“What did he look like?” she enunciated carefully.
“B-black hair, filthy, gaunt. I didn't get a very good look, but I remember that he seemed unwell.”
Two weeks. Castien was two weeks ahead. The poison had delayed her by one week. To be so far ahead of her, he would have hardly stopped, barely slept.
The Queen dropped the ring into a pouch and a silver coin on the table. “Travel provisions only. We won't need the rooms.”
Isabel spun and huffed. “You promised–!Sister.”
Anais turned, her Escorts shifting smoothly to let her pass. “We are only a few days’ travel from Coriante, sister. You can sleep in a bed, then. I suggest you bathe quickly, if you wish a bath at all.”
The duchess seethed, but turned her wrath on the tavern woman. “Bath! Now!”
“Yes, my lady!”
Outside, in the sunlight that was too bright and the day too pleasant, Vern murmured, “He sold your ring.”
It was spoken as an accusation.
“His ring. He must not have had any gold. His bracers would have sufficed until this town. Did you expect him to steal food?”
“A courtesan is an actor. Castien is the best of them all. Everything he was could have been a performance.”
Though her heart knew otherwise, the ring weighed heavily in her pouch.
Two days later, Vern tracked her missing Escort to another town. He handed over a jeweled dagger without a word.
She turned the dagger in her hand, catching the light on the ruby in the shape of a rose set into the pommel. Octavius had suggested he carry a weapon to feel safer. It was an obvious suggestion that she should have thought of herself. Only Jerome and Trishve wore swords openly. That didn't mean the others were defenseless. Thakris probably had enough hidden knives to take down a small army. Anyone who thought Vern was helpless was a fool. And the guards were always there.
She had commissioned the dagger from the best blacksmith in the city. Ornate etchings lined the blade. Leather wrapped the grip. A dragon’s head in metal capped the hilt. Beautiful craftsmanship.
Castien had said he’d never received a finer gift.
Then he sold it.
Poisoned her, left her for dead, immediately ran from the palace. He had the presence of mind to make it this far. Sold his ring. Sold his fine gift.
She replaced one of her daggers with his. He wasn’t himself. There was a perfectly logical explanation for all of this. But if a blade must pierce his heart, it would be this one.
—
Once, as a child, Anais had seen the red star of Coriante Castle. It had been gaudy even then.
She never thought she would appreciate the sight. The end of their journey lay just below the precarious stone statue. Finally.
Feuding nobles’ skirmishes had delayed their travels another few days. Drantar had plenty of feuds, but she hadn't tripped over any on her way south. Her nobles preferred to settle matters in court. Nadraken was as chaotic as their spies had reported.
The chaos cost too much time. If she found another feud, perhaps she would do Yelena a favor and cut down both families. Can't fight if they're dead. It would be a public service. Her sword hadn't seen use since the slavers. She wanted to cut off a few limbs.
“Lady Isabel!” she called over her shoulder. “A word.”
Hoofbeats trotted to her side. “Highness,” the lady muttered.
The duchess had maintained her complacency after the tavern, if with a bit more reluctance than before. She was just a coward who wanted to go home. Alive.
Cowards weren't to be trusted, but she hadn't misled them yet. Anais had promised that useful information would keep her alive. Well, she had better be useful now.
More travelers used the road as they neared the castle. For the moment, no one was nearby.
