Page 67 of A Tongue so Sweet and Deadly

She woke late, finding the bed empty and the afternoon darkness already casting dancing shadows on the floorboards in her bedroom.

Amalise had left stew and a note on her desk—apparently, she’d tried waking her, but Lessia had slept like she was dead, and Amalise had promised to take the children out today and didn’t want to break that vow. If Lessia had to leave before she returned, Amalise promised to come by the castle in the next few days, joking that she needed to meet up with a guard she’d spotted in the tavern last night.

Lessia shook her head and downed the cold stew, grateful that her stomach didn’t turn and that as she rose from the bed, her limbs didn’t feel as if they’d collapse after only a step. After making her way to the large clothing chamber connected to her room, she eyed the sparse collection of clothes.

Lessia picked at the only two dresses she owned, both long sleeved and black, neither risking that a glimpse of her tattoo would peek through. They weren’t beautiful, not likethe colorful dresses her friends owned, and definitely not in the style most women favored currently.

But she loved the silky material of them, and while they were simple, they fit her well. She’d rarely worn them, but Merrick had mentioned some type of social gathering, and her used leathers and thick tunics would probably be frowned upon there.

The comfort she’d felt being home made way for unease as she remembered the council coming into town.

She knew little of them, only that every member hailed from one of the old noble families in Ellow and that they’d fought tooth and nail to keep whatever power they could when the royals were overthrown.

Sighing, she stuffed one of the dresses and a matching pair of heeled shoes into a small satchel.

Like Craven, these men and women abhorred the Fae, and she didn’t expect any of them to support her nomination.

After rummaging through the kitchen and finding little more than stale bread—which she still stuffed into her mouth, as hunger gnawed at her despite the stew she’d eaten—Lessia walked down to her study. All her papers were neatly stacked, and she noticed Ardow had worked away on the pile of orders she’d left behind.

A smile pulled at her lips as she traced her finger over his neat signature.

While she wished he’d been here, as she missed him, she was glad he’d found someone. She promised herself she’d seek him out over the next few days and try to learn more about the mystery man or woman who kept him so busy.

The dagger Zaddock had picked at when she was last here with him glinted in the light from the lantern she carried. Taking out the one she had tucked into her waistband, she compared them.

Lessia frowned when she found them nearly identical.

Only the amber stones in the one her father had gifted her marked the difference between the two Fae weapons.

As if they’d been forged by the same blacksmith.

But it made sense.

Merrick was in the king’s employ, and like her father, he would surely have access to the best weapons masters in Vastala—the ones only the king, his court, and his closest guards could utilize.

She braced herself against the table when an onslaught of memories overwhelmed her.

Her father’s broad grin as he handed the dagger over, promising her he’d teach her how to use it. Her mother’s soft smile as Lessia squealed and jumped up and down, excited to finally be considered old enough to carry a weapon. And her sister’s sullen expression when she glared at them all—declaring she was only one year younger and she should also be allowed one.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she drew deep breaths until their faces blurred.

She’d managed to keep these memories at bay for years.

Her family was gone, and there was no need to dwell on the past.

She couldn’t change it.

Couldn’t change what had happened.

What she’d done to them.

Picking up the daggers, she slid both of them into her waistband, shuddering when the cold blades caressed her skin. Casting a final glance around the room, Lessia made her way out.

Amalise and the rest were still not back. There were no sounds of soft footsteps as Lessia put her ear to the wallwhere the hidden living quarters lay, so she squared her shoulders and walked out into the cold night.

Few people walked the icy roads as she approached the tall castle, but she still drew up her hood, eager to avoid another run-in with the townsfolk.

When she opened the metal gates to the courtyard, ten guards lined the stone path to the wooden double doors. The light from the lampposts played on the intimidating masks that half of them bore, marking them as Loche’s men.

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