’t repeat. Your mother is part of the Guild. Tell me, how often was she around?”

  There’s an awkward silence after that. The fire crackles outside the mouth of the cave.

  “I don’t intend to get married or have children either,” Shadow says. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to escape.”

  Cal turns to her, but she refuses to meet his eyes. There’s a determination in her expression that he’s quickly grown to recognize. “I understand,” he says.

  They don’t talk about it any more after that.

  * * *

  IT ISN’T LONG BEFORE Shadow falls asleep, the events of the day—the past few days—obviously wearing hard on her. Cal spreads his legs out by the dwindling fire. He tries to close his eyes and sleep some himself, but he can’t. His mind is racing.

  He’s worried about what will happen when they get to Montrice. It’s not going to be so easy to get rid of Shadow after all. But they need to get there in one piece first. Then he’ll make his final decision.

  He’s about to stand when Shadow’s head falls onto his shoulder. He’s still for a moment, wondering what to do. He should get out of the way, move her so she can lie down. He pulls his arm from where it’s stuck between them and places it around her. This way, he can shift to the side and lower her to the floor slowly. But as he begins to move, he finds he’s drawn to her warmth, and a thought occurs to him, unbidden: When was the last time he let someone so close to him? When was the last time he fell asleep next to someone else? And there’s Shadow’s arm to consider too. Maybe it would be best to leave her be and let her lie on him.

  He returns to their original position and adjusts his arm to support her injury. He moves slowly, careful not to startle her. Somehow, he doesn’t want her to move away quite yet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Shadow

  I WAKE CURLED UP ON the cave floor. I sit up slowly, expecting to be stiff and sore, but I don’t actually feel too bad. I slept well, considering the conditions, and Cal’s salve is doing wonders.

  I find him outside gathering sticks for our fire. I clear my throat. “Good morning.”

  Cal’s shaved his scruff and washed himself in the stream, and looks much healthier than the day before, almost like a new person. “There she is, our lady of perpetual sleep!” he says, smiling broadly.

  I bristle at the dig, but recall that I lobbed similar ones at him before. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “There’s only so much that salve will do. Sleep will heal that arm faster,” Cal says without looking at me. He works on organizing the sticks. “And I was enjoying the peace and quiet.”

  My nostrils flare. “Well then, I’ve given you that. Don’t you think we should get moving? We’ve lost a lot of time already and—”

  “It will be awfully hard to play the part of a noblewoman with a gaping wound on your arm,” he says, motioning toward my injury.

  It does look pretty bad when I take the leaves off. Aside from the gash, which runs the entire length of my arm and is dark blue and angry-looking,
there are bruises on both arms and my legs, and probably elsewhere as well. I can feel sore spots all over my body. But he doesn’t know about those. “How so? I can wear long sleeves.”

  “There are also scratches on your hands. And a bruise on your cheek. Women of high birth don’t walk around like that. How would you explain yourself? There aren’t many opportunities for that type of injury when you spend your days getting laced into elaborate costumes and sitting for tea. Everyone would want to know how it happened. They’d want a story. It would draw quite a bit of unnecessary attention.”

  He’s going to lecture me about the behavior of highborn ladies? “What do you know about how noblewomen behave? Besides, I’ll just say I fell while riding, or something like that.”

  “It will draw attention no matter what. Attention we do not need. You want to be my apprentice, that’s your first lesson: Don’t draw attention. Our very existence will cause gossip as it is. If you give them anything else, even the slightest tidbit, they’ll run with it. Make up all kinds of stories. Start asking questions.” He locks his eyes on mine. “And by the way, I know plenty about how noblewomen behave. I was raised at the queen’s court. As I recall, you’re the one who grew up on a farm.”

  I blink a few times. He’s right, of course, and I can’t argue otherwise. “And what of it? Are you saying I’m too common to play the part of a noblewoman?”

  Cal puts his hands up. “Nobody could ever say you’re common.” He laughs at his own remark.

  I feel my jaw clench and decide to change the subject. “Maybe we should head out to the spring to catch some fish for breakfast.”