Page 7 of Seven Ways to Kill a King
“I’ve got it,” he said. “You can clean up before dinner.” He turned before Miri could gauge his expression, but she was fairly certain she spotted the edge of a smirk.
Miri looked down at herself and yanked the hem of her woven vest into place. Her hands were soiled, her skirt hem had come loose, and she truly did need a good wash. She rummaged through the pack, slightly unsettled at how little she had to her name, and gathered a set of clean clothes and one of the small pressed soaps into her arms. She glanced around the camp and sighed. Cass meant to dye her hair, and Nan had sent the clothes of a trader. Her life as the other Bean was truly over. That poor orphan girl in need of a helping hand was no longer an anchor of habit.
Miri walked to the creek and kneeled to splash water over her arms. The coolness of it cut through her ruminations. As a child, Miri had traveled the realm with her mother to oversee her rule of the territories that had since been called kingdoms. The men who had been merely lords—responsible for seeing out the queen’s orders—now ruled as kings. They took what riches each kingdom had, not for the good of the realm and its people but for themselves. They had killed the queen. They held Miri’s sister captive.
The time for thinking was over. She’d had years and years to plan. It was time to act. Miri stripped down to her sleeveless shift and soaked a strip of cloth to rub at the smudges over her skin. The soap smelled of sweet orange and some flower Miri couldn’t identify, and she felt a pang of loss for Nan. They would be safer if she was away in the midst of searching kingsmen, but she would miss Nan and Thom.
She slid the slim pants under her shift, followed by thick woolen socks and high lace-up boots. She splashed her face last, wincing at the cold, then glanced over her shoulder to make certain she was alone. Cass stood at the edge of a thick copse of trees, breaking branches into the fire.
As she turned back toward the creek, she drew the filthy shift over her head to replace it with a clean shirt and leather vest. Running a hand over the hem of her underclothes, she felt for the small metal locket sewn inside. It was the only memento of her other life—the life before Thom and Nan and Bean—and all that truly mattered for possessions.
But the hidden memento was not the only lingering reminder of her past. Miri was reminded every day, in a thousand ways, like knife blades to her heart. Even there, in the unfamiliar wood, she rode with a queensguard at her side.
By the time Miri rinsed the clothes and hung them to dry, Cass’s fire had produced a steady bed of coals. A small black pot hung near the edge, smelling very unlike the sweet-scented soap. Miri stifled a groan.
Cass looked up at her, brushing his palms together once before moving to stand.
Miri frowned and pulled her hair over her shoulder. “Cut it to here,” she told him. “No sense in dyeing the extra.”
He nodded solemnly, and Miri realized that was maybe the first actual command she’d given him. He’d not argued, at least, which was a step up from her earlier changing of his plans.
She settled onto a log as her guard came to stand behind her. His work was quick, his blade sharp, and the locks of her hair dropped to the ground. Cass gathered them, crossed to the fire, and tossed the hair into the flame before taking hold of the pot. The camp filled with the sudden stench of singed hair, but it was mild in comparison to what waited inside the pot.
Cass spared Miri a glance as he crossed again to stand behind her, but she could see the fumes had made his eyes water. She leaned her head back, and he drew her hair into a mass, away from her vest, to smooth Nan’s latest concoction over the locks.
“What color do you suppose she sent?” Miri asked.
“Dead seal, by the looks of it.”
Miri snorted a laugh but choked on the noxious smell.
“How long do we have to leave this in?”
Head tilted back, she opened her eyes to stare up at Cass. His voice had been low, one hand wrapped around the base of her hair as he trailed the fingers of his other hand through the locks. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Depends on the mixture. Nan usually pins it up and wipes my head in oils if it’s going to be a while.” She reached up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Cass, did she warn you to wear gloves?”
He bit down a grin, but his eyes still laughed at her. “I’ve coated my hands in that oil. But thanks for the notice.”
She smiled as she reached blindly for her pocket to draw a hair pin free. She handed it to him, and he twisted the length of her treated hair to pin it to her crown. He was not practiced at it, because it felt lopsided and wobbly, and though his expression showed that he was focused on being careful, the knot pinched a bit more than she liked.
When he was done, Cass wiped the dye from his hands then slid his fingers over her hairline to coat it with oil.
“That should do it,” Miri said awkwardly, suddenly realizing how much, exactly, she would be relying on him.
She cleared her throat, stood to stretch, and remembered that she had no idea what Nan had sent for food. She glanced again at Cass as he stood wiping the oil from his hands with a cloth, his head lowered but his gaze on her. His shoulders were broad and his forearms muscled. His bearing was that of a man who knew his way through a fight. She wondered how his hunting skills were.
She also wondered precisely what Cassius of Stormskeep and the queensguard had learned in his tutelage. “How well did you know my mother?”
All the blood drained from his face.
Miri nodded. He was one of Henry’s, then, as she’d suspected. He would have been training to become a personal guard to the queen, not just her family or the throne. “I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through,” she said.
Miri turned and kneeled to rummage through the other packs. Her mother had taught her to look a person in the eyes when she apologized to them, but Miri’s emotions felt tethered by thin wire. She wasn’t certain, on the run once again and leaving those she cared about, that she could think about the boy Cass had been and the loss he might feel for someone so dear to her.
He was quiet behind her and too still, and Miri rubbed her brow with the back of her wrist. It came away slick with oil, and the pin in her hair was already threatening to fall loose. “It seems we’ve enough for a few days’ ride. Bread, dried meat, and a bit of fruit.” She glanced up at the trees. Gods, it was dawn, and they were in the forest, heading to kill a king.
Cass shifted behind her. “I can hunt. You should get some sleep.”
She pulled a braided loaf from Nan’s meticulously wrapped cloth, a little sick at the realization that Nan would have prepared the packs while Miri was stuffed in a barrel—and worse, that Nan might have been planning to ship her off on a moment’s notice all along. Miri turned, tearing the loaf to pass half to Cass. “You don’t have to. I can make do.”
