Seven Ways to Kill a King Read online

  But that fear was not why she chose not to go on Cass’s ship. She was nearly sure of it.

  Miri would, she decided, be agreeable to swapping her mess of skirts for the slim pants that would be inside her pack. She had been taught to sew, among many other things, but she’d long had a complicated relationship with skirts. She understood their purpose, the reason behind royal dress, and the pomp and the symbolism. It was a sort of power of its own and a separation. But that did not mean it made it easier to jump astride a horse.

  The years that had followed her most complicated attire had seen her in threadbare rags, not because Nan would not have wanted her in better clothes but because it had been Nan’s duty to keep Miri from notice.

  She had succeeded in that duty, and enough time had passed that it was easier to manage. The attack on the castle had come when Miri was young, before she’d grown into those gangly limbs. Her face had been narrow and thin, to the constant dismay of her nursemaids, and she’d favored her mother’s side of the family in the shape of her eyes. But Miri’s face and figure had filled out, her cheeks taking on the soft curve of her father, a far less recognizable royal. Once time had passed and she’d lost more of her resemblance to the Lion Queen, Nan had begun to let Miri’s hair grow, allow her to come along on occasional trips to the market, and let her work in the back rooms of the Blackwater.

  The horse beneath her let out a soft nicker, and his ears pricked, and Miri adjusted his path to regain his attention.

  The kings of the realm had thought Miri dead like her mother, and no one paid much mind to a lowly cleaning girl, but that had not stopped Nan from dyeing Miri’s lion’s-mane hair with plants that Thom’s men had brought from a continent away. They’d done everything they could to protect Miri. She would not let them down.

  “Bean.” Cass’s word was a bit harsh, and Miri became aware she’d been ignoring him again, unintentional though it was. When she looked back at him, she realized, too, that it was nearly light. They’d ridden through the night.

  Cass frowned. “The horses are in need of a rest. Shall you share with me precisely where we’re headed?”

  His tone said, Aside from the killing of kings, of course. Miri eased up on her posture, letting the horse slow to a walk. “Pirn first. Then Kirkwall.” She wanted most of all to conquer Stormskeep, her true home, but that would be no easy feat. That left six other kingdoms—six other castles to invade and escape. Smithsport’s king had a castle on a small isle on the sea, but he was a sluggard and a fool. He would be an easy mark and little threat, so Miri would leave him for later. She didn’t want to start a slaughter where she lived. There was no reason to put Thom and Nan at risk if she were to fail in her other attempts.

  Though it was more risk, anyway, because the two had already risked their lives, the Blackwater, and everything they held dear.

  Cass cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him. The look he gave her said he’d not meant to launch her into explanation of her assassination plot, but Miri wondered if what else she saw there was surprise that she’d actually planned the thing through.

  “Shall I find us an inn?” he asked.

  She gave him a look. “There’s no inn for a day’s ride.”

  He inclined his head just a bit then turned his horse to follow a trickling stream.

  Miri remembered something else she’d learned as a child: just because you held rule over someone did not mean that person could not find a way to dictate your course of action. She clicked her tongue to urge her horse into a walk behind Cass. She had the feeling she would face more than one battle of wits with Cass, and it was not the time to waste her energy.

  Silver River ran from the mountains at Blackstone to a small inlet near Smithsport. It was one of only two large rivers that allowed boat travel to the sea, but the land between there and Pirn was riddled with lakes and streams. Their path would be dependent on crossings, weather, and whatever troubles might arise on the road. The forests and trails south of Pirn were not particularly known for bandits, but times were tough in the entire realm. Reaching the seven kingdoms alone would not be easy, killing aside, but Miri had no other option but to get it done.

  Her guard surveyed the land, slowing to a stop near a bend in the creek. He glanced at Miri as her horse came to rest beside his. “We’ll break here for the night. I’ll heat some water.”

  Miri felt her eyes widen. She did not smell so much like a drunken goat that washing would be his first request, surely.

