The Traitor's Kiss Page 6

  “I’ll leave the decision to you, but he already knows, so you’ll have to be the one to break the news to him.”

  Trapped. Again.

  His father pulled a parchment closer to read and raised a hand in dismissal. “You have a lot of preparations to make, so I suggest you get started.”

  Quinn retreated before things could get any worse.

  10

  CASSECK AND GRAMWELL had already spread out a map and were marking it with the places the bridal caravan would stop overnight. Robert and Ash wrote out lists of supplies and personnel. They all jumped to attention when Quinn walked in the tent, but he motioned for them to relax. “I guess everyone’s heard.”

  Rob grinned. “As far as punishments go, it’s not too bad.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Don’t get any ideas—you’re going under a false name. This is bigger than just an escort.”

  Casseck raised a blond eyebrow. “Bigger how?”

  “It’s an unofficial reconnaissance mission.” Quinn leaned over the map and traced his finger along the Tegann Road and tapped the fortress at the pass. “The general is particularly interested in what’s going on here.”

  Rob’s eyes widened. “Is Duke D’Amiran up to something?”

  “Possibly.” They had to approach this mission with a neutral mind-set, otherwise everything they observed would look like treason.

  Ash offered Quinn the papers he’d ignored earlier. “Am I the lead scout in all this?”

  “Yes,” said Quinn, taking the pages. Among them was a letter to his father from Crescera’s high matchmaker, Mistress Rodelle, detailing the arrangements she’d made for the journey. He scanned the precise handwriting, appreciating the logical way the information was presented. “We’ll be at Baron Underwood’s three nights, which is good. He’s a friend of the D’Amirans.”

  Robert peered over his shoulder. “So is Lord Fashell near the end. All Tegann’s supplies come through his estate.”

  Quinn chewed the inside of his cheek before looking up at Ash. “What do you think about making a contact in the ladies’ group, with a maid or something? She could feed you information we can’t observe.”

  Ash made a face. “Can’t I do actual scouting this time? It’s damn stressful to be undercover that long.”

  Quinn’s experience was limited to terrain scouting; Ash had always been the one to do the closer work of questioning people, using a carefully constructed story to gain their confidence. “Seems pretty easy to me.”

  Ash shrugged. “Sometimes people get hurt.”

  “Hurt? Picket duty is far more dangerous.”

  “Not physically,” Ash said. “If the contacts find out you’re using them, it destroys everything you’ve built. And lying is lying. It never feels good.”

  “What would you have me do?” Quinn asked. “Send someone with less experience?”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, just that I’m getting tired of it. Besides”—Ash brightened—“the scenery will be nicer than I’m used to.”

  The women. As a sergeant, Ash didn’t have to wait until he was twenty-four to marry like the officers. Though he was illegitimate—the result of the king’s liaison with a maid after the death of the first queen—few families would shun a chance to merge with the royals.

  Quinn pulled his friend aside. “Are you interested in being matched?” he asked quietly.

  “Maybe.” Ash avoided his eyes. “I don’t think a girl would look at me twice if she didn’t know who I was.” That no one looked at him twice was his biggest advantage in spying. He glanced at his brother. “Rob says he’ll wait for the next Concordium, unless Father says otherwise. What about you?”

  Quinn’s own parents were a highly political match, and it had worked out well, but he’d always resisted the idea. He hated feeling like a sum of what he owned rather than a person. “I plan on avoiding it completely.”

  “There’s more to life than the army, you know.”

  Quinn didn’t want to talk about marriage. The letters from Mother on the subject lately were bad enough. “You’re my lead, then. Get your story ready, and make sure everyone knows it.”

  Ash nodded and walked back to Robert. “Put me down as a wagon driver. Lower me to private, too. It’ll give me flexibility.”

