“Nonsense.” Peter reached forward and snatched Miri’s hand.
Her other hand went loose in Cass’s. He held her still, willing her to not attack the man in a room that held a hundred kingsmen. Peter’s smile curved into something sly. The men at his back wore no expressions at all. They were not Peter’s friends or members of his court. They were kingsmen as well, decked in fancy dress. Keenly aware of the gentle breeze behind their backs, a drop to certain death their only escape, Cass pressed his thumb harder to Miri’s wrist, wanting to signal that they were in far more trouble than it seemed and that she should hold her tongue.
But Peter’s words slid liquidly over the warning, shattering any hope they might have had left. “In fact,” he purred, “why don’t you come to sit in my chair?”
Miri did not jerk from the king but instead feigned surprise. “I could not,” she started, but Peter drew her closer.
“My dear, I insist.” His voice was low and friendly, as if he were playing a game of seduction with a lady of his court. He gestured to the men behind him. “You see, my men saw you admiring it earlier, and I do so hate to disappoint. Especially at a party.” He pulled Miri to his side, squeezing her too tight and out of Cass’s reach. Cass shifted his hand to his side, nearer his sword in case he had a chance to draw it, but felt the presence of at least two more kingsmen behind him.
The king glanced up at Cass, and a soft laugh escaped as his gaze took in Cass’s understanding that he was well trapped. Peter wet his lips as he ran a finger up Miri’s arm. Her body was pressed to him in a grip he might use on a lover. Miri craned her neck away from the man as his finger trailed higher, but she couldn’t truly escape his grasp. The king’s fingers came across her shoulder and up the high collar of her gown, and he leaned in, as if he meant to brush a soft kiss to her jaw. “It is so lovely for you to have come,” Peter murmured against her ear. “When I heard the news, I expected to have to wait.”
Miri’s chest rose in a shallow breath, but she didn’t speak.
Peter did not seem to mind. He brushed his nose against her hair, keeping his eyes on Cass. The moment he moved, blood would be spilled. The threat was clear. “Talk had already reached us, of course, of the assassination of Edwin.” He chuckled. “As if we would believe the fool was taken down by a plot spurred by his mistress, while the sorcerers of Ironwood held her blood.” His finger brushed slowly across the base of Miri’s chin before returning to the other side. “Then, lo and behold, news arrived that the king of Kirkwall had succumbed to an illness, taken by a sudden, inexplicable decline in his health.”
Miri did tense then. Simon’s death had come far too soon. The fool must have drowned himself in the doctored tonic the moment he’d first felt unwell.
“Yes,” Peter purred at Miri’s reaction. “Just as I thought. And what sort of lady, I asked, would we be looking for?” The movement of his finger across Miri’s jaw was torturously slow, his lips nearly brushing her flesh as his grip tangled in the silk that hung from mask to neck. “A wound, they explained. A knife point just here...”
Peter ripped the silk free, his mouth suddenly hard. The kingsmen’s hands were on Cass before he had a moment to move. A blade was pressed to his ribs, harder than mere threat.
The king shoved Miri toward another kingsman and said, his voice thick with disgust, “Take them to the tower.”
* * *
Cass was shoved forwardand only caught a glimpse of Miri’s eyes behind her mask.The tower!the look seemed to scream.The sorcerers.But she was jerked from his view by another pair of kingsmen as they escorted Cass and Miri across the room. The sorcerers would use Miri’s blood to destroy her, draining her of life to summon dark magic for use for the kings.
It might have been best to throw themselves out the window instead of being taken, to end it quickly, but they’d not had the chance for even that. Behind them, the king clapped. His words were muffled by the crowd as revelers gasped and whispered at the pair being hauled through the ball. Peter played the incident off as little need for concern, and his jests were followed by an easy laugh.
When Cass was a boy, he had thought of the lords who’d stolen everything from him a great deal. There was an order to how badly he’d wished them all dead. Peter had been second on that list.
