The Kiss of Deception (10 page)

Still, a royal was a royal, and her haughty arrogance proved her roots. I’d remember that when her time came, but there was no reason I couldn’t enjoy the comforts of the inn and other pleasures as well for a few more days before I finished my business. There was plenty of time for that. Griz and the others wouldn’t be joining up with me for another month. I didn’t have to spend it alone in a wasteland eating rodents when I could stay here. I’d get the job done when the time was right. The Komizar had always been able to count on me, and this time would be no different.

I pulled off my boots and blew out the lantern, sliding my knife just below the mattress edge at hand’s reach. How many times had I slashed it across anonymous throats? But this time I knew the name of my victim, at least the assumed one she was using.
Lia.
A very unroyal name. I wondered why she chose it.

Lia.
Like a whisper on the wind.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE PRINCE

I’d told Sven I probably wouldn’t even speak to her, and yet from the moment I saw her prance around like nothing in the outside world mattered, that’s all I wanted to do. I wanted to deliver a diatribe of epic proportion, a lecture that would color even my father’s seasoned ears. I wanted to betray her identity to a roomful of people, and yet I sat there silently and let her deliver menu choices to me instead. Princess Arabella, First Daughter of the House of Morrighan, working in a tavern.

And she seemed to be enjoying it. Immensely.

Maybe that’s what bothered me most of all. While I was on the road, wondering if she was the quarry of bandits or bears, she was playing barmaid. She was trouble, that was clear, and the day she fled our wedding, I had dodged a poisonous arrow. She did me a favor. I could almost laugh at Father’s suggestion of taking a mistress after the wedding. This girl could make the whole royal court and half the king’s army regret such a decision.

I rolled over, punching the lumpy mattress, hoping my restlessness kept my unwelcome companion awake. He had stomped around for the better part of an hour before extinguishing the lantern. I saw him looking at her in the tavern, his eyes practically undressing her from the minute we walked in.

I was caught by surprise when I first saw her too. Her face didn’t match the pinched, sour one I had envisioned after so many miles on the road. My epic lecture shriveled to silence as I watched her. I was almost hoping it wasn’t her but then when I heard her speak, I knew. I knew by her boldness and temper. I knew by the way she commanded a towering soldier to silence with a few hotly placed, if imprudent, words. After we sat, I noticed my newfound friend still watching her, his eyes rolling over her like a panther on a doe, probably supposing her to be his dessert. I almost kicked his chair out from beneath him.

With luck, he’d be on his way tomorrow and would forget about making a conquest of a local barmaid. After we left the tavern and he visited the privy, I took a closer look at his tack, all nondescript, no markings to denote an artisan or region. Nothing. Not on his saddlebag, scabbard, reins, or blanket—not even the humblest embellishment like a tooled noseband for his horse. By chance or design?

I rolled over again, unable to get comfortable.
So I’ve seen her. Now what?
I’d told Sven I wouldn’t speak to her, and I did. I wanted to shame her publicly, and I didn’t. I wanted to tell her privately, but I knew I couldn’t. Nothing was turning out quite as I planned.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Why didn’t you wake me when you came in last night?”

I stood behind Pauline as she faced the mirror, and I looked at her clouded image. The glass was speckled with age, probably thrown into the cottage as more damaged overflow, but I was happy to see that some pink had returned to her cheeks. She brushed her long honey locks with brisk strokes as I pulled my riding clothes from the wardrobe.

“It was late, and you were sleeping soundly. No need to wake you.”

Her brisk strokes slowed to hesitant ones. “I’m sorry that you and Berdi argued. She really is trying to—”

“Berdi and I are fine, Pauline. Don’t worry. We talked after you left. She understands my—”

“You have to realize, Lia, Terravin isn’t like Civica. Your father and his cabinet aren’t watching over every soldier in the kingdom. Berdi does the best she can.”

I turned to lash out at her, my anger flaring at being chastised again, but then the kernel of truth caught in my throat. My father rarely left the comforts of Civica. Neither did his cabinet. He ruled from a distance if he ruled at all, arranging things like marriages to solve his problems. When was the last time he had actually toured his realm and spoken with those not cradled in the security of Civica? The Viceregent and his small entourage were the only ones who spent any time away from Civica and then it was only on routine diplomatic visits to the Lesser Kingdoms.