  * * *

  Several days later, Quinn stared down at the remnants of a campfire. Anyone could see a group of men had stayed here two days ago. To the captain’s trained eye, however, there was much to cause concern. First, the number of travelers was ten—which was typical for a Kimisar squad. Second, they posted roving patrols as far as four hundred yards out. And third, they traveled quickly. Unburdened with wagons and the need to stick to roads, they covered twice the distance in one day as the escort unit, and he didn’t have the time or resources to track them down.

  Ash Carter came up behind him. “I’m glad we brought the dogs. We might never have found this otherwise.”

  Quinn nodded. “They’re headed north, into Crescera. Do you think they intended to meet with that group we dispatched a few weeks ago?”

  Ash shrugged. “Don’t know. But that courier said there’s activity all over the border since we left.”

  Quinn had a packet of dispatches for the king and his council in Tennegol, but messengers from his father would find them along the way with updated reports. The first had caught up with them last night, bringing news that the army had mobilized and stretched out to meet a number of incursions.

  He was missing out on everything.

  “I’ve never seen a raid this small so far north,” said Quinn. “They were only a couple days from Crescera.” This group could already be there.

  “Must be after food. All the granaries are up here.”

  “On foot? How could they carry enough grain back to justify the trip?”

  Ash frowned. “Maybe they’ll steal horses here. Last I heard, Kimisara had eaten half of theirs.”

  “That makes sense,” Quinn said. “Makes it easier to sneak in, too. I wonder if what our army’s reacting to down south is a diversion from a bunch of little raids up here.” He was already writing the report in his mind for the courier to take back, glad he’d made the man wait.

  The pair remounted their horses and headed back to the road, where the caravan waited. Quinn frowned as Robert’s dark head came into view. If there were Kimisar in the area and they realized Rob was with the escort, Quinn had no doubt they would come after him. Kimisara had a long history of hostage taking in addition to raiding, and the crown prince would be a target too tempting to pass up. Quinn felt he could protect Rob against superior numbers, but when they met with the women in a few days, it would be more complicated.

  He hadn’t thought to post picket scouts around the group as it traveled, but it now seemed necessary, especially if there were more squads out there. An idea formed in his head as he balanced the need to protect Robert with his plans for spying. He turned to Ash. “I have a new job for you, my friend.”

  11

  SAGE HEAVED HER trunk onto the wagon, then arched her back and stretched. The matchmaker rolled her eyes. “I hired men for that.”

  Sage hopped down from the cart. “Seemed silly to let it sit in the dirt till they got around to it.”

  “You’re making this trip as a lady,” Darnessa admonished. “Every stop along the way is a chance to observe people we need to know about, and if you ruin that image, you won’t be able to get close to them.”

  “Yes, yes.” Sage straightened her skirt. “I just wanted to wait as long as possible before putting on the yoke.” The monthlong journey to Tennegol would be exhausting, but Darnessa had promised she could wear breeches on the way back.

  She dutifully played the part of a shy noble girl as the women arrived, most meeting for the first time. Many obviously saw one another as rivals. Sage pictured a burlap sack full of cats and wondered which would come out with the most scratches.

  The matchmaker introduced her. “Thi
s is my assistant, Sage, but you will call her Lady Sagerra Broadmoor. She’ll be traveling as one of you, and you’ll follow her instructions as if they were my own.”

  “She looks like that girl with the fowler who trained my father’s hawks when I was young,” said a blonde, leaning in to squint at Sage.

  “She very likely is,” said Darnessa. The matchmaker probably meant to sound kind, but Sage felt patronized.

  Lady Jacqueline crossed her arms. “Sage is a peasant’s name. Or a bastard’s. Which is she?”

  They talked like she wasn’t there. “I can speak for myself,” Sage snapped.

  The young woman turned her head, peering down as if Sage were an insect she could crush with her high-heeled satin shoe. “Then which is it?”

  “Neither, but you can bet your pretty ass you’ll be kissing mine before we get to the capital.” Sage smiled and curtsied. “My lady.”

