The Decoy Princess by Dawn Cook Page B

satisfied smile on his round face. “Leave your grubby hands off,” he said sharply, looking far happier in his new position of cook than I would have expected. He held a pan under a squab and basted it. “Them’s for the prince.”
    “Aw he ain’t gonna miss a leg,” the other said, leaning close with his Angers twitching. “You said he spilled his guts like a pregnant woman.”
    “You touch ‘em, and I’ll cut your burning fingers off!” the cook threatened as he turned to set the basting pan aside. “I want them pretty, not torn apart.”
    As I expected, the second man reached for the birds. Their backs were to me. I bolted to the door, shocked when a new wave of dizziness shook me. Muscles suddenly shaking, I skittered around the archway and put my back to the outside wall. My shoulders tensed as the cook shouted, then I slumped when I realized he was yelling at his companion.
    Out , I thought as their argument grew louder. I had made it. Fingers gripping the cold stone I was pressed against, I listened to my heart pound, panting while the unreal feeling began to pass. The sensation was akin to having accidentally pricked myself on one of my darts, and I put my fingertips in my mouth, looking for the telltale bitter bite of venom. There was only the taste of ash. The dizziness must be from my hunger. I hadn’t eaten all day.
    The air was cold, and I shivered in my thin dress. Gaining the garden had been very much like my games of hide-and-seek as a child. Easier, almost, as it was night. It had generally come as a surprise whenever Kavenlow woke me from a sound sleep and bundled me off to a remote corner of the palace, announcing to all at breakfast that the first to find me got my dessert that night. I had usually spent all day skulking through the palace to reach Kavenlow’s safe tree, pilfering my lunch from the kitchen or gardens as I went.
    The working-class children who were my playmates were always delighted, since my hide-and-seek took precedence over their usual chores. Sentries replaced them when I was older, and Kavenlow got a lot of resistance until he told the captain it was good practice ferreting out assassins for his men. It had been then that my delight in the game blossomed into almost an obsession as I outsmarted the very men set to keep me safe. But this time , I thought as my smile of remembrance faltered, if I’m caught, I won’t forfeit my dessert, I’ll forfeit my life .
    Taking a steadying breath, I tucked my last dart back into my topknot and crouched. The sound of approaching voices jolted me into motion, and I slid into the kitchen’s outdoor firepit. Pushing up on the heavy oak cover, I slid it half over me. The sharp smell of ash and burned fat was an assault, and I kept my breathing shallow to keep from coughing. The pit was still warm from last night’s dinner. Shifting uneasily in the defunct coals, I poked my head above ground level to see a pair of sentries.
    They were halfheartedly beating the bushes with the flat of their swords as they complained loudly of their interrupted dinner and how this was a waste of time because I was probably crying at the back of a closet. If all of Garrett’s men were this inexperienced, I’d have a chance. Even the stableboy had known the value of stealth while playing hide-and-seek.
    The two passed. Feeling tense and ill, I waited until their voices vanished before I eased out of the pit.
    I stank of burned fat, and a dark stain of grease smeared my elbow. I was a mess.
    Taking a steadying breath, I checked for lights and ran to a small grove of trees, skidding to a halt among them. The gray of my dress mixed with the shadows. Moonrise would be in a few hours; I had to be over the wall by then. Breathlessly I waited for any sound of pursuit. There was none.
    Jittery and nervous, I gathered my skirts to keep them from snagging and eased through the small grove. Almost lost against the black sky was my goal: the only tree in the garden