I snapped my trousers out before me, trying to shake out the wrinkles, and we both looked at the sagging torn knee, and frayed threads where a dozen more holes were beginning to erupt.

“You’re right, Pauline. Terravin is
nothing
like Civica.”

We exchanged smiles, knowing rags like these had never graced even the outer halls of the royal court, and we let the unsaid pass. After three decades on the throne, my father didn’t know his own kingdom anymore. Some things were easier seen from a distance than when they were right under your nose.

We both dressed, tucking our shirts into our trousers and pulling on our boots. I belted my knife to my side and put on my soft leather jerkin to cover it.
A six-inch blade.
I smiled. Did he buy it? It was actually just shy of four—but very nicely weighted—and as Aunt Bernette noted, a little exaggeration was always expected when describing weapons, victories, and body parts. I wore the small jeweled dagger more to feel close to my brothers than for protection, though it might not hurt for Rafe to think otherwise. Walther had always sharpened the blade for me, taking pride in how I attacked my chamber door with it. Honing the edge was left to me now. I touched the sheath, making sure it was snug against my hip, and wondered if my brothers missed me as much as I missed them.

With the inn still full, there were no rooms to clean out this morning, and Berdi was sending us on a hunting expedition for blackberries. It was a welcome change of routine, and I was eager to give Otto, Nove, and Dieci a day out too, though I knew they’d be just as content to eat hay in their pen and provide occasional commentary on anyone passing by—which they perceptively seemed to do with regularity whenever Enzo was close about.

We were to pick up Gwyneth on our way, and she’d show us the route to Devil’s Canyon, where the blackberry brambles were thick. Berdi claimed the berries there were the sweetest. With the upcoming festival less than two weeks away, she was preparing to make blackberry scones, preserves, and flummery. Also, as Gwyneth revealed on the sly, Berdi needed fresh blackberries for the new cellaring of blackberry wine she would put up to replace the bottles that would be drunk at this year’s festival.

I had wondered what was in the dark cases stacked in the corner of the cellar. Apparently all the merchants contributed something to the festival, and blackberry treats were Berdi’s specialties year after year. A tradition. It was one tradition I looked forward to.

I braided Pauline’s hair, trying to circle it about her head, but I wasn’t skilled at weaving and finally had to settle for a simple but neat braid down the middle of her back. We traded places, and she did the same for me, but she created a more elaborate design with much less effort, beginning braids at each temple and having them meet at the crown of my head, artfully leaving loose tendrils in the wake of the cable to soften its effect. She hummed to herself as she worked, and I decided she must still be musing over dreams of Mikael from the night before, but then a little murmur escaped her lips as if she had discovered something in my hair that shouldn’t be there—like a big fat tick.

“What?” I asked, alarmed.

“Just remembering those two fellows from last night. They looked positively stricken when Berdi banished you to the kitchen. You have some interesting admirers.”

“Kaden and Rafe?”

“Ho! You know their names?” She balked and tugged on my hair, making me wince.

“Simple courtesy. When I waited on them, I asked.”

She leaned to the side to make sure I could see her in the mirror and rolled her eyes with great flourish. “I don’t see you asking old bald butchers what their names are. What about that third fellow who came in later? Did you get his name too?”

“Third fellow?”

“You didn’t see him? He walked in right after the other two. A thin, scruffy fellow. He shot plenty of sideways looks your way.”

I tried to remember him, but I had been so occupied with the miscreant soldier and then serving Kaden and Rafe, that I didn’t even recall the tavern door opening again. “No, I didn’t notice him.”

She shrugged. “He didn’t stay long. Didn’t even finish his cider. But Kaden and Reef certainly lingered. They didn’t look anything like scampering rabbits to me.”

I knew she was referring to Charles and the many other boys who avoided me. “His name was Rafe,” I corrected.

“Ohh …
Rafe.
Did you favor one over the other?”

My spine stiffened.
Favor?
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “They were both rude and presumptuous.”