  Jacqueline looked ready to bite back, but Darnessa slashed her hand through the air between them. “Enough. Her name is Lady Sagerra Broadmoor as far as anyone else is concerned, and if one of you leaks otherwise, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” Jacqueline turned and stalked away, several others following her lead. The matchmaker scrunched her mouth to one side. “That probably could’ve gone better,” she said.

  A hand slipped into Sage’s, and she looked down in surprise—Lady Clare. She remembered the sweet face—and that hair. Dark, glossy curls the color of maple syrup cascaded over one shoulder, not a strand out of place. Clare smiled shyly. “I’m glad to meet you, Sagerra,” she said. Clare squeezed her fingers and left to say good-bye to her family.

  Sage watched her walk away, feeling unmoved by the gesture. Over the winter, girls who’d never deigned to speak with Sage for years had suddenly wanted to be her friend, which was flattering until she realized their kindness was only designed to get them better matches. No one was ever nice to her unless they wanted something.

  * * *

  It was only ten miles to Galarick, and the bridal group arrived shortly after noon. Sage located the library almost immediately and intended to spend the rest of the day there but found herself wandering restlessly on the walls. Galarick’s layout resembled a fortress with an inner and outer ward and barracks for soldiers, but it was only a glorified manor house—all the grandeur of a castle but little of its strength. Fortifications were unnecessary this deep in Demora, especially since the border with Kimisara had been pushed so far south.

  When horns announced the arrival of their military escort, Sage’s curiosity was enough that she found a spot on the inner wall to watch them parade in. There were about thirty soldiers total, and horses outnumbered men nearly two to one. Several hunting dogs walked among them, deftly avoiding hooves. The riders, all dressed in black jackets, breeches, and boots, dismounted as one and began unloading carts and leading horses to the stables. There was talk and some laughter, but not as much as she expected.

  Darnessa also watched from nearby, wearing the sharp look Sage associated with sizing people up. Sage drifted over to stand beside her.

  “Are those the wagons?” Sage pointed to the plain carts pulled alongside one another. “I thought they’d be fancier.” The ten or so wagon drivers and attendants wore simple clothing—brown breeches and vests over white linen shirts.

  “They’ll dress them up tomorrow,” said Darnessa. “Have you ever seen soldiers before?”

  “Not to remember.” Soldiers posted west of the mountains stayed mostly in Tasmet and had frequent clashes with Kimisara. While Uncle William may have sworn fealty and carried a sword, these men lived that vow in a way her uncle never had to. Sage shivered with the thought of what their blades may have already experienced.

  “That’s the captain there, with the gold on his collar.” Darnessa gestured to a rider with dark hair. His features were handsome, at least from this distance, his bearing proud. The matchmaker eyed her sideways. “General Quinn’s son. Quite a catch.”

  No doubt.

  General Quinn had married the sister of the previous queen. Those weddings and several others at the time had pulled the richest families in Aristel into a tight alliance, which proved critical in defeating Kimisara’s last major attempt to invade a few years later. The more she learned about matching, the more Sage suspected the nation was held together by it.

  She frowned as the young man directed some of the handling. “Do you think his father sent him to the Corcordium to be matched? He can’t be old enough.”

  “I’m not sure. He won’t be eligible for three years.”

  “Bit long for an engagement,” said Sage. “Should I bother putting him in the book?”

  Darnessa nodded. “It’s rare for soldiers to come close enough for us to size them up. Go ahead and make pages for each officer.”

  Just then a bell tolled, announcing the noon meal. The Baron of Galarick had provided the ladies their own room for dining and entertaining themselves, but Sage was loath to join them. “I’m not that hungry. I think I’ll just grab a bit in the kitchens and eat in the library, if you don’t mind.”

  “As long as you actually eat. You’re too thin.” Darnessa squeezed Sage’s arm.

  Sage twisted away. She was so used to the matchmaker judging people, it was hard to tell whether she was being critical or motherly, and neither made her comfortable. “I will.”