  Cass’s lips tightened, his gaze averting from her face. “Nan sent new dyes,” he said. “For your hair.”

  “Of course.” She hoped her cheeks had not colored. New dye was not a terrible idea, in case anyone noticed that Nan’s charge had suddenly gone missing while kingsmen were about scouring for sympathizers.

  Miri stepped down from her horse, relishing the stretch of her legs. Her stomach reminded her she’d forgotten to eat, lost in her mind as she’d been, and she wasn’t sure exactly what was in her pack. She patted Wolf on the neck and scratched near his ear as she slid the bridle free. Though she wondered briefly whether horses trained well enough to ground tie would draw suspicion, she doubted very much that they would see many passersby in the spot her guard had chosen. As she moved to grab the saddle, her hand bumped Cass’s on the leather.

  “I’ve got it,” he said. “You can clean up before dinner.” He turned before Miri could gauge his expression, but she was fairly certain she spotted the edge of a smirk.

  Miri looked down at herself and yanked the hem of her woven vest into place. Her hands were soiled, her skirt hem had come loose, and she truly did need a good wash. She rummaged through the pack, slightly unsettled at how little she had to her name, and gathered a set of clean clothes and one of the small pressed soaps into her arms. She glanced around the camp and sighed. Cass meant to dye her hair, and Nan had sent the clothes of a trader. Her life as the other Bean was truly over. That poor orphan girl in need of a helping hand was no longer an anchor of habit.

  Miri walked to the creek and kneeled to splash water over her arms. The coolness of it cut through her ruminations. As a child, Miri had traveled the realm with her mother to oversee her rule of the territories that had since been called kingdoms. The men who had been merely lords—responsible for seeing out the queen’s orders—now ruled as kings. They took what riches each kingdom had, not for the good of the realm and its people but for themselves. They had killed the queen. They held Miri’s sister captive.

  The time for thinking was over. She’d had years and years to plan. It was time to act. Miri stripped down to her sleeveless shift and soaked a strip of cloth to rub at the smudges over her skin. The soap smelled of sweet orange and some flower Miri couldn’t identify, and she felt a pang of loss for Nan. They would be safer if she was away in the midst of searching kingsmen, but she would miss Nan and Thom.

  She slid the slim pants under her shift, followed by thick woolen socks and high lace-up boots. She splashed her face last, wincing at the cold, then glanced over her shoulder to make certain she was alone. Cass stood at the edge of a thick copse of trees, breaking branches into the fire.

  As she turned back toward the creek, she drew the filthy shift over her head to replace it with a clean shirt and leather vest. Running a hand over the hem of her underclothes, she felt for the small metal locket sewn inside. It was the only memento of her other life—the life before Thom and Nan and Bean—and all that truly mattered for possessions.

  But the hidden memento was not the only lingering reminder of her past. Miri was reminded every day, in a thousand ways, like knife blades to her heart. Even there, in the unfamiliar wood, she rode with a queensguard at her side.

  By the time Miri rinsed the clothes and hung them to dry, Cass’s fire had produced a steady bed of coals. A small black pot hung near the edge, smelling very unlike the sweet-scented soap. Miri stifled a groan.

  Cass looked up at her, brushing his palms together once b
efore moving to stand.

  Miri frowned and pulled her hair over her shoulder. “Cut it to here,” she told him. “No sense in dyeing the extra.”

  He nodded solemnly, and Miri realized that was maybe the first actual command she’d given him. He’d not argued, at least, which was a step up from her earlier changing of his plans.

  She settled onto a log as her guard came to stand behind her. His work was quick, his blade sharp, and the locks of her hair dropped to the ground. Cass gathered them, crossed to the fire, and tossed the hair into the flame before taking hold of the pot. The camp filled with the sudden stench of singed hair, but it was mild in comparison to what waited inside the pot.

