Page 9 of A Court of Masks and Roses
“Novan’s replacement. I know.”
I see.“I apologize for interrupting your training.” I debate adding “sir” to the phrase, as Luca is both older than Kal and a full guardsman, but the formality so poorly matches Luca’s demeanor that I can’t manage the word.
Luca waves off the apology, the crumpled shirt in his hand dripping with sweat. “It’s no trouble. I can get a beating from Trace anytime I wish.”
With Luca walking in front of me, I let my eyes scan his torso. I saw little of the match between Trace and him, but the lack of severe bruises speaks to Luca’s well-placed parries. Unlike the meticulously technical Trace, I suspect Luca’s skill is rooted as much in natural athleticism as in practice.
“This is you.” Luca stops by one of the doors in a long stone building and turns aside for me to work the key into a rusty lock that I could pick with my eyes closed. Luca and Trace wouldn’t need to do even that, as either could take the whole door down with a good shoulder shove.
Lock conquered, I step into a stone closet that has the gall to call itself a room. The narrow cot takes up most of the space, and Luca shows me how to lift the top of the cot up toaccess the chest beneath. There is no space for a table, but a shelf bolted to the wall holds a pitcher of water and a washbasin. “Are all the rooms so...”
“Spacious?” Luca offers. “Very much so.”
I run my fingers over the stone wall. Except for the size, it is not so different from the space I shared with Leaf at Lord Gapral’s estate. The tougher part will be simultaneously maintaining the illusion of residence in both Lianna’s and Kal’s chambers. Sleep will be hard to come by. “I thought most keep trainees came from posh families.”
“The keep takes some pains to remind you all that you are no longer living with those posh families. I’d be lying if I said that the cot is comfortable for a tumble, but you can manage it with the right girl.” He grins and I turn my face into the shadows to conceal the hint of a blush. “Not that Irecommendyou bring one here, mind you,” Luca adds, scratching the back of his head. “You’ll pay with your hide if one of the guards catches you.”
I lift a brow. If Leaf were here, she’d be ordering Luca to quit his nonsense and go to the baths by now. “Aren’t you one of the guards, Luca?”
He shrugs and frowns at his balled-up shirt, as if unsure of what to do with it now that its service as a sweat rag has run its course and my whole room has taken on its scent. “Where you stick your prick is not one of my priorities.”
“That’s... good to know.” I clear my throat and nudge my weight forward to try and crowd Luca out of the room before everything in my pack absorbs his smell too. “And whatareyour priorities?”
He cocks his head in thought but doesn’t move. “The royals. Firehorn is bat crazy when it comes to William and Violet, though the princess is easy to deal with. Just smile at the lass and she’ll be happy enough. The other one... I thinkTrace might snap one day and wring the hellion’s head clean off his shoulders.”
I aim my shoulder at Luca’s ribcage and contemplate ramming the man out of my room. Glad as I am for the diarrhea of information, having someone—anyone—between me and the door is bloody unsettling. Especially a half-naked man who is as likely to make use of my chamber pot as he is to offer unsolicited advice on handling females. I finally settle on nudging Luca over with a hand on his shoulder, the way I’d move aside a horse, and sliding past him back outside. “When does training start?”
“Easy there, cub.” Luca, thank the stars, follows me out. “They’ll sweat you to your heart’s content at dawn tomorrow. The rest of the day varies by duties, and it will take you a while to get anything worth looking forward to. Except dinner. You will always look forward to dinner, which, I regret to inform you, we are in danger of missing right now. Do you want to go to the mess hall, or stand here wagging tongues?”
The thought of food in a crowded mess hall turns my stomach. Asking Luca to go ahead on his own, I go back into my room—locking the door behind me this time—unpack the few things I brought, check my throwing knives, and tighten my laces for an easy jog around the palace grounds. Heading north along the tree line, it’s a twenty-minute run from the keep to the palace proper. The map of the underground tunnels that King Firehorn showed me rolls through my memory as I visualize the passageways running below the grassy earth. Breathing evenly, I focus on the light pattering of my feet, pushing the drowning crowd of the keep from my thoughts.
The barracks and training fields on my right yield to the manicured palace courtyards and the stone grandness of the castle itself. Unlike the main south entrance, which welcomedLady Lianna, the back north entrance is utilitarian, with a small courtyard for supply carriages to stop and turn easily and well-packed dirt ground instead of rich beds of tulips. In place of a sweeping staircase perfect for displaying the latest fashions, the back door is fitted with a ramp to wheel up goods and remove refuse. The palace sides are of the same gray stone here as in the front, but the harsh rock now hides behind winding grapevines.
Guardsmen patrolling the perimeter give me a passing glance, though I suspect more are stationed up high to watch the forest. They bloody have to be, since the forest is all that lies north and west. The back of the castle tapers into rough undergrowth, the North Wood rising to my left in a wall of leaves and bark. A choice: Continue east to stay along the palace perimeter and head toward the royal stables, or veer north into the wilderness I’ve no business exploring just now.
The woods win, the call of the trees too alluring to resist after the crowded keep. Like all plants in Delta, the foliage is lush and thick enough to block some of the sun. This close to the palace, the path is well worn—though wisely narrow, so as to prevent a wagon from passing. An enemy force might send hostiles through the forest, but it won’t be moving an army through here, not without a way of hauling supplies along.
Effective against the likes of Everett. Less effective against Viva Sylthia terror mongers, who do their bidding in small isolated units.If—
My observations break off mid-thought asan explosion of breaking branches and pounding hooves echoes through the forest.
6
KALI
Hooves pound dirt in concert with a horse’s frantic whinny. I spin, surveying the thicket around me. Maple, basswood, and the occasional pine stare back at me, holding the line. Finding no opening, I blow out a breath and forge my own path through the dense foliage toward the sounds of trouble. Branches slap my face and tangle in my clothes, bruising my pride—but the growing noise suggests that speed needs to trump stealth. Within minutes, I emerge onto a parallel trail, where, a short distance to my right, a bay stallion is rearing high enough to reveal the full extent of his reproductive assets, his rider clinging fiercely to the saddle.
The horse stamps his front legs back on the ground, only to get purchase and buck with his rear. The violent thump finally dislodges the rider, and I wince as the young man—a lad of about Kal’s age and build—falls hard against nearby stones.
The stallion spins frantically, the whites of his eyes shiningin the evening sun. His muscles bunch in preparation to bolt, which he does a heartbeat later.
Straight at me.
I throw my arms out wide, blocking the horse’s path. My heart speeds but the low “whoa” I call out is steady enough. Generally speaking, horses dislike ramming into things. I hope this particular beast is aware of the generalities common to his species.
The stallion barrels forward. Five paces left. Four.
I hold my ground.
