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I give my kids each a kiss. “Good night, my loves. You be good.”
“Why can’t my mark glow like Sabrina’s?” Mika exclaims, holding up his hand.
Sabrina and I share a wide-eyed look before she swiftly escorts him out. “You do not want it to, Mika, trust me …” she hisses as they vanish out the door.
Corrin sighs and climbs to her feet, the last of my mess collected. “That was kind of His Highness to spare Sabrina’s life,” she admits begrudgingly.
“Yes, it was.” But I already know he can be kind. “Is it true what they’re saying? That the king has arrested the eastern noblemen?”
“From what sparse things I’ve heard, it seems to be.”
“How will Kettling react?” I’ve never been to the city in the east, but I’ve heard plenty about it. Most of it unpleasant. Rumors that they don’t honor Presenting Day traditions or the law. They barter in children as readily as adults.
“It depends when they hear about it. The gate is sealed, and no messengers can pass through to carry the news.”
“That was shrewd.”
“His Highness is not foolish when it comes to battle, and I would wager he has launched himself into one intentionally. What the fallout might be, I suppose we will soon learn.”
Motion at the door catches my eye. Kazimir strolls in, towering over everyone in all his leather and weaponry. He moves for the counter of leftovers. The scullery staff scoot away from him as he reaches for a cake and stuffs it into his mouth. In a covert move that is not so covert, he meets my gaze, jerks his head toward the door, and then strolls out.
“I think I have been beckoned.” My heart stirs with a mixture of excitement and worry as I brush my floured hands against my apron and unfasten it. Is this good or bad?
“Yes. It would seem so.”
I make to move, but Corrin grabs my wrist.
“Please be careful. The king may have stifled some of his enemies, but I am sure there are plenty more still loose within Cirilea’s walls. Those nearest him will be the first targets.”
I nod, tossing my apron on my table.
Kazimir waits outside the kitchen door, chewing.
“You can’t pass by a platter of sweets without eating one, can you?” I tease.
He swallows his mouthful and throws back, “You can’t go a day without flour on your cheek, can you?”
“A hazard of the job.” I brush my palms across them, my face flushing.
He chuckles and, slipping the charcoal cloak from his arm, places it on my shoulders far gentler than he seems capable. “You’ll need that. It’s cold outside.”
“Thank you.” I fasten the clasp at the collar as I fall into step beside him. “Don’t tell me Mika has snuck out to the sparring square again.” I’m only half joking. There were mere minutes between saying good night to my son and Kazimir’s arrival in the kitchen, but Mika has astonished me more than once with how quickly he can slip away.
“No.” Kazimir’s eyes skitter over my face. “Atticus waits for you there, and apparently, I’m his errand boy.”
Atticus waits for me. My heart skips several beats at the prospect of seeing him again so soon, after worrying I might not see him at all.
And why does Kazimir so freely use the king’s first name with me?
The captain grins. I hate that my kind is so easy to read.
I test the cloak’s material between my fingertips as we take the stairs up into the main castle hall. It’s soft and new, and the gold threading in it smacks of finery. “There have been many rumors today.”
“I am sure there have been. Much is afoot.” His smile is bitter. “Did you hear the one about the headless lord?”
“Yes, there was mention of that.” I hesitate. “I assume whoever it was deserved it?”
“I would say so, though it wasn’t a wise move on the king’s part.”
“Why not?”
“Because keeping him alive would have led us to enemies far more dangerous.” Kazimir holds a door open for me.
I falter. It’s not often that an immortal soldier shows such courtesy to a mortal. “So then what happened?”
“Atticus’s anger got the better of him.”
“And so he just chopped off the lord’s head. Because he was angry?”
“One clean swipe.”
“Does he do that often?”
Kazimir chuckles. “I have to say this was a first. But he seems to be experiencing many firsts as of late. For example, he will not take a vein from any of the remaining tributaries, even though they are now marked.”
Relief that I shouldn’t feel over this news stirs. “Perhaps he does not trust what the caster did?”
“That is not it.”
“Then what is it?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea.” But he looks at me as if he knows exactly why Atticus is resisting. “But he needs to, and very soon, for his own safety. If you could convince him of that, I would greatly appreciate it.”
