Page 46 of Seven Ways to Kill a King
Cass didn’t answer, not as she stood beside him in a room supplied by true sympathizers and as they were about to watch another man be tortured for loyalty to a dead queen.
The man was dragged onto the platform, his fine coat torn from his body to cheers from the watching horde.
“How many?” Miri whispered. She was not certain what she was asking: how many this year? How many since the last attempts at revolt? The sorcerers had burned thousands in Stormskeep uprisings alone. Miri had no idea how many had been slaughtered across the realm.
“Too many to count,” Cass said.
Too many.Too many to die. Too many who would pay for a crime that was not theirs.
Miri didn’t look away as they bound the man to the post. She didn’t turn her gaze from the blood or block out the sound of his screams. Miri watched as one more was murdered at the hands of the bastard kings, and she renewed her vow of vengeance once more. Miri would reclaim whatever kingdoms she could. The kings of the realm would pay their due. The Lion had come to collect.
Chapter 26
Cass helped Miri into her gown. The thin undershirt she’d worried at relentlessly over the past months seemed to do nothing to mask the yellowing bruises that covered her skin. He’d watched as she powdered her face where the marks would show, as she dusted her healing fingers, and covered every bit that wouldn’t be concealed by her dress. She’d chosen one that buttoned high up her neck and had layers of silk and beads that he feared were too heavy for summer and were likely to restrict her movements. “I’ll not be fighting,” she’d promised, but there was not much else to be done. Bruises on a lady would draw attention, and any flesh that was bare would be looked upon in such a crowd.
“Tighter,” Miri told him. “Near the waist.”
Cass tugged the laces and straightened the fabric, and when she approved, he finished the last of the buttons up the line of her neck. Her hair, dark again after Ginger had dyed it on their trip, was pinned into loops at the crown of her head.
Miri stared down at herself. “Garish color.”
“It will look perfect with mine.”
She laughed. “A matched set, indeed.” She turned as he tied the sash over her dress. “Best get into your own regalia.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll be back in a wink.”
Miri gave him a smile as he left the room, then Cass drew his new attire from their things. The pouch Terric had given him was tucked safely away, and he only had a few of the gems on his person. Coin was all well and good near the port, but in the north, help became more expensive. He laced on his pants and shirt then put on his tall boots, hating the way they felt. He hadn’t worn a formal suit in some time, and so many layers felt stiff and constricting. Cass saved the jacket for last, grateful that at least the ball was held late into the evening, when the air would be cool, and fastened the buttons lining his sleeves.
“Do you need help?” Miri called from the adjoining room.
“Nearly done,” Cass said. “Are you impatient?”
She stuck her head through the doorway to give him a look.
He laughed. She’d been a shaking mess not two hours before, when the spider had to be moved from its wooden cage into the delicate shell and sealed with wax. Miri had nearly lost her nerve and might have been convinced to call the entire thing off, but she’d done it and since had seemed surprisingly untroubled. The night’s task would be easy, she’d kept saying.
Cass reached into the pocket of his traveling clothes then crossed to Miri, trying not to stare at the color she’d added to her lips. She pressed them together, as if self-conscious, and looked up at him with eyes that seemed golden beneath lids as black as soot. Cass pinned the brooch to her dress.
“Where did you find this?” Miri asked.
He straightened the pin to his liking. “An astute trader by the name of Hugh persuaded me to purchase it for my new wife.” At Miri’s laugh, he added, “He did not offer to refund my coin when he discovered the truth of our arrangement.”
“Cunning.”
Her smile speared his chest, but Cass did not look away. “Indeed.”
“How do we look?” Miri asked. She spun past him, moved toward the side table, and had the looking glass in hand before he’d a moment to even decide how to answer. “Gods,” she moaned. “I should have used this one to apply the makeup.”
Cass chuckled. “We still have the masks.”
Her eyes caught on the scar at her temple, the one from when she was a child, then fell to the strip of cloth covering her neck. She put the looking glass down, with its reflection toward the tabletop. Her gown was snug against her frame, flattering despite its cut, and Cass wished it were cool enough for cloaks and fur, something bulky to disguise her effortless grace and bearing of a princess. She glanced absently at his things on the table, her pale, powdered fingers brushing over a short lock of hair.
Cass froze, his heart in his throat.
Miri touched the lock carefully. It wasn’t the pale lion’s mane that it should truly have been but the color it had been so long ago when they’d first left Smithsport. Her wide eyes snapped to Cass.
“It’s not…” His hands came forward of their own accord. “It wasn’t intentional. I just—I found it caught in the cuff of my boot, and I didn’t—” He shook his head. “I had no place to dispose of it. Nothing seemed right, then…” He had no excuse for why he’d not done away with it since.
