A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

“A willing male,” Jarek says dryly, dropping the corpse on the stone floor. “Enjoy him.”

She seems to study the dead guard, tapping his thigh with her toe. “Not much fight left in him, but I imagine he won’t complain.”

Zorya grimaces.

“Whose blood is that, Romeria?” Gesine’s brow is furrowed at my stained hands.

“Atticus’s.” I describe what happened.

“They staked out the tavern, knowing he would come without the king’s guard,” Jarek says. “Paid mercenaries, likely.”

“Atticus went there all the time to see Bexley.” Much more often than Zander snuck out. If I were hunting someone, it’s what I would have done.

“You see now, do you not?” Lucretia sidles up beside Pan, who visibly stiffens, before moving on. “What the Queen for All can do with her power and my masters’ blessing?”

“All I know is he was breathing when we left.” I hope I did enough to keep him that way.

“And Seamus?” Gesine’s expression is hopeful. “Did you find him?”

“Yes, and he had a lot to say. I need to send a letter to Zander.” And then we need a plan for how to get as many mortals out of that city before they are either hung or slaughtered in the brewing rebellion.

Gesine eases off the floor, collecting her stack of books. “Lucretia, it was a pleasure waiting with you.” I can’t tell by her even tone if she’s being genuine.

“And I will see you later.” Lucretia’s yellow serpentine eyes sparkle with amusement as Jarek hauls the dead body off the floor. “All of you.”

Pan is the first to run up the stairs, two at a time.

“What does she mean by that?” Jarek asks warily as we follow, stealing a glance behind him at the sylx, who watches like a hawk surveying a rodent.

“Let’s just say I don’t think we’re ever truly alone around here.”





CHAPTER FIFTY




ATTICUS


I feel hands on my body.

Multiple sets—strong ones, gripping my arms and legs without mercy; gentle ones, unfastening and peeling off my tunic; cool ones, grazing my tender skin.

“It was merth?” I recognize Wendeline’s soft timbre.

The low hum of a male voice—Kazimir’s—responds, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.

“Yes.” I think I said that out loud. That burn, there’s only one thing it can be.

I remember …

The gold coin.

Chasing after Bexley.

That woman with her radiant silver eyes.

Draughts.

She said something about draughts.





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE




GRACEN


“You allowed His Highness to go out in the streets with a bounty on his head!” Captain Boaz roars.

“Allow? You think he asked for my permission?” Kazimir shouts back. The two commanding officers stand nose to nose, faces contorted with fury. If they were to draw swords, I can’t say which would win the battle, but I truly hope we don’t find out.

I slink back against the wall in Atticus’s chamber, hoping to blend into the elaborate molding and gilt.

Boaz edges closer to Kazimir, his stance menacing. “And where were you when this happened?”

“Ten feet away.” But Kazimir adds quietly, “I should have known they’d be waiting there for him.”

Captain Boaz shakes his head. His anger pours from his limbs, radiating outward. “Can you heal him?” he demands, his focus shifting to Wendeline.

“I will do my best.” Her hands tremble as they hover over the wound on his chest. “How he survived this arrow, I do not understand. Whoever this caster was, she saved his life.”

“That a caster and a legionary were there when the king was injured is too great a coincidence to be applauded. And he does not look saved to me,” Boaz growls. “Remember, he is the only reason you are still alive.” A not-so-hidden threat.

Wendeline dips her head, not meeting Boaz’s eyes. Anyone can see she’s afraid of him and with good reason, likely. “This will take me time.”

“He has until dawn, when he must ride out to meet his army in the east. Until then, I have a legionary and a caster to hunt.” Boaz charges toward the door. He noticed me at the last minute.

“Tributary,” is all Kazimir says.

Boaz grabs my hand roughly, checks the dull mark, and then releases me and storms off, spitting out orders. “Send extra protection to Princess Annika. She is next for the throne. They may go after her too.” The other guards filter out behind him, leaving the three of us lingering around the king.

Wendeline settles down on the bed next to him, her hands hovering over the gash in his chest—sealed but the injury visible. His skin is coated in blood. He looks so pale.

An ache grips my heart. “What happened?”

“The eastern lords hired mercenaries to kill the king. They were waiting for him to show up at the Goat’s Knoll. They shot him the moment he stepped out.” Kazimir sighs. “I was busy confronting a legionary I’d spotted and a female who was traveling with him. I should have been paying closer attention.”

“You said she was a caster?”

“Apparently. I was sure she was elven, but then her eyes began to glow.” Kazimir shakes his head. “When Atticus fell, she dove in to heal him, at least for a brief moment before the guard arrived and they ran.”

Princess Romeria isn’t a caster, though. She’s elven. But her hands were covered in blood. “What did they look like? This legionary and the female?”

“Jarek is Jarek. A big, angry bastard. Lethal and impossible to mistake. The woman had dark hair. I have never seen that face before, though. I would have remembered.” His eyes narrow. “Why? Have you seen something?”

I shake my head, perhaps too vigorously. “But I will be on the lookout.” I shift my attention to Atticus, allowing my worry for him to bleed into anything else Kazimir might read in my pulse. “And the mercenaries? Will they try again?”

“That will be difficult. I killed them both.” Kazimir peers at his friend and his jaw tenses. “He will pull through.”

I can’t tell if he believes that or if he is telling himself what he needs to hear. “Yes. He will.” He must. And I must speak to Wendeline. Romeria’s message burns in my memory, waiting to be relayed.

“He will need you as soon as he wakes.”

My vein, Kazimir means. “I will have to step out to feed Suri, but—”

“Corrin will bring her up.”

I nod. I suppose her cries won’t disturb Atticus either way.

He frowns, leaning forward. “What is that all over your dress? Is that … vomit?”

I look down at the white milk stains. “Basically, yes.”

His gaze shifts to the dark stain on my skirt. “And that?”

“Urine, from a diaper leak.”

He steps back to appraise me with a critical eye, reaching for my hair. When he pulls away, there’s straw between his fingers. “What in fates’ name have you been doing all day long?”

“Comforting three hundred and seventy-four terrified mortal children.”

“Commendable. Truly. But please do me a favor and use the queen’s chamber to bathe. And change out of that.”

My mouth drops. The queen’s chamber? “I can’t do that!”

“Oh, but you must. Please. For him.” He grimaces. “And me.”