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I would have liked to pursue that topic further, but as he spoke, Whitethorn raised his hand.
“Master Nicolo!”
Nicolo looked over and Whitethorn pointed. As I watched, I saw Nicolo’s face curl into an ugly snarl.
“That damnable bitch.”
***
Prince Balduin had had five sisters but Willow had died some years before. The remaining sisters were the princesses Laurel, Hazel, Alder and Maple. (Why the queen hadn’t named Balduin ‘Oak’ or ‘Pine’ or something equally woodsy, I didn’t know.) Regardless, all the princesses were married to dukes who were responsible for districts of the Gath—mostly outlying districts because the Old Queen was no fool and wanted the princesses as far from the Great Castle as possible.
The queen was well-aware of the ambitions her granddaughters harbored where the throne was concerned and so kept them at a safe distance from their younger brother—who was more fortunate than them simply by virtue of his gender. I could sympathize with them; it was unfair that women couldn’t directly inherit the throne. On the other hand, they were, by all accounts, not nice people.
It was a long ride to the district of La Ven, based around the old town of Ventnor and ruled for many generations by the Dukes of Ven, the current title-holder being Duke Prius, the husband of the Old Queen’s middle granddaughter, Princess Alder.
“Lovely castle,” I commented as we rode into the outskirts of La Ven, late that afternoon.
“Picturesque but not practical,” muttered Nicolo.
I wasn’t an expert in castle defenses, but I guessed he was probably right. He was certainly right about it being picturesque. With its elegant spires and curved walls, it looked like the sort of fairytale castle that inhabited the picture books I’d read when I was a girl (because the Assassins Guild encouraged girls to be feminine, as well as trained killers). The stone from which the castle was constructed had a blue tinge that caught the light of the waning sun and reflected it back in shades of azure, making the place seem even more otherworldly—almost as though it were home to Neptune, himself.
“May I ask a question, Master?” I ventured.
Nicolo raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you so tentative?”
I gave him a little smile. “I don’t wish to be too familiar in front of the other soldiers.”
He gave me a raised brow expression but in it was approval. “Go on.”
“La Ven isn’t exactly close to the Great Castle.”
“Your point?”
I swallowed and nodded, realizing I’d have to explain. “As soon as Sergeant Whitethorn said the direction he believed the assassins went, you were convinced this was their destination.” And I still didn’t know why. The way Nicolo’s brain worked was sometimes quite a puzzle to me. I felt as if I had all the pieces but wasn’t quite sure how they all fit.
“Yes.”
“How are you so sure this is their destination?”
“I was half-expecting it, truth be known,” replied Nicolo in an unconcerned tone. “Most of Wylder’s friends are out to the west, near his own district. Yet if he’d opted to travel east, there could only be one place he was going. I was able to extrapolate his direction by the point in which he and his men left the river.”
“How is that possible?”
“According to Whitethorn, the area they chose wasn’t the most obvious place to depart—in fact, there were much easier places to disembark, thus that location was chosen deliberately.”
“So, they weredefinitelygoing in an easterly direction.”
“Precisely.” He nodded.
“But why? If his friends are to the west?”
“Wylder knows we’re on his trail, so it makes sense for him to hide with someone who possesses royal privilege. Someone who probably feels she’s above suspicion and that, even if she is suspected, no one would dare accuse nor search her home.”
“Princess Alder, the prince’s sister?” I asked. He nodded and I frowned. “What are we going to do when we get there?”
“We are going to give Princess Alder a sharp lesson in the limits of royal privilege.”
I was silent a while, pondering how to phrase my next question.
