Page 24 of The Spy

This certainly wasn’t the first time assassins had gotten into the castle.Poor Uncle Caro had been attacked multiple times before he and Uncle Braxton were able to help Namin crown a new ruler.Every time a hole in the castle’s security was discovered and plugged, somehow another one opened.

Karl added sugar and salt to the flour, mixing all the dry ingredients together even as his thoughts swirled.Next was oil and yeast from Mama Poma’s starter.Karl let his hands do the work—the movements of mixing and adding more flour until a dough started to form automatic and not needing much thought—while his brain tried to work through the problem.

Ama, now known as Prince Casmir, was practically untouchable.Attacking him meant war.Yaroi and Toval both had highly capable armies; war would ensure a bloodbath that would destabilize the rule of the current kings of each country.Regicide in a violence-prone society like Yaroi wasn’t out of the question.Yaroi might be a power-based ruling system, but poison would kill dragon shifters just as easily as a rabbit shifter.The current king might have a lot of leeway, but he still needed to be careful.Yaroi would also want to keep in mind the consequences of getting Namin involved in the war.Killing or even just attacking Casmir would ensure the kingdom of prophesy would join on Toval’s side.

No, Prince Casmir was safe.Karl pressed down on the dough, beginning to knead now that it had reached the right consistency.

Yaroi would see it as a waste of time to go after the soldiers involved in getting Melody out of Yari.They were simply following orders from those at the top.They might take a shot at Ralph because he commanded the mission, but at the moment the Royal Forces were in some unknown location training.If Karl didn’t know where they were, Yaroi certainly didn’t.

Which left Karl, who had been the one to rescue Ama, and was Fen’s son.They could punish Fen for ordering his troops to go into Yari and punish Karl for his role simply by killing Karl.And, since Karl wasn’t actually a proper prince of Toval, killing him would send the message Yaroi wanted without inciting war.

He pushed, turned, and pushed again, the dough gaining more elasticity with every knead.

“I’m the prime target, aren’t I?”Karl asked Ama, who nodded and then shrugged.

“I’m sure they’d be happy to kill any of us, me in particular.You’re just the easiest target, or so they think, at least.I know what you’re capable of, and so does Prince Braxton or those guards wouldn’t have let you out of the castle last night.”

Karl sighed and patted the dough into a ball, dropping it into the bowl which he set aside on a different counter to proof for a while.

“So what next?”

Ama smirked.“They only said I should find you.They didn’t say anything about bringing you back.I say you enjoy your baking for the morning, and when you’re done we can go check out your new house.And if any of those damned Yarokians try anything against the two of us, they’ll instantly regret it.”

Karl snickered.“Don’t think you get to just watch and relax all morning.Go wash your hands and find a big spoon.You get to mix the snickerdoodles I’m making next.”

Ama opened his mouth to reply, already starting to roll up his right sleeve, but he suddenly snapped his mouth shut and spun to face the door, his hands raised in a defensive position in front of his face.A second later Karl heard what Ama must have: the scrape of footsteps on the stone stairs out front.

Chapter Fifteen

“HEY, YOU OLDhag!”a boy yelled.A moment later he stepped into the room.

About fifteen or sixteen, he had tan skin and long brown hair cut ragged at the shoulders.His clothes were roughly patched but fairly clean, so he was a wealthy enough street urchin.Or, he had learned the lesson that bad smells attracted attention, a death sentence for thieves mid-job.Three more kids followed him, two guys and a girl, all about the same age and the same level of cleanliness.All four were scowling and were doing their best to look tough and intimidating.Maybe in this neighborhood they were successful, but Karl had seen far worse during his time on the streets, and even more terrible acts of intimidation and force during his various stints with the army or when doing jobs for Braxton.Besides, from the way they walked with their balance on their heels, it was clear none of them were actual fighters.Again, maybe they had success in this hoity-toity neighborhood, but something felt off.

No Yarokian would be so weak.Perhaps they had been hired to flush Karl out so the Yarokians could find him?Why else would they be here?Karl stepped into open space so he could have room to pull his knives and fight.

“Didn’t you hear what we said last time?”the boy continued, striding through the shop toward the kitchen.“Your baking days are over.Sell this place while you still can.We won’t stop with breaking windows next time, and when there’s nothing left, you won’t earn a single copper penny.”

Breaking windows?Mama Poma had mentioned something about that, hadn’t she?Karl wracked his brain, trying to remember what she had said before he got distracted with baking.There had definitely been something about breaking windows and refusing to sell.Which meant these wannabe ruffians were here for her, not for Karl.

Karl still didn’t let his guard down.They might be wannabes, but he knew better than to be careless.Even the worst fighter got lucky at some point.

“It’s my house and my business,” Mama Poma snapped in reply.“Go bother someone else.”

Blood near the food was unacceptable.Karl couldn’t remember how many times Char had repeated that, particularly when soldiers, bloodied from battle, returned to camp.If Karl didn’t want blood spilled in this kitchen, the situation needed to be deescalated fast.

He held up his hand perpendicular to his face, palm and fingers flat.When he was sure the boy was looking in his direction, Karl slowly bent his ring finger down in the thief’s sign for just passing through.A street kid would know the sign and honor it.

But the kid just rolled his eyes and refocused on Mama Poma.

“All you need to do is sign this one piece of paper.You get the money, he gets his property, and everyone’s happy.”

Mama Poma snorted.“My answer hasn’t changed.Go run back to your mommies.”

“Then you leave us no choice,” the boy declared.He reached behind him and pulled out a knife, but his movements were slow with inexperience and his grip on his knife wrong.This wasn’t a street kid used to fighting for the merest scraps.He was probably a merchant or shopkeeper’s son turned bully for hire.He could still do damage with that knife, though, so Karl let out a slow breath and let his hands drift down to where his own knives were hidden underneath his clothes.

“You picked the wrong day to attack this baker, kid,” Karl said.“This is your last warning.”

The kid let out a shout and charged, swinging his arm forward in a slash that probably would have bounced off Karl’s collarbone, leaving only a bare nick in his skin …had Karl allowed the knife to land, of course.Karl yanked one of his own knives free and parried, hitting the kid’s knife just right so it popped out of his hand and flew across the room.Karl shifted his weight and kicked, the sole of his right foot landing high on the kid’s stomach.

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