The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,14

That is exactly why this is happening now.

And I cannot defy orders from the queen.

“We are so proud of you,” says Aunt Mesha.

“Your mother is so proud of you,” says Aunt Moriah.

I’m sure they think it’s a wonderful honor to accompany my mother at court. Every little girl’s dream. Except I’m not a little girl. And going to court has never been my dream. I long for dangerous assignments, to be out in the field, to be a spy just as she was when she was my age. But my mother wouldn’t know that, because she’s always been more concerned with living her life at court than getting to know her only daughter.

“But I don’t want to go,” I say.

“You’re not leaving yet. Your mother says we have a week to prepare,” says Aunt Mesha.

Aunt Moriah puts her arms around her wife and turns to me. “Let’s not talk about it any more. Shadow, darling, go outside and check on the mint plants, would you? I’m worried those pests got to them during the night again.”

I grab my hot tea and walk out the kitchen door toward the back garden. The mint is fine, of course. They simply want privacy so they can talk about me. I take a seat on our old stone bench and blow on my tea to cool it off while I think about the summons, as well as what happened last night. I still don’t know what to make of it—or what to do about it.

Summoned to the palace. Certainly the girls in town, always copying the nobility’s latest hairstyles and necklines—they wouldn’t hesitate for a second. They’d think me a fool for even questioning it. Admittedly some small part of me would revel in seeing their expressions when the honey girl turns into a courtier. But the amusement would be brief.

I’m meant for so much more. Now I know some things even my mother doesn’t know, that the Guild doesn’t know. There are still secrets at Baer Abbey. The Aphrasians are not as weak and scattered as believed. Though Caledon is guilty of killing the grand prince, he is not a murderer, but a hero. He saved my life. The court needs to know. The queen needs to know.

And suddenly it occurs to me that it’s not such a terrible thing that I have been called to Violla Ruza.

CHAPTER FOUR

Caledon

THE RUMBLE OF HOOFBEATS ALONG with the jangle of the royal equines’ riding bells rustles Cal from a deep sleep. His head is throbbing, his mouth bone-dry. He licks his cracked lips but it doesn’t help much.

Three sharp knocks at the door. He doesn’t answer. More knocks. He groans. The knocking becomes banging. “Persistent this morning, aren’t we?” he finally yells toward the door. Then he sits up, aching, shoulders and neck stiff and sore, and forces himself out of bed. He’s still wearing his clothes from the night before, dirty boots and all.

The abbey ruins, the skirmish with the monks, the shock at uncovering the traitor’s true identity, the strange girl whose life he saved, everything rushes back to him. Worse, the sunlight glaring through the front window means he slept much later than he meant to.

When he opens the door of the smithy, a baby-faced page—can’t be older than twelve, if that—hands him a scroll sealed with the royal mark of Renovia. Cal croaks out a rough thank-you. Without speaking, the boy bows curtly and returns to the carriage waiting on the cobbled street.

After locking both bolts on the door, he crosses the room to the wooden stool in front of the hearth. It’s his favorite place to sit and reflect, usually while stirring something hearty over the fire. His best work has been plotted here. Last year he’d had the idea to impersonate a cook in order to infiltrate the estate of an Aphrasian sympathizer in Stavin—that one was almost too easy—with direct access to the entire food supply, no less. And just this past summer he mastered an Argonian accent and memorized full monologues in order to get close to another would-be usurper by starring in his most beloved play.

He slits the scroll open with his knife and unrolls it.