The walk back was silent. Only the guard posted at the entrance to the Great Hall was in sight, and he didn’t seem interested in anything but scratching his ear. They made it to the guest wing without seeing anyone else. At her door she turned to leave him without a word, but he caught her elbow.
“You’re in this now, for better or for worse,” he said, “so you need to take extra precautions.” She nodded reluctantly, and he continued, “From now on, don’t go anywhere alone unless you absolutely must, and then always make sure someone knows where you are. Don’t trust any notes we don’t hand to you, and don’t trust any you don’t recognize as mine.”
He reached into his jacket, pulled out a knife, and pressed it into her hand. “Carry this on you everywhere you go.”
Sage looked down at the sheathed dagger. The handle was black and had inlaid gold letters: AQ.
“If you’re in trouble, any of my men will recognize it, and if none of my men are around … you remember what I taught you.”
She didn’t want this knife—his personal one—but his logic was sound.
His hands were still on hers. “Are you going to be all right?”
She gripped the weapon and nodded.
“Good night, Sage.” He pulled her hand up to his mouth and brushed a featherlight kiss across her knuckles. She pulled away at the touch of his lips, and he released her.
Sage backed into the room, refusing to look at him as she shut the door in his face. She shoved the bolt home, and the sound echoed through the silence.
How she would face tomorrow, she didn’t know.
60
QUINN WENT ABOUT his duties and inspections the next morning, contemplating how his father wanted him to learn patience. Well, he was learning it now.
It was his habit to walk several daily turns on the inner and outer walls, and if he dallied where he could see the garden, so be it. From his current angle he could see Sage sitting on a stone bench. She’d tinted her hair and wore a dress that made her look like another of the painted peacocks he was protecting, but he recognized the way she walked, knew how she tilted her head when she smiled, saw her fold her hands as she did when she was stressed. A pair of young men hovered around her, vying for her attention. He leaned on the wooden rail and watched, silently willing her to look back at him, but she never did.
His attention was so focused, he didn’t notice Casseck approaching until he was right next to him.
“So what did you say to her last night?” he asked.
Quinn looked at his hands. “The truth.”
“I see. What was her response?”
“Nonverbal, but clear.” He rubbed his still-sore cheek.
“I’m sorry.”
“I expected the reaction, but I still had to tell her.” The hurt and fury hadn’t been a surprise, but the blank look that had taken over afterward had been worse. That she’d mustered enough emotion to hit him after that deadness had been a relief.
“She’ll cool off, Alex, just give her time. You can make it up to her.”
Quinn snorted. “If D’Amiran doesn’t kill us all first.”
“Always sanguine. Which reminds me, I came up here to report.”
Quinn stood straight. “Go ahead.”
“We’ve got so many arrivals that they’re putting up tents now.” Casseck nodded to the inner ward, where a large circular canvas was being laid out. “Only a few guards with them, though, so that means we don’t have much more to worry about than D’Amiran’s soldiers.”
“And the Kimisar.” Quinn gestured to the top of the granite keep. “The flags up there were moved around this morning. I’m guessing that’s how the duke talks to them, though I’ve no idea what it means, and there’s no way for the scouts to tell us.” He tapped his lip as he watched the activity in the ward. “Good news on the arrivals, though they’re all too late to catch the sickness. If it works.”
“That’s my other good news,” said Casseck. “I just found Charlie in the privy. Not feeling too well.”
It was good news, but Quinn couldn’t manage a smile over the twisting guilt in his stomach.
61
THE MAID ENTERED the bedchamber to prepare it for the evening. She stacked more firewood by the hearth and swept the ashes away from the embers before coaxing them back to life. Then she swung a kettle over the low flames so the ladies would have hot water for tea and wiped her hands on her apron. This room was easier to tend than the others—the occupants were far less demanding. For that reason, she often found herself putting extra effort into it, simply because the ladies were so kind and appreciative. Tonight, though, she had a touch of stomachache, and she hurried through her duties so she could have time to rest before dinner.
She dusted and plumped the cushions on the chairs, replaced the lowest candles, and had just moved to turn down the beds when the door opened behind her and a castle guard stepped inside, leering at her. He was huge and dangerous-looking, with a large chunk missing from one of his ears. His intentions became obvious when he bolted the door behind him and made a kissing face. She cast a frantic look at the small window. Would anyone come to her aid if she called? He smirked while she tried to decide if she could make it to the opening before he got to her.
She dove over the bed, rolling across the satin coverlet and to her feet on the other side, and lunged for the open window. She took a deep breath to scream as loud as she could, but his hand clamped over her face and yanked her backward. Within seconds he had her pinned to the floor, and he released her mouth only to clench his meaty fingers around her throat.
“I suggest you stay quiet,” he whispered maliciously in her ear. She began to cry.
He slid a large knife from his belt and tapped her on the shoulder with it. “I’m not actually in the mood just now, but that may change, depending on how you answer my questions. We can start with something simple.” He leaned back and looked down at her. “What is your name?”
“Poppy,” she whimpered. “Poppy Dyer.”
“And where are you from, little Poppy Dyer?”
“Garland Hill.”
“You were hired by the matchmaker as a ladies’ attendant for the journey?”
She nodded, tears streaming back into her hair. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
“You’re doing well, Poppy.” He smiled, but it gave her no relief. “Let’s try some harder questions. What are the names of the women who sleep in this room?”
Poppy choked against his hold. “Lady Clare Holloway and Lady Sagerra Broadmoor.”
The man shook his head in disappointment. “Now, see, I know that ain’t exactly accurate, little Poppy.” He trailed the blade from her collarbone to her waist and sliced the laces of her bodice open, generating a brief, futile struggle. “Let’s try again, shall we? What are the names of the women who sleep in this room?”
Mistress Rodelle didn’t want anyone to know Sage was really her apprentice. But no silly matchmaker’s secret was worth keeping in the face of this man.
“Clare Holloway,” she sobbed. “And Sage Fowler.”
“Much better,” he said pleasantly, resting the tip of the knife on the neckline of her linen underdress. “Now let’s find out how much you know about Sage Fowler.”