  Cass spared Miri a glance as he crossed again to stand behind her, but she could see the fumes had made his eyes water. She leaned her head back, and he drew her hair into a mass, away from her vest, to smooth Nan’s latest concoction over the locks.

  “What color do you suppose she sent?” Miri asked.

  “Dead seal, by the looks of it.”

  Miri snorted a laugh but choked on the noxious smell.

  “How long do we have to leave this in?”

  Head tilted back, she opened her eyes to stare up at Cass. His voice had been low, one hand wrapped around the base of her hair as he trailed the fingers of his other hand through the locks. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Depends on the mixture. Nan usually pins it up and wipes my head in oils if it’s going to be a while.” She reached up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Cass, did she warn you to wear gloves?”

  He bit down a grin, but his eyes still laughed at her. “I’ve coated my hands in that oil. But thanks for the notice.”

  She smiled as she reached blindly for her pocket to draw a hair pin free. She handed it to him, and he twisted the length of her treated hair to pin it to her crown. He was not practiced at it, because it felt lopsided and wobbly, and though his expression showed that he was focused on being careful, the knot pinched a bit more than she liked.

  When he was done, Cass wiped the dye from his hands then slid his fingers over her hairline to coat it with oil.

  “That should do it,” Miri said awkwardly, suddenly realizing how much, exactly, she would be relying on him.

  She cleared her throat, stood to stretch, and remembered that she had no idea what Nan had sent for food. She glanced again at Cass as he stood wiping the oil from his hands with a cloth, his head lowered but his gaze on her. His shoulders were broad and his forearms muscled. His bearing was that of a man who knew his way through a fight. She wondered how his hunting skills were.

  She also wondered precisely what Cassius of Stormskeep and the queensguard had learned in his tutelage. “How well did you know my mother?”

  All the blood drained from his face.

  Miri nodded. He was one of Henry’s, then, as she’d suspected. He would have been training to become a personal guard to the queen, not just her family or the throne. “I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through,” she said.

  Miri turned and kneeled to rummage through the other packs. Her mother had taught her to look a person in the eyes when she apologized to them, but Miri’s emotions felt tethered by thin wire. She wasn’t certain, on the run once again and leaving those she cared about, that she could think about the boy Cass had been and the loss he might feel for someone so dear to her.

  He was quiet behind her and too still, and Miri rubbed her brow with the back of her wrist. It came away slick with oil, and the pin in her hair was already threatening to fall loose. “It seems we’ve enough for a few days’ ride. Bread, dried meat, and a bit of fruit.” She glanced up at the trees. Gods, it was dawn, and they were in the forest, heading to kill a king.

  Cass shifted behind her. “I can hunt. You should get some sleep.”

  She pulled a braided loaf from Nan’s meticulously wrapped cloth, a little sick at the realization that Nan would have prepared the packs while Miri was stuffed in a barrel—and worse, that Nan might have been planning to ship her off on a moment’s notice all along. Miri turned, tearing the loaf to pass half to Cass. “You don’t have to. I can make do.”

  He stepped closer, ignoring the proffered bread. “We have friends along the route. There’s no need to rush into—”

  At her glare, his words cut off.

  “I said I can make do.”

  His mouth went into a hard line, but he leaned closer. “We’ll stop first at a small inn near Silverton. They’ll have word of the king’s men.”

  Miri drew back from him at the mention of the kings and that their men were not just causing trouble in Smithsport. She wanted to scream, What in seven hells have they been up to now? But she didn’t. She and Cass might have been isolated in the forest, but it was clear by the expression on his face that it was not the best place to speak of treason.

  And when she shoved away thoughts of her mother, Nan, and Thom, treason was about all Miri’s heart had room for. “Fine,” she said coolly. “Silverton, tomorrow’s eve.”

