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Chapter Nine
The Aftermath
Less than a heartbeat later, one of Balduin’s bodyguards leapt at the prince, taking him to the ground as a second arrow streaked through the air, hitting the bodyguard in the shoulder—an instant before it would have pierced Balduin’s heart.
As the ballroom descended into chaos, one voice carried above the noise and panic.
“There! Archers!” While the whole court was staring at Balduin, Nicolo alone had the sense to look for the location where the arrows had come from, rather than where they were going.
A barrage of arrows from the royal guard, stationed by the entrances thudded into the wooden surround of the page’s gallery, set high into the wall while more guards rushed for the stairs. There was the clash of metal, followed by a chilling scream as the would-be assassin was dispatched.
Nicolo whirled around. “Your Highness?”
Balduin looked dazed and confused, pale-faced and slack-jawed, but he raised a hand to confirm he was unharmed.
“Mellor,” Nicolo barked at one of the guards. “Don’t leave the prince.” He turned to the guard just beside Mellor. “Craik, how bad is it?”
The bodyguard, Craik, with an arrow in his shoulder, gave a dismissive wave of his hand, his mouth a grim line as he bit back the pain. “A surface wound, Master.”
“Let the doctor be the judge of that.” Then Nicolo turned around, as though searching for someone, and his eagle eyes landed on a man who was standing maybe ten feet away and staring into a woman’s bountiful breasts. His cheeks were red with inebriation and I could hear him slurring his words. Strangely, it was as though he wasn’t even paying attention to his surroundings, nor the fact that the prince was under siege—he wasthatintoxicated.
“Trinket!” Nicolo speared him with a loud yell. “Get out from under your wife’s skirts and do your damn job!”
The court surgeon, Doctor Trinket, seemed to forget his drunkenness and hastened forward in order to examine the stricken Craik, while Nicolo continued to issue orders.
“Daniel, seal the room! Whoever this was won’t have been working alone. I want his accomplices. Someone gave him a sign. No one leaves this room!”
“Master Nicolo, you overstep your authority.” Duke Furiosa suddenly appeared from nowhere and stood before Nicolo. I could see his wife just beside him and had to wonder if he’d approached Nicolo on her urging.
But one threatening look from Nicolo caused the duke to shrink back into the audience of frightened revelers. Nicolo narrowed his gaze on Furiosa. “I’ll do worse than overstep my authority if I suspect you of being involved in this.” He turned around to face all the noble lords and ladies. “That goes for all of you!”
More panic spread across the collection of court nobility—while they were all very sure of their own innocence, that wasn’t to say that they’d never voiced some dissatisfaction about the prince that might make themappearsuspicious. I could see the thoughts racing through their brains:who could say whether a joke or some offhand comment, when taken out of context, might have sounded like something a traitor would say?Furthermore, I could just imagine them thinking that while they might not have been involved in the attempted assassination, any questioning might bring up other minor misdeeds that might make them out to be involved. After all, who hadn’t skimmed the royal treasury or faked illness to avoid some obligation?
Now, everyone in the room was looking at Nicolo, and I doubted anyone but me noticed Prince Balduin, who was peering out from behind his bodyguard as his friend took charge so easily. He would inherit power, yes, but Nicolo exuded it.
As it turned out, the lords and ladies of the court needn’t have worried, because the accomplice identified himself by making a break for the door. He must have had something on him that identified him as the guilty party and decided the lesser risk lay in a mad dash for freedom. Swinging a bottle like a club, he took out the guard at the door and fled down the corridor.
“Stop him!” Nicolo yelled as he charged after the running man, drawing his sword while he went, six guards falling swiftly in behind him.
I didn’t hesitate, instantly following them, grabbing a convenient knife off the buffet table and kicking off my ridiculously high-heeled shoes and my mask as I went. Oh, well, to Nicolo wanting me to keep my identity secret—there was no way I could run and fight with the ridiculous mask on.
“Which way did he go?!” yelled Nicolo at a startled steward, who’d been fetching more wine and missed all the excitement. The dumbfounded man pointed down the stairs towards the endless labyrinth of the domestic levels.
In response, the six of us clattered down the stairs, coming to a halt at the bottom. The air was thick with rich, delicious smells, as the kitchens had been working overtime to produce the food for the evening, and there was still a noisy bustle about the place as the job of getting all that food up to the ballroom in a timely manner was like a military operation.
“Onside!” barked a steward, straining under a tray of stuffed quails. “Don’t just stand at the bottom of the stairs like a spare prick!”
He started as he belatedly recognized the master, blanched, then dropped to his knees. “Master, I didnae recognize ye. Ah’m so…”
“I don’t give a shit,” said Nicolo, dismissively. “Did you see a man run this way?”
“Aye, he went that way, Master,” the steward said, pointing, his voice muffled by the fact that his face was pressed against the floor. “Towards the cold store.”
“Get on your way,” Nicolo answered as the steward ran up the stairs, still carrying his tray. Then Nicolo turned to me. “Charlotte.”
“Master?”
“You used to work down here. You know the cold store?”
