Cas turned away, rattled. “Will you tell her now?” he asked Lena.
She gathered the parchment from the floor, her hair falling forward. The boy tried to touch it, but she tucked the strands behind her ear, out of his reach. “Yes,” she said finally. “Tomorrow. There’s a perfectly good explanation for this, Cas. We just don’t know what it is yet.”
Lena and Jehan were family. Bound by marriage and, with the birth of Prince Ventillas, bound by blood. She had to reserve judgment. He understood this.
Cas was not family.
The archer had left the coin behind. It was meant to be found. Not by the rice merchant but by the king’s soldiers. And the use of Faustina’s name? It felt like a taunt. Someone was sending a message to the queen, one filled with malice. But who? And what, Cas wanted to know, was the message?
After a troubled Lena went off to bed, Cas stayed crouched by the fire. It was only after her footsteps had faded away that Cas spoke aloud in the empty room.
“How are you still here, little one?”
The boy’s face lit up. He had given up on Cas acknowledging his presence. He pointed to a peg on the wall where Cook’s apron hung, white and crisp, ready for a new day.
Cas understood. “You’re waiting for your mother?”
The boy nodded. He did not speak, not like Izaro. Was it because his death was not as recent? Would Izaro, too, lose his voice?
Cas said, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
The boy pointed to the corner where he had been asleep. He bared his little teeth and made pawing motions with his hands.
Cas smiled. “The lynx? You want her back?”
The boy nodded, pleased to have been understood.
“Must it be the same one?” The lynx had likely followed the undercook to the servants’ quarters. Cas preferred not to go poking around up there at so late an hour.
The boy shook his head. Any lynx would do.
Cas got to his feet. “I’ll come back.”
He left the kitchen and went roaming the halls with only the occasional firefly globe in a niche to light his way. In the great hall, he tread carefully. Hundreds had bedded down for the night, soldiers and servants who had come with the keep’s guests. The chambers above could hold no more. There were no torches or globes here, but moonlight poured in through the rosetta window, making it possible to navigate the space without stepping on anyone. The sounds of snoring were tremendous. It was like trying to sleep beside Ventillas, only far worse. He stopped when a hand reached out and wrapped itself around his boot-encased ankle. A voice, gruff with sleep, murmured, “Esti, my sweet.” It was the soldier Bittor, looking blearily up at Cas from a pallet. Recognition broke through the fog. “Oh, it’s you.” The hand fell away. “What’s wrong?”
Cas kept his voice low. “Nothing. I’m looking for one of the cats.” Then, “Who’s Esti?”
“Only a goddess,” Bittor informed him. “There’s one there. By the doors.” He turned over and covered his face with an arm.
Cas murmured thanks. A lynx guarded the main doors. It was awake, watching Cas in the gloom with amber eyes. Cas crooked a finger. Slowly, the lynx rose, stretched, and followed Cas across the hall. The grunts and curses suggested the animal was not as careful as he, wending its way among the slumberers.
In the kitchen, a second undercook had arrived to watch over the fires and prepare for the day. He greeted Cas quietly while plucking feathers from a goose. Cook’s little boy was delighted to see the giant cat. Cas waited until they had settled in a corner by the fire before leaving them to their rest.
Cas must have nodded off waiting for his brother’s return. When he woke, it was to the sound of stone against stone. A replica of Palmerin’s amphitheater had been placed on a table across the chamber, a model he had completed three years ago. The stones beneath the table shifted, revealing an opening in the floor. The sight jolted him awake. His slingshot lay on the rug. By the time a dark head popped up, Cas had loaded a spiked ball and aimed.
“Whoa,” the intruder said mildly, holding a blazing torch. His broad shoulders appeared through the opening, followed by the rest of him. “No need for that. It’s only me.”
Only? Cas lowered his weapon, shaken to realize how close he had come to sending spikes into his king’s eye. Tossing the slingshot aside, he rose. “Your Grace.”
“Cassia.” King Rayan handed the torch off to Cas, then went to stand by the fire. He wore a cloak but no gloves, and stuck his hands close to the flames. “I’ll never get used to the cold here. It’s barely autumn!”
Cas set the torch in a niche on the wall. “My mother used to say the same.” She had grown up far away, in the warmer climates of Elvira.
“I was very fond of your mother. Ventillas and I used to ride the lynx down the corridors when we were boys. Like ponies. She never scolded.”
“Master Jac would have.” There was a pitcher and glasses on the table. Cas poured wine for the king.
He accepted with a laugh. “He was not steward then. We would not have dared if he was.” King Rayan drank deeply. “This keep needs a lady, Cassia. It’s been without one for too long.”
The likelihood of his brother marrying, having children, was not good. Cas had known this for many years. “Yes. Well, I’ll be sure to remind Ventillas—”
“Your brother doesn’t need a reminder. He’s been a hunted man in his own household, with so many unmarried women about.”
There was something in King Rayan’s voice. For Cas, confusion turned to caution. Why was he here? Where was Ventillas? Cas poured wine for himself.
King Rayan, still looking into the fire, said, “I fell off my horse some weeks back. Hurt my shoulder. It is nothing,” he dismissed, seeing Cas’ expression. “But it’s best not to carry heavy loads just yet. Will you help me?”
Cas’ glass came down hard on the table. “Is my brother hurt?”
“He’ll be fine.” King Rayan drained his glass and left it on the mantel. “Come on, then. Bring your cloak. And the torch.”
Cas did as he was told. He also found two pairs of gloves. He offered one pair to the king, who accepted it with a smile and tugged them on.
The opening in the floor led to a steep staircase. King Rayan went first, then Cas. Running a hand along the wall, Cas searched for the anomaly, a smooth patch on an otherwise rough surface. He found it at knee level and pushed. The stone floor above their heads swung shut and settled in place.