The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,100

what you said? ‘Espionage is an art. You must have a wide range of skills.’ Skills include dancing.”

“Fine.” He takes my hand and puts his other on my waist. I try not to focus on that. “Now what?”

“Let’s start with the basic steps. Put your feet like this. Perfect. You’re mostly moving in a square; think of it that way. Like this.” I lead him through the steps. He picks it up right away. “Excellent! Now, you lead.”

Cal relaxes a bit. After leading me through a few more short steps, our actions become more fluid, less halting and deliberate. I relax and forget about the movements so much and become aware of the feel of his hand in mine, the other warm against the small of my back.

I break away. He looks stunned, briefly, but wipes the expression off his face.

“See?” I say, perhaps a little too cheerfully. “You’re a natural. It’s a bit like sword fighting, except nicer. You didn’t even step on my foot. Now let’s try something a bit more complicated. I’m going to spin as you let go of my hand, then you bring me back to you again. Okay?”

Cal catches on right away. As I turn, he reaches out and takes my right hand, and we come back together flawlessly. As if we’ve practiced this many times.

We do that a few more times, melding the twirl with the other steps. He’s agile and light on his feet, which isn’t surprising, considering his training. He has excellent posture and instinctively understands the way to make our bodies move in sync together. But I do my best not to get distracted by that. Probably more of his acting at work, and the thought spoils the magic for me.

“You just need to memorize the steps to the different dances. That should come easily. You might be better than me already,” I tell him. He shrugs, but doesn’t reject the compliment.

“Your father never took you to court? Or to a village fair?” I ask when we’re finished.

Cal pulls the cape off and tosses it aside. He plops down into the chair. “The truth is I barely knew my father. I mean, I remember him, of course. But even before he died, he was gone a lot. Working. So I didn’t know him the way I should have. And no, he never took me to court or to fairs; there wasn’t much time.”

He must see the concern on my face because he goes on. “Don’t get me wrong. I know he loved me. But I don’t think he knew how to be a father. I don’t think he expected to raise a child alone. He taught me things, sure. He told me stories. Stories he learned from my mother.”

“What happened to her?” I have been too afraid to ask before.

He looks down at his hands and fiddles with his sword pommel. “I know almost nothing about her. My father didn’t want to talk about her—it hurt him too much. She died not long after I was born. Her name was Medan. She grew up on a farm and had a younger sister, he said. She was a Guild healer. She taught my father about herbs and using Deian magic to cure people. That’s how I knew what to do for your arm.

“She didn’t think the monks should be the only ones with magic. She caused a lot of trouble, teaching magic—small magic, what she referred to as ‘kitchen magic,’ nothing that would ever be a threat to anyone, but still—someone could report her, and the Aphrasians would come for her, and that could put the Guild at risk. My father wanted her to stop. For her own safety. Even if many agreed with her. Well, he was right.

“One night a villager called for my mother to care for their sick daughter. She’d just had a baby herself, but my father said that only made her more determined to go help. She left me home with the neighbor and headed across town. She was there all night, nursing their daughter. She did her best, but for some things, there is just no cure. The girl died a few days later. The parents blamed my mother. Claimed