The kingsman at one arm shoved Cass forward roughly, spitting onto the path at his feet. Another held Cass’s other arm, and footfalls indicated at least six kingsmen behind them, plus two more with Miri. He could take maybe five of the men and not the big ones, but he had no way to stop them before they decided to run a blade through her side in retaliation. They didn’t know who Miri truly was. But it was only a matter of time before they did.
When they exited the ballroom, the kingsmen were joined by four more men, a lead group to clear any trouble crossing the grounds. They would traverse the corridors, cross a high bridge, then start their ascent of the tower, where Miri and Cass could be split from each other, where he might never see Miri again. His mind ran through a dozen scenarios, none of them good. He needed to get free before they reached the bridge, and he needed to do it without getting Miri killed.
Cass drew steady breaths, tracking the footfalls of the men behind him. The bridge was in the distance, its railing lit by lanterns, and the faint outline of the king’s banners snapped in the wind. He would have poor footing on the bridge and no room to fight on the stairs. If Cass meant to do anything, it had to happen before they reached the next turn. His foot raised in a step as Cass prepared to move in a swift series of strikes, and a solid piece of blunt metal slammed into the base of his neck.
He felt himself thrown forward, stars bursting in his vision, while his arms were still held by the other men. His head lolled forward, his ears rang, and he was unable to keep his eyes open. Snatches of recognition broke through as he was shifted and lifted. His arms were useless as they hung limp beneath him over the shoulder of a massive kingsman.
Chapter 27
Cass woke to the sound of trickling water and flashes of memory of a darkened stairwell, the clank of metal and scrape of stone, and footfalls of the kingsmen as they’d dropped him to the ground and walked away. His head throbbed, his eyes were dry, and thoughts and senses were somehow far away. His hands felt tight and swollen, and when he tried to shift them, they didn’t move. He winced as he pulled his eyes open to find a stone floor, his arms draped before him, and his wrists bound.
Then his attention snapped back, alarm roaring through him. He was strapped to a wooden structure and had a rope around his torso, latching him to a bar like some sort of makeshift pillory. But his head was free. He lifted it, wincing at the stiffness and pain, and found the eyes of a sorcerer on him.
Dread rose though Cass, more real since he was fully awake. The man’s gaze left Cass as he calmly went back to his work, entirely at odds with the terror and rage coursing through Cass. They were in a tower room, the sorcerer’s workspace. Cass had never seen one in person—the queensguard were kept as far from them as possible—but there was no mistaking the implements of the man’s craft. Bottles and jars filled the shelves that lined each wall. The space was only broken by tall, narrow windows and alcoves. Tables and contraptions were in the center of the room, and a large fire pit was near an outer wall.
The sorcerer’s robe was draped over a rack. His uniform was a tight-fitting, high-collared jacket. He would not need access to his own skin that day, not when he had bodies from which to draw. The sorcerer shifted to set a tool on the table behind him, and Miri came into view.
Cass’s throat went thick. She was draped over a rack not unlike his, her head hanging limply over a basin, her body still. Cass’s mind supplied a reminder of the sharp metal tools in the sorcerer’s grip, an image of just how perfectly the blood would drip from her neck into the basin below. They would empty her of blood.
Cass’s gaze went wildly through the room, but there was only one sorcerer present, not a single kingsman or another soul. No one was worried that he and Miri might break free. Assassination attempts had been frequent in the years since the queen’s murder. They’d no idea who Cass and Miri truly were. He didn’t know if that made it any easier.
Unsure if it was the best path, Cass opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t want to give the man information or for the man to realize who Miri and Cass were, but he needed to stop him from draining her before it was too late. His voice was a broken croak. “Don’t—” He stopped to clear his throat, but the sorcerer glanced at him.
“Not to worry,” the man said mildly. “I’ve no need for your blood.”
Cass swallowed, letting his confusion show.