  Darnessa left her alone, and Sage watched the soldiers for a few more minutes, feeling a strange envy. The men below all moved and acted with a sense of purpose, whereas she always felt lost. True, the matchmaker kept her busy, and true, Sage sometimes enjoyed her work even though she would never admit it, yet Darnessa wasn’t much different from Uncle William in the way Sage was bound to her. The soldiers were also bound to the commands of others, but it was by their choice, and they all played an important role in every mission, if not the fate of the nation.

  Sage tapped a rhythm on the wooden rail in front of her. She was good at teaching; perhaps Darnessa could recommend her to a wealthy family—not this year, but maybe at the next Concordium. The matchmaker would probably retire then, and Sage would be old enough for people to take her seriously. Depending on who hired her, she might be able to have her own home.

  She’d taken this job out of desperation and questioned it often despite Darnessa’s assurance that she was suited for it. Now she saw it was the best decision she’d made in a long time. It was a step toward freedom.

  Sage smiled and set off to find her ledger. She had work to do.

  12

  DUKE MORROW D’AMIRAN watched the sunset from the northwest tower of the massive stone fortress, his back to the hazy, narrow Tegann Pass. Spring had struggled to take hold of the landscape this year. Only the scattered evergreens produced any color on the slopes, which rose sharply behind him like a granite curtain.

  His pale-blue eyes followed the man striding boldly across the drawbridge, pausing as the portcullis was raised to let him in. The Kimisar’s clothing was as colorless as the land, the edges of him indistinct against the background. D’Amiran stroked his blackened beard as he searched the shadowy woods for signs of the other Kimisar he knew were out there. Only one was visible, and after a few seconds the duke realized he was looking at a fallen tree rather than a soldier in wait. It disturbed him to see the Kimisar were so efficient at hiding, though as they were his allies now, he should be pleased.

  This alliance was distasteful, but Kimisara’s desperation made for more agreeable terms. At the moment the southern nation wanted only food, though once it was back on its feet, he had little doubt Kimisara would return to nibbling away at the Tasmet province, if not mounting another full campaign to take it back. They could have it as far as he was concerned; only the rich deposits of copper to the south were worth keeping. The dukedom belonged to his family as a reward for his father’s service in the Great War forty years ago, but it was almost an insult. While it seemed grand on paper, the land was drab, rocky, and barren. As a child r
aised in Mondelea, he’d taken one look at the fortress and land that was to be his new home and wept.

  He’d expected his father to be angry over those tears, but he’d only taken him aside and explained it was nothing compared to the centuries of humiliation his family had already survived after being ousted from the throne by the Devlin family. This place was only a stepping-stone to taking back what was rightfully theirs. I may not see the day, he said. But you will.

  His father had been right about the first part. The Spirit had claimed him eleven years later, and Morrow suffered several setbacks as both he and his younger brother were prevented from advancing through military ranks—Rewel had failed to even make lieutenant. Blocked by the rising star of General Pendleton Quinn, the king’s new pet, on the battlefield and in marriage. But if the duke had learned anything in his forty-three years, it was that not all battles were won in direct ways. Sometimes they were achieved, as with the steady rise and fall of the ocean tide he watched in his youth, benign and reliable—useful, even—until one day it tore away the side of a cliff.

  The tide was coming in. He only needed to be patient a little longer.

  Footsteps behind him called D’Amiran’s attention to his guest’s arrival on the tower platform. Two guards flanked the foreigner as he met their nobleman for the first time. Neither the mistrust of his host nor the grandeur of his surroundings appeared to unsettle him. He stood with his arms crossed and his feet planted, the rough weave of his cloak hanging off his broad shoulders to his knees.

  When the young man didn’t look inclined to speak, the duke decided to begin. “You are Captain Huzar, correct?”

  The man nodded once from inside his hood but said nothing. Kimisar were darker than Demorans from Aristel, and even this close he almost faded into the shadows. Swirling tattoos on his exposed forearms added to the shapeless effect.

  “Are your men in place?”