then, “Get the surgeon.”
“Wait.” It was a breathy exhalation, and I looked through the tapestry, my eyes wet. Jeck lowered himself into a chair. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward to keep his back from touching anything. “Put someone in Prince Garrett’s rooms. I don’t care if he threatens to have us burned alive.
He’s going to have a relapse. The venom isn’t out yet.”
“Captain?” the young guard questioned as he gingerly coiled up the whip.
“Go,” Jeck said. He took a slow breath. “And put a guard outside the chancellor’s room immediately.
No one in or out. Send the surgeon to wait for me there.”
“Yes, Captain.” Olen nodded, and the two left.
Kavenlow? I wondered. Why was Jeck interested in a chancellor?
The room grew quiet as the sound of their boots in the banquet hall diminished. Sharp and bitter, the smell of vomit and blood mixed with the scent of cooked meat and the ash in the flue. Over it all was the candle the cook had brought in, adding pine and rosemary to the mix.
Jeck’s head lifted. His face was haggard, but his eyes were intent. He was listening.
Blood humming in my ears, I eased back from the musty tapestry, my grip on the dagger going sweaty. I was sure he could hear my pounding heart. Only cloth separated us.
“You should have killed him, Princess,” he said, and I froze, panicking. Slowly Jeck levered himself up, his eyes on the table. My pulse slowed at his vacant stare. He was talking to himself. “You should have killed either him, or me, or both. I will wring your neck myself before I give you the chance to harm him again.”
I held my breath as a wave of vertigo took me. Don’t find me. Don’t .
Jeck prodded his chest where my dart had hit him. He grunted in surprise as he plucked out the broken tip of the needle and flicked it to the floor. Slow from pain, he gathered his belongings, hesitating briefly before scooping up my scarf as well. Cradling everything in one arm, he took a slab of meat from the tray and shoved it in his mouth. He wiped the juice from his beard as he left, never looking back.
I waited a long time hidden in the hearth, wondering if Jeck was right.
Seven
My eyes were on the archway to the kitchen as I slipped from behind the tapestry. The smell of roast meat lingered, though the platter was gone, taken to feed Garrett’s men, I’d wager. It didn’t matter. I was shaking too badly to be hungry.
Snatching a napkin, I wiped the soot from the soles of my boots, then bent to smear my footprints into a blur. I wedged the napkin in a crack in the chimney and turned. Heather was the only one to have found me in the hearth, and it had been my own fault, having left black footprints while checking the door.
Heather , I thought, praying she was still beyond the palace walls and safe.
I held myself still, listening. It was surprisingly quiet, since the staff was dead or gone, and most of the soldiers were in the garden. Hopelessness pinched my forehead. I couldn’t fight Garrett’s men; I was almost half their weight and had only one dart and a decorative knife. I had to get out. The quickest way was through the kitchen.
Putting more faith in my dart than my dagger, I tucked the bone blade at the small of my back and edged down the tunnel until a muted conversation brought me to a halt. Breath held, I peered around the cold stone. The sword belted about the cook’s apron made him look ridiculous. I was sure he and the sentry leaning casually against the table had been told to watch the door, but they were far more interested in the brace of squab over the largest hearth, the fat dripping down to spurt into flame.
Beyond them was the moonless night. The door was open to let the heat of the kitchen escape. I didn’t know whether to be thankful or insulted they thought I was so little a threat. My gaze flicked from the door to them. It was so close, I could smell the dew.
The soldier-turned-cook spun to show a
“Wait.” It was a breathy exhalation, and I looked through the tapestry, my eyes wet. Jeck lowered himself into a chair. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward to keep his back from touching anything. “Put someone in Prince Garrett’s rooms. I don’t care if he threatens to have us burned alive.
He’s going to have a relapse. The venom isn’t out yet.”
“Captain?” the young guard questioned as he gingerly coiled up the whip.
“Go,” Jeck said. He took a slow breath. “And put a guard outside the chancellor’s room immediately.
No one in or out. Send the surgeon to wait for me there.”
“Yes, Captain.” Olen nodded, and the two left.
Kavenlow? I wondered. Why was Jeck interested in a chancellor?
The room grew quiet as the sound of their boots in the banquet hall diminished. Sharp and bitter, the smell of vomit and blood mixed with the scent of cooked meat and the ash in the flue. Over it all was the candle the cook had brought in, adding pine and rosemary to the mix.
Jeck’s head lifted. His face was haggard, but his eyes were intent. He was listening.
Blood humming in my ears, I eased back from the musty tapestry, my grip on the dagger going sweaty. I was sure he could hear my pounding heart. Only cloth separated us.
“You should have killed him, Princess,” he said, and I froze, panicking. Slowly Jeck levered himself up, his eyes on the table. My pulse slowed at his vacant stare. He was talking to himself. “You should have killed either him, or me, or both. I will wring your neck myself before I give you the chance to harm him again.”
I held my breath as a wave of vertigo took me. Don’t find me. Don’t .
Jeck prodded his chest where my dart had hit him. He grunted in surprise as he plucked out the broken tip of the needle and flicked it to the floor. Slow from pain, he gathered his belongings, hesitating briefly before scooping up my scarf as well. Cradling everything in one arm, he took a slab of meat from the tray and shoved it in his mouth. He wiped the juice from his beard as he left, never looking back.
I waited a long time hidden in the hearth, wondering if Jeck was right.
Seven
My eyes were on the archway to the kitchen as I slipped from behind the tapestry. The smell of roast meat lingered, though the platter was gone, taken to feed Garrett’s men, I’d wager. It didn’t matter. I was shaking too badly to be hungry.
Snatching a napkin, I wiped the soot from the soles of my boots, then bent to smear my footprints into a blur. I wedged the napkin in a crack in the chimney and turned. Heather was the only one to have found me in the hearth, and it had been my own fault, having left black footprints while checking the door.
Heather , I thought, praying she was still beyond the palace walls and safe.
I held myself still, listening. It was surprisingly quiet, since the staff was dead or gone, and most of the soldiers were in the garden. Hopelessness pinched my forehead. I couldn’t fight Garrett’s men; I was almost half their weight and had only one dart and a decorative knife. I had to get out. The quickest way was through the kitchen.
Putting more faith in my dart than my dagger, I tucked the bone blade at the small of my back and edged down the tunnel until a muted conversation brought me to a halt. Breath held, I peered around the cold stone. The sword belted about the cook’s apron made him look ridiculous. I was sure he and the sentry leaning casually against the table had been told to watch the door, but they were far more interested in the brace of squab over the largest hearth, the fat dripping down to spurt into flame.
Beyond them was the moonless night. The door was open to let the heat of the kitchen escape. I didn’t know whether to be thankful or insulted they thought I was so little a threat. My gaze flicked from the door to them. It was so close, I could smell the dew.
The soldier-turned-cook spun to show a
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