The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,39

trays through the damp halls. It’s a far walk from the kitchens, so I was worried about the food getting cold, but I’ve learned that the prison staff gets the freshest food and the prisoners get week-old pea soup that’s been simmering for days on end and yesterday’s leftover biscuits. I feel guilty giving it to anyone.

I’ve also learned that it’s nearly impossible to see who is in each cell. Trying to get a good look inside not only makes me appear suspicious, it slows me down way too much. I’m supposed to deliver food to a row of cells, return to the kitchen to refill the cart, then deliver to another row, and so on. If I gape at every single prisoner, it will take me all night. I’m only to slide a tray under the door and keep moving.

Still, I do what I can to catch a glimpse. Most prisoners are immediately ruled out—too old, too big, too bald, and in one particularly remarkable case, far too hairy. But a couple of them look like they could possibly be Caledon, around the right age or size. I’ll have to come back later somehow to check them again. Maybe I can do the morning deliveries too. I’ll have to find a way to fill in for the other side of the castle, but I’d locate Caledon within the next few days if I do that.

Then I have a terrible thought: I haven’t seen the Montrician spy since we arrived. For all I know, Caledon has already been killed.

Once I finish the ground floor, I return to the kitchen to refill the cart. Mister Renold seems surprised to see me. “Back so soon, huh? Sure you got ’em all?” he says. He stops chopping potatoes to bend down and take a look at the bottom shelf of the cart.

I shrug. I thought I was moving too slow—I guess I didn’t have to hurry after all. Good to know I can take my time and get a better look inside the cells. Makes me wonder what usually takes the guard so long to finish his rounds.

“Careful, now. Or we’re gonna have you doin’ this every day,” Mister Renold says with a wink.

He doesn’t know I wouldn’t mind that at all. But I don’t want to seem too eager, so all I say is, “Yes, sir.”

As soon as the cart is filled, I push it out the door. In my rush I hit a bump in the stone floor and almost tip the entire cart. Mister Renold shakes his head. “Careful there, boy!” But he looks amused, watching me go.

There’s a ramp leading to the upper-level cells. Before Deersia was a prison, it was a castle fortress, and the ramps were for transporting cannons and other large artillery. Convenient, but a bit steep for this purpose, and I have to go slow or risk bowls of slop sliding off the tray and pouring onto my feet.

A man with long, straight, dishwater-colored hair sits on the floor of the first cell, rocking back and forth and murmuring. Not Caledon. He looks toward the door when I slide the tray under it, then goes back to his rocking. The second cell isn’t Caledon’s either; it’s an older man asleep on a small, sagging cot. The third and fourth fare no better.

It’s not until I reach the fifth cell that I get a glimmer of hope. As I slide the tray into the cell, I catch a glimpse of tousled brown hair. Looks like it could be Caledon’s. He’s a bit thinner than I remember but that’s to be expected.

I try to peer through the food slot for a better look, but I don’t see anyone now.

The cell’s makeshift bed is empty. I try to see into the corners of the cell, thinking he moved out of sight to protect himself. He won’t know I’m there to help him. I look toward the right side of the room.

Two huge eyes stare back at me. I let out a yelp and flinch. There’s wild cackling on the other side of the door. I stand, heart racing, and try to look in again. That couldn’t be Cal . . . could it?

A face pops up in front of mine again. Then disappears. I force myself not to look away until I know whether it’s Caledon. If it is, I have more trouble on my hands than I thought.

Then I hear the food tray bang against the opposite