Close at hand.
Maybe that was why she couldn’t sleep. She was worried that she’d accidentally shoot herself whilst fumbling with her pillows in the middle of the night. But that was ridiculous because she’d been sleeping like the dead since she’d been married. Well, for the hours of the night they’d actually spent sleeping.
The thought made her smile, and she contemplated sliding her hand down his body and waking him up to see if he could wear her out to the point where she could sleep.
But then she heard a soft scrape that made her freeze. It had sounded like leather on wood. A footstep, perhaps.
Someone is in the room. Her brain screamed the thought. But that was ridiculous. The room was warded—Eloisa herself had said she’d laid a layer of wards to the room—and there were guards patrolling all the residential parts of the palace at night.
She lay, ears straining, heart hammering, and she heard it again. The sound of air moving around someone who was doing an excellent job of being very quiet as they moved along Sophie’s side of the bed.
She slipped her hand slowly, so slowly, scared that she’d make a sound, up under the pillow, and then slid the gun free. Another soft footfall, and she bolted upright, calling the nearest earth-light to light and aiming the gun at the man standing beside the bed with a drawn sword. Her finger tightened on the trigger, but Cameron suddenly surged up in bed. “Don’t shoot,” he yelled. In the same breath, there was a flare of the red light she associated with his magic, and the man collapsed, sword clattering to the floor.
Cameron gasped as though he’d been struck but didn’t stop. He scrambled over her and out of the bed, to grab the sword. For a moment, he looked so impressive, naked and furious, standing over the unconscious assailant, that Sophie forgot to be terrified.
Then logic reasserted itself and her hand started to shake. She dropped the gun on the mattress beside her, unable to keep it steady.
“Who is that?” she asked, voice shaking as much as her hands. She folded her hands over her stomach for a moment, willing the trembling to stop. She was safe. They were safe.
But someone just tried to kill you.
The thought was so ridiculous she almost laughed.
“I don’t know,” Cameron said. “But I’m going to find out. Hold this.”
He passed her the sword. She had to wrap both hands around it and brace the hilt against the mattress to avoid dropping it. Once he was sure she had it, he lifted his shirt from the floor at the end of the bed where she’d tossed it earlier, donning it and his breeches swiftly before taking the weapon back.
The man lying on the carpet wore dark gray and dark brown. He had dark hair and the standard Anglion olive skin, but he was no one she knew.
Cameron bent down and studied the man’s face, a steady, quiet stream of curses coming from his mouth. Then he yanked up the man’s sleeve, to reveal an Anglion crest tattooed on his forearm.
“Do you know him?” Sophie asked again.
“Some of the lower ranks do that—get tattooed,” Cameron said.
“He’s Red Guard?”
Cameron shook his head. “No. I’d know his face. Former guard, most likely.”
“Not Illvyan?”
“No. Someone earning some money as a sword for hire, I’d guess.”
“But what was he—” She broke off. No point asking what he’d been doing in their rooms. That was clear. “He was going to kill me.”
“You. Or us,” Cameron agreed in a flat voice.
Sophie put her hand over her mouth, trying to remember how to breathe. Somehow hearing Cameron agree with her made the situation all too real.
“Sophie,” Cameron said softly. “I need you to get out of bed and get dressed. Can you do that for me?”
She looked at him, shivering.
“Get dressed, love,” he said.
She did as she was told, dragging a dress and petticoats and drawers out of the armoire and pulling them on automatically. The dress she’d taken was gray, one of her lady-in-waiting dresses that she could get in and out of herself. The clothes made her warmer, but she didn’t stop shivering. She came back over to Cameron.
Cameron took her arm. “We need to find out who sent him.”
“How?”
“Tie him up. Wake him up. Make him talk.” Cameron’s tone was grim. It was clear he’d done such things before.
“Tie him with what?” she asked.
“Get some of my cravats,” he said. “They will serve.”
She returned to the dresser and did as he asked. Cameron tied the man’s hands and then dragged him into the bathroom.
Sophie followed, swallowing hard. “What are you going to do?”
Cameron, who was busy securing the man’s ankles together, looked up at her. “I’ll try cold water. That should wake him. I didn’t hit him that hard.” He proceeded to do just that, filling a pitcher with water from the basin and pouring it over the man’s head. The man sputtered and coughed before opening his eyes. He froze when he saw Cameron holding the point of the sword near his throat.
“Who sent you?” Cameron demanded.
The man glared up at him, but he didn’t speak.
“I gather from your tattoo that you used to be in the guard. Well, I’m a battle mage. I assume you know what that means. What I can do to you.”
“Can’t hurt me without hurting yourself,” the man spat.
“Not directly. But there are many ways to indirectly hurt someone,” Cameron said coolly. “For instance, I could make just the tip of this sword very hot. Heated steel does interesting things to skin.” He pressed the point a little closer. A bead of blood welled on the man’s neck. “Very painful, I’m told.”
The man’s eyes widened, but he shook his head. “Why should I tell you? You’ll just kill me.”