The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,13
for my actions.
Avoiding the small mirror on the wall, I peel off my filthy shirt and torn black pants—completely ruined—and attempt to wash up a bit, using what’s left of the clean water I brought up the day before. I comb out my long hair as best I can, removing a few twigs and leaves as I do so, and wrap it in a low bun. That feels better. I pull a clean linen shift over my head and step into a soft brown skirt, then lace my leather bodice over it. Presentable enough. I tie on an apron and slide clogs on my feet.
My aunts stop talking when they hear me clunking down the wooden staircase. I hear spoons stirring in cups, and an egg crack, then sizzle as it hits the pan.
“Good morning,” I say, coming through the doorway.
Neither returns the greeting. My aunts stare at my face before glancing down at my hands. Then they exchange a look with each other. They don’t seem angry. I’m not sure how to read their mood, actually. Worried, for sure. Also frustrated. Perhaps a little sad? They definitely haven’t slept much—both are wearing nightclothes and Aunt Moriah’s hair is still wrapped up. Aunt Mesha has her usual loose braid hanging down her back, the way she wears her hair day and night.
I go about my morning routine as if nothing has happened, waiting to see if either of them will speak, or if the incident will just blow over and be forgotten. I choose a chipped teacup from the shelf and sprinkle dried herbs inside. My aunts continue to watch me, and I pretend not to notice. I add a generous dose of turmeric to the cup, for the aches. I grab a mitt, pull the kettle off the fire, and fill the cup, then replace the kettle.
I begin to wonder if I should wait for the tea to steep here or if I should take it outside when Aunt Moriah finally says, “We need to talk, child.”
Aunt Mesha springs into action, fussing with canisters, opening and closing them as if looking for something. She settles on the honey jar, begins adding dollop after dollop to her bowl of oatmeal. Her hands are shaking.
I nod before taking a sip of the too-hot, still-watery tea. I don’t want to offer any information or ask any questions that may lead to subjects I don’t have any desire to discuss right now.
“Mesha? Do you want to . . . ?” Aunt Moriah begins.
Aunt Mesha slams down the honey spoon. “Oh! Absolutely not, and you know that very well.”
“What is going on?” I ask. Their behavior is starting to alarm me. I can sense this is about more than where I disappeared to yesterday.
“Well . . . ,” Aunt Moriah says.
Aunt Mesha bursts into tears. “I just don’t understand how this all happened so fast!”
“Calm down, Mesha. You’re scaring her.”
“Honestly, yes, you both are,” I say. Something terrible occurs to me. Are they marrying me off? Some of the tea splashes from the cup. I put it down on the table and wipe my hand on my skirt.
Mesha wipes her face with her apron. “We received this today, a letter from your mother and orders from the palace. You are to take your place by your mother’s side at court.”
I read my mother’s short note and the official document.
TO MAIDEN SHADOW OF THE HONEY GLADE, NIR,
IN THE KINGDOM OF RENOVIA
HRM Lilianna, Queen Regent of Renovia,
requires your presence at the court of Violla Ruza
I wanted my mother to call for me, but not like this. I had told her as much during her last visit. I had told her to send me to the Guild. I know I’ve been spirited at times, but over the years I’ve been a compliant daughter, always willing to listen and learn, and this is how I’m treated on the cusp of adulthood—with complete disregard for my own wishes? I am eighteen years old. I am old enough to marry, to have a life of my own.