  Chapter 5

  Miri woke feeling as if her head weighed a solid stone. She groaned, rolling onto her back to face a noonday sun through a canopy of trees. “Seven hells,” she muttered, remembering the dye she’d left in her hair. She glanced over the clearing to find Cass strapping a pack onto the bay horse. Grateful to see he’d left a pot on the fire, she sat up. At least she wouldn’t be dipping her scalp into a cool stream to rinse the dye. She rubbed her face, and her fingers came away oily and with a leaf that had been stuck to her temple. The knot of hair was likely a crooked lump on the side of her head and plastered in bits of shed underbrush. She reminded herself that sleep deprivation was no way to win a war.

  Cass crossed the camp to hand her a waterskin and a hunk of dried fruit. “You’ll want to ready yourself. We should discuss our stories in case it comes up while we encounter other travelers.”

  Miri took a bite of the fruit and stood. “I’ve had six threads in place since I was a child. I know them by heart.” She took a long draw from the waterskin before glancing at Cass. “Do you honestly think I’d walk into this blindly or that my protection has not been mapped out?”

  His expression did not change. “I honestly think that your threads—as prepared as they were—did not include me.”

  The fruit went sour in Miri’s mouth. He was right. She’d always planned to go on her own. Everything Nan and Thom had lain into place was centered on Miri and Miri alone. But that wasn’t true. They’d sent her with Cass. They’d known they would all along, surely, because once she thought about it, he fit seamlessly in each of her cover stories.

  A wind picked up, rustling the green leaves. Cass’s eyes were hazel, his lashes dark. The light of day made everything so much more real and finite.

  “Fine,” she said. “My brother.”

  He took her hand in his and slid a thin band onto her finger. “Husband,” he said.

  Right. Because having a brother would not protect her as much as being wed. She kept forgetting the laws had changed and that the safety of Smithsport would soon be long gone. “Husband,” she echoed. “And what of you?”

  “I know your threads as well,” he said. “I’ll merely slide in as your newly acquired helpmeet.”

  That would make it easy on Miri, and he could serve his dead queen. Miri turned from him, relieving the tightness of the circle of gold on her finger by the pressure of her thumb. It had slid right over her knuckle but sat like a collar on her finger. That was why she hated those kings, for what they’d forced her life to become. They had bound her to lies and hiding. She walked to the fire, lifted the pot by its handle, and carried it to the creek to wash away what was left of that other girl.

  By the time Miri rinsed her hair and returned, Cass had smothered the fire and saddled her horse. She handed him the pot, which had grown cool, and his gaze only briefly flitted to her hair, which was loose and dark chestnut, the way Nan’s had been years before.

  “Let’s go,” Miri said. It was noth
ing but a command.

  The Silverton Inn was a small two-and-a-half-story establishment that served food and drink and provided stables, baths, and beds to travelers who followed the Silver River on their journey between kingdoms. Its exterior was modeled after the Pirn style, simple white cottages with decorative trim, and the building had a cob roof that rose to a central peak over rough walls boasting narrow windows in even rows. Cass led Miri toward the rear of the inn, apparently familiar with the layout and location of the stables. He was met at the entrance by a boy no more than twelve who had dark hair cropped close to his head. The two exchanged words as Miri glanced casually toward the back of the inn to note the exits.

  It was a habit that was not borne of her fear of kingsmen. It was how she’d been taught to live. A princess must always have a route for escape. Her mother’s planning had been all that had saved Miri in the end.

  “My lady,” Cass said from beside her.

  She jolted, staring down at his hand raised to assist her from her horse. “We’re traders,” she mouthed. “I should know how to dismount a horse.”

  His answering smile was forced. “We’re newly wed. I should offer regardless of your skill.”

  She inclined her chin sharply and slid down from the horse before taking hold of his hand. His head nearly shook, but apparently, he thought better of it. Cass tossed the boy a copper and slipped his free hand on the small of Miri’s back to lead her through the straw and divots scattered over the ground.

  He was terrible at pretending. She was a trader, not a lady of the royal court. He squeezed her hand, and Miri smoothed the frown from her face. If she were honest, she’d seen the way the newly wed acted. It was a good deal worse.