“Is that Her Royal Highness speaking or someone who’s afraid of fleeing rabbits?” She pulled on another thin strand of hair.

“I swear, Pauline, I’m going to behead you if you pull my hair one more time! What’s gotten into you?”

She was resolute, not the least bothered by my threat. “I’m just returning your favor of last night. I should have stood up to that soldier myself long before you had to step in.”

I sighed. “We all have our different skills. You’re patient to a fault, which sometimes doesn’t work to your advantage. I, on the other hand, have the patience of a wet cat. Only on rare occasions does that come in handy.” I gave a resigned shrug, making Pauline grin. I quickly added a scowl. “And just how is plucking me bald doing me a favor?”

“I’m saving you from yourself. I watched you with them last night.” Her hands dropped to my shoulders. “I want you to stop being afraid,” she said gently. “The good ones don’t run away, Lia.”

I swallowed. I wanted to look away, but her eyes were fixed on me. Pauline knew me too well. I had always hidden my fears from others with sharp talk and bold gestures. How many times had she seen me trying to tame my breathing in a dark corridor of the citadelle after a nasty encounter with the Scholar when he told me I was deficient in my studies, social abilities, or any number of things where I fell short of what was expected. Or the many times I stood frozen at my chamber window blankly staring at nothing at all for as long as an hour, blinking back tears after another curt dismissal from my father. Or the times I had had to retreat to my dressing chamber and lock the door. I knew Pauline had heard me cry. The last few years, I hadn’t measured up in any way, and the more they pushed, molded, and silenced me, the more I wanted to be heard.

Pauline’s hands slid from my shoulders. “I suppose they were both pleasant enough to look at,” I offered. I heard the pretense in my own voice. The truth was I found them both to be attractive in their own ways. I wasn’t a corpse. But even though they had made my blood rush when they walked into the tavern, they’d filled me with apprehension too.

Pauline still waited for something else, expressionless. It didn’t seem to be enough of an admission for her, so I gave her another that I was sure I’d regret. “And maybe I did favor one of them.”

Though I wasn’t entirely sure. Finding something intriguing about one of them didn’t necessarily mean I
favored
him. Still, he had haunted my dreams last night in a strange way. Partial glimpses of his face dissolved and reappeared over and over again like a specter, appearing in shadows of deep forest, walls of crumbling ruins, and his eyes crackling in a fan of flames.

He followed wherever I went,
searching me
as if I had stolen a secret that belonged to him. They were disturbing dreams, not at all the kind I imagined Pauline had of Mikael. It could have been that my restless dreams were simply due to Berdi’s cooking, but this morning when I woke, my first thoughts were of him.

Pauline smiled and tied off my braid with a string of raffia. “The blackberries await Your Highness.”

*   *   *

As we saddled the braying trio, Kaden stepped out of the tavern. Berdi served simple fare in the morning—hard cheeses, boiled eggs, kippers, hot parritch, flat breads, and plenty of hot chicory to drink—all laid out on the sideboard. It was a simple serve-yourself meal, or a guest could pack it in a knapsack to go. No one went hungry at Berdi’s—not even mumpers or princesses who showed up on her back step.

I pulled Otto’s cinch and went on to check Nove’s as I stole glances at Kaden from under my lashes. Pauline cleared her throat like something was suddenly caught in it. I shot her a stern look. Her eyes rolled toward Kaden—who was now walking straight toward us. My mouth was suddenly dry, and I swallowed, trying to coax forth a little moisture. He wore a white shirt, and his boots crunched in the dirt as he approached.

“Morning, ladies. You’re off early.”

“As are you,” I answered.

We exchanged niceties, and he explained he was off to take care of some matters that might keep him several more days at the inn, though he didn’t say what the matters were.

“Are you a pelt trader as Gwyneth suggested?” I asked.

He smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Small animal skins. Usually I trade out of Piadro, but I’m hoping to find better prices up north. I commend your friend on her skilled observances.”

So I was wrong. He did trade in pelts. Impressions could be deceiving. “Yes,” I agreed. “Gwyneth is quite perceptive.”