The city’s bells tolled the call to evening worship. Kaelyn bit back a laugh as Wyndham scrambled from his perch on the barrel.
“Damn.”
He gave her an apologetic smile and pushed his blond hair out of his eyes. Her heart flip-flopped, heat filling her chest.
“I promised mother I’d make it to temple at least once this week.”
“You haven’t gone yet?” she asked.
He shook his head, and she couldn’t contain her mirth any more.
“Well, you’d better hurry. It ends at midnight.”
He threw her a sour look, but was running out the door while she cursed her traitorous heart. A few words, that lopsided grin, and it raced out of control. He was her best friend for goodness sake. And yet, within the last few years his friendship had begun to feel inadequate.
A brisk breeze swept off the sea through the open warehouse doors heavy with the scent of salt and fish and sweat from the dockworkers. Foolishness didn’t run in her family, but she couldn’t think of any other word for a merchant baron’s daughter mooning over a Prince of the Realm. They both had obligations to their families, and when all was said and done even a friendship between them might ultimately be impossible.
She squeezed the leather grip of his spare practice blade, wishing it was his hand instead. A poor replacement indeed. He’d forgotten to take it with him, again, and she couldn’t be seen in public with it. Well, she supposed she could if she wanted to make the gossip mill grind. Wintherford’s daughter seen carrying a rapier. How unladylike. And a rapier with Prince Wyndham’s sigil no less. Of course, by the time word reached her father, or Wyndham’s mother, the rapier would have transformed into a token of his affection. It was a complication she didn’t need.
Besides, gossip didn’t make a romance, and she’d only cause herself more grief if she encouraged it. Princes married for political reasons, not affection. So, too, did merchant barons’ daughters for that matter, and both their parents had put off a union for too long.
Guess she’d have to hide the sword in the rafters again. She shook her head at the thought. When she’d secretly taken up fencing to help him with his training–a wise move given his lack of martial aptitude–she hadn’t anticipated that climbing chests and barrels would be a part of it. Maybe forgetting his spare blade was payment for her surpassing him in skill even without the proper instruction. Or maybe he was trying to force her to reveal herself as a fencer and prove that women were as skilled as men. He’d been going on about that for years now. But she wouldn’t slip up in that way. She didn’t want to scare away all prospective husbands.
With practiced ease, she hitched up her skirts, climbed to the top of a pile of chests, and slipped the rapier into a crook in the framework above.
“Could you have found a more out of the way place?”
Kaelyn jerked and clung to the chest. No one was supposed to be here. This was her father’s long-term storage warehouse. Nice and deserted–which was why she and Wyndham practiced here.
“This was not my idea,” said a gruff voice.
That didn’t sound like her father and neither did the first speaker. He was too whiny.
“But our business is best not done in the open square.”
Someone harrumphed, but the argument didn’t continue.
Kaelyn glanced at the open door behind her. If she were smart she’d just leave and forget about Gruff Voice and Whiny. But the urge to find out what couldn’t be discussed in public or even the privacy of someone’s residence was overwhelming.
The click of hard-soled boots on the floor sealed it. She eased over her pile of chests to the next one.
“The treaty negotiations are going through,” said a new voice, a rich baritone.
“She wouldn’t,” said Whiny.
“Will the barbarians even come to the table?” This was Gruff, and he sounded closer.
“Apparently,” said another voice, so quiet Kaelyn had to strain to hear it.
She inched along the chests, struggling to move as fast as possible without making a sound. The only treaty she could think of was the one Queen Adelicia was rumored to be considering with the Northern Clans.
“All that woman does is sit around and talk. Will she never take action?”
“If the negotiations fail, you’ll have plenty to do,” said Baritone.
Kaelyn crested the pile then pulled back. Below were four figures, men, judging from their clothes. But from this angle and with the shadows from the chests and barrels, all she could see were the crowns of their heads.
“The treaty won’t fail,” said Quiet Voice. “Adelicia won’t bring war to this kingdom again.”
“So that’s it,” said Whiny. “The Queen is after all the Queen.”
Quiet Voice chuckled, sending chills down Kaelyn’s back. “Her reign won’t last forever.”
“At her age it will last long enough.”
“Then we need to speed her on her way,” said Quiet Voice, his tone dark.
Kaelyn swallowed a gasp. They were going to kill the Queen. He hadn’t said it outright, but from his tone and the topic it seemed a logical conclusion. Even if she was wrong, she couldn’t bear it if she didn’t say something and Wyndham’s mother was murdered. She had to warn someone.
And say what? That four strange men, who she couldn’t identify, might be planning a murder? She needed at least a description of one of them.
“Speed her on her way?” asked Whiny.
“That’s what he said, idiot,” said Gruff.
Kaelyn backed away. The only access to the men was on the other side, but there was a crack halfway down between her pile of chests and next. With luck she’d be able to get a glimpse of someone and be on her way.
“How?” asked Baritone.
“Leave that to me,” said Quiet Voice.
“I’m not so sure.”
She peeked through the crack. Across from her stood the red-faced Duke of Yarth, head of the Merchant Barons’ Guild. He had to be Whiny. She adjusted to see the next person.
“Go ahead. Back out now,” said Gruff, or rather General Uthmar, the Commander of the Royal Army.
She shivered. It wasn’t a surprise to see either man planning treason.
The Duke of Yarth shook his head.
“Good,” said Quiet Voice. He scratched his chin and Kaelyn caught a glimpse of profile. Her breath caught in her throat. It was Wyndham’s brother, Harcourt.
She backed away, not caring that she couldn’t identify the fourth man. What kind of a monster plotted the death of his mother?
The Duke of Yarth said something, but she wasn’t listening any more. She had to tell someone.
Uthmar growled, and with a thunderous boom her perch teetered and fell. She crashed onto a chest below, shattering wood and spilling her and powdered limestone onto the floor.
Her pulse pounded. Someone shouted. Her mind screamed. Get up and run. But the warehouse whirled around her.
She staggered, slipped in the powder then gained her footing despite being covered in thick gray dust. Her chest burned. She forced her feet one in front of the other as fast as she could. Someone had to know. Hurry! Hurry! If Uthmar got to the Royal Guard before she reached the palace she’d be arrested at the gate.
More yells. Lightning shot up her side. She must have broken a rib. She glanced behind her. Harcourt was right there. He lunged at her. She twisted, but he grabbed her dress. She fell, smashing her searing chest against the cobblestones, and darkness engulfed her.
